#improvement hell day 7 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

souliebird · 3 months

Text

[[and then i met you || ch 16]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

You dream of hands.

They are strong, calloused, and scarred, but they are so gentle with you. They dance over your skin, tracing over your belly to your sides and go down to your thighs. They come back up, pushing your panties to the side and examine your most intimate areas, and though you feel desire radiating from them, they do not cross the line into deviant behavior. They do not tease - they explore and memorize and make you feel like something precious.

Once they have soaked themselves in the slick your body can't help but produce, they slide up to just under your belly button and rest there. Everything inside you flutters at the gesture and your body craves to be full - for the hands to feel the push back of a life moving inside you.

They don't linger long - only enough to make you squirm and gasp - before they are moving again. They drag up your center, skirting your breast like they dare not indulge.

They wrap around your throat and give a small squeeze. They are powerful and could crush you without a thought, but they don't. They release you and continue upward. They brush your cheeks, and when a thick digit pushes past your lips and you begin to suckle at it, you finally wake.

Your bedroom is filled with bright sunlight, and you groan with disappointment.

Your instinct tells you to roll into your pillow and try to continue sleeping but your mind is faster than your body and groggy memories of the day before beat against your skull.

Your ear has no problems reminding you that you are ill. As you come more into consciousness, you become aware of how much it aches and how overly warm you feel. You vaguely remember being woken up to have ear drops put in and to coaxed into drinking water. There are flashes of sweet words and praise and being held while you drift back to sleep and gentle little kisses all over your face.

You force your eyes to open and are greeted by the cartoonishly large ones of Scooby. He's right beside your pillow, like he's watching over you, and he's been maneuvered into wearing Minnie’s miniature doctor's coat with her bright pink toy stethoscope clamped around his neck. Your heart sings with love for your little girl and you hug the stuffed dog to your chest, burying your nose in his oversized head.

How in the world did you get a daughter who is so pure and full of compassion and love? It certainly isn't genetic - you don't think your parents knew what compassion was. If this is from what you have taught her, then maybe, just maybe, you have finally done something right with your life.

You stay hugging Doctor Scooby until your bladder complains and you force yourself out of bed.

Your phone is nowhere to be seen, but you don't worry about it too much - you only wanted to check the time. You have a feeling it's around midday, but you can't be too sure - all you know is it feels like you slept forever.

You grab a change of clothes, then head to the bathroom, bringing your toddler assigned guardian with you. After you take care of business, you take the time to clean yourself up a bit before changing into fresh clothing. It does wonders to improve how you feel. Your ear still throbs, and you feel stiff, but you don't feel like you've been wallowing in your own sweat.

As you clean up your small mess, you note the carefully arranged bottles in your bathtub have been switched around. Minnie’s shampoo is in the wrong place and instead of any annoyance, you find yourself smiling.

Matt must have given her a bath. You can imagine how it went, as your daughter enjoys getting clean and playing with all her water-based toys. She also adores helping and following directions, and you can picture her instructing her Daddy on how to wash her hair just right.

You would have thought you'd never trust Minnie with someone so soon after meeting them - there's no way you'd let any of your friends give her a bath - but with Matt it is so easy. He wants so much to be a good father and he and Mouse already have such a good bond. You are just sad you missed their first bath time together.

You take Doctor Scooby and your dirty clothes and leave the bathroom. Your clothes go into the hamper, then you and the toy dog make your way to the living room. You can hear the television going, but it's too low to make out what is playing, and your daughter giggling. The noise warms your heart, and you yearn for her.

The scene you come upon is something you don't expect - Matt is sitting cross legged on the ground, back facing you, with Minnie standing right in front of him. On the coffee table beside her, her toy makeup kit is laid out, with all the different brushes scattered everywhere. Your daughter has a look of pure concentration on her face as she examines her father, a tube of what you know to be roll on glitter clutched in her little fist.

Matt must be getting his first princess makeover.

You can't hold back the delighted noise that comes from your soul at the realization and that of course catches both of their attention.

“Mommy!”

A rocket made of brown curls and a yellow sundress crashes into your waiting arms. You squeeze her tight, trying to absorb her into your being, along with the Scooby plush. The hug only lasts a moment, as she quickly pulls back, slaps her little hands onto your cheeks, and declares, “You're still sick!”

You push your face into her touch, and give a sad laugh, guilt bubbling in your belly, “I am, I'm sorry, Mouse. But I feel better now, I promise.”

She purses her lips at you before dropping her hands from your face and says in an authoritative voice, “Doctor Scooby says you need more sleep.”

You look down at the toy still in your arms, then hold him up to be face to face with Minnie, “My body doesn't want to sleep anymore. Do you think it would be okay if I came out here to be with my family, Doctor Scooby?”

She takes the dog from you and jams his mouth to her ear. She pouts and goes, “uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay,” before turning him so he is looking at you and you feel like you're being judged by him. “He says you have to stay on the couch. And no cookies!”

“No cookies?” Matt asks from behind Minnie, and you finally tear your eyes away from her to look at him. You have to bite your lip, so you don't laugh.

Mouse has gone above and beyond with her princess makeover.

Baby pink eyeshadow has been smeared over his eyelids, up to his thick eyebrows, and blended out to have a border of blue sparkles. His cheeks are rouged enough to make a flapper jealous, and a deep purplely-red stain has been carefully applied to his lips. Or as carefully as a three-year-old can do, which means the scruff around his mouth now has a nice tint to it. To top off his look, stick-on gems have been placed around his eyes, and the deep red color and shape of them mimic the glasses he typically wears.

He looks absolutely fabulous, and you need to find your phone so you can send pictures to Foggy and Karen.

“No cookies,” Minnie confirms, waving her plush at you to get your attention back onto her.

“Okay, no cookies,” you agree. You don't know if you actually have any cookies in the pantry to eat, anyways, so this will be an easy rule to follow. “And I have to stay on the couch?”

Minnie nods vigorously, “Doctor's orders!”

“Okay, if the doctor says so.”

You push yourself back into standing and your daughter takes your hand to practically march you over to the couch. You plop down in your corner and not a moment later, Scooby is back in your arms. Then, Minnie is zooming away from you and to the kitchen, calling back, “Daddy, I need help, please, thank you!”

Matt beams at you as he stands up and even with his face used as a coloring book, he looks handsome as ever, “I'm coming, my love.” His voice is full of joy and pride, and while you feel guilty, he is stuck babysitting while you're recovering, he clearly doesn't feel the same. You have the suspicion that every time Minnie calls him ‘Daddy’, his heart grows bigger.

You don't turn to spy as Matt disappears from your view. Your phone is on the table behind Minnie’s make up kit, so you grab that then pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrap yourself in it after adjusting to get a little more comfortable.

There are no urgent or interesting notifications waiting for you - a few emails about sales and calendar reminders about upcoming bills that need to be paid. You swipe them away then turn your focus to the television. It is one of the educational videos about animals your little one has started watching in preparation for her birthday trip to the zoo. The date is coming up fast and you wonder if she's been telling Matt about all the animals she's excited to see. You can't wait to take her to the park for her special day.

Minnie brings you from your thoughts with another yell of, “Mommy!” She hurries into your view and your heart swells with love. She's holding your water bottle, which she shoves at you, “Doctor Scooby says…he says you have to stay hide-rated. I asked Daddy what that means and he said you gotta drink lots of water! I got you water!”

You take your bottle and have to resist the urge to take her up in your lap as well. Your little angel is so sweet and thoughtful, and you very much want to wrap her up in your arms and never let go.

“Thank you so much, sweetie, I'll make sure to keep hydrated. Promise,” you tell her, fully meaning to do just that. You try to drink a lot of water anyways, so it shouldn't be hard to accomplish.

Minnie, however, either doesn't believe you or is over eager to take care of you. She grabs a hold of one of your legs and shakes it as hard as she can, demanding “Drink!” She drags out the word in a way only a toddler can and to soothe her, you take a long sip of water.

“What else did Doctor Scooby say?” Matt asks as he returns from the kitchen, and you can feel the grin in his words.

Mouse takes in the question, swaying slightly as she thinks, then breaks out into a big grin as she recites, “Lots of rest and…and a ...a towel on her ear! To help the ickies!”

“Exactly,” Matt practically cooes as he scoops up his daughter, swinging her around before securing her on his hips. He tilts his head towards you, looking proud as can be, “I think we have a little doctor on our hands.”

“I'm gonna be a veteran!” Minnie declares, puffing up her chest.

You know she means veterinarian and decide you aren't going to correct her. Instead, you're going to tease her about her past career goals, “I thought you wanted to be a hot dog vendor?”

Her eyes get wide at the reminder, and she quickly amends, “I'm gonna do that on the weekend!”

“So, veteran during the week and hot dog vendor on the weekend?” Matt confirms, blue sparkly eyebrows raised.

“Yeah!”

You and Matt both huff in laughter and your little one beams at the attention.

You take in Matt's appearance, with his devastatingly handsome face and boyish charm and a warmth churns in your belly. To push away those feelings, you ask, “are you still going to have time to give Daddy makeovers with all that work?”

Minnie looks at Matt and analyzes him, before starting to wiggle to be put down, “you need says-or-eases!” You guess she isn't done with him yet and talks of her future will have to wait.

He sets her on the ground, asking, “I need what?” but she doesn't acknowledge him, running off to the bedroom to grab more of her toys. You watch as he moves his head in minute movements, brow wrinkling up. He must be trying to figure out what his daughter is fetching.

“What is she getting?” Matt finally asks you and you take a sip of water so swallow down any smugness you have.

“Accessories,” you clarify. “You can't have a makeover without getting some new accessories.”

He mouths the word, and you know he has no idea what is to come - Foggy’s nieces must be too old for dress up and makeovers. He remains standing until Minnie comes waddling back. She's carrying one of the purses you've gotten for her, and she's stuffed it full of costume jewelry and hair clips. She dumps it all out on the ground by Matt's feet with a demand of, “Sit, please, thank you!”

Bewildered, he does as he's told, and your daughter wastes no time trying to determine what looks best with his makeup. She holds a necklace up, looking between it and him before setting it aside with a ‘no!’ This happens again and again as she goes through her necklaces, then clip-on earrings and bangles - none of which fit over Matt's hands and are abandoned - and finally hair clips.

You enjoy the process, sitting back and letting yourself wake up as Minnie describes each accessory to her Daddy as she decides if it matches the aesthetic. You snap photos to send to your new friends and Matt is good enough to even pose for a few.

The final look consists of a giant yellow heart necklace, blue teardrop dangle earrings, and Beauty and the Beast hair bow. He looks very dashing, and you tell him as much as you send the end product over to Foggy and Karen.

“If hot dog vending doesn't work out, your side hustle can be as a stylist,” you tease and Minnie beams at you, enjoying the praise. Matt examines what he is wearing, carefully touching the plastic jewelry to better understand what he looks like as Mouse reminds him of the colors.

As they do that, you check the time. It is a little past Nap Time, so once the conversation starts to change, you address your daughter, “Would you like to clean up your toys and get some juice?”

You know she knows this transition and she doesn't hesitate to nod and start to act. She starts with the things on the floor, stuffing them back into her purse and Matt jumps into Dad-mode.

“What type of juice do you want, Mouse?”

“Apple juice, please, thank you.”

“Half juice, half water,” you advise as he carefully navigates out of the living area.

“Is the cup from last night, okay? The sippy one?”

“The bunny one!” Is the almost haughty reply. The pink bunny is the pre-nap juice cup, and you think a fit might be thrown if tradition isn't followed, so you untangle yourself from the blanket and go to the kitchen. Luckily, no one calls you out for leaving the couch.

You smile at Matt as you pass him, and explain, “I ordered water resistant Braille label stickers but haven't finished putting them on all her things yet.” You open the cabinet that holds all of her various cups and pull out the correct one, then pass it over. “This one I did label.”

Matt takes it and runs his fingers over the surface until he finds the Braille, “Pink with bunnies. For Juice. Nap Time.” His face relaxes into something soft as he retraces the words. You don't know how descriptive you need to be with everything, but you know you don't need to spell everything out for him. His lips twitch into a smile and he whispers to you, “thank you,” before turning to the fridge to get out the juice.

You don't want to make things awkward by lingering, so you shuffle back to the couch and reclaim your spot. Matt joins you a minute later, setting the sippy cup on the table.

Mouse finishes cleaning up her toys rather quickly, then grabs her juice and crawls up to be between the two of you. You change the television over to one of the Pre-Nap shows - something calming to help everyone wind down - and out of the corner of your eye, you see your daughter snuggle into her Daddy's side and begin to sip her juice. Matt wraps his arm around her shoulders and begins to oh so gently pet over her arm.

She's out before she finishes her juice.

You don't miss the opportunity to take more pictures of Matt looking down at Minnie. You know he can't see her with his eyes, but you wonder what input he is getting and if he knows how sweet the pair of them look.

You sit silently and wait until you're sure she won't wake up, then reach to gently touch Matt's shoulders, “Do you want to put her in her bed?”

He nods slowly, his whole being screaming with love for his little girl. You take the sippy cup away as he carefully picks her up after standing and you watch as he cradles her to his chest. He stands there for a moment, holding her close, and you think he must be savoring the moment.

You don't disturb him and after a minute, he starts towards the bedroom. You wait until he's disappeared down the hallway to get up and go pour out the remainder of Minnie’s juice. You clean the cup, then grab some skin friendly wet wipes - you have the feeling Matt may not want to keep wearing his makeup. It feels gummy on your skin so you can't imagine how irritating he finds it.

You resettle on the couch and change from sleepy television to soul crushing television - the midday news.

You usually like to catch the top stories and the weather before switching away, but given Nap Time came a little late today, you miss those. Instead, you tune into the host interviewing some politician and the headline bar tells you he's a senator and they are discussing the Connecticut explosion. You turn up the volume slightly, so you can actually hear it.

“- leaked report states this was not an attack, but the attempted arrest of an Enhanced individual gone wrong. Allegedly, the destruction of a neighborhood and the 634 deaths, dozens of which were children, was all caused by one man with powers. What are your thoughts on this, Senator Kelly?”

You frown at the new information. One person caused all that pain? Or are they just blaming one individual?

“Thank you for having me, Vicki,” the Senator says, and you already don't like him. He gives off a slimy vibe - like he doesn't care about anyone but himself. “I've read the report and I've been on the ground, talking to the people whose lives were destroyed, and I've got one question in mind: why were the good people of Stamford not made aware they were living next to a bomb? This individual, whose identity is still being hidden, only released one attack. One!”

Your eyes go wide at the statement. That can't be true. Can someone really have that much power inside of them? You can understand people like Iron Man with a bunch of missiles strapped to him, but someone who is Enhanced?

“What do you propose, Senator?” Vicki asks and something like dread turns in your stomach.

Matt reenters the room just as the vile man begins speaking again. He comes to stand by the couch, putting his hand on the cushion behind your shoulder.

“The American people deserve to know who they are living next to. We implemented this policy for sexual deviants, and we should do the same for these so-called Enhanced Individuals! The Sokovia Accords talks about registering ‘super heroes’,” Kelly uses air quotes around the word, a disgusted look on his face, “but this man wasn't a hero. He was a literal ticking time bomb and who knows how many more Enhanced Individuals are out there just like him. How would you feel if your neighbor could blow up your house with a wave of their arm, or walk through your walls, or Heaven-forbid, control you with their mind? S.H.I.E.L.D showed us all those people existed! How are we supposed to protect ourselves against that? Whose stopping those people from causing the next Sokovia, or Lagos, or Stamfo-”

You turn off the television. You can't hear any more of that man's rancid words and implications.

You tilt your head up to look at Matt and your heart pangs for him. He's openly scowling and in the corner of your eye, you see him gripping the couch cushion tightly.

Your body acts without thought and you reach up to squeeze his bicep, “Matt...?”

“He's talking about people like they are uncontrollable weapons,” he grinds out, “this is McCarthy Era ‘everyone who isn't you is a threat’ bullshit.”

“I know,” you say to try to soothe some of the anger you see boiling in him. You understand the anger and you are angry, too. You think Matt falls under the umbrella of ‘Enhanced Individuals’ and if so, Minnie does as well. It terrifies you that someone who is supposed to be running the country is spitting out such words, but you want to believe he's in the fringe. You want to believe your government doesn't think your daughter is a threat just because she's different. “He's vile.”

With his free hand, Matt wipes at his mouth, still looking furious, “everything he is saying goes against the Constitution. People have the right to privacy.”

You gently tug on his arm, and he takes the signal to come around and sit beside you. You turn to face him, and he does the same, and you decide to take the initiative. You want him to feel better.

You are slow with your movements, so he can figure out your intentions, and unclip the bow from his hair. His eyes flutter shut before he takes a deep, calming breath, “I can't believe they let people like him on the news.”

You hum, then remove his necklace before going for the earrings, “I can. They love to stir the pot and giving those horrible people airtime gets them more views. They don't care about what's being said, only how much money they are getting for it “

“That's bleak,” he grumbles.

“It's better than the networks believing that bullshit,” you reply, as you pluck the red gems from his face. That makes him huff and a little smile form on his lips.

“You're good at this.”

“At what?” You ask as you set aside the jewelry on the table and grab the wet wipes.

“Defusing the situation, turning the negative into a positive,” he says. He keeps his eyes closed as you start to wipe away the makeup Minnie caked onto him, starting with his rouge.

“Is it a positive the news wants money instead of spewing hate?” You counter, a little bit of a tease in your voice. He reaches out and squeezes your knee and you can't help but smile. “Though, I guess it is better to be a capitalist than a Nazi.”

“That's the American way of thinking,” Matt jokes and you have to stop cleaning away the makeup so you can both laugh.

You fall back into silence as you start in on his eye shadow. He keeps his hand on your knee, slowly beginning to rub his thumb back and forth over your sweats. You can practically see the tension bleeding out of his shoulders and a bit of pride swirls in your chest. You feel guilty for turning on and listening to the news in the first place.

When it comes time for you to wipe away the stain on Matt's lips, you hesitate.

You've been trying to ignore the feelings that have been slowly growing inside you. You thought of them as weeds - byproducts of Matt being naturally charming and kind and the father of your child. You know you are attracted to him - you slept with him, after all - but emotionally?

You're terrified of that.

You're terrified of him not returning the feelings.

You're terrified you only see what he allows you to see, and when the facade drops, someone else will appear.

You're terrified of messing everything up - for yourself. For Minnie.

You don't want to think of your dreams, where you know it's him you are imagining. You don't want to think about how perfect it felt to be held by him and know you were safe. You don't want to think about how he still hasn't left you since you had to be taken to the hospital.

You can't fall down that rabbit hole. It's too much for you.

So, you try to rip away the things growing inside you before they bloom and push forward. You fold the wet wipe in half and begin to remove the last of the makeup. You don't rush, taking just as much care as you had getting rid of the blue sparkles.

“All done,” you say as you finish and pull away from him, turning purposefully so his hand slides off your leg. You pretend to not notice and focus on balling up the used wipes.

“Thank you,” he responds quietly, turning as well so he's facing the television once again. You fear things are going to dip into awkwardness, but Matt speaks again before you get to say something stupid. His words are soft and steady, but strike fear into your heart.

“There was something I wanted to talk with you about.”

You try to swallow down your anxiety and tell yourself that this isn't about your silly emotions - whatever Matt has to say must be regarding Minnie. It's the only thing that makes sense, so you come out a small “Yeah?”

“I wanted to talk to you about my mother.”

tag list:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @allllium

@anehkael @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

514 notes · View notes

foreingersgod · 5 days

Note

So so you wanted a small town reader request so I thought of this one. She she’s from a southern small town and plays basketball for the SEC team of her state, she really made a name for herself there, but wants to broaden her horizons so she enters the transfer portal and somehow ends up in Iowa where meet Kate who is OBSESSED with her southern accent. Then it’s just Kate trying to show her interest bc reader is totally oblivious until one of their teammates says something

Southern Charm . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: after transferring to iowa’s basketball team to broaden your horizons, you end up meeting someone who changes your life

A/N: i got a request to do another country fic like this one with kate, so expect one with ‘country kate’ here soon!

also, i’m not very proud of this one so i’m sorry if it’s genuinely shitty lol :’)

NOT PROOF READ

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

ever since you were little, maybe 7 or 8, you were fascinated with basketball. growing up in texas you were exposed to a large following of sports and hard core fans. your family was always repping the pro and college teams of your state with pride, attending several games throughout your childhood. basketball in particular held a special place in your heart. you remember watching the university of texas’ basketball games with your dad, absolutely enthralled by the game. it didn’t take long for your parents to get you involved in the sport. you played in small teams as a kid then on your schools girls basketball teams in middle and high school. and with a lot of hard work and determination, you got into the university of texas to play on their women’s team.

while playing for the university, you made quite the impression on basketball fans. you were quick, had unbelievable stats, and extremely adaptable. you were a pretty valuable player in most eyes. but after two years at the school, you started to feel restricted. there wasn’t a whole lot for you to improve on your skills so you made a drastic decision to enter the transfer portal.

it was an emotional decision. realizing you would be leaving teammates behind as well as your home state was hard, but you longed for something greater. not long after entering the portal, you had transferred to the university of Iowa. you were ecstatic despite having to move away. it was time to broaden your horizons and hopefully expand upon your skill set.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

you had arrived in iowa around a week ago and you were still adjusting. figuring out where all of the buildings were, where the dining halls were located, was a lot for you to handle. hell you could barely remember how to get to your dorm at this point.

you haven’t even met your new teammates, practices not starting up for a couple of days. the anticipation had you extremely nervous.

what if they didn’t like you?

what if they thought you sucked?

the days leading up to your first practice were consumed with these uncontrollable thoughts. but as you laced up your shoes and grabbed your duffel bag, heading out the door, you felt those nagging thoughts dissipate.

when you arrived for practice, opening the large metal doors to the gym, it almost felt like you were right back at home. you wandered over to where the team was warming up, hearing the squeak of the polished floors. quickly, looking up from her clipboard, bluder spotted you a few feet ahead. she met you on the sidelines to officially greet you for your first day.

“ah, YN!” she announced, grabbing the attention of the other girls “nice to see you again, glad you could join us. let’s get you introduced and settled in”

her smile was welcoming as she motioned for the girls to huddle up. everyone gathered around, you being the center of attention as you looked around awkwardly.

“team, i’m sure you’re all aware of our newest member, YN” lisa said “let’s be kind and supportive and help her get settled in on her first day alight?”

everyone nodded “great. YN, would you like to introduce yourself?”

you took a deep breathe as you studied their faces timidly, fidgeting with your fingers and trying to think of something to say.

“um, yea” you managed, hoping you sounded confident “i’m YN, i just transferred from the university of texas..and i’m-uh-really excited to get to know you guys”

the team offered their hello’s, walking up to you one by one to shake your hand politely and introduce themselves. they were all incredibly sweet right away, telling you you’d fit right in and complimenting your skills. you went down the line, excited to get acquitted with the team.

then, at the end of the line, stood kate martin. you had seen her play and you thought she was amazing so you were excited to finally meet her. she approached you with the most genuine smile, eyes lit with zeal.

“hey,” she spoke up, offering her hand to you “i’m kate, it’s nice to meet you YN”

you smiled back at her “it’s nice to meet you too! you’re a fantastic player, i’d be lyin’ if i said i hadn’t been excited to meet you!”

“i’m flattered, really, thank you” you could feel her hand linger on yours as she pulled away from the handshake “so texas, huh? i caught onto the accent!”

you both laughed “yea, i’m from a small town not too far from campus, so i got that signature dialect”

“i think it’s really cute,” she looked down, avoiding your gaze “think it suits you”

“thanks, kate” you blushed, smiling at her once more before bluder summoned everyone to resume warmups.

what a sweetheart.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

it had been quite sometime since you had finally settled into your new team. there was a lot of awkwardness and uncertainty, but you had started to feel like this is where you were meant to be. and like you had hoped, there was so much more room for you to improve rather than back in texas. you were playing amazing games, beating your own records and personal highs on a regular basis. going to iowa was truly the best thing for your career.

you had also grown really close to the girls since arriving. kate, especially, was like your best friend. she had always been so kind and sweet to you. at some point in your friendship, you started to develop a decent crush on the girl, but you had always assumed that she didn’t feel that way about you. so you stayed quiet as to not distrust your connection.

but recently, things have been a little off with kate. she often avoided you during practices and didn’t stay to say goodbye when you left. both things she did on a normal basis and now she just stopped doing it all together. she didn’t even bother to text you or ask about your day, nor did she laugh when you said things funny (she’s always giggled to herself when your accent was thick). you were beginning to wonder if you did something wrong.

it had been weeks of her dismissive behavior and you were starting to miss your best friend. your heart ached at the thought of her not liking you anymore. so you devised a plan to meet her during her extra early practice one morning and confront her, hoping to figure out why she wasn’t giving you the time of day.

it was about 7:00 in the morning, much too early for your liking. you’d never understood why kate, amongst others, wanted to be at practice an hour earlier. but you had managed to get out of bed at 6, suiting up and sneakily heading to the gym. you hoped you could catch her off guard, maybe surprise her so she’d have no choice but to deal with your confrontation head on. you were approaching the doors of the locker room, about to open the door, when you heard kate’s voice echo from inside. freezing in your spot, you shamefully eavesdropped to see what she was talking about.

“no! i’m not going to do that!” she exclaimed.

“why not?” you heard another voice, from the sounds of it, it must’ve been gabbie. “you’re like obsessed with her, just go for it!”

“i’m not obsessed, ok? there’s just something about YN that drives me crazy and i like her so so much, but i’m sure as hell not going say that right to her face!”

you went numb hearing your name fall from kate’s mouth. you tried to move closer to the door, wanting to hear what she was saying a little bit better, but you tripped over your own foot causing you to lunge forward. the doors to the locker on went flying open, your stiff figure busting through the entrance as you immediately gave yourself away.

you stood, completely unable to move as you looking up into the vastness of the locker room. sure enough, there were gabbie and kate, sitting in front of you. their eyes were wide seeing you burst through those doors, realizing they had just been caught talking about you. and it was no secret that you had heard almost everything they were saying.

“i’m so sorry!” you rambled an apology “i was just about to come and talk to kate, but then i heard my name, and i really didn’t mean to intrude like this i’m so embarrassed”

kate sat, also embarrassed as gabbie spoke up.

“i’m going to give you guys some privacy” she said “i think there’s a lot that kate needs to say”

and with that, she walked out of the locker room, leaving you and kate in awkward silence. you walked over to where she sat on the bench to take the seat next to her. she looked at you, hardly able to make eye contact.

“i’m sorry”

“for what?” you asked

“i shouldn’t have been talking about you behind your back. i had no idea you were gonna be here, not that that makes it ok-”

“kate, it’s ok” you placed a hand on her shoulder “i was here early cause i needed to talk to you, but i shouldn’t have stuck around to eaves drop”

“what did you need to talk to me about?”

you sighed, suddenly wishing you didn’t have to bring it up in the first place “it’s just that i’ve felt like you’ve been avoiding me and purposely not talking to me so i wanted to ask why…but i think i already kind of know why…”

“yea” she replied, voice cracking “you weren’t supposed to find out like that”

“if it’s any consolation…i feel the same way” you removed your hand from her shoulder, taking her hand in yours. gentle fingers ran over hers soothingly.

“you-you do?”

“mhm” you grinned “i’ve been too afraid to say anything cause i didn’t know if you felt the same and i didn’t want to ruin our friendship”

she didn’t say anything, just sat looking into your eyes. there were no tears, no anger in her eyes, just a certain longing that only you could recognize.

“i think im in love with you”

“you don’t have to say-”

“no i mean it” she continued “everything about you, from the moment i met you, i’ve been in love with. you’re perfect and funny and gentle, you have the cutest accent i’ve ever heard, and i don’t think i can handle being just friends”

“kate i think i’m in love with you too” happy tears welled in your eyes as you inched closer to her, feeling her breathe on your skin.

“can i kiss you?” she asked, but she didn’t even need to, you would’ve done it anyways.

“please”

and finally, your lips met in the most gentle yet passionate kiss. teeth clashing at the urgency of it, both of you so eager from waiting so long for this moment. you wished you could’ve stayed like that forever. nonetheless, she pulled away breathlessly, forehead resting against yours as you smiled at each other.

“it’s that southern charm” she joked, large hand resting against your cheek “you’re irresistible”

you laughed, pulling her into another kiss, trying to savor this moment for as long as you could.

#kate martin #kate martin x reader #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #foreingersgod

160 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 2: Choose Love Or Sympathy]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, extreme babygirl energy, violence, serious injury, Larys Strong, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), Crab Family lore.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "XO" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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

A moment of clarity, something he’s having more of lately: eyes glassy but open, voice husky, words slow. His vast bedchamber in the Red Keep always smells like honey and rose oil and the brackish golden air that blows in off the ocean. Sounds float weightlessly through the open windows like feathers on waves, music and shouts and creaking wagon wheels, gull cries and sails cracking in the wind. Late-morning daylight is an aisle across the stone floor, a river, a channel. Aegon’s bed has been moved away from the windows; when his wounds are uncovered, direct sunlight can ravage him in minutes, fresh blisters, thickening scars.

Aegon winces as you sit behind him and knead warm rose oil into his back and shoulders. His flesh is a grisly mosaic: pink and crimson and white, knots of burgeoning scar tissue, spots that are still raw and weeping. “It itches like hell, does that mean it’s infected?”

“That means it’s healing. Do you want more?” You mean the goblet of pearlescent milk of the poppy on his bedside table. It’s always there, and refilled frequently.

Aegon shakes his head, groggy, slumped, white-blond hair loose and disheveled. “I should probably be sentient on occasion. You haven’t been helping me piss into chamber pots or anything, have you?”

You smile. “No. You’ve got servants for that.” Although they report their findings to you; Maester Arthur of Claw Isle once taught you that organ failure is a common cause of death for burn victims, even if they survive the risks of shock and festering. All appears well enough on the outside, and then they start pissing blood or their skin goes yellow as their innards lose their secretive divine cadence, that vital rhythm, and then the poor soul is gone within days.

“Thank the gods,” Aegon says. “A speck of dignity remains. It’s tragic enough that I now closely resemble an overcooked meat pie.”

You chuckle as you massage rose oil into his wounds, keeping the scars moist and supple so they do not split open when he moves, so his joints are not locked in place. He will need them when he is out of bed again. He will need them if he truly is the king. “I don’t think you look that bad.”

“Because you’re used to sifting through guts and corpses all day. I’m an improvement. I’m only half dead.” And just weeks ago, he was pleading to be all the way dead. He glances back at you, brow knitted into thoughtful furrows; you can see it between the messy locks of hair that shag over his face. “What made you want to study something like this? It’s gruesome. It’s miserable, thankless work.”

“I was never good at anything,” you tell him. “My sisters were, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing, couldn’t embroider patterns unless they were humiliatingly simple, and even then I loathed it. My father grew so desperate he encouraged me to try archery with my brothers. I accidentally put an arrow in the foot of a squire and that was the end of my bowwoman career.”

Aegon laughs, then groans at the pain it causes him. He turns around so he can look at you, clumsily repositioning himself on the feather mattress, propping himself up on his palms. He squints down at his left hand where his ring should be: gold wings, jade eyes. You will have to remind Aemond to give it back to him. “I was never good at anything either.”

You can’t imagine that to be true, and yet it’s what you’ve always been told, that he was gifted at drinking and whoring and nothing else. You cannot reconcile those stories with the man in front of you. You keep trying, keep failing. You slather your palms in rose oil again the then begin massaging it into his chest. Aegon watches you with muzzy, drugged interest, eyes like cold ocean currents. “Then, five years ago, my brother…” You hesitate. A real name, an imagined one? You decide there is no harm in this small truth. Aegon will not remember the name of a younger son of a Crownlands house; he barely recalls the men of his own Kingsguard, who now spend their days trotting around the castle after Aemond. “My brother Everett was burned very badly, just like you were, although his wounds were mostly to his legs. And we all thought he would die. People advised us to show mercy by giving him enough milk of the poppy to kill him. They said it would be a sin to let him suffer so terribly. Yet our maester believed he could save him. My father and eldest brother had other responsibilities to attend to, and my mother and sisters could not bear the sight of Everett’s injuries. But I watched the way the maester worked on him, and I just…I thought it was the most captivating, beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The way a body can be taken apart or put back together like stones in a wall. Place one here, remove one there, and then like magic you’ve changed the course of someone’s life. Our maester taught me how to clean burns and change bandages, and when Everett was well again, he taught me about broken bones, fevers, childbirth, wolf bites, dry drowning. I read every book on the subject of healing in my father’s library. He kept having to order me more from the Citadel. I think I would have liked to be a maester myself, but…”

Aegon grins. “You have to go marry your mystery nobleman.”

“And women can’t be maesters.”

“They made me king of the Seven Kingdoms but you can’t be a maester? Fucking ridiculous.” He studies you as your fingers—tenderly, carefully—press rose oil into the red scar that creeps up over his right cheek. “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

He means your betrothed. Aegon keeps asking about him in his moments of lucidity. You quip: “I don’t want you to have him murdered.”

“That would solve your problem.”

“I preserve life, I don’t take it.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aegon says with a soft, tired smile. Very slowly, he reaches up with one hand to pat at his silvery hair. “Can you give me my braid back? It seems to have been washed out again.”

“Of course.”

“Why did you start doing that?”

What is the truth? Something you can’t tell Aegon. No matter how often I touch him, I want more. “It’s a war braid. You’re a warrior. You’ve earned it.”

“So I am good at something after all,” he murmurs. You rebandage Aegon’s wounds and help him lie back down again. You give him a sip of milk of the poppy, which by now is badly needed; Aegon’s face is sweated and pale and agonized. Then you clean the rose oil from your hands and begin weaving a small braid into his hair. He gazes vacantly towards the open window, bright warm light he cannot walk into. “I assume Aemond is…handling things.”

“Yes, he’s…” How will Aegon take this? Is it a relief, or a slight? There was a great ceremony. You did not attend; you were here tending to the Greens’ broken king. It’s where you spend most of your time. “He’s been made Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.”

Aegon nods, his expression unreadable. “How’s Sunfyre?”

“Still at Rook’s Rest and gaining strength. He was climbing the cliffs as of a few days ago. But I’ll ask Aemond when I see him today.”

Now Aegon smiles again. “Sunfyre is fierce. He is extraordinary.”

“You both are,” you say as you fashion his silver braid; and Aegon stares as if he couldn’t have heard you correctly.

Her steps are so light that at first you aren’t aware she’s entered the room. You see her out of the corner of your eye and immediately stand, moving away from the bed, from Aegon. You feel strange touching him this way—unnecessarily, self-indulgently, greedily—in her presence. She is his wife, after all.

“Your Grace,” you greet Helaena, bowing. She does not look at you. She looks vaguely in Aegon’s direction instead. She is wearing a turquoise blue dress and her long hair pulled back from her face. The servants have dressed her, or Alicent; she cannot do it herself anymore. In her hands she holds a large glass jar of sticks and leaves.

“Hello, Helaena,” Aegon says, more like a sigh than a welcome.

She scurries towards him and sets the jar down on his bedside table with a clunk, right next to the goblet of milk of the poppy and a number of other drinks, things you ply Aegon with to keep him hydrated. Then Helaena speaks, her eyes on the contents of the jar. There is something else in there, you see now: a fat wriggling green creature, a caterpillar inching along the length of an upright stick. "For you."

“It’s very nice,” Aegon tells her, in a tone like a parent losing patience with their child.

“It takes nourishment and then rests,” Helaena says. “It is wrapped in a cocoon and stays there for a long while. But when it emerges, it is not just well again. It is greater than it was before. And it can fly.”

“Oh, I understand now.” Aegon makes no attempt to touch her—not even her hand, not even for a moment—but his words are kinder. “I am the worm. Thank you, Helaena. This comforts me.”

She is satisfied. She turns to leave.

“Your Grace,” you begin, and hold out your hands to her. She does not take them. She does not meet your eyes; she stares instead into the golden luminescence of the open window behind you. You can hear crashing waves and the screeches of swooping gulls. “I wanted to express…I cannot even begin to tell you…I am so, so sorry for your suffering—”

She spins away from you and sweeps out of the bedchamber. You are left looking at the empty place where she stood, heartsick and sorry. What did I do wrong? What should I have said?

Aegon offers you an apologetic smirk, but his eyes are sad. “It’s not personal. She doesn’t really like touching anybody.” This is an irony, and one that must read on your face. A king and queen—by definition, by necessity—do an inordinate amount of touching. He invades, she endures, they knit heirs together out of threads of blood and sweat. “What we have between us, it’s not…romantic. It never was.”

This is not something he should be telling you. It is not a jest but a spilling of deep, sacred truths. “I didn’t ask.”

“No. But you were wondering.”

You were. You return to the bed and sit down beside Aegon, finishing his braid. You choose your words precisely before you speak. “I don’t believe I have a right to know certain things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you’re thinking.”

“Then let me unburden myself so there is no confusion,” Aegon insists, drowsy but fighting sleep. “There was no joy in it for me or Helaena. I tried to make it as quick and painless as I could, but still, her disdain for the task was obvious. It happened just often enough to conceive the children. And we haven’t even tried in months, not since…” He doesn’t need to say it. Everyone knows, Greens and Blacks alike. A son for a son. The murder of Jaehaerys, six years old and utterly powerless, in exchange for Aemond slaying Luke.

Do you think such a thing was just? No, of course not, how could anyone? Very few things that happen in this world are just. They come with passionate defenses but no mercy, no vision for a less violent future. The wheel goes around and around, and everyone takes their turn being crushed. “Aegon, I’m so sorry,” you tell him softly.

He shakes his head. He will not discuss it. Aegon’s remaining children, Jaehaera and Maelor, do not ask about him; on the rare occasion that Alicent brings them to his bedchamber, they do not seem to know who he is. In fairness, Aegon does not seem to know them either; he regards them with a dull sort of bewilderment, like one might peer down at a page written in a foreign language. In the hallways of the Red Keep, the children clutch at Alicent and Otto, and sometimes Aemond will take a few minutes to play with them, stacking wooden blocks or arranging cloth dolls in a miniature castle. But if ‘mother’ and ‘father’ are words the children know, you’ve never heard them spoken aloud. “Can I have some wine, please?”

“Did you finish your goat milk?”

“Resentfully.”

“Then yes. I’ll get it for you.” You pour Aegon a cup of red wine and then tilt it against his lips. He slurps the cup dry before his eyes dip closed. You set the empty cup on the bedside table, feel his forehead for fever—longer than you need to—and then rise to leave him. You are almost to the door when you hear him say: “Thank you for changing my mind.”

You turn back to Aegon, puzzled. “About what?”

“About wanting to be dead.” He grins and waves, a weak miniscule motion of his left hand. “Come back soon, angel.”

“I will,” you promise.

And only then does he surrender to blessedly numb unconsciousness, the only place in the world that doesn’t hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

You find Aemond in his own rooms. He is sitting in front of the large circular mirror on his vanity. His hair is long and straight and painstakingly neat, his tunic made of black leather. He is wearing the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Rubies fracture the sunlight and scatter it against the walls; Valyrian steel glints.

Aemond marvels, knowing that you’re here: “It looks better on me than it ever did on him.”

“I need more rose oil.”

In the mirror’s reflection, his lone blue eye darts to you. “You always ask so politely.”

“I didn’t want to waste your valuable time. I can be more loquacious, if you prefer.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He stands, taking off the crown and placing it—gingerly, with both hands—on his vanity. “I’ll see that you have everything you require.”

“I am eternally appreciative.”

Then he does something that he thinks is amusing, a little joke you share. He grabs for your arm and you yank it away just before his fingers can close around your wrist. This makes him smile; it’s one of the only things that does. “Now follow me,” he orders, striding past you and through the doorway.

You hurry after Aemond, dashing through corridors and archways. You know where he is going; this has happened before. As you ascend a staircase, Alicent is leading Jaehaera and Maelor down to the gardens. She has one tiny hand gripped in each of hers; the hem of her emerald green dress drags on the stone steps. She keeps losing weight. You stop to scoop Maelor up and hug him—he giggles, squeezing at your cheeks as you smack kisses onto his face—and then turn your attention to Jaehaera. She has just learned the rules of curtsying and loves to practice. You bow to her, and then she does the same to you, and while her head is bent low you ruffle her silvery hair until it is in hopeless disarray and Jaehaera is laughing hysterically. Then you kneel down so she can sabotage your hair however she sees fit. She pulls strands out of your sensible low bun until you give up and shake it all loose. Alicent—large dark eyes, demurely veiled auburn hair, somber and suffering—gives you a grave, grateful smile. Aemond has waited at the apex of the stairs for you. When you rejoin him he continues onward to the council chamber.

Inside men are taking their seats and already beginning to quarrel: Criston Cole, Otto Hightower, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, the knights of the Kingsguard. Sir Rickard Thorne pays no attention to you. Aemond once mentioned off-handedly: ‘Sir Rickard, I believe our healer is a distant relation of yours.’ The knight had glanced at you and produced some noncommittal reply, oh, indeed, sure, is that so. You had met before, you realized when you saw his face, years ago, at some event that brought together the houses of the Crownlands, a wedding or a funeral or a feast. He has a hazy recollection of you, but he cannot pin it down; he spent the evening with boisterous young men like your eldest brother Clement, while you had spent it with other noblewomen. Sir Rickard’s mother or sisters could probably identify you as a Celtigar. To Rickard himself, you can masquerade as some unimportant cousin he is ashamed to have forgotten. You assume your usual place in the council chamber: standing in a corner, trying not to be noticed, only there in case specific questions involving Aegon’s medical treatment arise.

“Is he dying?” Otto asks Aemond. “He must be. He has no interest in whores.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow at you. “Actually, I’ve been informed he is improving.”

Maester Orwyle beams at you. Upon your arrival in King’s Landing, he had confirmed to Aemond and Criston what you already knew: that while the Citadel’s guidance several decades ago was indeed pork lard or cow dung to treat burns, now there is a growing consensus that vinegar, honey, and oil for scar tissue are the best available remedies. You nod back. You are natural allies; the Greens’ king is under your joint care. You both have much to lose if he dies.

Now Otto Hightower addresses you. He is a stern, weathered, shrewd man. He reminds you of your father, though far more humorless. “When will he be able to fight again?”

“Fight?” you echo, stunned. “In battle? Months at least, my lord. Perhaps a year.”

“A year!” Otto bellows, then turns his wrath on Criston and Aemond. “I told you, I told you! I urged him to exercise caution, over and over again I warned him of the danger, and while I was penning letters to every possible ally you were pouring poison into his ears, convincing him that I wasn’t doing enough. Now look at him! Look at this goddamn fucking mess!”

“How fares the dragon?” Tyland Lannister says.

“I received a raven from Rook’s Rest today,” Aemond replies. “Sunfyre is eating well and ambulatory.”

“Useless,” Otto hisses. “Can’t fly. Can’t be moved. A waste of the livestock he’s being fed.”

“We may yet find a purpose for him,” Aemond says.

“Two dragons!” Otto explodes. “Can you count them?! We have two dragons capable of combat, and one of them is ridden by a fifteen-year-old. The Blacks still have Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, Tyraxes, and Moondancer. And gods help us if they find someone to ride any of the other unclaimed beasts on Dragonstone. Seasmoke, Vermithor, Silverwing, Grey Ghost, the Cannibal…”

“I hope they try to tame the Cannibal,” Criston mutters. “If we’re lucky, he’ll eat them all.”

“My lord,” Larys Strong says to Otto, clutching his cane; he has a habit of lacing his fingers overtop the handle and resting his chin on them. Larys is a watchful, quiet man who speaks rarely yet with great consequence. He is the Master of Whisperers, he is the Lord of Harrenhal, and aside from that he is an enigma to you. “I hate to be the bearer of unfortunate tidings, however I must speak plainly. I have just obtained reports that the Blacks are pursuing precisely the course of action that you fear. Jacaerys Velaryon is offering land and knighthood to any man who can mount a dragon and join their cause. The realm is littered with Targaryen bastards, I’m certain it is only a matter of time until they find at least a few candidates suited to the task.”

Otto slams his fist down on the table. You startle at the noise; Aemond glances over at you. “No king. No Sunfyre. Dreamfyre in the Dragonpit, who Helaena cannot fly into battle. A fucking disaster.”

“We have Vhagar,” Aemond says confidently.

“She is worth two full-grown dragons,” Otto pitches back. “Not four or five.”

“Daemon is the real threat. If I can eliminate him, the war is over.”

“Daeron should be prepared for combat,” Jasper Wylde says. “He is travelling with Lord Ormund Hightower’s army in the Reach, but he can easily be called back to King’s Landing. He could assist Prince Aemond in his pursuit of Daemon and Caraxes.”

“I don’t need his help,” Aemond replies darkly.

“Then perhaps he could safeguard the city once you’ve gone.”

“We cannot sacrifice military strategy on the altar of personal vendettas,” Criston says. “Dragons are best used on the battlefield against soldiers and castles, not on meandering quests to find one lone enemy, that’s a needle in a haystack, it’s a misallocation of precious resources.”

Aemond counters: “But if I can kill Daemon, nothing else matters—”

“It does matter, Aemond!” Criston roars. “I matter, the armies matter, winning the confidence of the houses you hope to rule matters!”

“How is Corlys Velaryon handling all of this?” Otto asks Larys. “The defeat at Rook’s Rest, the death of his wife?”

Larys answers: “He blames Rhaenyra for the losses. He has taken it badly. It is my understanding that he intended to withdraw his support from the Blacks, and was brought back only by Jacaerys giving him the title of Hand of the Queen. I am under the impression that Corlys may be willing to reconsider his allegiance if the circumstances were right—”

There is a knock at the council chamber door, not a knock but a pounding, not a pounding but a frantic drumming like the marching of soldiers’ boots. Sir Criston Cole unlocks and opens the door. Alicent stands there with her face flushed and shiny with tears. Instantly, Criston is at her side asking what is wrong, one hand resting protectively her shoulder, the other on the hilt of the sword he wears everywhere he goes.

“Come quickly,” Alicent begs you, only you. “Please. It’s Aegon.”

You race with her to Aegon’s bedchamber, hearing the screams long before you reach him. This doesn’t make sense; he shouldn’t be in pain this severe, not yet, not for hours. You are aware that there are footsteps thundering behind you, Aemond and Criston rushing to see if the king really is dying this time. In his bed, Aegon thrashes and moans. He needs to stop moving so violently; he will split his scar tissue like burst seams. Already you can see blooms of crimson appearing on his bandages where the wounds beneath have reopened: his neck, his waist, his ribcage. He is out of his mind. He is destroying himself.

He is shouting for Sunfyre, for Aemond, for Criston. He is back at Rook’s Rest being roasted alive in his own armor. Not dying, then; just having a nightmare. You kneel at his bedside and smooth his hair back, his braid threading through your fingers, and whisper to him that it’s alright, that he’s safe, that he needs to wake up now. Alicent is weeping, both hands covering her mouth. Aemond and Criston are watching you, mesmerized, transfixed.

Aegon’s oceanic eyes fly open, wide and panicked. “Where am I?”

And you smile down at him, your palm cradling his unburned left cheek. “The end of the world.”

He blinks. He remembers. His lips stretch into a grin. “There you are,” he tells you, voice gravelly and low. “I dreamed everyone was gone and you were too.”

“I’m here.”

“You aren’t in a hurry to abandon me for your burly betrothed?”

Cregan Stark must think I’m dead. “No, Aegon.”

“You can’t leave without telling me.”

Everett, Clement, my father, my mother, Piper, Petra, Penelope, they must all think I was burned to ash on the battlefield or murdered and tossed into the sea. “I know. I won’t.”

“You can’t leave,” he says again, a half-awake whimper as he sinks back into unconsciousness. You give him more milk of the poppy, enough to make his sleep deep and black and dreamless.

You reclean and rebandage Aegon’s wounds. It takes hours. Aemond fetches Maester Orwyle to assist you. Criston comforts Alicent, wanting to do and say far more than he can. When it is done, only Alicent remains in the bedchamber with you. She visits Aegon frequently, but she does not know how to speak to him; she always stands there clasping her own hands together, praying and stalling, desperate to show him love and yet incapable of it.

“Thank you for what you’ve done for him,” Alicent says, tears glistening in her umber eyes. “Not just the hours, not just the medicine. For everything that you’ve done.” And she embraces you, and when she does you hold her like she wishes her own daughter could.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night you see it repeating like a chorus of a song in the shadows that crawl across the ceiling: one year ago, stray snowflakes in your hair, stars in a black sky and air like metal.

The Celtigar fortune is older than the Targaryens’ conquering of Westeros, older than the Doom of Valyria. Where did the money come from? Friends of the Celtigars would say distinctively cunning maritime trade; their enemies would say piracy. Perhaps the two are not always so different. Is there any mechanism of accumulating great wealth that does not involve stealing in one form or another, of wringing out some other soul like a wet cloth until every drop of them disappears down your throat? Your ancestors did not tame dragons, but they had a different sort of gift: for every coin, they could find a way to make two or six or ten. Repeat that process for centuries and there are vaults filled to the ceiling with gold coins like pieces of the midday sun.

When Daenys the Dreamer had a vision of the Doom over a decade before it left Valyria a smoldering, fragmented wasteland haunted by demons and plague, only three Valyrian houses heeded the warning. Her own family, the Targaryens, relocated to Dragonstone. The Velaryons, having already long occupied Driftmark, resolved to stay there. And the Celtigars—merchants to some, pirates to others—crossed the Narrow Sea to settled on Claw Isle.

Crispian Celtigar served as Master of Coin to Aegon the Conqueror. Alton Celtigar was his Hand of the King. Edwell Celtigar was chosen to be Hand of the King to Maegor I, and later Master of Coin to Jaehaerys I during his minority. The Celtigars have never been far from the Iron Throne…though perhaps none were ever as close as you are now.

One year ago, your father embarked upon a trade mission to White Harbor. Never a man to squander an opportunity for new business, he added stops in Oldcastle, Cerwyn, and Winterfell, and brought along his four maiden daughters to stoke the desires of Northerner lords. Piper fancied a son of Lord Manderly, Petra caught the attention of a Cerwyn boy. But no offer was advantageous enough for Bartimos Celtigar’s liking; no deal could be struck.

In Winterfell, Lord Cregan Stark was already married. His wife, a childhood friend before she was a bedmate, trudged around the castle heavily pregnant and dragging layer upon layer of furs to guard her against the cold, often biting even in summer. Lord Cregan took little notice of your giggling, gossiping sisters, and even less of you…until his sparring partner broke his arm in the castle courtyard. As the other women fled with nauseated faces back to their needlework, you asked Winterfell’s maester if you could watch how he set the fracture and managed the man’s pain. The maester was delighted—Northerners, as a rule, lack intellectual curiosity—and even allowed you to help bandage the wound once the split bone had been popped back into place. And it was only then, as you knelt there with your forehead creased with determination and blood coating your hands to the knuckles, that Lord Cregan Stark began to see you.

You have a fear of marriage, not a general aversion but a specific and powerful dread. When you were fourteen, you asked your mother if she enjoyed lying with her husband, and you had known as soon as she spoke with a careful sort of reticence—‘I enjoy feeling close to him, I suppose’—that the answer was no. When you were sixteen and your cousin Theodora married into House Bar Emmon, you went with the other noblewomen to inspect her bedsheets the next morning, and were horrified by how they chuckled at the large rust-like stain and recalled their own initiations into sex, this unavoidable rite of passage, this ultimate surrender. At breakfast, the men toasted wine and hooted and sang, while Theodora stared down with glazed eyes at her untouched bacon and duck eggs and said when Piper asked how the night went: ‘He wanted me three times. Is there anything I can do to make him stop?’ And you had thought: Aren’t unions like this supposed to be holy? What the hell do the gods have to do with it? Are they in the sweat, in the bleak resignation, in the linen of the sheets? Do they fill the man with blind lust like an animal’s, do they help hold the woman down?

Your eyes close as you lie in bed in the Red Keep, your room adjoining Aegon’s, and suddenly you are back in Winterfell again. You are making notes as the maester shows you the herbs growing in the Glass Gardens when Cregan finds you. He is tall and broad, made more so by the furs that engulf him like mist drapes the stony cliffs of Claw Isle. His voice is booming, thunderous, cataclysmically formidable. He is used to being listened to. He has never been expected to sit quietly as other men charted out his life like the route of a trade ship: here you will go, here you will be emptied of every scrap of value. He says he will give you a tour of the Library Tower. It is not an invitation; an invitation can be declined.

You walk together through the Godswood—dark water, blackberry bushes, crows squawking, gods you do not believe in—and Cregan tells you fond memories of his childhood. He likes hunting and archery. He spars in the courtyard for hours each day. He never stays still, he never goes quiet. He wants to know where you learned to marvel at the ghastly art of piecing broken bodies back together again. He wants to know why you are so different from other women. And he inquires with great fascination about the legendary treasures of your house, not just gold but rubies, jeweled cups, Myrish carpets and Volantene glass, a horn said to summon krakens from the sea, an axe made of Valyrian steel.

Winterfell’s library is sparse and dusty, cobwebs in shadowy alcoves. Cregan Stark thinks you will not notice. As he slips books about anatomy and herbology off the shelves to show you, you cannot help studying his hands, large and calloused and always stained with black patches of ink or soil or soot. They make yours look tiny and defenseless, skin of silk and bones like glass. You picture him claiming you, owning you, climbing into the marital bed knowing that you cannot refuse anything he asks for. You envision him forcing your thighs apart with those huge filthy hands, leaving smudges like ash. You imagine him tearing his way into a part of you that feels so small, so vulnerable; you imagine the suffocating burden of his interminable weight.

A moment of clarity, in the library beathing dust and Cregan’s scent, a woodsmoke musk, a wolflike wildness: I don’t know this man. I don’t trust this man. I’m glad he’s not free to marry me.

This was before the war began, before Cregan’s wife Arra Norrey died birthing their son Rickon, before Jace Velaryon arrived in Winterfell to forge the Pact of Ice and Fire. And when Cregan agreed to support Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne, and Jace pledged to marry his firstborn daughter to Rickon, the Warden of the North decided there was one last thing he wanted inked into the covenant. He wanted an ally in the South, bottomless wealth, his future children to have Valyrian ancestry. He wanted a woman with vigilant, unflinching eyes and blood on her hands.

He wanted you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #hotd fanfic

440 notes · View notes

cozygold · 2 months

Text

Mystery of Lilia's ring

Pt.I Pt.II

Lilia x reader

Warnings: angst/fluff, fem reader, general Lilia, possible spoilers for book 7, young Lilia and Sebek clutching their pearls because woman

Intro: Lilia wears a wedding ring under his gloves. However when asked he doges the question or makes up some silly excuse

Malleus is aware that he had wife. Lilia confirmed it a while ago but did not elborate further

It was only during the Malleus overblot incident that Diasnomia family found out about her and who she was

Tags: @koneko-dreams

"Hey! Rehabilitanion is necessery if you want to be able to move that leg not just drag it around"

(it takes place after Malleus have put everyone to sleep Silver/Sebek/Yuu watch Lilia dream play in front of them like movie)

"AUGH! HUMAN! I'm starting to doubt your validity as medic and suspecting you to be a professional torturer!"

Its been 2 months since Lilia was saved by a strange human. After agreeing to cooprate more his condition was quickly improving.

Most of the injuries healed however more serious ones still needed to be checked once a few days

(y/n) worked hard to help him recover feeling the pressure of time on her shoulders. It was only a matter of time as his soldiers come looking for him

Being gone for so long and finding him with a human will only cause trouble. They both knew that

"We have to get that leg moving"

"Aren't you doing that already?"

"Well, kind of. Its more of a warm up for you to stand on your own"

(y/n) backed away from the bed, examing him for a minute. She reached out her hands towards him

"Take my hand, try to stand up"

His eyes drifted between her and her palm, scowl making its way on his face. He ignored her hand, pushing himself of the bed with his own strenght

"I don't need your assistance with something as trivial as-"

His sentance was cut short when his legs gave up under his weight

"Lilia!"

(y/n) jumped forward, catching him in her arms

"I thought we went over this already! Quit-. Wait you're actually pretty light. That's great news! That armour of your made you waaay heavier!"

She rambled on as if unaware of the situation. Lilia was the opposite. His face was red, his pride hurt and head snuggled against human's chest

He sat there frozen. This warmth was comforting. He could stay here a bit-... No. What the hell is thinking! As if burned he tried to wiggle away from her grasp

"Unhand me, human temptress! What are trying to do?"

"Temptress? Well i'm flattered but you're the one who's fallen into my arms because of your arrogance. If you listined for once we wouldnt be in this situation in the first place"

Suddenly (y/n) felt a light bub light up over her head

"Lilia! If we're already in this position lets take advantage of it!"

She grabbed his hands placing them on her waist. The bat fae gave her look of utter shock and mild disgust

"I knew it! Shameless woman! Let go!"

"You're the one making this weird. I was just about to suggest a dance"

"A dance? Why-"

"Oh just let me finish. It clear that you're unable to stand alone. During the dance you can hold onto me while i guide you through the steps.

I will need you try to keep up with the rythm the best you can. This way i can monitor how well you're able to move"

Lilia hesitated. Dancing is something intimate to bat fae but she probably didn't mean anything by it. His recovery was going smoothly thanks to her care. There should be no harm to just go play along with it, right?

"...Fine"

"Great! Hold on me tight and follow my steps"

He gripped her waist tighter while she held his shoulders. She started softly singing to give him some music to dance to

There's a fire in my brain, and I'm burning up

Oh my, oh my

Keep running for the sink, but the well is dry

Oh my, oh my

Meanwhile Sebek, Silver and Yuu observing the dream

"I know this song! I think i caught father singing it a few times but he stopped as soon as he saw me"

"I heard Lilia singing it too while he walked around Ramshackle. It was a first time i saw him so...sad"

Silver and Yuu train of thoughts was broken by Sebek

"Master Lilia was right! What this woman is doing is completly inappropriate! Does she even know what action mean to bat fae?"

"She mentioned it was her first time treating a fae so she's probably not very in touch with their culture"

"Huh? What are you guys talking about"

Right. Yuu's a human too. They probably don't know the implications either

"For bat fae dancing and singing is a courting ritual. Father accpeting the dance offer pretty much agreed to be courted"

Yuu stared a them with wide eyes

"Hah! This human should feel honored"

Back to the dream

Its month of (y/n)s and Lilias daily dance sessions. The fae was now able to walk properly and felt as good as new. (Y/n) was amazed at his quick recovery, finally deciding to "discharge" him

And today was the day he finally left the cottage. He watched as (y/n) ran around the house like a chicken with its head cut off, gathering all the things she was going to give him on his trip back to the castle

"Here's your medicine! Remember to take it 2 times a day! Before breakfest and after dinner! If you fell like your leg is acting there's some pain meds in this pouch"

"(y/n)..."

"There's some food i prepared for journey. I made sure that it won't spoil for a long while. However just in case-"

"Oi, (y/n)!"

"Your clothes, spare bandages are in the green bag! You should be able to attach this water bottle to your belt but if you lose it there-"

Lilia grabbed her shoulder cutting her off and making her look at him in suprise. It was a first time he initiated any touch

"Did you just call me by my actual name?"

Lilia sighed ignoring her question

"I will be okay. Don't worry i will make sure your afforts won't be wasted"

(y/n) took a deep breath calming her rapid heartbeat

"Okay. Just remember. If you ever need a check up, you can count one me. I will try to fix this cottage up so you'll know where to find me"

She smiled walking him to the front door. It was dark outside. Lilia insisted that on going out late at night to decrease the risk of running into humans

"Human"

He turned his head towards you

"Despite my mistrust, i am indebted to you. If you need any favors just ask"

(y/n) huffed

"I already explained that i'm just doing my duty. I don't have anything to ask of you"

"I insist"

"But-"

"I insist"

"Ugh-fine then!"

Her cheeks flushed red while she thought about the right words to use for the request

"C-can we spend some time together sometimes? Not like patient and a doctor anymore but like....friends?"

Lilia looked at her with wide eyes. This was the last thing he was expecting. Human asking a fae war general to be their friend? To think he live enough to hear such a thing

He burst out laughing

Its been years since he laughted so genuinely. This preposterous request and this whole situation now looked like big joke

"REALLY?! When i tell you what i want you just laugh at me?! You know what forg-"

"Fine"

"Huh"

"I will see you again, human. You're amusing and proven to pose no threat"

Lilia leaned closer to her face, smirking

"Make sure to keep yourself alive untill i come back"

Another month gone by

(y/n) spent it travelling around possible battle scenes, looking for any victims that might need assistance.

She tried to fix up the cottage as well as she could with her limited recources. It still looked ran down but at least it wasn't leaking anymore. And it actually sheilded her from wind. Mostly

It was a peacefull spring evening. Its a busy season for her. Many herbs bloom and grow only during that time

She spent her whole day roaming around the forest gathering them. The sun slowly dissapearing behind horizon, its rays coating the forest in warm glow

As beautiful as it was she knew that she has to hurry home. During the night time fae were the most active

She heard rustling of bushes behind her. A shiver went up her spine. She slowly turned around

There was nothing there

She let out a nervous giggle

"Haha, i'm must be getting paranoid"

"Good evening, human"

A voice spoke next to her. She let out a yelp and jumped back. Just about when she was about to throw a rock at the offender she reconized the pair of familiar red eyes

Now hanging upside down from the tree

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?! I WAS ABOUT TO BASH YOUR BRAINS IN WITH THAT ROCK?!"

"That pebble and your twig arms would have done nothing to me"

"Why you-"

She was about to berate him futher before she noticed. His legs were hooked around the branch

"For you to hang like this... It means your leg is doing great"

"Of course it is. I'm not as weak as your mortal brethren"

"Same as always, i see. I'm glad to have you kept your word. Come on, come on! I will brew us something delicous and nutritious"

As soon as they reached the house (y/n) got to work. Lilia shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know the exact reason but he felt nervous. Its been a while since he just hanged out with someone outside his work

"I-its umm. Looks like you did some renovations. I don't feel as much wind on my back as i used when i first stayed here"

"I'm glad you noticed! I was tired of being woken up by droplets of water dripping on my forhead. But its still not completly cold or wind proofed. I'm lucky its spring otherwise i would be freezing to death here"

She giggled making a joke of situation. Do all humans treat their fragility with such humor. For some reason he didnt find it as funny as she did.

"We talked enough about me when we met. What about you Lilia? How have you been doing?"

"The queen seemed to buy my lie about escaping after being caught by a opposing army. There should not be any more issues"

"That's great! What about the Maleanora? You seemed worried about her"

Lilia crossed his arms leaning against the chair

"I was. She is reckless and has quite the temper. I know she can handle herself very well but at the time you found me, she was carring her egg"

"Egg?"

The bat groaned, annoyed at her ignorance

"How you can stay so deep in Briar Valley's territory, yet know nothing about the royal family?"

She shrugged

"I try to keep a low profile. Information about Draconias is of no use for me"

"Let me help you be a little less ignorant then. The draconias are dragon faes meaning they hatch from eggs. The Princess recently had hers"

"Oh that wonderful news for the faes right? Their royal family is going to have heir"

"It may be but that's also more work for me. The Princess is easier to anger than ever"

She giggled, stirring the stew boiling in the pot

"Are you prehaps not good with dealing with woman? This way you're going stay unwed forever"

"I was not planing on having a family anyways. I'm way to busy and find children crying unbearable"

"Haha, i'm not the least suprised you feel that way"

"What about you? Are you not afraid that you're going to rot into forest moss before you find someone you can marry? You seem to hardly ever leave this forest"

"Hey! I found you so theres still hope right?"

Lilia felt his cheeks burn, he quickly avoided her gaze

"Me? As if! Fae and human marriage will never be officiated"

"I just meant that if i found you in this forest, it means there's a chance i can find another. You're interpreting my words wrong~"

She took up the opportunity to tease him. Enjoying the sight of scary general stumbling on his words

"You're the one making everything suggestive! I swear you play innocent but its all on purpose!"

"Oh the food is done"

Her attention shifted the stew. She took a big spoon, pouring them both a portion.

"Eat up~"

" ... thank you"

Lilia mubled and took a sip of stew. Taste of fresh mushrooms, potatoes and meat floading his mouth. Human cooking was diffrent from faes.

But it wasn't bad. Comforting. Not just the food but her presence. As much as he hated to admit it, she completly made him lower his guard

He felt like shedding his armor to bask in her presence like a cat in the sun. He knew its all temporary. The longer he will stay the more anguish it will bring him in the future

He knows it

He should turn back while he still can. Run away before the flame envelops him completly

But he didnt

#Spotify #twisted wonderland #twst lilia #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia imagines #lilia x reader #lilia headcanons #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader

168 notes · View notes

urbancripple · 9 months

Text

To able‐bodied people, wheelchair users have a certain mystique. They’re constantly asking us about how our bodies do or don’t work, whether we can have sex, why we haven't just killed ourselves yet. But despite their intrusive questioning, there is one area that ableds seem to be absolutely certain about: the existence of ultra‐convenient readily‐available accessibility modifications and mobility aids.

As wheelchair users, how many times have we been told to “put some chains on that thing!” As we struggle through the snow? How often is it suggested that we get a hand‐bike so that we can cycle to work like our coworkers? If I had a nickel for every time someone suggested I attach some tried‐and‐true motor to my chair, I’d have enough money to pay someone to invent it.

People are constantly sending me links to articles and videos to supposed life‐changing mobility aids that can climb stairs or move over rough terrain. They tell me that things can’t be that difficult with a constant stream of new, convenient doo‐dads being put out in the world. Hell, when discussing how difficult it is to find a single‐story home in Seattle (existing or custom), the suggestion was made that I simply build a multi‐story home but also put an elevator in.

Here’s the thing though: has anyone, wheelchair‐user or otherwise, actually seen any of these so‐called solutions in person? The stair‐climbing wheelchair? The magical snow tires? The super fast motor? I haven’t. As for the elevators and hand bikes, I can count the number I’ve seen on one hand and I’d need way more fingers and toes to show you the price tag.

Despite their near non‐existence or insurmountable financial cost, people keep telling me I just need to “get me one of those…” and continue to cast my existence and the problems that come with it in a mythical light.

An elevator for your house starts at around six‐thousand dollars. If you want one that doesn’t look like the rickety stair‐lift at your local Eagle’s Club, it’ll cost you upwards of sixty‐thousand.

The price of an average, entry‐level bike is four‐hundred bucks. If you want an accessible hand bike, you’re going to start around a grand.

Custom wheelchair tires can vary anywhere from two to five thousand, often times costing more than the chair they’re attached to.

That stair climbing chair? Eleven grand. Want something that’s a little more “every day”? That’ll cost you seventeen grand. Just need a motor for your day chair? Six grand and it weighs fifteen pounds.

Now, some folks might be thinking “sure, it’s expensive now, but the price will come down as technology improves and more people buy these devices”. But with an employment rate of roughly 7 percent (before COVID) and rules governing the amount of money disabled people on SSI can have in the bank (no more than two-thousand dollars), most wheelchair users can’t even save up to buy one of these devices. And no, insurance won’t cover any it.

A lack of accessibility is not something we can just “tech” our way out of and disabled people should not expected to purchase access to a world that everyone else gets for free. Talking about mobility aids you’ve never used or seen when someone is trying to explain to you the barriers they face in their day to day life due to a lack of accessibility isn’t helpful, it’s dismissive. Quit doing it.

#disability

515 notes · View notes

buckrecs · 1 year

Text

2023 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 1

masterlist | ✨- fav fics | status - complete

All of them are COMPLETE Series.

1. hurts like hell by @extremelyblackandwhite

Bucky x Maximoff!Reader

she loses him at the battle of wakanda and grows into a morally grey witch trying to gain him back.

2. Broken by @soulgazingwithbucky

Bucky x Reader

You built the bridge between you and Bucky Barnes, but he only knows how to watch things burn.

3. Blood Petals by @picassho-18

Mob!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

When the famous death hungry assassin, the Blood Mistress, and the charismatic mob boss of Brooklyn city, James Barnes meet, heads will most definitely roll.

4. It’s A Match by @ofstarsandvibranium

Chubby!Bucky x Reader

You’re back home for Spring Break and you’re swiping through Tinder in the middle of the night. You come across the profile of your high school history teacher that you may or may not have had a slight crush on. Throwing impulse control out the window, you swipe right. Lo and behold, you’re shocked to find that you matched.

5. Ruin by @sinner-as-saint

Mob!Bucky x Reader

You work at a café owned by your family, close to your uni. And most of your days are pretty laid back and calm, but that is until you catch the eye of the mob boss. Your cute skirts and soft sweaters make him weak. Your innocence captivates him. And he wants you, badly. He wants you in his bed, wants his hand under those cute little skirts… he wants to ruin you.

6. A Taste for Older Men by @seventven

DBF!Bucky x Reader

y/n is moving back in with her parents after breaking up with her college boyfriend. due to an emergency at work, y/n’s dad is unable to pick her up and sends his friend bucky in his stead. to bucky’s surprise, y/n is no longer the innocent girl he remembers from years back.

7. Always by @jadedvibes

Best Friend!Bucky x Reader

Bucky realizes he's in love with you right before graduation, but you accepted a job offer across the country. Fortunately, nothing, not even distance can hinder the way you feel about one another.

8. Running From the Past by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

Bucky x Mutant!Reader

Reader is a mutant who was experimented on by HYDRA. Due to her unique powers, she escapes without being seen when the Avengers attack the Hydra compound she’s been kept in for the last 5 years of her life. Her mutations and Hydra experiments allow her to blend in with her surroundings and change her appearance in minor ways, though the changes are only temporary. She’s now on the run, avoiding both Hydra and SHIELD.

9. Operation: Faking It…? by @povlvr

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Surely faking a relationship to improve the public opinion of one beefy super solider known as Bucky Barnes would be the easiest of mission for two well seasoned Avengers? Tony Stark seems to think so & decides to task you with 'Operation: Faking it', but what happens when you realise there might be less faking needed than originally planned?

10. Misconceptions by @firefly-in-darkness

Bucky x Reader

Bucky Barnes overhears a conversation that he shouldn’t have…

11. Bucky & the Beast by @thejamesoldier

Assistant!Bucky x Boss!Reader

“You were an asshole back in high school but now you’re my boss.”

12. Buckyvision by @fictionalmemories ✨

Bucky x Reader

While fighting Wanda with you, Bucky gets hit with her power and wakes up to a reality that’s not his own.

13. Best. Date. Ever | Best. Proposal. Ever by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Bucky x Reader

This wasn’t quite what you had in mind.

14. Just Like You by @ladyfallonavenger

Dad!Bucky x Mom!Reader

The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge.

15. Heart of Steal by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N?

16. will you love me tomorrow? by @buckys-darling

Bucky x Reader

You and Bucky are friends who fuck and nothing more. That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself, at least.

17. I Needed You by @ofheroesandvillains ✨

Bucky x Reader

Reader tries to make sense of her feelings, it doesn’t really go too well, especially when Bucky already has a girl.

18. sweet by @noceurous

FWB!Bucky x Reader

it was something cliche but your fuck buddy fell for you nonetheless, even though you swore you would never do relationships again. But rules are meant to be broken.

19. Hope Of It All by @bethdutten ✨

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

set between WS and CW; after saving Steve and breaking from Hydra, Bucky remembers you from the helicarrier. He doesn’t know where else to go.

20. Season Of The Witch by @msmarvelwrites

Bucky x Enhanced!Reader

Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much.

21. The Last Word by @thefallenbibliophilequote

Bucky x Reader

you and Bucky never get along, it’s not that you hate him- it’s just that he always finds ways to get on your nerves. You’ve had enough of it.

22. Super Mom by @marvelous-imagining

Bucky x Single Mom!Reader

23. Take Me Out by @shamevillain

Assassin!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

You and Bucky are both professionally trained assassins. Both contracted to kill the other. Both completely unaware.

24. Like I Want You by @tmpestuous

College!Bucky x Reader

you and bucky have been best friends your entire life and it’s never been anything but platonic. so why do things get so bad when he gets a new girlfriend?

25. Overthinking by @galaxy-siren

Bucky x Assistant!Reader

Tony and Bruce’s lab assistant, Y/N, is harboring feelings for Bucky. When she accidentally texts him that he’s cute, she overthinks the whole situation. It might just take the meddling of the other Avengers to work this out.

26. So This Is Love by @ofstarsandvibranium

Chubby!College!Bucky x Reader

friend and roommate, Bucky, is a bit of an annoying fuckboy. He sleeps around as well as tries to be as annoying to you as possible. But here’s the thing: you don’t mind any of it.

27. Some Alpha by @/ofstarsandvibranium

Alpha!Bucky x Reader

Bucky is an Alpha, but can never seem to find someone who wants him to be their Alpha. Until he finds you, a Beta, who’s as firey as an Alpha, yet also tender-hearted like an Omega.

28. The Favors by @bbyboybucket

Virgin!Bucky x Reader

Reader assumes that Bucky is experienced due to him being a ladies man in the 40s, however, she finds out that he’s never been touched and decides to help him out.

29. take my breath away by @buckycuddlebuddy ✨

Dilf!Neighbor!Pornstar!Bucky x Reader

who knew that your silent, very good-looking neighbor with the cutest kid was such a devil under his grumpy and quiet behavior...

30. Capital Letters by @sinner-as-saint

Writer!Bucky x Assistant!Reader

James Buchanan Barnes, one of the best, most admired and affluent authors of your time turns out to be nothing but a heartless man... or so you thought.

2K notes · View notes

mrsnancywheeler · 4 months

Text

the lakes (7) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous / next

midnight rain

2.7k words

warnings: angst, fluff, manipulation of someone's feelings, self-doubt, reader being sure she'll die, mental illness, allusions to violence/death, banter, this ones kind of short and sweet before the interviews and games start, terms of endearment, no use of Y/N, UNEDITED, reader likes peaches

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“They've been evaluating every moment in training, but this is the big moment. Show them much you've improved, how far you've come. Since you've decided not to ally with the Careers and haven't been falling under the radar, you both need to prove how much of a threat you are as a group." This was life-saving information for your Games persona, but Finnick's honey voice filled your senses.

“As an individual threat they'd want to target you sooner, but as a group you're more of a challenge.” Ondine took a drink of the shimmery blue liquid in her glass, it looked so unnatural and the sour yet sweet smell filled your nostrils from far away.

"So let's hope your District 7 friends get the memo.” Finnick’s snide remark infuriated Conway who was always being irked by his advice.

“They will, they're impressive." He said it so shortly the tension between them would be obvious to anyone.

“Hopefully the gamemakers agree." Finnick was ever smiling, taking a bite of a peach. He grabbed another one and as if he forgot himself tried offering it to you.

“No I'm okay, thanks." You shook your head and your eyes bore what you up was a very stern, what the hell to him. Maybe it would seem normal to most people, but everything seemed too risky.

“Suit yourself." Finnick tilted his head and offered it to Conway as well. He seemed unbothered, but you could tell he got the message. You looked at the fruit, your favorite. Hopefully it seemed like Finnick was just being kind to the both of you and Conway didn't recall that peaches happened to be your choice of fruit. It did make your heart flutter a little though, knowing that Finnick did.

Conway shook his head curtly. You began tapping your foot anxiously, everything was too awkward. Taking a sip of water to try and quench the dryness in your throat.

“You really both should eat, in a couple of days there could be nothing." Ondine advised, and Finnick’s hand was suddenly offering the peach back to you. His smile was so knowing and you took a second before accepting it.

“Thank you." You muttered before taking a bite, it was delicious and eating something made your anxieties less prevalent. The way Conway was looking at you made you feel like you had to defend this decision, “Their right, we need to preserve our strength and it's breakfast, the most important meal of the day." You tried to keep your tone light, airy, and carefree to cover for the internal gnawing at being found out. Messing with your hair as you averted your eyes from his to take another bite.

"Right.” Conway said gruffly and moved his head in disbelief before he started taking bites of the eggs on his plate. Suddenly you were scared, he was upset, you hadn't taken his side even if it was simply being defiant about allies and eating something else. Regardless of your tactics you still had free will and you hated being malleable to whatever he thought just so he would think you loved him, but when you didn't would that be another tick that would make him kill you quicker in the arena.

No, you were talented, well liked. He couldn't kill you without your allies turning against him too if he did it too early on. At least that's what you were trying to tell yourself as you foot kept tapping, robotically taking bites of the fruit. Glancing up for a moment, your eyes met Finnick’s, he was mouthing something at you. Probably you are okay but your mind was too preoccupied to grasp in the moment to analyze. He tilted his head downwards and tapped his fingers on the table. Shit, you thought as you instantly stopped your foot from its continual tapping. That would be an easy tell, for Conway to know you were upset now, which was a threat, and in the arena.

Conway had been looking between you too and seen the whole interaction, at least that's what you assumed when he began talking. “Hey, are you okay?" His voice oozed with genuine care that angered you further, how could he say that, but also put you in this position? No, you put yourself in this position.

“Just nervous about today, you know, making an impression." You tried to cover for yourself. His hand grabbed yours, it was just as cold as yours.

"Don't be, you're going to do great.” Conway tried to assure you, brown eyes trying to be comforting, but they weren't when your own were on pins and needles trying to sell a version of yourself that wasn't true.

You forced your muscles to relax at his touch, "Thank you.”

"We should be on our way.” Finnick abruptly interrupted the moment, chair squeaking on the floor. Ondine nodded in agreement as she stood and Conway reluctantly let go of your hand as you both followed. Leaving the peach on the table as you walked out behind Conway.

Soon enough you were both sitting in the cold, metallic room waiting for your names to be called. Thankfully you weren't from a lower numbered district so the anxious waiting didn't have to last for long. Mostly though, Conway’s hand was sitting on you knew and you were painfully aware of it, trying not to act bothered. It was uncomfortable, but you had to put yourself at ease, even putting your hand on top of his. Then your name echoed through the room, it almost brought some sick kind of relief knowing you wouldn't have to keep faking the chemistry for a few moments.

His hand squeezed your leg before he released it and you stood up, “You've got this." He encouraged you, smiling so sweetly a rational girl would be swimming in joy for it.

“You too." You smiled back before walking out of the room. Into the predatory eyes of the gamemakers. They hadn't been there long enough to be bored yet, so their attention was still laser-focused when you entered.

Charm, you still needed the charm. You hoped your aura was radiating the confidence you were pretending to have as you smiled up at the group observing you. “The floor is yours to show any talent of your choice." A voice rang out. You nodded, eyes searching for where the knives and targets would be.

Breathing heavily as you approached them, willing your body to do what it always has not to freeze up or slip. Thankfully it listened as you picked up one of the knives, lightly tossing it in the air before catching it. Reassuring you that your instincts knew exactly what they were doing as you began throwing them into the targets. Brain focused on extreme precision, this could make or break you, force you to rely on an outgoing persona rather than being a double threat. Before you knew it each knife was gone from where they previously lay.

“Thank you." Another voice pierced through the air as you turned to face the raised area where they all sat, drinking their various beverages.

“Thank you." You emphasized before making your exit, hoping a few words and your talents with knife throwing was enough. Doubting that it was as you exited to the hall where Finnick and Ondine would be waiting.

“How'd you do?" Finnick’s voice led you straight towards their direction.

You shrugged,"I don't know if it was enough.”

"So you did great.” He clicked his tongue at your self-doubt before stepping closer. “I'm sorry about earlier, I wasn't thinking." He whispered, you didn't care anymore not when his presence made the butterflies in your stomach explode.

“It's fine, I'm not sure he's buying it anyways." You leaned up against the wall, exhausted from the constant mind games and how on edge you were.

“He is." Finnick tried to assure you, “He'll probably allude to it during the interviews, which we'll start preparing for, and the sponsors will eat it up.”

"Okay, I trust you.” You whispered and you could have sworn you saw his heart breaking, no matter how hard you played of course your death was most likely inevitable.

Then Conway was done and you were all headed back to your floor, to impatiently await results. Laying on the couch, his arm draped around you. Oh how you longed for it to be Finnick's instead, who was sitting nearby, arms lazily resting on the top of it.

You held your breath as your face appeared on the screen, Conway hand tried to soothingly rub your shoulder. “With a score of 10." You exhaled gratefully.

“Told you!" Conway said excitedly, he was like a puppy dog. You couldn't help but move your eyes to Finnick who looked so proud of you it made you want to crawl into his arms right then. “From District 4, Conway Angler with a score of 10.”

"Good job!” You cheered on, hugging him. Before he had pulled you in for a kiss, your heart screamed to pull away, but your brain refused to until he did. His face was ecstatic when he finally removed his lips from yours, which were cold. It was jarring for two pairs of cold lips to try and mesh together. Soon enough it was announced that both of your district 7 allies had scored just as well, Birch with an 11 and Marlowe a 10.

“Good." Ondine sighed in relief, “Takes away the individual targets that could be on your backs."

By then you forced yourself to be snuggled into Conway's side, which would have been relaxing if you couldn't feel Finnick's eyes burning into you. A heat you craved. Thankfully the time to head to bed had soon approached.

“You both need rest, we'll prepare for your interview plans tomorrow, separately." Finnick announced, you noticed the look Ondine shot at him as if he'd gone over he head.

“Why separately?" Conway inquired as he got up from the comfy couch cushions.

“Even if you're marketed as a team, you need individual strategies." Finnick crossed his arms, “Just looking out for you both."

“Sure." Conway said, voice full of distrust. “I'll walk you to your room?" He offered as you stood up. Voice hopeful, a ploy to be let in. It would be so helpful, but you didn't want to be on edge when it was time to rest, to be worried you would mumble Finnick's name in your sleep.

“I'm alright, thank you." His eyes fell even if he didn't try to seem off put by this refusal. “I'm exhausted, not going to be much talking out of me.”

"Well that's alright, I don't mind.” Conway tried to reason, still hopeful for something, anything.

"Just get some sleep.” Ondine advised and you silently thanked her as Conway gave a small eye roll.

"Yeah, whatever, goodnight.” His smile was small and quick. So you grabbed his arm to give him a small peck on the cheek.

"Goodnight.” You looked at him slyly, smiling and could see the light in his eyes returning as he beamed. He stalked off to his room and you took small steps until he was around the corner and you were whipping around, seeing Ondine was gone too.

“Are you really exhausted?" Finnick asked, standing.

“Just emotionally."

“Do you need anything?" He asked, stepping forward. His eyes were desperate to help even if you could sense a twinge of jealousy in them that you felt guilty for.

“To be with you." Your smile was finally real, natural and it felt refreshing.

“Oh, come here, sweet girl."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"I'm sure she'll come around, Finnick, once she realizes you're genuinely kind on top of that insufferable ego.” You were sitting in between his legs as you laid on the couch, head on his stomach. Head rising with every breath he took, the sound of his heartbeat helping you relax. He was so effortlessly comforting.

Finnick scoffed, “I'm so good to you and saying stuff like that is how you repay me." He tutted as his fingers messed with strands of your hair.

“No one said married life was easy.” You sighed. Subconsciously your fingers danced on his leg, you could lay like this forever.

“Well I know that, I'm married to you, angel." He chuckled and you swatted his leg.

“Rude!" Tilting your head so he would be sure to see the glare you were sending his way and the pout adorning your face.

“No one said married life was easy." He repeated, smirking down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Don't worry, I love how difficult you can be when you're not being a perfect, caring angel."

You crossed your arms, huffing playfully, "I'm not difficult.”

He nodded, "And I'm not Finnick Odair.”

“You're the difficult one." You insisted with a shake of your head.

“Oh I am?" He smiled, fingertips brushing the side of your face.

“Mh-hmm."

“Well how so, my love, I wouldn't want to be difficult for you.”

"Number one, you're an ass, two,you're full of yourself, three, your bossy, and four, you keep telling your poor wife how difficult she is and it's only been a few days.” You removed yourself from where you slotted between his legs to face him and lay on his chest instead. Laying your chin down so you could look right back in his sea-green eyes.

"Good thing that my poor wife has been difficult long before we married, so it didn't hit me recently and I was well prepared.” You sighed dramatically at his insistence, laying your head down sideways to stare at the couch cushion.

“I'm not difficult." You reiterated, the warmth of his chest was like a blanket and it tired you even if you had to stay awake longer.

“Whatever you say, angel." The television in front of you started blaring, assaulting your ears as you turned your head towards it. Ceaser Flickerman appeared to announce the tribute scores that you couldn't care less about, you knew these people and the sponsors already knew you. Before you knew it it was your name once again, hitting you with intense deja vu of when you'd last been on the couch, in another boy’s arms, waiting for the same words. At least this boy, your Finnick, you could trust, there was no constant turning in your stomach about being found out.

“With a score of 10." Even more deja vu, Finnick's fingers traced up your spine.

“That's my girl." He whispered and if you could you would've sunk deeper into his chest, let yourself be consumed by him until you were one.

“District 4, Finnick Odair, with a score of 11."

"That's my husband!” You cheered quietly, wanting to just rest right here.

When Peeta and Katniss’ 12’s were announced Finnick shook his head,"They're trying to put targets on their backs.” He muttered bitterly as the broadcast ended. “We have to make sure they're with us, less likely to be attacked as a group early on in the games.” Thinking about the rapidly approaching date where you'd be back in the arena, protecting Katniss, trying to end it all, and waiting to die made your heart stop. It was cruel that you couldn't just be one with Finnick forever, that you'd probably die in the arena.

He felt the change in the rhythm of your heart, “It's gonna be okay, angel, we're gonna stick together and get out of this. Trust me."

“I do trust you." You whispered. It was yourself who you didn't trust. “I just wish I didn't have to savor every moment of peace with you before we’re back."

“You don't have to savor it, we're going to get out of there together." Finnick's honey voice was so reassuring even if your brain said not to listen. Someone had to die and you'd rather it be you, it didn't seem possible to live in a world without Finnick. But you nodded anyways, he didn't need to know about your internal monologue and then dedicate his time trying to convince you that wouldn't happen. You knew in your soul there was no way you were getting out of these games with him, no matter how badly you wanted to.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

taglist: @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @avoxrising @artsyaquarium @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @darlingsoulbeautfulthoughts @thatonegayloser616 @kybermp3 @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @ravensinthedaylight @innercreationflower @uhnanix @aesthetic0cherryblossom @yourdailymemedelivery

thank you for reading! this one's kind of calm before I start tearing into those interviews and the games begin because I needed some softness. thank you all sm for the support you've showed me, it's really helped encourage me to keep writing! if you enjoyed feedback is always appreciated, likes, comments, reblogs and my inbox is always open for questions or thoughts which I love because I think about this all the time. love you all 💋

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #thg #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick x you

284 notes · View notes