epiphany-of-a-madwoman

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Screaming, crying, throwing up. This was beautiful! The prose and subtle Taylor Swift references ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Brb, gonna go listen to Tolerate It and cry all over again 🫡🥲

my love, mine, all mine

based on this drabble : mean!remus

words: 2.8k

summary: Sometimes is not enough for someone who loves Remus this much. 

warnings: mean!remus x fem!reader !!!! mentions of sex; much angst they both cry, a lot of kisses & a very open ending, situationship blues, remus is a self-deprecating piece of shit!! 

a/n: thank you for the request anon!  i watched the eras tour movie and thought of mean!remus and reader during ‘tolerate it’.... sooo don’t blame me for what you’re about to read. title is from a song by mitski <3 always down to flesh out mean!remus and lovely!reader more if yall want--feel free to send in more requests and comments <3

(posted & edited: 10/15/23)

—

Sometimes he lets you down easy. You’ve memorized his face by now, every minuscule detail and the way it hardens when he makes up his mind. Remus is very deep set in his ways, a creature of habit forced by the resolution of hiding in the nighttime, waiting for the darkness within himself to find him under the light of the full moon. You know the whisper of a smile that dances across his face when he sees you, the way a scar kisses his brow when you surprise him, the mechanical tightness of his jaw when he dissociates himself from your embrace.

There’s a particular way his eyes drop that resembles falling snow and it tells you that he’s about to let you down again, buried under him and his excuses. It’s heavy. You wonder how someone so gentle, so fragile can leave you feeling cold, but you bare yourself to him anyway, trudging through the hope that whatever is between you can be more than sometimes. You know him intimately, wholeheartedly. But does he know you? Sometimes is the keyword here, and yet it is tiring, all of the time.

Your breaking point had to have been something big, something explosive. It had to, or why else would this facade have lasted so long? Why did you let him? Perhaps it was when he kissed your neck after Potions, asking to meet up after dinner. He moved away before you could follow him out into the corridor and joined his friends instead. The boys looked back at you, wanting to wait but Remus kept walking on. Or maybe it was when you woke up in his bed again, his side cold and your clothes folded properly at the edge. Remus was propped against his desk, mumbling that he had a very busy day ahead, and the silence that followed was enough to make you leave. Always good enough to bed, but never wanted by morning. It’s best to act like he wasn’t the one who asked you to stay.

—

None of those moments ruined your perception of him though. It was the lightest feather touch of a reaction that shattered the glass. He was walking you back to your common room after prefect duties, and you squeezed his hand gently, swinging it back and forth.

“D’you want to study for midterms tomorrow in the library? We could try to get that little table in the corner you like…” you said nudging his shoulder. He sighed, and his breath was hot against the crisp winter air as it landed on your cheek. Remus’s silence was your answer, and of course, it hurt. You’d do anything for a half-assed utterance to fill the shrill noise of your hope filling the space between you right about now. But this time was different though. This time he truly didn’t care. Remus looked at you with dead eyes, his mind somewhere far from where you were standing with him.

“Not this time, lovely.” The boy was tired, and so were you. The physicality of it was apparent in the way his posture hung low, and the way your shoulders fell from the emotional avalanche that his lack of effort pushed down on you.

“It’s okay. I hope you get some rest then.” Your eyes study his face, gliding from the crinkle of his temples to the scar on his nose and the freckles across his cheeks. He grimaces at your response. You wonder if any part of him hurts like this too. 

“Will I see you before we leave for winter break? Maybe you have time during the holiday.” Remus speaks quietly as if he’s the one being inconvenienced.

“Maybe,” you say. He makes a noise in recognition of that, nodding with his eyes closed. Stepping away from him, you turn to walk away before he’s behind you, lips against your hair.

“M’sorry.” He mumbles, breathing you in like wafting amorentia. His hands are shuffling through his pocket before he pulls out the wool mittens his mother knit for him the year prior. 

“Shouldn’t let your pretty fingers freeze in the cold.” He puts them on you daintily snapping the buttons closed, his nose against your ear. The corridor is silent alongside the slow thud of your heart. You walk away wordlessly, shoulders pinched like a chill has traveled down your spine.

—

Remus doesn’t see much of you in the days before winter break. Between studying for exams and his monthly run-in with the moon, there isn’t much time to catch his breath. He knows the hold he has on your heart is a devastatingly gory scene. You’ve let him in deeply as he burrows in every fang and claw he has to offer you. And in turn, he takes what he can grab with his razor-sharp touch. He tries earnestly to be gentle but the more of you he caresses, the more blood he has to mop up. 

His fingers are tapping on his forearm methodically as he waits for you outside of Transfiguration. Sorting through his thoughts as he waits for the rest of the class to finish the exam, Remus’ mind always falls back to you. Love is difficult, like many other aspects of his life, you see. He knows he loves his parents and his friends, but it makes him uncomfortable, much like someone undergoing anaphylaxis, to be honest with you. To lay himself out vulnerably to someone like you…He’s worried he’ll scare you off.

Students trickle out of McGonagall’s classroom, and you step out with your friends in tow, babbling about the exam. The feeling crawls up his throat as he tries to say something, but air and any coherent thought escapes him. What he feels for you has been making him do that a lot lately.

“Hey lovely.” he blurts out, body turning as he pushes off the wall in an attempt to catch your eye. But you keep rambling with your friends, throwing an arm over your roommate as you hardly spare him a glance. It’s not until your group reaches the end of the corridor that you look back at him for half a second, lashes fluttering as you turn back to your friends. And his heart is growing desperate, swelling, sighing as you continue to walk away.

—

You left for winter break without saying goodbye. The letters that he made his owl Nougat deliver to your bedroom window almost every day had you running out of treats to give her when she’d try to nip you for sending her back emptyhanded. Poor thing is getting fat. 

Your mother is so intrigued by your behavior that one night as you feed your baby brother a spoonful of mashed potatoes, she asks you something you’ve been wondering yourself.

“Honey, do you have a boyfriend?” The silverware clinks against your plate as you contemplate the answer. How do you explain this to your mother? How do you explain him? Has he hurt you so much that you bare your soul to her in hopes that she’ll put her work away and listen? Yes, but you let him, the little voice in your head says, so the guilt inside you keeps your response prompt.

“I don’t think so,” you say, your lips drawn tightly. Your brother spits out some mash and it dribbles down his chubby cheek as he laughs at the sight of you making faces at him. 

“What a mess, darling. Best clean it up.” You watch your mother’s eyes flit across your face instead of his before she says no more and goes back to cutting into her roast chicken. The napkin across your lap is wiped across his tiny face as you swallow hard.

What a mess, indeed.

After washing the dishes and excusing yourself, you crawl into bed staring at the ceiling. The moonlight shines brightly, a beam of light reflecting on the pile of unopened letters on your nightstand. Turning towards the wall, you shut your eyes and try to fall asleep.

You dream of him often. And in your dreams, he’s always just a little bit out of reach, always running away as you trip over snow-covered cobblestone, arms extended toward him. Though these dreams plague you, the realization hits that dreaming of him is better than your reality. In your dreams, your love is still pure and untouched. When you close your eyes you let yourself be the girl who was hoping at the beginning of it all. 

—-

The day after Christmas a pair of tiny hands shake you awake. Your eyes shift open to see your three-year-old brother peering up at you, hands tangled in your duvet.

“Your fwend is outside,” he whispers almost comically loud as you rub the sleep from your eyelids.

“What?”

“Your fwend is outside. I saw him in the window. He looks cold, sissy.”

You scoop him in your arms, carrying him back into his room and tucking him under the covers before you shuffle out front, watching Remus lean against his beat-up car. Throwing your coat on, you walk down your driveway, meeting him in a flurry of hot breath and cautious smiles.

“You’re not Nougat,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him as you stop short at his feet, crossing your arms.

“She’s almost too fat to fly now. Thought I’d get a message to you myself.” he chuckles, and it makes you remember why you liked him in the first place.

“Fancy a ride?”

He props the door open for you, hand ghosting the curve of your back. As you step past him to take a seat, he pulls you in for a kiss. It makes your knees tremble, having deprived yourself of everything about him for the past few weeks. The kiss sucks you in deeper as you anchor yourself onto the nape of his neck, and he’s moaning into your mouth. You hope your little brother isn’t watching through the window.

He drives you around in silence, neither of you knowing what to say. The heat is on high as he finally stops at the park, and he looks over at you. This time last year, he taught you how to drive here, both of you anxious for two different reasons—you trying not to crash and him discerning if you like him back. You both had sex in the backseat after you got the hang of it, windows fogged up and steamy. 

“Did you read my letters?” he starts, and you sigh before the end of his question. “No,” you mutter, looking out the window.

“Hey…What’s on your mind?” His fingers pull at your chin for you to look back at him, and you jolt back like he hurt you. You lean forward, pressing your palms into your eyes, breathing hard. He’s looking at you like he knows what’s coming, but he still hopes it’s not true. A boy made from Hope and of hope, that’s all he is. But it hurts to hope though. It hurts to hope for more when he knows he’s pushed you past your limits.

“There’s only so much you can expect of me, Remus. I’m just not sure I can do this anymore,” you whisper.

“Do what?” His voice is desperate and he’s hoping you won’t end this, even though you’re well in your right to do so.

“This. Whatever this is. Sometimes it feels like we’re together, but I know we’re not, and um… I’ve lost the plot. You’ve cut me too deep, Remus.” Your bottom lip is trembling as you croak out the words feeling sorry for yourself.

Remus leans his head against the window, knuckles white as he clutches the steering wheel. He’s going to lose you, and he’s petrified. 

“Look, if this is because I haven’t spent time with you at sch–”

“It is. But not just that. There are many reasons,” you cut in, your head tilting as you look at him. “You don’t make time for me, you’re embarrassed to be seen with me half the time. You act like I’m your girlfriend and Remus, you lie, constantly. I can’t keep up with what you throw at me and it’s too much, okay? I’ve let you hurt me for too long.” You get through most of it without hiccupping, but he can’t do anything but watch as you wipe your tears away.

“Do you love me?” he pleads, and if he’s ruined it all by asking that, he can’t tell. His hands run through his hair and he thinks he’s ripped to you pieces at this point. The carnage of the truth sits in his passenger seat as you sit there motionless, staring out the windshield.

“That doesn’t make me yours, Remus. It never has. My love is mine. That’s the only thing you can’t take away from me.”

Remus chokes on a sob as he watches your resolve harden. The windows are fogging up and it’s getting hard for him to breathe.

“I’m so sorry…I just don’t even know how to tell you th—”

“That you have lycanthropy?” Somehow hearing it from your mouth doesn’t scare him. This confession and your candor makes the shame he’s carried with him all these years feel lighter.

“You can say it how it is, lovely. I’m a werewolf. I– The moon shows me who I really am. A monster. I-shouldn’t…I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

Your hand brushes against his cheek, pressing the tears into the indents of your fingertips as you wipe away his sorrow. He does hurt like you do. And you’d take it all away if you could. 

“A monster doesn’t worry about if they hurt people they love. You didn’t mean to hurt me, did you?”

He sniffs, wiping his nose with his sweater as he shakes his head. Both of you brush over the notion of love. There is a time and place for that, and it sure as hell isn’t right now. He’s being vulnerable to you for once, so you tell him what he needs to hear. 

“You’re not a monster, Remus. You have a big heart, and you’re wonderfully sweet, but sometimes your actions hurt. I know….everything about you. And from the reasons I can’t do this anymore, lycanthropy isn’t even in the top 10.” You lean towards him, noses touching.

“But I never said I regret it.”

You wish you could find better words to tell him he’s not as damned as he thinks he is. That anyone is deserving of love, especially him, but it’s hard to convince him that. Remus surges the small distance to meet your lips, and you can’t help but indulge, because if he’s damned then so are you, pulling him over the console as he sighs in relief. 

—-

Later, he drives you home, one hand on your thigh rubbing circles as you watch his side profile, less taut, but without a smile. The secret’s out, and there’s not much left to do but navigate the bloodbath. He hopes that he’s able to pick up the pieces and do you right. Remus pulls into your driveway and the car engine rumbles lowly as you sit, unmoving.

The door unlocks and he waits for you to make a move. Your hand glides over the door handle before you turn instead to look at him and his hand is extended towards you, a millimeter away from yours.

“I really am sorry. For treating you like shit.” he sighs.

“I know.” A smile graces your lips as you lean in and you kiss him again tenderly, once, then twice. It soothes the tightness of his jaw and he hopes you don’t hate him after all of this. The passenger door opens, and you climb out and look at the sky. It’s snowing. He watches you standing there, snowflakes sticking to your hair. 

“I do love you, Remus,” you admit, biting your lip. “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” The laugh that follows is humorless, his eyes wide as you shut the door. Trudging your boots through the snow, a shiver wracks your body. You peek back at the car once you get in the house and give him a kind smile before you step in.

Remus sits there with the weight of your devotion. Brave in all aspects but love, he hopes you can wait a little longer for him to catch up. For now, his eyes fall to the passenger seat as he shifts the gear into reverse. His wool mittens occupy the seat. Your hands must be cold again.

—-

“Sometimes, home is not a home, but a claw lodged inside you. A river you step into because it holds light. You are waist deep, wading in what mauls you.”

-Athena Nassar

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing: my love, mine, all mine by mitski

taglist: @jsjcue

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Great War | Regulus Black

▹ Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader

▹ Genre: Angst and Fluff

▹ Words: ~ 5K

▹ Summary: You'd swore not to cry anymore if you and Regulus managed to survive the great war.

▹ Notes: I'd like to personally thank the Anon that reminded me nearly a year ago about Sirius Black dying without knowing his brother wasn't like their parents. To alleviate the sadness of that fact, I wrote this fic :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Your memories were plagued by cold winter nights and eyes as bright and bitter as a snow storm. 

Regulus' hands in yours, interlocked with a grip so tight it kept you from floating away. Stolen stares and clandestine meetings in the middle of the night at the top of the Astronomy tower became sacred, only for him to never look your way in the light of day. 

You knew every constellation, both in the sky and in his eyes. When snow fell, Regulus would carefully brush away the melted snow droplets on your cheeks. The air was biting and the wind unrelenting, a concoction that made for the perfect excuse to nuzzle into Regulus' side. You'd pretend it was for warmth when really you craved his touch. His lips would tilt into a half-smirk as you spoke, seeing through your flimsy excuse. Yet his arm would wrap around you all the same, pulling you impossibly close. 

The moments had been brief, gone within the blink of an eye. Reality would creep in, dampening the dreamy optimism you clung to in moments of doubt. No one could know; Regulus Black was consorting with a muggleborn, how scandalous. His family would eat him alive, a notion that made him keep you in the shadows, a place you happily stayed. You'd draw stars in the air with your fingertips, placating your fears with delusions that it wouldn't be forever. Each whispered word was an oath that you would carry to your grave. 

You'd never doubted that Regulus Black loved you; you could hear it in the easy silence and see it in the soft expression reserved just for you. Understanding and calm, he clung to the tranquility you brought to his turbulent life. So certain that everything would turn out fine, you never dared to ask for more. 

Then, it all turned into something bitter.

He slipped from your grasp like water, his feather light touches and sardonic smile only felt and seen in your dreams. The haze brought by the security of Hogwarts was muddied, reality much too bright to look at head-on. War gripped the wizarding world; Voldemort and his Death Eaters were the cause of the strife. Thrown into the trenches, you struggled to stay above water. With each mission and spell cast, any trace of innocence and youth that remained was ripped from you. All the bloodshed, death, and terror stained you dark red. Even if you survived, you'd never be the same.

You hadn't seen Regulus since the war started; even in your dreams, his face was a vague blur of what he used to be. You couldn't recall when the severing had happened; the letters came less frequently until they stopped coming at all. He used to drop by your apartment unannounced, a shy grin and flowers in hand. Regulus must've lost his way because he never made his way back. The love shared between the two of you turned bitter, and in the haze of it all, the betrayal stung harsher than any spell could. 

You damned him each time the phantom scent of his cologne lingered in your apartment. And you cried each time flashes of your best moments came back in the depth of night. Sucker punching walls and screaming into the sky never alleviated the pain; you cursed him while sleep talking. It was cognitive dissonance; you claimed to hate him all while wishing he would just come back and explain why.

"You good for this?" Sirius Black's voice echoed in the depths of your mind, breaking you from the reverie. Twin gray eyes, reflecting similar to his brother's. It was nearly enough to send you into a spiral. A simple nod was the only reply you gave him, but it was all he needed. 

Another mission, another attempt at stopping what was starting to feel inevitable. You didn't want to be so hopeless and desolate, but it couldn't be helped. The walls were closing in; you were losing the war.

"We all remember the plan, right?" A member of the order said. You couldn't remember their name, but you didn't care to. They may be dead in a week. There's no sense in getting to know them now. 

"Was there even much of a plan? We go in and minimize as much damage as we can, that's it," James Potter's voice stood out amongst the chatter. The rest of the members assigned to the mission solemnly nod, calling out various agreements. 

Numbness flooded your body, completely apathetic to the chaos you were charging headfirst into. This part used to be daunting, stabbing tiny needles in your body, but you'd desensitized yourself to it. Dissociated so far away that you weren't even sure anything was real. Healthy? No, but it was necessary; you couldn't afford to freeze up.

The people around you began to apparate and you followed suit. It felt as if you were being pulled apart and put back together. A thought flickered in your mind; perhaps if you were spliced, you wouldn't have to deal with the emotional turmoil that's been weighing you down. But all too soon, the feeling stopped; a wave of nausea hit and then vanished. 

You were there. 

It all became a blur; the exact moment the fight broke out was hard to pinpoint. All you could remember were the screams and the people pushing and pulling you like the tide. In the confusion of it all, masked figures around every corner, it was easy to forget you were fighting real people. They were skeletal visages you created, not living, breathing people. Bodies began to drop on both sides, curses and spells falling from the lips of everyone around. 

“Petrificus Totalus.” You flicked your wand, petrifying the Death Eater closest to you. With a thump, their body fell to the ground, and you were on to the next, adrenaline keeping your body upright. You turn the incantation to another spell on the tip of your lips. But your words fell short, your body locking up as you stared at the person in front of you. It was as if you'd been cursed, except you hadn't.

They wore a mask like all the other Death Eaters, but the icy gray eyes peering at you were hard to forget. 

Regulus. 

You froze, unable to move even as your mind screamed at you to act. The noise of the room was muffled, a sharp ringing nearly making your ears bleed. Regulus was a--

You'd suspected as much, what with his family's allegiance to the Dark Lord and all he stood for. Yet until now, there has been no confirmation that your worst nightmares have come to fruition. But as Regulus stood there in the garb of your enemy, it would seem war found you on different ends of the same battlefield. 

A bitter, smokey taste filled your mouth as everything the two of you shared turned to ash. He was here; there was no more denying what he'd done. Regulus was a Death Eater. Your stomach turned to knots as it threatened to empty its contents right then and there. Fighting for the blood purists, you guess he never really loved you then.

Regulus tore off his mask, allowing it to drop to the ground with a thud that wasn't heard over the noise. His dark hair was messy and tangled, the ends of it curling from the sweat on the nape of his neck. Heavy dark circles lined his eyes, worse than they'd ever been, skin pallid and sickly. Eyes that previously shone like a bright star were dim and threatening to burn out. Dry skin clung to his lips, and you could see the damage his teeth had caused to his bottom lip. 

He looked terrible. 

Regulus had talked in length about the stifling expectations his family had placed upon him. He both hated and feared his family, witnessing the abuse Sirius suffered before he ran away. It was never something spoken, but you knew the resentment he harbored for Sirius, both for leaving Regulus behind and having the courage to go against the grain. You did your best, encouraging him to leave as well, to make the hard choice of not getting swept into the current. Even when Regulus disappeared from your life, you hoped he would take the hard road. Yet he took the easy way out.

Pity turned your numb body cold, and the fury it caused turned you hot. How dare he? After everything he'd done, to have such a tight grip on you still. To make you feel sorry for him as if he'd been forced down this path. He'd made his decision; he decided to follow the road that led to this exact moment. Why should you weep for him? 

Even then, with all your turmoil and rage, you still couldn't lift your wand at him. Time seemed slow, the chaos melting away the longer you looked into his eyes. Five seconds extended to five years.

But Regulus didn't share your hesitation or paralysis. He lifted his wand, a spell falling from his lips as his wrist flicked. You didn't have time to react, magical energy pooling at the tip of his wand before it shot towards you. Your eyes widened, and your heart stopped, unable to do anything other than watch your own death. 

But the impact never came. Instead, the green light flew past your shoulder, grazing your hair. Square in the chest, it hit a Death Eater that had crept up behind you. A gasp left your mouth, the only sound you'd made since the battle started. 

Their body hit the ground, unmoving. Only then did you turn to face Regulus. His expression remained unchanged, yet yours portrayed all the confusion and surprise in your head. At the speed of light, your heartbeat rattling against your chest, the barest hints of hope tinged your pessimistic thoughts. Was there a chance? His gaze softened, and his wand hand hanging slack at his side. You didn't want to fight anymore. All your steeled nerves and empty declarations of no longer caring about him were voided in an instant. You took a step towards him, hand reaching for him, but he took a stiff step back. 

"Regulus--"

He was gone, apparating from the battle. 

Sharply, you inhaled, holding it for a few heartbeats, then let it out. Regulus was no longer in sight. You returned to the battle. You rushed forward, trampling over the Death Eater mask he'd left behind. The porcelain it'd been made from cracked under the weight of you as the dirt on your shoes muddied its intricate designs.

You hardly thought twice about it, flinging another spell at a Death Eater. 

Another mission completed; more casualties piling up. 

---

"I saw you, you know," Sirius Black said. You'd all returned from the mission about two hours ago and just finished debriefing what happened. You stayed silent, your mind too preoccupied to come up with a singular thought.

"Saw me what? Fighting Death Eaters? Yeah, I saw you too." You were deflecting; he knew that, and you knew that he knew. The glint in his eye was not at all as careless as it had once been. Yet you feigned ignorance all the same.

"Yeah. I also saw you and Regulus." 

Your movements stilled as your body turned rigid. You didn't meet his eyes, didn't even blink. What could you say? Nothing would stop him from going to Moody or Dumbledore; at best, you'd be kicked from the Order; at worst, thrown in Azkaban and branded a traitor. 

"I don't know what you mean." It was a weak defense, but it was all you had. 

"Oh, shove off. I'm not stupid. I saw the way you reacted when you saw him, but I also saw him kill that Death Eater." 

You turned to meet his eyes. There was a question hidden in his statement. His gray eyes, so similar to Regulus's, were pleading, a part of him begging that maybe his brother wasn't completely lost. That he wasn't exactly what their parents were. 

"I don't know why he did that." Confirmation that Regulus was a Death Eater should've cemented so many things. The world should be black and white; he was a Death Eater; therefore, he didn't love you anymore, if he ever even did. How could he claim to love a muggleborn while doing his best to ensure you were eradicated? But now you weren't so sure. He was a Death Eater, yes, but he'd also saved your life. 

The migraine you'd had since you met him on the battlefield threatened to explode. 

"Do you--" he hesitated, his words quiet and soft. So unlike the barking confidence he usually possessed. The armor he'd shielded himself with was cracking. "Do you think there's a chance for him?" 

You pursed your lips. 

"I don't know." 

Without another word, you stood from the chair and muttered a quick "goodbye" before returning home. Your apartment had been just as you'd left it as you stood in front of the door, illuminated by the dim light on the steps. Except when you went to unlock the door, you found it already slightly ajar. 

The hair on your body stood up, cold fear briefly washing over you. The Death Eaters were getting bolder with their attacks. Would you be the next victim? Would it be your name and picture covering the cover page of every newspaper? For a moment, you considered leaving or at least getting help, yet you did neither. Instead, you pushed open your door, the wand held tightly in your hand. 

The room was dark, the sun having long since set. The pale blue light of your wand cast shadows in every corner of the room. It only made your nerves worse, jumping at every corner and shadow. The entryway was empty, as was the living room, but as you turned into the dining area and kitchen, you noticed a figure sitting at your table. They were still as a statue as they sat at your table, jacket neatly folded and placed in front of them.

Regulus. 

His eyes were on you, arms slack at his sides, and he was wearing a grim expression. The dark circles you'd seen earlier that day seemed worse, so blackened they looked like bruises. You took a step back, the grip on your wand tightening as you held it up in a threatening manner.

"So this is it. You came here to kill me?" Your voice was like stone, cold and hard. There was a lump in your throat flecks of fear in your shining eyes, but you hardened your face. You wouldn't show any sign of weakness. If he would let the love you shared sink beneath the waves, then you'd drown the entire fucking world the two of you created. 

He took a step forward, dark, stormy eyes pleading. “No, Y/N, that’s not--”

Regulus fell silent as you moved your wand from his chest towards his face, eyes narrowed. There was a tremble to your body; lips pressed so tight as to stifle the sobs that came up your throat. 

"Stay back."

Regulus complied, raising his hands as a show of good faith. He wore that same disarming puppy dog face, like an abandoned dog alone in a shelter. Previously, you would've melted, running back to his embrace. But so many things were different, and it showed in the vacancy that made your eyes hollow.

"I would never hurt you." He asserted, hoping the sincerity of his words could penetrate the steel-enforced walls you'd encased yourself with. His placations had the opposite effect, the pain twisting into cold rage. 

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it? You're a Death Eater, Regulus. That means you and all your other purist friends want people like me dead." The death grip you held your wand with seemed to tighten. All circulation in your hand has been cut off, but it was all you could do to stop the tears from falling from your eyes. 

"That is not true. I don't want you dead." 

A choked laughter fell from your lips. 

"Then I think you joined up with the wrong organization." Your words were sarcastic but not at all joking or light. 

"It wasn't my choice." There was no change in his expression, eyes holding your gaze captive.

"No, you had a choice," you snapped back, silencing whatever pathetic excuse he used to convince himself he was justified in his actions. "And you made the wrong one."

Regulus fell silent, chewing on his bottom lip and shifting nervously. Your breath came out in angry puffs, reminiscent of a dragon. The tears made everything unclear and watery, but you refused to move a single muscle, even if it was just to wipe away the tears. 

"I did what I had to do."

You felt your hand loosen, grip slackening enough that your wand almost fell from your fingertips. Thickly, you swallowed, cheeks damp from the tears that steadily fell from your eyes. This was it; your chance to finally tell Regulus everything you'd been screaming into your walls since he walked out of your life.

"You didn't have to do anything." Your voice was raw as you said the words you'd rehearsed time and time again. "Least of all, join the wrong side of the war. We had graduated; you could run away from all of that, and there was nothing your parents could've done." 

"It's not that simple--"

"But it is, or at least it was," you exclaimed, cutting him off, voice cracking with the desperation you've locked away all this time. "You could've run and never looked back after our last day--"

"It was too late then."

You narrowed your eyes, a silent cue for him to explain when it had been too late.

"The summer between 5th and 6th year. After everything that happened with Sirius, they wanted to ensure I would be the perfect son they wanted."

"You never said anything."

"I didn't want you to look at me differently. My fate had already been sealed, and it was selfish of me to keep it from you, but I--"

He fell silent, eyes meeting the floor as his tongue became tied.

"You what?"

In a crazy, fucked up way, you were hoping he'd say everything you dreamed of. That he would reassure you he loved you and he never meant to hurt you. You wanted him to scorn his family and all their expectations of him. For once, you wanted him to make the right choice and not take the easy way out. You'd never fight with him anymore if he'd just asked to stay. 

People always said love wasn't always enough, but you'd be willing to let Regulus ruin you time and time again. 

"It doesn't matter now." 

Disappointment was a feeling you were accustomed to by now, but that didn't make the bitter rejection sting any less. The tears on your cheeks were like acid, and you roughly wiped them away.

"I suppose it doesn't; you made your choice, and so have I."

Maybe now it would sink in. Your whirlwind romance with Regulus ended the moment you left Hogwarts for good. It wouldn't be some grand love like the books you'd read. He wouldn't push through any obstacle that stood between you and him. 

Regulus wasn't a passionate man; he was pragmatic and calculated. Any risk he'd taken was never a risk after analyzing every angle and way it may go wrong. It was how he'd ended up trapped in the cycle of his family, and Sirius was able to break free. They were two sides of the same coin, yet they couldn't have turned out any more differently. 

It was a hard pill to swallow; the man you loved was nothing like you imagined him to be. 

"Why are you even here?" Your tone was sharp and pointed.

One last opportunity for him to mend what he had ripped to shreds. Why did you keep giving him so many chances?

"I'm not sure."

You slowly nodded, hands lowering to rest at your side. He'd never say the words you needed to hear; Regulus Black could never be the man you wanted him to be. 

"I've missed you."

Maybe without realizing it, Regulus continued to twist the dagger he embedded in you. 

You should tell him to leave, but the words won't form. 

"I missed you too."

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, fighting a battle within his own mind. You stayed silent, watching with wide eyes as he stepped towards you. 

Your eyes stayed on him, afraid that if you even breathed, he'd change his mind. His hands were cold as he gently grabbed ahold of your face. The grip he held you with was careful and delicate, afraid to break you. 

As if no time had passed, you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut and relishing in his presence. He still smelled of bergamot and smoke. 

You opened your eyes, meeting his unwavering gaze. A thousand words were said in the silence, both of you trying to convey what you were too cowardly to verbalize. 

A sharp breath, the flutter of your lashes as your eyes closed. The Regulus' lips were on yours. His kiss was nearly too light to feel, and it made all reason disappear. 

Your lips parted as you combed your hands through his hair, working through the tangles at the nape of his neck. His grip tightened as he kissed you like a man starved. 

Regulus pulled back first, his expression blank and unsure. Did he regret what he'd started? Hurt began to blossom, weighing down the high he gave you. It took so little effort to fade back into him. The reminder was like a sharp jab to the gut. 

His eyes wouldn't meet yours, yet his feet stayed planted in the ground. So close together, you could feel the heave of each intake of breathe and hurt radiating from his body.

This was dangerous territory to be in. Regulus was a Death Eater; you couldn't do this all over again.

Whatever love there was between the two of you had to die. You had to light the match and turn it to ash, even if that meant you went out in flames too.

"I think it's best if you go."

Regulus slowly nodded his head, his eyes moving from the floor to meet yours. Years of abuse and "discipline" led to him mastering the art of dissociation, to not let an ounce of emotion show on his face.

Despite the self soothing thoughts that reassured you it was the right choice, your bruised ego was desperate for a sign that your love affair had maimed him even an ounce as much as it did you.

Maybe in an alternate universe, the two of you were happy, but war was war, and its very nature was to take, take, take until there was nothing left in the aftermath.

Regulus didn't argue or fight, he simply dipped his head in a single, firm nod, mouth set in a thin line, nothing more spoken than a quiet "I see." In the blink of an eye, he disappeared, leaving you alone in your dark, depressing apartment.

A shuddered breath left your body shaking. That night, you didn't make it to your bed; that felt entirely too big and too lonely. You collapsed on the couch, allowing the weight of the world to fall off as you slipped into unconsciousness. And in your dreams, you saw nothing but the endless nothing that threatened to swallow you whole.

---

“I now go to my death with the hopes you’ll forgive me for all the pain I’ve inflicted upon you. I never intended to hurt you, but now I realize it was all I’ve ever done. I don’t expect forgiveness, I understand I’m no longer worthy of it, if I ever was. I love you, don’t forget that.”

- Yours truly,

Regulus

Your eyes were trained on the letter held by shaky hands, stained with tears that fell from your cheeks. It had arrived two days ago, the letter accompanied with a small bag holding a locket. The writing on the letter was illegible, but you’d memorized every crease and fold on the paper. Why was it when you’d finally begin to forget about him, something would always bring him back. Part of it was your fault, you’d always welcomed him with open arms, but you’d hoped this time you’d end a cycle that never seemed to end.

Stood on the cliff sides, the winter air biting at your skin. What could he have done to be so certain of his death? Regulus was too insignificant for the Order to focus entirely on, so maybe he’d done something to spurn his Dark Lord. You hoped that was the case.

Inhaling the frosty air, you tucked the note into your pocket and turned to return to your house. Hands shoved in your pocket, the snow crunched under the weight of your feet. Lost in thought, you hardly noticed the sun had begun to set. Before long, the old brick building you’d made your home came into view. Crunching snow was replaced with footsteps on wood stairs and you pushed open your front door. You shook the snow off your jacket, setting it on the coat hanger by the door. The fireplace was already crackling, casting a warm glow in the room. 

You moved towards the kitchen to put a kettle on before moving back towards your room to get ready for bed. The heavy winter clothes were replaced by fleece pajamas that were soft like a rabbit. You sat at your vanity table and began combing through your hair. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the small box on your side table. Within the iron enforced lead box was the locket Regulus had mailed with his letter. It seemed insignificant at first glance, but the longer you looked at it, the darker its aura felt. Regulus had written explicit instructions for you to hide the locket, both from yourself and the world. There hadn’t been time to think of a secure location, so before then, it would remain in the box, its magic suppressed for a time. 

You’d question Regulus on it at some point, but for now you would go against every instinct telling you to ignore his letter and send back the locket. For as many times Regulus disappointed yourself, you’d let yourself down tenfold for continuing to give him the chance to do so. 

The whistle of the kettle had you stand from your vanity and pad back into the kitchen. But as you moved into the kitchen, the wall opened so that you could see into the living room, you were no longer alone. Standing in the middle of the room was Regulus. He looked worse off than his last visit, his clothes wrinkled and hair greasy. 

He didn’t speak and neither did you;’ your eyes focused on one another. The air was awkward, all the questions you’d had for him melting away from the softness in the gray eyes. You were the first to break the impromptu staring contest, grabbing two mugs instead of one. Wordlessly you began to prepare cups of tea, making it in just the way you knew Regulus liked it. 

The wood floors creaked as Regulus moved to the couch in front of the fireplace, his jacket hanging beside yours. After a moment, you joined him, passing the warm mug to his open hand. Not a single word shared between the two of you. The only sound in the house was the crackle of the fire and the slurping of the two of you drinking from your mugs. 

“Is it over now?” You finally spoke, unable to look towards Regulus. 

A moment passed; you blew on your tea, steam flooding your face as you lowered your head. 

“Yes.” 

You leaned forward to set your mug on the table, the glass clinking as you did. You turned, finally looking at Regulus since taking a seat. His eyes were focused on you; broken and blue with the face of a man haunted by war. Yet beyond that was warm relief. War was finally over. 

The Dark Lord and his followers were still afoot, and they’d need to be dealt with. But the Great War that plagued you and Regulus was finally over. The worst had ended.

Tomorrow you'd have questions about the locket and it's evil aura, you'd want to know what exactly he did that made him believe his death was certain. There was also the matter of how they'd proceed in the war. Regulus could be a turn coat, to give insight on the Death Eaters. So many things to consider, it made you feel dizzy. But those were semantics better dealt with at a later time.

For now, you just wanted to be a girl, sitting with a boy who you've loved since you were fourteen.

Droplets of tears stained your couch dark, your cheeks dampened. It was like a weight had been lifted and for a moment you thought you might disappear.

One of your hands dropped from the mug, laying on the couch near Regulus' limp hand. The grim line his lips had been pressed into warped into a soft smile. He placed his hand over yours, intertwining his fingers with you.

Not much was spoken the rest of the night. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, occasionally making chatter here and there. Your drinks were drained and when your eyes were too heavy to keep open, you’d led Regulus back into your room and onto your bed. His arms tangled around your body and your head on his chest you fell into a peaceful slumber you’d been robbed of since leaving Hogwarts behind.

#regulus black imagine #the marauders imagines #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black #regulus black angst #hp marauders #marauders angst #marauders era #sirius black #marauders #the marauders

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

me: if I become the evil overlord I will never harm my minions

[5 years later]

highly throwable imp: hoohoohee

me: hmm

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

I have a request…. Don’t have to do it if u don’t feel comfy! Butttt I wanted a Wanda x reader head canon list with some nsfw but also some fluff ^_^ you don’t have to do it if u don’t want to but just niche things you’d thing Wanda would do in a relationship with r ☺️

Ahhh this is so cute, added to the queue! :)

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Hi! Can I request "I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy" With nat? I hope you have a nice day ♡

Has it been a year since I got this request? Yes. Am I finally writing it? Also yes.

#ask response

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

— The Archer | R. Targaryen *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader

▹ Genre: Angst and Comfort

▹ Words: ~3.7k

▹ Summary: All of Rhaenyra's enemies started as friends and she's terrified you'll be next.

▹ Note: Your Honor, I'm gay.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

There'd been a shift in your relationship with Rhaenyra.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it had happened or the exact reason for it. But something had changed. No longer did she freely show her affections in the privacy of her chambers, nor did she reach out to hold your hand in hers. Cold and distant, Rhaenyra didn't call on you as much as she previously had. 

Paranoia had you in its claws; had you done something wrong? Did she find someone else to fall in love with? Perhaps someone she could be with so publicly, not a lowly handmaiden she could only ever have in the quiet of the night. 

Your heart hammered with anxiety and suspense; tossing and turning, sleep had evaded you as you began to keep tally of how many times Rhaenyra called on your aid. The most in one day had been three, and she used to call on you double that amount just to be in your presence. Something was wrong; you just didn't know what. 

She wouldn't even meet your gaze anymore. 

It made you squirm when in her presence, where once you had been at complete ease. Doubt made your sunny skies turn gray as insecurities gnawed on you. Did she rekindle her friendship with Queen Alicent and leave you in the dust? Or was it Daemon Targaryen who captured her attention from you? Perhaps someone new to the court you hadn't even realized was a threat. 

There was nothing to do; you were helpless, unable to act as the woman you loved drifted further away. Goodbye was screaming in the silence between the two of you.

Hands shaking and breathing unsteady, your footsteps echoed in the dark halls, its flickering candles casting monsters in the corner of your vision. Your fingers gripped the serving tray in your hand so tight that all circulation had been cut off as your knuckles turned white. The decanter of wine shook, and its sound called out just how terrified you were. 

The princess had requested red wine as she prepared for bed, and you were terribly anxious this would be the night she'd officially end the relationship the two of you shared. But you didn't want that; you didn't want to face the harsh reality that everything was crumbling around you. You'd take awkward silence over definite endings. 

All too soon, you reached her chambers, the doors looming over you in a mocking manner. Carefully, you raised a single fist to the door and knocked, the rap of your fist almost as loud as the beat of your heart. A lump was caught in your throat as you waited.

"Come in." The walls muffled Rhaenyra's voice, but you'd heard them well enough, always too aware of anything related to Rhaenyra. And maybe that was where you went wrong. Blinded by the princess, you took her words as an oath and not the petty dalliance she probably viewed it as. 

Carefully, hands still shaking, you opened the door. The sweat on your palm nearly made it stick to the cool metal of the knob.

The room was dimly lit by half-melted candles and candelabras spread throughout the large chamber. The duvet on her large bed was pulled back, inviting her to sink into the plush mattress of cloud-like pillows. Rhaenyra sat in front of her vanity, hair loose and unbraided, dressed in a night dress and a silk robe. She turned her head as you entered, purple eyes carefully watching you with an unreadable expression. 

She used to look at you with warmth and vibrant affection, every emotion she felt visible on her face. Now it was like looking at a statue, harsh and emotionless. The pit in your stomach burrowed deeper, and your heart got caught in your throat. Where did it all go wrong?

Your eyes darted from her, unable to stare any longer without bursting into tears. The walls were closing in on you as the ability to breathe was taken from you. Like a rat, you hurried to the other side of the room, setting the tray on a small table. 

You opened the decanter, pouring the red wine into the glass. You took your time to avoid spilling anything. You needed to be out of the room as soon as possible. The weight of Rhaenyra's eyes on you was equivalent to the ceiling collapsing onto you. A scenario you would've preferred over this one; at least then death would be quicker than this slow burn. 

There was a soft clank as you set down the crystal decanter. With the glass of wine in hand, you turned and walked towards Rhaenyra. Eyes lowered to the floor, and counting each step taken, you set the glass on the vanity, a few inches from Rhaenyra's hand, that tightly gripped the wood's edge. 

You didn't mutter a word, simply lowering into a slight curtsey before turning and exiting the room. Except you hadn't made it that far, only crossing half of the room before Rhaenyra spoke. 

"Wait." 

You stopped in your tracks, the hammer of your heart so loud you wouldn't be surprised if all of Dragonstone heard it. 

"Come here."

Your eyes fluttered shut, unsure whether you should be relieved or terrified. She would either take you in her arms as she had nearly every night the past year, or she'd fully sever the thread that tied the two of you together.

Deeply you inhaled, held it for a moment, then exhaled, opening your eyes. You turned, eyes still on the floor, as you returned to where Rhaenyra sat. You waited for her to speak, terrified of what she may say. So silent you could've blended into the walls; things had never been this way between you. Rhaenyra had always been more of a friend than a superior and then a friend that became a lover. 

But now she would become a stranger again.

"Would you brush my hair and plait it for bed?" She spoke to you as if you were a stranger, even-toned and perfectly polite. But perhaps if you'd been looking anywhere other than your feet, you'd have noticed the storm of emotions reflected in her eyes. 

Wordlessly you nodded, grabbing the hair brush and meticulously brushing out any knots and tangles. You made quick work of it but refrained from seeming too eager to finish the task. The last thing you needed was to potentially anger Rhaenyra, something you'd never been afraid of. But nothing was as it once was. 

Her hair was like silk threads between your fingers as you wove each strand into one braid that fell down the middle of her back. While your eyes focused solely on her hair and the task at hand, Rhaenyra's were on you. 

A soft smile curled at the edges of her lips, heart heavy with anxiety and fear she didn't dare speak into existence. It wasn't that she wanted to push you away. But as paranoia and fear took root within her mind, rotting away her faith and belief that there were good things out there, distancing herself was better than watching you twist into someone who hated her.  

Yet even as she resolved herself to do such, creating an armor of ice to encase herself with, the sting of heartbreak hit her heart. While she would self-soothe with reassurances that it was only raw for now, that soon the ache would dull, she wasn't convinced. In the loneliness of the night, her bed was entirely too big. You should've been in the space beside her, greeting her with sleepy smiles and bleary eyes that sparkled like stars. 

Rhaenyra was sure that she'd be getting over you her whole life. Yet missing you wasn't the worst of it.

Never a player of the Great Game the nobles busied themselves with, you wore your heart on your sleeve. It was evident the hurt you bore from her sudden withdrawal. Shockwaves of trembling hands and unsteady breaths plagued you, eyes not as bright as they once had been. She noticed it all, and it was like a dagger to the heart every time she did. She never wanted to hurt you; she never wanted you to hate her. 

Yet the fear of you twisting the dagger embedded in her chest from past betrayal made her rash. It made her paranoid, visions of treachery riddling her with madness. Alone in the dark, twisting in her sheets, Rhaenyra's doubts spiraled out of control. 

But in the solitude of her room, Rhaenyra could feel her walls weakening as your nimble fingers brushed through her hair.

You continued your work on Rhaenyra's hair, nearly finished as you reached the end. Before Rhaenyra could return the mask of indifference to her face, you were tying her braid with a cord, eyes moving from her head to meet her eyes in the mirror. Reflected in her eyes was the same pain and longing in yours. It made a lump return to your throat, a small sliver of hope like dawn coming after night. 

Neither of you spoke, your hands still tangled in the ends of her hair. Time had stopped, the both of you screaming a million things with your eyes. Yet neither of you could understand the other, leading to more confusion as your heart continued to break. She nearly reached out and snatched your hands; in fact, she was lifting her hand, fingers outstretched--

The sudden rumble of thunder broke the silence as you jumped back from Rhaenyra, hands falling to your side, and Rhaenyra mourned the loss of your touch. She realized how much she truly missed it.

"Will that be all, my lady?" You lowered your head, eyes once again on your feet.

Rhaenyra hesitated. She'd wanted you to stay, to pull you into her arms and make you swear you'd never leave her. She wanted you to leave kisses on her face, punctuating each one with a promise of undying fealty, not as an heir to the Iron Throne but as the woman you loved. So close within her grasp, she could have reached out and captured your hand, holding it so tight she wouldn't feel a thing. Everything she wanted stood before her, patiently waiting for her to speak. 

And yet Rhaenyra found herself tongue-tied, fighting a war no one else knew was waging. Could she take the leap, put her faith, trust, and everything sacred to her in you, and just simply hope you wouldn't turn your back on her? Could she fully bare her soul, grant you her heart, and pray you wouldn't crush it? Love involved a leap of faith that Rhaenyra was hesitant to take.

How could she open up after so much betrayal from the ones she least expected it from?

But at the same time, all she was feeling was pain that she had inflicted on herself. Was she some sort of masochist, content with being hurt so long as she could wield when and who it came from? 

"Princess?" Your voice pulled Rhaenyra from her thoughts as she refocused on her surroundings. You were looking at her, a hint of concern in the cracks of your neutral expression. 

It only made Rhaenyra's heart twist. You should be cursing her name, swearing up and down the halls Rhaenyra Targaryen was a cheat and a liar. And yet... 

You still cared; it shone in how you watched her, eyes too keen and all-knowing. But if you were all-knowing, why couldn't you see the paranoid propaganda she was feeding herself? She wished, more than anything, you were the mind reader she often joked you were.

Time seemed to slow, unknown words forming on her tongue and falling from her mouth. 

"Stay with me." 

For a moment you stared at her, entirely sure you'd heard her wrong. Yet even as you replayed her answer over and over again, it hadn't changed. She wanted you to stay. Yet even as you lit up with newfound optimism, you crushed it before it could blossom. You didn't want to be let down. 

You then nodded, unable to stifle the small smile on your lips. "Of course, princess. What is it you require of me?"

Rhaenyra picked up the glass of wine that had remained untouched up until that moment, and she stood from the vanity. She tipped the glass back, welcoming the bitter taste of it.

"Have a drink with me." 

You nodded, following Rhaenyra as she walked towards the table where you had placed the decanter of wine. You moved to pour the glass, but Rhaenyra beat you to it, filling a second glass she presented before topping off her own. 

"Thank you," you muttered, taking the glass and tentatively sipping. It was all so familiar, like a sense of deja-vu from when the two of you would sip wine and explore fantasies that could never be. Yet the air was never this thick with tension.

Rhaenyra sat at the table, motioning with her head for you to follow suit, which you did. Your fingers drummed on the wood, nerves making you restless. It felt as though you were awaiting trial for crimes against the crown. 

Unspoken words hovered in the atmosphere, tangible yet elusive. Rhaenyra drank the wine like water while you hardly touched yours. Your stomach was so twisted that the thought of drinking anything made you nauseous. 

The only indication that any time had passed was the dwindling wine and the storm that continued to rage outside. After her third glass had been drained, Rhaenyra set down the cup, pushing it away to indicate she was finished. 

Only then did her eyes find yours, expression severe and austere. There were small lines along her forehead from the furrow of her brows and creases from the frown on her lips. You wanted to smooth them all and kiss away whatever made her so cold, yet that wasn't your place anymore. 

"Do you love me?" She spoke softly, yet a sharp edge to her words carried the weight of an unspoken accusation. She judged you guilty of crimes you never even committed, put you in a cell, and destroyed the key without so much of a trial.

Yet you could do nothing but answer her earnestly because no matter the number of cuts in your skin from her sudden distance, your heart would always belong to her and only her. 

"Yes." 

Rhaenyra's jaw tightens, and in the flicker of the candles, you see the quiver of her lip and the slight shake of her form. She was crumbling, ash to the fire you radiated. Any resolve to preserve her heart in the act of self-sabotage was destroyed. 

"Say it." The words were strained, Rhaenyra's eyes shut so tight the skin might rip. Tears pricked in her eyes, and Rhaenyra did her best to keep them at bay. 

"I love you." You said it with such conviction and sincerity, Rhaenyra nearly believed it. Her eyes remained shut, but her body slackened and sunk into her chair. However, you leaned forward, eyes narrowed as everything clicked into place.

"Is that why you have been so distant and different? Did you believe I did not love you?" You asked, hands finding Rhaenyra's. You gripped them tightly as if to force Rhaenyra to truly see you. 

"It is silly," she laughed, the sounds hollow and empty. She refused to look at you, knowing the burning passion in your eyes would make her fully give in. But she needed to maintain the walls around her heart, even if you kept tearing them down as she put them into place. She wouldn't be hurt by anyone ever again. 

"It is not," you argued, squeezing her hand. "Look at me." She didn't heed your request, stubbornly turning her head away. You stood, the wood of your chair scraping against the stone floor, and you kneeled before Rhaenyra, pulling one of her hands into yours, elbows resting atop her knees.

"Rhaenyra, look at me." Still, she refused. With your free hand, you forced her head to face you. "'Nyra, please." With your final plea, her eyes fluttered open, purple iris' glossy from unshed tears. Diamonds under her eyes glistened, carving a path down her cheek as a few stray tears fell. 

"I love you. I have loved you since the day I laid my eyes upon you. I need you to know that to understand the way I feel will never change."

"You don't know that. You cannot predict how you will feel in the future." She was stubbornly arguing, clinging to the last bit of fight she had. Your touch was burning her skin from her humiliation at appearing so weak. 

"No, I may not be able to see the future, but I know how I feel for you, and I know that won't change."

"I can't be hurt again. All my enemies were once friends, and I cannot bear to see the same happen to you. I cannot lose you." Her hand ghosted over your cheek, her hand that was in your grasp interlocking with your fingers. 

"And you will not. I won't betray you as Queen Alicent of Ser Criston or any of the others that left scars on you. What must I do to make you see that?"

Sharply Rhaenyra inhaled, choked sobs raking through her body. "I do not know how to stop it. I am terrified, so terrified. I do not want to be disappointed, not again."

You swallowed thickly, allowing her words to process as your thumbs stroked the palm of her hand. Like the weather outside, you were a tempest of emotions. A blend of sadness, desperation to comfort Rhaenyra, and burning anger towards those at King's Landing who had created these wounds. 

Rhaenyra always had to maintain a strong facade as the heir to the throne, especially with her claim constantly being questioned. But for now, you would be the source of strength she had to be for so many people. 

Rhaenyra continued to cry as you all but cradled her against you.

"Then I promise to do my best to never let that happen, and if it does, and one of us is let down by the other, I'll do my damndest to ensure I am the one that gets hurt."

Rhaenyra was too stunned to speak, the passion behind your words taking her aback. She pulled her head back from your chest to give you a wide-eyed stare.

You were truly in love with her; you'd meant every sleepy promise and quiet confession. The words you spoke hadn't been hasty or impulsive. They were an oath sworn under a canopy of stars with the gods as your witness. Rhaenyra had been a fool to not realize it before. 

"I love you." 

It was all she uttered before her lips were on yours. The kiss was salty from the tears falling from Rhaenyra's eyes, but you didn't mind, more than content to be pulled beneath the waves of her waters. 

This kiss felt different from all the others you'd shared, a show of affection and relief that the cold war waging between you was over. There would be peace, and Rhaenyra could return to her home in your arms. 

It was also more than that; it was also a declaration of devotion between the two of you, as sacred as any wedding. The waters would be rough, and the two of you could never truly be together anywhere other than the privacy of these four walls. Yet it was everything you'd wanted.

Rhaenyra was everything you wanted. 

You returned her fervor, determined to make her feel every word you hadn't spoken. Gently, your tongue slipped past her lips, and you swallowed the small gasp she let out. One hand was on the nape of her neck, keeping her close while the other traced patterns along the curve of her cheek. She tasted like wine and imported berries from the Reach, an intoxicating blend that made your mind grow hazy. 

She pulled back first, only centimeters separating the two of you. Eye to eye, her forehead resting on yours, she breathed in. The tip of her nose brushed against yours as you panted. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. How could you possibly forgive me," Rhaenyra spoke with as much reverence as a Sept reciting sacred prayers. 

"Because I love you," you spoke, lips brushing over hers. "I love you, and I will continue to do so until the end of my days." 

"I do not deserve you." 

You cupped her cheek in such a soft and delicate fashion. She was a work of art, and you'd handle her with the care she deserved. 

"You deserve so much more than you've been given, 'Nyra. I cannot give you much, but I will give you all my love; I can promise you that. I will never betray you, I will never leave you, and I will never, ever stop loving you."

She breathed out a laugh, a sweet smile on her swollen lips that were bruised from the kiss you'd shared. "And I promise you that when I am named Queen, I will make a new order and marry you, proprietary be damned. I want you, and I will have you. No court, army, or god could stop me."

There was a glow on your face, her words making you feel as high as the heavens. The smile on your face would never be wiped off. Truth rang in Rhaenyra's words, and you knew they weren't pretty promises to make you feel all light and giggly. 

"Do not start a war for me," you muttered in a playful tone, undoing the plait you had done so you could card your fingers through her hair.

"I would burn down the entire world for you." She spoke with such devotion it made your cheeks flush pink.

"Perhaps we start with you kissing me again." 

And Rhaenyra complied with your request, over and over again, determined to make up for the hurt she inflicted. 

#rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra imagine #rhaenyra targaryen #game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #house targaryen #hotd #queen rhaenyra #angst and comfort #taylor swift inspired

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Your Honor, I love Visenya Targaryen.

That is all.

#visenya targaryen #a song of ice and feels #asoiaf #house targaryen #aegon's conquest #queen visenya #vhagar #game of thrones #got

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

No because it’s the same way I wrote this fully knowing it was breaking my heart. Glad you enjoyed it! 🥹🫡

Champagne Problems | Jon Snow

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Genre: Angst 

Warnings: Slight canon divergence (mainly Season 8)

Words: ~1.6k

Prompt: Inspired by Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift from her new album. 

Note:  Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like – love Jon a lot…?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content.

Keep reading

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

and I damn sure never would’ve danced with the devil

#Alicent Apologist™ til the day I die #hotd season 1 #Olivia cooke #alicent hightower

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

— Sweet Tea in the Summer | A. Targaryen *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~1.1k

▹ Summary: Years have passed and you became a distant memory, yet Aemond recalls all the love he had for his childhood friend.

▹ Note: I can't tell if I hate this or love it, but after staring at it for like a month, I decided to post it. Also, this is obviously inspired by Seven by Taylor Swift. Let me know what you think or if you want more House of the Dragon stuff!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Aemond remembered the summers of King’s Landing during his youth in a sun-tinted haze. Balmy air and unrelenting heat. Scorched cobblestone and clear blue skies. Waves crashing against the shore, salt water spraying and lingering in the air. Shadows stretched across the market square, which was bustling and loud. 

Beads of sweat would pool at the edge of his face, streaming down and wetting his dry skin. There was a haze in his vision, constantly squinting his eyes in the too-bright light of the sun. He ran from the Gold Cloaks that followed him, losing them in the winding crowd as he obscured his silver hair with the top of his cloak. His smaller frame made it easy to lose sight of, and within minutes he’d all but vanished from their sight. 

Weaving through the people of King’s Landing, there was only one person on his mind; the only person he could call a friend. He didn’t fondly remember much of his early years, but his time spent with you was the only exception. The lowborn daughter of a tanner, your friendship with the dragon prince was one no one expected. It was also a friendship no one else knew about. He’d meet you where the Street of Flour met the beginnings of Flea Bottom, tucked in an alley between a bakery and a shoddy tavern. 

You’d be waiting for him with a mischievous grin and wide eyes that shone brightly under the sun. He remembered how it made his heart catch in his throat, and his stomach tangle into knots. He didn’t fully understand why your face did that, but he welcomed the feelings anyway.

The two of you would exchange jubilant greetings, too enthusiastic and informal for a prince, yet neither of you could bring yourselves to care. Climbing the shorter buildings in the city, the two of you ran unattended. King’s Landing was yours; the salty air and free world beyond the confines of the city walls gave the two of you a freedom you’d never grasp again. Your raucous laughter and Aemond’s childish screeches were the heart of those summer days. 

He pictured you in the trees; you’d hit your peak at seven feet, so high up for a girl of ten, it felt as though the world was under your feet. Aemond was too afraid to follow, and you were too scared to jump down. He’d help you down, chastising you the whole time, yet you’d just laugh him off. Most people his age found him insufferable and a bore, but you never did.

And if you weren’t in the trees, you were in the thick weeds that threatened to swallow your adolescent forms whole. But in your minds, they weren’t simple weeds; you were fighting through the thick overgrowth of a jungle, hunting for lost treasure. You taught Aemond how to scream ferociously, like a wildling that never learned civility. There were no expectations of him when it came to you; he could be whatever he wanted. So when Aemond was with you, he opted to be wild and free.    

The day would wane, and the sun’s rays would soften into a dim haze. Overgrown grass and wheat fields that went on for miles became the temporary home the two of you shared. Cross your hearts; you’d exchange secrets that would never be told to another. Aemond loved you from Aegon’s High Hill up to the moon, though he never uttered the words out loud. He remembered every secret you told him and every promise sealed with the locking of your pinkies. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” you rolled onto your side, looking directly at Aemond, who in turn sat up to meet your inquisitive gaze. “I think your house is haunted.” 

You lived in a house, and Aemond lived in the Red Keep, but you were too young to differentiate the two. 

Aemond’s lips pursed as he raised a single brow. “Why’s that?”

“Your mother is always mad, and that must be why.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed as he continued to stare at the matter-of-fact expression you wore. “That doesn’t make any sense.” Ever dour and a pessimist, your sense of wonder and optimism was a perfect counter to it. 

“Sure it does!” you exclaimed, hands reaching towards the sky before you flopped back onto the ground, making a new imprint in the field. 

“If you insist,” Aemond relented, unable to mask the small grin on his face as he laid back down. 

“I think you should come live with me, and we can run away and become pirates!” You proclaimed, eyes alight with the wonder that came with dreaming of adventure. 

“Pirates?” Aemond questioned in disbelief. 

“Yes! We’ll do whatever we want and go wherever we want; nobody could tell us what to do.”

“We can’t be pirates. We don’t even have a ship,” Aemond countered, yet despite his disagreement, his eyes glazed over, lost in a daydream where it could be just you and him taking on the world. 

“Then we’ll steal one.”

“How do we steal one?” 

You sputtered, trying to explain something you weren’t sure of yourself. Finally, you gave up and smacked Aemond, hoping to forcefully sway him to your side. “Whatever, shut up. Stop asking so many questions. Do you want to be a pirate or not?” 

Aemond batted off your assaulting hands with a light chuckle following his actions. “Yes, yes. We can become pirates.” 

Your expression brightened, sitting up at Aemond’s agreement. “We’ll be the best! Just wait, Aemond, you’ll see! And when you get a dragon, no one will mess with us!”

So bright and optimistic, he didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d probably never get a dragon. 

A silly promise made by two children at the age of ten was never supposed to mean anything, yet Aemond held onto it as if it were an oath. 

But time slipped by like sand through his fingers. The long days became short, and the cool air became crisper. Aemond lost an eye and gained a dragon; after two weeks of bedrest, he was allowed free reign of the keep, though it would take another month for him to gather the courage to meet with you. 

He ran through King’s Landing like he did every summer day and waited at the same spot you would always be at. Except, you never showed. Minutes turned to hours, and eventually, Aemond returned home. He continued to search for you every day for a month, yet he never caught a glimpse of your wild hair or heard the echo of your loud laughter. All he had left of you were memories of a summer he’d never be able to return to. Your time together became like folklore, a memory Aemond clung to while staring at the stars in the sky. 

And though he couldn’t recall your face, he still had love for you. The braids in your hair that made a pattern and the freckles that dotted your face; the love lasts for so long. 

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x you #hotd aemond #hotd x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #taylor swift fic #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The only way to play Dragon Age, argue with the wall

#Fenris is my husband #Zevran is also my husband #So is Cullen #And Solas #And Alistair #They're all my husbands #But Morrigan is my main wife #plot? what plot? #The plot is my romance arc

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Ahhh this is so sweet! Got my blushing and kicking my feet up 🥹 I’m glad you enjoyed it. Your honor, I too would give up on going home just to follow Daenerys 🫡

To Dream of Home | D. Targaryen

▹ Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Stark!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff with mentioned Angst

▹ Words: ~2.5k

▹ Summary: A storm at Dragonstone brings you and Daenerys together and allows for confessions of love to slip.

▹ Note: I am very gay, that is all. My love for the Targaryen's has returned and y'all are gonna be sick of me.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A storm raged on the island of Dragonstone. 

Charcoal skies were dappled with thick silver-black clouds that brought the heavy rains that shook the keep. Roaring thunder and electric blue lightning. Treacherous seas and a storm that could rival the vengeance of a god. The inhabitants of Dragonstone seemed acclimated to the severe weather.

You, however, were used to winter winds and thick snowfall. Not devastating rain and earth rattling thunder. Sleep eluded you which led you to where you were now. Locked away in a small room near your chambers, you made a makeshift altar upon your arrival to Dragonstone with your half-brother Jon.

“You spend an awful amount of time here.” 

The voice cut through the silence, an intrusion of your time of peace. Kneeled before the makeshift altar you’d created, a half dozen flickering candles illuminated the center of your face and carved shadows on the contours of it. Wordlessly, you finished the final verses of your prayer before lifting your lowered head and turning to face the intruder. 

At the doorway, not daring to cross into the room without permission, was Daenerys. Her hesitance to intrude was strange, seeing as Dragonstone was her keep you were a guest in.

Her hair was loose, waves cascading over her shoulder and down her back. The curls and creases left by her braids were the only reminders they’d been there. She wore dressing robes in hues of blue, embroidered flowers and designs following the curve of her body. She was beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. It was the type of beauty you half expected to be a facade, that one day you would wake to find Daenerys had only ever existed in your mind. 

“I find the prayer soothing,” you responded, slowly standing. Your legs were sore from kneeling on the hard stone too long. There was a crick in your neck that tinged painfully if you turned your head too far left or too far right. Yet you did your best to keep a grimace from your expression. The last thing you needed was Daenerys thinking it was her presence you found unpleasant and not the needling pain in your body. 

“Do you pray often?” She shifted her head, causing tendrils of silvery hair to move from over her shoulder to rest along her back. Violet eyes stared at you curiously, lips pursed in an almost grin. She hardly seemed to smile, the oppressive halls of Dragonstone mimicking the impending war for the Iron Throne. 

“I do, yet I do not believe the gods are listening,” you muttered the last part quietly, followed by a deep breath. 

You glanced towards the candles and the altar, recounting every moment you’d spent kneeling before ones just like it. The years had been unkind, the horrors only growing worse as the years passed. It had shaped you into the woman you were today, hardened by deaths you never should’ve witnessed. Yet there was a part of the ten-year-old girl that still lived within you, that believed the gods were listening and that if you prayed hard enough, they would grant your wishes. 

“I never did much praying as a child, my brother didn’t see the point.” Her eyes moved past you, staring at the makeshift altar. Lit by the dim light of the room, you could see a hint of melancholy that tinged her violet eyes blue. Your gaze lowered to the ground at the mention of her brother, her upbringing so different than yours had been.

Northerners were as harsh and cold as the winter winds they grew up in, but beneath all the cold, austere facades your family was as warm as the hearth in the great hall. You’d grown up with a family who loved and cared for you. Whispers of Viserys’ anger reached even the North, his grief twisted into madness. 

Both parties may have passed, but at least you had your family's love to hold onto during the darkest nights. Daenerys had no such thing. Nothing but the hope of reclaiming her family’s stolen valor as a light in the night. 

“If you want, we could pray together.” Her attention returned to you. “It may help you sleep through the storm.”

Daenerys pondered your offer for a moment before accepting with a single nod. She crossed the threshold into the room, her gown following her like a cloak. You returned to the kneeling position you were in before, Daenerys taking her place beside you. 

“Some people believe there are specific words you have to use, that then have to be said in a specific order or the gods won’t care. But I don’t believe that, I allow my feelings to guide my prayers. Perhaps that’s why the gods aren’t answering me, but I feel better that way.” 

Daenerys nodded, watching you with such attentive eyes you had to look away in fear of the flush that would appear on your face. “Do you say them out loud?”

“Sometimes, but mostly I just mentally recite them. It feels like it's my own secret that way.” There was a hint of coyness in your voice that made a smile appear on the corners of Daenerys’ lips. 

Silence fell over the room, only the roar of thunder and the patter of rain to be heard. The candles continued to burn, the wax melting and staining the stone flooring. There was a single window in the room, a flash of lightning filling it with pale blue light. Subconsciously, your eyes moved to Daenerys’ side profile. 

Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly parted. She looked so soft and innocent, and you wondered if this was who she could’ve stayed if not for the rebellion that harshened her worldview. What would she have become if she didn’t have to fight tooth and nail every moment of her life just to survive? The quiet of the room and the soft curves of her face allowed you to imagine just how different she may be in a different lifetime. 

Your eyes had lingered on her too long, you knew, but you couldn’t look away. Your heartbeat had sped up, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. She’d always made you feel giddy like a child, but now that there was no chaos to distract you. It was easier to hone in on the feelings she elicited from you. And perhaps you shouldn’t entertain them, but a small sliver of hope kept you holding on. 

The weight of your gaze must’ve been heavy because Daenerys lifted her closed eyes from the floor and met your gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but you could’ve sworn her eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your eyes. 

“What did you pray for?” The words fell from your tongue before you could consider how invasive they could be. But she didn’t seem offended, a small blossoming on her face as another streak of lightning filled the room. It made her skin glow, making her look even more otherworldly. 

“I prayed for home.”

Her answer sent a pang of sadness that was surely reflected in your eyes. She brought dragons back to the world and freed the slaves of Slaver’s Bay while uniting the Dothraki under one banner and making them cross the sea for the first time ever. So many fantastical acts were done because of her, it was easy to forget behind it all was just a scared girl. She could make herself of steel and ice, but underneath it all would always be flesh. 

“I pray for home as well,” you uttered. 

She raised a brow, non-verbally asking you to elaborate. Her expression was so attentive, like a sponge ready to soak up whatever information you may present to her.

How could you possibly ever deny her?

“I very much wish to return to the North. The short days and long nights, the air that was sharp with a bitter chill. Grey skies and white grounds. Snowflakes that fell into my mouth as Theon and Robb chased me to the edge of the woods. The sky was bleak and void of color, but the hearths in the Great Hall made light dance in the keep, mead keeping everyone warm and merry.”

The smile on your face was tinged with melancholia, the grief making your body lock up and freeze. Those days were long gone, and you could never return to them. That didn’t stop you from wishing for it, however.

To hope that one day you might wake up and find this had all been a terrible dream. Your mother and father were still alive, Robb was preparing to become Lord of Winterfell; Arya and Sansa would continue to bicker and Jon would join the Night’s Watch to make something of himself. Everything would be right and war wouldn’t cast a shadow far darker than that of the worst winter storms. 

But those were the wishes of a naive child, the life you were in is the life you’re stuck with. But perhaps in another lifetime, you got to live out every fantasy and forgotten dream.

“That sounds beautiful.”

Daenerys’ voice pulled you from your reminiscing, your eyes wandering back to hers.

“It was.” 

“And yet you left Winterfell to come here with your brother?” 

You swallowed thickly. Winterfell had become a bittersweet place. Walking the Great Hall felt as if you were in a haunted house. The ghosts of past memories lingered in every corner, the echoes of laughter you’d never hear again filling your head. The relief being home had brought you had been short-lived, the weight of the betrayal of Theon and the Bolton’s tainting it. 

Winterfell wasn’t home anymore. 

“I--” you stuttered, unsure of just how to put your feelings into words. How do you tell someone that your home doesn’t feel like home anymore? How do you explain everything you had fought for felt empty in the end? It didn’t lift your pain or mend the scars of the past years. Instead, it ripped over the scabs and left you bleeding in the snow. 

“I don’t know if Winterfell is my home anymore.”

Daenerys hummed, nodding her head. Her expression was solemn and in her eyes, you saw understanding. She knew all too well the conflicting sentiment of fighting for something you may not want in the end. 

“When I was a girl, Viserys and I lived in a house in Braavos with a red door and lemon tree outside my window. It was the closest thing to home I’d had.” 

Subtly, you scooted closer to Daenerys, eager to unravel more of her elusive past. She hardly spoke of her life with Viserys, most of the memories too painful to reminisce on. And maybe, just maybe, her vulnerability was a sign that your feelings weren’t so unrequited. 

“What was it like?” You prod for her to speak more on her time in Braavos, enraptured by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“It was a beautiful house and so large, at least it seemed large at the time. There was even a room with a wooden beam with animal faces carved in it. I had my own room and a window to peer outside. I’d sit there for hours, watching the sunrise and the sunset.”

Her hand rested on the floor, and tentatively, you reached over and placed your hand over hers. You half expected her to brush you off, but instead, she leaned closer to you. Shoulder to shoulder, you could smell the floral oils her hair had been washed with. 

“What happened to it?” 

She sighed, eyes wandering back to the altar. “Our patron passed and the servants sent us away. But even after all these years, I still long to return. To escape to the innocence of my youth.”

A beat of silence passed, Daenerys longing words hanging in the air. 

“We could always return.”

Daenerys turned, meeting your gaze. Inches separated your face from hers, and this close up, you could see the faint freckles that created constellations on her skin. 

“And if it’s no longer standing?” 

Your heart stuttered as you hesitated on your next words. It was now or never, the time to lay your cards on the table and learn if your hope was delusional. 

“We could build a new one with a lemon tree just outside the bedroom. I’m not much of a widdler, but I could try to carve new animal faces in the wooden beams in all the rooms.”

For a moment Daenerys doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to breathe. Her eyes are locked with yours, wide and unblinking. Nerves begin to create a thousand cuts in your mind, perhaps you’d been too forward in your confession. 

“And you would stay with me?”

She wanted to hear you say it, to verbalize you’d never leave her side, not willingly. 

“I’m not much for the heat, but I could learn to love it to never leave your side.”

She exhaled a small puff of air, a smile lighting up her face. The apples of her cheeks were rounded and rosy, violet eyes twinkling like the stars in the sky. The sudden impulse to run your fingers through her hair came over you. And you acted on it, gently carding your fingers through the silver-gold strands of hair. 

“Then perhaps we meet in the middle and build our house with the red door in a more temperate climate.” 

She leaned closer, the tips of your noses brushing. 

“We could make our home on the mountainside? It would leave plenty of room for the dragons,” you suggested. Daenerys smiled, the whisper of a laugh leaving her mouth. The sound was the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. You’d never wanted to stop hearing it. 

“And direwolves?” 

“Maybe one or two.” 

You cut off whatever Daenerys may have replied with, placing your lips against hers. The kiss was gentle as if to seal the promise you’d made. She smiled into it, her hands weaving themselves around your neck. You pulled her closer, practically pulling her into your lap; you’d wanted her as close as possible. To bask in the warmth radiating from her body and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 

Perhaps things would’ve been different in another lifetime, where Daenerys got to be the princess she should’ve been and you the daughter of a very much alive Ned Stark. But perhaps in those lifetimes you and Daenerys would never be more than passing acquaintances. She'd be the princess of the kingdom and you the lady-daughter of the Warden of the North. 

This lifetime felt like trying to sail through a storm and Daenerys was the lighthouse guiding you to the shore. The death and loss had been painful, but it all led you to this moment with Daenerys. It nearly made the events of the past years worth it.

"Let's win this war so we can build our silly little house," you muttered against her lips, eliciting another laugh from Daenerys before she placed her lips on yours again.

You would give Daenerys her house with the red door and the lemon tree outside, no matter the cost.   

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

"i'm team black" "i'm team green"

well i am neither because i choose my teams with my pussy and not my moral compass

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

To Dream of Home | D. Targaryen

▹ Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Stark!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff with mentioned Angst

▹ Words: ~2.5k

▹ Summary: A storm at Dragonstone brings you and Daenerys together and allows for confessions of love to slip.

▹ Note: I am very gay, that is all. My love for the Targaryen's has returned and y'all are gonna be sick of me.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A storm raged on the island of Dragonstone. 

Charcoal skies were dappled with thick silver-black clouds that brought the heavy rains that shook the keep. Roaring thunder and electric blue lightning. Treacherous seas and a storm that could rival the vengeance of a god. The inhabitants of Dragonstone seemed acclimated to the severe weather.

You, however, were used to winter winds and thick snowfall. Not devastating rain and earth rattling thunder. Sleep eluded you which led you to where you were now. Locked away in a small room near your chambers, you made a makeshift altar upon your arrival to Dragonstone with your half-brother Jon.

“You spend an awful amount of time here.” 

The voice cut through the silence, an intrusion of your time of peace. Kneeled before the makeshift altar you’d created, a half dozen flickering candles illuminated the center of your face and carved shadows on the contours of it. Wordlessly, you finished the final verses of your prayer before lifting your lowered head and turning to face the intruder. 

At the doorway, not daring to cross into the room without permission, was Daenerys. Her hesitance to intrude was strange, seeing as Dragonstone was her keep you were a guest in.

Her hair was loose, waves cascading over her shoulder and down her back. The curls and creases left by her braids were the only reminders they’d been there. She wore dressing robes in hues of blue, embroidered flowers and designs following the curve of her body. She was beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. It was the type of beauty you half expected to be a facade, that one day you would wake to find Daenerys had only ever existed in your mind. 

“I find the prayer soothing,” you responded, slowly standing. Your legs were sore from kneeling on the hard stone too long. There was a crick in your neck that tinged painfully if you turned your head too far left or too far right. Yet you did your best to keep a grimace from your expression. The last thing you needed was Daenerys thinking it was her presence you found unpleasant and not the needling pain in your body. 

“Do you pray often?” She shifted her head, causing tendrils of silvery hair to move from over her shoulder to rest along her back. Violet eyes stared at you curiously, lips pursed in an almost grin. She hardly seemed to smile, the oppressive halls of Dragonstone mimicking the impending war for the Iron Throne. 

“I do, yet I do not believe the gods are listening,” you muttered the last part quietly, followed by a deep breath. 

You glanced towards the candles and the altar, recounting every moment you’d spent kneeling before ones just like it. The years had been unkind, the horrors only growing worse as the years passed. It had shaped you into the woman you were today, hardened by deaths you never should’ve witnessed. Yet there was a part of the ten-year-old girl that still lived within you, that believed the gods were listening and that if you prayed hard enough, they would grant your wishes. 

“I never did much praying as a child, my brother didn’t see the point.” Her eyes moved past you, staring at the makeshift altar. Lit by the dim light of the room, you could see a hint of melancholy that tinged her violet eyes blue. Your gaze lowered to the ground at the mention of her brother, her upbringing so different than yours had been.

Northerners were as harsh and cold as the winter winds they grew up in, but beneath all the cold, austere facades your family was as warm as the hearth in the great hall. You’d grown up with a family who loved and cared for you. Whispers of Viserys’ anger reached even the North, his grief twisted into madness. 

Both parties may have passed, but at least you had your family's love to hold onto during the darkest nights. Daenerys had no such thing. Nothing but the hope of reclaiming her family’s stolen valor as a light in the night. 

“If you want, we could pray together.” Her attention returned to you. “It may help you sleep through the storm.”

Daenerys pondered your offer for a moment before accepting with a single nod. She crossed the threshold into the room, her gown following her like a cloak. You returned to the kneeling position you were in before, Daenerys taking her place beside you. 

“Some people believe there are specific words you have to use, that then have to be said in a specific order or the gods won’t care. But I don’t believe that, I allow my feelings to guide my prayers. Perhaps that’s why the gods aren’t answering me, but I feel better that way.” 

Daenerys nodded, watching you with such attentive eyes you had to look away in fear of the flush that would appear on your face. “Do you say them out loud?”

“Sometimes, but mostly I just mentally recite them. It feels like it's my own secret that way.” There was a hint of coyness in your voice that made a smile appear on the corners of Daenerys’ lips. 

Silence fell over the room, only the roar of thunder and the patter of rain to be heard. The candles continued to burn, the wax melting and staining the stone flooring. There was a single window in the room, a flash of lightning filling it with pale blue light. Subconsciously, your eyes moved to Daenerys’ side profile. 

Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly parted. She looked so soft and innocent, and you wondered if this was who she could’ve stayed if not for the rebellion that harshened her worldview. What would she have become if she didn’t have to fight tooth and nail every moment of her life just to survive? The quiet of the room and the soft curves of her face allowed you to imagine just how different she may be in a different lifetime. 

Your eyes had lingered on her too long, you knew, but you couldn’t look away. Your heartbeat had sped up, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. She’d always made you feel giddy like a child, but now that there was no chaos to distract you. It was easier to hone in on the feelings she elicited from you. And perhaps you shouldn’t entertain them, but a small sliver of hope kept you holding on. 

The weight of your gaze must’ve been heavy because Daenerys lifted her closed eyes from the floor and met your gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but you could’ve sworn her eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your eyes. 

“What did you pray for?” The words fell from your tongue before you could consider how invasive they could be. But she didn’t seem offended, a small blossoming on her face as another streak of lightning filled the room. It made her skin glow, making her look even more otherworldly. 

“I prayed for home.”

Her answer sent a pang of sadness that was surely reflected in your eyes. She brought dragons back to the world and freed the slaves of Slaver’s Bay while uniting the Dothraki under one banner and making them cross the sea for the first time ever. So many fantastical acts were done because of her, it was easy to forget behind it all was just a scared girl. She could make herself of steel and ice, but underneath it all would always be flesh. 

“I pray for home as well,” you uttered. 

She raised a brow, non-verbally asking you to elaborate. Her expression was so attentive, like a sponge ready to soak up whatever information you may present to her.

How could you possibly ever deny her?

“I very much wish to return to the North. The short days and long nights, the air that was sharp with a bitter chill. Grey skies and white grounds. Snowflakes that fell into my mouth as Theon and Robb chased me to the edge of the woods. The sky was bleak and void of color, but the hearths in the Great Hall made light dance in the keep, mead keeping everyone warm and merry.”

The smile on your face was tinged with melancholia, the grief making your body lock up and freeze. Those days were long gone, and you could never return to them. That didn’t stop you from wishing for it, however.

To hope that one day you might wake up and find this had all been a terrible dream. Your mother and father were still alive, Robb was preparing to become Lord of Winterfell; Arya and Sansa would continue to bicker and Jon would join the Night’s Watch to make something of himself. Everything would be right and war wouldn’t cast a shadow far darker than that of the worst winter storms. 

But those were the wishes of a naive child, the life you were in is the life you’re stuck with. But perhaps in another lifetime, you got to live out every fantasy and forgotten dream.

“That sounds beautiful.”

Daenerys’ voice pulled you from your reminiscing, your eyes wandering back to hers.

“It was.” 

“And yet you left Winterfell to come here with your brother?” 

You swallowed thickly. Winterfell had become a bittersweet place. Walking the Great Hall felt as if you were in a haunted house. The ghosts of past memories lingered in every corner, the echoes of laughter you’d never hear again filling your head. The relief being home had brought you had been short-lived, the weight of the betrayal of Theon and the Bolton’s tainting it. 

Winterfell wasn’t home anymore. 

“I--” you stuttered, unsure of just how to put your feelings into words. How do you tell someone that your home doesn’t feel like home anymore? How do you explain everything you had fought for felt empty in the end? It didn’t lift your pain or mend the scars of the past years. Instead, it ripped over the scabs and left you bleeding in the snow. 

“I don’t know if Winterfell is my home anymore.”

Daenerys hummed, nodding her head. Her expression was solemn and in her eyes, you saw understanding. She knew all too well the conflicting sentiment of fighting for something you may not want in the end. 

“When I was a girl, Viserys and I lived in a house in Braavos with a red door and lemon tree outside my window. It was the closest thing to home I’d had.” 

Subtly, you scooted closer to Daenerys, eager to unravel more of her elusive past. She hardly spoke of her life with Viserys, most of the memories too painful to reminisce on. And maybe, just maybe, her vulnerability was a sign that your feelings weren’t so unrequited. 

“What was it like?” You prod for her to speak more on her time in Braavos, enraptured by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“It was a beautiful house and so large, at least it seemed large at the time. There was even a room with a wooden beam with animal faces carved in it. I had my own room and a window to peer outside. I’d sit there for hours, watching the sunrise and the sunset.”

Her hand rested on the floor, and tentatively, you reached over and placed your hand over hers. You half expected her to brush you off, but instead, she leaned closer to you. Shoulder to shoulder, you could smell the floral oils her hair had been washed with. 

“What happened to it?” 

She sighed, eyes wandering back to the altar. “Our patron passed and the servants sent us away. But even after all these years, I still long to return. To escape to the innocence of my youth.”

A beat of silence passed, Daenerys longing words hanging in the air. 

“We could always return.”

Daenerys turned, meeting your gaze. Inches separated your face from hers, and this close up, you could see the faint freckles that created constellations on her skin. 

“And if it’s no longer standing?” 

Your heart stuttered as you hesitated on your next words. It was now or never, the time to lay your cards on the table and learn if your hope was delusional. 

“We could build a new one with a lemon tree just outside the bedroom. I’m not much of a widdler, but I could try to carve new animal faces in the wooden beams in all the rooms.”

For a moment Daenerys doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to breathe. Her eyes are locked with yours, wide and unblinking. Nerves begin to create a thousand cuts in your mind, perhaps you’d been too forward in your confession. 

“And you would stay with me?”

She wanted to hear you say it, to verbalize you’d never leave her side, not willingly. 

“I’m not much for the heat, but I could learn to love it to never leave your side.”

She exhaled a small puff of air, a smile lighting up her face. The apples of her cheeks were rounded and rosy, violet eyes twinkling like the stars in the sky. The sudden impulse to run your fingers through her hair came over you. And you acted on it, gently carding your fingers through the silver-gold strands of hair. 

“Then perhaps we meet in the middle and build our house with the red door in a more temperate climate.” 

She leaned closer, the tips of your noses brushing. 

“We could make our home on the mountainside? It would leave plenty of room for the dragons,” you suggested. Daenerys smiled, the whisper of a laugh leaving her mouth. The sound was the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. You’d never wanted to stop hearing it. 

“And direwolves?” 

“Maybe one or two.” 

You cut off whatever Daenerys may have replied with, placing your lips against hers. The kiss was gentle as if to seal the promise you’d made. She smiled into it, her hands weaving themselves around your neck. You pulled her closer, practically pulling her into your lap; you’d wanted her as close as possible. To bask in the warmth radiating from her body and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 

Perhaps things would’ve been different in another lifetime, where Daenerys got to be the princess she should’ve been and you the daughter of a very much alive Ned Stark. But perhaps in those lifetimes you and Daenerys would never be more than passing acquaintances. She'd be the princess of the kingdom and you the lady-daughter of the Warden of the North. 

This lifetime felt like trying to sail through a storm and Daenerys was the lighthouse guiding you to the shore. The death and loss had been painful, but it all led you to this moment with Daenerys. It nearly made the events of the past years worth it.

"Let's win this war so we can build our silly little house," you muttered against her lips, eliciting another laugh from Daenerys before she placed her lips on yours again.

You would give Daenerys her house with the red door and the lemon tree outside, no matter the cost.   

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys targaryen x reader #Daenerys Targaryen x Stark!reader #daenerys x fem!reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #got #got imagine #Daenerys targaryen x fem!reader #game of thrones oneshot #game of thrones fanfiction #Daenerys x Stark!reader

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

House of the Dragon x Bob's Burgers 2/?

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Forever is the Sweetest Con | N. Romanoff

▹ Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff with mentions of Smut

▹ Words: ~4k

▹ Summary: The moment you met Nat, you knew it was gonna be one of those things.

▹ Note: I am very gay, that is all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You’d first met Natasha at a bar. 

It was a Thursday night and the dive bar was empty. Quiet chatter muddled the music coming out of the speakers. You were seated up front at the bartop, a drink in hand, mindlessly stirring it with the pink straw it came with. The stress of the day was heavy on your mind, but lifting with each sip of your drink. The barstool creaked each time you shifted, the disruptive noise keeping you from falling into a haze. 

The barstool beside you scraped against the floor, a new presence felt on your left. A soft, tired sigh was breathed through your teeth, assuming it was another man that was insistent he was exactly what you needed. And while normally you’d play into it, twirling your hair and giving them coy smiles, whatever it took to get free drinks for the night. Men were always willing to believe whatever story you painted them, and more willing to believe drinks were all it took for a woman to sleep with them. Then once the night drew to a close, you’d disappear from sight, leaving them high and dry.

Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. You’d take the financial hit of buying your own drinks in return for not having to giggle at inane comments or feign interest at a man finally learning what empathy was via a shroom trip. The day had already been exhausting enough, you didn’t have it in you to fake it. 

So you turned your head, a scathing rejection on the tip of your tongue that promptly dissolved. Perched in the barstool with a vintage leather jacket was a redheaded woman. She was striking; emerald eyes with a stare that left you feeling bare and plump lips curled into a coy grin that left you feeling like a nervous teenager again. She had high cheekbones with a face that deserved to be on a magazine, not lit by the dingy bar lights.  

“Rough night?” she asked, her voice low and raspy. Her words broke you from the trance she put you in, and from the glint in her eyes, she knew the effect she’d had. Mouth suddenly dry, you swallowed thickly to moisten it, scrambling for something, anything, to say. 

“Something like that,” you uttered, tipping your glass into your mouth, relishing in the brief burn brought by the tequila mixed in your drink. With a clink, you set the glass back on the bartop, licking the liquid that fell from your lips. 

“Maybe I can help, I know a thing or two about rough nights,” she said, tilting her head to the side, flagging the bartender over to the two of you. “What are you drinking tonight?” 

You shrugged, sparing a cursory glance towards your drink before they rested on her again. “Not sure, I let the bartender surprise me. It’s got tequila, I know that.”

“How about you let me surprise you next.” The words fell from her mouth with ease. They were innocent enough, yet that didn’t keep the flush from burning your face. There was a double meaning to her words, you were sure of it, you just weren’t sure of the exact innuendo that was implied. 

“Sure, but you’ve gotta give me your name first. I don’t accept drinks from strangers.” Your response was quick, voice not at all betraying just how nervous she made you.

She laughed, a short and quiet sound as her smirk curled into an amused grin. “Well I guess that’s something we need to fix.” She holds her hand out to you, “Natasha.”

You took her hand in yours, shaking it. Her grip was firm, but not painful, hands soft and fitting perfectly within yours. “Y/N.”

“Pretty name for a pretty lady.” 

You couldn’t help the snort you breathed out through your nose. You’d heard that line a million times, but never had it sounded so sweet. “If that’s your best line, you must coast on your looks.” You spoke before thinking, internally wincing, praying Natasha wouldn’t take them harshly. 

Instead of frowning, and awkwardly mumbling an excuse to leave, Natasha laughed, eyes twinkling with amusement. The noise was pleasant in your ears, making your heart race against your chest. From the light feeling it put in your head, you were determined to hear that sound for the rest of your life. 

“So you think I’m pretty?” she asked once her laughter silenced. She raised a single, perfectly plucked brow and leaned her body closer to yours. Her perfume wafted into your senses: vanilla, bergament, and jasmine. It was nearly as intoxicating as the tequila in your drink.

“Am I blind?” you laughed, finishing the rest of your drink, wincing as the liquor burned at the back of your throat. You set the glass down, eyes not leaving Natasha’s for a second. 

“I don’t know. How many fingers am I holding up.” She held up three fingers, nails perfectly manicured with fresh polish coloring them red. 

You hummed, feigning an inquisitive stare, squinting your eyes for extra flare. Natasha stifled a small chuckle, biting the bottom of her lip. “Two,” you said after a few moments. Natasha snorted and shook her head. 

“Three, I’m holding up three. Maybe you really are blind.”

You shook your head, reached toward her hand that was still holding up the same three fingers. Your hand wrapped around hers, causing shivers to run up your spine from the contact. “No, it’s two, this--” you put down her thumb. “-is a thumb. So technically, it was two fingers and a thumb.” 

Natasha groaned and rolled her eyes, but didn’t remove her hand from yours. She intertwined her fingers with yours, as comfortable with your touch as you were with hers. “That’s juvenile, it really is.” 

“But you can’t argue with the logic,” you responded, laughing lightly and eager to keep her talking. A thousand jokes and quippy comments ran through your mind, anything to keep her laughing at you. 

“I could, but I’d much rather just sit here and watch you.” 

Your breath was caught in your throat, a flush appearing on your face. You’d heard compliments like that a million times, but those had always felt vapid. Natasha’s eyes though, made you believe she meant it as more than idle flattery. Before you could respond the bartender came over. Natasha ordered two drinks, but you weren’t paying it mind, too busy cementing her side profile to your memory. 

“So, Y/N--” Natasha’s voice puts your focus back into the real world. “What’s got you so stressed tonight?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, today’s work day coming back to you. “Just work. I’d rather not get into it if you don’t mind. I’d like to pretend the day never happened, at least for the evening.” 

Natasha nodded, not pushing the issue. She knew stressful work days, and also knew sometimes it was best to not speak on them. A moment later, the bartender slid two drinks towards you two, one of which had another neon pink straw. You grabbed the drink, a huff of laughter leaving your mouth as you sipped from it. 

“Well--” Natasha raised her glass and you did the same. “Here’s to drinking away stressful days.”

You clink your glass against hers, a tired grin on your face. “I’ll drink to that.” 

You both brought your glasses to your lips, taking a large drink and then setting the glasses on the bartop. 

“You got any other plans tonight?” Natasha asked. There was a glint in her eyes you couldn’t place, a coyness in her grin that had been there when she first sat by you and vanished once conversation had flowed. But now it was back and it made your stomach twist in knots. 

“No, but I could make some.” 

Natasha nodded, finishing off her drink and slamming it on the bartop. 

“Good answer.” 

You laughed, a weak attempt to ignore your sweaty palms and anxious excitement. 

“Charmer.” It was the only response you could think of. 

She winked at you, lazily leaned against the bar. 

“Takes one to know one.” 

---

The second time you’d seen her had been in a nightclub. 

Bathed in the fluorescent glow of the club lights, red lipstick lined a coy smirk you were beginning to think was her signature. A tight, black dress clung to her body, emphasizing every curve and line of her body. Her auburn hair was straightened and sleek, not a flyaway hair in sight. As usual, she looked beautiful in an impossible way. It was hard to believe she was even looking your way. 

But she was, eyes finding yours through the crowd. 

Bass rattled the ground, music drowning out the sound of your own rapid heart. Sweat and alcohol mingled in the air, creating a distinct smell that would be burned in your memory when you remembered this night. Dozens of bodies covered the dance floor, though it looked more like mass convulsions instead of dancing, not that they cared. Everyone was too drunk to be self-consciously aware. 

A drink in hand, you didn’t dare to look away from Natasha. You felt light; giddy like a schoolgirl from the flutters in your heart. 

‘Oh lord,’ you thought. ‘This is gonna be one of those things.’

You threw back the rest of your drink, wincing as it burned and was bitter on your tongue. But you needed the courage that the daze of alcohol brought. It worked, lingering insecurities and anxieties melting away, your mind was focused on one thing.

Like in a trance, you moved through the club, shoving aside sweaty, drunk bodies to reach your intended target. Eye contact with Natasha never wavered or broke even as she began to push through the crowd as well. A part of you was afraid if you looked away she’d disappear. The back of your mind paranoid she was some figment of your imagination created to fill a void. 

Natasha met you halfway.

“Funny seeing you here, Y/N.” Her tone was teasing and light, somehow heard over the booming music and cheers of the club. 

“Funny indeed. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were following me.” Your lips curled into a smirk, eyes alight with mischief and excitement. 

“Am I that obvious?” She leaned closer. Natasha’s hands found a home around your waist and pulled you closer. The familiar scent of her perfume dulled your senses, a welcomed feeling. You briefly closed your eyes, hyper aware of her hands trailing lower than your waist. 

“Ooo, a little forward, are we?” You tried to keep your voice even and cool, wanting to keep up the charade of not being completely under her spell.

Natasha chuckled, close enough that the noise tickled your ear. “You didn’t think so last week,” Natasha uttered. 

Flashes of last week came back to you, making your skin hot and your face flush. Memories of Natasha wrapped around your body like a python, clothes discarded and forgotten on your floor blurred your vision. You drowned in the scent of her perfume and the sweat that clung to her body, and it lingered long after she’d left. You didn’t wake in time to see her leave, and if it weren’t for the note left on the pillow she laid her head on, you’d think it was a dream. 

“Maybe I had some clarity in the morning, you did leave in a hurry afterall.” You tried to keep the disappointment out of your voice. It wouldn’t be fair to be upset, you’d done the same to a million other people. Karma really was a bitch if Natasha was your karma.  

“Oh,” she crooned, her lips right by your ear. “Sorry I had to skip out on you, had an early start to work.” 

You could barely breathe, short circuiting in the middle of the club. There was a fog in your mind, hazy and unclear when you tried to focus on anything not related to Natasha. 

A huff of laughter left your mouth as you grasped for something to say. Despite your best efforts, nothing came to mind. 

Natasha pulled back, enough to see your face, but close enough her breath fanned across your face. “I did leave a note though.” 

“You did leave a note.”

Suddenly Natasha pulled back, hands moving from your waist to your wrists. 

“You wanna dance?” Even though she had asked she didn’t wait for a response, already dragging you back towards the dance floor, a devious glint reflecting in her eyes.

“Dancing is a dangerous game,” you uttered, but went along with Natasha anyway. She was like a succubus and you were her thrall, subject to her will, whatever that may be. You were half convinced you’d jump from a building if she asked.  

“A little danger never hurt anyone.” 

Your response got swallowed by the crowd. Natasha pulled you closer; chest to chest and eye to eye. Your hands wandered her body, the fabric of her dress soft under your fingertips. She returned the favor, fingers ghosting every curve of your body. The beat of the song matched the rate of your heart as it threatened to jump from your heart. 

Compelled to close the miniscule distance separating the two of them, you pressed Natasha closer to you, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from her. And maybe it was alcohol or something entirely different taking over you, but under the neon lights you kissed her. Natasha’s lips were soft and tasted like cherries, the liquor she’d been drinking making your lips tingle. In sync, her lips moved with yours in gentle urgency. The tip of her tongue swiped against your bottom lip before entering your mouth. 

It wasn’t the first time you kissed, but that had been messy and hurried. You were too drunk to savor the moment, to relish the way her kiss made your knees shake. 

At some point one of you pulled back, only for your lips to latch onto eachother again. You were drunk off the feeling of her body against your and not the liquor you’d been sipping on all night. 

Natasha pulled back for a last time, an almost devilish grin on her face. You half expected for her to utter some quippy remark, but she didn’t. Her lips remained curled into that grin that would be burned into your memory. 

“You’re a bandit,” you uttered, not expecting your words to carry to her ears. But they did. 

“Not any more than you are.”

You didn’t have a response. You were used to holding all the cards, controlling the eb and flow of your flings, but not with Natasha. That would never be the case with Natasha. No longer a sly fox, but a blind mouse stumbling in the dark; she made you feel blind.

Natasha continued to dance, keeping close to your body. You followed her lead, moving with the beat and allowing any lingering sense to dissipate. Living for the moment, desperately clinging to each moment, even as the liquor made it hard to focus on the details. The night passed in the blink of an eye, flashes of dancing and taking shots at the bar all you remembered. At some point the two of you stumbled out of the bar and to her apartment. Just like last time, clothes were left forgotten as your bodies tangled with nothing but breathy moans filling the apartment. 

When the morning came, threads of dawnlight shining on your face, you woke first. Natasha continued to sleep beside you, mouth ajar as she quietly snored. Carefully, you got out of the bed and put on your clothes from the night before. You didn’t want to leave, hopeful it would lead to something more than drunken sex. But Natasha had set the precedent when she left first and you didn’t want to feel the sting of embarrassment.

At her front door, you hesitated, gnawing on your bottom lip. Your eyes flickered to the small pad of paper on her countertop. A soft sigh left your mouth as you walked across the room. 

‘It couldn’t hurt to leave a note,’ you reasoned with yourself. ‘She did it first.’

Haphazardly, you scribbled a note that you signed at the bottom. Eyes darted around the apartment, searching for the right place to put the note. They landed on the refrigerator, one lone magnet resting on it. You slid the note under it and left it on her fridge, then quickly exited the apartment, carefully shutting the door behind you. 

Natasha could be the way forward, everything you’d ever wanted. But you knew you’d pay for it, and recklessly, you decided it was a risk worth taking. 

Maybe instead of stalking me,you could just give me a call?

208.222.3333

Xoxo Y/N

---

The third time you’d seen Natasha hadn’t been at a bar or a nightclub. No, it had been on tv. 

The press was covering a committee hearing at Capitol Hill that had happened earlier that morning. Black Widow from the Avengers had been called to the stand, questioned on the information that had been leaked about Hydra’s corruption within the government. They were demanding repercussion, she felt differently. The voice was raspy in a familiar way, but you didn’t on it too long. 

It’d been over a week since you’d seen or heard from Natasha, not a single text sent your way. You’d ghosted dozens of people, but couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on this end of things. 

Turned out Natasha was your karma, and karma really was a fucking bitch.

You’d been halfway paying attention, your roommate more interested than you. Then again, she’d always been more enamored by the Avengers then you had, hoping to coincidentally bump into Captain America and make him fall in love with her. 

To you, the hearing became background noise as you flitted about your kitchen, attempting to cook your own food to save money. Once all of your ingredients had been chopped and placed in the oven, you grabbed the glass of water you’d been drinking and went into the living room. When you walked in, however, whatever question was on your lips fell short.

In perfect focus, with that same coy smirk on her face, was Natasha. Her red hair was perfectly sleek, the color more vibrant than usual against her all black ensemble. The glass cup slipped from your grasp, shattering on the floor as your mouth hung open. 

‘What the fu--’

Your roommate jumped from the couch at the sound, and turned to face you. “Y/N, what the hell.”

You didn’t answer, simply staring at the screen, unmoving, even after Natasha’s face was replaced with some reporter. An Avenger, you’d been seeing and sleeping with an Avenger. But not any Avenger, the Black Widow. Assassin and spy extraordinaire; the ultimate honey pot, and it was easy to see why. It didn’t take much for her to enthrall you; a smile here, a light touch there. 

Before you could answer your roommate, who began to walk towards you, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Fishing it out, you stared at the screen and the notification from an unsaved number. 

“Sorry for ghosting, let me explain over dinner at my place? Nat.”

Shaking, your body on fire, you hastily sent a text response. 

“What kind of idiot says no to free dinner. What’s your address?”

You looked up, meeting the curious gaze of your roommate, who now stood in front of you. She raised a single brow, waiting for an explanation, but you didn’t have one. At a loss for words, you stood there like an idiot. 

After a moment you shrugged, sputtering as you tried to conjure the ability to speak in complete sentences. Finally, you managed to spit out the words. 

“I’ve got a date with an Avenger.” 

Everything went to chaos. The previously clean and orderly, if not cluttered apartment, became strewn with various outfits and accessories. The apartment was filled with girlish giggles and partial screeches of excitement. It was like you were a teenager getting ready for her first date, unable to keep the stupid grin off your face. Even after you got shoved out of your apartment, the cool New York air leaving your cheeks rosy, the grin remained. 

There was a skip in your step as you began the trek towards Natasha’s apartment. There were no tricks up your sleeve, none of your usual games and score keeping to be found. 

For once, the stars in your eyes were real and not an illusion you conjured. 

---

You barely raised your fist to knock before the door was flung open. 

There stood Natasha, as perfect as ever. 

Her outfit was more laid back than you’d seen on your t.v screen today, cool and chic in the most effortless way. There was a slight bend to her hair, humidity making it curl just the slightest. 

Your fist still in the air, you simply stared at her with a shy grin on your face. Slowly, you lowered it, eyes betraying the excitement bubbling inside you. 

“Come on in,” Natasha said, opening the door wider and stepping to the side, allowing you to enter. You did so, eyes flickering around the apartment before they landed back on her. The smell of takeout lingered in the air, but was overpowered by the vanilla scented candles lit around the room.

“Hope you like take-out,” Natasha said, shutting the door behind you.

You shrugged, a crooked smile placed on your lips. “I’m sure the conversation will be more interesting than anything.”

Natasha stepped towards you, easily matching your playful energy with the tilt of her head. “Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?” 

“Avengers are bound to have some pretty cool stories.” 

Natasha paused, but after a moment of stillness, she slowly nodded her head, a breathy laugh leaving her mouth. “You saw the press coverage.”

“Yeah, yeah I did.”

The teasing expression on her face morphed into something softer. It made your stomach tangle into a million more knots, threatening to never untangle themselves, at least not with Nat around. 

“You don’t mind?” 

You shrugged again, stepping closer to Natasha. “Why would I mind?”

“Dating an Avenger is kinda a whole thing,” she replied, reaching out to you, the tips of her fingers ghosting over you waist. 

“Oh, are we dating now?” Your tone was teasing, eyes lit up with equal parts anticipation and amusement. Against your chest, your heart beat rapidly at her implication. Dating, she wanted to date you, to see you for more than just drunken sex. 

“Yeah, I’d like to date you,” she responded, voice barely above a whisper. Centimeters away, her lips brushed against yours, teasing a kiss you so desperately wanted. Your breathing stuttered, eyes intently locked with hers. And now you could see the small flecks of amber in her green eyes. “Do you-- do you want to date me?”

“Give me a good enough story tonight and I’ll consider it.” 

You leaned forward and closed the distance between the two of you, pressing a gentle kiss against her lips. To the ground, you dropped your purse, hands finding their place on Natasha’s waist. 

In that moment you knew this could be love, the end of all your endings. Forever would be the sweetest con, and you wouldn’t even care if it was. 

You pulled away from Natasha first, placing one last peck on her lips before moving towards the table. There was a bottle of wine, already opened and waiting to be drunk. Aware of the slight shake in your hand, you carefully poured the wine into two glasses. You turned back towards Natasha, stretching one of the glasses towards Natasha. 

“So about that story?” 

She smiled and closed the distance between the two of you, taking the offered glass. Natasha brought the take-out to the table and the two of you began to dig in. Over red wine and greasy take-out, Natasha regaled the events of the past couple weeks. You hung onto every word, enraptured by the way she spoke and the glint in her eye. Whether she knew it or not, Natasha had you wrapped around her finger. For as long as she’ll have you, you’d be there. 

And if she didn't want you to stay, you'd never gonna love again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags:

@crankynfancy | @theperfectlovestory |

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x yn #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x you #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x yn #natalia alianovna romanova #natasha romanoff #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #mcu

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

are your requests open?

Tentatively yes! I can’t guarantee I’ll get to it in a timely manner, but they’re always open!