#next time I am watching it on the original language promised

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (10/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, unprotected sex, smut, the angst, squirting, semi-public intimacy, description drug overdose, violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Although she hadn't written him back since their rather tumultuous phone call, her uncle had tried to soothe her anger by sending her pictures and videos of Vhagar at various frames and times of the day.

Through this, in the morning she would see her owner pouring food into her bowl, ordering her to stay still, listening to her squeals of impatience, then she could see her proudly carrying a big stick between her sharp fangs, and in the evening she would listen to him recording close-up footage of her dark eyes and wet nose asking her if she had missed her, with Vhagar then licking his phone.

She knew it was wrong, but some part of her felt happy about it and waited impatiently for each new message from him, because even though she didn't write him back she knew what he meant to tell her in this way: he wanted her to understand that he thought of her every day, anytime, anywhere.

She waited impatiently for news that would doom him in her eyes definitively, words from Daemon that he had killed someone again, hurt someone again, any confirmation that he was unable to change, that there was no going back for him.

There was something touching in that realisation, in the thought that he wasn't lying when he said he cared.

They both risked keeping in touch and because of that she had to have two phone cards to avoid attracting Daemon's attention, but other than that her uncle didn't try to call her or approach her, respecting her personal space.

He, however, surprised her by calling her one afternoon while she was in class. She didn't know what to do for a moment and then left the room to the surprise of everyone gathered, apologising to her professor, saying it was an urgent matter, led away by Robb's anxious, watchful gaze.

He hadn't spoken to her since his confrontation with her uncle, and she felt bad about it, but preferred not to approach him.

She had made the mistake of telling him too much and now she had to pay for it.

She sighed heavily as she stepped out into the corridor and answered, putting her phone to her ear.

"Aemond, you can't call me. Is something wrong?" She asked simultaneously frustrated and horrified.

"I got in. I passed the exam." He said excitedly, loud and clear, like a small child boasting to his mother that he had got the best mark in the class.

She blinked and shook her head, smiling involuntarily, feeling relieved at the thought that perhaps there was still hope for him.

He was really trying.

"I'm proud of you. I really am." She confessed from the bottom of her heart, wanting him to feel appreciated, to know that this was the right path for him and that she would support him in it without looking at what he had done to her in the past.

"Let's meet to celebrate. Please." He muttered, and she felt discomfort in her stomach, her whole body tensed.

"No." She said immediately, feeling fear, thinking this was another trap, another excuse to weaken Daemon.

"Just for a moment. In a public place, in a restaurant, in a café. Wherever you want, wherever you feel safe." He insisted, a plea in his voice from which she felt a sting in her heart, longing to see him and needing to keep him at bay.

"I can't, Aemond. You know I can't. I will always support you, including about your studies, but after what has happened I can't trust you." She said in a trembling voice, wanting to be honest with him.

She felt he deserved it.

She heard him swallow hard and fell silent for a long moment, making her feel remorseful, her heart pounding like mad.

"– forgive me – I had no right to ask you to do this – it was a mistake resulting from my selfishness – thank you for everything –" He said in a tone from which she felt an unpleasant shudder of self-regret, because some part of her wanted to please him, to be with him, to be happy with him, to make love to him.

But that was not enough.

"– Aemond –" She muttered, but he hung up, leaving her with an unpleasant, uncomfortable void in her heart.

She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath, trying not to cry, thinking that she had done the right and sensible thing, that she had to look out for herself and not cross the line she had drawn for herself.

It was better for her and for him.

However, she couldn't stop the unpleasant feeling of disappointment and sadness when he didn't send her any photos or messages that day or any day after. She thought that he was punishing her in this way and that it was a painful form of manipulation on his part to which she could not react.

He wanted to break her, to force her to be with him again, to make her feel remorse and let him do what he wanted with her.

She was not going to make the same mistake.

She felt for the first time that something was wrong when her professor accosted her in the corridor.

"Your friend got the best score of all the participants in the exams, Miss Strong, but he has not yet submitted all the documents. He shouldn't delay, if he doesn't do it by Wednesday, someone else will take his place." He explained, and she swallowed hard and nodded.

"I'll pass it on to him." She muttered and as soon as she said goodbye to him, she texted him.

He, however, did not write her back either that day or the next, making her cry again through the night because of him.

Was he punishing her in this way?

Was he showing her that if she did not meet his expectations he would do nothing to change?

That her presence was supposed to be the payment for him going to University?

She thought it was terribly unfair of him and that she didn't want to know him only to send him another message in despair.

He, however, continued not to reply and she had lost hope that anything would change.

"You haven't been eating lately. What's going on?" Asked Daemon, driving with her to the supermarket to buy things for dinner.

He took her to various places under his watchful eye, trying to find her activities to keep her from sitting in her room and torturing herself with thoughts.

She swallowed hard and looked away, not wanting to talk about it or lie to his face. She heard her step-father sigh heavily at her lack of response, impatient, and he was already about to say something when suddenly his phone rang in the car.

He answered by clicking the hands-free mode, connecting directly to the car's control panel.

"Boss, there's a small problem at the Moon & Stars club. There has been an incident, someone has tried to rob the safe. We suspect it was Hightower's people, but they managed to run away. They didn't take anything."

She looked at her father, who sighed heavily, running his hand over his face.

"Do I have to do everything myself? I'll be right there." He hissed impatiently and turned off the road, heading in a completely different direction.

He didn't usually take her with him to do his business, but now apparently the matter was serious and they were too far from home to turn back.

As they went inside, Daemon pointed his finger at one of the guest lodges to her.

"Wait here for me and stay where you are. Ten minutes and I'm back. Is that clear? You can order yourself something to drink, just have them pour it by your side in a glass." He said and she nodded, having no intention of doing anything but sitting.

Old rock classics were playing all around her, posters of bands and various guitars everywhere, red and blue lights blinking all around her, tormenting her already tired eyes.

She hadn't slept well the past few nights.

"Rhaenys?" She heard someone's voice behind her and turned, surprised to see a woman in front of her, the same one she had met when Daemon had shown her what her uncle had done to Robert.

She looked at her with big eyes, confused and terrified, because no one but him had ever called her by that name.

"Alys. We've already met." She introduced herself, extending her hand to her, holding her drink in the other, and she shook it.

The woman grinned in a way she didn't like and sat down across from her, making her feel uncomfortable. She looked around, trying to spot Daemon in the crowd, tense.

"Don't be scared. I'm a friend of Aemond's and an old acquaintance of your step-father's." Alys said calmly, taking a sip of whisky from her glass.

She looked at her with her heart beating fast, playing with her fingers in a gesture of concern.

"– but –" She muttered, unsure if she wanted to know how she knew the name that only her uncle called her by.

How close friends they were.

It seemed to her that Alys saw the question written all over her face, because she grinned even wider.

"He revealed to me the name he calls you by accident. Let's just say it slipped out to him in a moment of elation because he forgot it wasn't you lying beneath him." She said softly, without a grimace of anger or frustration, as if she found it amusing.

She swallowed hard, feeling an unpleasant sting in her heart at the thought that she was having sex with him, that he was comfortable with another woman.

On the other hand, her words sounded in her ears making her grow hot.

It slipped out of him in a moment of elation because he forgot that it wasn't you lying beneath him.

Alys sighed, spreading herself out comfortably on the couch, seeing that her words had completely shocked her and she didn't know how to act.

"Don't worry. We were never in a romantic relationship. I find the fact that he is so deeply in love with someone quite charming. For a long time I didn't know who the mysterious Rhaenys was, as there was no girl in our society with that name. It wasn't until recently that I found out for what reason Aemond kept his feelings to himself. An uncle should care for his niece, but not that much, right?" She sneered, and she swallowed hard with a loud snort of air.

Was she trying to scare her?

To blackmail her?

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked horrified, making the woman raise her eyebrows high.

"I want to help. I suspect your father didn't tell you that Aemond had recently overdosed on sleep drugs." She said, and she froze, feeling herself go deaf for a moment, and everything around her stopped.

"What?"

"He's in hospital in intensive care. I found out about it from his grandfather's co-workers. Everyone is whispering about it being a suicide attempt, thinking it was because Otto decided to make Aegon his successor. But I think otherwise." She said calmly, tilting her glass, drinking its entire contents to the end in one gulp, and set it down on the table.

"When he came to talk to me last time, he talked about you. He wanted me to help him with the Larys Strong case. Fear not: we've had nothing more in common than business for over a year. Since your name slipped out of his mouth, he was no longer comfortable with this form of intimacy, which is quite understandable. I learned his sweet little secret, but honestly, looking at you, I don't blame him." She said lightly with a simultaneously heartfelt and disturbing smirk.

Their relation was deep, she thought with regret, even if they were not together.

Something in that thought saddened her, the image of their bodies entwined together.

Did he feel the same when he saw Robb?

Are you two together again?

Are you in love with him?

"It hurts you that he slept with me. That he didn't wait for you." She stated calmly, as if she had come to some obvious, ordinary conclusion. She twisted in her seat, feeling panic rising within her, her bright green eyes seeming to pierce her to the core.

"I don't know what you mean." She muttered, looking away, red with embarrassment.

"I know he hurt you. What he did to you. In a way, I admire how you endangered yourself for him having Daemon under your nose. It's tragic that you love him so much, but it's even more tragic that he reciprocates your feelings. It saddens me to see such a young, innocent girl fall down with him because of his greed." She said dryly, making her shake her head, clenching her eyes, feeling hot tears under her eyelids.

"Leave her alone, Alys. Don't mess with her head." Daemon said, grabbing her arm and lifted her upright. The black-haired woman looked at him, sighing heavily, the expression on her face not changing one bit.

"I was just offering her my condolences."

As soon as they got into the car, her step-father began his interrogation.

"What did that witch want from you? I like her, but she's a specific person and I'd rather you didn't talk to her alone." He scoffed, pulling out of the car park. She looked blankly out of the window, feeling horribly tired.

"That Aemond has overdosed and is in hospital."

Daemon rolled his eyes, impatient, and licked his lower lip.

"I didn't want to burden you even more. To make you think it's your fault. Your uncle is trying to make himself a victim."

"He killed Larys Strong for me." She muttered and heard Daemon take a deep breath, frustrated.

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

"He did. Because of that rape pill. Against his grandfather's will."

"How do you know that? I forbade you to contact him. Do you want me to take your phone away from you so you'll finally wise up?"

"I don't want him to die."

Daemon fell silent and stopped at the side of the road, turning on the emergency lights. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a moment – they continued like that for a moment in a silence filled with tension, her fingers involuntarily tracing over the scars on her wrists.

Her reminder of what he had done to her.

"We can't help him if he doesn't want it himself. Do you understand?"

"He wants it."

"You're the only one who believes that."

"After they imprisoned me in their house, he stayed in one room with me all the time. He cried constantly, like he was a little baby. He is broken. He begged me for forgiveness."

"If he had really cared about you, he would never have done this to you."

"If your father had bequeathed in his will what was due to you to someone else, would you have left it that way?" She asked, glancing at him. Daemon shook his head, sighing heavily, shaking the dust off his trousers.

"If you cared about peace, you would have made a deal with them. My mother doesn't think justice has been done, but she remains silent for your sake. She will not stand up to you." She said coldly. Daemon looked at her with a gaze from which she froze.

"Careful now."

"Or what? You've always resented me for lying. But can you be told the truth without fear of the consequences? Do you only want to hear the kind of truth that is convenient for you?"

"Your grandfather bequeathed to your mother what he wanted in his will. Nobody forced him to do that. Do you think I'm going to give it back to them so they won't be sad? So that your poor one-eyed uncle doesn't cry? Wake up. Why do you think Viserys passed everything on to Rhaenyra? Hm? Is it because he's in love with me? Because he despised his sons? No. Because he knew that whatever he bequeathed to them, Otto would take it. He showed him that he never really trusted him and he was absolutely right."

They stared at each other in silence, the air around them so thick she felt she had trouble catching her breath. She turned her head away, feeling only fatigue, only regret.

"Take me home."

Daemon snorted and shook his head, taking off with a screech of tyres, furious.

Only money mattered, only influence, only power.

Everything else was just an obstacle to the goal.

When they got home Daemon held out his hand to her, startling her.

"Give me your phone."

She pressed her lips together, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad in rage.

"No."

She saw her step-father smack the inside of her cheek with the tip of his tongue, standing with his hand stretched out in front of him.

"I don't like repeating myself."

"No."

"Should I call your mother? Are you going to tell her that you talk to your uncle and what you do with him in your free time?" He sneered, making her feel a squeeze in her throat. "Come to your senses."

"Tell her what you want. I don't care." She said dryly and moved ahead, running upstairs to her room.

She locked herself in the bathroom and changed the card in her phone, looking in her contacts for Helaena's old number, the one she'd given her when they were still little girls, praying she'd answer.

"Hello?" She heard her soft voice on the other end and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hi. I'm sorry to bother you. I know Aemond is in hospital. He's passed his university exam, but the deadline for submitting his documents is today. They should be in his flat in the envelope he got from the University. Are you able to fill them out and bring them to the Archaeology Department tomorrow?" She asked in a whisper, afraid that someone outside would hear her conversation.

"Oh. Okay. Okay, I'll try." She muttered, and she breathed out heavily, feeling relieved.

"Thank you. How is he?" She asked quickly.

"He's still not awake, but his condition is stable. The worst is behind us. Our mum tried to call him but he didn't answer, so she drove there to see what had happened. Thank goodness she had spare keys to his flat."

The next day she set it as a point of honour to convince her professor and dean, appearing with Helaena, that the situation was exceptional and procedures could be bent in this situation.

"I didn't know my friend was in hospital. It happened suddenly and for this reason he could not bring the documents yesterday, which however his sister has with her today."

"We cannot accept them without his signature." Said the dean, making her feel an unpleasant discomfort in her stomach at the thought that her uncle would wake up only to find that his chance was gone.

"I ask for your understanding in this unique situation. He is unconscious at the moment and fighting for his life. As soon as he is able, he will come to sign the documents in person. The professor told me that he passed the exam with the best result. He's been through a lot and I don't want his work to be in vain." She said, and the man sighed heavily and nodded.

"Very well. But as soon as he is able, he is to appear here immediately and explain to me in person."

She sent him another message that same day, knowing from Helaena that he was finally awake and that nothing was threatening his life anymore.

He, however, did not write her back.

Was it because of her that he had done this to himself?

Was it because she had not met him?

She felt anger and remorse at the same time, but mostly she was relieved that he was still alive.

Lying alone in bed late at night, she thought she would go mad if she didn't find out why he had done it, so in a gesture of despair she decided to call him to find out how he felt.

She shuddered when she heard him pick up, but he was quiet, complete silence on the other end of the receiver.

"How are you feeling?" She asked softly, wondering if she was about to hear a litany from him about how much he had suffered because of her, that he didn't want to live because of her.

Would he try to manipulate her with remorse.

"Exactly as I deserve."

She swallowed hard, completely not expecting such an answer, not knowing what to make of his words.

Exactly as I deserve.

She lowered her gaze, playing with her duvet between her fingers, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"Did you… really want to do this?" She muttered, dreading his answer, and he laughed, as if something in her question amused him for some reason.

"No. I wanted to see how you felt that day."

She froze, feeling her breath get stuck in her lungs, her eyebrows arching in pain at his words.

"Your suffering is not my desire, Aemond. You hurt me, but I don't want revenge. I just want… to stop feeling this unbearable pain in my heart that I have felt in my chest for eight years." She muttered, simultaneously wanting to see him again and forget him, to run away from him and let herself be locked in his arms once more.

"I regret it so much. I told my grandfather that I didn't want him to involve you, but he said that if we didn't, someone else would want to take advantage of Daemon's weakness for you. And I believed him. I thought that Larys will actually try to do something to you again, but only now do I understand that it was a simple lie that I easily accepted to justify myself. Fuck, I'm so ashamed, baby, I really am." He choked out with difficulty, whooping with tears, making her freeze completely, just listening to him.

"My father took everything from me. I did these fucked-up things to other people for nothing. I mutilated them for nothing. The only thing he left me is the property by the sea, the same one where I lost my eye, as if he had made a mockery of me. I was so lost. I still am."

She swallowed hard, staring dully ahead, feeling as one by one tears ran down her face.

Some part of her understood him, knew how hurt and disappointed he must have been, but another couldn't forgive him for somehow using her to get revenge on Daemon and her mother.

She felt like her head was going to burst.

"What do you want, Aemond? Truly. Be honest." She asked, impatient, and heard him swallow heavily.

"I want to study and see you once in a while. In a public place, so that you feel safe."

She pressed her lips together at his words, feeling the heat in her stomach and chest, for which she rebuked herself in spirit, trying to remain sober in her mind.

"And that's it? What about your family? About your business?"

"My grandfather limited my influence and responsibilities after I shot Larys without his knowledge. He no longer trusts me and doesn't assign me important tasks."

It was only then that she understood why he had actually overdosed.

He had lost his business.

He had lost his grandfather's respect.

He had lost her.

He was alone, exactly as he was then.

His face contorted in pain and despair, his red cheeks flooded with tears, his eyes closed and his hands clenched into fists then, as he stood up to his waist in the sea water, alone and terrified.

"The University Library." She said feeling that she had made up her mind.

"I don't understand."

"We can meet in the University Library."

"Really?" He asked excitedly, as if she had given him a wonderful surprise, and she swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in her throat.

"Only there and for a short time. Once in a while. If I find out you did something to hurt me or my family, you'll never see me again."

She didn't care about their business, their money, their eternal need to prove to themselves who was in charge of this town.

She just wanted her friend back.

The next day she turned up at the agreed place all tense, hiding her little pocket knife in her bra beforehand, afraid that he would trick her again.

That he would betray her again.

So many emotions were rattling through her head that her hands were shaking and although she tried to concentrate on reading her textbook, she couldn't. When she heard the sound of the door opening and raised her head from the book, she drew in a breath, seeing his silhouette emerge from behind the bookcases.

He stood still, as if petrified, his eyes and mouth opened wide.

"Hi." He muttered as if choking.

"Hi." She replied, looking at him watchfully, ready to run away.

She swallowed hard as he simply pulled off his leather jacket and sat down next to her on the big, soft cushions.

Afraid of how much her heart was pounding, how euphoric she felt at the sight of him, she decided to turn her thoughts away from that and get to the point, pulling from her backpack her notebooks that she had brought for him.

"I brought you my notes from first year. Read them, if you can't decipher something, I'll try to guess what I wrote. They'll come in handy for you before semester exams." She said indifferently, handing them to him one by one. He nodded and swallowed hard, taking them from her, clearly not knowing how to act.

"Thank you."

Having no idea what more she could say, she leaned back and sank into reading her textbook again, afraid to look at him, afraid of what she would see in his gaze.

She shuddered and took a breath as he lay down beside her and put his head on her shoulder, exactly as she had done when they had read books together as small children.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, feeling tears squeeze into her eyes at this tender memory.

He heard her uneven breath, his moist, soft lips brushed her neck as his hand touched her waist, locking her in a warm embrace that felt too good, too safe.

No.

"– please –" She muttered, but didn't have time to say anything else because he interrupted her.

"– I have a gift for you –" He said, surprising her completely, taking out a rose-shaped red lollipop from his pocket after a moment. "– I didn't know what kind of flowers you like, so I bought one like this – the sales lady said it has a strawberry flavour –"

She felt touched and at the same time pained at the thought of how sweet and thoughtful this gift was. She took it from him, turning it in her fingers, no longer able to remember the last time anyone had given her something without an occasion to just make her smile.

"I'll eat it later. I don't want to get the books dirty now. Thank you, that's very kind of you." She said softly, putting the lollipop aside, and he nodded, his face pressed against her cheek as his fingers ran slowly over her face.

For some reason she didn't understand when he leaned back, her body followed him, laying next to him on the soft material. She let his arm draw her closer, his hand combing through her hair as her fingers touched his chest.

He nuzzled her face into the hollow of his neck, and she closed her eyes, smelling the pleasant scent of his aftershave and his masculine perfume, making a wonderful warmth spill over her lower abdomen.

"Several of my father's men are dead. They were shot on your grandfather's orders." She whispered, not wanting to forget who he was or what he had done.

She heard him sigh quietly, his fingers trailing over her head and down her back, playing with the curls of her hair.

Why did she feel so surprisingly safe in his arms, why was she so relaxed, so calm, why did her chest fill with some strange, unnatural relief?

"I know."

"Did you have anything to do with it?"

"No. My grandfather restricted my field of action after we called the emergency services when you…" He didn't finish, and she swallowed hard, knowing what he meant.

She decided she had to ask him this question, even though she was so afraid of his answer.

"If your grandfather tells you to kill Daemon or my brother. What will you do then?"

To her surprise, he seemed to have expected her to ask him this, for he answered almost immediately, without hesitation or uncertainty in his voice.

"I will tell him to do it himself. The times when I was his dog are over and he knows it. He has no idea what to do with me. I'm out of his control."

Something in his words, in the confidence with which they left his throat made her feel hot in her heart. She lifted herself up on her arm, wanting to look at his face, knowing that even if his lips lied to her, she would see the truth in the look of his healthy eye.

"What's your plan?"

Her uncle hummed under his breath, his hand from her neck sliding down between her breasts, trailing along the buttons of her dress, making a hot shiver run down her spine.

He was doing this on purpose, she thought.

"I want to start acting on my own." He said cautiously and looked at her with a glint in his eye that she didn't like.

"What do you mean?" She muttered involuntarily.

"If you think there's a way I could escape this world, you're wrong. Even Daemon didn't escaped it, he simply gathered his most trusted people and expanded his influence. I want to do the same, and I will start by taking over Heavenly Beach. Since Larys is dead, chaos has reigned there, and I intend to take advantage of it. Many of my grandfather's people don't like the vision of them having to work for Aegon in the future. They neither respect nor fear him." He sneered, saying the words as if he was proud of himself.

She stared at him in disbelief, not expecting such a response from him, the fact that he would dare to think of cutting himself off from his grandfather, of breaking away from his leash.

His words surprised her so much that she didn't know what to say, what she felt, what she thought about what she had just heard.

She shuddered, snapped out of her reverie when his finger tapped her breast where her pocket knife was tucked under her bra, feeling the cold sweat on her back at the thought of him noticing it.

"– wise girl –" He hummed, using this as an excuse to tease her through the material of her dress, rubbing the spot under where he knew her nipple was.

She swallowed loudly, feeling a wave of pleasurable heat surge through her entire body, the place between her thighs pulsed painfully hard, embarrassingly wet and eager for him not to stop.

She thought she would not give him that satisfaction.

"What do you intend to do with my step-father?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he looked at her with a smirk, shamelessly closing his hand on her breast again and again, no longer even pretending that he meant anything other than to feel her.

"Nothing. I won't attack him first. For you. He has nothing to do with Heavenly Beach." He muttered, spreading himself more comfortably on the cushion, already focusing only on where his hand was and what it was doing to her. She shuddered as another wave of tickling pleasure and tension shook her loins, her fingers involuntarily clenching on his wrist.

"– stop – someone will see –" She mumbled, looking around, terrified that Robb or anyone else who knew her might see them.

"I want it back." He whispered. "I want what we had during that summer."

She swallowed heavily, looking up at him in shock, feeling her heart get stuck in her throat and stop beating for a second.

I want it back.

I want what we had during that summer.

His words, so childish, simple and ill-considered were too painfully honest for her, his gaze hot and thirsty, full of what he was speaking of.

"I…God, after all, you know it won't work. We can't. No one will accept it, no one will understand. We'll be miserable again." She whispered pleadingly, shaking her head, unable to even imagine what it would look like.

To him, however, it clearly didn't matter anymore, and that shocked her the most.

"If you don't want it, I'll understand it. What I desire is fucked up, like my whole person. But I want you to know that what happened between us… then, when my father died. It was real. I've never felt more alive and fulfilled than then, being deep inside you. You were so warm." He said, running his thumb over the soft skin of her cheek, making her turn all red at his words, her cunt all slick from her moisture clenched greedily around nothing.

"Aemond." She mumbled in embarrassment, involuntarily feeling him inside her again, the thrusts of his hips forcing him deep, deep into her delicate flesh.

"I don't care how wrong it is. I don't care about morality. I've done far less moral things to other people. Making love to my niece seems to me the smallest of my sins." He confessed, sinking his hand into her hair, looking at her in a way that made her want to cry.

Making love to my niece seems to me the smallest of my sins.

Making love.

"Someone might say it's disgusting and wrong, but I only care about what you want. I don't give a shit about others. What they will think of me, whether I live by their rules or not. What can they do to me? Mock me? Fear me? They are already do. It's not about me, it's about you. I don't want to ruin your life."

She burst out crying at his words, because although he had hurt her so much, some sick part of her had longed to hear it for eight years. She moaned quietly as his lips began to place quick, helpless kisses on her face, his wide hands enclosing her in his embrace, trying to comfort her.

But she knew there was no comfort for them.

There was no future for them.

"– please – please, I don't want you to cry because of me –"

"This is just too much. I wish I could be a child again. To go back to that sea. To fall asleep next to you in that room. I wish I could feel again the peace I felt then. Your presence next to me. But I can't have it." She mumbled, choking on her own tears, involuntarily seeking relief in his proximity, feeling grief at the thought that he could not be the strange man she was allowed to love.

"You have it. You have me. You always had."

She looked up at him and froze, breathing hard, looking straight into his eyes, one empty and dead, the other filled with the hot affection she so feared.

"Do you like me?" He asked, and she blinked, not understanding what he meant. She nodded, however, wanting him to know that no matter how hard she tried, she was incapable of hating him.

"Very much?" He continued and smiled as she nodded again, breathing loudly through her mouth, trying to calm the convulsions of her body.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

What?

The two of them, then, by the sea, walking side by side, the white shells in her hand, his soft, moist lips that evening on hers, his warm embrace as she lay snuggled into his body at night, in his room, in his bed.

"This time I'm aware of what I'm asking for. What I want. And although I should, I'm not ashamed of it. I have wasted eight years that I could have spent with you, no matter how much we would both have suffered during that time. I want to suffer with you by my side now." He whispered, tucking an unruly strand of her hair behind her ear in a gesture so tender that her voice stuck in her throat.

"I wish I could trust you, but I don't know if I can." She muttered with difficulty.

His eyebrows arched in pain at her words.

"I know. I'll wait as long as it takes." He whispered, his broad, warm hand running over her cheek.

I'll wait as long as it takes.

She was terrified by the fact that everything inside her screamed that she wanted him back.

She wanted him to be close.

She wanted him to touch her.

She wanted him to love her.

"You can only embrace me and hold my hand. No kisses on the lips and don't try to take me." She muttered, to her surprise instead of shame feeling relieved.

Against everything and everyone, morals and good manners, everything she valued in life.

They were together.

To her simultaneous annoyance and delight, her uncle took her words very loosely: he didn't kiss her lips and his hands didn't go near the area of her panties, but over the following weeks, when they met in secret in the library, his fingers travelled over every other part of her body.

She deliberately stopped wearing a bra, knowing that the thought that someone might have noticed her nipples under her T-shirt drove him to fury.

As she spread herself comfortably between his thighs with her textbook that they were reading together, satisfaction filled her body as she felt his hard manhood pushing greedily against her buttocks, his hand in some subconscious motion slipping under the material, enclosing itself on her soft, plump breast.

"– you are doing this on purpose –" He breathed out into her ear, rolling his hips back and forth, rubbing his throbbing length against the space between her buttocks, trailing his lips down her long neck, leaving wet, sticky marks on her bare skin. "– you let others look at what is mine – you punish me –"

She sighed, closing her eyes, tilting her head back so that she rested it on his shoulder, showing him grace – she clenched her thighs involuntarily, feeling a wonderful pulsing between them as his lips sank greedily into the hollow of her neck, her hand clamped down on his wrist, encouraging him not to stop.

"– let me look at them – take pity on me –" He exhaled, completely losing interest in reading, kneading the silken, smooth structure of her breast with his fingers as his other hand slid down to her bare thigh, stroking it affectionately.

"– we can't – someone will see us –" She muttered, her breath heavy and deep, her whole body hot and tense from the waves of tickling, overpowering pleasure, his hands, his scent, his closeness driving her mad.

It always ended the same way.

"– there are no cameras here – please – I haven't seen you all week – I've been good, haven't I? – hm? –" He gasped, and she swallowed hard at the thought of what he had done.

He, accompanied by Criston Cole and a handful of trusted men, had carried out attacks on all of the clubs owned by Larys Strong at once, taking over the entirety of his inheritance, depriving his grandfather of half of his trusted associates.

An expression of their displeasure at having nominated Aegon as his successor.

Daemon was shocked by this turn of events, having enemies on two fronts wondering, in fact, whether to respond to her uncle's offer to make a deal.

Aemond could have given Daemon the advantage over Otto that he so needed.

It was probably only the chaos and what was going on around him that made Daemon not ask her why she was going to the library in the middle of the summer, thinking apparently that she was trying to escape from what was going on around her that way.

It was partly true.

She knew that her boyfriend's conciliatory attitude was not because he had suddenly fallen in love with her step-father or brother, but because he wanted her, and she had the power to reward him for being faithful to her and for keeping his promises.

It was a dangerous game and they both knew it.

She sighed and turned in his embrace, sitting down on top of him, pulling her Tshirt over her head without much finesse. Her uncle froze for a moment, staring at the sight before him, his swollen erection beneath her pulsed hard again and again.

She decided to tease him a little and began to rock her hips back and forth, pressing down on what was beneath her, a muffled, low groan came from his throat.

"– fuck –" He mumbled, stroking her naked waist, watching her bare silhouette as if he were staring at something sacred that he held in reverence, for a moment afraid to touch her as he desired.

She rested her hands on his chest as he began to roll his hips, and after a moment he leaned in, sinking his face between her soft breasts.

"– ah –" She sighed, tilting her head back in pleasure, feeling her swollen pussy throb around nothing as his slick tongue ran over her sternum.

Her fingers combed through his short hair as his face moved slightly to the side, blindly searching for her nipple, around which his puffy lips clamped down after a moment, beginning to suck.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, snuggling his head closer to her chest, involuntarily wanting to feel him harder, closer, deeper, the sweat of exertion and emotion trickling down her bare spine.

His face pressed against her breasts, his lips and tongue sucking and licking her nipples were the furthest form of their intimacy, something lewd and wonderful at the same time, a perpetual torment with no possibility of fulfilment.

"– fuck, let me – please – just this once –" He exhaled wearily, switching from one breast to the other, squeezing it between his fingers, directing her hard, sensitive nipple to his lips, which he clamped around it.

Shivers and waves of delightful tension shook her whole body making her mind all foggy, the space between her thighs all throbbing and moist, ready to welcome him deep inside her.

She rose suddenly from her knees, grabbing the material of her T-shirt, putting it over her head as if nothing had happened, feeling a drop of her own wetness run down her thighs.

"– baby –" He muttered, touching her bare leg, trying to stop her, desperate and thirsty.

"– next week Professor Addams is organising a private excavations two hours away from our town – it's a site in one of the medieval fortresses of our region, very important and he needs volunteers – I've offered to let you come and to count it as your student practices, so that you would have to make up less of them during the academic year – professor will rent rooms for all of us in a hotel nearby – if you come and do your best, I'll let you sleep with me –" She said lightly, looking at him over her shoulder, knowing how ambiguous her words sounded and that was exactly what she meant.

She saw him swallow hard, looking at her with wide eyes, his erection twiched hard in his trousers.

"– do you mean it? –" He mumbled in a trembling voice, as if the very thought made him faint.

"– yes, but it's two weeks – you'd then either have to give up your job, or drive to do your errands at night and come back in the morning –" She explained, taking her backpack in her hand, getting up from the ground.

He stood up with her, grabbing her aggressively around the waist, her body slamming against his.

"– promise me –" He whispered in a trembling voice into her ear, making her leaking pussy clench hard around nothing.

He groaned when, instead of words, her lips found his in a loud, deep kiss that took his breath away. His fingers clenched on her hair, not allowing her to move away, her tongue thrust deep between his teeth with his loud sigh of delight, colliding with his, which she licked invitingly.

She pushed him away and stepped back, trying to calm herself, in his healthy eye a heat and madness she had never seen before in her life.

He was on the verge of fucking her right here and now, ripping off her shorts and panties and slamming into her on the cold library floor.

She wouldn't stand up to him, and her moist cunt would gladly accept him deep inside her.

But he didn't know that.

"– I'll write you all the details later – take it seriously –" She mumbled, having increasing trouble pretending indifference and that she felt nothing for him.

He nodded his head like a small child and she gave him one comforting smile.

"– I love you –" He muttered in a trembling voice, and she felt a twinge in her stomach at his words, her heart filling with heat.

"– I love you too –" She finally confessed with shame, feeling her voice break. He pressed his lips together as if he wanted to cry, his eyebrows arched in pain.

"– I need you – please –"

"– be there –" She mumbled pleadingly and turned away, moving towards the exit, afraid that if she stayed with him a moment longer, she would finally give in to him.

Daemon was not happy with the idea of her leaving for so long.

"– the situation is still tense – someone of my people would have to be there with you –" He said.

"It's an archaeological excavations. I need a change of environment. I've been answering your every call for the last few months. I'm tired. I want to get away from what's going on and earn some money. Drive me there yourself if you're afraid I'm lying. You can call my professor, he will confirm that I have expressed my willingness to go with him again as his assistant. He's a good man. We'll sit in research all day and at night in a hotel."

"In what hotel? I need to know." He said impatiently.

"There is only one small hotel in this village on the main street." She explained, and her father sighed heavily.

"Please. This fortress is an important site. These excavations will count as practices, that way I won't have to do so many of them during the academic year. I haven't even swum in the lake this year, I just want to be alone for a while and do what I really enjoy."

Her stepfather sighed heavily and nodded.

"So be it. But I'll drive you away personally."

The next day she decided to text him to set things up.

Fuck.

She sighed heavily when he didn't write back then or the next day, clearly furious at the thought of having to look at her ex's face, but there was nothing she could do about it.

When Daemon drove her there he personally inspected her hotel room and furrowed his brow when he saw two single beds in it, not one.

"Who are you going to spend the night with?" He asked dryly.

"Certainly with some female friend." She shrugged her shoulders, placing her bags on the floor, feigning indifference.

She found with concern that lying to him was coming more and more easily to her.

He sighed and nodded.

"Report to me every day: text me or your mother in the morning and evening that you are fine. If you don't, I'll come here personally." He said warningly, and she smiled in his direction and nodded, for some reason happy.

She would spend a two weeks with him.

"Okay, Dad."

Daemon liked it when she called him that.

His gaze softened and he left her alone, throwing over his shoulder that she should watch over herself and not do anything stupid.

Too late, she thought with amusement.

She was joyful, and the sight of herself smiling in the mirror seemed unnatural to her.

She was certain that this happy little girl had died a few years ago.

She waited two hours to be sure her step-father is far away and went out into the corridor, looking for her professor. She wanted to inform him that she would be spending the night in a room with her boyfriend, while texting her uncle that Daemon had already left and he could enter the building in peace.

As she had found out from one of the students, their professor was overseeing the setting up of equipment and research tents near the site where they were to carry out the excavation, so that's where she went.

The sight of Robb among several other people she knew well did not fill her with optimism.

Her ex-boyfriend lowered his gaze as she approached their professor, who was just talking to one of the museum workers from the fortress they were about to research. Professor Addams smiled at the sight of her.

"Miss Strong! It is wonderful that you have made it. Will your friend also arrive as planned?" He asked lightly, and Robb looked at them surprised, tense.

"Yes, my boyfriend will be here soon. I also wanted to ask if he could spend the night in my room. We'll both be more comfortable that way." She said without stammering, making her ex-boyfriend turn pale and red all at the same time.

Their professor laughed and nodded.

"It's your room and you're adults after all. Just remember to focus on work, not dating." He said and she smiled involuntarily, casting a defiant glance at the boy she once thought would change her life.

"We will, Professor."

She turned as she heard someone's footsteps and beamed all over as she saw her uncle, clearly terrified and excited, throwing a menacing, displeased look at Robb.

"Speak of the devil. Today we'll just set up the equipment and figure out the details, work will start tomorrow. Everyone is to be here at eight in the morning right after breakfast. Get some shopping done at a nearby supermarket and get a good night's sleep." Their professor said.

She knew that surely the last thing awaiting her that night was sleep.

She was not mistaken – the moment they crossed the threshold of their room her uncle literally threw himself at her.

There was something animal and primal in the way he tore off her clothes, in his gaze black with desire, in his loud, heavy breath as he finally exposed her entire naked body, something he should never see, should never desire, should never have.

And yet.

For a moment he just stared at her, breathing loudly, as if he wanted to remember this moment, her, exposed beneath him – his hand ran slowly over her cheek, along her jawline and neck, sliding down between her breasts to her stomach.

It seemed obvious to her that the time for quiet, slow, tender lovemaking would come later, once the sun had set, once they were both just writhing in each other's embrace, unable to separate.

Now, however, they were hot with desire that burned their skin, and his lips, swollen with lust, after a moment clamped down on her hard, sensitive nipple, sucking on it as greedily as if there was no tomorrow to come.

She moaned loudly, too loudly when his fingers slid down her stomach, deep between her thighs, finding her hot, throbbing, leaking pussy at last, her hands pressing his face to her chest.

"– I hate that son of a bitch – I hate the way he looks at you – as if he's the one who wants to protect you – as if he's the one who knows what you need – bullshit –" He hissed furiously between the licks of his tongue, the tips of his fingers digging into the silky, moist skin of her swollen folds.

She whimpered, spreading her thighs wider, feeling the arousal fill her belly at the thought of how jealous he was of her.

Even when he was with another woman, he dreamt that she was the one lying beneath him.

She could not allow him to doubt the depth of her feelings, to doubt her intention or her fidelity.

"– I don't care about him, uncle – you can kiss me in his presence if that's what you want –" She cooed innocently, looking up at him with her lips parted in deep breaths, his dark gaze clouded and filled with something that sent a shiver through her.

He pulled away from her, as if her words had brought him to an edge from which there was no turning back, his nimble fingers quickly undoing the belt from his trousers and his zipper.

All she could do was, in a natural, simple reflex, spread her thighs even wider in front of him and entwine her legs on his back as he leaned down, sliding the material of his boxers lower, releasing his throbbing, fat erection.

Holding the base of his cock in his hand he guided the thick, pink head of it, leaking from his precum, onto her heat, teasing it, soaking his manhood in her wetness to use it as a lube.

"– may I? –" He asked in a trembling voice, leaning on his elbow right next to her head, and she nodded quickly, not knowing what else she could say.

"– ah –" She gasped along with him, running her fingers through the fabric of his t-shirt on his back as he sank into her with one, slow, sure thrust.

He slid into her with astonishing ease, and her slickness made him start to move inside her immediately, as if the warmth of her clenching walls had awakened some primal instinct in him, ordering him to just take what he wanted.

Nothing more than whimpers and grunts escaped their lips as their hips began to slam against each other with loud clicks of her wetness, his erection so fat and swollen that she barely fit it inside her, his forehead pressed against her.

His scent, his neck into which she snuggled her face as he thrust into her again and again with lewd slaps, his body lying on top of her, all of it was so familiar, so longed for.

"– Aemond –" She breathed out, tilting her head back, enclosing him in the helpless embrace of her body, feeling him with her whole self at last, connecting with him the way she had always wanted to, the bed beneath them creaking loudly.

"– fuck – fuck, baby – I missed you –" He mumbled with difficulty, quickening his pace, with each push rubbing the tip of his erection against the spot inside her from where she could see the stars.

"– I missed you too –" She confessed in shame, listening to the perverted sound of him opening her wide on his cock with wet clicks of her moisture.

He surprised her when he suddenly took her legs in his hands, forcing her to take a new position, putting her knees on his shoulders.

She moaned in shock as he began to move inside her anew with a loud slaps of their hips, feeling a flash of pleasure flow through her body again and again.

Her insides began to squeeze his manhood in delight, pulling high pitched, boyish moans of pleasure from his throat, his lips parted wide, his brow arched as if he was in pain.

"– you're so beautiful – I love you – I love you, I love you, I love you –" He exhaled, no longer sliding out of her, all sticky from her moisture, invading her insides with violent, sharp, quick stabs from which she threw her head back.

"– Aemond, God, yes, yes, yes, here, fuck me here, ah –" She mewled, writhing beneath him in ecstasy, feeling the tension in her lower abdomen and her throbbing pussy about to reach its peak.

He leaned over her, pressing her body against the bed with her own thighs in a position where her calves were at the level of her head.

She clenched her fingers against his back, moaning helplessly as she felt the pressure on her clit from which tears pooled under her eyelids, each successive thrust of his hips sending her body into a state of ecstasy which forced him to close her mouth with his.

"– shhh – shhh, baby, not so loud – mmm – I know – your uncle is close too –" He breathed out into her throat between loud, sticky kisses full of their slick tongues, hearing her squeal of pleasure.

Tears of relief ran down her cheeks red from exertion as her body was shaken by such a powerful orgasm that she just burst out crying.

She heard his loud moans and panting, felt how aggressively his cock pulsed inside her, filling her with his release, how their bodies convulsed as a wave of her moisture flowed out of her, so much that they both drew in air loudly, his face pressed against her hot cheek.

"– 'm sorry –" She muttered embarrassed, not fully understanding what had happened, the wet, large stain under her buttocks made her uncomfortable.

"– it's okay – it's okay, baby – it's okay –" He whispered tenderly, placing loud, sticky kisses on her face.

"– uh – what have you done to me? – we'll have to change the sheets now –" She sighed, combing her fingers through his short hair in an attempt to calm herself, the last waves of pleasant warmth and tickling flowed through her body, putting her in a state of perfect bliss.

She dropped her legs lower, returning to her original position, allowing him to lie between her thighs and she squirmed when he suddenly lifted her by the buttocks and stood up with her.

"– don't worry – we'll just sleep on the other bed – see? –" He hummed, heading with her towards the single bed on the other side, laying down on his back with a sigh of exertion.

She spread herself comfortably on top of him, placing her palm on his shoulder, letting his hands wander over her bare body.

"– can I stay inside you? – you're so warm –" He mumbled like a little boy, and she nodded, dreaming of nothing else.

"– yes –" She whispered, lying with her eyes closed, concentrating on the smell of his perfume and his sweat, his soft manhood still pulsing deep inside her.

She heard him let out a loud breath, something like delight and relief in his words.

"– this is the most beautiful day of my life –"

______

Author notes: You can thank my husband for the last scene, lol. He did things to me.

[dinogoofymutated]

im 100% new to x-men(i grew up in a DC family lol) but I am just. SO down bad for remy. idk how to write requests or anything, but can I ask for headcanons for him with a touchstarved fem reader? sfw or nsfw, both, idc really he's just rotating in my brain, gambit my beloved

Gambit/GN!reader

Dude I completely get it!! I was a HUGE x-men fan as a kid and as I grew up the hyperfixation fell into the back of my mind. I too grew up mostly on DC and I feel like the reason DC became my go-to was because there's just not a ton of fanfiction for the x-men, reader inserts in particular. I'm working on fixing that! But my full-length fics are a little hard to finish/start. Anyway- Remy is definitely one of the top #3 x-men to be down bad for lol!

TWs: none that I can think of atm. Mostly fluffy goodness! Written picturing a fem! Reader but no pronouns mentioned

I definitely think that it's not a completely ridiculous idea that one of Remy's love languages could be touch, despite how his relationship with Rogue revolves around the absence of touch!

Tbh, I feel like he's just respectful of his partner's wants and needs in a relationship, and if touching and cuddling is a no-go he's perfectly fine with backing off and showing his love in other ways!

BUT! when you give him the go-ahead, he's all over you. Hugs, cuddles, kisses, PDA, all of it!

One of his favorite things to do is catch you in the kitchen, coming up behind you and snaking his hands around your waist. He'll press his face into your hair and neck, sometimes giving you kisses, but really he just does it because he wants to feel you against him.

I think he secretly enjoys how easy it is to get you melting in his embrace. He goes out of his way to fluster you, flirting until you go red, then pulls you close. He'll nuzzle you affectionately, kiss your temple and cheeks, hold you lovingly until he feels all the tension leave your body. He especially likes when you lean into his hands when he holds your face. He knows just how much you love him, and he's determined to show you all the love he knows you deserve.

    “Cher.” Remy’s chest rumbles with the words. You only respond with a hum, tucked into his side comfortably. The afternoon had started with a movie, originally. The two of you had some free time, and Gambit had a movie he really wanted to watch, so movie night it was. You were watching at first, you promise you were, but it was easy to get distracted by Remy. When the movie started, you were sitting next to him, leaning into his side with a bowl of popcorn in your lap, but that position could only be comfortable for so long. You were squirming, trying to relax as best you could, but after 45 minutes of sitting on this couch, it was like every bump and corner on the sofa was digging into you.

    Remy, being the observant sweetheart he is, didn’t hesitate to scoop you up into his lap. You squealed at first, surprised by the action, but Remy simply laughed at you, leaning back to lay down on the couch with you against his chest. Unsurprisingly, this was much more comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable, as it didn’t take long for you to stop paying attention to the TV entirely. You snuggled closer to Remy as you started to doze off. One of his hands rested against your lower back, his other hand cupping the back of your neck, caressing and threading his fingers through his hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep against him.

    “Cheerrr.” Remy says again, drawing the words out. “Movie’s been over f’ a while.” You pout at him, sighing sleepily as you tuck your face into his neck. He chuckles again, thumbs caressing your skin idly.

    “You don’t wanna cuddle anymore?” You ask, maybe a little bit more sad than you should be, or would’ve been if you were more awake.

    “Now Gambit didn’t say that.” Remy purrs. You whine again as he moves a little, adjusting a little so that he can press a kiss to your temple. You reluctantly untuck yourself from his neck, rewarded with a sweet kiss from Remy. The action makes you smile. He’s looking at you with such love and adoration, like no one has looked at you before, and it has you feeling loved beyond measure. You lean into his touch as he cups your face, holding his hand to your cheek to keep him there.

    Content couldn’t begin to explain how you felt in this moment.

[distantdarlings]

BENEATH HIS SHIRT // t. nott

RATING: PG-13 / 3.7K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Female Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When Theodore Nott discovers an old artifact with interesting properties, known as a Time Turner, he comes up with the idea to use it to perfect his asking you out. (Romance)

+ WARNINGS - Language, using Time Turner, lots of thinking about reader, fem reader insert, not proofread! nothing else (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

All My Love - Noah Kahan

- - -

(Note: Hello there, all you beautiful people! I am finally back and ready to knock out the rest of your requests! I am so sorry I was gone for so long but I’ve had a lot going on in my everyday life. Thank you all for being so patient and please enjoy the story!)

Theo’s leg bounced beneath the desk, the wooden floorboards creaking every so often. His fingers nervously drummed against his notebooks. His eyes darted around. The teacher droned on and on.

Every so often, he felt his hand raise to his chest to gently nudge the cold weight that rested beneath his shirt. He figured it was a bit of paranoia stemming from the valuable thing around his neck, but he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t even supposed to have it.

He’d found it when rooting through Professor McGonagall’s office last week. He knew how bad that sounded, but, in his defense, he didn’t mean to grab it. He was trying to grab the small chain he’d gotten at Hogsmeade last year—he’d been playing with it during class, and McGonagall had become annoyed with him. She had said he could have it back at the end of the month, but he wasn’t going to wait that long. He’d spent his money on that necklace, and he’d wanted it back.

The realization that he’d grabbed the wrong necklace hadn’t hit until he’d finally gotten back to his dorm. He’d run the whole way and failed to look down even once.

The item he’d held clenched in his fist was a golden chain with a single spherical charm at the end. It was golden, as well, with intricate carvings encasing it. He didn’t know what the hell he’d grabbed and figured it was some girl’s that McGonagall had snatched up, just like his.

He had rolled his eyes in annoyance, promising to head back tomorrow to go grab his necklace and return the one now settled in his palm.

Except he hadn’t gone back the next day. In the midst of getting ready for bed in the empty bathroom that night, he’d begun to mindlessly fidget with the golden object whilst brushing his teeth.

His fingers had traced the end of it, watching the rings around the charm twirl in on each other. The minty suds had spilled over the edge of his bottom lip, and when he had gone to catch the mess, his finger had jerked against the side of the charm just barely, and he was standing straight up again.

The suds still sat on the edge of his lip. They slid slowly, slowly, then pushed over and hit the ground with a wet splat. His eyes stared forward at the reflection of the necklace in his hand.

He didn’t know what the hell happened. It felt like his body had glitched out of reality for a moment. Surely it was just a coincidence, and he’d just had some more minty mess dribbling from his lips than he initially thought. But then, where had the original bit of toothpaste gone? He surely hadn’t caught it. He stepped back and looked around, searching over the stone floor and his person, attempting to find the missing blob of toothpaste. What the hell was going on?

His eyes found the necklace clutched between his fingers. He brushed his thumb over the golden jewelry just as he’d done the first time.

The earth glitched again, and the toothbrush was back in his mouth, and he was a step forward, closer to the mirror. He’d gasped and dropped his toothbrush and the jewelry in the sink, backing away wildly.

And after he’d played with it a few more times, he had decided to research it in the library. And now, as he sat in class, waiting for it to end, he felt as if it couldn’t come fast enough. He needed to get to the library so he could figure out what exactly this necklace did.

If he had to guess, he’d imagine that it turned the world back a bit at a time. Every time he touched the charm in a specific way—a small knob-like detail on the side of the globe itself—the day would jump back, and he’d be standing where he had been a few minutes before.

He was unsure of the extent of its power or if it really even did turn back time, but he intended to find out.

“Class dismissed!” McGonagall’s voice flashed through his mind.

At the sound of her announcement, he quickly gathered his things and rushed off toward the library, not bothering to excuse himself.

His breaths came out in quick, rasping pants as he appeared before the main entrance to the library. The hands that grasped his coat and bag collected beads of sweat rapidly, the small droplets slipping down his fingers.

“Nott? Everything alright?”

He whipped around, searching for the owner of the voice that had just grabbed his attention. Just before him, nearly a foot shorter, was Hermione Granger.

She stared up at him—eyes concerned, lips parted, hair bushy and wild, arms gripping a large number of books. One of her eyebrows quirked as if she was awaiting his response.

“Oh, sorry, Granger,” he chuckled nervously. “I was just trying to get to the library ahead of everybody��I’ve got some studying to do.” Wow, what a pathetic lie. Hermione knew it, too.

“Okay…did you need any help?” she asked. “I am a library ambassador.” Her voice was proud, chest perked out.

Just before he was about to blurt a loud, suspicious ‘no!’, he had a revelation. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor and a tad annoying, but she was also one of the smartest students in the entirety of the castle, perhaps even in the Wizarding World. If anyone was able to help him at this moment—who wasn’t a professor and/or blatant snitch—it was her. He swallowed thickly.

“Actually, yes,” he said, nervously toying with the shoulder straps on his bag.

“Perfect, let’s get set up at a table!” she smiled widely, gently pushing past him and leading the way.

Theo had not been wrong in recruiting Granger’s assistance. She was bloody brilliant. The only information he’d given her, as suspicious as it had sounded, was he was doing a project about “magical objects—specifically jewelry” in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. As dumb as the cover was, it seemed to work.

She’d set to work instantly, selecting tens of twenties of thickly bound books that had to be at least a hundred years old. When she pulled them from the shelf, her fingers fell away from them, allowing them to fall down to about waist height, where they would catch themselves in mid-air. As she scanned the shelves, they floated alongside her.

Theo was in awe of her incredible knowledge; he actually found himself interested in the millions of side tangents she went on. It was clear she was very intelligent.

The two of them had sat at a quiet table and set to work, with Hermione leading the way. She had pored over each book she’d decided upon, choosing between a number of fantastical objects, including a goblet that never let itself empty and a collection of garden tools in Sweden that did their own work without ever having been tweaked by a Wizard. It was fascinating.

Theo had even started working his way through one of the books when he’d spotted it. On a dusty, yellowed page, he saw a near-perfect sketch of the object now strung around his neck. Time-Turner. A small gasp left his lips, and his hands went to clutch against the necklace. It was an involuntary reaction, but one that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hermione.

“Interested in the Time Turner?” she asked. “Would you like to use that one for your project? It’s quite brilliant.” Her eyes glanced down to his clutched fist, fingers still curled around the Time-Turner through his sweater. He let go and dropped his hand to his lap.

“I just thought it sounded very cool…” Theo said, sounding very unsure of himself. “Do you have any more books on it?”

“Um, I could search about if you wanted to look over that one a bit more,” she offered. Theo nodded, his eyes avoiding hers. Despite his obvious avoidance of her gaze, she set herself back down at the table and forced his eyes to find hers once more.

“Theo?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. He felt as though he was sweating profusely.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and it’s not meant to upset you, but…are you currently in possession of any school-banned objects?”

His eyes flickered up to hers in shock. He hadn’t expected her to ask that if he were being honest. She hadn’t even skirted around the subject or anything. He paused for a moment, trying to find the words.

“No,” he breathed, his chest tight. He could barely look at her.

“Okay,” she said, expression unconvinced. “Well, so that you know—for your project—Time-Turners can be dangerous if not used properly. Your past self can never see your present self.” Oh. That was good to know.

She nodded her head slightly, eyebrows still furrowed tightly, before turning to walk away. She left Theo staring blankly at the open book before him. She definitely didn’t believe him. He hoped she wouldn’t rat him out.

He got to his feet and quickly exited the library.

***

Once back in his dorm, a thought washed over him. He could use this Time-Turner to benefit himself in an extreme amount of ways. He could go back and fix tests he’d failed, he could correct arguments with his family, he could—

A knock came at the door. He quickly shoved the object back beneath his shirt, shouting a brief invitation at the door.

The first thing he saw was your eyes as they poked through the door. He sat up, tugging the comforter over his naked chest.

“Oh!” you giggled, stepping back behind the door. “You’re naked!”

“No, not naked! Just need to grab a shirt!” Theo said, frantically searching about his bed for a stray tee shirt. He noticed one strewn over the back of his desk chair.

“Accio!” he hissed. The gray fabric tossed itself towards him, allowing him to sling it over his head and down his torso. “Come in!”

You pushed back through the door, a sly smirk printed on your lips.

“Shut up,” he laughed, patting the bed beside him. You jogged over to his side of the dormitory and hopped into his bed, sliding your legs beneath the covers. Your cold skin raised with chill bumps at his warmth.

Theo asked you about your day, and you asked about his, and he contemplated telling you about the Time-Turner for over two hours before you finally disappeared back into your dorm. In your absence, he realized something he hadn’t before.

He could use the small golden jewelry rested around his neck to finally confess his feelings for you—and he could make sure it was perfect no matter what. He just had to make sure his past self did not see his present self.

---

And that mission consumed the rest of his week—or the rest of his Monday. At the start of the first day, he’d found himself approaching you and then flaking out; or starting to tell you, then changing the subject; or telling you he loved you! (but as a friend). He groaned and rolled his eyes at himself.

At this point, there were going to be ten little Theos running around Hogwarts. Now that it was Tuesday, all of them should have been swept away with the passage of time, but he wasn’t certain he’d gone completely unspotted by everyone around him. He could’ve sworn Mattheo, a close friend of his, had mentioned how impossibly fast he’d gotten from one side of the castle to the other.

With a clenched jaw and stern eyes, Theo told himself he wasn’t going to push this little journey past Tuesday. He was going to get it done today.

In the midst of his repeated attempts, he’d gotten creative to avoid being seen by his past self. He’d snuck little tips written onto notes in his dorm, pretended that students could not go into certain rooms so his other self could be alone with you, etc. He knew that that could be dangerous, and he definitely didn’t understand the full capabilities of the Timer-Turner, but he realized that if there was one thing he truly wanted at the moment, it was you.

This was the last time.

He pinched the Time-Turner’s little knobbed bead and turned—24 times. That should put everyone back on Monday morning, at exactly ten o’clock in the morning.

Theo watched as the air around him in the boys’ lavatory began to shift—little flashes of passersby sped around him; Professor Snape even pushed through the door at one point. The day became darker and darker until the whole bathroom was plunged into an inky blackness. Then, it began to leave quickly, becoming lighter and lighter until the rushing stopped. The lavatory was silent. It was ten o’clock on Monday morning.

He had Potions right now, but he’d already written a note to Professors Snape and Dumbledore, asking to be excused from all of his classes due to a raging stomach ache. He’d gotten unfortunately detailed in the letter and hoped they’d leave him to attend the hospital wing on his own.

He watched before him as ten Theos seemed to step out of his body and walk toward the lavatory entrance. These were his previous attempts trying to make you his.

An idea popped into his head—one that may not work the way he planned. He had failed to ask Hermione how exactly any incidents would affect his present self, but he figured he’d come out alright.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he hissed, then watched as all ten of his other bodies froze suddenly and collapsed to the ground, falling like dominos. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, dragged them over to one of the stalls in the furthest corner, and propped them up against the wall. Despite their eyes still staring right through him, they were not able to see his face. He was appalled at the way he was treating himself, but he figured if he wasn’t able to remember it, it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like he’d killed himself or anything like that; he’d likely just be a bit sore in the morning.

Still, perhaps he should have thought that through a bit more… It didn’t matter. This was the last time he was going to create more of himself for no reason. He should have successfully asked you out the first time, but, for some reason, he kept seeming to screw it all up. He was pathetic, using a magical object to ask someone out.

If any of his mates knew about this…he’d never live it down. He took a deep breath, straightened his tie and robes, and stepped out of the bathroom.

You were in Defense right now and would be going to your free period directly afterwards. He knew this because this was his eleventh time trying.

He pulled himself behind one of the enormous stone pillars holding the castle up and waited for your voice to come. Every single time, you walked out of your class, your laugh jingling like a chime through the halls and melting Theo’s heart down into his stomach. He anticipated the start of the sound.

When it began, Theo poked his head around the corner and saw you there—arms clutched around books, gorgeous hair framing your gorgeous eyes, your beautiful body on display as your group of friends turned to walk towards him. He gulped, standing back slightly.

“…and I was just wondering if he was, you know—”

“Hey,” Theo stepped out of his hiding place, interrupting you. Your shining eyes met his. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Your mouth slacked open for just a moment before you blinked a few times and nodded slowly. The two girls on either side of you seemed to be suppressing smirks and eyeing you intently. He took a shuddering breath, hoping that these girls would not be making fun of him some time in the future.

Theo had told himself that this was the last time, so if he fucked this attempt up, that was it. He would throw the Time Turner away.

One of your friends offered to take your books and bag back to your dormitory. You turned back to Theo and smiled shyly.

Gently, he led you away from the gradually increasing wave of Hogwarts students and down a mostly empty corridor.

You followed him in silence until he turned the corner, and brought you out into a silent courtyard. The sun above twinkled over the fountain in the center of the blooming area.

Theo saw you smile a bit.

“Uh, I’m sorry to have pulled you away from your friends, I just wanted to talk to you about something…” he trailed off nervously, his palms already beginning to sweat. Your eyes watched him so closely—it was becoming hard to breathe.

“I wanted to tell you that I’ve developed feelings for you—ones of, uh, a…romantic…nature—wait, that’s awful… I meant I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…uh…” he stuttered endlessly, his perfect plan drowning. “I’m sorry, can you just please forget I never said any of this?”

“Theo, why would I want to forget any of this?” You chuckled gently, a small well of tears in your eyes. “You’ve been nothing but sweet and romantic and loving these last eleven days.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve just wanted to ask you out properly—hey, wait. What did you say?” Theo stopped, blood draining from his face.

“Oh,” you frowned a bit. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but…”

You reached beneath your sweater and slipped a silver chain over your head. At the very end of the links, glistening in the sun, was a deep emerald stone, hard-cut and encapsulated in silver linings. A rough breath left Theo’s lips.

“It’s a Reversal stone,” you explained, “a stone meant to protect me from any charms, curses, or illusions placed on or around me. There’s only a few of them in the world but my family happens to be the ones who originally discovered them and their immunity to magic.”

Theo wanted to throw up. He was sure he had glimpsed one of these in one of the books Hermione had brought to him. He had never been so embarrassed in his life.

“So, you’ve seen everything?” he asked, wincing a bit.

“And remember it all—but don’t worry, no one else will.” You flashed him a dazzling smile.

“So, I guess you know about the—”

“Time Turner?” You answered. “Yeah, I do. But your usage of it was very impressive; it’s almost like you’ve used one for years. Where did you get yours—oh, wait, I’m sorry. I’m getting ahead of you. Go ahead!” You urged him along with your hands.

Theo chuckled at your natural curiosity. His eyes traced over your small smile as you awaited his prepared speech.

“Do you even want me to go through with this?” Theo asked.

“I’d love to hear it again,” you said sincerely. Theo refrained from cringing at the ‘again.’

“It’s going to be the same thing you’ve heard every time,” he laughed nervously. “Is your answer going to change at all?”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t get to answer the first times. You always cut me off and got to work spinning on that necklace of yours.”

Theo paused and thought back to each instance he’d reversed time and attempted to ask you out. He slowly realized that he'd never actually waited for your answer. He’d gotten too embarrassed and walked away.

“If you would have let me finish the first eleven times, you would’ve known that I couldn’t have cared any less about how you asked me out,” you smile flirtatiously. “All I cared about was the fact that you were asking me out.”

“So, does that mean…?” Theo trailed off.

“I’d love to be yours, Theo,” you laughed. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for forever and—while I didn’t think you’d need an infamously enchanted object to ask me out—I would never have said no to you.”

Theo’s eyes lit up and his lips parted in a giddy smile. Despite his nerdish attempts at proposing the perfect question to you, you still wanted him. Had wanted him for a while. At least that was what you’d implied. Theo could barely force the words from his lips.

“So, we’re dating, then?” Theo asked dumbly. “You’re my girlfriend now?”

“Of course…if that’s what you’d like to call me, that is,” you smiled, sending a wink towards the tall boy. His cheeks flushed slightly as he slowly slid his hand towards you. You accepted the invitation by sliding your fingers against his, intertwining them lovingly.

Theo thought his heart might explode. He was already thinking of kissing you. Your lips looked so perfect and lush… He imagined you’d taste like the sweetest of fruits in the summertime, like the entirety of Honeydukes, like—

“Would you like to kiss me, Teddy?” You asked. Theo swallowed thickly. Could that damn necklace of yours allow you to read minds as well? “I’d just very much like to kiss you, and thought that I’d ask.”

“Uh, I’d love to,” he smiled nervously.

“Theo,” you breathed, resting your lips just above his. “Relax. You don’t have to be so nervous. Is this the first kiss you’ve ever had?”

“No, but—”

“Then you’re alright,” you laughed.

His eyes were wide and frightened, his lips parted in a perpetual sigh. He could barely contain himself as your hand trailed up and along his chest before sweetly reaching his face. Your soft fingers caressed the flesh around his ear and then across his mouth. Theo’s breath caught in his throat at the sensation.

You gave him a small smile before lightly dragging your fingers under his chin and disappearing back through the entrance to the courtyard.

Theo remained standing, amongst the stone and the vines, with only his breathing and the trickle of the fountain behind him. His deep exhales brought him back to the present. He blinked sharply and laughed a bit at your boldness.

He was going to get you back.

*Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @lilymurphy03, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch (If you would like to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, dm me, or send me a message in my inbox. Thanks!)

[femmad]

English is not my language, if there are errors, excuse me. If you don't feel comfortable reading you can stop. It's also my first time writing something like this.

This story can also be found in its original version in Spanish on my Wattpad account. Only here and on my Wattpad account have I published them. If another account publishes them, please notify me and report it.

"What do you want to do?"

Warning: +18. Mature content below, I am not responsible for any discomfort, I already gave a warning. Unedited.

I quietly enter the room after saying goodbye to Eun-Yu and Chan Young, promising to meet again soon. I notice how calm and ethereal Hyun-soo looks lying on the stretcher with his eyes closed and the sun bathing his skin. I approach at a slow pace trying not to break his bubble when he slowly opens his eyes, but unlike his beautiful dark eyes I find bright blue eyes.

- Hyun-soo... - he interrupts me before I can say anything.

- You know, he was very sad without you - he says with a thick voice - We were hoping to find you when he was saving that girl - his eyes watching me deeply, analyzing every detail - Did you change us for that idiot who came with you - he asks in mocking tone.

- I could never change you, he is just a friend, he helped us after everything that happened - I lower my head feeling nervous under his deep gaze.

- A friend doesn't see you as if he wants to eat you - he smiles maliciously - That's how I see you.

After a few minutes in silence I raise my head when I hear him move. He approaches slowly, circling around me, I feel like I am enclosed in these four walls, as if I have fallen into his trap, his gaze makes a shiver run through me from head to toe, which makes him smile. I see that his eyes are a little darker, so he looks like a predator and I am the prey.

- What are you doing? - I ask nervously, raising my head to be able to see him when he approaches me with his big height. He leans down to be in front of my face with that smile that doesn't mean anything good.

- I don't know - he whispers looking at my lips - What should we do? - he asks mockingly - What do you want to do?

We stare at each other for a moment until he leans in, pressing his lips to mine. His soft lips quickly dominate mine, I feel his hands running over my hips until he lifts my shirt, placing his rough hands on my waist. I gasp when he bites my lip to insert his tongue. I slowly bring my hands to his face, brushing away his hair.

- We shouldn't do this - I whisper between kisses, pushing him a little - Bring Hyun-soo back.

He separates from me with a mocking smile - He's resting but don't worry, he and I are one - his hand goes up to caress my left cheek - We've been waiting for this moment since the last time we took you - he caresses my lips before introduce his thumb, which I unconsciously suck. He tilts his head to the side with his eyes fixed on my lips - You can't imagine the things he wanted to do to you from the moment he saw you after so long.

He takes my neck, bringing our lips together again, gently but firmly pushes my body until it hits the stretcher attached to the wall. His hand on my neck goes down to take one of my breasts in his hand, he squeezes it roughly making me squirm and gasp when he begins to caress my nipple covered only by the thin shirt I'm wearing. He takes advantage of that opportunity to introduce his tongue, invading my mouth.

I let myself be carried away by the feeling of being with Hyun-soo again. I remember one time we were together, the first time his monster made an appearance at a time like this. Hyun-soo always took me gently and timidly, but it changed from one moment to the next.

~

I gasp when Hyun-soo licks my nipple while one of his fingers plays with my clit. I get lost in the sensation and start to squirm feeling like I'm about to cum - Hyun-soo - I sob squeezing his shoulders. He raises his head looking at me with his innocent eyes, releasing my nipple with a soft pop - Faster please - I gasp with tears in my eyes, unable to help myself I move my hips against his.

He joins his lips to mine, obeying my request, he begins to push faster, leveling his attacks with the movements on my clitoris, I moan, feeling that I am coming, pressing against him, making me gasp between desperate attacks. He comes out of me quickly cumming all over my pussy. With heavy breathing, I smile satisfied when I feel him move next to me. He moves away from me and I adjust so we can hug together, when suddenly I feel his hands firmly holding my hips.

- I'm not done yet - he whispers hoarsely before turning me around, letting me support myself with my elbows and knees.

- Hyun-soo? - I asked dazed, still not coming down from my previous orgasm - Wait, I'm still sensitive... ah! - I scream when he buries himself in my pussy with one blow.

I sob as I feel my pussy spasming trying to adjust. I gasp, feeling a pleasure that causes goosebumps all over my body - What a good girl for us - he gasps as he begins to violently hit my pussy. I can't understand his words as I feel a new orgasm forming quickly. His hands squeeze my hips to ensure each thrust, it will undoubtedly leave marks.

- Hyun-soo please - I sob feeling tears falling down my face - It's very... - he interrupts me with a strong spank that makes me scream.

- Take it - his hoarse voice orders - Take it like a good whore.

~

He brings me out of my luxurious thoughts by inserting his right hand through my pants and panties.

- So wet from some kisses - he asks amused - Or is that little head of yours thinking about my cock - without giving me a chance to respond, he kisses me abruptly, finding my clitoris quickly, playing roughly with it, making me take his wrist to try to slow it down. Without wasting time he collects my juices and inserts one of his fingers making me gasp into his mouth - You are so tight - another of his fingers enters me with fluid movements, you can hear the splashing sound thanks to how wet my pussy is .

- Take me - I beg him, wanting his cock inside me - Please, I need you.

He smiles at me before lowering my pants while I help him take off my shoes and shirt. When I finish, he puts me on the stretcher and opens my legs. I try to cover myself, feeling very vulnerable since he was fully dressed. - Don't cover yourself - he says, removing my arms that cover my breasts. - Unless you want me to tie you up so that nothing gets in the way - I swallow, imagining myself tied up, leaving my body completely at his mercy.

Without waiting any longer he opens his pants and lowers them to the middle of his thigh, he takes my legs pulling my body until my bottom is on the edge, he pushes my panties aside and spits on my pussy making me jump, he rubs his cock wetting it before slowly entering me. I gasp from the heat of the stretch, wincing as I feel his big, heavy cock pulsing in my pussy. When it is completely buried, take my legs, bending them in half until they stick to my chest - Don't let go - he orders, placing my hands to support my legs. And then take my hips.

He begins to thrust sharply without warning, making a high-pitched moan come out of me - Hyun-soo - I beg, looking at him with big eyes as his hips increase in speed. His grunts make my pussy tighten.

- After separating from you we could only think about you - he pants while smiling devilishly - About how much of a whore you are for us, how well you take us - he pinches my nipples making me make a strange noise from the pleasure and pain together that feel so good , he always knows how to make me feel good - When we saw you with that soldier I was about to kill him - he takes my throat with his big hand while I fix my eyes on his eyes that have become darker - But he didn't want to, he was very distracted with how small and pretty you looked - he slows down with hard thrusts, he moves closer until our lips touch - he was just imagining how good you would look moaning taking this cock - he returns with his hard thrusts at an inhuman speed, I wrinkle my face unable to bear the pleasure.

- Go slower - I whisper tremblingly as my eyebrows are together and tears run down my cheeks - Hyun-soo please, slower... ah! - I moan as my hips shake against him, I feel my legs shake as he continues.

- Take it - he growls, squeezing my legs that slipped from my hands. I sob as I come, feeling spasms run through my body - That's it - he chuckles, interrupting himself with a moan when he feels my pussy suffocating him. I gasp feeling another orgasm coming over me.

- Hyun... it's too much, please stop - I feel my tongue numb as I drawl the words, contrary to what I say my pussy tightens without wanting to let it out - I-I... it feels... - I stop talking, my lips parted as I stare into nothingness.

- Have I fucked your brain yet, doll? - He lets out an evil laugh, one of his hands rubs my clit quickly while the other holds my leg up.

- Please - I beg without knowing what to ask him. My body writhes from tickling everywhere - It feels strange - I sob feeling my body being invaded by pleasure coming from everywhere.

He takes his wet hand out of my pussy to slap one of my tits, making me jump and throw my head back - Did you like that, pretty? How about this? - He slaps my pussy making a stream come out of me, wetting his shirt and pants. I scream, feeling like I'm dripping until I hear some liquids fall to the floor - What a dirty doll.

I feel like I'm fading from so much pleasure when he finally comes with a grunt filling me completely. I caress my boy's back and hair letting our breathing calm down, after a while I feel small kisses on my cheeks and lips - Good girl - I see his brown eyes again as he falls on top of me hugging me.

[helen-with-an-a]

Something About Finals pt 1

Hiya, so this was originally supposed to be all 1 story, but then I wrote almost 10K words so I've decided to split it up so the next part/s will be out tomorrow etc. This is inspired by the Pokal final when Lena fell and shouted 'mein Knie'. I hope you enjoy

Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2

Description: There's something about playing in a Final that R really hates

Word Count: 3.7k

Moving to Wolfsburg might have been the best thing to ever happen to you. Was it a huge risk? Maybe. 18 years old – almost 19, as you kept reminding your parents – and wide-eyed, moving to country where you didn’t speak the language and you had no one to call a friend to help settle you in. It could have been the worst mistake of your young life. Except, it wasn’t. Yes, moving had been terrifying … packing up your belongings into suitcases and buying a one-way ticket was something you hadn’t anticipated doing at such a young age. But the offer from Wolfsburg was too enticing. You made your debut for your childhood club at just 16 years old and the national team came calling a year later. Offers came flying in when you expressed to your agent that you might consider leaving the club. You had expected it to still be in the WSL; one of the Manchesters perhaps, or Chelsea, or Arsenal. You hadn’t considered even the slightest possibility that an international league was looking at you. But you couldn’t not go; this was a chance to play with the greats, to play in another league, to gain even more experience.

Your flat was small, a shoebox with a too small kitchen and an even smaller living room and bedroom, but it was yours. All yours. It also helped that you weren’t the only newbie … and by some coincidence, you lived right across from each other. You officially first met at your media and signing days.

“Hallo,” she said merrily. “Ich bin Lena, aber alle nennen mich Obi.” She stuck out her tanned hand, a wide smile on her round face. You understood the first part, but the rest confused your somewhat.

“Ha-hallo. Ich bin Y/N.” Your German was very stilted, but you were trying. You had a Club appointed tutor every Tuesday and Thursday to help you get to grips with the language. You had a Duolingo streak going, you tried to watch as much TV in German as possible, but you still weren’t the best.

“Do you want me to speak in English?” She asked, smiling wider at your relieved sigh.

“I promise I am trying, I’m just not very good.” You explained, you didn’t want to come across like a stereotypical Brit, you really were putting in the effort to learn the new language.

“It’s not a problem, I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time.”

And you did … although it helped that you spend basically every day with Lena who insisted on being your personal teacher. At first, it was on your way to training, since you lived opposite each other, you car shared. She would drive as you fiddled with the radio, slowly incorporating more and more German into your conversation. Then the car rides became after-training coffees where you would spend far too long chatting the afternoon away. Then the coffees became dinners and breakfasts, and before you knew it, Lena had cemented herself firmly in your life. She was your everything. Your best friend. Your person. And you wanted more. You wanted your post-match snuggles to be more than just two tactile best friends recharging after a hard game. You wanted your shared dinners to mean more than just two friends hanging out. You wanted your daily cuddles, your shared wardrobe, your stuff in her shower, your pictures on the wall to be more than just friendly interactions. You wanted to hold her hand, and place kisses on anywhere you could reach. You wanted to have to hold you and tell you how well you played and how proud she was of you. You wanted to look after her and for her to do the same. Looking back, it was easy to see how innocent you were.

It took the team’s Christmas party and an intervention for you to finally admit your feelings for each other. Too many of the girls had become too fed up with the strange push-and-pull dance you and Lena were doing to let you get away with it. Ingrid had marched straight towards you as you stared longingly at your best friend, oblivious to the looks you would receive back when your eyes darted away. Ingrid took you firmly by the wrist and dragged you into the bathroom, instructing you to stay put as she disappeared again. You were too shocked to do anything else until an equally confused Lena was shoved into the bathroom as well.

“Talk to each other, for crying out loud.” Frido had shouted through the door.

“You both are head over heels in love with each other.” Ewa clarified. The silence that followed was so, so awkward. You stared firmly at your feet as Lena leant against the sink.

“Is it true?” Lena asked first, breaking the quiet. You took a deep breath, this was it. You gulped, eyes never leaving the patch you had decided to stare at. “Look at me,” she demanded softly. You shook your head. You couldn’t watch your best friend, the person you considered the most important person in your life, reject you. “Bitte sieh mich an, liebling.” How could you refuse when she spoke so softly, so sweetly? You let your eyes drift up, taking in her outfit appreciatively before settling on her chocolate eyes. As your gazes met, your racing heart slowed slightly, your ragged breathing evened out, your nervousness melted away. She always could calm you down. “Is it true?” she asked again. “What Ewa said … that you … love … me? Is it true?” Your eyes danced nervously away, unable to hold her intense stare. “Please,” Lena surged forward, one hand coming to your waist as the other cupped your cheek, guiding you back to looking at her. “Is it true?” Her eyes scanned your face, taking in the festive makeup, the blush that she was fairly sure was due to her proximity rather than any product you put on or alcohol you had consumed. You bit your lip, nodding slightly.

“Yes,” you whispered so quietly it was barely audience. She sighed, relief flooding her system (although you didn’t know that) as she closed her eyes. You also squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to look at Lena as she voiced her flattery, but she really didn’t feel the same way and that you would always be her best friend and nothing more.

“I feel the same.” Your eyes flew open. The shock must have been apparent on your face as she huffed out an amused snort, her thumb rubbing at your cheek. “I want … this … us, for however long you want me.”

“You … you do?”

“Ja, of course I do.” You let out a surprised laugh. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that Lena liked you back.

“Do you wanna go out for brunch tomorrow?” You asked hopefully, a crooked smirk appearing on your face. She chuckled lightly, a loving expression filling her face.

“Like on a date?” She asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. You nodded. “Yes, liebling. I do want to go out for a brunch date with you tomorrow.” An infectious grin graced your features, hers following similarly.

It took three dates for Lena to officially ask you to be her girlfriend. It took another one for you to take initiative and kiss her. It took 4 months for you to properly confess you loved each other. After a year, you officially moved in with her. She was your everything and you were her all.

It wasn’t until the Euros that you realised just how much she meant to you.

You had always known this was a possibility. You were drawn in different groups, and then different quarterfinals, and then semifinals. And then you were facing each other in the European championship finals. Your home Euros. A packed Wembley and the nation backing you from their homes. All you had to do was beat Germany … beat Lena. Your victory would mean her defeat. Despite reassurances from her that regardless of the result she would still love you, you couldn’t help the nerves from bubbling up. Yes, you knew that logically she would never hold your success over you in that way – just like her winning wouldn’t change your feelings for her – but you were a worrier. After your Sweden game, you had spent over an hour on the phone, giving and receiving reassurances of your love, your pride and your well wishes.

It was barely 10 minutes into the game when it all went wrong. Funnily enough, you were marking Lena, stepping towards her to crowd her out of possession. You had succeeded as well, tipping the ball away just enough for Keira to collect it and start the English attack. It was as you turned around, extricating yourself from Lena … no, not Lena, it was just a German player, just a part of the opposition and not your girlfriend at this point in time … that you felt it. You had planted your foot and twisted, pushing off the grass to run into the open space. It was a move you had done thousands, if not millions of times in your life, both on and off the pitch. Something pinged, and then popped and your knee felt strange. You gasped at the pain, a shocked intake of air that had Millie and Leah looking at you in concern. The shout you let out as you went to the floor had Sara and Marina slowing their defensive block. Eventually, the ref’s whistle went when it was clear that you were not about to get up and continue play.

“Kid, talk to us, what’s wrong?” Lucy asked, her hand coming to smooth over your back. All you could do was let out a whimper in response, still clutching tightly onto your left knee, trying to push back the agony that was radiating through your leg.

“Medics are on their way, honey. Just hang in there.” Millie scratched at your head tenderly. All Lena could do was look on in deep, deep concern. She was frozen in place, near enough to the huddle of England players to hear the worry in their voices but not close enough to see your face. It was Lauren Hemp who nudged her, nodding at you, and telling Lena that you needed her.

“Obi,” you called out weakly for your girlfriend. All you wanted was her to wrap you up in her warm, strong, soft arms and tell you everything would be fine. Lena jumped into action, lightly pushing through the England girls to crouch at your side.

“Hey, liebling,” she cooed as she grasped onto your hand. You clutched it so tightly that she thought you might have broken her bones. “Is it your knee?” She asked, praying that it wasn’t as severe as it looked. You moaned, nodding slightly. The girls in the huddle around you all made eye contact with each other. You had gone down off the ball … in a twisting motion … and now your knee was causing you enough pain that you couldn’t speak properly. “Ok, liebe. The medics are here.” The circle split away, most of the English players leaving to regroup slightly further away. Lena had gone to move to the side as well. She could see the German team looking on with worry etched on their faces. You were good friends with most, if not all of the players – knowing them either through Wolfsburg or having being introduced through Lena in the 18 months you had been together.

“Don’t go.” You whined as the medics rolled you onto your back, looking up at her with tears in your eyes.

“I’m not, liebling. I’m right here.” She squeezed your hand three times. Ultimately, though, you were separated. You were loaded onto the revolting orange stretcher and carried off the pitch to a loud round of applause as Lena went back to the German huddle.

At half-time, Lena had tried to look for you on the England benches or in the tunnel but had no luck in spotting you.

“She’s still getting tests and stuff.” Jill took pity on the younger player, walking down the tunnel side by side. Lena nodded, clearing her throat slightly.

“She’ll be ok,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, trying to keep the nerves and bad thoughts from creeping in.

“She’s a tough little cookie,” Jill agreed. “We’ll make sure someone tells one of you if there’s any updates.” Jill had always taken an embarrassing aunt type roll in your life, keeping a solid eye on you during national camps and was one of the first to be introduced to Lena, alongside Lucy and Millie.

“Tell Poppi, uh … Alex Popp, if there’s anything to know.” Lena said quickly. Alex was injured and definitely wouldn’t be playing this game; she would be able to get the information and make a judgement on whether to tell the squad. Jill smiled and nodded before turning to the English back rooms.

Mixed emotions flooded you when the final whistle went. You had just won the countries first piece of silverware since 1966. You were European Champions. But it was at the expense of your girlfriend. You watched from the sidelines, crutches keeping you upright and stable, as Lena sank to the ground, head in her hands. You slowly hopped onto the pitch. You were slowed even further by the other England girls, they swarmed you, pressing kisses to your foreheads and gently squeezing you as you told them the news. Eventually, you made your way to Lena. She was in Poppi’s arms, Alex whispering reassuring and comforting words in her ears as they both cried. You didn’t clear your throat or make any indication you were there and waiting for her. Instead, you busied yourself with looking around the stadium, taking in the crowd singing along to Sweet Caroline.

“Hey, mausi.” Alex smiled at you.

“Hi, Poppi.” She pointedly looked at your crutches and then raised an eyebrow, silently asking you to confirm what she already knew. You nodded, a sad smile forming. She closed her eyes for a second, nodding and letting go of Lena and moving away, giving you to privacy.

“Hey, bubba.” You stood awkwardly, grimacing as you met her watery eyes.

“Hi.” She said dejectedly. You crutched forward once before Lena snapped out of her daze, rushing to you, and pulling you into a hug. “I’m so, so proud of you.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

“No, no, liebling, don’t be sorry. You deserve this, more than anyone else. I’ve seen you put in the work for this-” she stepped back, hands on your shoulders and she looked in your eyes.

“But so have you. And-”

“No, I won’t hear any of that. You are not apologising.” You sighed but nodded, nonetheless. “My girlfriend is a European Champion.” She smiled at you as she shook you very gently, quietly cheering for you. You couldn’t help the wide grin that appeared. It wasn’t until Lena scanned your body that she seemed to fully clock the crutches.

“Your knee,” she gasped. You hated telling anyone any form of bad news, but this … this was a thousand times worse than anything you’ve done before.

“I’ve done it. It’s torn. I’m having surgery back in Germany in like a week or so.” You blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling. You couldn’t even say the words … you had torn your ACL in a European Championship final … it made it too real.

“Oh, liebe …” Lena pulled you very gently back into a hug. “It’s ok. You’ve got this, ja. I’m not going anywhere, you will not be doing this alone,” she reassured you emphatically. You nodded, breathing in her slightly sweaty scent. “Now,” she said as you pulled apart after a long minute, but not long enough in your opinion. “You are going to go and celebrate, but not too hard,” she teasingly warned. “I’ll text you, ok?” You nodded, closing your eyes as her hand cupped your cheek. “Ich liebe dich.”

“Ich liebe dich auch,” you responded, letting her press a long and gentle kiss to your forehead.

Lena was true to her word in very sense of it. She had managed to finagle her way onto the same flight as you back to Germany – pulling both suitcases through the terminals and holding your hand for the whole duration of the flight. She walked next to you, never complaining at the snail’s pace that you crutched along the busy streets of Wolfsburg. She was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes after the surgery, the familiar grip of her warm hand helping you reorientate yourself in the land of the living. When you went from two crutches down to one, she was there, intertwining your fingers with hers as you tottered the length of the gym. When you finally got rid of both crutches, she was the first thing you walked to. It had been a surprise for her as she entered the gym, coming to collect you from your rehab as she finished her regular training session. You were alone in the gym – something that was very unusual considering the session had just finished and medics and trainers should be writing up notes all around you – but she watched with nervous anticipation as you gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher before you dropped your crutch and hobbled, very slowly, into her embrace. She had quietly cried into your shoulder as you pressed hundreds of kisses into her freshly washed hair. She was your personal cheerleader as she watched you run for the first time, laughing at Jule’s teasing comments from behind the camera as your progress was documented. When you finally ran on the grass, she had been like an excitable puppy – the unbridled delight she exhibited at your movements was infectious, lifting everyone’s spirits as the team watched on from further away.

Very tear you had shed; she had wiped away. Every harsh word and angry comment you threw her way; she had taken it in her stride. She had been your rock throughout the whole ordeal, and you don’t think you could ever repay her. You had surprised her with a fancy homecooked meal the day you told her about your return to full fitness. You had been given the all clear to rejoin team training that afternoon and you had been buzzing to tell her. It took everything in you not to spill as you arrived in the changing rooms. But instead, you had persuaded her, Jule and Sveindís to go spend the afternoon doing some light shopping, something that Lena had been missing out on recently due to your injury. You had rushed around the kitchen, cooking up a storm as you prepared all her favourite foods. You had just placed the finishing touches to the meal when she returned. You both had matching tears in your eyes when you told her the news. You were lucky, you where healing nicely and quicker than the average player. She had stood far too close to be considered work appropriate at training the next day, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your back into her chest as you listened to the pre-training huddle. She had snapped you up as her partner for every drill, ignoring Alex’s, Svenja’s, and Jill’s comments about sharing you with the rest of the team. You couldn’t hide your excitement from her when you were cleared to return to the match day squad. You had bounded out of the medical offices and straight into the gym, squealing in pure joy as you approached her. She set the weights down quickly as you barrelled into her. She had kissed you with as much passion as possible when the words tumbled from your lips, sticking a middle finger up at the jeers from the rest of the team.

It was a cold evening in early March when you stepped back on the field. It was poetic justice really that you offered Lena the most perfect cross into the box for her volley into the back of the net. Barely 4 minutes on the pitch and you were back. It was like you had never been away. Each time you were made as a substitution you had an almost instant impact, creating chances as soon as you stepped onto the pitch. Your first start back had been one of the best experiences you’d had at Wolfsburg. The players were humming with enthusiasm for you, Lena’s arm wrapped around your shoulder until you had to walk out. Despite being subbed off at 70 minutes, you were still hot and sweaty at the end of the match, but you didn’t care as you jumped onto Lena, laughing as she staggered under your unexpected weight.

“Sie ist zurück,” Lynn cheered as Lena span around in circles, you clinging to her as your joint laughter filled the pitch.

“Ich bin so zurück!” You stuck your tongue out at Lynn jokingly.

Lena had been with you when you received the email from Sarina. If she wasn’t, she would have thought you were dying with the loudness of your scream when the England team email popped up in your inbox. She had wrapped you up in her strong embrace as your tears spilled over. You spent the day on the couch, watching Disney movies and definitely breaking your diet, your weight fully on her as you snuggled, both of you drifting in and out of sleep. It had been a rough 7 and a half months for you, filled with many, many dark days. But Lena had been there to hold you through it all, to guide you out of the tough times with gentle words and soft kisses filled with love and hope. You didn’t know if you could ever, ever repay her for everything she had done for you.

And then you were off to the World Cup.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3<3

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 15]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Slight Body Horror, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Monstrous Attacks, Gun Use, Weapon Use, Some Talks About Traumatic Incidents, CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 11.3K

(15/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

Notes: FINALLY SHE'S OUTTTTTTT i'm so sorry for the long wait, loves, I just couldn't for the life of me be satisfied with it until now

Disclaimer: This series is originally by@fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

2005

Your hand was gripped tightly around your mother’s finger. She was one of a few people you’d ever met growing up and, for the longest time, she was the only one you needed. With you on her right hand and with a backpack filled with your things on her left, she knocked rang the doorbell. When there was no response, she rang it again and continued to do so until it finally opened. An older man stood at the door.

“Pardon me, madam, how may I… assist you?” He hesitates slightly. Your mother moves to the side and gently pulls you toward him and there was a spark of realization on his features.

“I need to talk to Bruce Wayne,” she says. The old man looks behind her before opening the door wider.

“Master Bruce will meet you soon,” the old man says after guiding you both to the foyer. Your mother helps you onto the couch before sitting next to you.

“Mom? Where are we? You tugged at her coat and she folds her hands over her lap.

“A safe place,” she says. You looked around.

“Are we moving here?” Your mother looks away for a moment.

“Yes,” she had a tone about her voice. She was lying. One of the first things she taught you was how to tell someone was lying, she always said it was important because of where you lived, and one of the things you had since noticed is that your mother lied alot, especially recently. You’d been noticing it more often now, she’d always look away from you when she lied and that was how you knew. The both of you have been moving around a lot, staying with different people and checking into different motels, it’s been awhile since you’d stayed somewhere longer than a few days. Every time you would move, your mother would say the same thing: “The monsters found us, we have to move before they get here.” And you, afraid of the monsters, would help her pack as quickly as you could and climb into a taxi next to her. 

Your mother lied a lot. And nearly every time it was a lie, and only some times was it the truth. Even her being your mother was a lie. But she takes care of you, and if that didn’t make her your mother you didn’t know what did. You’re not supposed to know this. She only told you one night when you woke up after a nightmare and came to her. She was holding a glass filled with a deep red liquid, and she refused to look at you all night. She looked over at you, laughed, and told you that you looked just like your mother and “may she rest in peace.” You don’t think she knows she told you, so you kept quiet.

“What are our three rules, (Y/N)?” She asks. You look at your hands.

“Listen before entering, look in hiding spaces, and don’t overstay our welcome.”

“Very good.”

Before the conversation could continue, the older man returned.

“Master Bruce will see you in his study.”

“Alright, watch her, please,” Selina puts her hand on your shoulder and you hold onto her hand.

“You’re leaving me?” You looked up at her.

“I’ll be right back,” she rubs the top of your head, “where is it?”

“Up the stairs and five doors down.”

“Sure.” Your mother ascends the stairs, and you remained on the couch. The older man sits next to you.

“If I may, what’s your name?” He asks. You look at him and look away slowly.

“My mom says not to talk to strangers,” you muttered.

“A very good principle,” he says. “My name is Alfred.” You puffed your cheeks.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N) Kyle…” you answered.

“(Y/N), that’s a lovely name,” he says. He grabs a box from the table. “Do you like sweets, (Y/N)?” He opens the box and your eyes widen at the chocolates inside. You nodded your head and picked a chocolate, but you hesitated before eating it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if my mom will be happy if I eat this, mister,” you placed the chocolate back. “She says I shouldn’t eat things from other people…”

“Another good principle,” Alfred takes a chocolate and eats it. “As safe as it is delicious,” he says. With a small smile, you grab the chocolate again and eat it, tasting the sweetness all over your mouth and savoring it as long as you could.

“(Y/N)?” Your mother’s voice drew you away from the box. She descended the stairs and, next to her, was a man with a stern expression on his face. You folded your hands on your lap and looked down. Soon, the man crouched in front of you. “Introduce yourself to her first, she knows not to talk to strangers.”

“Hello, I’m Bruce Wayne,” he says. You squeeze your hands together and your mother sits next to you.

“(Y/N), my dear, this is your father,” your mother introduces you. “You’ve been asking to meet him, remember?” You nodded your head. The man looks at your mother for a brief moment before turning back to you. “Why don’t you say hello?” She asks. You’re silent for a moment.

“Where have you been?” You asked him. The man doesn’t answer.

“He’s been very busy, he couldn’t say hello until now,” she answers for him.

“Why?” You look at your mother.

“I… I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she says. You puffed your cheeks and frowned.

“You have to be nice to him, alright? You’ll be staying here from now on.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

“Where will you go?” You looked around.

“Back to the apartment, for now,” she says.

“I don’t want you to leave, though,” you frowned. Your mother sighs and Bruce looks at her.

“(Y/N), do you remember when we first started moving? When the monsters came into our home and destroyed your toys?” She asks. You nodded. “Then you understand why you have to stay here,” she says. You did, kind of.

“But what will I do if there’s a stranger in our bed again?” Though you whispered, it was understood by everyone in the room. That was terrifying, seeing someone you didn’t know just waiting in a place you thought was safe. Selina only shared a quick look with Bruce. “Or… what if I get sick from eating again?” You asked her. You felt terrible that day, nonstop throwing up, nothing was kept down, and you think it was the first time you’d seen your mother cry.

“(Y/N), it’s not safe for you to be with me, but here? You will always be safe,” she says. Tears welled up in your eyes. “Your father will keep you safer than I ever could,” she says.

“But… I don’t know these people,” you said between sniffles.

“You will soon, there’s no one you can trust more than these two,” she rubs your back gently and you wrap your arms around her.

“Even you?” You asked against her coat.

“Especially me,” she responds.

“You have to come visit, okay?”

“Of course,” she holds onto you securely.

“You can stay tonight,” the man says. “It’ll be better for (Y/N), I think,” he says. You held onto your mother tighter.

“… I can’t,” she says. And you turned to her, your expression filled with despair.

“You’re leaving me?” The person you had known your whole life, who took care of you, and who raised you… was leaving you.

“Just for now, (Y/N), you have to trust me, okay?” She stands up and you stood up too, holding onto her legs tighter than you ever have. “(Y/N), let go, have I ever lied to you?” Yes, so many times.

“No,” you lied back.

“It’s only temporary, (Y/N).”

“But… Mom!” Tears streamed down your face. She couldn’t leave you. She took a deep breath. “You can’t leave! I’m so scared!” Your voice pierced the stillness of the manor, and everyone stopped. “What if… what if there’s monsters, what if they get me?!” You hid your face in her thigh. She slowly pulled away from you just enough to crouch to your level.

“They won’t, dear, not here. It’s okay to be afraid,” she coos, “but you have to remember that there are people who will protect you.”

“That’s you, right?”

“Of course,” she sighs, “me, and your dad,” she says. Your glance narrowed at her, and you leaned into her ear to whisper.

“Is he really my dad?” Your voice was so quiet that it strained. You could feel your mother tense as she turned her head to look at you. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“Yes, he is,” she says. “I never forget a face,” she quickly adds.

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.” She wasn’t lying. She looks up at Bruce now. “There’s no one who will keep you safer than him,” she says while standing up. “Be good, (Y/N).” You didn’t look at her. “Take care of her, please.”

“We will see to it that young Miss Kyle is watched over,” Alfred responds. Your mother holds you to her one more time, wiping the tears from your face and pulling her scarf off, she folds it neatly and hands it to you, which you accept with shaking hands.

“We will see each other again, (Y/N),” she says. “You’re (Y/N) Wayne now,  do you understand me?” You could only nod.

“Okay,” you shut your eyes and gripped the scarf. And when you opened them again, your mother was gone, and you were standing in a large room with a bed bigger than you’d ever seen and ceilings taller than you’d known. Your father was nowhere to be seen.

“Until we prepare a better room for you, this will have to do,” Alfred says. You looked around, then you approached the closet, opening it slowly and deeming it empty. The curtains were flushed to the wall and were safe, the desk was open enough for you to know that there would be no way for it to be an effective hiding spot, and that left one more place.

But you couldn’t check there.

“Mr. Alfred?”

“Just Alfred is fine, young miss.”

“Could you check under the bed for me?” Alfred only nodded before walking over to it and lifting the comforter. His head touches the ground, seemingly scanning the underside of the bed for a few moments before standing up again.

“No monsters.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it,” he nods and walks to the door. “Just call if you need anything.”

Then he’s gone too.

It’s cold in here.

~

2022

“So, what’s the verdict, Drake?” Marion looks over the clipboard Tim was writing on.

“It’s smarter than we thought,” Tim says, “it’s displayed critical thinking, problem solving, and memorization, all the three signifiers of high intelligence,” he looks at the daemon. It’s been two weeks since he and Jason had arrived and, while the progress on finding out how to return home has been slow, it’s been moving forward at the very least. Until then, the hardest part was integrating into this new society as if they’d always been apart of it to avoid suspicion.

Tim, at the very least, had a puzzle to keep him busy.

The daemon looked at him and huffed silently.

“You’re crazy, Drake,” Inigo says, “giving the thing a bath.”

“Sure, yeah, but I still have my head on and we can’t study it with spears in its back,” he shrugs. The beast seems to keep its eye on Tim while he circled it, though it made no moves. “How’s research on the tags?”

“Drawing no significant leads,” Marion sighs. “Nico, when does the Captain return?” Inigo huffs.

“Tomorrow, apparently,” he says, “I know she’s been losing her mind in bed.”

“She has tried to escape a few times,” Tim laughs.

“You would know, huh? She do that often when you were growing up together?” Marion asks.

“Oh plenty,” Tim laughs, “and I genuinely couldn’t tell if our dad knew or not, I mean, he had to! It’s not like she was slick about it, Jason and I always caught her,” he laughs.

“You two ever do anything about it?” Inigo asks.

“Nah, just helped her out,” Tim shrugs.

“Rebel kid turned soldier is a pipeline that should be studied,” Inigo shuts the lever as soon as the daemon was back in its cage. The sound of heavy locks moving into place echoed in the chamber.

“I’m going to go check on her, pretty sure she’s already tried to leave,” Tim hangs his lab coat over a chair and raises his hand and Marion dismisses him.

“Good work today, Drake, tell the Captain we said hello- Oh! And before I forget, hand this to her too,” she says while shoving a sealed box in his hands. “It’s fragile. Be careful with it and, I’m sure you know, Captain’s eyes only.” Tim nods and enters the elevator. He looks down at the box. It was wrapped various times in twine and nailed shut with the words ‘FRAGILE’ stamped on top of it. Sure, he trusted you, there must be some ground breaking item in here that would help with the monster outbreak, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his head. He turned the box slowly and looked at the label on the side.

Project βαV. Confidential. Tim’s brows furrow for a moment before taking a deep breath. He’s the one to talk, right? About secrets? He wonders what really went through your head those years ago. There were always things he just couldn’t tell you, things he’s always wanted to, but in the interest of your safety he always decided not to. Him and his siblings, they were always talking amongst themselves about things with the league or with Gotham’s underground and you were just there. If Cass wasn't there then no one would have taken the time to explain things to you.

Meanwhile, you laid in bed and stared at the clock next to you. Two weeks of bedrest, the audacity of these people. A lot can happen in two weeks and with you not active who knows what kind of emergencies have happened without you knowing. Sure, the Brigade kept you relatively up to date and you knew for a fact that Aldryn couldn’t keep a secret from you, but the anxiety that came from sitting still is one you weren’t comfortable with.

“This is so ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Almost as ridiculous as you not reattaching,” Carter laughs next to you. You looked under your hospital gown, still seeing the healing bite wound across your chest. At least it was still together, is your immediate thought. You sat up in bed and looked at the folder on the stand next to you.

“Think it’s anything I should be concerned about?” You ask while rifling through its contents. Field reports, updates on monitored areas, practical scores, all what you expected.

“Are you asking if you suddenly having a normal human body is concerning?”

“And it wasn’t before?”

“Well…” Carter shrugs. “What do you think, (Y/N)?”

“Hm,” you shake your head. “I’m just wondering why it’s failing now of all the times.”

“Think it might have something to do with Alex’s assignment?”

“Probably,” you muttered. “I never once considered distance to be a hinderance, or more accurately it’s never been an issue, but with him as acting Captain I should’ve taken it into account,” you muttered.

“And what does he have to do with your ability?” You both look up and see Damian at the doorway. You sighed.

“I had to tell you eventually,” you gestured for him to sit next to you and, once he did, you took another deep breath. “It was during a monster hunt dispatch. I had done plenty of them before, the three of us together were known as the best when it came down to it, but this one was different. It was a rank builder dispatch, if we completed the mission to its fullest extent then we’d get promoted. And everything went well until the monster we were hunting cornered us,” you started to explain.

“Real quick, everything was not well,” Carter cuts in. “I almost lost a leg.”

“This is isn’t about you,” you held a hand up, but your small smile contradicted your tone. “Either way I almost died again, but for whatever reason the royal family insisted I be kept alive. As a result of some forbidden magic, boom, reattachment with the side effect of telekinesis with one specific person,” you shrugged.

“That person being Alex, I assume,” Damian hums.

“Yeah, there’s nothing other than that, though. It’s related to some powerful magic thing that I guess Alex has been studying for some time now,” you tapped your finger against the bedding. “It’s been like this for, what, two years now?” You looked at Carter, who nodded.

“Give or take,” he shrugs.

“So that ability you told me about,” Damian starts the thought.

“Is different from my reattachment, yes,” you finished his thought, “but I don’t like using it.”

“Left her with a nasty nickname,” Carter says.

“I hate that shit, it pisses me off every time I hear it,” you rolled your eyes, and they settled on the door right as you heard a knock. “It’s open.”

“Hey, (Y/N),” Tim walks in with a paper bag in hand. “Carter, Damian,” he acknowledges the other two, “I got you lunch! To celebrate your freedom from a hospital room,” Tim hands it to you and you pulled out the burger.

“Finally, real food,” you could’ve praised Tim right then and there.

“You’re not really going to jump right back in, right?” Carter asks. “You just recovered.”

“I loathe to think about what I missed while in exile.”

“Oh, relax, you were on bedrest.”

“How’s the daemon, Tim? Any leads?” You switched the subject before you could get the migraine.

“Nothing conclusive, just theories,” Tim grabs another chair. “Marion says ‘hi’ by the way,” he says. You looked at Carter and Damian. 

“There’s our cue, come on, Damian, I’ll walk with you,” Carter nudges his head toward the door and Damian groans and looks at you.

“Just go with him, Dami.”

“I can keep secrets, you know.”

“I know,” you gestured for him to follow Carter anyway and he huffed before closing the door behind him. After a short while, Tim spoke again.

“Are you 100% sure that they used to be humans, (Y/N)?”

“Positive. One of the ones we fought even spoke, Tim,” you said.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I tried crossreferencing some fur samples with the missing person’s data base here but nothing, no registered sample matches it,” Tim shakes his head. “So… I was thinking,” he pauses.

“Maybe he’s like us?” You whispered.

“Yeah, dropped off here after some traumatic event, but someone got to him first,” Tim leans on his knees now, head propped up by the palm of his hand.

“Let’s talk about it when Alex comes back. I sent him off to do some investigating on some movements we heard in the distant areas, so he’s been monitoring their movements for two weeks now,” you pushed the sheets down and opened the closet next to you before pulling out your uniform. 

“Before I forget,” Tim hands you the box. “From Marion.” You looked at it for a moment before opening it. Inside was a smaller box, also wrapped twenty fold in twine. You said nothing while you packed it into your belt. You pulled out the small note inside of it.

You’re insane, Captain. Whatever you’re planning on using this on I hope you realize what it can do. And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. - Marion

You crumpled the note in your hand and tossed it in the trash.

“What is it, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“A last resort,” you shrugged. “I’ve been working on it for some time, I was hoping it would be a good pinch tactic if it came down to it, and with these monsters all over the place I’m starting to think it’s time I expidited its production,” you explained. “It’s nothing crazy, you don’t need to worry yourself about it.”

“If you say so, (Y/N),” Tim clears his throat. He didn’t believe you. But, then again, he wouldn’t exactly approve of what was against your hip right now anyway.

Your senior thesis project, you remembered enough of it to continue it here and perfect it, or make it as close to better as whatever crude version of it you had in Gotham. You and Marion were working on it together for almost a year now with various trials and errors, but if she’s giving you this one then this is the closest you’ll get for now.

“Let’s do some field work, Tim, grab Jason and Damian on the way. The Brigaders are spread out right now so I’m going to have to settle for the family trip.”

~

2006

“Dad?!” Your voice seemed to echo throughout the manor, bouncing on every which wall before you couldn’t hear it anymore. You’d been living at the manor for a few months now, slowly getting accustomed to the new environment while Alfred helped you anytime a camera would flash at your face. Slowly, bit by bit, you got more accustomed to the man your mother claimed was your father, you learned from him, about him, and through him. He was quiet, you noticed, didn’t smile often and didn’t tend to stick around the house for too long either. Most of your days was spent with Alfred, the butler, who often took you outside the manor and taught you a few things you’d have to know. Like the cameras. You hated those. They got in front of your face, blinded you with their lights, and deafened you with their shutters, but Alfred taught you a way to look through them. It was so simple that you were amazed when he told you.

Look straight at the person taking the picture. And suddenly the cameras weren’t scary anymore. The cameras that followed your father around, they never seemed to cease. He was so different from your mother who ducked out of sight and warned you about them, and that constant line of thoughts was always playing on repeat in your head.

You had already wandered the vast extent of it and you’d almost say that you knew it like the back of your hand, amazingly enough.

The only thing you didn’t know was where your dad went during the night, but Alfred always insisted he went to work. Life must be so hard for a CEO.

Alfred told you that you could be like that too someday, if you so wanted.

The manor was larger than you could ever dream of. Despite you having internally mapped the place, there always seemed to be something new if you had the energy to seek it out. But it seemed too big for three people, let alone you. Your echoing voice was just a reminder of the lack of… anyone, really.

Not to mention, it was always so cold. You shivered slightly, rubbing your arms up and down for warmth.

“Dad?” You called for him again and still, nothing. You wanted to ask him to turn the fire on, and you hadn’t seen Alfred all day. You peered over the railing, looking at the ground floor below. “Oh,” you spotted your scarf hanging on one of the light fixtures attached to the wall next to the railing. Perfect timing. Your mom gave it to you before she left your first night here, it was just a small thing of hers that she wanted you to keep, and you thought you’d lost it after tying it to the end of stick and playing baton with it. Looks like you just flung it over the edge at one point. You stood as close to the rail as you could, reaching your small arms through the poles to grab at the fabric, but each time you got closer to it it seemed to move further. You looked behind you, pulling the chair to the edge and climbing ontop of it. You held onto the rail with one hand and, with the other, you made a grab at the scarf, feeling it’s soft material in your hands. “Yes!” You grinned. Then you felt your hand slip down the rail. Then you were falling. Clutching onto the scarf in your hands like it would do something.

“(Y/N)!” Your dad’s voice was beneath you and in moments he caught you. “What were you doing up there?!” His voice was laced with concern. You held the scarf up and he let out a sigh of relief before shaking his head. “That was very dangerous, next time let me or Alfred know you need help,” he says, placing you down gently.

“Sorry, dad,” you looked at ground.

“It’s okay, you know now not to do that though, right?” He asks. You nodded. “Why were you doing something like that anyway?” He looks up, spotting your makeshift stool.

“I was cold,” you muttered. He sighs above you, then takes your scarf and wraps it around you, securing it well enough to stay on.

“That’s it?” You nodded. “In that case, I’ll turn the fireplace on for you,” he walks off and you followed close behind him, watching the backs of his heels to be sure you didn’t tread on them on accident, and finally you were in the office watching him throw logs into the fireplace.

You’d never seen a real one before, and the wood felt rough under your touch.

“Careful,” your father says. Your hands fly off the log and he tosses the last one in before throwing a match inside. You feel him hold your shoulder and push you behind him only slightly before you heard the crackle of fire. You watched it spark to life before engulfing the pile, and you found yourself flinching back at the suddeness of it. Then, near immediately, warmth. “Don’t stand too close to it, you might burn yourself.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” he says. You watched him walk back to his desk, his face growing stern as he read through whatever on his computer. You crossed your legs and sat on the ground, reaching toward the fire with open palms to feel it more. “Here, sit on this here, the ground’s cold. And if you need it I brought a blanket,” he left both items next to you. You didn’t even notice him leave, he didn’t make a single sound. You pulled the ottoman toward you and sat down on it instead while holding the blanket in your hands. It was soft to touch, softer than any motel bed you’d slept on, but not as soft as the scarf around you.

You didn’t want to get it dirty.

~

2022

“Captain Wayne?” Bruce’s eyebrow arched and the child nodded enthusiastically.

“Yessir! Our little village is usually one of the Brigade’s stops on their way to their campaigns. We’re lucky to even get a glimpse of the captain!” The child grins. “If you stick around long enough you’ll be able to catch a look too.” They ran off after that.

“Constantine,” Bruce called him over, but the man was too preoccupied on the phone to do say much.

“Liverpool! Where the hell are you, lad? You sent me the wrong bloody address!” He shouts. “You’ll be here? What in the blazes does that even mean? Fine, fine, I’ll hold you to it, but I don’t remember when you got so bold to make to teacher wait here.” Constantine hung up the phone and turned back around. “What?”

“What are the odds of running into different vesions of ourselves here?” Dick asks.

“Not impossible, I’ll give you that,” Constantine shrugs. “But pretty unlikely too,” he adds after. “Why?” Just then, a newspaper flies into Constantine’s face and when he peeled it off he quickly read the headline. “Oh…” he mutters and hands it over to the boys.

“In the wake of daemon attacks Captain Wayne says the Brigade has it handled during hospital stay,” Dick reads the opening sentence. “Doesn’t sound like they have it handled.”

“And that’s why I got called here, probably,” he shrugs.

“Constantine,” a new voice enters the conversation.

“Liverpool!” Constantine spreads his arms wide with an even wider grin. “Look at you, lad, Zee says hi, by the way.”

“She here?” Alex leans over to look behind him, but instead makes eye contact with Dick. “Oh no…”

“What?” Constantine looks behind him.

“Alex?!” Dick’s jaw was nearly on the floor.

“Long time no see, Mr. Wayne,” Alex greets Bruce first.

“Alexander,” Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably. Alex’s hand rests on his chest for a moment before he relaxes again.

“We have a bit of a monster problem,” Alex says quietly. “Let’s go somewhere private,” he nudges inside of one of the homes and the men follow him. “Take a seat anywhere, this is the Knighthood’s outpost,” he says.

“Little shabby,” Constantine wipes the dust off the table.

“Our treasurer got eaten by a daemon,” Alex saids chidingly. He tosses a circular device on the table and a hologram appears from it, displaying a monster they had never before seen. “This is just one variant of them, we have this one in captivity right now and it’s being studied. But it’s traits greatly differ from others we’ve encountered,” he says. 

“And how many is that?” Bruce asks.

“Enough,”Alex grimaces. “We haven’t been able to track where they come from, they’ve been found all over the continent razing villages to the ground and taking out whole squadrons. At first we were able to keep it under wraps but recently it happened too close to the capital, now the media’s all over it,” Alex shakes his head.

“Shocking you kept these nightmares out of the public eye for so long,” Constantine mumbles while he leans forward to take a closer look. “Either way these things are new to me,” he says. 

“You haven’t the slightest idea on what it is? Science is hardly working on this thing, I was so sure it was magic,” Alex continues.

“It would help me more if I saw it up close,” Constantine says.

“If my theory’s right then you will soon,” Alex says quietly. Constantine straightens. 

“What do you mean by that?” He asks gravely. Alex changes the hologram.

“If this pattern of attacks is to be followed then this is the next village they’re going to attack,” he says quietly. Dick steps up.

“What’s the plan then?”

“Wait until the captain gets here,” Alex responds, “our elite squad is spread out right now, but they’re ready to respond to an emergency. Our captain is on the way right now so we’ll discuss it once enough people are here, but I’d say we have a night to prepare. Once I get the manpower I’ll start evacuations, I’ve already sent notice of it to the headwoman so everyone should be preparing now,” Alex reports, his hand over his heart before he beats on it a few times.

“And what should we do?” Constantine asks.

“Help? Watch? Whichever comes naturally,” Alex shrugs.

“Any briefing at all? Weak points? Strengths? Things to avoid?” Dick pressures him.

“Before, yeah, but the daemons have become so specialized that our original modus operandi doesn’t work anymore. It’s like they all mutated overnight,” Alex shakes his head. “This whole monster problem has gotten out of hand, and from the pressure coming from the royal family the entire knighthood is on a tight schedule, and we’re running out of manpower fast, I don’t think we can sustain things by blind fighting anymore, but our strategies are always upended when a new daemon comes in. Just two weeks ago we had one that controlled the weather, for christ’s sake, it almost ripped the captain in half when another daemon suddenly learned empathy and saved us all,” Alex holds a hand to his head now.

“So, you’re desperate,” Constantine says.

“Extremely,” Alex shakes his head. “Onto other matters, why the entourage?”

“I figured a little extra manpower couldn’t hurt,” Constantine shrugs. “Why?”

“Well…” Alex whistles, but is cut off by the sudden roar outside.

~

2008

You are awoken suddenly by the crash of glass on your floor, and the shock of it all was enough to make you scream. You held onto your blanket, clutching it tight within your hands as you crawled toward the edge of your bed, and in an instant you gasped.

And so did Dick.

“This isn’t my room,” he says between pants. You were quick to rush out of the safety of your covers and to his side. He was covered in bruises and shallow cuts, probably more from the glass than anything else, whatever happened to him. But… you could help. Your mom used to come home with bruises too, she’s walked you through how to help her and what to use, you just wondered if there were any in the manor. Or even Alfred, you could call him for help.

“What happened to you?! Who did this?! I can help you,” you brushed the glass off of him and winced when it cut your hand only slightly.

“Whoa! Careful there, (Y/N),” he takes your hands now, observing the cut.

“What about you?” You pulled your hands out of his grasp and reached over to him, but he caught your hands again instead.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he struggles to stand up and you tried to help him, but he got up himself. You drew your hands back, clasping them in front of you instead. “I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he says. You looked at him now.

“You’re… you’re Robin?” You asked him. You looked at your walls, crude drawings of the boy wonder littered it. You idolized him, Robin, the sidekick to the dark caped crusader all the boys at school raved about, and there you were, becoming a fan of the boy who helped him.

And here Dick was, someone you considered your older brother after two years of living together, beaten up and wearing the iconic insignia.

“It’s… it’s just a costume, (Y/N),” he says. You shook your head and stood up.

“You’re going to lie to me too?” You looked away from him. Everyone lied to you. And you thought at least he wouldn’t.

“I…” he rubs his arm, wincing slightly. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” he says. “I was just playing around with a few friends and we got out of hand, don’t tell Bruce, please.”

“Okay,” you shook your head again, grabbing your blanket that had fallen next to the bed and climbing back on top of it. Dick wiped his face of whatever dirt got on it and looked at you. You pulled your blanket up and over your head.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. You should’ve known. And maybe a part of you did know. When you saw the videos of Robin doing amazing acrobatic feats, the very same Dick would show you, maybe you did know. And when you would tell Dick how much you liked Robin, when you’d show him the drawings, you wondered what he was thinking.

You wondered if your dad knew.

So here you were, eating breakfast with the both of them. Dick across from you, your dad at the head of the table, and you. It had been a few days since the incident, and neither your nor Dick brought it up. Now, though, you can hear him entering his room early in the morning, his room which was right next to yours, and now you check every morning if he was in there.

“So, (Y/N), I hear you have a test today,” Bruce breaks through the silence.

“Yeah,” you nodded, playing with your eggs.

“What’s it on?”

“Spelling,” you mumbled.

“You’re good at that.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks, his eyes sliding to you. You looked up from your eggs and glanced at Dick before looking at him.

“Nope,” you shook your head and chugged down the rest of your milk. “I have to go to the bathroom.” You placed it on the table and folded your hands on your lap.

“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”

“I’m full.”

“(Y/N).”

“And I really need to pee.”

“Okay, go ahead, you’re excused,” he says. You rushed off before you could let the cat out of the bag. You’re lying to your dad, great. Not telling is also lying, your mother always said, but it had to be a little better than just… completely lying, right? Plus, you didn’t want Dick to get in trouble, how many times has he helped you out? You could help him out, even if you were a little mad at him. You hid behind the wall, wanting to catch any conversation they have. “Dick.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good that the two of you get along well, but I hope you know she’s still my daughter,” Bruce says.

“I know.”

“So you understand that I know you two are hiding something, right?” He says. You held your breath and peeked over the wall, his back was still turned to you. “Which is fine, I suspected you two would eventually, as long as it doesn’t hurt her or interrupt that business, it’s fine,” he says. Dick nods, catching your glance only quickly before clearing his throat. Did he know too? Your dad? That Dick was Robin?

“It’s neither of those, sir, I promise,” he looks at the clock on the wall, “and we should probably get going to school too,” he says.

“You’re right, I’ll see you both at home later,” Bruce stands up first and Dick follows. You rushed to the foyer before your dad could catch you eavesdropping and you hauled your book bag up from the floor.

“Whoa, what do you have in there?” Dick walks up behind you and opens the door for you.

“So… many… books,” you threw it into the back seat of the car.

“For school?”

“For fun,” you sighed. You pulled one out and handed it to him.

“American Girl?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Uh… sure, okay,” he shrugs. “Why don’t we keep them in here for now and you can just carry one,” he pulls the stack out of your bag except for one and you reached over and grabbed another.

“Just in case I finish that one,” you say.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. The car slows to a start and Dick glances at the closed window that separated the two of you from the chauffer. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For?”

“For keeping my secret,” he says quietly.

“Yeah…”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, I just got scared,” he says.

“I know, I would’ve been scared too,” you nodded. You played with the handle on your bag. “But if you ever need help… just ask, okay?”

“I should be saying that to you,” he nudges your softly and you smiled.

“Just don’t get hurt too bad, okay? And… and you have to tell me the coolest stories,” your eyes shone.

“What? You still like Robin even though you know I’m him?” He scoffs.

“Are you kidding? I like him even more now!” You defended. “I always thought you were cool, but now you’re even cooler,” your voice was filled with awe.

“Yeah, yeah, you think everything I do is cool,” Dick laughs.

In the front, meanwhile, Bruce seemed to let out a sigh of relief, prompting Alfred to chuckle.

“God, I was so worried it was something worse,” he says.

“As I’ve told you before, Master Bruce, they’re as thick as thieves, those two,” Alfred says. “Although, you don’t think this will become a problem in the future?”

“What? Her knowing Dick’s Robin?”

“Precisely.”

“As long as she doesn’t get into danger,” he says, “there’s no harm from it.”

“But you worked so hard to separate her from the Batman, and here she is with a direct line to him now.”

“Dick knows what he’s doing,” Bruce sighs, “plus, maybe it’s safer for her to know.”

“And will you ever tell her?”

“Eventually, if she hasn’t figured it out already.”

“Do you think she will?”

“She’s a sharp girl. Selena raised her well.”

“I worry about what she had to go through before she came to us,” Alfred looks into the monitor near him, watching Dick tell a story with exaggerated hand movements and you being more engaged in it than he’s ever seen. “She looks happier now.”

“I hope she is,” Bruce doesn’t look up from his phone. Alfred steals a quick glance at it and spots the American Girl dolls on his screen. Alfred couldn’t stop the satisfied chuckle this time.

~

2022

“Oh we are so fucked,” Jason’s hands drop to his sides when he saw the fires.

“Shit… they’re earlier than we predicted,” you shot a quick text to the other Brigade members. “And we might have another issue on our hands too,” you watched the daemon freeze over the landscape.

“What, the mutants?” Tim shudders.

“No, them,” you nodded forward, spotting Dick electrocute a smaller daemon.

“Shit,” Damien grumbles.

“Shit,” Jason scoffs.

“What’s the plan, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“Uh… don’t die,” you shake your head, “and get any survivors out. I’ll rendezous with Alex first and figure out a better plan from there,” you drew your rapier and scanned the field. One, two, three… four of them.

“Captain?” Your earpiece crackled and you pressed down on it.

“Alex, give me a run down,” you watched your brothers each tackle a different daemon.

“One with ice, one normal one, two with super strength, and one with wings.”

“One with wings?” Your face contorted into one of confusion. Until something grabbed you and left you airborne.

“(Y/N)!” Jason called after you.

“Oh fuck,” you grabbed onto the daemon’s claws that dug into your shoulders. Your breathing quickened, the air growing thinner the higher up you got, and you swallowed your thoughts down and reverted to plain instinct. It roared above you and you pulled yourself up and onto its back, looping the rapier around it’s neck and locking it in place with your arm in an attempt to strangle the bird-like monster. Ignoring the stinging pain in your shoulders, the daemon flapped erratically until it took a nosedive, and you held your place as best you could with the wind blowing against you, all you could do was brace for impact. As soon as the bird hit the ground, the earth around it caved in, you felt the shock run through your bones and you felt the fragments inside of your body before they ultimately, painfully, reconnected to each other, and you stood up, dragging your rapier with you and smoothening down your hair. The bird twitched under you and you dug your sword into its heart, pulling the tag from its neck. CH-95. You staggered back, feeling the crunch in your bones and holding back the wince. You never get used to it.

“Just a second!” You held your hand out, catching your breath. This is wrong. Alex was practically right next to you, you should be reattaching with ease, but you weren’t. You were just surviving.

“(Y/N)? Jesus, fuck, holy shit,” Dick let out a string of curses while he helped you up, but he quickly slowed his movements as soon as he had felt the jelly that was your arm. “God, why the hell did Jason bring you here?” He muttered under his breath and you stopped.

“Excuse me?” You looked up at him and pulled your wrist from his grasp, standing up tall and closing your hand into a fist once it had finally finished mending together. You stretched out your fingers now, making sure the mobility was just right. “Like you know what’s going on,” you told him.

“(Y/N) you’re not trained for combat, this is dangerous, hell, one of them just grabbed you and launched you in the sky,” Dick shouts. “Get out before you get hurt,” he eyes your arm, a quick look of confusion danced over his features when he saw it balled into a fist once more.

“Did you not just see how I killed this thing?! What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for three years?! Don’t tell me you bought my bull shit story about that lab! Obviously I was making myself fucking useful!” You didn’t know why you felt the need to argue, now was not the best time to be doing this. “I should be asking you why you’re here!” Maybe it was because you felt like you had something to prove.

“I’m here to bring all of you back home!” Dick shouts. “And instead, somehow, Bruce and I get roped into this monster business and I definitely wasn’t expecting to see the four of you here,” he says. He looks over to the side, seeing Jason and Tim bring one of them down. “You especially, you’re a civilian, (Y/N), get somewhere safe,” he says. You took a deep breath. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know the shit you’ve been through, and you had to be fair towards him because of that. But god is he pissing you off, you didn’t even know how you tolerated this behavior before you died and you definitely don’t want to deal with his holier-than-thou-I’m-the-best-leader attitude now.

“I don’t have the time or the fucking patience to deal with you right now, Dick,” you shook your head.

“Captain!” Alex’s voice was loud and you tore your attention away from Dick who was rambling again about how you shouldn’t be here. Alex tosses you your rifle, something that probably fell from your figure when you were unceremoniously turned into an aircraft. One thing you learned quick, even before the transmigration, was how to tune out sounds you didn’t want to hear. So, just as easily as usual, you loaded the rifle and aimed it toward the daemon that Jason and Damian were struggling with and you took the shot. The bullet pierced through it’s head and the beast as stunned long enough for the two to finish it off.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” Jason shot you a thumbs up and you rolled your eyes while slinging the rifle behind you. You turned back to Dick, no words were exchanged, but the silent conversation was enough for you to figure out what he was thinking. He was pissed. But so were you, so… where did that leave you?

“Got a plan, Lex?” You looked over to Alex.

“I’m going for the ice one, don’t think we can have the newer two on it,” Alex was already running off, joining Constantine in his struggle while Jason had pushed the remnants of a wall off of a few survivors.

“Move over!” You had turned back to Dick to settle the argument, but when you saw the daemon fast approaching you shoved him out of the way instead, and you very nearly got caught in its rampage by just a hair. You ran toward it now, you couldn’t let it run amok any longer with the possibility of heavy civilian casualties, but the stinging pain from your steps was making it hard to focus on anything other than that.

“Help!” The shrill voices of survivors always found a way to be louder than others, and you turned to them quickly, seeing the children hidden behind the broken wooden foundations. Could you even get to them on time in this state? Everyone else is too far to get to them.

And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. Marion’s note appeared in your head. But you’d always meant to use it on yourself, you just couldn’t find the right formula, you couldn’t nail the correct combination that wouldn’t end up with you combusting after taking it. Until now, you fed it to the test specimen and told Marion to keep a close eye on it and, after two months of controlled dosages, the specimen was still alive. But you understood why she was afraid, she was a woman of science and she knew that its boundaries shouldn’t be tested. But you’ve seen it work before, and you knew you could make it better. Hell, you have a degree in this. You have to put it to work at least once, right?

Fuck it. You ripped the package open and pulled out the green vial.

Tim, meanwhile, was the one in shock. βαV, that was the name written on that package, and seeing its effects put two and two together. Bane and Venom.

You never got over that, did you?

“(Y/N)!” He shouted out, not from the recognition, rather, the daemon that had appeared behind you. No time, you moved as far as you could from the monster as it crashed into the wall previously behind you, but it was enough for Tim to run over to you. “Is that-”

“Safe, probably,” you inverted it in your hand. “Safer if I take it than if anyone else did.

“You can’t!” Tim makes a move to take it and you unscrewed the lid, holding it close to your mouth while keeping your sights on him.

“Why not?” You eyed the monster stepping out of the broken building.

“You…” Why couldn’t you? Tim was at a loss. Everything he’s seen, everything he’s observed, pointed to you being the most reasonable choice to drink it especially in this situation. But it just didn’t sit right with him. He held you in this amazing regard, this near unattainable standard that never could’ve been realistic in any universe, one that not even you could uphold. “I never thought that you’d think like him,” Tim mutters. You didn’t answer, instead opting to drink the down quickly.

The world around you rang as you took heavy steps toward the daemon that had regained it’s footing, and as soon as it noticed you it charged with its maw near unhinged, and you caught the daemon’s open jaws between your hands, your hands that were traced with green veins that were clear even through the blur at the edges of your eyes. You took deep breaths, the world around your shifted in and out of focus as if echoing just like the sounds of the battlefield, and once your vision somewhat stabilized you pushed further and ripped the daemon’s jaw in half. You tossed it’s mandible to the side and used your foot to roll it over on its back and you pulled the tag off. DP-82. Your breaths only deepened and you felt your heart rate quicken, like your heart was going to burst out of your chest from the adrenaline. Your hands were shaking, or was that your vision shaking? You felt the venom run through your veins with a burning sensation, threatening to rip your skin open with each pump of your heart. This is insanity, you could barely form a coherent thought.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take this so suddenly. Or at least, not all of it.

“Shit…” your teeth grinded against each other and you held your head in your hands, trying to get past the searing headache. You could feel your own searing blood run down either side of your face, and whether that was from the daemon or from yourself it was unclear. Then you felt two hands over yours pull them away from your head, and you looked up.

“(Y/N), take deep breaths,” Bruce says. One hand goes to his belt and pulls out a small vial, and he places it in your hands. “Take it.”

“Not yet,” you shake your head, would it even work? Your vision focusing on the daemon who was sprinting toward the both of you. You pushed the vial in your pocket and you pushed him aside, taking heavy steps toward the daemon before slicing your rapier once it got close enough. And the wound it left was so deep it fell back and you climbed on top of it, stabbing the beast repeatedly and even breaking the tag that was on it. In two pieces it landed on the floor with a simple DT-82 engraved on it. That’s four down. You looked around and spotted the ice daemon cornered by Alex. Readjusting your grip on your rapier with a rotate of the hilt around your palm, you charged forward and stopped only when the daemon had the thought to protect it’s frontside with a slate of ice.

Intelligence? Tim had mentioned it but you were wary to believe him considering the data came from the outlier in the basement.

Either way, this one was going to be harder to get rid of. Such was clear when you held your rapier above you to block the blow, instead feeling your boots sinking into the ground. You pushed through and powered the daemon’s fist off of the blade and you surged forward, redirecting the rapier into a crack between the ice armor the monster adorned, and just as fast you were pushed back. You wiped the fluid from your lips and took heavy breaths.

“Hey, Captain,” Constantine caught wind of the situation easily, “try using that rifle of yours against the ice plate, I have an idea,” he says. You nodded, pulling your rifle forward again and aiming it at the intended spot, but your hands wobbled slightly with the dizzying effect that was controlling you. You squinted your eyes, doing your best to make sense of the monster that was now appearing double. Then, you felt your hands stabilize, and you realized that Alex was holding the rifle steady. You aimed it as best as you could and took the shot, the bullet landing on one side of the plate, then you took more successive rounds until it was seconds away from shattering. You could just barely make out the magic circle that appeared on top of it until it pushed into the daemon and left it screaming while it ripped off its own skin. “Now’s your chance!” He shouts. You grabbed your rapier and sprinted forward, the double vision coming back together as you got closer and, with a push of your hand, the daemon’s thrashing stilled until it was no more. You pulled on the tags around it’s neck: CS-03. You pulled the second vial from your pocket, the top had broken off but there was still a sufficient amount of liquid inside of it, enough to drink anyway. And slowly you regained your senses, and slowly you became more aware of the shouts around you, but they all mixed and garbled into one incoherent noise underneath the ringing.

“Thank you, Captain Wayne!” The townspeople, whoever was left, had arrived again, all expressing their thanks in some way and, as you had found out later, due to Damien and Dick’s due diligence the number of casualties were greatly reduced compared to the previous attacks.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Alex’s voice rang in your head. “It’s a mess in here.”

“It’s a mess out there. What does my mind look like?”

“Fractured.”  His voice was an echo.

“Can you fix it?”

“It’ll fix on its own. Give the antidote time to work.” You nodded your head absently while holding it with one hand. Dick was saying something to you, but you couldn’t hear him. Jason grabbed his shoulder and now it was clear they were arguing but their shouts were incoherent to you. Tim was talking to you now, waving his hands in front of you with his brows knit together while Damian was speaking to your father.

You looked at him.

Your father. Why was he here?

Surely, not for you.

He was looking at you too, walking over slowly and looking into your eyes with a discerning glance. You’d be able to read their lips if not for the blur and the shakiness. 

“Get me to Marion.”

“Certainly. Eve’s just arrived.” Speaking of, the woman ran up to you, unceremoniously  pushing the boys out of the way as her hands cupped your face and moved it around gently. He seemed to ask what had happened to you, the proximity making her voice somewhat clear. Her hand waves next to her and a portal opens up as she guides you into it and, once again, you found yourself in a hospital room.

“Now this is just bullshit.” You thought to yourself.

“How is it your thoughts are louder at a distance?” You looked down, your hand still over your heart.

“Fuck. Keep me updated on what they do.”

“Sleep well, Cap.”

“I’m killing that Doctor if he puts me on bedrest again.”

“I await the headline.”

“What were those two arguing about?” You said nothing while Eve sat you down on the bed, seemingly calling for help.

“Dick and Jason?”

“Were there others arguing?”

“Not… Necessarily. They were talking about you, of course. I don’t think Dick understands the whole situation yet, they’re explaining it to him now.”

“Great. Maybe I will sleep.”

“Can you blame him? The last you he knew was…”

“Weak?”

“Different.” You pulled your hand off of your chest just as the Doctor entered with Marion in tow. Marion hands you a vial and you drink it, ever so slowly the world quieted down and stabilized.

“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” Eve asks.

“Like I’m human again,” you shook your head.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Marion shouts and your winced. “Did I not leave clear instructions to not use it on yourself? You’re insane, (Y/N), I don’t care if you can reattach, this is your basic biology we’re talking about now. If one calculation was off in our work you could have been like that forever, do you understand?”

“Of course, I understand, I fucking made it,” you grimaced. Marion frowns and slumps her shoulders.

“You talk to her, Dr. Bronte. She’ll listen to you,” Marion grumbles on her way out of the room.

“You know she’s just worried,” Dr. Bronte’s words were obscured by his mask.

Samuel Wyach Bronte was a strange man, brilliant, but strange. He sports a full face mask, a result of a chemical explosion that had occured years prior to your advancement into the role of Captain, leaving only the blue of his eyes clear. He was a tower of a man, standing straight with discipline and holding an air of composure around him. He had been your primary care physician since you started and will probably continue to do so as long as you continued to rip your body apart in combat. But his medical prowess is unmatched, he’s a leader in his field and has since garnered a strong legacy. There is no one more capable of treating your conditions than he is, at the very least.

“But this… this is reckless even for you,” he says, observing your arms. “You have burst blood vessels all along it,” he points at the small patches of red. “What exactly did you take?”

“It’s confidential, and a work in progress still, I wasn’t anticipating those side effects,” you looked at your blistering hands. “You’re not imprisoning me again, are you?”

“Well, that depends on your reattachment.”

“Eve, get Alex over here,” you muttered.

“Right away,” she waves her hand again and the portal opens wide, Alex looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” he says. Clearly, you just interrupted a conversation he was having with Dick and your dad. “Having trouble?” He asks. Dr. Bronte finds a way to sit up straighter upon seeing the crowd. Alex steps through the portal. “Until next time, Mr. Wayne,” Alex nods his head and Eve shuts the portal.

~

2014

When you found out that your dad was Batman, you were as over the moon as you were when you found out Dick was Robin. Your dad is a superhero, who wouldn’t be surprised at that? You had heard stories about how the caped crusader was unstoppable, how he kept Gotham safe from the night prowlers, and you were so proud of him, you were so proud to be his daughter.

But slowly you saw the toll it took on him. You saw the toll it took on you. On your brothers, on your sisters, and on this whole family. As you got older you realized the truth behind the mantle and the weight it carried.

But it was probably one event that truly spelled that out for you, the truth of what your dad did at night and its consequences. And when you came home that night, you had no idea there was someone else waiting there. Sure, there was the occasional photographer that somehow got past the front gate but, good god, never did they make it under your bed.

So when you walked into your room, ready for a night’s rest but not before sitting at the edge of your bed to type out a quick text to your then partner, you never could have expected a hand to tap at your ankle. When was the last time you were scared to look under there? Years ago. You jumped away quickly, your back pressed against the door while your shaking hands attempted to open it, and before the intruder had the chance to crawl out from under you had already begun your descent down the stairs, and then further into the cave. It was late, you knew that at least Alfred had to be down in the cave at the very least if not your dad, you never would’ve expected to see someone you’d only seen on the news.

Bane. He said nothing, you said nothing, the only difference now is that aside from your racing heart you felt your fear in your bones. He was terrifying, more so than you could’ve ever imagined even from the pictures and the case studies you had seen. The tubes filled with that dangerous green liquid drained into him quickly with every movement he made, and with every passing second it was clear to you that he was getting stronger. Then he took a step toward you, you took a step back, and this repeated until he was close enough to lunge at you. You were shaking. They were never supposed to get this close, they were never supposed to make it to the manor. This was supposed to be a safe place. What was he going to do to you? You thought back to the stranger under your bed. What would he have done to you? What was he going to do to your father now that he’s seen you? Your mind was in a frenzy and you stumbled, you fell frozen in fear, your legs that had taken you so far were rendered near useless. And this time even the batarang that flew at Bane’s head wasn’t enough to calm you.

“Go!” Your dad’s voice echoed. He was tired, you could tell. This was the first time you’d seen him in weeks after the entirety of Arkham broke out. You couldn’t move. “I said go! Call for help!” You stumbled to your feet, grabbing the comm while you ran out of the cave. Your hands were shaking, you couldn’t see clearly, but you pressed the first contact that was there.

“Bruce? What’s going on?” His voice, as always, was your beacon of hope.

“Dick!” You were out of breath, his name was the only thing that came out despite the jumble of words that plagued your mind.

“(Y/N)?” A new and more concerned tone was clear. “Why are you using the comm?”

“It’s dad, he… you need to come to the cave now!”

“I— What’s going on?”

“I… dammit,” the words weren’t forming. “Bane!” You finally shouted out. You were at the front gate of the manor now, it was as far as your mind could take you, whatever response Dick had said was unknown to you except that he hung up right after and you, still afraid, slid down the side of the column and onto the floor.

You ran. You ran. You should’ve stayed behind, you should’ve helped somehow, anyhow, you’re the daughter of the Batman, for Christ’s sake, why aren’t you doing anything other than holding your head between your hands and trying to control the fear? Would Dick even get there on time? Did your dad have everything handled?

“(Y/N)?” Tim’s voice was distant, and even though you knew he was in front of you, he seemed miles away. “Hey, come on, deep breaths, what happened?” He was trying to pull you back into reality. He grabbed onto your shoulder, squeezing it gently until you felt your breaths steady, and once you had come to your senses, Tim pushed you into the bushes, his hands over your mouth and one finger over his, then he looked over his shoulder. You stood in a tense silence, crouched behind the shrubs and unable to hear the reason why Tim had pushed you in here in the first place. Finally, he pulled you out of the hiding spot and, with no hesitation, you ran back to the cave with Tim close behind. Your mouth felt dry, the words still couldn’t come up while you stared at Dick and your dad.

You often tried not to think about how close death was to this family, very rarely did it take one of you, but never did it leave without leaving a mark.

If only you were stronger.

You thought about that for nights on end, you lost sleep over it even. Stronger, what did it mean? You weren’t an acrobat like Dick, you weren’t strong like Jason, and you weren’t smart like Tim. Everything you had ever owned was because your father had handed it to you. If only there was a snap solution to this, a quick way to become useful.

It had only crossed your mind once. Bane’s Venom, that is. Seeing it work inperson was grotesque, horrific actually.

But… maybe if you could…

You dismissed the thought.

Yet when you saw a vial of it in the cave once, many years after your father had healed and you had gotten older.

Well, how bad can it be?

You took it and took a quick look at it, just going over the basic chemistry of it all one day in your university’s lab long after hours, and it was fascinating. A drop of it had killed a mouse, yet Bane nearly overdoses on it every time he uses it and he’s fine.

If you could change it just enough to avoid the body horror, just enough to avoid the blind rage that came with it, you could very well have a type of a super soldier serum.

You could be stronger. You could help your family. You wouldn’t have to run all the time and get out of their way, you could be one of them, standing at their sides, a true member of what you have heard referred to as the Batfamily.

Then your father would have to acknowledge you.

…

Right?

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[thebiggerbear]

A Little Future Snippet - Call My Name

A/N: Guys, I am so sorry. Chapter 1 will be posted soon, I promise. I'm shooting for the next couple of weeks. I'm just tweaking the ending scene a little because the way I originally had it...it just wasn't jiving. In the meantime, I wanted to give you guys a little something at least. I took out any specific spoilers. Here's a small snippet of an upcoming scene in the story.

All unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: violence/choking; a little manipulation; language

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“Well, sweetheart, anytime you want to put your tits and ass on display for Vought, give them a call, huh?” The Legend mocked you.

Your jaw tightened and you crossed your arms, fully expecting his smartassery, but Ben’s reaction was what surprised you.

Within seconds, his hand was around The Legend’s throat and he had lifted the man off of his feet, bringing him closer to Ben’s menacing glare. “You don’t talk to her like that,” he threatened in a growl. “Ever. You show her respect or I’ll get real fucking creative with what I do to you.”

“Okay, okay,” The Legend choked out. “Respect. Got it.” He clawed at Ben’s hand but the latter glanced over at you, waiting. You knew you could signal to him to let the man go, but instead you maintained your expression and stayed silent. MM and Butcher exchanged a glance and Hughie turned wide eyes from the scene onto you. 

The Legend was turning purple but still, you didn’t indicate for Ben to let up. 

“Let him go,” Hughie rushed out. Ben’s eyes snapped over to him, his hand squeezing the old man’s throat that little bit harder. 

“SB…please,” Legend sputtered as he tried to loosen Ben’s grip but was unable to.

“Fucking put him down already, you made your point!” Hughie insisted.

Butcher held a hand out to Hughie, giving the younger man a shake of his head. He clearly wanted to see how this played out. MM flicked his glare over to you but you ignored it.

“Y/N!” Hughie begged. “He’s about to fucking die, do something!”

Hearing the distress in Hughie’s voice, your gaze briefly flickered over to him and then back to Ben whose eyes were still laser focused on you. It was obvious The Legend was definitely about to lose consciousness and at his age, probably die from lack of oxygen. Not that you cared — as far as you were concerned he was still a piece of Vought and every single piece of that company could go fuck itself. But you still had a plan you needed to follow.

“We need him,” you told Ben quietly.

There was a flash in Ben’s eyes but he released his grip by relaxing his fingers, and the old man fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Ben slowly walked over to you as Hughie scrambled over to The Legend with Butcher at his back, sharply eyeing the Supe, waiting for him to try anything. Ben could flatten them both within seconds, but that didn’t stop Butcher from being ready to fucking go should the former decide they were worth his time. You had to admire that, really.

Ben made his way next to you, turning to watch the scene of Hughie and MM hoisting The Legend up so he could gasp for breath more easily. You felt his thumb discreetly rubbing tender strokes into the small of your back through your suit.

The Legend coughed and sputtered still, his wide bloodshot eyes on both of you. He gave Ben a semblance of an understanding nod and rasped to you, “Apologies.” 

Giving him a curt nod yourself, you watched as MM and Hughie got the man to his feet and ushered him out of the room. Butcher followed but kept a wary eye on both of you as he did, scowling until he disappeared past the doorway.

Ben wrapped an arm around your waist, slipping a hand to your hip, and pulled you gently into him. He pressed his lips to the side of your head and let them linger there. His thumb began its reassuring strokes again, this time on your side.

After a minute or so of silence, he murmured to you, “You okay?”

You nodded, still staring off into the distance.

You felt him nosing in between the strands of your hair, nuzzling your ear. “I wanted to kill him.”

“But you didn’t,” you reminded him, carefully laying your head against his chest. His heartbeat picked up slightly so you weren’t that surprised when his other arm came up to wrap around you, holding you closer to him. You felt him lay his chin against the top of your head and then relax a bit.

“Only because you stopped me,” he admitted, sounding slightly disappointed. Disappointed that he hadn't killed the old man or that he had indeed stopped, you couldn't be sure, but you let him continue holding you nonetheless.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this series.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

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[teymars]

Imagine reader giving birth to twins boys

they become 14YO, and they are famous in the clan as troublemakers and Neteyam and reader have to deal with them ..

Ah isn’t that CUTE!!!

THIS IS SUCH A CUTESIE IDEA !!

-no warnings, just some fluff, family dynamics & sweet Dad(dy)!Neteyam (also mentions of bullying + fights if that counts??)

Loud caterwauling blasted throughout the camp, reaching you and Neteyam from within your family-hut. You glanced at your mate, resisting the incredible urge to roll your eyes, there were only two possible candidates for the source of that noise.

“Pshh, I’ll go sort it out, again.” Neteyam sighed, chucking his hands up in defeat. He quickly rose from his spot next to you and hightailed it to the awaiting ‘crime’ scene. For the past few weeks, your twin 14 year-old sons had been causing fights consistently amongst the clan’s young trainees.

You crouched for a moment, subconsciously counting down the moments before your lover’s deep, authoritative voice boomed over the ruckus outside. “BOYS, GET OVER HERE!!” The scolding your two son’s were now receiving increased in volume as Neteyam dragged them both by the neck, back into your hut.

“Ma ‘Teyam-” he cut you off swiftly “How many times do I have to repeat myself to you two?? You can’t just go around fighting people!” Neteyam bellowed, his tail thrashing angrily behind him.

“Sorry, Sir. It was my fault.” Tsyalu, the youngest twin, piped up bashfully. He tried hard to avoid his fathers menacing gaze. “That’s bullsh- ugf’ come on bro, you and I both know Rahaylo deserved it!” The eldest, Myerìn, blurted without shame, barely managing to dodge using ‘foul language’ infront of both his parents.

“Enough, I don’t care wether it was ‘deserved’. Tsy, you have to stop taking the heat for this skxawng! And YOU-” Neteyam gestured to a smirking Myerìn “-need to quit causing trouble, you read me??” Both boys nodded silently before stalking off to different parts of the hut.

You had observed the scolding, originally aiming to hold back a chuckle of amusement, until something in Tsy’s gaze and the way he spoke left you irked. You sat quietly beside him, assisting in preparing the fruits for dinner. Thankfully neither him nor his brother had been injured in the skirmish, you noted.

“What is the matter, sweet child?” You cooed, stroking the side of his cheek as slight tears swelled in his defeated eyes. “It’s nothing, mama..” the boy assured you, trying to hide his face. “Don’t be silly Tsyalu, you can tell me what’s wrong.” You encouraged, faintly aware of your husband’s ears flicking in interest at your conversation, as he watched from his place by the fire-pit.

“Well, we only keep fighting-” he broke off in a quiet sob “-be-because Rahaylo has been bullying me..” Both you and Neteyam fell stock-still at his words, feeling an onslaught of guilt overcome you. “Yea, and Dad told us to stick up for ourselves, so we did.” Myerìn informed, rather nonchalantly. Neteyam looked almost shell-shocked, having realised the poor communication that led to all this.

He moved closer to where you and both your sons were now crouched, reaching down to rest a hand on each boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, boy. I had no idea.. why didn’t you say anything about this though? Violence is not a good way to solve these issues.” Neteyam offered, sounding solemn. “I- we didn’t want you to think we are weak, we thought you’d be proud of us, because we are brave like you.”

“Oh, Tsy..” you whispered, feeling ashamed that your children ever had to feel that way. “I am proud of you, both of you. So is your mother.. we just don’t want to see you both fighting all the time.” Your mate assured them, providing both with a warm embrace. “It is okay to come to us when somebody causes you trouble, we will help you, I promise.” He continued, allowing you to curl up at his side, joining the family hug. They both hummed in understanding.

“We are pretty brave though, right Dad?” Tsyalu whispered. “Just like you?” Myerìn added, hopefully. “Of course you are! You’re the bravest little warriors this clan has ever seen.” You and Neteyam chirped, nuzzling both boy’s foreheads affectionately. The twins smiled contentedly, feeling relieved as they relished within their father’s hard-earned approval.

“Sooo, who won?” Neteyam mused, smirking at his sons pridefully. “Neteyam!” You chided, smacking the back of his head playfully.

“Oel ngati kameie, my sons.”

Sorry this is a little short, I hope it lives up to what you had in mind! 🤍

Neteyam be getting some insane flashbacks 😭

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 3: Blood Moon]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.2k.

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

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain​

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

“I wish you could join us,” Nico says, almost sulks, snow catching in her hair. She’s riding a gorgeous white mare that the Duke of Hightower purchased for her. He’s in no hurry to gift you a horse. King Viserys—epochs ago, on your wedding day, on the blood-orange July afternoon when you looked into Aegon’s glassy, shadow-ringed eyes and knew exactly what sorts of demons you’d be sharing your life with—once promised you an Andalucian for each child you gave your husband. He hasn’t mentioned it since. It’s slipped his mind, most likely; that’s what happens to the king’s notions that concern the Greens. They stumble around in his skull for a while, find a window, jump from the ledge and free-fall into oblivion.

You smile up at Nico with your feet planted firmly on the ground like fertile roots and a hand resting on your belly. Five months along, over halfway there, farther than you’ve ever been before. The season is winter, but you feel like spring. You feel like blossoms unfurling, like ivy scaling walls of frozen stone. “Next year, with any luck.”

“But what if I’m with child by then?”

“Then you’ll get to return the favor and gallantly wave me off as I gallop into the distance, a vision of Boudicca herself.”

“Didn’t that story end with mass murder and suicide?”

“Nico, not everything needs to be said out loud.”

She laughs, raucous and jarring. Horses’ ears go back; crows take flight from stripped trees. It’s Christmas, and that means it’s also boar hunting season. The feast tonight will require a boar’s head to be served—a tradition that dates back to ancient Norse pagans, to faiths of earth and thunder and sea—and the court has assembled to procure one, the men armed with spears, the women riding along to cheer them on, hounds braying and circling agitatedly, servants sprinting around with jugs of wine. “Alas,” Nico says. “I cannot help it. I am Italian.”

Then she reels her mare around and trots off to join the hunting party. Once not so long ago, you had no true friends here. Now you have at least one. Two, if you count Aemond…although you can’t decide if Aemond is a friend. Sometimes he feels like less, other times much more. He grows close and then is far away again, a tide that’s always a few hours from receding. You watch Nico depart with hardly any heartache. Your relative incapacitation will be finished soon enough, your position vindicated. The clock is ticking.

Daeron compliments you as he canters by on Tessarion, heavy hooves leaving impact craters in the snow: “Princess, that’s a lovely gown.” Lavender, purple, the color of royalty, a declaration of your own worth. That’s not something you can rely upon others giving you. You’re between worlds at the moment: neither fully Navarran nor English, not an outsider nor a future queen.

“Thank you, brother. Good luck!”

Daemon reins up beside you, peering down with glittering dark eyes. When anyone ventures too close to Caraxes—whether horse or human—he snaps at them like a wolf. Surely there is no beast better suited to its master. “I think you’d look better covered in red. Isn’t that the color of your people, Navarre?”

“Prince Daemon,” you purr, one hand still on your belly, your victory in progress. “Enjoy the hunt. I know you get restless when you haven’t murdered anything in a while.”

He should quip back, but he doesn’t. He just grins, his gaze locked on yours; and his grin stretches wider until it sends a bolt down your spine like cold lightning. You have the sudden, dreadful impression that there’s a joke you aren’t in on. “You have no idea.”

Caraxes squeals and jerks back his head as Vhagar shoves between you, massive withers and haunches making space where none existed before. Caraxes nips Vhagar’s shoulder, drawing blood; Vhagar snorts in reply, a low rumble like a storm. Caraxes retreats, ears flattened, but Daemon pitches you one last crooked smirk as he leaves, a threat, an oath.

“Perhaps we should serve Daemon’s head at dinner,” Aemond says.

“He certainly looks like a pig to me.”

“You aren’t too disappointed, I hope. To have to stay behind.”

You smile, petting Vhagar’s silky muzzle. She has a white blaze down the front of her face, white stockings like patches of snow on rich spring soil. “It’s temporary.” What was Aemond like on my wedding day? You try to remember. All you can conjure is a vision of him staring at the floor as you linked your trembling hands with Aegon’s and the priest spoke, as if the match was so ill-fated he could not bear to witness it. It took you a year to learn that he didn’t disapprove of you after all. Something else weighed on him that day, something else dragged down his eyes like an anchor moors a ship.

Aegon passes you both on Sunfyre. “I’ll bring you back something, wife!” he vows, swaying drunkenly in the saddle, his chaotic silver hair shagging in his eyes. Fortunately, Sunfyre seems aware of his rider’s limitations; his steps are lithe and cautious, almost timid. His coat is a river of gold beneath grey skies. When Aegon urges the horse to go faster, Sunfyre ignores him.

You turn back to Aemond and raise an eyebrow. “Make sure he doesn’t break his neck?”

“As always.” And then Aemond is gone too.

The king will not join the hunt. He is getting too old for it—although no one would say that aloud—and Queen Alicent, ever-sacrificial, is staying behind in the palace with him, overseeing preparations for the feast. The other royals vanish into the forest: Daeron and Nico, Aemond and Aegon, Daemon and Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, trailed by the rest of the cast of characters, Blacks and Greens alike. Joanna Montford was replaced by Agnes Stafford, who was replaced by Sibylla Beaufort, who was replaced by Cecily Chaucer. There is no shortage of young women whose fathers are rabid to push them into the bed of the man they call the heir to the throne. A servant brings you a cup of apple cider, and you sip it as snowflakes melt into the fur of your coat.

“It’s not personal,” Rhaenyra says. You whirl to see her and Syrax; they have appeared like ghosts, both pale and ethereal, both fearsome without being malevolent. “Prince Daemon’s taunts, I mean. Any of our antagonism. Distrust that swells into hated.” Her hair is long, loose, strands of ivory in the wind. Her eyes—clear water, cool and stoic—flick down to your belly and then back up to your face. She’s a lot like Aemond, you think, seeing the extent of their resemblance for the first time.

“It feels very personal.”

“I could have liked you in a different life,” Rhaenyra counters, like parrying swords. “You have just enough ruthlessness in you. A river, but not a sea. You thirst for freedom. You wear chains called obligation. But when my father named me heir, he painted a target on my back. Even if I renounced my claim, there would always be men willing to take up arms for me. I would always be a threat to Alicent and her children. Just by breathing, just by having blood hot in my veins. Either I will be queen…or I will forever be at the mercy of the Greens. Would you trust your life to the Duke of Hightower, if you were standing between Aegon and the throne?”

“No,” you admit. You can barely bring yourself to trust the Duke now…and you’re on his side.

“And so we are destined to be mortal enemies.” Rhaenyra shrugs; no great loss, she means. “I only wanted you to know that it would have been just the same if you had been sent to England from Portugal, or Sicily, or Castile, or Bohemia, or Genoa, or Naples, or France, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s not about who you are. It’s about what you’ve married into.”

And then she takes off on Syrax, joining her uncle-husband and her eldest sons in the forest, dissolving into a gnarl of branches like tangled threads. You retreat back inside Westminster Palace to do what you do best: watching, wondering, waiting for the future to decide to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the hunting party returns hours later, Prince Aegon is empty-handed. He’s also soaked to the skin. Water drips from his face, begins to freeze in his hair. He shivers and gripes as servants throw blankets over his shoulders and usher him away towards his bedchamber to be warmed in a bath cloudy with herbs and steam and rose petals. Cecily Chaucer hurries after them, her lovely brows knitted together with girlish concern. Of all Aegon’s mistresses, you like Cecily the best. She’s insatiable; she keeps him so busy that he rarely totters into your bed to paw at you before being reminded that you have been temporarily exempted from your marital duties.

“He fell into a stream,” Nico informs you, in equal parts disapproving and amused. “Aemond and Daeron fished him out like a trout.”

Your eyes scan the group: shaking snow from their hats and their coats, congratulating each other on obstacles jumped and animals killed, Prince Daemon accepting applause from his fellow Blacks for being the attendee to slaughter the requisite boar. A good omen for their side, surely. Servants carry the gigantic, bloodied carcass off to be prepared by the cooks. But one face is missing from the crowd. “Where’s Aemond?”

“Oh,” Nico recalls as she yanks off her gloves by the fingers. “He has something for you.”

“For me?”

“In the courtyard,” she says. Daeron approaches to collect her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, his large blue eyes bright and adoring. He’s gentler than his brothers, more content, less complicated. And he’s proud of being a Targaryen. He’s growing out his white-blond hair; it’s already longer than Aegon’s. “I think you’ll find it…” Nico grins mischievously. “Perfectly bearable.”

You trudge out to the courtyard through the mounting snow, cold wind tearing at your hair and clawing pieces of it out from under your hat. Aemond is the only other person there…and he’s elbow-deep in a colossal black-furred monster. There is a pile of entrails on the snow beside him glistening like rubies, garnets, rosalines, wine. Servants ferry away bowls full of offal: a lung here, a rope of intestines there.

“What is that?”

Aemond stands and waves at it cavalierly, drops of blood flinging from his leather gloves. “A bear.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bear?”

“It’ll make a fine rug for your bedchamber. You can place it by the fireplace and lie on it on cold nights. Read your books, do your embroidery.”

“It was bold of you to assume you’d be able to find me a Christmas present on Christmas day. Not much room for error.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

“Congratulations.” He glances at your belly, rounded out like ripening fruit with his brother’s child. A stain of blood like fever rushes into his cheeks. He blushes very rarely, and only ever around you. No one else seems to know that he’s capable of it. “For being over halfway there. It must bring you great relief.”

“Yes, I suppose the Duke of Hightower won’t get to ship me back to Navarre now. In a crate, like an animal that couldn’t be tamed.”

“What a waste that would be.”

You shrug, stepping closer, though mindful not to squash any bear organs beneath your shoes. “I wouldn’t mind being sent home if there was anything for me to go back to.”

Aemond stares at you, alarmed. “You haven’t grown attached to anything here? In nearly a year and a half?”

“Well…there are a few things,” you say, smiling at him. Aemond smiles back. His long silvery hair is secured in a single thick braid, his gaze curious. You try not to imagine what is under his eyepatch; that strikes you as something he wouldn’t want you to think about.

“Vhagar,” Aemond teases.

You laugh. “Yes, mostly Vhagar.” You look up at the grey sky, thick with clouds like steel. “But I miss my family. I miss the heat, the mountains, castles and cathedrals the color of golden sand. I miss riding horses and sparring with my brothers. I miss being understood, being loved. In Navarre I was alive. But in England…ever since I arrived here…it’s like I’m locked up waiting for someone to let me out. But the prison is my own flesh.”

Aemond studies you. “It’s not for much longer,” he says at last, soft and solemn. “And I would change it if I could.”

“In any case, I really can’t go back, I think. It wouldn’t be like it was before. My siblings are marrying and spreading out across Europe. My parents are getting older. And if my husband discarded me for being incapable of producing children, no one else would ever want me. I’d never have my own household. I’d be doomed to be a spinster, forever dependent upon the charity of my parents or my siblings. Either that or in a nunnery. Although, truthfully, Navarre has some beautiful nunneries.”

“You’d make a terrible nun.”

“Because I’m too vicious or too lustful?”

“Vicious, without a doubt. Lustful…I don’t feel qualified to speak on.”

“Depends on who’s in front of me, I suppose.”

You contemplate each other across the gutted bear carcass, snowflakes filling up the space between you instead of words. Again, Aemond’s cheeks flood red. When he wrings his hands together, you notice that they’re shaking. His hair is sopping; beads of melted snow pool along the edge of his jaw, slither down his throat. He could catch his death out here.

You go to him, pull off a glove, and press your bare palm against his forehead and then his cheek: the scarred one, the ruined one. “You’re burning up, Aemond,” you say, worried. “Are you alright—?”

“Fine.” He shies away from your touch. But then, without thinking, he moves to tuck an escaped lock of hair back underneath your hat. As his thumb grazes your face, you feel the warm stripe of bear blood that he inadvertently marks you with. “Goddamn, I’m so sorry—”

“No, that’s perfect.” You smile up at him. “You know I secretly favor red.”

“Princess?” Nico calls from the doorway, and you cross the courtyard to meet her. “You’re still out here? You’re missing a riveting game of Tric-Trac—” She cuts off, her eyes going wide as they skate across your cheeks. “Sweet Jesus, how’d you get blood all over your face?”

You glimpse back at Aemond as you answer. “Carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re weaving ribbons the color of evergreens into Nico’s hair when he comes into your bedchamber, carrying a long thin box made of pink ivory wood.

“Oh, marvelous!” Nico trills, clapping her hands. “What’s inside?”

“Poems, I hope,” you say.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Aemond replies placidly. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, the rest flowing freely. He’s wearing a dark, rich, jade-like color, just like Nico is, just like the Duke of Hightower and Alicent and Daeron will be. Someone has probably even stuffed Aegon into something green. You are the lone nonconformist in a deep purple like the skin of a plum. In truth, you can’t win. People will gossip no matter what you wear. Red makes them think of what Daemon calls you, of the wasted blood you’ve spilled. Green makes them speak of how you’ve yet to serve their faction properly. Black is out of the question. At least when they see you in purple, your name gets to live in the same sentence as the word royalty.

“Well?” Nico prompts eagerly. “Open it!”

You look at her, apologetic. So does Aemond.

“Oh,” she realizes, then sighs theatrically. “Alright. I understand. I’ll deport myself now. Ciao.”

Only when she’s closed the door behind her does Aemond open the box. The lining inside is crimson velvet. It cradles a sword. You gasp and lift the weapon out of the box by its hilt, then pull off the scabbard. It is lightweight, silvery, perfect. You can see your own reflection in the polished steel. There are shallow engravings down the length of the blade: mountain ranges, twisted oak trees, bridges and cathedrals, the flag of Navarre. You can only see them when you tilt the sword to catch the rage-orange glow from the fireplace.

“I had it custom made for you,” Aemond says, abruptly nervous. “So it wouldn’t be too heavy or too long. The hilt should fit your grasp precisely. I took one of your gloves for measurements.”

“A thief.” You marvel at the sword, twirling it a few times. The blade cuts through the air, soundless, seamless. “Aemond, this is…this is so far beyond what I deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s part pleasure, part necessity. You might actually need to protect yourself one day.”

“It’s a shame I’ll only be able to bully you with it under the surreptitious cover of darkness.”

“Just until Aegon is king. He wouldn’t care, I don’t think. He wouldn’t forbid you from training.” He gestures to the blade. “And the engravings are—”

“All things from home.” You beam at him. “From Navarre.”

“That’s what the common people call you, you know. The Princess from Navarre.”

You glide the sword back into its scabbard and return it to the box. “They must hate me. For failing to secure the succession.”

“I wouldn’t assume that.”

You take the pink ivory wood box from Aemond’s hands and place it in the chest at the foot of your bed, your preferred spot for squirreling away valuables. And then you lift out Aemond’s present: a vast tapestry that he helps you unfold to reveal the design of.

“It’s incredible!” he exclaims. “It must have taken you ages!”

“Well, all I’m allowed to do currently is needlework, so I’ve done a lot of needlework. I made one for Aegon too, although I’m not sure what his hobbies are besides drinking and fucking Cecily Chaucer. So his tapestry is mostly landscapes.” You point to various scenes on Aemond’s. “There’s King Arthur and Guinevere…and Sir Lancelot, arriving to ruin them. There’s Beowulf battling Grendel’s mother. There’s Robin Hood…there’s the Rollright Stones and Stonehenge…and in the middle is Saint George slaying a dragon. I made the dragon black, with little white whiskers if you look very closely. And I’ve named him Daemon.”

“They’re from the stories I told you,” Aemond says quietly, examining the tapestry. “On that afternoon back in July. When we took Vhagar out together for the first time.”

“It must have been memorable.” You smile. “And then the border is ivy and roses, mostly green, of course…except for one little red rose I added down here in the bottom corner. And that’s—”

“That’s you,” Aemond says. “Red like Navarre.”

“Yes.” Your voice is suddenly wistful, a little sad. “You’ve made me like the sound of that word again.”

“What? Navarre?”

You nod. “Hushed, gentle…” Reverent? Awed? Protected? Cherished? “Like a prayer. Like a poem.”

You help Aemond refold the tapestry, avoiding his eye. The only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled echo of violins and lutes through the palace halls. Outside the window hovers a blood moon, a ruby in onyx, a drop of fury in an ocean of void. He takes his Christmas gift back to his own bedchamber, and then he returns to escort you to the feast.

“Oh, darling,” Alicent says when you sit down beside her at the high table. There are sprigs of holly in her hair, but her dark eyes are glazed and melancholy. They often are. Sir Criston Cole—a knight whose family are vassals of the Duke of Hightower—is her shadow, peering watchfully around the Great Hall. “Be sure to eat plenty of boar…and bread…very good for the baby. But no fish! And not too many vegetables. Here, let me get you some of your apple cider…” Alicent waves to a servant, and they promptly fetch you a full cup.

King Viserys gives you a distracted nod but no other acknowledgement. He is deep in conversation with Jace; Luke is gawping, mildly disturbed, at the severed boar’s head that adorns the table, cherries shoved into the sockets where its eyes were this morning. Rhaena offers you a kind, demure smile. Baela glares at you as she sips her wine. She’s the most war-worthy of any of the Black children; you imagine that Daemon will have a sword and armor waiting for her when the bloodbath begins. Surely she’d inflict more damage than either of Rhaenyra’s docile, dark-haired sons, like skittish lapdogs always looking around for someone to tell them where it’s alright to sit. Baela’s Arabian, Moondancer, is small but remarkably swift and agile. She’s the best jumper of any of the royal horses.

Far from the table, in the midst of dancing nobles, Daemon and Rhaenyra are enmeshed in whispers and caresses: he tilts up her chin, she grasps the small of his back. You feel a yearning, a hollowness beneath where your ribs circle your heart and lungs like a halo. Without thinking, you glance to Aemond. He’s been looking at you too; he pretends he wasn’t and begins sawing through a slab of boar meat with a serrated knife. Daeron is asking him about sparring techniques. The Duke of Hightower is parading Aegon around the hall to pay his respects to the nobility of Southern England, men who will kill and be killed for him one day before too long. Aegon is bleary-eyed and bungling, tripping over his own feet; the Duke is practically dragging him around from his scruff like a kitten.

“Sweetheart, will you dance with me?” Queen Alicent asks Nico, who immediately leaps up from her chair.

“Of course, Your Majesty! It would be my pleasure. It’s a shame that the king cannot join us. It must be difficult having a husband so much older than you are. Nearly your father’s age!”

Everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and gapes at her.

“Oh,” Nico begins haltingly, mortified. “Oh dear. I should not have said that. I cannot express the depths of my remorse.”

King Viserys booms out a laugh, and then Nico is smiling again. “Go on,” he tells her. “Enjoy the festivities. Keep the queen entertained when I cannot.”

As Nico and Queen Alicent descend to join the dance, you remain where you are, where you always are: on the outskirts, inside the glass bowl. But not for much longer, you think gratefully, running your palm over the swell of your belly. You eat as much as you can, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Your hips and ankles ache, your body forever adjusting to a never-before-known burden; there is torsion like a sailor’s knot in your lower spine. When the discomfort refuses to abate, you excuse yourself from the table and make slow, meandering laps around the fringes of the Great Hall, draining cup after cup of apple cider as servants bring them to you. The Duke of Hightower casts you a stern warning of a frown before he resumes wrangling Aegon. Aemond, still at the high table talking to Daeron, follows you with one intent blue eye.

“You can’t honestly believe he’d make a good king,” Daemon says, materializing out of the crowd like a bat at twilight. Enormous Scottish deerhounds—Christmas gifts from King Corlys and Queen Rhaenys beyond England’s northern border—trail after him, growling at you. Daemon flicks his strange, deep-set eyes towards Aegon. “He’s a drunk. He’s an embarrassment. He has no athletic prowess whatsoever. I’m sure you can confirm that from firsthand experience.”

“I can confirm that he hasn’t murdered his first wife yet, surely an attribute by anyone’s calculation.” You watch the Duke tow Aegon from one exchange to another, and for the first time, you wonder what sort of man Aegon would have been without the weight of the throne on his back.

“But of course, it wouldn’t actually be Aegon ruling if the Greens won. It would be Otto…and Alicent…and Aemond.”

Daemon puts great emphasis on this last name. You turn to him, startled.

“Oh, forgive me, have I said something that gets under your skin? Or…rather…into it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon grins, baring his teeth like fangs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Tell me, would you happen to know who Otto is planning on marrying him to? I’ve heard rumblings.”

“Someone with parents who have ample soldiers and equipment with which to mutilate you, surely.”

“Helene of Austria.”

“Helene?” The breath evaporates from your lungs, vanishes like brief winter daylight. “The daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor?” It’s an immensely powerful match. It’s a match so ambitious it has rarely even been suggested. You summon triumph to your voice, an arrogant glint to your eyes. “This is very bad news for you.”

“And for you too, I think.”

He knows, you think, terror-stricken, aware you aren’t doing enough to hide it. That I desire my husband’s brother. That I want Aemond. That maybe I even love him. You try to fling some flippant retort at Daemon; you cannot find one, it’s like scratching your fingertips along the bottom of an empty box. Victorious, he swigs his wine and begins to saunter away, panting Scottish deerhounds on his heels. And then you call after him: “It didn’t get you far, did it?”

Daemon halts mid-step and slowly—very slowly—turns back to you. “What?”

“All that Targaryen blood. All that bone-white hair and ferocity, charisma and swordsmanship. King Viserys still chose to reject you as his heir. He still doesn’t trust you to advise him. He still denied you his daughter’s hand in marriage, and you were spineless enough to let him. You left her alone to suffer first. With a husband who couldn’t satisfy her, with a lover who could only give her bastards. And now you expect the world to forget who you’ve always been: reckless, savage, deeply selfish. All those things you stalk around here so proud of are worthless, because you’ll never have what you really want. You’ll never have the throne. And neither will Rhaenyra. You are the same as I am, Daemon. I am an asset and yet a curse to Aegon; you helped win the North for Rhaenyra, but the South will never yield to you. They will fight you with everything they have, every man and horse and blade. But there is one difference between us. When I bear Aegon a son, my curse will be lifted. You will never stop endangering Rhaenyra, her cause, her inheritance, her children, her life. And if she burns, it will be at least half because of you.”

You’ve never seen him truly angry before, you realize now; you’ve never seen him without the undeniable upper hand. His grip rests on the hilt of his sword. “I should—”

“Go on,” you dare him in a fierce whisper, your fingers closing around his wrist. “Slay Aegon’s wife and child in front of all the court. It’s the kindest thing you could do for the Greens. Make yourself more enemies, win us more friends. Everyone suspects that you are a beast already. Prove them right.”

Daemon rips his hand out of yours. “Happy Christmas, Navarre,” he hisses. “If fate is just, it will be your last.” And then he storms away from you, Rhaenyra meeting him at the other end of the hall and speaking with him there—conspiring? inquiring? scolding?—in urgent whispers.

Nico pushes through the throngs of dancing nobles to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asks, a palm laid on your shoulder.

“Fine.” Helene, you think, rubbing the aching curve of your back with one hand, sipping apple cider with the other. They’re both trembling. Beautiful, wealthy, coveted Helene.

“Are you sure? You don’t look good. What did that bleached weasel have to say…?”

But you can’t hear her, because the pain in your spine is now reaching like poison through veins to spread across your belly, to tighten, to clamp down, to gnash with steel teeth like needles, like knives. Your cup tumbles out of your gasp, spilling apple cider across the floor. You yelp in pure shock at how unexpectedly the pain comes. And then you begin to understand what it means. “No,” you plead in a whisper. You stagger backwards until you hit the wall. “No, no, no…”

“What?” Nico asks frantically. People are beginning to notice; heads spin in your direction. Tears are springing from your eyes. Blood is snaking down your legs, slick and hot on the velveteen inside of your thighs. Soon they’ll all be able to see it: your agony, your ruin. The Greens, the Blacks. The Duke of Hightower, Prince Daemon.

Nico doesn’t understand. You don’t know how to tell her. I’ve killed another child. I’ve failed again. You can feel Aegon crawling back into your bed. You can see letters from your mother—so proud at last, so full of praise—shredding themselves into dust. And then it flashes like cannon fire in your mind, not just the loss of an heir but the loss of a life: a name that will never be given, a voice that will never be heard, steps that will never leave imprints in sand or soil or snow.

I have to get out of here. How am I going to—?

An arm circles around your waist, strong, shielding, taking as much of your weight as it can. “Walk with me,” Aemond says. And then he half-carries you through the nearest door and down a passageway, Nico struggling to keep up, chatter exploding at the feast you left behind.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your bedchamber, as soon as you are out of sight of ill-intentioned observers, you collapse to the floor. Your palms and knees bruise against wood; a wail tears from your throat. “Not again,” you sob. “Aemond, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Nico says: “Are you sure it’s a…?”

Aemond is kneeling on the floor beside you. He’s helping you pull back the hem of your gown. You see it on his face before you see it on your own skin: there’s blood, a lot of blood, too much for it to be anything but lethal to the child. It’s all over his hands and his clothes; it’s all over the floorboards.

“Oh God,” Nico moans, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh…oh my God…”

“Get the physicians,” Aemond tells her. “Speak to no one else. Go now. Go!”

Nico rushes out of the room. You can’t stop sobbing. The pain is excruciating, not waves but one continuous, saw-toothed twisting, a feeling like being gutted, like you’re a slaughtered bear and someone has their fingers raking around inside your womb.

Aemond is trying to pull you to your feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get into bed—”

“Aemond, I can’t.”

“Yes you can—”

“I can’t!” you cry out, weeping helplessly. Then he stops trying to lift you and instead sinks down to join you on the floor. You clutch wildly at him—at his forearms and his shoulders and his long silvery hair—and he doesn’t flinch away. He draws you into him, his hands staining you with blood everywhere they land. You don’t care; you don’t want him to stop. You bury yourself in the warmth of his chest, his arms around you like the border of the moon, like a ring.

“Shh,” he soothes through your hair. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says, his voice hoarse. “Of course I���ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenes like fragments of a dream, things that later you aren’t sure were real:

The physicians and midwives delivering your dead child, Aemond tilting a cup of strong wine against your lips. Your ladies washing blood off you with dripping rags as Aemond stands with the physicians in the doorway. They think you’re asleep, but you’re not; you’re not awake either. You’re halfway here and halfway not. Parts of the room are foggy, others are as clear as glass, as still water. A physician is telling Aemond that the child was a boy, perfect in every way except the one that matters most. He doesn’t breathe and never will. Too early, too small, beautiful and doomed.

“Don’t tell her that,” Aemond is saying. “Don’t tell her anything unless she asks.”

Now it’s later—two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter—and he’s dragging someone into your bedchamber. They’re fighting him, they’re trying to cling to the doorframe so he can’t force them inside.

“Get in there,” Aemond growls.

Aegon replies: “I don’t know what to say to her, what the hell do I say—?”

Your husband is at your bedside, undoubtedly miserable but not in a way that makes you feel like he sees you. There is the scent of wine and sweat drenched with perfume, lemon and lavender. “I’m sorry,” you murmur like a faint wind.

“It was not your fault, wife.” Aegon’s eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hanging low and limp. “It is a great tragedy, but it was not your fault.” And then he glances at Aemond to make sure he’s done the right thing.

Now your husband is gone, and Aemond is holding a cool cloth to your forehead. He speaks in little more than a whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just send me back to Navarre,” you say weakly. “I can’t do this. Talk to the Duke. He’ll get the marriage annulled. I know he will. He can find another wife for Aegon, another alliance. He’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ruined. I’m worthless. Just send me home.”

“You are home,” Aemond insists.

You watch the firelight as it flickers over him, smooth skin, brutal scar. “What happens next?”

“You’ll try again.”

“There’s no point, Aemond.”

“Look at me,” he commands, cradling your face with his hands. “You’ll try again. And again, if you have to. But you will have children. I know you will.”

His voice is breaking. His eye is glistening, tortured. This is how the father should be. This is how Aegon should be. “Aemond, why are you so hurt by this?”

“Because you are suffering,” he says. “And because they’re pieces of you.”

You lose sight of him, float for a while, return again thinking of Aegon and the Duke of Hightower and Daemon and Rhaenyra. “No one here really knows me. No one loves me.”

Aemond is standing beside your bed. “Nico loves you.”

You gaze listlessly up at him and say nothing.

“Aegon loves you, I believe,” Aemond continues, but he won’t meet your eyes. “In his own way.”

Still, you look at him. Still, Aemond doesn’t look back.

Say it, you think, desperate, aching, tears biting in your eyes. Say that you love me too. Even if it’s just as a sister, an ally, a friend. Please, Aemond, just fucking say it.

He doesn’t say it. Maybe he leaves, maybe you are submerged in unconsciousness, maybe both. The memory dissolves around the edges until it is a pool of star-flecked obsidian like the night sky.

But this next part you know with certainty was real, because it is something you can touch, like a millennium-old relic from Egypt or Athens or Babylon. You wake in the morning to find three items on your nightstand: a cup of apple cider, a cup of strong bitter wine for the pain, and a single piece of parchment folded and tied with a red ribbon. You blink confoundedly at it for a while as muted winter sunlight seeps in through the windows, not being able to make sense of it. And then you open the parchment. Aemond has written at the top of the page in his hectic, uneven letters: Ivy. You read his words and all the anguish that went into them—smudges from his own fingerprints, wayward drips of black ink—like falling down the rungs of a ladder.

Scream into me, I’ll be the jar for your fury; I’m starving

for anything that tastes like you. I’ve been counting the lines

on your knuckles, the boards of the floor, wondering if you’ve

figured out that I’d wear fractures and bruises like amethysts

if it means you’d touch me. For seventeen months you’ve been

the ivy on my walls, vines like the needle-width legs of a spider

carving out my past, every last notch and shadow—splitting ribs,

scraping marrow—until there’s no part of me left that can remember

a time other than this, your voice and your wit and the scraps of you

I’ve stitched into me. Ask me what I burn for and I’ll whisper like

the dawn: you growing over my skin until I’m covered, tendrils

twisting down to the bone, everything I was before

ash and myth beneath your hands.

[zuruthekitsune]

Ethereal blue irises...

So I got an inquiry from one person (warm regards if you're reading this, let me know if you like it) about whether I'll be writing stories and headcanons at some point in the future, because as Ithaqua simp there's nothing left to read. So that's about it and here it is. It may not be the idea originally intended, but it's there!

This is my first story I'm publishing, so it can be quite chaotic, however, there has to be that first time sometime!

Enjoy your reading! .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. Tw: none Ship: Ithaqua x Reader (female)

IMPORTANT I am very sorry if the text contains errors but as I said English is not my native language, so the text is translated by a translator. However, I try to check to the best of my ability that the text is coherent.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Everyone knew that matches with the Night Watch were tough because of his aggressive attitude and lack of mercy. He was cunning, quick and clever. He thought ahead, knowing almost the next move of his prey. You have often played with him before, and you have usually managed to escape. Is this a coincidence? Or did the hunter himself not want to kill you? This is most likely known to Ithaqua himself.

Another match, but this time on Leo's Memory map. You didn't like this map. Your clothing was not suited to the cold of this map. In addition, that often the other survivors liked to throw snowballs by surprise, which ended up with snow under your collar and jaws of teeth.

. . .

You ran over to the machine, which you began to decode. Your slightly reddened fingers hit the metal buttons of the machine, sending unpleasant shivers down your spine. Along with you in the match were Vera, Fiona and Frederick. The match itself promised to be a good one, and fortunately, you were not the first target of the hunter, which turned out to be Ithaqua. Vera managed to hold off the Nightwatchman long enough for 2 of the 5 machines to be done, at which point she fell. 

You saw from a distance how she was aggressively planted in a chair by Ithaqua. You didn't like watching this, particularly because you managed to get to know at least a little bit of Ithaqua himself, who doesn't seem to be, the monster he thinks he is. You saw in him a lost man with a tragic past. You managed to exchange a few sentences in the garden when he had no way of escaping from your person, but now was not the time to reflect on what kind of man Ithaqua really is. What mattered now was the match and bringing about a win or at least a draw. 

You were about to run to midfield, but you were forestalled by Fiona, so you turned back to the machine, which was already half done. In the back of your mind, you asked for the match to end quickly and with a victory for you-survivors. 

. . .

The match was slow-going, but by this time, the balance of victory had tipped in favor of the hunter. The last machine remained, but you were injured after protecting Frederick’s giving with your body. He tried to hold Ithaqua as long as he could so that you would have time to make the last machine, but you did not make it, and Frederick was put down and thus sent back to the mansion. 

You were left alone, injured and with no idea where the dungeon was, which was the only sensible solution. With caution, you began to traverse the map, asking the heavens not to meet Ithaqua, who would probably show you no mercy, because a game is a game.... And you had no hope that he would become kind to you and let you escape the dungeon. 

You finally found the dungeon, and your eyes flashed slightly, but very quickly your face grinned when you noticed Ithaqua standing by it, who was now playing with his lantern by lightly hitting it with his metal claws against the glass of his lantern, which gave off a soft, warm yellow glow. 

Instantly, your heart went up to your throat as you took a quick step backwards and dove behind the wall, causing the snow beneath your feet to crunch, making a sound loud enough for the hunter to hear.  

"Mmm? I know you're here...". Which made you hold your breath and cover your mouth with your hand because your heart was beating very fast, so in a moment of not thinking much, you took off running ahead, showing your position to the hunter, whose face showed a sly smile that was hidden under his mask. 

"Silly girl... Do you think you can escape me?". The excitement of the possibility of another 'hunt' was palpable in his words. You didn't look back but ran ahead, jumping over windows and pallets, but at one point you felt an unpleasant cold sensation that surrounded you and then suddenly pulled you back so that you hit your back against the hunter's stomach, letting out a shuddering breath. You felt fear paralyze your body as the bloody, ice axe blade dropped in front of you. It would only take one move on the part of the Night Watch to send you to your knees by painfully cutting your legs. 

"Mmm?" You heard a quiet, confused murmur from the man behind you. "It's not an everyday sight for my prey to stand still...". You didn't know what the hunter behind you was doing now. You only heard the typical sound of clothing materials rubbing against each other, which let you know of the hunter's movement behind you. 

You held your breath as you felt a hand come down on your shoulder and then tighten, forcing you to turn to face the hunter, whose ethereal blue irises bore into you as if trying to devour you, which only made your body tremble and goosebumps appear on your back.

"Why aren't you running away?" He hovered suddenly, causing you to reflexively take a step backwards in fear, forgetting the wait that was the cause of your fall and hissing in pain through the cut. You raised your gaze quickly back to the hunter, who was staring impassively at your figure with his head slightly tilted. You tried to get anything out of yourself, but no words were able to squeeze through your throat, clenched with fear, only quiet pouting and shuddering breath finding an outlet.

"Hmm... Killing you will no longer give me any pleasure.... What's the pleasure in killing an unmoved animal...?". The man's voice seemed resigned when, with a sudden quick movement, he grabbed your hand and pulled, making him hold you over his shoulder flipped like a sack of potatoes. You knew he must have been strong.... after all, he was wielding an axe with one hand.... but you didn't think a seemingly frail man could carry another person on his shoulder. Although? Your body was small and light as a feather, even to other survivors. 

 "W-Where are you taking me...? W-What do you want to do with me? Why don't you just kill me...?". You rattled off many questions to the man, but he answered none of them, so being resigned, you didn't speak but stared at the ground, hoping for a miracle that the Night Watch didn't want to play with his prey like a cat with food, but your eyes opened wider when the noise of the dungeon reached those ears. You rose slightly, supporting yourself with the hands you placed on the hunter's shoulder blade. "W-What...? Wh-Why...? W-.. Waait!". You shouted as you suddenly felt yourself falling into the black abyss, and all you could see before the blackness filled your field of vision were the hunter's ethereally blue irises and that slight... sincere smile...?

"Why did he do that...?" The question echoed in your head as you closed your eyes, only to suddenly catch your breath and open your eyes wide as you now lay on your soft bed, staring at the ceiling, analyzing the entire match and the hunter's behavior. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Thank you for reading!

If you have any story ideas, let me know! I'll try to put your idea into practice!

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

Thank you @st-eve-barnes for going over your Saltburn series with me! Just a reminder, you can view volume 1 & 2 of my ongoing series Interview With a Writer, where these talented individuals allow me to pick their brains over the brilliance behind their writing!

Name: st-eve-barnes

Story: Leverage

Paring: Michael Gavey x Female!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

So, when did you start writing?

I guess I have to say as a teenager, though I never shared anything I wrote back then. I still have the notebooks I used to drabble in (in Dutch), it wasn’t very good at all but I guess even back then I had that need to be creative and make my own stories.

I officially started writing fanfic in 2013. I watched Thor the Dark World, fell in love with Loki, made a Tumblr and a whole new world opened. After a few months of reading fanfic, I started writing my own. Again, it wasn’t very good at all but even my bad stories slowly started to find an audience on here, so I stuck with it.

Loki is amazing, just Aemond energy in a different font.

He truly is! I've written different characters since, but the moment I saw Aemond on screen I was transported back to the first time I saw Loki. His intensity, that quiet threat like you don't know what he's going to do next, combined with this, "I was made to be king but my stupid brother is the chosen one."

And a certain sadness, of course. We know they're the villains, but we understand them in a way and can feel their pain. And they are sexy as hell of course ;)

Where did the plot for Leverage come from?

Okay, so first of all, I am someone who never plans an entire plot when I start a fic. I am very much a "make it up as I go along" writer. I start with an idea and a dynamic I want to write between two characters and then I build from there.

For this one I wanted Reader and Michael to have a common goal and a common enemy, something that would push these two different characters to want to work together. I wanted the enemies to lovers vibe but soft. Like, you can tell very early on in the fic that they have empathy for each other. When Reader is crying, Michael softens up easily, and when she sees Michael being vulnerable about not being able to get girls, she feels for him as well.

Their personalities will still clash even after that, but you can (hopefully) feel the connection between them as well. I wanted Ben's threat to loom over them for the entire fic but also never make it the main plot point in every chapter. The main plot for me here was how Michael and Reader could help each other change and grow, and then either accept that change or turn away from it.

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

No, not really, I think. I wanted to make her independent and confident, but also a little bit lonely, all traits you can also find in Michael. And anything else, as usual, I make up as I go along. I get to know the characters as I write them and often I'm surprised where they take me. In this fic I think it was Michael who surprised me the most though, he really turned out different than I initially had planned.

Explain your interpretation of Michael. What drives him? How did he differ from what you originally had in mind?

Salburn didn't give us much to work with, and I actually love that because it gives us so much freedom to play with the character.

I went with what the movie did give us: Michael's obvious hatred for the popular privileged kids. It's the reason he initially hates Reader, but warms up to her when he learns that she is actually working for her place at Oxford and she is not a real part of Ben's group. I think he is driven to help her purely because of that common enemy in the beginning.

Then he gets to know her a little and the promise of sex comes into play, which he definitely doesn't say no to. What surprised me in writing him is that I initially planned on writing him as a sub throughout the entire fic, but then half way in the tables started turning and he started taking over control a bit (of the Reader and me as well apparently!). And then suddenly it made complete sense to write him that way, because he would be that overeager student who wants to do well and who does the homework to get it exactly right, it doesn't matter whether it's math or sex, he wants to show how good and smart he is.

Him just accepting his feelings for her so calmly was also something I didn't plan, but just sort of happened as I was writing.

My initial plans there was going to be a big fight between her and Michael right before they would call things off. He would force her to admit her feelings and the sex would turn quite rough; Michael just being Michael and saying a lot of wrong things to her that would eventually shut her down completely. But I never wrote that scene and by the time I got there in the story it didn't seem to fit their characters anymore and it also seemed too heavy for this fic so I let go of that idea.

Do you feel your Reader and Michael complement one another?

I definitely think they complement each other, but I also think they are quite alike in many ways. As I said before, they are both quite confident in different ways and insecure in others.

I do think they complement each other perfectly with Michael being more book smart and focused, while Reader is (a lot) better with people and social skills. I think them being together changes them both for the better cause they can learn from each other's personalities and bring out the best out in each other (but also the worst, of course).

Let's say that in their future they definitely learn to focus on bringing out the best and not the worst in each other ;)

Do you think you'll ever continue their story?

Never say never, but there's no plans to write more for them for now. I don't think I've written many sequels over the years, but I love writing different ideas and dynamics between two characters and once they are together, it's like "my work here is done."

Do you have a personal favorite story (on ao3 or Tumblr) you'd like to share?

My absolute favorite story is from a previous fandom that I'm not in anymore, but I have to share that one as it is the single most beautiful thing I've ever read. It was the fic that pulled me into the fandom. It's a Stucky story and it's called Not Easily Conquered, known as NEC in the fandom.

It will crush your soul and heal you and I will give anyone the same advice I got before I read it for the first time: be prepared because this one will hurt. I cried for like a week after I read it and I don't cry easily so this one should come with a warning. But it is absolutely worth it!

Do you have another story in the works?

The only thing I'm working on right now is a Felix Catton x Reader story called Pretty Little Liars. Two chapters have been posted and I'm working on the next ones, but it may be a while as life has been a bit full on here lately.

Would you like to share a snippet of what's to come?

“I think he has a little crush on you,” you stated while Felix opened the door to his room and let you step inside first. Felix shook his head but the little blush on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you. “It’s not like that,” he denied, “He’s just…a bit lost and I’m trying to be his friend.” “You sure that’s all he wants?” “Yeah,” he laughed, “Ollie doesn’t want me, he just wants to be like me.” “If you say so,” you sighed, not convinced. Felix grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you down to sit on the side of his bed, leaning forward to look into your eyes, “Hey, come on, don’t ruin this by becoming jealous.” “I’m not jealous, I’m…concerned.” That wasn’t a lie. Jealousy was never a factor, you knew right from the start that Felix would never truly be yours, you would always have to share him with the rest of the world. And you always accepted that. But the idea of sharing him with Oliver somehow made your blood boil. Felix kneeled down in front of you, eyes locking with yours as his gaze darkened and he smiled that irresistible smile of his. “Now, did you come up here to chat about Ollie, or to get your pussy eaten, hmm? Cause I can’t do both at the same time.” His lips connected with your knee, kissing your skin softly and you bit your lip and sighed deeply, “Fine, I’ll shut up.”

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Good Die Young

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+, swearing, major character death. Pairings: Jake Seresin × f!reader. Disclaimer: This is a series reflecting on the true events of the US Marines in WW2. All of the characters are fictional and not based off are original characters (except for Jake Seresin) and they are not representations of the real, brave men who fought in WW2. I have tried to make all the events in this series as accurate as possible but please bare in mind this is fanfiction and i have added/ changed certain things to fit with this.

Pavuvu May 1944

“You’re okay George. You’re gonna be just fine,” Jake promised, pulling the blanket over George’s shivering body. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his teeth chattering like a train on its tracks.

“You okay, Georgie?” Edward asked as he lay across his cot, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as the medic cleaned another sore on his back.

“Never better,” George whispered hoarsely, staring out from beneath the mountain of blankets, that despite the humid weather we’re doing nothing to bring him any warmth.

“You boys really need to go to the hospital. I’m going to try and pull a few strings, and get you to the hospital at Banika. I’m going to pull some paper and get you boys of this godforsaken place. You game?” The medic asked, looking at the two men in question.

“Hell yeah,” George and Edward replied and Jake smiled at the thought, at least two of his three remaining friends would be safe away from this hell hole.

“Sounds like a great plan. Thanks, Doc.” Jake followed the medic out of the tent. “How long do you think they’ll be gone for?”

“As long as they need to be. They need to rest, as do we all.”

“Well, there’s not a lot of chance of that around here, hey Doc?” Jake laughed and the medic nodded. After all, a good, deep sleep is a valuable commodity that was hard to come by in this place; both of them were well aware that the next battle wouldn’t be far off.

“What are you going to do without us around?” George chuckled, giving Jake his hand to shake. Jake took it instantly, shaking it as if it might be the last time he would see him. He hoped it wouldn’t be, he desperately wanted his friends to return but he also wanted them as far away from the war as possible, where they would be safe.

“Well, I’ll have Frank to keep me out of trouble. Don’t worry about me, okay? You just concentrate on getting better.” Jake felt a pang of sadness as he watched his two friends leave, with Edward pushing George in his wheelchair up the ramp of the troop ship. Jake never really felt alone, even when he was home sick and now he felt as though he was losing his family all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pavuvu June 1944

Dear Jake,

I’m not sure when this letter will reach you but your son was born 18th May at quarter to midnight. He is a little bundle of joy and he has your eyes. I can’t wait for you to meet him, Jake. I’ve enclosed a picture so you can keep him close to your heart. I have called him Jacob. It is only fitting that he has his fathers name.

News of the war is worse than ever. There was a large attack on Europe named D-Day on 6th June. I fear the war is far from won and fighting in North Africa continues still too. I am pleased to be away from work for a while. The never ending stream of bad news is almost too much to bear. At least for now I can pretend everything is okay, that everyone is safe. I wish you were here to enjoy this peace with me.

Thinking of you always

Your Y/n

Jake smiled fondly, running his dirt-engrained fingers over the picture of his son. His son. He couldn’t quite believe that he was a father, that someone like him could make something so perfect and untainted by the world. How could something do pure come from this horrendous year? Jake knew he had to keep fighting not only for Y/n now but for little Jacob too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well look at this. Fresh meat.” Frank pointed towards the group of fresh, baby-faced Marines as they walked up the beach in full pack.

“Jesus, are they ever old enough to drink? They’re just kids for Christ's Sake,” Jake groaned, throwing his book onto his cot. Each time recruits were sent to the front they seemed to get younger, just boys who within a few days would be homesick and crying out for their mothers as they bled out on some battlefield no one had ever heard of, in a place no one had ever visited.

“Is this How Company?” One of the baby Marines asked. He looked petrified and as Jake studied his face he noticed that the boy had probably never shaved.

“Who wants to know?” Frank asked, leaning against the supporting pole of the hut , puffing smoke from his cigarette over the recruit.

“I’m Private Daniel Chase. I’m joining How Company as a Machine Gunner. I meant to be with Sergeant Seresin.”

Jake looked at him dead in the eye. He’d never once considered that he would be sent a replacement for George. He knew that George was still pretty rough in the hospital in Banika but he didn’t think it was enough for them to send a replacement.

“I’m Sergeant Seresin. Put your kit down on that bunk there and then I’ll give you the tour.”

The young Marine did as he was told, clumsily knocking Jake’s belongings off the table, cursing, apologising and then nearly taking Jake out with his Garand.

“Okay kid, put all that shit down. Let’s go.” Frank watched in amusement as the young Marine stumbled after Jake, trying to keep up with his long strides.

Daniel Chase wasn’t a bad kid. He grew up in Louisiana with his parents and two sisters. He was funny and likeable, and Jake quickly warmed to him, taking him under his wing like a younger brother.

That evening the COs had set up a theatre and played ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ which mildly settled the normally rowdy Marines, except for the odd passing comment about the actress.

“Is it like this here most nights?” Chase asked, looking up at Jake inquisitively. The poor kid knew nothing of the world, Jake had realised as he gave him a tour of the camp. He didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, always said his prayers before bed and until joining the Marines had never done his own washing before.

“Sometimes. This is just to welcome the new guys, make you think that it’s all sunshine and rainbows until shit really hits the fan.” Jake knew he was only speaking the truth but regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, the fear on the young boy's face reminded him too much of George when they had first seen battle.

“It’ll be alright, kid. There ain’t nothing to worry about, just stick with me and you’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peleliu September 1944

The doors for the landing craft to exit the troop ship falling open was the beginning of it all. The bright light poured through the ship's hull as each craft flew out the doors and into the open water.

“HERE WE GO!” Jake shouted to Chase who nodded at him nervously. The poor boy had already been sick twice on Jake’s boots while they were waiting.

Aircraft flew overhead, sending bombs down onto the beach that sounded like freight trains whistling above Jake’s head. A few stray bullets hit the edge of the landing craft causing all the men to duck down. No one wanted to get hit before even reaching the beach. The large 50-caliber guns on the landcraft opened fire, trying to clear a path for the Marines to land.

The noise was deafening and between the gunfire and explosions Jake could hear Daniel let out a small whimper. “I'm scared, Jake,” Chase cried and Jake just looked at him, giving him a small reassuring smile. Well what else was he supposed to do? It wasn’t a good idea to lie to the kid but at the same time telling someone they’re probably going to die wasn’t on the cards either.

“You’re gonna be just fine, Kid. Just stay with me and keep moving.” That was the last time Jake spoke to Chase, but neither of them knew that.

As the landing craft hit the beach the smell of smoke was thick in the air, the doors swung down and groups of Marines began charging up the beach. Sand, tree bark, and bullets flew through the air. The ground was littered with bodies as Jake stumbled forward, cursing and falling into a nearby crater, taking cover from the firing above his head. He’d lost sight of Chase and Frank soon after leaving the landing craft. The scent of engine oil was thick in the air as Jake’s chest heaved from the effort. He turned to see a young Marine fall into the crater beside him, blood trickling down his face, eyes wide and frozen. Jake thought he saw the life leaving the poor boy's eyes, all the memories, the love, and future plans all gone in the blink of an eye and all that was left was a shell of who he had been.

Jake bit back a strangled scream as he pushed himself from the hole, crawling along to the next one and into the tree line where he got to his feet. Raising his Garand, he crouched low, hurrying through the trees. Earth flew up around him, the explosions ringing in his ears as he desperately tried to get his bearings, the high-pitch whistling doing nothing for his sense of direction. The last thing he needed was to be running back towards the beach. The smoke created a thick fog through the air, making it difficult to breathe and causing Jake to splutter, coughing loudly. Through all the shrapnel and gunfire flying around Jake didn’t hear the whistling above his head, the sound of the aircraft flying over, not until the explosion went off right beside him. The blast sent him through the air, his body falling helplessly to the ground.

The ringing noise in his mind was the only thing he recognised as his eyes cracked open, looking upon the grey clouds above him. They seemed to dance across the sky, the smokey smudges against the clear blue were a stark contrast but seemed to bring comfort to him. Jake realised that he rarely saw the sky without clouds of smoke anymore. It was sad really, he had always enjoyed the sunsets in Texas, and he’d often watched them with his mother as a young boy.

“JAKE! JAKE! OH FUCK! Hang on buddy. Just hang on for me.”

“Frank…” Jake whispered, reaching a bloody hand out to his friend who took it immediately.

“It’s okay Jake, I’m here. You’re gonna be alright.”

“Frank…w-where’s Y/n?” Jake asked, trying to sit up but Frank pushed him back down immediately.

“She’s not here right now but I promise as soon as we get you fixed up I'll find her okay? I'll find her you just have to hang on.” Frank’s voice was desperate as he applied pressure to Jake’s wounds.

“I NEED A MEDIC GOD DAMMIT!” Frank screamed but Jake just smiled up at him, shuffling to sit up slightly. Confusion crossed Jake’s face as he tried to move his legs again.

“Frank, I-I…can't f-feel my legs?” Jake looked up at him worried, trying again and again to move his legs but nothing happened. Nothing moved. Frank looked down at him sadly, tears glistening in the edges of his eyes.

“You're gonna be just fine, Jake. We’re gonna get your legs all sorted,” he promised, resisting the urge to look over at Jake’s bloodied legs that lay a few feet from them. “I promise, Jake.”

“Okay, Frank. I…trust y-you.”

Jake didn’t notice the way Frank's chest heaved as he screamed for a medic, he didn’t notice the desperate look on his friend's face and he didn’t notice the large pool of blood that trickled out onto the ground around him. Jake just smiled, his blue eyes looking back up at the sky as more aircraft flew over them. He could see Y/n face now, smiling down at him as she cradled little Jacob close. He reached his right hand out towards her, trying to grip hold of hers.

“Come to me, Jake,” she whispered to him. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Jake? No, no Buddy. You’ve got to stay with me, Jake. Stay with me.” Frank watched in horror as Jake’s eyes slid shut. The blood pumping through his fingers mercilessly as he tried his best to keep pressure on the wounds. A medic rushed in beside Frank, applying bandages to both of Jake’s legs. Frank continued to shout at the medic as he sat back, shaking his head defeatedly at Frank. He didn’t believe him. The medic continued to talk but Frank didn’t hear a word. He couldn’t be the only one left. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Frank felt two strong arms pulling him to stand. The Lieutenants fought him, shouting harshly in his ears to keep moving and shoving a Garand into his bloody hands. The blood congealed around the gun, sticking it to Frank as if Jake himself was urging him to use it. His hands shook violently and despite the Lieutenant's protest he couldn’t help but spare a glance over his shoulder to his friend.

“Goodbye Jake.”

Taglist: @wkndwlff @a-reader-and-a-writer @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @airedale17 @shadowolf993 @topguncultleader @callmemana @t-nd-rfoot @desert-fern @cherrycola27 @green-socks @jstarr86 @starkleila @alexxavicry @soulmates8 @depressed-friend-blog @mayhemmanaged @shanimallina87 @bcon24 @books-are-escapes @dakotakazansky @memeorydotcom

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part XXIII.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25

GIF: Originally posted by @simply---words

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut, hand play, penetrative sex (AFAB+AMAB).

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Hello there! Smut part 2 is here! I apologise for the delay with this chapter. It took a long time to pull all the threads together and get the dialogue right. Hope you are safe and well. All my love, Saskia ❤️

Sandman Masterlist

-----------------    

“Right now I need to be inside you.”

Morpheus’ desperate words see another spark burst forth into flame within your core.

There is no point in arguing with him. You can tell from the obstinate set of his shoulders as he gazes up at you from his still-kneeling position.

You push yourself back so your entire length rests on the pale blue sheets.

“Lie with me.” You pat the space next to you and roll onto your side.

Once Morpheus is situated beside you, you watch each other, kissing every so often. After a period, the aftershocks of your recent orgasm burn out and you feel prepared to take things further.

You inhale a deep breath, knowing that what you want to say next is important but uncertain of how to phrase it.

“I'm not exactly sure of how reproduction works among Endless beings... however I wanted you to know that I’m taking a contraceptive pill,” you clarify while fruitlessly attempting to smooth a crease out of the sheet.

He kisses you sweetly. “Thank you for your openness.”

You lay on your back and Morpheus carefully straddles you.

He’s so delightfully accessible to you now. The angles of his collarbones are demanding to be touched so you do it. You start there, with both hands in the centre, spreading out across his chest, over his upper arms, round to his back and up into his hair. His muscles contract as you trace the path. 

You change instrument, swapping from hands to lips, and press kisses to his exposed neck. It sends him into a feverous delirium; his pupils are dilated so far that they almost eclipse the blue.

He guides your hand to his erection. He is already hard yet he stiffens even further when you begin to pleasure him.

His eyes roll back with a low groan. You gush at the sound.

Dark lashes cast pretty shadows onto his cheekbones in the light of the lamp. With your free hand, you cup his face then slide your fingers through the shorter hair above his nape.

You stroke his shaft evenly for a while before tightening the hold you have on him by a fraction. He tenses, speaking your name in a forewarning and you release him before you get too carried away.

The liquid lust in his eyes when he looks back to you is overwhelming. You open your legs.

“You are ready?” He asks.

“Yes,” you whisper, heartbeat picking up. “Are you?”

“I am.”

He adjusts your position ever so slightly. His weight sinks down and you feel his tip at your entrance. You become rigid, nerves returning full force.

“I will be gentle with you, Y/N, I promise,” he pledges.

You nod. "I trust you."

He strokes your face with his fingertips. “As I trust you.”

The mutual exchange of those candidly spoken words gives you proof that the connection you are cultivating together is pure and honest and authentic. Exactly as you want it to be.

Morpheus waits until you are completely relaxed before resuming. His eyes are trained on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort but also to see your reaction. 

You are doing the same. Despite your suppression and denial of your attraction and feelings, both of you genuinely had wanted this for some time now.

And because of that, you need to remember every second.

You secure your hands on his shoulders.

He eases into you slowly, stretching you further than you had been in the past, inspiring a long moan that harmonises with his own.

“Morpheus,” you call as he continues to push in.

You are panting. The sensation of being opened up has your eyelids fluttering.

“Keep looking at me,” he whispers.

You do as he says and re-focus on his familiar, perfect face.

He bottoms out with a breathy gasp.

As your walls flutter, he holds still to give you time to adjust.

He feels so very large and so very right.

The expression on his face is one of unadulterated astonishment. “You feel…” He groans, “You are…”

For the first time since knowing him, he is unable to finish his sentence. You have rendered the King of Dreams almost speechless.

You reach up to stroke his jaw line. “Please.”

He understands and moves ever so slightly. You overload from pleasure, burying your face in his neck and inhaling deeply to compose yourself with his scent.

You feel his large hand on the back of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats a few times. His voice calms you quickly and keeps your arousal throbbing.

With your heart rate stabilised, you look back at Morpheus and smile.

“I’m okay now. Keep going.”

He smiles back, and lowers onto his forearms. You are more prepared for the movement this time; the pleasure is still visceral but you soak every bit of it in. 

You instantly want more.

His first thrust is shallow, as is the second, and after the third, he begins to deepen in increments. When you begin to move with him, bliss lights his countenance. 

He is taking his time to satisfy you and it is so unlike any of the sexual encounters you have had before. He is savouring the moment, savouring you. It makes you feel undeniably special. He wants to share his very being with you as you do with him.

It adds another tie of emotional attachment to him. You trace his cheekbones with adoration.

Morpheus stops suddenly. He draws almost all the way out.

Your mouth drops open. You want to complain, to tilt your hips up and maintain the friction but you don’t. There’s a look on his face that stops you. A look that has you combusting.

You watch him with baited breath. The urge to squirm and whine is immense.

He slams back into you.

The grunt he makes as he does so is salacious. You cry out and grab his shoulders.

He repeats the action.

You hold tighter still.

His lips claim your own in a searing kiss.

He then sets a rhythm that you know will send you over the edge if he maintains it. And he does. He takes you hard and deep until everything you know is him. Him alone.

The roll of his hips casts a hypnotic spell over you.

You wrap your legs around him. He hums in approval at the deeper angle you have offered.

"Morpheus," you moan loudly as he takes you into a realm of pleasure that you had not been permitted to enter before.

The devotion in his eyes intensifies with every pump.

You feel your channel contracting as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“Let go for me,” he urges in a dangerously seductive tone.

His hand finds yours and he laces his fingers between your own. Such care is shown in that simple act; in his ocean blue eyes. You focus on them as the tension in your core threatens to snap.

“Let go, Y/N.”

You arch up, walls clamping around him. 

You are silent as the orgasm bursts forth and then all you can say is his name as the euphoria blinds you.

As soon as you speak, he spills himself inside you.

Pleasurable agony is drawn on his beautiful features. He continues to move until he runs dry. Your trembling legs sink down onto the mattress.

Then Morpheus withdraws and descends the last few centimetres to be flush against your glowing skin.

The only movement either of you make are the rises and falls of your chests and involuntary twitches created by your orgasms.

You remain contentedly pressed together until your spent bodies recover, consumed by joy and serenity.

***

You and Morpheus take it in turns to clean up in your bathroom. He lets you go first; your body feels painfully cold without him and you have to take refuge under the duvet upon re-entering the room.

Pink warmth blushes your cheeks when he comes back and you don’t try to hide it. What a difference it makes to feel able to show your desires now.

Morpheus pauses, eyes flickering to the vacant side of the bed. You pull a corner back and beckon for him to join you.

“You are sure?” He asks, respecting your personal space.

“Hold me, please.”

He slips between the sheets. His dark locks fall into a halo on the pillow. He draws you against his side and tucks your head under his chin. You nuzzle into his strong chest and sigh.

"You were right when you said you were experienced," You murmur after a few minutes.

He huffs out a little laugh. "Does that mean that you enjoyed yourself?"

"Of course I did. It was -"

Life changing. Mind altering. Soul defining.

They were all viable ways to end your sentence.

"It was the best I've ever had," you eventually say.

His fingers trace precise patterns on your upper back.

"I have longed to be with you like that for some time. Since the day that you kissed me on top of that hill.”

“That long?”

“Yes,” he replies solemnly.

“I hope I lived up to your expectations.”

“You exceeded them.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Your touch is something to be coveted, and you react so perfectly to me. You are considerate of my boundaries. You understand the emotional weight of sexual contact. I could not wish for more.”

He shifts to be able to look into your eyes.

"I apologise for the way I reacted when I got undressed. I did not mean to cause you any concern. I am grateful for how you sought to console me.”

“You don't have to say sorry for anything, Morpheus.”

“Perhaps not but I feel I should elucidate.”

He sits up and you follow.

“Something happened to me. I was certain that I had overcome it yet I couldn’t stop myself from drawing a parallel to what had transpired.”

His gaze fixes on the light source.

“There was a human. An occultist named Roderick Burgess. Burgess was dangerous and obsessive and after the death of his son, he attempted a spell to imprison my sister, Death, hoping that she would bring him back from the Sunless lands. But instead he got me. What he wanted was not mine to give but Burgess never backed down. I had no means of escape; the binding circle drained my power, and he took my tools. The effect on humanity’s subconscious was devastating without me to curate and manage it. Certain dreams and nightmares went rogue, some preying on the waking world.”

His pauses and his voice cracks when he speaks again. “My raven, Jessamy, tried to help me. Burgess’ other son murdered her right before my eyes. I stayed in that basement for 106 years, completely naked, locked in a glass cage as I grieved the loss of my friend and my reason for existing.”

You feel a tear escape and streak down your cheek. Naked. It made sense in the most heartbreaking way. He had been right back in there in his memories remembering his agony and isolation. You know without a doubt that the trauma Matthew had mentioned when he had come to visit you in the cottage was the same. Morpheus had watched a loved one die. How could it be anything else?

You suppress a sob. “What happened when you got out?” 

“I took my revenge on Alex Burgess. For Jessamy. For not letting me go when his father had died, and then I went back to the Dreaming. When I returned, I found it had wasted away, as I had done in that cage, decayed beyond recognition.”

“But you re-built it?”

“Yes. With the help of my tools once I had reclaimed them. It took time, and self-reflection and allowing myself to trust others but eventually everything was set right.”

Morpheus goes quiet. You take his hand. 

“I’m so sorry, Morpheus. I’m sorry about Jessamy. I’m sorry that you suffered for so long. I’m sorry for the cruelty of humans. I will always be here if you need to talk about it, about anything.”  You are crying as you speak.

He buries his face against your neck. “Not all humans are cruel, Y/N. You are one such example. The offer you just made is proof, and I give the same to you. You will always have a shelter with me.”

-----------------

"We don't need to know. All we have is now, so just let go. When your number's called and it's time to disappear. Have no fear cause you got me and I got you. Right here."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93 @boofy1998 @dotieeee @ponysboy-sunsets @fangirlmary @littledollll @fatimakinney @jamiethenerdymonster @rosaren2498 @mr-sandman-bring-me-a-dream​ @madiebear​ @sandman-33​ @sallysal9​ @asiludida164​ @elf-punk​ @grungeisntmything​ @sapphireonline​ @seninjakitey​

[bluestar22x]

Snowed In

Summary: After a freak snowstorm you and your husband were left alone, stranded in the lake house you were vacationing in for the holidays. It wouldn't have been a problem if you hadn't gone into labor.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Pregnant!Reader (mentioned to have thick hair but no physical description otherwise)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Fowl language, descriptions of labor and the birthing process; mentions of bodily fluids. (Tried to not be too descriptive, but it's not exactly that vague either.) Two parents doing their best in a bad situation. Is this medically accurate? Maybe?

Word Count: 3,788

Author’s Note: This fic is so out of season but oh well. I got all up in my head thinking about a Pedro character having to help with the delivery of his child and just had to write it.

xxx

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a holiday vacation to a friend's lake house in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, your last getaway before the baby arrived.

You'd planned to be there from December twenty-three to January second, with only your husband Frankie for company, just relaxing and enjoying the seclusion and peaceful atmosphere. You'd brought a bunch of DVDs to watch and your Christmas gifts, along with your necessities, and your friend Lydia had thoughtfully set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room sometime before your arrival.

Everything had been near perfect. The lake house offering a stellar view of the nearly frozen over lake and its fireplace offering a cozy area to curl up in.

Christmas had been completely uneventful, but the next morning you'd learned from the local television news that an unexpected snowstorm was rapidly approaching, and it was going to be pretty nasty, blinding drivers and dumping at least five feet of snow in the upcoming two days.

You'd considered leaving early to avoid it, but Frankie was nervous about getting caught up in the beginning of the storm with that warning about low visibility.

So, instead, you both made sure the house was well stocked with food and hunkered down. It wasn't like that hadn't been the original plan anyway. By the time you had to leave the storm would be just a memory.

You could've never predicted that you'd wake up at four in the morning on December twenty-seven to a terrible cramp in your stomach. You winced and your hand flew to your massive belly, clutching it. You could feel a hardness to it before something relaxed in you and the pain went away. That was when you knew the dull ache you'd felt earlier in the night was something more.

Your jaw dropped. You were going into labor.

"Oh no, oh no," you chanted, panicked. "This can't be happening. Not now!"

"Not now what?" Frankie mumbled drowsily, stirred awake by your mental meltdown. He rolled over in bed to face you and you pointed to your stomach.

"I'm having contractions," you declared. "And not the fake kind. I had a dull ache earlier, but it got worst. It's progressing."

"Shit." Frankie hissed. "You sure? You're a month early."

You nodded confidently. "I wasn't earlier, but I am now."

He stood immediately and started to dress up, yanking on a green sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans. "I'll go shovel the driveway and see if the plows have cleared the road yet." He paused and turned to you, a hand stretched out. "Are you going to be okay here for a little bit? Do you need anything, at all?"

"Yeah, I'll be alright," you replied surely. "It's not anything I can't handle right now. I'll just stay here, try to catch a little more shut eye."

"I'll start a fire before I head out," he promised you, bending over to kiss you on the lips. "And I'll be back in as soon as I can."

You nodded again and watched as he bolted out of the room like a rabbit. Your heart was thumping hard in your chest.

The storm was ongoing, still had a day left to go and had already delivered over half of the snow that had been predicted. For once the weatherman had been correct, and that was bad news for you. It meant more likely than not the road was blocked by snow. Enough of it to make it impossible for Frankie's beat up old pick-up truck to get out of the driveway. The snowplow drivers never made it a priority to plow the off beaten path roads. Especially when the owners of the lake houses in the area didn't often visit in the winter. They usually only used them in the summer and fall and for a short time period when the ice was thick enough for some winter fishing.

The anxiety building in you made it hard to fall back asleep and you gave up after spending thirty minutes in bed shifting around restlessly until the next contraction hit you.

Had it been a little more painful that time? You had no idea.

You pulled yourself out of bed and waddled over to the couch in the living room so you could sit back on it and watch the fire Frankie had made, hoping that the flickering flames and the warmth would soothe you. And it did for a little while, until Frankie stomped back into the house an hour later, looking like the abominable snowman.

"And?" you prompted.

He tugged off the gloves and the snow hat he was wearing and shook his head. "I got the driveway cleared out enough, but the main road hasn't seen a plow since yesterday afternoon. We're stuck, for now." He scratched at the base of his neck, worry in his eyes. "How are the contractions?"

"Still about the same in strength," you answered. "And around twenty-eight minutes apart. It's still very early, and since I'm a first time mom it should take a long time to really progress."

He ticked his jaw as he hung up his winter coat on the rack by the front door. "I'm going to call 911. The plows will open the road up if they have to get through."

You perked up a bit, not sure why you hadn't thought of it first. "Do it now."

He gave you a quick nod and slipped his cell phone out of his pocket, attempting to dial the emergency number.

Attempting being the word. The call didn't go through, his phone having no signal.

"How are there no fucking working towers nearby?" Frankie exclaimed, tossing his phone onto the kitchen table in frustration, palming his face. "911 calls are supposed to be picked up by any tower, whether we have that service or not."

"The storm," you reminded him quietly, as if he could forget, mouth suddenly going dry. You licked your lips and swallowed hard.

You and Frankie were alone for the foreseeable future. You could tell he had come to the same horrifying conclusion as you had because you saw your own fear reflected in his eyes in the firelight.

Your stomach dropped. "Fuck no." You rocked yourself a little where you sat. "Fuck. Why did I let Lydia convince me this was a good fucking idea? I mean, who takes a vacation so close to their due date? Where there's snow? And shitty cell reception? She doesn't even have a landline for back up. I am going to fucking kill her."

"No you won't," Frankie said with a sigh, plopping down on the couch next to you and rubbing your upper thigh, trying to comfort you. "Emma was in labor for nineteen hours, surely before then a plow will come around, and as soon as it does, I'll take you to the nearest hospital. It'll be okay."

Emma was his ex-girlfriend, and co-parent to Frankie's six year old son, Nic.

Emma had been much smarter than you. She'd stayed in Florida during her whole pregnancy. She'd delivered her son in the hospital she'd picked out, just like she had planned. You might not even get to a hospital.

As if on cue, another contraction rippled through you, and you bit your lip and pressed your hand back against your baby bump. Luckily it was still brief, and when your muscles relaxed you could feel your little one shifting inside you. Feeling the movement calmed you - slightly.

When you glanced up from looking at your belly, your eyes found Frankie's again. They were full of sympathy. "Anything I can do, baby?" he inquired again earnestly.

You had a feeling you were going to hear those words a lot that day and you were grateful.

"I'm starving," you told him. "I can't have too much food, but do you mind making toast?"

The electricity had gone out while Frankie had been out shoveling, but you could hear the backup generator running and the kitchen was one of the rooms it covered. You might as well have a bite to eat before it got too hard to keep food down, you’d figured.

He closed the gap between you and pressed a feathery light kiss to your forehead. "Course not. Coming right up."

With that, he was on his feet, headed for the kitchen like a man on a mission.

xxx

“Okay, it's okay," you said trying to calm yourself, pep talk yourself as you held on tightly to the back of the couch, mid contraction. "You almost completed nursing school, women have done this for thousands of years, you can do this."

It was many hours later, mid afternoon, and your contractions were much more intense. They were fifteen minutes apart and getting even closer at an alarming rate. The storm was still raging outside, the road was still blocked, and neither your phone nor Frankie's could catch a tower.

It had all become very real to you that you were probably going to be giving birth in the lake house, with only Frankie to assist.

Frankie, who was at your side, helping you to remain standing as you endured it, sucked in a sharp breath. "You really don't think the plow will show up before then?"

"I don't have the experience to say for sure," you replied, gasping, "But - urgh! - something in my gut is telling me we don't have much time left. We're going to have to prepare."

"Sit down on the couch," he ordered you as you slumped forward, another contraction over with. "I'll get you whatever you need."

You may have flunked out of the last few courses before you’d have graduated college, and you may have not refreshed your memory since, but you did still remember a thing or two, and you'd watched a lot of medical YouTube videos about pregnancy and birth after you'd found out you were pregnant, so it wasn't like you were totally clueless, but you were clueless enough to make your anxiety skyrocket.

You stepped around to the couch’s front and collapsed onto it, resting your head in your hands and taking a moment to collect yourself before you started to list everything you could think of that would be needed before and after you gave birth.

He swiped all the clean towels and washcloths out of the bathroom, a few pillows from the bedroom, a water bottle out of the fridge, and a trash bin from the bedroom. You had him set all the items up in the living room, even though the bed probably would've been comfier to lay back in during the last few hours of your labor.

You wouldn't have been able to explain it, but something about being in the living room, in a more open space, made you feel better. You didn't need to though. Frankie yes ma'am-ed you the entire time.

"Is that everything?" he inquired, eyes scanning the towel covered floor in front of the couch and the other items that littered the pushed aside coffee table.

"Need you to boil some water," you answered as you clutched at your aching lower back. "Lydia has some sewing string in the kitchen junk drawer. Throw a roll in the water and a pair of scissors, and let it sterilize them."

He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It's to tie off the cord," you explained. "It can stay attached, but after five minutes we're going to need to cut off the blood flow so the baby doesn't get jaundice. The sewing string is all I can think of in here that could do that."

Frankie left the room to start his task and within the hour the sewing string and scissors were ready, laid out on a clean hand towel on the living room side table.

He returned to your side as another, more powerful wave hit you. You closed your eyes and grimaced, nails digging into the couch's fabric beneath you. You felt him gently stroking your arm as it dissipated.

"You're going to have to catch the baby and dry them off when the time comes," you told him, opening your eyes back up.

He pursed his lips. "I figured that much."

"You'll do fine," you assured him, and he chuckled.

"I should be telling you that."

You flashed him a small, tired smile. "Exactly."

If everything went right, that and tying the cord was all he'd have to do.

If.

Something you recalled from your nursing classes had you chewing on your lower lip.

"What is it?" Frankie asked warily, recognizing your troubled expression.

"Nothing," you said, shaking your head. There was going to be a lot of risk in giving birth in the lake house, but there was also no use worrying about it at this point. You had no choice and thinking about it was just going to stress you out even more than you already were.

Eventually the pain got so intense you couldn't think about it anymore, both a blessing and a curse.

When the contractions weren't making you freeze up, you were pacing like a wild animal trapped in a tiny cage, trying to walk off the pain that was starting to feel unbearable.

Why was something so natural so painful? You wondered.

You were sweating buckets, so you stripped down, almost entirely, to nothing but your sports bra. You were getting close to being in active labor anyway, the contractions seven minutes apart.

Frankie sat quietly on the couch with you sitting in front of him, massaging your lower back, trying to ease a stitch your labor had caused.

He'd been pretty quiet for a while, seemingly not sure what to say and probably all up in his head about what he would need to do.

You weren't worried he'd pass out from the sight of your blood, but you knew all the military training in the world wouldn't be able to keep him as cool as a cucumber when the time came. Internally he was probably panicking.

When he stood and tried dialing 911 again your suspicions were confirmed.

Unbelievably, the call finally went through. You knew immediately when his eyes widened, and he frantically rattled off the lake house address and explained your situation. The 911 operator had him put his phone on speaker, with the intention of guiding you and him through the process if needed, but then the phone cut off again.

"Damn it!" Frankie yelled in frustration as he chucked his, once again, useless phone onto the couch. "We might as well be on a homestead in northern Alaska."

"At least they're on their way," you said. It made you feel a little better even if they wouldn't likely make it in time.

You were sure they wouldn't when, moments later, a contraction sent you to your knees on the towels by the front of the couch. There was a gush of fluid and, your water broken, the pain intensified by a factor of ten.

"Fuck!" you shouted, groaning as an overwhelmingly weighted sensation overtook you. "Oh god, I have to push, I have to, I have to."

You muttered those words on loop as you turned your back to the couch for support and spread your legs, bending your knees after. Fear bloomed in your chest, but it was easy to knock aside by that point.

Frankie was quickly on his knees in front of you, eyes on your face.

"Then push, honey," he said softly. "I got you." His large hands found your thighs, and the warmth radiating off them grounded you, reassuring you more than words ever could.

You looked into his eyes for a moment and there was a brief calm in them, a determination, before he swallowed hard and nodded at you.

You did the same, and with the next contraction you bore down as hard as you could, panting out heavy breaths when you remembered to breath.

It hurt, so much, but it also felt good to push. To be able to do something about it.

Through your efforts, you caught quick glimpses of Frankie's eyes darting from your face to between your legs, and the worry etched on his own face pulled at your heartstrings, but you were in no shape of mind to return the assurance his words and touch had given you earlier.

"You're doing so well, baby; the head's out," he informed you just as you were becoming concerned that you might not be making much progress, despite having been pushing for at least twenty minutes. He managed a brief smile, even though he was the definition of a bundle of nerves. "Got a ton of hair. Just like you."

His comment, and your quick glance down to confirm it, renewed your determination to get your baby out. You wanted to hold them so bad. After the hours of labor you'd endured, you more than deserved it.

You cried out with your next heave and was rewarded with another update from Frankie. "The shoulders are out," he stated, voice laced with subtle excitement. "Come on, sweetheart, I think you can do it in one more big push. Okay? Push!"

You squeezed your eyes shut, screamed with effort, and suddenly there was a sweet release as your baby slipped out of you, into Frankie's waiting hands, another gush of fluid following, spilling onto the already soaked towels beneath you.

"It's a girl!" you heard Frankie announce distantly.

You fell back briefly when his words registered in your mind, relieved that the worst part was over, before your brain switched into mom mode. Your eyes snapped open and you angled your head so you could see your baby. Frankie was cradling her half-dried body in his arms, attempting to clear fluid out of her delicate little mouth with one of his pinkie fingers. His eyebrows knitted with concern as he tried to encourage her to breath, and your heart tightened as you felt the same dread he was likely feeling because your baby hadn't taken a breath yet. Had it been ten seconds yet?

Ten seconds was typically how long it took for a newborn to take their first breath, but you were pretty sure that time frame had already passed.

Please be okay, you silently begged.

A few more agonizing seconds passed, then she released a tiny gasp as her little chest rose, and you and Frankie found yourselves both sobbing in relief, tears streaming down your faces.

"Hello, beautiful," Frankie whispered to his daughter, awe written on his face as he gently placed her on top of a clean towel so he could finish cleaning her up. Afterwards he bundled her into a fresh one as best as he could with the umbilical cord still attached to her (and you).

Once he was finished all his tasks, he passed her to you, over your stomach, laying her belly down on your chest, before getting up so he could sit down beside you against the couch. He tugged you against his side for warmth and comfort. "Are you okay? Do you feel lightheaded at all? Weak?"

You shook your head. "Just tired, and obviously, sore."

You were staring down at your daughter, studying every little feature of her that you could see. You weren't good at guessing which parts of a baby's face were shared with one of their parents, but there was no mistaking that her hair was as thick as yours, and her eyes were the same shade of brown as Frankie's.

"God, she is beautiful. We did that, Frankie." You brushed your palm under her minuscule fingers as you examined them, then lifted the entirety of her smooth, dainty hand to press it to your lips.

"You did the most work," he said pointedly, a smile on his face.

"And don't you forget it," you joked, beaming up at him, laying a hand against the center of his chest.

His smile grew wider, and he kissed your temple before resting his forehead against it. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you whispered back, the feelings you had for him somehow even stronger than before, after having witnessed the unspoken love he had for the daughter you shared. Most of your memories of this day would likely blur, but you couldn't imagine the image of Frankie trying desperately to clear out her airway ever fading. The moment had been terrifying, but seeing him doing whatever he could think of to help his baby breathe had altered your brain chemistry nearly as much as her existence had.

It had impressed you too. "How'd you know to put your finger in her mouth?"

With no way to suction the liquid out of your baby's mouth and nose, he'd done the next best thing, you figured, without having to be told. It confused you. Where had he learned that?

The tips of his ears turned a little red. "We might have had a stray dog on base one time, and she might have given birth in my tent."

You grinned. You couldn't believe he'd withheld that story from you the entire three years you'd known each other. "So, this isn't your first time playing midwife after all."

"It's nowhere near the same," he told you firmly.

You nodded. "I'm sure."

"So, what are we naming her?" he asked, stroking your baby's cheek with the back of his hand. Her face was angled his way, her other cheek pressed against your right breast through the fabric of your soft cotton sports bra.

You'd narrowed the names down to two boy ones and two girl ones last week, having no idea you wouldn't have more time to choose one for each.

"I still like Mia best," you informed him.

"Then Mia it is," Frankie decided without hesitance, bending to kiss her forehead.

You smiled at them both as he pulled away, and you began rubbing her back gently, instinctively, when she started whimpering, getting ready to cry. "Mia it is."

Frankie had mind to check his watch. "It's been five minutes. Probably more. Time to tie off the cord?"

You nodded, and he was reaching for the roll of string when you both stilled at the sound of sirens.

An ambulance was coming. The knowledge that a pair of paramedics had been so close to arriving in time to assist you and Frankie with your daughter's birth drew annoyance from you.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. "Now they show up."

Frankie couldn't help but laugh loudly at your comment, and Mia, in turn, started crying.

xxx

Main Masterlist

[creativepawsworld]

Silence - Chapter 7

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Summary = Anastasia finds out she isn't the only woman Thomas Shelby is entertaining.

Warnings = Language, self-inflicted pain, mild sexual references

Word Count = 3174

Waking up with the sun this morning, I couldn’t stop the smile growing on my face. My thoughts immediately went to Thomas Shelby, just like every other morning. He had worked his way in my mind like a parasite, becoming the first and last thing I thought about. The feeling of his lips against mine, the ocean blue colour of eyes, the countless freckles that decorated his perfectly defined face. He was what I considered to be the definition of perfect.

After breakfast I walked into the tailor shop behind my father, instantly noticing the shop was a lot warmer than the previous few mornings had been. The men had done an incredible job, fixing the window just like Thomas had promised they would. Walking around to my desk while my father busied himself with starting the fire for the day, his first duty in the mornings. I sighed happily to myself, my hands cupped together as I took in my surroundings, everything sitting exactly how I left it.

Taking my seat, I lifted up Polly’s dress that was resting in my basket, a square box grabbing my attention, that shouldn’t be there. I peered up at my father to see if he was watching me, but he had found some paperwork to busy himself with. Taking the box from the basket cautiously, I placed it on the ground, opening the lid, gasping at the contents inside the box.

“Everything okay over there Anastasia?” My father asked concerned at my sudden outburst. He was looking in my direction his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on me waiting for my response to his question.

“Perfectly fine father just got a cold shiver” I nodded, placing my hands on my upper arms and rubbing them acting as if I were in fact cold.

“Yes, well sitting next to that door doesn’t help, we must make some room over here. You are our newest tailor after all.” My father smiled a proud smile with a nod of his head. Thanking him I bowed my head, relishing in the fact I had made my father proud. “In fact, I have a job for you” He spoke up again, resting the paperwork on his desk and grabbing only a small sheet of paper next to his sewing machine, an almost giddy look on his face.

Sensing he was coming to my corner I used my feet to kick the box under my chair. Standing to my feet, I placed the dress in my hands on my seat, so the loose fabric hung down hiding the box. I watched as my father came towards me with a jacket, he had been tailoring for one of the Peaky Blinders, paper in his hand.

“I would like you to finish this suit. I have completed the jacket to Mr Shelby’s liking but maybe you could tailor the waist coat and trousers?” My father asked, a sincere smile on his face as he reached out to me, offering me the jacket and sheet of paper.

“Really father? You think I am ready?” I asked barely able to hold my excitement as I took the items from my father’s hands, clutching them tightly to my chest. Almost bouncing on the spot with sheer joy.

“Absolutely.” He grinned with a nod of his head. “Your mother and I don’t tell you kids enough but we are proud of the adults you have become.”

“Dad” I sniffed feeling overly emotional all of a sudden. Moments like this were had to find in our household. It wasn’t any fault of my parents not really, despite how much my brother and I had blamed them. They tried, but in these uncertain times work was hard to come by for everyone, which left our parents worried about keeping food on the table and a roof over our heads. It was something I never understood as a child, not until I witnessed first-hand just how hard being an adult was.

“Don’t get me started” My father chuckled reaching over wrapping his arms around me pulling me close for a tight hug. “How you handled Mr Shelby yesterday, with no fear was an inspiration, Anastasia. Truly remarkable” He nodded, a single tear threatening to fall from his eye. “Now no time to waste, get going on the suit and I will be sure to inform Mr Shelby who is responsible for such impeccable work.”

Forgetting completely about the box, I raced over to the fabric basket on the other end of the shop, choosing the wool blend my father had used for the jacket. I brought it over to my desk, drawing out my measurements and cutting the fabric to size. Threading my sewing machine, I set to work first on the waistcoat for John Shelby, the younger of the three main Peaky Blinders.

By late afternoon my brother had called into the shop asking me to go to the Garrison with him. My parents didn’t even bat an eyelid at his request but simply wished us a good time.

Normally my parents would be wary of me going to a place like the Garrison even with my brother because they thought I couldn’t handle myself, until now. Leaving with Thomas yesterday had shown my parents that I wasn’t the naïve little girl anymore. I was a grown woman.  

Packing up my workstation, I grabbed my coat walking with my brother through the streets of Small Heath towards Garrison Lane. Children were out playing, screaming at their friends as they ran around so carefree, no fear of the dangers the street. They were simply used to it.  Upon entering the pub, I could immediately feel a different energy, it didn’t feel as tense as it had the previous afternoon. It felt almost relaxed.

Guiding me over to a booth where a brunette girl sat with a male, she smiled brightly at my brother as we approached. James introduced the girl as Martha, the lady he had been seeing and the male as his friend Samuel who he worked with at the factory. Sliding into the booth next to Martha, I felt an instant click with her as we spoke about our passions and hobbies in life which included shopping, mainly window, books and the cinema.

“Oi, oi Harry where is blondie? No songs for us tonight?” A fellow patron shouted at the solo working barman who was pouring a pint for an awaiting customer. His shout interrupting everyone’s conversation, rendering them silent as everyone awaited Harry’s answer.

“Er day off mate” The barman responded, finishing off pouring the pint, handing to a red-haired man who placed some money on the bar countertop. “No songs tonight” He confirmed, the bar filling with groans of the grown men, their free entertainment for the evening cancelled.

“I heard she was at the races with Thomas Shelby” Samuel commented on the conversation that was shouted across the bar, but he kept his voice quiet so only the ones in the booth could hear.

“I would say she is she had her eyes on Tommy since she started working here and he her” Another friend of James’ spoke his name was Colin. He had joined us about twenty minutes after we sat down. He too had finished work for the day.

The three men were talking about the races until the question of the barmaid was shouted across the room, their conversation quickly changing to the Shelby’s. “I would come in after work sometimes, the sexual tension between the two was unbearable, couldn’t enjoy me pint”

Feeling uncomfortable with the conversation but also listening quite intently I had sunk back into the leather of the seats. The boys talked about how good looking the barmaid actually was and how much of a lucky man Tommy Shelby was getting to fuck her. The vulgarity of their words had me feeling sick to my stomach.

“I’m just glad he is fucking the barmaid and not me sister. He was seriously eye fucking her when he came to the shop last night.” James spoke up bringing me in the conversation and to the attention of his work friends, albeit not in a way that I felt was respectful. “In front of me mother and father to, no shame.”

“One thing is for sure; Tommy Shelby has a good eye for women.” Colin smirked with a wink, nudging me with his arm. “Where have you been hiding this sister of yours Jamie boy?”

“Don’t even think about it” James advised, pointing a warning finger at his friend. “She can do better than a fucker like you”

“Everyone can do better than him” Samuel cackled along with my brother, Colin simply rolled his eyes at his friends telling them both to ‘fuck off’ as he got off his seat going over to the bar and ordering another drink.

“Are you okay?” Martha asked quietly when the conversation started returning to that of horses and racing once my brother made it clear I was off limits to the likes of his friends. Something, he would never have to worry about, his work friends simply disgusted me.

“Fine” I told her tight lipped, no longer feeling like being in this bar.

 I felt like such a fool. Of course, Thomas Shelby wouldn’t be interested in a woman like me. He was probably only interested in my virginity, something he could hold over me like a trophy. Stake his claim, ruin me for every other man and add further shame to my family for being stupid enough to get mixed up with the Shelby family.

“Something happened between you and Tommy, didn’t it?”  Martha inquired, leaning closer to me, so no one could here. Snapping my head over to her, my eyes wide as she looked back at me, sympathy on her face.

“How did you…”

“I recognise this…” She gestured to how I was currently feeling with a wave of her hand “I went through something similar before I met your brother. I was used by my first love, he took my virginity and left for another woman. He broke my heart. I still have to see him almost every day, but you get through it once you remember your worth.”

“I’m not in love with Thomas Shelby” I defended; it was too soon.

“But you liked him” She stated as I looked down at my fingers, trying my best to fight off the tears. The last thing I wanted was my brother to see me upset, he would push and push until I told him the truth, something we both didn’t need right now. “It hurts just as bad. My advice, move on. He most definitely isn’t worth your time or your tears” She smiled sweetly at me.

For a girl I had only meant, I felt comforted by her words. Nodding my head, I thanked her for the advice knowing exactly what I had to do. Excusing myself from the table, telling my brother I would see him at home. I made my way out of the Garrison, holding my head high until I reached the black door of Watery Lane, I was looking for.

Walking into the betting shop, the tears threatening to fall from my eyes as I found the one person I was searching for. Polly Gray was in the middle of the shop inside the cage counting the money she had laying on the desk.

I had rudely ignored the employee who was walking after me telling me the shop was closed as I made my way towards the cage, Polly looked up using her hand to dismiss the employee just as he placed a hand on my arm, no doubt ready to throw me out.

“Anastasia what do I owe the pleasure?” Polly smiled opening the locked cell door, allowing me to enter as she walked around the desk towards her chair. “Tommy isn’t here if you hoping to make any more lucky bets” She winked in my direction, her hands folded against her chest.

“I’m not here to make any bets. I’m here to return this.” I explain reaching into my purse and pulling out the large sum of notes.

“Where did you get money like that?” She snapped, throwing herself forward her eyes focused on the cash in my hand. “You haven't been stealing from your parents, have you?”

“Of course not. Thomas gave it to me on the night of the bonfire. I don’t want it, so please take it” I tell her with a shake of my head. I would never steal from my family, or from anyone. It was immoral.

“The bonfire was four nights ago, why are you returning it now? What has happened?” She asked exhaling loudly, her eyes holding my own, sympathy on her face as she waited patiently for my response.

“Nothing has happened. I just no longer want the money. I don’t need it. It has become an unwelcome burden.”

“By the look of your shoes you do need the money Anastasia but that’s not what this is about. So, what has Tommy done?” She smiled surprisingly softly at me. The dig at my shoes was merely to prove her point, there was no malice in her words.

“Polly please. Just take the money, spend it, bet it or give it back to Thomas I don’t care. I just don’t want it on my person anymore.” I pleaded a single tear falling from my eyes, I reached up quickly batting it away before she could see but she wasn’t stupid. She knew. Sighing loudly Polly stood from her seat reaching over and taking the money from my hand.

“You're not going to tell me what happened?” She asked, eyebrow raised. Shaking my head at the Shelby family matriarch she nodded her head, swallowing thickly deciding not to push the situation any further. “Okay, I won’t force it, but you listen to me now Anastasia. You are not an option when it comes to men. If they can’t see what you have to offer and try to find whatever it is elsewhere, they’ve done you a favour”

“What does that mean even Polly?” I asked feeling exhausted, the emotions I was feeling from the minute I got up were eating away at me, only to intensify when I realised how stupid I was, gushing on about how perfect Thomas Shelby was.

“You are a catch love. You should be the first and only choice in a man’s eyes. Remember that” She spoke with such confidence, such elegance I felt compelled to believe her. Thanking her with a nod, I turned on my heel, walking out of the betting shop and into the street of Watery Lane, her words running through my head.

“Where have you been? Did I just see you leave the Shelby betting shop?” My father voice spoke suddenly, breaking me from my thoughts as a strong hand wrapping tightly around my wrist. “Please tell me you aren’t caught up in their business Anastasia?”

“I’m not father, I swear.” I whimper as I tried to remove myself from his vice like grip. Sensing my discomfort my father immediately let go of my wrist, panic falling on his face as he inspected the damage he caused under the dimly lit streetlight.

“I’m so sorry Anastasia, I didn’t mean to hold so hard. Are you alright?”  He asked, his hand rubbing the redness on my wrist hoping it would disappear. “What were you doing in the betting shop at this time of the night?”

“I was returning money to Mrs Gray; she left it with me for safe keeping when we went out yesterday lunchtime” I lied not wanting him to know the real reason I was there. If I told him the truth, he would probably have a heart attack right in front of me.

“I see. Try not and do that again Anastasia we just had that Inspector Campbell round for a visit asking if we knew anything about those missing guns.” My father sighed, running his hand along his forehead something he had been doing quite often now he was constantly stressed.

“Why would he come to us?” I asked confused. Everyone knew we mostly kept to ourselves and as far away as we could from the Shelby family. Despite the few encounters we did have with them, especially over the last few days.

“He said you have been seen getting close to Mr Shelby, Thomas Shelby. I told him it simply wasn’t true. It’s not true right?”

“No of course not father” I bite back my tears at the mention of his name. It may not have been the exact truth but after tonight it certainly would be. Thomas Shelby was not stringing me along with another woman, I wasn’t an option like Polly said. I deserved a man to love me through and through, not look elsewhere for something he believed me to be lacking.  

“Good, that’s good. I’m off to find your brother although I am sure he is staying well clear of the Shelby’s. Are you going home love?”

“Not just yet, I need to walk, clear my head.” I tell him wrapping the coat tighter around my body hoping to trap in some heat inside.  

“Alright, be careful” He nodded, stepping forward to place his arms around me for another hug. It was strange my father being this affectionate towards me, two hugs in one day. I didn’t want to complain, this was the attention I had been craving from my parents for years only to come up empty handed. What had suddenly changed?  

Deciding I had enough on my mind, I bid my father a goodnight allowing my feet to carry me through the puddles, soaking my feet as I walked. The events of today ran through my mind like a comic strip you’d find at the back of the paper. From waking up, thinking Thomas Shelby was the one for me to learning quite quickly that he was just as manipulative as my brother had warned.

As I was walking the sound of a car drew my attention, looking over towards the Garrison, I recognised the peaked cap and the blond hair of the barmaid. It was Thomas and Grace, returning from their date at the races.

Not wanting to be seen, I slipped into an alleyway hiding in the shadows not wanting to witness whatever might happen in the car. Collecting myself I noticed I was in the alley I had my first kiss. Wanting to scream out in anger, in pain but withholding because I didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention, I kicked the wall. I needed an outlet, a release so I kicked my foot out, kicking the wall in front of me. The pain I felt was unreal. My eyes widened to the size of saucers as the pain throbbed unforgivingly.  Could I have been anymore stupid?

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby

[stephstars08]

Return to Death Valley

Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: Some adult language, mention of past abusive relationship, mature themes, mention of nudity, and implied smut. (I think that is all, I’m sorry if I missed anything!)

Description: When Joe Burrow arrived at LSU he met the girl of his dreams but after he graduated they went their separate ways. However, when Joe returned on campus for the annual football spring game he does come face to face with that girl again. Will they reconnect? Find out in Return to Death Valley!

Author’s Note: First of all I just want to apologize for the big delay. I was originally going to post this Saturday but after I came back from coaching I didn’t really want to do anything since my foot was killing me for some reason. Then I was going to post on Sunday but Saturday night something came up last minuet! So, again I am so sorry for the delay! This will probably be my last writing for awhile. I know I promised I would post a special birthday one shot on my birthday which is next Monday but that won’t be happening since I’m not going to be able to write and type the one shot by next week. Also on my birthday I will be attending the Orioles game which I am very excited about! Anyways I don’t know how many people read this but thank you so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy the one shot!

Word Count: 2,583

It was springtime which meant LSU is having their yearly spring game. Joe and Ja’Marr decided to buy plane tickets to Baton Rouge and watch how the 2022 LSU tigers are going to look. Many other former LSU national champions decided to tag along with the Bengal teammates. Joe and Ja’Marr asked Thaddeus if he wants to tag along and he of course agreed so the three of them took a plane from Cincinnati while Clyde, Justin, and Derek are meeting them there. Even though Joe doesn’t play on the same team as Clyde, Justin, and Derek, he still stays in good contact with them since they weren’t just his college teammates, they were also his best friends! The men are happy and excited to reunite at a place that is filled with so many incredible memories. However, Joe is a bit anxious that he might run into a familiar face that he hasn’t seen since he won the national championship. He doesn’t know why he feels nervous seeing her. Y/N Y/L/N, the girl who had Joe on his knees. Joe met Y/N his senior year. He met her through Justin since Justin and Y/N grew up together in Louisiana and go way back. Joe remembers the day he met Y/N like it was yesterday. Y/N was at all the games since she was interning for ESPN for her major in broadcasting, so she was cover LSU since that’s the college she attends. Joe immediately fell for the girl. Anytime Joe was free, or Y/N was free they were together. They spent many nights together whether they went out or stayed in. However, they never went exclusive. No matter how much they liked each other, they knew when the football season was over, they would be going their separate ways. They tried so hard to not get attached to one another but when Joe left to go back to Ohio, it was heart wrenching for the both of them. Joe would love to see Y/N but then again, he knows the goodbye is just going to be a repeat.

Joe just arrived at Tiger Stadium with the guys and so many flashbacks came flooding into his brain. Joe was in the locker with the guys. They were all talking besides Joe because every time someone walked by the doors he would look there. Every time Joe saw someone walk past the doors his heart rate would speed up. He doesn’t know why he’s getting all jumpy about seeing her. Y/N might not even be in town since Justin did mention to him that she’s been traveling a lot the past year because of her job. After Y/N graduated from LSU she got hired by ESPN to be a reporter for college football. “C’mon boys, let’s hit the field like old times.” Clyde said and started to walk towards the tunnel. “Joe and I will meet you guys out there.” Justin told them which confused Joe. “What’s going on?” Joe asked him in with confusion. “You’re wondering if Y/N is here, aren’t you?” Justin asked as he folded his arms over his chest with sly smirk on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Joe said looking everywhere but his friends face. “Don’t lie to me.” Justin told him with a stern look on his face. “I just really want to see her.” Joe told him with a sigh. “Don’t worry Joe, I’m sure she’ll pop up somewhere.” Justin told him with a wink and made his way to the tunnel. Joe’s lips turned into a smirk. By just hearing Justin say that his chance seeing Y/N just doubled.

  The 2022 LSU spring game has just been kicked off. Joe has been hanging out on the sideline watching. As he’s been watching he’s been chatting with some old faces and new faces. He’s been talking with the coaches that were there when he was but he also talking with the new coaches that have just been hired. A lot has changed in just a couple of years which is a bit crazy to him. Of course, Joe as been talking with the new head coach that was hired at the end of the last season. Joe and all other guys were saddening and a bit angry about the firing of Coach O, but they couldn’t take it out on the new coach. Also, the new coach is a great guy and seems to be getting along with the players very nicely. However, Joe couldn’t lie. It felt strange being on the Death Valley field without Coach O. Joe has also talking with the quarterbacks since they are very huge fans of him and look up to him. Joe is pretty much royalty in Bouton Rouge which isn’t a surprise. Joe gave the quarterbacks a lot of advice which they appreciated very much. After Joe finished talking with the quarterbacks he started talking with Clyde. “Hey boys.” Both boys heard a familiar voice call out to them. When Joe turned around his eyes lit up because there she was. There is the girl he’s been wanting to see since he stepped off that plane. “Long time no see.” Y/N said with a big smile on her face. “Hey Y/N.” Clyde said with a smile as he gave her a hug which she of course returned. “Hey.” Joe said in a shy tone which made him curse at himself. “What? You too shy to give me a hug?” Y/N asked in a teasing tone. “Oh, ha-ha, come here.” Joe said bringing her into a hug. Y/N giggled as she returned the hug. She missed teasing him. “Wow, you both look amazing. I almost didn’t recognize you two.” Y/N said after letting go of Joe. “Y/N, come on we have to get back to work!” Her camera man called out to her which made her groan. “Alright I’ll be right there!” Y/N called back out to him with annoyance in her tone. “I got to get back, but I hope to see you boys around.” Y/N told them with a small smile. Before Y/N walked away she tapped Joe on the ass which shocked him. Joe watched her walk away with wide eyes. “Did she just tap me on my ass?” Joe asked turning back to Clyde who had an amusing smile on his face. “Damn, it really does feel like old times.” Clyde told him.

 After the game was over Joe and Ja’Marr stayed at the stadium to talk to some more people. The sun has now set over Death Valley. Joe was just about to leave with Ja’Marr to go back to the hotel, but Joe had to use the restroom, so he told Ja’Marr he’ll meet him outside. After Joe was done, he started to make his way outside but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a sweet voice call his name. “Y/N, I thought you would’ve been gone by now.” Joe said turning around to face her. “Same with you.” Y/N said as she walked closer to him. “I had to do interviews with the coach and a couple of players.” Y/N told him. “Oh yeah, that makes sense.” Joe said with a nod still sounding nervous which really was getting on his nerves. “Since you’re still here, do you want to go sit on the field together? Just like old times.” Y/N asked in a curious tone. “Yeah, that sounds fun.” Joe told her with a smile which made her smile. “Let me go tell Ja’Marr to head back to the hotel. I’ll be right back.” Joe told her with a wink and walked away. Y/N’s cheeks turned a bright red as she watched him.

 Y/N and Joe were sitting in the middle of the field together. “What’s been going on Mr. Burrow? I mean off the field of course.” Y/N said to him. “To be honest, not much.” Joe told her. “Seriously, nothing?” Y/N said sounding a bit surprised. “Besides my knee injury, yeah nothing.” Joe told her with a sigh. “Damn Joey, you got boring.” Y/N told him with a teasing smile which made him playfully roll his eyes. “Alright, enough about my boring life. What about you?” Joe said which made her giggle. “All I’m going to tell you is that I’m a lot happier this year then this time last year.” Y/N told him as she looked away from him which quickly concerned him. “What do you mean?” Joe asked her. “Justin told me you have been doing great with broadcasting.” Joe added. “It had nothing to do with my job.” Y/N told him as she fiddled with her fingers. “It’s okay Y/N. You can tell me.” Joe told her as he put one of his hands onto her knee and rubbed it gently. “I was in a relationship with this guy, and he abused me towards the end of the relationship.” Y/N told him as she stared down at her hands and tried to keep her eyes from tearing up. Joe’s heart broke when those words came out of her mouth. How could someone lay their hands on her like that. It’s makes Joe’s blood boil at just the thought of it. “What a sick mother fucker.” Joe said in a hiss. “Don’t worry Joey, that sick mother fucker is rotting in prison.” Y/N reassured him as she put her hand on top of his that was still resting on her knee. When she looked back up at him their eyes locked. “Good, that’s where people like him belong.” Joe told her. “What about you? What’s been your relationship status?” Y/N asked him to change the subject off her. “I’ve just had a couple of flings, but they never lasted longer than a month.” Joe told her which shocked her. “Seriously? How come? I mean look at you! What do those bitches not see in you?” Y/N asked many questions which made Joe let out a laugh. “I’m the one that broke up with them.” Joe told her. “Oh, do you mind telling me why?” Y/N asked as she scooted closer to him. “I guess it's because those girls weren’t you.” Joe answered as he stared deep into her beautiful eyes. Y/N leaned in and placed her lips onto his soft lips. Joe immediately kissed her back. As they kissed it was like all the memories of them together swarmed their minds. They both felt the kiss getting heated, so Y/N pulled away and got up onto her feet. “C’mon.” Y/N said putting her hand out for him to take. “Where are we going?” Joe asked taking her hand as he stood up. “My place. We got more catching up to do.” Y/N told him with a smirk. Joe knew exactly what she was referring to which turned him on. “Oh, so you don’t want me to fuck you on the football field?” Joe said with a smirk as he pulled her body up against his. “I wouldn’t let you fuck me on the field in college so what makes you think I would let you do it now?” Y/N said with a stern look on her face. “Alright, lead the way sexy thing.” Joe said defeated and gave her a kiss on the lips. Y/N let out a giggle and started to walk out of the stadium with Joe.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

It was the next morning and Joe woke up to the feeling of kisses on his neck. When he opened his eyes, they met Y/N’s eyes. “Well good morning to you.” Joe said as he pulled Y/N on top of him. Y/N giggled and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “I can’t believe I forgot how much I love waking up next to you.” Y/N said as she rested her forehead against his. “Same here beautiful.” Joe told her giving her a kiss on the lips and then rubbed his hands up and down her bare back. “Were we stupid for doing this?” Y/N asked him. “Stupid for having amazing sex?” Joe asked with a smirk on his face. Y/N hit Joe on the shoulder. “Ouch! What was that for?” Joe asked with a whine. “I’m being serious Joe! I mean we both know that when you get on that plane to go back to Ohio, we basically will be strangers again.” Y/N told him with frustration in her tone. “Well, I think this time will be different.” Joe told her. “What do you mean?” Y/N asked him with confusion in her tone. “When we graduated, we had no idea what our future was going to look like but now we do. I’m a professional football player and you’re a reporter that covers football.” Joe told her as he continued to rub his hands up and down her back softly. “But we live in different states.” Y/N reminded him. “But we also travel a lot.” Joe told her. “Yeah, that’s true.” Y/N agreed as she rubbed his bare chest with one of her hands. “When we aren’t in the same city we can chat by text, phone call, and facetime. Whatever you want.” Joe told her and rested his forehead against hers. “I’d love that.” Y/N told him with a big smile on her face. “Me too.” Joe told her and gave her a long kiss on the lips. “What time do you have to be at the airport?” Y/N asked once they pulled away from the steamy kiss. “Two, which means…” Joe trailed off. He picked her up and flipped her over so that he was the one on top which made her let out a squeak. Joe stared down at her with lust as he made sure he didn’t crush her with his big body. “We got time for two more rounds.” Joe told her with that smirk that always turns her on. “Then give it to me Burrow.” Y/N said bringing him down so their lips could connect.

 Y/N decided to go to the airport with the boys and say goodbye to them. After said goodbye to Ja’Marr and Thaddeus, Joe told them to board the plane since he needed a couple of minuets alone with Y/N. “I’m going to miss you.” Y/N told him. “I’m going to miss you too, but I promise I’ll call you right when I get back to Cincy.��� Joe told her with a comforting smile. “And I’ll be waiting.” Y/N told him with a smile as well. Joe brought her in close and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips which sent the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. When they released from the kiss, they rested their forehead against one another. “I love you.” Joe told her as he put one of his hands onto her cheek and stroked it gently. “I love you too, Joey.” Y/N told him and leaned up on her tippy toes to give him another passionate kiss. They have been waiting so long to say to those three words to each other and it felt so good to finally say it to each other out loud. “I’ll talk to you later.” Joe said letting her go even though he really didn’t want to. “Okay, be careful.” Y/N told him. “I will, beautiful.” Joe reassured with a wink. He gave her one last kiss and then walked away to board the plane. Both of them couldn’t wait to see each other again.