#I’m not antagonising just adding to the conversation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sserpente · 4 years ago

Text

Raw Desire

Synopsis: Something is wrong with him. Something none of the Avengers, including Thor, understand. When Loki turns into his Jötun form unwillingly and begins to act in a very primal and aggressive way, their solution for the problem is to lock him up in a cell below the compound until it’s all over. It’s a disease, perhaps, one which only Frost Giants can develop. Only Loki is not sick. Loki is in heat--and his Jötun body will not rest until his most carnal desires have been satisfied...

Words: 9176 Warnings: Jötun!Loki, smut, fluff, symptoms of addiction

A/N: You wanted some Jötun!Loki, I wanted some Jötun!Loki... so here we go. Enjoy, everyone! 😏

Additional NSFW Warnings: breeding kink (a little bit, anyway), Loki is in heat (kind of, duh), lack of aftercare (at first...)

His antagonising scream tore through the entire compound. You flinched, alarmed. Loki. The heart-breaking sound of pain tugging at your nerves was followed by a loud thump—like a heavy metal door falling shut, locked for good. It had come from the cellar, where the Avengers stored weaponry and ammunition; along with provisory but secure prison cells of Wakandan technology for criminals until they could be handed over to the authorities.

When you reached the source of the rousing noise, you almost knocked straight into Thor. His muscly back resembled a thick fleshy wall that would break your bones if you collided with him with too much force and speed.

“What happened?” Out of breath, you moved around him—facing the culprit of the commotion. The eerie flickering camera right outside the cell door showed Loki knocking his fists repeatedly against the metal door. His knuckles were already bloody from the repeated impact, yet the door would not budge. Much more concerning, however, was his appearance. Loki’s skin—every inch revealed to the naked eye anyway—was blue, his otherwise enchanting blue eyes sparkling with mischief of a deep blood-red. Countless, unique and fleshy lines formed a complex pattern on his arms and the back of his hands, even his face and neck. Your lips parted, both in shock and surprise at what your eyesight had revealed to you.

“He’s losing his fucking mind.” Tony responded for Thor before the Thunderer could even open his mouth in defence. He came tramping into the room as mad as you had never experienced him, tapping away on a tablet in the process. “I told you it was bad idea to bring him back here, Point Break! What were you thinking?”

“Can anybody tell me what is going on?! Why is he… like this? Is he in pain?”

“In pain?! He almost killed Nat. If Wanda hadn’t interfered…” Tony did not finish the sentence—regardless, the threat of what consequences there would have been for the God of Mischief was clearly audible.

“This was unlike him. He had no reason to…”

“No? He pounced on her like a… like a…”

“Beast?” Bruce added matter-of-factly. His hands were in his pocket when he approached the scene and patted Thor on the back in an attempt of providing comfort.

“Maybe… maybe this isn’t his fault, Stark. I know my brother, he’s never acted like this before!” The God of Thunder roared in defence, his arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Tony retorted sarcastically. “You know your brother so well he even tried to kill us all. Three times. No. This man is evil. Look at him!”

Petrified, you risked another peek. Loki was downright animalistic, his fists still working the metal cell door. He was getting weaker, worn out—like the fire in his red eyes was slowly being extinguished to make way for weariness. There was something primal in his behaviour; something raw. You would be ignorant to deny it scared you.

“Tony,” you began, forcing your voice to cease the shaking, “What happened? Why did he attack Natasha? Was he hurt?” Your sudden concern for him was going to give you away. No, not sudden. It had always been there, hidden just beneath the surface of your heart. You had only kept it a secret because… because what?

Loki did not know you had been harbouring romantic feelings for him for a significant amount of time now. Dark, tall and mysterious, he matched not only your type but had hopelessly captured you with his melancholic and lonely nature, the grief in his stunning blue eyes. You refused to believe that Loki was evil, that he had ever truly wanted to harm his brother; and you were desperate to be his friend… and even more than that. But the God of Mischief had hidden his heart behind such a hard shell that you were worried you might never get him to open up to you.

You would by no means describe yourself as an altruistic person—but there was a both enamoured and depraved part of you which desired, longed, for him to like you back.

“Talk to me.” You stated, tilting your head when he flung his dagger at one of the battered punching bags in the training room.

“What?” He sounded almost scornful when he spun around to gift you an incredulous look.

“Talk to me, Loki. I want to know what’s going on in your mind. I thought I was… you are always so distant. You disappear in here every other night, you snap at everyone trying to speak to you. You look nervous, like something is trying to break out of you.” Like you are trying to get rid of monstrous amounts of bottled up energy, you added silently. “You seem so restless. What’s wrong?”

“What concern is that of yours?” He spat.

“See! That is exactly what I meant.”

Loki growled. “What do you want from me, (Y/N)?” You flinched when he used your full name as opposed to the nickname everyone called you by.

“Why? Why are you screaming at me, I’m just trying to help! Don’t you get it, Loki? I care about you. And I care about what you think, even if I am probably the only one in this bloody compound who does.” Now that was unfair. But it was also the truth. “Why are you pushing me away? Let me in…”

Desperately, you moved forward in an attempt to reach up and cup his face, only for him to grab your wrists and pull them away harshly.

“Let you in? All I have ever received in return for ‘letting someone in’ was hurt and hatred. Give me one good reason for why I should open up to you,” he mocked, releasing your hands as if they would burn his fingers if they lingered on your skin for too long. “Tell you about my sorrows.” Sorrows. He had sorrows.

“I am not them.” You simply said. “Not any of them. I am not Odin, not Thor, none of the Avengers.”

Blinking, you snapped out of your memory. You had had this tragic conversation only two nights ago. No matter what you had said, he would not tell you what was on his mind. Now you knew.

“Something is wrong with him.” You interrupted the discussion, one you had not paid any attention to, by silencing them with a loud and determined voice.

“You don’t say?”

“No, Tony, you don’t understand… Loki is… he is Jötun. Thor, has he ever voluntarily turned into his Jötun form?”

The God of Thunder thought about it for a moment—then, he shook his head. “No.” You gave him a meaningful look. “So… you think it has something to do with his species?”

You nodded slowly and swallowed.

“Then we keep him in here until he is better.” He concluded. Your eyes widened.

“What? Thor, no… you can’t keep him locked up in there! What if he doesn’t get better on his own? Are you going to incarcerate him forever?”

“That would be an improvement.” Tony tossed in bitterly.

“We have to help him.”

“We? (Y/N)…” Bruce remarked almost tauntingly.

“You’ll find us upstairs. We need to let the others know about… whatever this is.” Tony added. You gnashed your teeth when he and Bruce turned to leave. For an awkward moment, it was eerily still—right until another one of Loki’s screams tore through the uncomfortable silence. You flinched once more. He was howling in pain.

“You think it might be a disease only Frost Giants can get?” Thor asked with concern in his deep voice at last.

You shrugged apologetically. “Maybe…”

“Loki and I were going to return to Asgard next week. I shall ask around, one of the healers should be familiar with Jötun diseases.”

“Go as soon as you can. Your brother is in pain, Thor, can’t you hear that?”

The God of Thunder nodded absentmindedly. But if no one was going to do something about Loki’s suffering—whatever it was—immediately, you would do it alone. So you did what Loki would do first. You dug up his books.

Loki’s room was neat, tidy. The green bed had been made—there was not a single wrinkle in the fabric and the desk was all clean, not giving thin layers of dust only visible in the direct sunlight a chance. The books he had brought from Asgard, old, thick, yellowed and heavy, he had stored on a bookshelf higher than you could reach.

Sucking in a determined breath, you moved the desk chair in front of it. The polished wooden floor to your feet complained with an ear-piercing shriek as you did. Determined, you climbed up to study the titles. All of them were written in Nordic Runes, making you realise that your research would end up being a lot harder than you had initially assumed. You could not speak a word of Old Norse, let alone read those Runes. Never mind that… you needed answers—and Loki needed your help.

It took you two hours to go through the titles and have them translated via a website you had had to pay for (using Tony’s credit card details—desperate times called for desperate measures) to use its allegedly reliable services.

Then, finally, after what felt like half an eternity, you found a suitable page-turner. It was titled Mythical Creatures and Species across Yggdrasil—at least, that was what the website you used told you.

Eagerly, you opened the book searching frantically for the chapter on Frost Giants and began sucking up all the information you could get. The more you read… and the more you compared Loki’s symptoms to the described behaviour of Jötuns in the book, the more aghast you became. One thing was for sure. Loki was not sick. Loki was aroused.

Terror-stricken, you bookmarked the page, grabbed your phone and jumped to your feet, abandoning the pile of books on Loki’s floor. You needed to speak to Thor right now.

He was about to enter the bathroom when you found him, once again almost knocking into his broad form.

“I… I found something.” You choked out.

“What?”

“I found something… about Loki. Thor… he is not ill, not really, he is…” Biting your lower lip, you pushed the God of Thunder into the bathroom, shut the door behind you and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “He is… aroused.”

“What?” He roared, blushing. “What do you mean he is aroused?”

“Look… I found this book, I…”

“You speak Old Norse?”

“No! I used… I used a translator. Thor, listen, please. It says here that to ensure their continued existence, male Frost Giants, every one-thousand years, experience the primal urge to copulate with females of their kind. Much like wolves or elves, this ‘heat’ usually begins with restlessness, extremely aggressive and possessive behaviour, unusual amounts of pent-up energy as well as an extreme hunger and loss of appetite at the very same time. Loki hasn’t showed up for lunch, dinner or breakfast and… he has been spending extraordinary times in the training room downstairs in the middle of the night lately. He barely sleeps, it seems.”

“Go on…”

“How old is Loki, Thor?”

“He is a little over one-thousand years… old.” He looked up in shock when he realised.

“That’s why he is in his Jötun form, Thor. He can’t control it, it’s not his fault, it’s… in his nature. God…” You had read it all, yet you were still working on processing it.

“This… it would explain why he tried to attack Nat. So… he is not in danger then?” Thor probed.

“No, not necessarily but—“

“So we can just wait until it is over.”

You frowned. “Until what is over?”

“His heat! If what you are saying is true and Loki’s behaviour derives from his heritage… if he cannot control his reactions, we have to keep him locked up and wait. We can’t have him ravish all the females in the compound.”

“But… he is in pain.”

An urgent knock on the bathroom door interrupted you.

“Hey, are you having a soap party in there? Other people need to use the bathroom too!” Closing the heavy book shut again, you rolled your eyes.

“There are at least three other bathrooms in this compound, Tony!”

“What are you two doing in here anyway?” He asked as he opened the door and leaned against the threshold when he spotted you two sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“(Y/N) found out that Loki is… uh… in heat.”

“In heat?!” Tony repeated. “Like a cat?”

“No! It… has something to do with the procreation cycle of Jötuns. It… is in his nature.”

“Fuck…”

“Hey… language.” If you hadn’t recognised his voice, you would know it was Steve who joined your heated discussion. “What’s going on here?”

“Loki is in heat, like a cat.” Steve frowned.

“No, he isn’t! Not like a cat, this is…” Thor stood again before you could finish your sentence.

“It’s for the best, (Y/N). Down there, he’ll be save from getting himself into trouble.”

“Thor, wait! Loki is suffering! Soon, he will…”

“We can’t risk it, (Y/N)! He almost raped Natasha!” Tony barked. “And if you go near him, I’ll lock you up too. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, (Y/N). I will not let him hurt you.”

“He… he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.” You chirped. No. Loki would never deliberately take a woman against her will. If he did… no! Loki had in incredible amount of self-control and composure; and you knew how much he despised his own heritage. He would fight this—for as long as he could.

“Besides…” Tony added. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he got a taste of his own medicine.”

“Stop blaming Loki for your PTSD, Tony. That was Thanos’ doing and you know that.” You growled darkly. The billionaire paused for a moment.

“He is staying where he is,” he concluded then. “Until he’s gone back to normal.”

But you did not want to wait. You couldn’t. You had read about the symptoms in detail. In the book it said that moodiness and aggression were only the beginning. If Loki did not act on what his Jötun body demanded from him and… released, then soon, excruciating pain would torment his loins. Masturbation appeared to be out of the picture. You nibbled on your lower lip. This thought of yours invaded his privacy on a truly shameful level, yet you were certain that if sexual arousal had already been plaguing him for a significant amount of time before this outbreak of his, he would have tried to lay hand on himself already and learned it did not provide the necessary relief.

Sooner or later, he would no longer be able to suppress his erection—and it would not disappear until he… sheathed himself inside a female to fill her with his seed. Under different circumstances, the idea of him claiming a woman… you, in such a possessive manner would have aroused you tremendously yourself. As of right now, however, Loki was in agony. The pain, if ignored for too long, would only get worse—it could last up to months and even then the denial of sexual release could result in permanent damage to his loins and even his potency.

But there was no cure either. No potion or spell to contain a male Jötun’s heat which Thor could have forwarded to Asgardian healers.

It was past midnight when you stopped reading and translating—too appalled by how much more Loki would have to suffer if nothing was done about his… condition. The only way to make it stop… was to act on it.

Your lips parted in realisation. You liked him, very much so—and you found Loki incredibly attractive, dreaming of his hands on your body, even. Perhaps you could help him after all. You were not Jötun but… would his body really make a difference? This most primal part of him wished to mate with a female—and although you had never seen a female Jötun, you doubted they looked much different than you did down there.

You had to wait another thirty minutes until the lights in Tony’s lab finally went out and you could sneak through the compound and downstairs to the cells—and once you had made sure that Vision was nowhere to be found, you switched off the security camera for Loki’s cell and approached the thick metal door.

It was quiet. He had stopped screaming. There was no banging against the walls either. Yet when you unlocked the door and slipped inside, his appearance, cowering on the floor and leaning against the cool wall with bare feet, startled you to the core. Loki’s raven hair was completely dishevelled, his knuckles bruised and covered in dry blood. His Jötun appearance was downright intimidating and close up, even more fascinating. He was breathing heavily, the thin shirt he had been wearing underneath all of his armour torn in several places, revealing blue skin and in his dark leather trousers… there was a remarkable bulge.

You shivered slightly when his red eyes met yours. Slowly, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?” He growled hoarsely but weakly.

“I… I want to help you.”

The God of Mischief snorted. “You cannot help me.”

Mutely, you shook your head. “I can. Loki… I… I know what’s happening with you.”

He snorted once more. “So do I.”

“Let me help you.” Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to him. He reacted immediately. Loki jerked, greedily, as if to grab you and pull you on his lap. He could barely stop himself. Yet you were convinced that he would not hurt you in this state… much. A wave of courage rolled over you—you were doing this for him; and you wouldn’t be doing it if you did not like him in this way. Regardless of what he thought of you after, if he could even imagine being with a mortal like that… you longed to stop his pain.

“Leave.” He said quickly when you kneeled down next to him, timidly resting your palms on his thighs. “No… I said… leave… while you still can.” You did not. In fact, you ignored his rather sincere warning. Slowly, to not tickle the sleeping dragon, you reached for the buttons of his leather trousers and began undoing them until he grabbed a hold of your wrists to stop you. He was ice cold.

“Have you… lost your mind?” Loki was cut off by a loud hiss escaping his lips when your fingertips brushed against his erection. He was large—much larger than he would be in his Aesir form, you presumed, and his cock too was blue and covered in dozens of ridges.

“It won’t go away on its own,” you whispered. “You know it won’t. It’s okay.”

Braver this time, you stroked him again, creating more skin on skin contact. Loki was still holding on to you tightly but made no move to stop you. The touch of a female… it must have been bringing some sort of relief already. Coming here had been the right decision.

“Loki…” You murmured. Finally, your hand closed around his incredibly hard cock entirely and you began to jerk him off—gently at first, only to pick up speed when his breathing grew even heavier than it already was. Defeated, he dropped his head against the wall, revealing his blue neck to you. “Please let me help you.” You repeated. “It’s okay. I trust you.” Upon those words, Loki’s eyes widened barely noticeably. Perhaps it was all he had needed to hear to lose his self-control and composure entirely.

Growling like a wild animal, he suddenly started at you, pushing you back firmly so you lost your balance like a beetle on its back, wrapped his ice cold hands around your ankles and pulled you into him. Your back collided with the floor, knocking all air out of your lungs. You gasped for air all the while Loki busied himself with your clothes. Any layer of fabric was too much. He wanted you naked for him. His sheer strength petrified you when he tore at your pyjamas and ripped them to pieces until they were scattered all over the cell. You trembled—but it wasn’t the icy temperature of his blue skin that made your limbs shake so much. It was, so you realised when your widened eyes fell on his massive erection, now fully springing free from his tight trousers, your own arousal growing into dizzying heights. This, whatever it was, excited you—maybe even way more than it should.

Once more, the God of Mischief grabbed your ankles, forcing your legs open. Your heart skipped a beat when he laid his blood-red eyes upon your bare pussy. Your lower lips must have been glistening with your juices in the artificial light of the cell. Loki growled, his long and cold fingers gripping your ankles so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming. Eagerly, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his hard and ice cold cock teasing your clit. A moan escaped your lips, urging him on. The fire in his eyes had returned, like your body had set his ablaze.

He spread you even further for him, your nails digging into the metal floor beneath you—and then he claimed you for his own. Inch by antagonising inch, he split you apart, sheathing himself so deep inside of you all air was knocked from your lungs yet again. He was ice cold and he was much larger than the average man; and you were beginning to understand that yes, female Jötuns were anatomically different than humans. Human women were not made for taking such long cocks… so why did every single powerful thrust of his feel so good?

Loki pulled out almost completely, with only the tip remaining inside of you, only to plunge back inside only the fraction of a second later, fucking you furiously. Your tight and wet walls appeared to mould around his manhood, gripping him tightly, asking for more despite the almost unbearable coldness against your most intimate parts. No longer were you in control of your arms. They reached up, palms gliding over his bare chest and enjoying the coldness under your fingertips. Fascinated and aroused at the very same time, you traced every single ridge on Loki’s body while he was fucking you senseless, until your eyes rolled to the back of your head, unable to take the pleasure. His long manhood his spots inside of you which you had never known even existed. He leaned down, at last letting go of your ankles, instead taking a hold of your wrists to pin them both down right above your head and pressing his body so tightly against yours that your clit kept rubbing against his pelvis with every single stroke. You moaned, stricken by ecstasy, and arched your back as you kept moving your hips up to meet his thrusts.

Aroused, you looked down, watching how his blue cock kept sliding in and out of you, spreading your lips as they enveloped him welcomingly.

Loki groaned, his attention steering towards your breasts as they bounced with each of his rough thrusts. Hungrily, he lowered his face, his cold breath ghosting over your mounts, and sucked your right nipple into his mouth—hard. He nibbled, suckled pulled and bit until the already hardened nub was throbbing with pleasure and need and he repeated the same blissful procedure with your left nipple all the while he kept rutting into you uncontrollably.

“Loki…” You wondered if, in his current state, he would be able to speak. As of right now, he indeed reminded you of a wolf who would annihilate anything standing between him and his subject of desire, his prey—you.

Your toes curled, the promising and numbing sensation growing in your lower abdomen having you scream his name over and over again. You could already feel yourself clenching around him, your body urging him on to mark you with his seed and impregnate you and when he finally released himself into you, burying his cock as deep inside of you as was physically possible and coating your walls with his load, he triggered your own release.

You came with a loud moan, feeling him twitch against you as your pussy contracted around him again and again until you collapsed underneath him, spent and tired from his vigorous fucking. Loki, on the other hand, didn’t even think about letting you be. Unceremoniously, he pulled you on his lap so you came to snuggle up against his cold and naked chest, your face hidden in his neck. He supported himself by leaning against the metal wall, his cock still resting deep inside of you.

“How… are you… feeling?” You breathed out, barely able to keep your eyes open. Being taken thoroughly by a Frost Giant had been a lot more exhausting than you had initially assumed.

He was panting, his eyes almost shut. His erection inside you, however, was still very prominent and nowhere near ebbing down.

“Better… soon.” He growled into your ear. Soon? A high-pitched scream escaped your lips when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit down hard enough to make you squirm on his lap. You could still feel his ice cold sperm dribbling out of you and coating his own cock when he grabbed your arse and began moving you up and down his cold rut, forcing you to ride him.

“Oh… fuck…” You choked out. You were tender already, sensitive to the touch. This was too much, too soon. Yet Loki was too caught up in his pleasure and urges to give you a break. He took you several more times that night, eliciting orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from you—until you were on the verge of passing out.

You awoke with a hunger unlike one you had never experienced before. Irritated, you crawled out of bed—using the toilet but skipping your morning routine to get to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. It was only seven. Loki had not… released you until half past six. There was no way your body could have drawn enough rest from this meagre hour of sleep.

Be that as it may—for now, you were hungry. Quietly, you tiptoed into the kitchen, ignoring the sweet ache and tenderness between your legs and resisting the urge to cup yourself through your pyjama bottoms. The white and bright light of the fridge blinded you when you opened it and reached for a package of juice and one of those pre-packed turkey sandwiches Tony kept buying. Unceremoniously, you then closed the fridge with your butt and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. And you kept returning to the fridge until Steve joined you in the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and then go for a run. When had you ever been this hungry before? Was it because of the aggressive sex you had had with Loki? Jesus…

You blushed when Steve asked you how you had slept—and you were rather grateful you had been smart enough to switch off the security cameras before… helping Loki out. He had still been in his Jötun form when you left at long last but he had looked content and… satisfied, in the most carnal manner possible. You would wait until the rest of the Avengers were up to check on him, to not raise any suspicion.

So when Thor staggered into the kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face, you nearly jumped from your seat.

“Good morning!” He yelled—clearly in a very good mood. He managed to scarf down an entire package of fruit loops before you couldn’t take it anymore and aggressively scratched your fork over your empty plate until the room went awkwardly quiet.

“Didn’t you forget something?” You asked him heatedly. The God of Thunder frowned.

“No! I did flush the toilet this morning, (Y/N).”

Rolling your eyes, you stood.

“Loki. Loki is still one level below you, locked up in a cell, in pain, while you are enjoying your breakfast.” You hoped though, sincerely, that he was no longer in pain.

“(Y/N)… we spoke about this, there is nothing we can do. Down there, he can’t hurt himself or anyone else. I told you I’m going to Asgard soon, I will speak to—”

It was in this moment that your plate broke in half. You had, subconsciously, used your fork to stab it so forcefully it fell apart like a rotten apple. Eyes widening, you mumbled an apology.

“Sorry… I just… no one should be suffering like this. You all heard him last night.”

Bruce gave you a gentle smile. “You’ve always had a big heart for everyone, huh?” You nodded quickly. They did not need to know about your feelings… or the arousing ache between your legs. Your heart was racing. You took a deep breath, hurrying out of the kitchen without cleaning up behind you. Instead, you immediately locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the tap to splash some cold water on your face. The icy temperature calmed you once it came in contact with your skin, reminding you of him—if only for a moment.

You were shaking. What on Earth was wrong with you? You took a quick shower to wind down, threw on an oversized sweater and then headed downstairs to the prison cells. A glance at the monitor of the security camera made you let out a relieved breath. Loki had indeed gone back to his Aesir form—and he did no longer seem to be in pain. It was, so you wondered, very unusual, however, to not complain and wreak havoc so the Avengers would let him out but then again… would they truly believe him if he told them he had overcome his heat?

With another deep breath, you opened the cell door and slipped inside.

“You were not supposed to see me like this last night. No one was.” He said quietly before you could even open your mouth, not bothering to make eye contact with you.

“Did you know? What was happening to you?”

“Yes.” He snorted, a bitter smile spreading on his thin lips. “I believed I would be able to control it.” Finally, he looked up, his blue eyes locking with yours. “Did I hurt you?” Your lips parted in surprise. Slowly, you shook your head.

“No… I mean… it was quite pleasurable… for me as well… actually.” You choked out sheepishly.

“Hmm… that I could tell,” Loki gave you a light smirk. “Thank you.” He said then—and for the first time since you had met him, you sensed true honesty and sincerity in his smooth voice.

“I’ll leave the door open.” You returned his smile; the planes in your belly flying loops.

“We are… keeping this between us, are we not?” He hastened to ask when you turned around.

“Of course.” After all, no one needed to know you had let Loki mate with you to regain control over his loins.

It was five days after your intimate encounter with Loki when your constant shaking became worse enough for him to notice—and if that wasn’t bad enough already, your body had begun to sweat; a lot. Day in and out, you had to change your sheets as if your bed was your personal sauna—or your personal hell.

You felt like you had been hit by a bus, like an extremely nasty form of the flu had you in its steel grip tightly, unwilling to let you go. Sleep, however, to get some rest and recover, would not come either. Two hours per night at most, three if you got lucky. And instead of getting better, it became worse.

He had been restless ever since. It could not be. After all, it had also never… or had it? Growling to himself, he locked the door to his room, enjoying the quietness and most of all, utter privacy.

Not a soul in the nine realms was aware he was still in the possession of the Tesseract. So when he produced it out of thin air—his large hand momentarily surrounded by a green mist—he made sure to hurry and quickly teleported himself back to Asgard. Heimdall would never open the Bifrost for him if he wasn’t accompanied by Thor.

He was worried about you and his surprise about these particular circumstances was remarkably low. When he closed his eyes, he could still taste your hard nipples on his tongue from when he had suckled on them. He remembered how warm your body felt against his when he had cradled you in his lap and the thought of your tight cunt around his throbbing cock stirred arousal in his leather trousers if only he indulged in reminiscences for too long. Most of all, however, he was unable to forget the sincere smile on your face when you had freed him from the cell the next day… and the mesmerised gaze you had met him with when he had ravished your sweet quim over and over again.

With another deep breath, he disappeared in an ice cold cloud of smoke.

Sneaking past the guards and into the palace library—the one place he had spent hours on end in growing up here, hiding away from Thor, his friends and the world, reading and hoarding knowledge—was pathetically easy. He knew exactly what to look for, what lecture would confirm his worrying suspicions. Once he found what he had been searching, he sat down on the windowsill—another usual spot he found comfort in—and began his research. He had known about the impact of a male Jötun’s seed on his female counterpart, of course; for even though he despised his own race, he, as opposed to Thor, had paid attention during their private tutoring lessons as children. The heavy book in his hands, however, made him, the God of Mischief and Trickery, hold his breath. What Loki had not known was that the repercussion of a male Jötun’s seed did not just occur in Jötun females. It applied to any species—including humans. However, the chances of survival for weaker lifeforms were alarmingly low.

Abandoning the book, he hurried out of the library and into the city. There was someone he needed to speak to.

“With all due respect, my prince but you are not welcome here.” Loki rolled his eyes. He knew it would not be fun, exactly, to seek out his ex-partners and ask about their well-being long after he had left them. The man opening him when he knocked on Sigyn’s door, a woman he had been engaged with for several years in his youth, was about as tall as Thor—his right hand decorated with a golden ring. Husband. Just great. And, judging by his obvious dismay of finding him on his doorstep, she must have told him about their shared past.

“I need to speak to your wife. Urgently. That is an order.” Sigyn’s husband growled, clenching his fists but stepped aside regardless. Loki made sure not to pay any attention to the furniture and his surroundings. Toys were scattered all across the living room, hinting that Sigyn had become both wife and mother in his absence. Her face fell when she spotted Loki standing in the middle of the small room—truly like he would even have preferred Helheim over being here of all places—as pale as a ghost.

“Loki… I mean… your highness. What… brings you here?”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Um… by all means. Sit down. Would you like some ale?”

“No.” Sigyn pointed at the rectangular kitchen table and then sat down opposite of him. Her hands were folded on the surface of the polished wood.

“It is good to see you.”

“Likewise… Now this will sound odd,” he began unceremoniously, ignoring her husband towering above him with his arms crossed. “But I have to know how you fared after we separated. Not… emotionally. Physically.” He emphasised.

“Physically? That is indeed odd. Oh, I… um… let me see, it’s been such a long time. I had quite an appetite after you left,” she laughed, clearly uncomfortable with his presence. Loki sighed.

“An appetite. What more than that?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Except… yes, of course! I fell ill a few days after. The healers never found out what my body was rebelling against. It lasted for a few months. Tiredness, insomnia, attacks of sweat and I could not stop shaking. Why do you ask? Did you… did you experience it too?”

“No,” he replied quickly, a nauseous feeling spreading in his guts. You were showing the exact same symptoms. Symptoms of addiction. “You said it lasted for a few months?”

“I am sorry, your highness but is there a point to this interrogation? My wife has to feed the baby.”

“We’re almost done.” He barked, glaring at Sigyn’s husband from the corner of his eye.

“It did,” Sigyn confirmed. “But then it never returned.”

“Thank you. That will be all.” Loki took a deep breath and stood, resisting the urge to massage the bridge of his nose to clear his thoughts. It was only when he turned on his heel to leave this way too harmonic place that he noticed Sigyn’s husband had left the door open for him. He rolled his eyes.

“Loki! I-I mean, your highness…”

“Loki is fine, Sigyn. We have seen each other naked, after all.” Beside him, he could practically hear her husband gnashing his teeth. He smirked.

“I understand you do not wish to share with me what troubles you but whatever it is, I hope everything will turn out to be alright.”

Loki gave her a smile. It was as honest as he could muster in this tense situation. Sigyn had always known when he was being plagued by dark sorrows, even before he learned about his true parentage. Much like you. You too had been able to tell he had been unwell, both physically and mentally. He swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Sigyn.”

He had to see Amora, too. They had not exactly gone separate ways peacefully but if she had experienced the same symptoms as Sigyn after their break-up, he had to get back to you immediately. And he had to tell you. The truth, a luxury given his nature, was the very least you deserved.

“Where have you been?” Thor roared as soon as he entered the kitchen to pick up one of those cold drinking chocolates you had introduced him to a while back—the ridiculous amount of sugar would help you, if only for a moment. The presence of Tony, Nat, Bucky, Steve and Thor, leaning against the counter or sitting at the kitchen table, he ignored as best as he could. He would have preferred to be alone now.

Loki quirked his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Asgard, given that you were unwilling to get help yourself.”

“How? Heimdall wouldn’t…”

“There is a lot Heimdall does not know, brother.” Thor grumbled something he did not understand but it sounded awfully like a curse word in Old Norse.

“Whatever. Have you seen (Y/N)? Her room is down the same hallways as yours, has she left her room lately?” Tony barked at him.

“As far as I am concerned, she has Vision bring her excessive amounts of food, for she is too weak to come to the kitchen herself. No. I have not seen her around.” He replied nonchalantly, with false disinterest. This time, so it seemed, however, his choice of tone, equalled shooting himself in the foot.

“We need to get her to the hospital. None of the medicines I gave her worked even a little bit—and I contacted the best doctors I know.” Loki suppressed a scoff. As if a hospital full of human ‘doctors’ would be able to help you. The only one who could… was he.

“For Fuck’s sake, she has been feeling ill ever since…” Tony’s face fell. “Ever since we locked up your brother.” Belligerently, his gaze wandered over to Loki again. “Okay, Reindeer Games, what did you do to her and don’t even try to lie to me!”

“You do assume, automatically, that I have something to do with it?” He mocked. Tony clenched his fists.

“Loki,” Thor added calmly. “Do you… know something?” The God of Mischief sighed. If he told them, what little trust they had in his capabilities as an Avenger would vaporise like smoke. It mattered not. In fact, he could not care less if any of those self-proclaimed heroes even liked him. Yet if he spoke the truth… surely they would do anything in their power to keep you away from him—which was exactly what they could not do if they wanted you to survive and feel better again as much as he did. He could just take care of the problem on his own… sooner or later, however, they were bound to find out about their intimate encounters, and he was beyond keeping secrets like that. If he wanted to make love to you, then he would, may the Norns help him.

“It is… my seed.” He choked out reluctantly.

“Your… what!? Your… yeah, no, I can’t say that out loud without throwing up… is making her sick!?”

“The seed of a male Jötun is causing… an addiction. Withdrawal will make her weak and ill.” Loki looked up grimly. “Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships.”

“What, like penguins? How did she even come in contact with… did you… did you rape her? I swear to God, I will kill you.”

“I did not lay a finger on her.” Loki replied darkly.

Tony threw his hands up in the air. “So how did your happy juice get inside of her in the first place then!? How did that happen, I wonder?”

“She came to me voluntarily, Stark!”

“But you knew? If you knew it would make her sick, why didn’t you stop her, you selfish asshole!?”

“How!? How, Stark!? Resisting the urge to mate in heat is like attempting to suppress a sneeze. It’s impossible. Don’t bother your pathetic human mind with things you do not understand.”

“Loki…” Thor began warningly. The God of Mischief ignored him with a hostile growl.

“(Y/N) would never do that.” Tony said then.

“Perhaps you do not know her as well as you thought you do.”

“You little shit, I will…” Tony jumped from his chair as if stung by an adder, prompting Loki to draw one of his daggers seemingly out of nowhere when he started at him. Both Natasha and Steve barely managed to hold him back.

“Leave it, Tony. This is Loki. He is just trying to provoke you.” Nat appeased.

Just this one time, however, they were wrong. Loki did, in fact, care about you. It was just he had not realised that until you had willingly offered your body to him when he had been in pain. Glaring at them darkly, he rose from his chair.

“I am going to fix this.” He spat. It almost sounded like a threat. “Not for you. I could watch you drop dead to my feet without so much as blinking. But for her.” Fuming, he stormed out, his right fist still clutching at his dagger in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. And as of right now, Thor knew better than to stop him.

He needed to see you. Remorse and guilt were eating him up from the inside out—and it wasn’t just the fact you had helped him in spite of everything he had done to Midgard only a few years back. It was… you were… Loki closed his eyes for a brief moment. You were his.

When he knocked on your door, there was no response. Now there was a chance you were asleep, yet he somehow knew better than to leave and try again later as to not startle you. After all… he was going to make you feel better.

He slipped inside, locking the door behind him with magic so you would not be disturbed. The sight of you almost broke his heart. You were trembling, buried under a pile of blankets, pale and weak.

“(Y/N)…” He spoke with a quiet voice, approaching you slowly. Your eyes opened when you heard his voice, your weak body barely managing to turn over to look at him. A cough escaped your lips before you could answer him.

“Hey…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” You tried for a laugh but could only manage another cough. With a straight face, he sat down on the edge of the bed so he was able to bring his palm to your forehead. You were incredibly warm, yet the sweat made your skin cold to the touch. His heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, he was worried you only had a few weeks left until your body gave up fighting the withdrawal. He would not, ever let this happen.

“I brought you some cold drinking chocolate.”

“Oh…” You chuckled weakly. “Thank you. Is that the only reason you came?”

“No,” he laughed. “I came to check on you.”

“An eye for an eye, huh?” Your eyes fell shut when you smiled.

“Hmm… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated than that.” He purred. You never noticed how his eyes fell on your crotch, even if it was covered by a bunch of blankets. Slowly but determined, he slid his left hand under the layers of fabric until he found what he was searching for. With skilled fingers, he began to massage your clit until he felt you responding to his attentive touches. You arched your back, your sex growing wetter and wetter fast—like your body knew exactly what would follow. Licking his lips, he scooped some of it up to spread all over your quim and create even more friction. You were squirming by the time he removed the blankets entirely and positioned himself between your legs, careful not to shift all of his body weight onto you.

Was he going to… did he… could he possibly… reciprocate your feelings? Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies awakening in your belly. If only you could…

“Loki… Loki, I… I really want to do this again too but… not now, I’m… I really don’t feel well.”

“Shhh…” He would ponder over your words later. You wanted to do this again too? Had it not just be compassion and pity that had driven you to offer him your most intimate parts for relief? And what if you refused him now? You had to trust him. So he shut you up by pressing his lips against yours, capturing them in a passionate kiss and then, once again slowly but determined, removed the blankets and peeled your pyjama from you until he had you naked—fine, he had helped with magic; and he was certainly too impatient to remove his own clothes, so instead contented himself with freeing his growing erection from his trousers only.

A whimper escaped your lips when you caught sight of his arousal, his tip—not blue but the colour of flesh this time—pressing against your entrance. He slid inside you to the hilt with almost no resistance, your warm pussy welcoming him in. Loki moaned when your walls gripped him tightly; it was like your body already knew his release would make it feel better. Only this time, he was in control. This time, he would take his time and make gentle love to you—right until you began to tremble underneath him for entirely different reasons.

Your eyes fell shut when Loki started moving, retreating almost completely only to plunge back deep inside of you fast and passionately. You were too weak to buck your hips, as much as you would have loved to. And despite your weariness, he felt incredible. You were unable to decide which form of his you liked better.

You kissed him again when his nose brushed against yours and his breath tickled your lips, bathing in the intimacy between you. But when he slid his hand down to where your bodies were united to pamper your clit all the while speeding up, hungry for his release, you stopped him, albeit gently.

“I… I don’t think I can, I’m too… but I… it’s okay.” You murmured. “Cum.”

It was a request he could not resist, not any longer. Thrusting forward a few more times, his release was beginning to overwhelm him. He groaned into your ear, his hot breath brushing against your cheek, and let his climax consume him. He was throbbing against your walls, his seed—surprisingly warm and not as cold as it had been the first time—filling you to the brim and until you could feel it dribbling out of you again. Loki stilled, turning you over so you both rested on the mattress on your sides, with his slowly softening cock still inside of you and one of your legs draped over his hips. One heartbeat passed, then another and another. And just like that… you felt like you had been reborn.

“How… I feel so much better.” Loki kept silent. Remorse was sparkling in his blue eyes. Avoiding your curious gaze, he looked down, with a start fascinated with the blue roses on your bed sheets.

“Loki?”

“You did fail to read all of it, did you not?” He stated quietly.

“What… what do you mean?”

“The book you took from my shelf. I looked it up when you got worse. It wasn’t until I left for Asgard that I realised why our… sexual encounter is making you ill.”

“I… wait… Does that mean you believe it has something to do with you? I mean… what we did? Is it… I’m not pregnant, am I!?”

“No. You are not.” He smirked at you weakly. “That, I would have sensed already. No… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated. Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships. They never… switch their partners once they mated during their first heat. If they do…” Loki took a deep breath. “It appears that the seed of a Frost Giant triggers some sort of… addiction for their female partner. They develop a carnal craving for their seed which forces them to keep returning for… more.”

Biologically speaking, this was a downright bulletproof way of ensuring the survival of a species—the Jötuns’ own bodies turning against them and demanding sex. The gravity of his words, however, hit you only a moment later. So this was why you had been feeling so sick lately. You were showing signs of… addiction. Your body had become addicted to Loki’s seed. You swallowed thickly.

“I-is there… is there a way to stop this?”

“I went to speak to my former partners back on Asgard—which, to be frank, does not just sound like a disaster. But I needed to know if they experienced any symptoms similar to yours when we… separated.” You ignored the painful sting in your heart when he said ‘former partners’. Of course Loki had had sex before, had perhaps even been in love. He did not strike you as the type of Norse God who was unexperienced in the art of love making. After all, he had more than just proved this to you. It mattered not, not now.

“And… did they?” You probed nervously.

Loki nodded seriously. “They were both bedridden for months, plagued by uncontrollable trembling and sweating. Their appetite increased, they ate twice as much than they usually would without ever feeling truly full… and they barely slept anymore, tossing and turning for most of the night. Amora added she became increasingly violent as well. They, of course, believed it was a virus which would pass, eventually.” Terrified, you remembered how you had broken your plate in the kitchen the night after your lovemaking. It all made sense now.

But you did not dare ask what this meant. When dreaming of having a relationship with Loki, you had not imaged a partnership out of physical and sexual necessity which would feel like a chore to him; like an obligation now that you had helped him out, after all.

“But they were Asgardian.” He suddenly said, pausing to let his words sink in. “You are human. You are mortal. I am uncertain you would survive…” If I stopped having sex with you. Is that what he had meant to say before he stopped himself abruptly?

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage, as weak as it may be.

“This is all my own fault, Loki.”

“It is not—“

“N-no, let me speak. It’s my fault. You couldn’t help it. And I came to you on my own accord. But…” You swallowed. “Even if I had known, I still would have helped you.”

The God of Mischief frowned when you reached for his hand and held it—but it was a downright vulnerable expression.

“Loki… I’m not going to expect you to keep having sex with me if you don’t… I mean…” It was then he began to smirk cheekily.

“And if I do?” Loki had truthfully speaking always been a puzzle—always keeping his deepest thoughts and feelings all to himself. Until now. So he did reciprocate your feelings.

“Y-you do?” His smirk widened.

“It… does get better after a while, once the pair is more acquainted to each other’s bodies,” he continued. “And they are then able to spend more time apart without any signs of withdrawal showing. Ultimately, however, once the male Jötun claimed her, the female is bound to him… if he decides to keep her.”

Despite your weakness, you raised an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty sexist, Lokes.” Loki looked up. His heart jumped when you gave him a nickname.

“Sexist? No. Dominant? Yes.” He growled darkly.

“You’re right. It’s probably not sexist given that male Frost Giants go into heat.” You giggled in response. Loki tickled your sides for that remark, making you wriggle around on the bed. If your hunch was not deceiving your love-drunken mind, then the God of Mischief had just begun to court you.

“Loki?” You mused, raising your voice in a shy manner.

“Hmm?”

“I think I feel fit enough now to have an orgasm.”

The God of Mischief laughed—as heartily as you had never heard him laugh before. “Do you now?”

Next thing you knew he was already on top of you again, covering your naked body with tender kisses.

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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digital-corruption · 3 years ago

Text

From Devil's Grasp: Part 3

⚠️ Warning: Mention of drug use

Just as Jake was adjusting my ear piece to make sure it was out of sight, his employer barged into the locker room.

“Time to go, princess,” Nate mocked. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Remember what I said,” Jake whispered to me.

His face was still so close to me that I could feel his breath on my cheek. It sent shivers down my spine. He must’ve noticed my heart racing as he cleared his throat and stepped away.

“Go get started,” Nate handed Jake a small bag containing a couple of pills. Jake glanced over at me awkwardly. “What’s the matter? I need you on top of your game tonight. She needs you on top of your game.”

“Is that a stimulant?” I frowned.

“Hey, there aren’t any anti-doping rules in this game. We take every advantage we can get,” Nate grinned. “Never bothered you before,” he eyed Jake.

“Don’t!” I said without thinking.

“My, my, you two are awfully considerate of each other for strangers,” Nate mused. “I wonder who exactly she was looking for when she came in here tonight. Wouldn’t it be a shock if the person she wanted to find was already in this very building?”

Jake snatched the bag out of Nate's hand, “I wouldn’t know.” He turned and left the room without looking back.

Nate turned to look at me, “Exactly who are you to have him so riled up?”

“I don’t recall my identity being part of our deal,” I put Jake’s jacket on and zipped it up.

“Well it certainly isn’t fair if you got what you wanted already,” Nate frowned.

“Why? I'm holding up my end of the bargain,” I assured him. “Just make sure you hold up yours.”

“Oh you better,” he threatened. “Coal!” A rugged thug entered the room. “Coal will be your chauffeur for tonight.”

I nodded to the man, who just stared back at me. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“He'll make sure you come back,” Nate explained.

“What do you mean come back? I only agreed to tonight,” I questioned.

“Circumstances have changed,” Nate smirked at me.

“Son of a bitch!” I could hear Jake curse through my comms. I took it that meant he heard the conversation. “Don’t try anything with Coal. He won’t hesitate to kill you if he feels you’re a flight risk.”

“Well now that’s not fair. You expect me to do more for you when you have nothing more to offer me?” I bit my tongue to try to keep my poker face.

“MC! Don’t antagonise him!” Jake pleaded over the comms.

“MC? What a strange name,” Nate grinned at me.

I panicked that he could hear sound coming out of my ear piece, but Nate tapped his ear to indicate he was listening to our channel. He stepped closer to me and reached above my head. I could feel my hairs standing on end as stared into my eyes. He ruffled up my hair and smiled.

“There, much better. Go on,” he gestured towards the door.

“What did he do!?” Jake questioned. “I don’t have eyes in there! What did he do? Did he fucking touch you?”

“Remember manners go a long way,” Nate said as I walked out of the room with Coal leading the way.

Jake was quiet as I was led to their garage, but when I listened close I could hear him breathing heavily in a panic. The night’s adrenaline kept me from thinking too much about the situation I was in, but Jake was spiralling.

“So,” I broke the silence with Coal. “Is Coal your real name or...”

“I is what people get when they on bad list,” Coal replied.

“What?” I did a double take. It was clear he had a few screws missing.

“Like Santa,” Coal added.

I burst out laughing, which was cut off by Coal's annoyed expression. I cleared my throat to regain composure. “So is that one you came up with yourself or...?”

“MC,” Jake groaned.

“I give myself name. It is cool,” he said confidently.

“You know what big guy, yes, it is cool,” I patted his shoulder. He turned his head and glared at my hand as if it had just hit his mom. I pulled my hand quickly, lest it be bitten off.

“It is better name than Red. Color name is stupid,” Coal added.

“Not a fan of Red?” I tilted my head in amusement.

He looked at me as he opened the door to a black SUV. “He is rat. Annoying, squeaky rat. When I was kid, we had no food, only rat,” he smirked at me. “Rat taste good if cooked right.”

“I'll have to take your word for it,” I replied uncomfortably as I got into the SUV.

Coal closed my door swiftly. He stared at me through the glass, unnerving me even further. He grinned at me, exposing his teeth. They seemed like sharper than normal human teeth.

“Is everyone this charming?” I asked Jake quietly as I watched Coal walk around to the other side of the vehicle.

“Is that sarcasm?” he questioned.

“Yes, he's one-part intimidating, one-part psychotic,” I remembered he said he had trouble interpreting emotion from text, but it seemed Jake struggled with verbal communication as well.

“Best not to converse with him. I have never witnessed him have a normal conversation,” Jake remarked. “He acts completely on instinct. I have given up trying to understand him. He has no logic that I can discern.”

“I'm beginning to see why my skills were so needed,” I joked as Coal climbed into the vehicle.

“We could've handled this job without you,” Jake argued.

“Of that, I'm not so sure,” I chuckled.

“Look, we had someone to handle infiltrations,” Jake admitted.

“Had?” I questioned as Coal started the engine.

Jake sighed, “Razor found communication between her and the feds. Coal made her disappear this morning. We were in Nate’s office to discuss how to proceed without her. That’s when you caught his attention.”

“Disappear, how?” I glanced nervously over at Coal who had started us on our trip.

“I don’t know. I just know everyone that disappears is never heard from again. Not even their bodies turn up,” Jake spoke grimly.

“You like music?” Coal reached for the radio and turned it on. The newest Imagine Dragons song was playing and he started to bob his head in time with the music. “Music get me in mood.”

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake

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awanderingdeal · 3 years ago

Text

Summer camp AU - Chapter 5 - Remus

Finally an update to this! I found this chapter super hard to write for some reason. I hope you enjoy it!

CW: Food, implications of past toxic family relationships

Fic Rating: T

Please message me if you feel that any content warnings need to be added or the rating is not appropriate.

The characters in this fic belong to @lumosinlove and you should definitely go and check out her fics!

For previous and future chapters please see my masterlist

Remus moved tentatively as he climbed over Sirius, doing his best not to wake the other man. He wasn’t quite sure when Sirius had arrived, a vague memory of a muttered apology sometime during the early hours of morning surfacing, but he’d been asleep and barely registered it. He huffed a laugh at how Sirius had burrowed himself under the sheets, his inky black hair the only thing visible. The bed really wasn’t big enough for the two of them, and as much as Remus loved Sirius, his boyfriend leaked heat like a furnace. Still, soon the campers would be here and the two of them would have to set an example by not sneaking into one another’s accommodation so Remus savoured the company whilst he had it.

The air had already started to hold a damp heat when Remus stepped out, despite the amber hues of sunrise barely having lifted. A sweet breeze gave some welcome relief as he picked up a steady job, his muscles slowly waking to the chirping chorus of birds he couldn’t identify even with their daily meetings. Remus almost missed the flash of red hair hidden behind a tall pine tree, except for the hushed laugh that drags his attention away from a feisty squirrel he’d paused to watch. He rolls his eyes at the couple, an act he acknowledges is highly hypocritical considering the origins of his own relationship. The two kissed again, drawing the owner of the rough laughter into view and Remus startled. He peered closer, confirming his first observation - that was Kasey Winter, but the person he was with was most definitely not Natalie Darcy, Kasey’s girlfriend. Ordinarily, Remus would pretend he hadn’t witnessed anything, writing the situation off as none of his business, only both Kasey and Natalie were good friends of his. He pushed the dilemma to the back of his mind for now and pressed on with his run.

The work day had seemed unusually long, Remus learning the cruel lesson that even the most adored job became tiresome when you wanted to be somewhere else. Placing the final package of dressings in their drawer, Remus ticked the item off his checklist with a flourish. He looked around the nurses station, giving a satisfied nod and a self congratulatory smile; the place was really starting to come together. Now that he was finished for the day, Remus rolled his shoulders, letting himself relax.

Without the distraction of inventories and paperwork, Remus’ mind wandered to thoughts of Sirius. A phone call from a panicked parent needing reassurance the camp could, in fact, accommodate her child’s allergies had lasted long enough to result in him taking a late lunch, so Remus hadn't had a chance to talk to his boyfriend all day. He knew he could find Sirius in the drama studio, his phone having buzzed earlier with a message informing him of the fact Sirius would be there for the entire afternoon, only he didn’t want to alienate him from the other counsellors by spending all their time together. Traipsing back to the cabin to change out of his uniform, Remus shook off the doubt. There was a time for balance, but it wasn’t the day after your boyfriend reunited with their sibling after years apart.

Both Sirius and Heather jumped at Remus’s knock on the heavy wooden doorframe, the pair deep in conversation. “Oh, I believe that is my cue to leave,” Heather smiled, the expression settling something in Remus he hadn’t even realised needed settling.

“Thanks for all your help today, Heather.” Sirius accepted the broom she handed to him. “Both with this,” he continued, gesturing to the room around him, “and for the advice. You should consider a career as a therapist. Trust me, I should know.”

“Here I was antagonising over my future and Mr Sirius Black solved it in one afternoon,” Heather laughed, sticking her tongue out playfully. “It was no problem, way better than sorting out the games’ equipment shed, anyway. I can’t wait to see what your tiny theatre kids do in here.”

“They’re not tiny, they’re middle schoolers.”

“Exactly, middle schoolers. Tiny,” Remus agreed, stepping into the studio. It smelt of polish and other than a pile in the centre of the floor, any evidence of the years worth of dust that had been allowed to gather was gone.

“The key is not to let them know you think that,” Heather winked.

“This isn’t my first year, you know,” Sirius grumbled, his accent thickening the way it always did when he was even mildly inconvenienced, “Get out of here,” he shooed Heather off. “And talk to June! I definitely saw heart eyes this morning.”

“Well then, you need your eyes testing,” Heather retorted, leaving with a raised eyebrow and a peppy wave.

"Bonjour, mon loup,” Sirius sang, gathering Remus in his arms. At 5”11, Remus wasn’t even short, but Sirius could still easily prop his chin on the top of his head, albeit only briefly. A short breath of air left Sirius’ mouth, almost but not quite a laugh, and Remus found his chin being lifted for a kiss. "Come on, let's go and sit by the lake. I'll tell you everything."

Remus schooled his expression into the most innocent he could manage. "I was just going to ask how your day was."

"Sure." Sirius laughed properly now, the both of them stumbling slightly as he tried to nudge Remus' shoulder. "You're practically vibrating. Thought I was supposed to be the intense one?

“Sometimes it’s my turn,” Remus smirked, pointing out a large, flat rock in the distance that seemed like an ideal sitting place. Sirius nodded, letting Remus guide their slight change in trajectory to head towards it. “You know, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. I will always be interested in your life, but if you want this to stay between you and Regulus then I completely understand.”

Sirius flicked his gaze over to Remus briefly, the smile soft on his face. It reminded Remus of when they had still been dancing around one another. Long evening walks where their hands would brush, just barely. Looking back, he didn’t know how they had lasted so long before that almost inevitable kiss. One thunderstorm and two leaking roofs, that was all it had taken in the end. “I know,” Sirius shrugged. Those were the last words he said until they reached the low slab, a once rugged thing that had been smoothed out by a lifetime of exposure. Remus thought there must be something poetic in it, but he was too tired to figure it out.

The quiet lasted long enough for Remus to figure Sirius had changed his mind, playing their hands together as they looked out onto the water.

“They live in California now, they’re here to teach archery and they are non - binary,” Sirius breathed out the sentence, the words blending together and his accent thick, but Remus was practised enough to decipher them.

“California? That’s a long way from Montreal -” Remus toyed with the sleeve of Sirius’ t-shirt. “ - How’d they end up there?”

Sirius' face crumpled a little, quickly gathering himself. “They were staying with a friend of our family’s there, Severus. He always seemed nice, nicer than the rest of their crowd anyway, but it turns out he’s no different to the rest of them. Regulus is trying to get out of there.” A sheepish smile spread over Sirius’ face. “I might have invited him to live with us. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have asked first. They were just so worried and -”

“Hey,” Remus squeezed Sirius's hand. “I’m not going to pretend that a consultation wouldn’t have been nice, but it’s your house -”

“It’s our house,” Sirius frowned.

"The house was bought with your money and I can completely understand and appreciate why you offer a roof over your sibling's head without question."

Sirius played with the necklace, a silver lion, hanging around his throat. Remus lifted his hand to touch its twin, draped around his own neck. "Just like that? Even though I've spent every mention of them detailing how much they had hurt me?"

Turning to face Sirius more surely, Remus gave a comforting smile. "Do you trust them?"

There was a brief pause, but the "yes" that followed was sure and confident.

"That's good enough for me," Remus said. "Shall we go and join everybody for dinner? There's apple pie tonight."

Dinner ended up being the usual ruckus that Remus had become re-accustomed to over the past few days. He loved the way the dining room thrummed with the same energy that radiated throughout meals with his own family. Thomas and James' dares grew more and more ridiculous until Sergei barked at them that he wouldn’t allow them any more BBQ if they did not calm down.

“ -Yeah, so ma Maman had to come and collect me. I think I lasted 5 hours,” Jackson finished his grandiose retelling of his first experience at camp.”

“Nado!” Evgeni set his glass down with a heavy thud. Remus had learned the tall Russian man had the gentlest of spirits, but grace was not an attribute he possessed in large amounts. “Why you go to horse camp if scared of horses?”

“I was 8,” Jackson argued. “I had never seen a horse in real life. It just looked fun.”

Once the rippling laughter dissipated, the conversation evolved into useful hints of tips from those of them that weren’t new on how to handle similar situations with their own campers.

“Hey, Katie,” Remus leaned over Sirius to address the youngest of the Dumais’. She had only arrived yesterday along with her siblings and Sergei’s wife and children, but she’d made herself right at home, squeezing herself between Sirius and Logan, who she had declared her favourite, instead of joining the rest of her family at their table. “Can I steal Sirius please? I need to show him something.”

“It’s time for Katie to go with Anya back to our cabins,” Celeste interrupted. “Viens, ma chérie. Tu peux revenir demain matin.” Katie left with a pout to a round of goodbyes.

“What did you want to show me, mon loup?” Sirius cocked his head curiously.

“Nothing,” Remus admitted sheepishly. “I just wanted to get a good spot under the pavilion before everybody else finishes and comes outside.” Sirius rolled his eyes, letting Remus tug him into a standing position. During camp, the small structure would serve as a meeting point and could fit a dozen or so people in when they were standing, but it was pretty full with Sirius’ 6 foot 3 form sprawled across it, there wasn’t much space for anybody else, and this was Remus’ favourite spot. He could lie under the shelter, a little less exposed to the biting insects that seemed to love him so much and still see everybody on the green around them.

Soon, the space would be filled with eager children, and Remus would be constantly poised to treat the next ailment, but at the moment, he was content to watch this year's counsellors get to know one another better. He was an old hand at this now, however, he could remember the bristling excitement as his first training week had drawn to a close, the knowledge that he was soon to be responsible for people who didn't seem all that much younger than he was, both terrifying and exhilarating.

The sky had been threatening rain for hours now, and it finally fulfilled its promise.

“My hair!” Finn’s screech broke through the chorus of rain. The blonde boy, something in the back of Remus’ brain supplied him with the name Leo, immediately tucked Finn against his side, throwing his jacket over his head. Remus wasn’t sure whether their shaking was as a result of the damp seeping through their clothes or the pair’s laughter.

Remus had always enjoyed people watching, noticing the subtle intricacies of human behaviour when they didn’t realise you were looking, so he caught Leo’s small glance up at Logan just before he put some space between himself and Finn.

Finn wasn’t having any of it though, dragging Leo back to him, attempting to get the small jacket over the top of the both of them.

"Do you see that?" Remus lifted his shoulder, jostling Sirius slightly.

Sirius grunted, the annoying chime of the game he was playing sounding loudly as he progressed to another level. Remus had given up on complaining, and the repetitive nature of swiping candies across the screen seemed to relax Sirius more than it bothered Remus. "See what?"

Leo was standing now, his t-shirt soaked through and his hair plastered against his face in damp strands. Remus couldn't quite work out what he spluttered before walking off with long, quick strides, one last quick look at Logan as he went.

"There's something going on there,' Remus hummed.

"Stop meddling," Sirius laughed.

"I'm not meddling!"

Sirius turned a raised eyebrow on Remus and tucked his phone into the pocket of his jacket before pulling them both down so they lay on their backs. "Listen. I love the sound of the rain."

Remus knew he was being distracted, but the thudding rhythm of heavy droplets against the wooden slats of the rood was incredibly relaxing. Or at least it was until the sheeting downpour didn't stop and they had to dart through it, laughter heaving in their chests to meet the others in the large hall. Celeste sighed, bundling towels into their hands to dry off.

"Nice of you to join us, gentlemen," Dumo said, a guitar propped in his lap. "Take a seat. We were just about to teach our newcomers a few campfire songs. Sans the fire, of course. As two of our most experienced, maybe you could lead?”

“Je te hais,” Sirius grumbled.

Dumo ignored the declaration, and once they were seated he smiled. “Perhaps we will start with Everywhere we go?”

Despite an early reluctance from Sirius the sounds of the song were soon echoing off the walls, the group of counsellors enthusiastically answering Sirius’ calls.

Everywhere we go

People always ask us

Who we are

And where we come from

So we tell them

We’re the Lions

The mighty mighty Lions

And if they can’t hear us

We shout a little louder

We shout a little louder!

Dumo was lenient, taking over leading them through a few more songs himself until he faked a large yawn. “Well, it’s bed time for me. I’ll leave the guitar for anybody who wants to play. And remember, no matter how much we try to teach our campers such fun songs, they’d rather learn whatever routine is popular on Tip Top or whatever that thing is called, so be prepared!”

Logan commandeered the guitar quickly, holding it strong against his thigh and strumming it with a relaxed ease Remus wasn't sure he'd seen in the man before. He played through a few songs, others slowly filtering out as time went by until only a handful of people remained.

“Do my song, please?” Finn asked, eyes wide and pleading.

Logan shook his head, “Not here.”

Finn’s lower lip dropped into a pout and Remus saw the exact moment Logan succumbed to the expression. Remus didn’t blame him at all, Finn’s face bore an eerie resemblance to Bambi and only a monster could deny it.

“Fine.”

The slow chords started and the room quieted as Logan began to sing. It was more romantic than Remus had expected from the younger man.

And you can tell everybody

This is your song

It may be quite simple, but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in the words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world.

Logan and Finn were so invested in one another that Remus wasn’t sure they noticed Leo slipping quietly from the room.

16 notes · View notes

slashingdisneypasta · 5 years ago

Note

I can't believe I'm actualy going to ask for this but, I wanna know Slender brothers reactions when one of the other creeps (or even the other brothers) tease him for his crush on the reader who happens to walks by at moment and hear everything? If you write for them and want to write this of course

Here you go! I hope you like it! Sooooooorrrry its taken so long ):

~~~

Splenderman:

· Splender cares not for ‘teasing’? Pft. What are you talking about! He’s a centuries old eldritch being who basically feeds off of the happiness around and inside him- you don’t think he’d have learnt not to be bothered by most words by now? (I say ‘most’, because words said by his brothers that ring with truth still, of course, hurt and push him to change and improve).

· But, Slender is still irritating when he’s persistent. And Slender is always persistent. Stubborn bastard. Especially when he has a goal in mind- which is to get you and Splender out of his home because you’ve both been here for 3 months non-stop, beating around the bush with each other and not just coming out with your feelings and Slender is going to get you out of his house even if it means playing cupid *Disgust audible on ‘cupid’*.

· Splender is aware of this ulterior motive to Slender trying to get him to confess… its just not enough. Splender never confesses feelings first to mortals, although he really wants to. He wants you to come to your own conclusions first because he doesn’t like the power imbalance involved in him taking the reins in a romantic relationship between you, a mortal, and him, an omnipotent immortal being. (Side note: He will absolutely never, ever, in a million years read your mind, either. Absolutely not)

· They’re in one of the many hallways in the mansion and you’re walking through the kitchen on your way to the living room which will lead to this particular hallways, when everything goes to hell (Or heaven, depending on how you feel XD). “I can’t, Slender.”

· Quickly, out loud and out right, Slender says. “You’ll never know how bleeding irritating your sense of morality is to me Splender.”

· “Hm, what?” Splender hadn’t quite heard what he said because he had to quickly catch a book that had slipped off his pile, as he was busy carrying some books down the hallway (Towards the Livingroom doorway) to the archive room down the hall as his little brother badgered him.

· “I said I hate your moral compass.”

· “Ah, what’s new?”

· Slender, for a moment, stops talking. Doesn’t have a quip ready yet then, Splender thinks. Must be thinking of a new angle to persuade me with.

· Really he’s sensed your approach to the living room door, just as they are, and is waiting for the appropriate moment to be am evil little shit. “Ah, mind blip. What were we talking about again?”

· Splender reads the cover of the book he saved from the floor absentmindedly. “My ‘Complete idiocy in staying in your home, that I helped to build in the first place, as I wait for lovely Y/N to confess to me so I can confess back and not force her into a relationship with our power imbalance, which is bothering you, King of The World Slenderman, for but a couple months of your immortal life’? I think that’s how you put it- I mean, I could have added some things but- “

· “Oh, good afternoon Y/N. Finally. You’re here.” Slender greets you, standing now in the living room doorway as they stand, like, 2 feet from it. Definitely not far enough away that you didn’t hear all that. “You heard. That’s wonderful. Bye, then. I expect you both out by the morning- if I do see you then, you’re on your own for breakfast you squatters.”

· Then Slender disappears and you and Splender are left standing shocked in the hallway.

· “Umm… “Splender wonders what he could say, being cautious as he slowly lowers the books from his face. “Dear, we should talk.”

· You grin. “Come on, hand me some of those books and we’ll talk while we put them away.”

Offenderman:

· Look, Offender can handle teasing. All the Slender’s can (Except for Slender, haha), but Offender especially doesn’t mind it because he has total confidence in how, uh, disturbing he is and his ability to scare people off. Especially, he thought prior to this day, little scrawny oven fried teenagers.

· But apparently, he had overestimated his capability with this particular pest.

· Offender had come to Slender mansion today to rest up because no place is quite as uneventful and as such, good for rehabilitation as his brothers home (And also, you’re here so that’s obviously a factor) is, but Jeff had been catching him every time they were anywhere near each other with a quip or a chortle about his obvious feelings for you.

· I mean, of course they were obvious (To everyone but you, clearly). He flirts with you heavily, and yet has never made a proper, serious -unwarranted, - advance towards your person. He always saves a seat for you if he knows you’ll be around, and he’s been around the mansion far more often then he used to be. So, yeah, it was obvious. Offender wasn’t trying to hide it- in fact he wanted you to know. But somehow you hadn’t picked up on the hints?

· Jeff had, though. And, also, everyone else who has visited the mansion at any time that you and Offender are there as well. But Jeff is the only one posing a problem at the moment.

· He just thought it was so funny, that Offender had found a person he actually liked, and who caused him to hesitate about hurting (The first time he met you, and he intended to hurt you he hesitated. And that is how he realised he had a crush), and Jeff would just not let that slide.

· Offender had brushed him off and snapped back at him in his casual, yet very very threatening style enough today.

· So now Jeff had to be really dealt with.

· “Look, ugly child, in my experience a boy only spends this much energy on someone if he likes them. So, unless you want to prove your worthiness to me in a more private setting- I’d give it a rest!”

· And that moment, in which Offender has cornered a Jeff The Killer who is now reconsidering his actions today in the shadow of the Sexual Offenderman, is the one you walk into.

· Jeff and Offender spot you at the same time and as Offender’s wondering how he can twist this into him not actually threatening to rape Jeff, Jeff’s panicked pea brain goes a completely different direction to what his cunning (Yes, I promise you, when he isn’t panicked because a Slender Brother is hovering over him, he can in fact be smart) ass would have done in another position, and points to Offender and exclaims- “He’s in love with you!”

· Offender stops- Well, actually, thank you Jeff, that’s actually helpful. You might actually hear it, now. But he is still frustrated by the boy so he turns away from him and just growls, “You’re excused, thank you for your service Jeff.” *And in Jeff’s head: And wish on your lucky star that I don’t visit you when you’re sleeping tonight. You’ll learn it’s not so funny to badger an eldritch monster. *

· (Don’t worry, he doesn’t plan to visit Jeff at all. His focus is on you now)

· Jeff BOOKS IT, anyway. Cuz he doesn’t know that!

· Now that it’s just you two, and he has sufficiently scared Jeff shitless, Offender brightens again. “Y/N!~ I think it’s a good idea that we have a sit down together and talk about this, yeah?”

· *Cue Offender manipulating you through acting like a nice, level headed guy who just wants ya’ll to have tea together, into sitting with him and so he can charm you, now that he knows you actually understand his feelings*

Trenderman:

· Zalgo is bored. And when Zalgo is bored, the Slender brothers end up getting bothered. It’s usually Splender or Slender (Mostly Slender) and almost never Trender, but Zalgo is happy to work with this.

· There are two reasons Zalgo never gets to annoy Trender. 1. Trender is usually very levelheaded, and as such, is the least fun to play with. Zalgo can ordinarily, never find a good angle. And reason 2 is a result of the first reason: Being that he never has anything going on that can be picked on.

· But… now, Zalgo knows about a little crush that Trender has! And as such, he can finally finish his collection of annoying the Slender Brothers. So yay for Zalgo!

· Not so yay for Trender.

· “Zalgo, I’m really busy, so let’s get straight to the point. We’ve never had any sort of relationship, so, and take this with the most sensitivity- why are you here??”

· “Ooh, so authoritive and formal. Just like Slender- tell me, Slender’s older brother, why haven’t we had a relationship?”

· “Can I pay you to leave?”

· “Oh right! You would rather Y/N think you’re hot. I wouldn’t worry, I’m sure they do. Don’t worry, you have Slender’s formality, Offender’s shoulders and Splender’s approachability, “Chef kiss. “Perfection!”

· Trender’s mouth rips open and he forces a natural growl out. He hates being compared to his brothers. He is not a cocktail of his brothers; he is nothing more and nothing less then himself. “You deeply offend me. You’re whole being does.”

· “That’s what I go for!”

· “Anyway- “

· “Anyway,” Zalgo mimicks Trender here, getting a deep sigh from Trender in response. Chuckling, Zalgo, straightens himself and speaks again in his normal voice. “So you do like Y/N, right? I’m not way off?”

· Trender, mid wiping down his face halts, then turns to look at Zalgo. “Wait- That was the point of this conversation!?”

· “Yeah! Wasn’t that clear?”

· “No!” Trender exclaims, outraged. He thought Zalgo was just mindlessly antagonising him- that sure is what it felt like!

· “Well, haha, mate. You were way off, then!”

· “Agh, YES! I like Y/N! Wouldja go, now?”

· “Certainly!” And, with one last giggle, he does. Walking down the hall to Slender’s office. He sends finger guns and winks to someone hidden in one of the rooms he passes. “Oh hey Y/N, see ya later! I’m sure you have lots to talk with Trender about!”

· “Uh… yeah… “ You, left standing in the doorway to your room as you were about to leave it and go get something to eat when Trender yelled at Zalgo that he liked you, turn down the hall to a very still, very surprised Trender. You raise your eyebrows.

· “Oh… of course.” Trender drops his arms to his sides and zips his mouth shut again.

Slenderman:

· “Toby… “Slender says the words slowly, nearly whining in frustration as he just wishes his proxy would leave him alone about you. Alas, Slender had made a mistake and given Toby the duties that revolve around being close to their boss all day, like a moron, and now he was stuck with him.

· And it’s not like Toby is teasing his boss. No! He’s but… questioning him.

· Interrogating him.

· But in the friendliest way possible!... Which just so happens to annoy Slender even more.

· “So, you don’t like them?? Yes? No? Maybe? ‘Its Complicated’? Do they scare you? Do you know anything about them? Have you told your brothers? I mean, I wouldn’t. You might though, they are you brothers and you trust them, right? RiGHt? Uh well… on second thoughts, maybe you don’t. You’re a lil bit of a locked shell you know boss? You should confide in someone more! You’d feel way more chill. I confide in Masky or Clocky! Masky only with gross things like this mole I have on my butt- He hates it. I also talk to Hoodie! But I feel like he tells everything to Masky, he’s a bit untrustworthy. A bit off, I dunno. Scares me- OH maybe that person that you can confide in, sir, can be Y/N!”

· “Toby!”

· “Yes boss?!”

· “Calm yourself!”

· “Yes boss!!”

· “I need to stop hiring rando’s off the street… “Slender mutters to himself, continuing down the hallways even grumpier than usual. “Next time I need to pick up an accountant or a lawyer or something… Absolutely no more waffle crazy arsonists. “

· “What was that sir?”

· “I was just pondering where I should bury you after I get your replacement trained.”

· “Ah, right sir! I always liked that bit of earth down by the lake- not too cold, not too warm, no bears nearby… “

· Slender groans, turning and entering into the living room and going for the kitchen. He needs a cup of tea desperately.

· “Toby, new rule. No more talking about my ALLEGED feelings for Y/N, got it? Punishment is death.”

· “I wont need to sir.”

· Immediate suspicion fills Slender’s chest. Toby… wont… need to talk about it? Why? “Why is that, Toby?”

· “She’s sitting on the couch, sir.”

· Slender has never whipped around so fast. But once he has, he definitely feels the need to do it faster, again, and run off somewhere but he restrains himself.

· There you are, bundled in a blanket on the couch like a caterpillar sitting up the remote and some of your fingers peaking out from the face hole (The struggle of turning on the TV when you’re bundled up in the blanket, aghh). Your eyes are wide, as anyone’s would be after hearing the Slenderman hint that he has feelings for you.

· It’s a very awkward moment. You, a caterpillar, Slender, a mute, and Toby looking between the two of you expectantly waiting for something to happen.

· … Before Slender teleports away without a word.

131 notes · View notes

johobi · 5 years ago

Text

When You Least Expect It | 12

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: angst, angsty-angst, dramaTIC ANGST, anxiety, depression, fear of going mad. i swear it’s not all that bad though!!!!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: thanks, as ever, for all your encouragement, love and patience. i truly treasure you.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

"Need to get my⁠—mmm⁠—keys."

Taehyung's argument was solid, but your lip-lock took precedence. "Nuh-uh," you murmured to his saliva-slick lips, eager to taste from them again. "Do it blind."

Your lover fished futilely for his keys, eyes closed for kissing. His body angled away when you only wanted it flush. Selfishly you clung to him, arms fast around his neck, compelling him closer. Oh, but you needed more. Needed his touch. It was painfully absent. Taehyung’s long-fingered hands trawled the depths of his pockets when they should have been defiling you.

He snorted through the meagre space between your faces. "I can't find⁠—mmgh⁠—find them."

"Here," you offered in devilish whisper, plunging a hand into the pocket of his jeans. Shamelessly grasping a little too close to his left-leaning dick.

"Ah⁠—"

Your fingertips grazed metal. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It will be."

It was your turn to scoff. Right into his hot, nasty mouth.

Despite Taehyung's ineptitude at locating his own keys, it was spellcraft how easily he unlocked the door, with his back to it and his tongue thrust far past your lips. As the lock gave way, you threw yourself into his freshly-freed arms, urging he embrace your touch-starved body. But Taehyung was already around you, on you, fondling the breadth of your thinly-clothed ass. He broke away to whine: “God, you drive me crazy.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

You stumbled into his apartment as a mass of roving hands. "You’re gonna get it again, noona," Taehyung hummed around your earlobe. Tugged it between his teeth. Whispered obscenities while his hard cock pressed close. “You feel that, babe? You want it?”

Breath tumbled out. “Y-Ye⁠s—”

"It certainly sounds like she does," a wicked voice sang. It was high-pitched and heavy on the dialect and its source unmistakeable. You wished you were mistaken. "Whatever it is. I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's⁠—"

The two of you repelled like magnets.

"Oh, fuck. Jimin, why are you still here?" Taehyung made no attempt to smother his exasperation. His erection, on the other hand, he smothered actively, obscuring it with the hem of his shirt..

"Good night without me?" the redhead side-stepped. Consistent with his character, the conversation became depraved, and all about him. You found yourself on the receiving end of an unwelcome eyebrow waggle. "I was only one phone call away."

Taehyung's hand flew to his face. Dragged down his features. "I told you I didn't know when I'd be back. If at all. Couldn't you have gone home, dude? What did you even do all night?"

As Jimin dithered and whined, you surveyed the damage the bachelor had inflicted upon Taehyung's usually immaculate apartment. Takeout trays, beer bottles and indiscernible spills surrounded the little imp. Insult to injury was his occupation of your beloved red slanket. It coupled his hair so garishly he resembled something of an angry pimple. You glared at Jimin from behind his 5'11" handler.

"I thought you were coming back!" Jimin finally exasperated. His wrists emerged from the slanket-holes when he gestured to his nest of trash. "I had to eat twice the amount of food. And I got drunk alone. You know how sad that is?"

"Got a glimpse of your future, did you, Jimin?" The snicker that shot from you almost took the contents of your nostrils with it. To say you were a little sniffly this morning was to minimise it. It took all your nasal strength to prevent a flood. Probably all that rain yesterday.

No, don't think about yesterday.

Luckily, your dignity remained intact for discard another day. Jimin's however, had long been abandoned. Tact, too. "So—" He watched, beady-eyed, as you busied yourself in the undoing of his mess. When you reached for a pizza box: "You guys having an affair? Or is this some kinda friends-with-benefits deal?" The slanket rode up his offensively nude thighs as he leaned toward your stooping form. "Any chance of making this a three-person thing? Or four, if that Jungkook guy is still in the picture."

It was like an icicle through your poor, hollowed heart. You froze, bent at the hinges, pizza grease becoming palm sweat. "W-What?"

“Actually, was he even real? I never saw him.”

Was he even real?

Taehyung was quick. Was there in a second, striding to your side, affixing a hand to your lower back. His fingertips, too, were quick. Quick to find that sliver of exposed skin where your jeans and shirt met. To give you the warmth of reassurance that came only with his touch. "Jesus, Jimin. I know this is your shtick, but no-one's in the mood for your bullshit today. Just go home dude, I'll text you later."

An expression you'd never encountered warped Jimin's delicate features. Hurt. "What the fuck?" he grumbled, complying despite his injured feelings. Coming to a stand, he stuffed himself into his night-before skinny jeans, plump lips pursed. "What got into you? She peg you or something?" Jimin’s hmphs continued, punctuating his impromptu Get Ready With Me throughout. Without the care it warranted, he slung off the slanket and began turning out the couch.

“Very funny. What are you looking for? I’ll help.” Taehyung offered, placidity masking his vexation incredibly well. Antagonising Jimin would only prolong his being there, after all, and the scenario was already unbearably awkward. Especially now, when he was flaunting a good inch of his ass-crack in the hunt for some misplaced possession.

"My wallet. Y’know, the pot leaf one. Where did I put the damn thing?"

In that gaping crevice, maybe? It wasn’t aloud.

"Okay, look⁠—" Taehyung, too, looked to have had his fill of his friend's butt-cleft. "I'll bring your wallet 'round your place later. You got your phone and keys, yeah?" The outline in the redhead's jeans confirmed it. "Go home, sleep off the rest of the booze, we'll talk this evening."

Despite his grievances, Jimin suddenly brightened. He never was one to hold a grudge. He was a Pisces, after all. "You're gonna come over? Cool! I'll get more beer in." The fact he'd consumed a dozen only two hours prior didn’t appear to deter him. "You coming, ____? We gonna have another game of Never Have I Ever?"

The sincere sparkle of his eyes threw you a little. "Uh, I don't think so. Not today. Sorry, Jimin. Next time, okay? I've got some things to sort out later. Plus, I think I’m getting sick." A sniffle for illustration.

"That's cool." He hummed, shrugged on his signature varsity jacket. The world would burn before he conceded college was over. "See you later, Tae. Happy smashing," was his parting comment as he sashayed out the door, mildly uncoordinated. Taehyung was charitable enough to relieve his friend of the quandry of closing it.

And when it was closed, your lover turned back. Had a pensive purse to his lips. "Uh, sorry about that. You okay?"

"Don’t apologise, I’m the one that disrupted your plans in the first place, Tae. But yeah, I’m good."

Taehyung couldn’t see the extent of that untruth. Not when you averted your eyes so swiftly. Pinned them to your busy hands as you continued to collect up Jimin's litter. Why had it been so easy for him to speak his name? Like it was nothing but breath? Just two syllables, plucked from an alphabet of indifference?

When it was sand and salt on open sores?

When it was woe so heavy it rasped the soul?

"Alright." It wasn't, but what mattered was that Taehyung knew it. Knew it, and didn't pursue it. Instead, he fluffed a trashbag for you in which to deposit your greasy collection. "He's always like this. A mangy raccoon." The comparison hit humorously enough to curtail your anguish. Momentarily, at least. A genuine laugh came from you. At that, Taehyung looked up. Caught your smile. "He's always like this. Always leaves me to clean up. His metaphorical and literal messes."

Trash collected, you straightened. Inelegantly, and with a groan. You'd have to scrape together the pennies for some sweet chiropractic adjustment. "Yeah? That doesn't surprise me," you smirk, prodding at the knots in the small of your back. "All I know is he's a gross, unashamed pervert that could be a good guy if he grew up a little. You haven't really told me too much about him. I guess you'll—" the reality of your and Taehyung's changed relationship hit you, then. It had transfigured into something far more intense. Far more beautiful. Potentially volatile. "—you'll have to tell me more. About him. Your other friends I don't see much. And about you, stuff I didn't get to know until we—well. You know."

Taehyung's head came to a tilt. His downy locks strayed into his eyes, softening them into a squint. "It's weird, isn't it? Being like this. Good weird—" he added with haste. Had he been suddenly struck by the revelation, too? Your two combined brain cells continued to surf one wavelength. It was uncanny. "You're standing there, I'm standing here. We look the same. But it's all different. I look at you different." A contemplative pause. The trash-bag knocked noisily at his knees as he rocked. "And all I know is I want to learn about you. Again. Inside and out."

"Yeah. I'd like that very much. I'm hardly a treasure trove of alluring secrets, but I'm sure I have a wild story or two from my college years. Ugh—" The ache that'd been no more than a dull tapping at your skull suddenly came to the fore. Your head throbbed like a blunt force concussion.

"You okay?" The trashbag left Taehyung's hands and crumpled to the floor. You felt them on you shortly after, palpating your oddly sensitive forearms. "What's up?"

"Headache. Think I was bent over for too long, or something." But then came a torrent of sneezing. And it was also then that Taehyung's proximity was suddenly, intolerably stifling. "Ugh. Maybe not. I’m definitely getting sick. Sick-sick."

A satiny palm left your shoulder and found your forehead. Your vantage saw only Taehyung's mouth. It opened into an O. "Oh, shit. Yeah, you're burning up, noona. We should get you into bed."

"No, no. That won't be necessary." You waved away his clammied hand and instead peeled off your - his - jacket. The last thing you wanted, on a day as emotionally strenuous as this one, was to find yourself physically compromised, too. "I'll be okay. I just need to cool down a bit. It's probably just a cold, and I can soldier through those. Uh—I'm a little hungry, though?"

"Aha! Want some French toast or something?" Taehyung leapt at the opportunity to tend to you. Like Yoongi, you shied away from showing weakness and instead showed a reluctance to lean on others. It must’ve been frustrating for Taehyung, an unashamed empath who wanted nothing more than to accompany and comfort you during your times of adversity. But he understood that it could not be the case with you. That less was more. That the key to helping you was when you asked for it. Yes, even when it was something so small as the common cold.

And when it wasn’t just the sniffles, but world-ending woe, Taehyung embraced your diversions from the difficult topics. Didn’t push it. Best friends never pushed. Yes, he was still your best friend. Something more, now, too, but forever your gentlest, most attuned of friends. "Don’t you like French toast? I could make something else?" He prompted, peering into your faraway face with those precious eyes of his.

"You can make French toast?"

"Of course I can. I can make you anything, within reason. I've been practicing. Takeout's giving me a belly." In illustration, Taehyung molded his hands to his mildly rounded flesh. Strained it out further, like an expecting mother.

"I like your little belly." Your hands fell to his, pressing his stomach back to flat.

"Yeah?" An errant quirk of his eyebrow. "It likes you, too."

You smiled so, so wide. And then you became certain:

Last night had been the right decision. One made in a swell of volatile emotion, yes. But this day - this moment - in which it was still possible to smile, proved that. Taehyung conjured it to your face with so little effort. It took so little effort to be with him. To just be.

And that was indeed a feat.

Because inside your mind, there was no reprieve. Barbed words and self-abuse clattered about your brain, painting you unworthy of Jungkook. Worse yet; deserving of his treatment.

Every second since your waking hour you’d been assailed by volleys of it. But your self-loathing didn’t end its assault there. In your darkest seconds, it even dared to suggest that you proclaimed your love for Taehyung too hastily.

That you instead yearned for that other man.

By some mercy, you were already adept in handling intrusive thoughts. Because that was all they were: Intrusive. Unwelcome and unwanted. There could be no truth to the doubt or longing.

Not when your new horizon stood before you, a sunshine smile dawning across his cheeks. Taehyung. The once boy, now man, you'd forever coveted.

He was yours. Your desperate words a night ago sealed it.

Puzzlement mingled adorably with Taehyung's bright features. "Babe?"

Yeah. It was the right choice.

"Sorry, Tae." In spite of your climbing fever, you intertwined your idling fingers. Looked down at the union with a contented smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here for a bit. I didn't want to go back to my apartment yet." The reason why remained unspoken. "I know I can't avoid it forever, but for a little while at least, I just wanna not think."

Soft, familiar lips were on your forehead. Spoke against the skin. "You stay here as long as you need. My apartment and I are at your disposal." It was Taehyung's turn to loose himself from your febrile embrace. Your perspiration lacquered his fingers. "We're getting you some painkillers for that fever, at the very least. You don't have to stay in bed, but I want you on the sofa so I can keep an eye on you while I do some marking."

"Okay, dad."

Taehyung’s tongue danced over the tips of his teeth. "That's daddy to you, noona. Get those damp clothes off and get some of my pyjamas on, there's a set on the bed."

----

Your sentencing to the sofa had initially been met with resistance. Especially when Taehyung hovered, ever-watching, an eye on his papers and the other on your recalcitrant form. Your every attempt at productivity - even a surreptitious attempt to fold his laundry - had been met with soft but stern eyes and an escort back to your cologne-saturated prison. Jimin's stank had ingratiated itself with the fibres of Taehyung's cushions. No amount of deodorizer could reduce its cling. It did nothing but intensify the thudding behind your eyes.

And at first, you attributed your worsening nausea to that silly little redhead. But the lightheadedness followed swiftly after, and then the chills, and then that horrid, off feeling encroached, like your soul lagged behind every of your body's movements.

In the end, you begged for the bed. Taehyung's memory foam mattress and sweet-smelling pillows. Only, the sweet made you sick, and the memory foam only exacerbated all your indistinct aches. By early afternoon, despite his dutiful nursing of you, you tapped out of your brave-facing. Practically begged him to return you to your apartment, where all your remedies resided.

If there was something that united the men of your world, it was their haphazard approach to health crises. Taehyung possessed a pitiful two (2) painkillers. The nasty, round, chalky type that got you gagging. Expiry date: Last year. No hot water bottle, no frozen goods to improvise a cold compress. When questioned about his unreadiness in the face of illness, his reasoning was ridiculous. Sound, but ridiculous. 'I never get sick, so I don't need it.�� The painkillers were Jimin’s.

Hoseok and Yoongi were much the same. The former would simply turn up on your doorstep and check-in to your veritable inpatient clinic and expect private-tier care. For the latter, you'd have to make a house visit, because he never got sick, and he didn't need you fussing over him so. And yet he was the one that fell ill the most. The one that needed the most tender of care.

Sigh.

Today, you required it. And that was how you now found yourself back home, a day earlier than you would have preferred. You tottered out of Taehyung's car in your royal red slanket, pyjama pants dragging on wet asphalt. It took what waning stamina you possessed to gaze upward at the same balconies Jungkook strode yesterday. It was like looking on an untouched crime scene; as gloomily lit and ominous as it had been then.

Taehyung came to your side, and then a little in front, surveying that same sight. "Looks like he's gone, noona."

The relief that surged was medicine in itself. "Thank God. Let's go in, quickly." Your teeth chattered animatedly during the climb, even though you burned like the sun incarnate. Taehyung's arm was fast about your waist, steadying you on each of your Everestian steps. Collapse felt close at times, but when your vision began to fail it was the image of Jungkook's guilt-ridden face that rallied you onward. To fall, here, was to expose yourself to the risk of seeing it again.

And that could not happen.

"Do you have the keys—"

"Got 'em." Taehyung was ahead of you in every sense. With the dexterity he was inhibited from displaying earlier, he had your door open before you could reach him. "In you go, babe."

"Thanks." You loped past, unsteady. Unready to climb the flight of stairs immediately within. "Why do I have a maisonette?" The question was to no-one, or God.

Taehyung answered anyway. “Because you’re a woman of discerning taste.” Large hands found your blanketed backside, lending you their support. “Plus, when the bedroom’s upstairs, the neighbours can’t hear.”

“A valid point,” you ceded, beginning your ascent. Even with Taehyung - quite literally - bringing up the rear, your legs felt like those of an unpractised infant. It was astonishing just how quickly the virus had incapacitated you.

Still. The higher you climbed, the handsier Taehyung became. He stole squeezes of your rump with every step. Said it was incentive to keep going.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

After much of his unscrupulous groping, the laughter finally broke free. "Oh my God, you're being so shameless right now." Another shaky step. "I wish I had a stairmaster."

He wasn't done being outrageous. "Sit back and I'll stairmaster you all the way up, babe."

The giggling became painful. Welcome, but painful. "Stop."

At the top of the staircase, you stopped to compose your failing limbs. It was alarming just how vital you'd been this morning. This afternoon, you felt one laboured breath from death. "One sec."

"I knew this was a bad idea. You shouldn't be going anywhere in your condition." His two, warm hands stabilised you from the back, preventing an inevitable tumble. "I coulda just bought more painkillers and whatever else you needed."

"It's alright, Tae. I had to come back at some point soon, anyway. My keys for the cafe are here and I'm opening tomorrow." Blotting the sweat from your brow, you advanced on unstable legs to the sofa and immediately crumpled onto its familiar comfort. "Plus, when I'm sick, I like to be sick at home."

"I don't think you'll be going into work tomorrow." By the time it took you to maneuver yourself onto your stomach, Taehyung was stood over you, hands emphatically on hips. "Look at you. Can't even get comfortable without exhausting yourself."

"I don't wanna let Hoseok down." Nor did you want to enlighten him to your current romantic quandry, though. Ugh. "But I do feel terrible. If I’m no better later, I might text him."

"Wow, I thought for sure it would take far more convincing than that," Taehyung snickered, eyes round with mock shock. He'd accumulated a number of dirty dishes from your coffee table in his hands. "Glad you're prepared to rest. Stay there and let me get whatever it is you need. I'll clean your place up a little as well, so don't stress about it."

"No—Tae—"

"Hush. Get the pyjama bottoms off, too, they're wet on the bottom."

You'd been shouldering so much discomfort that your freezing wet ankles had eluded you. A glance down. "Oh. Yeah. I don't know if I can, though." You flopped your feeble arms. "Too far to reach." Plus, Taehyung could undress you now. To disrobe in any other way was to squander the opportunity.

His mouth curved villainously. "Okay." Clap. "Let's see if I can do this in one swift move. Like a magician pulling a table cloth."

Before his proposition had entirely processed, he pinched the hems of your sodden pyjama bottoms and snatched them from your legs. "Wh—"

"Open sesame!"

Wheezy giggling filled the air. "Oh, it hurts to laugh. Fuck." Being semi-naked and comically incapacitated only heightened the hilarity. Taehyung straddled your legs, twirling the wet pants in triumph— "Oww. Oh my God, stop, I can’t—” More rasping laughter. “What even goes on in your head? Also, magicians don't shout open sesame when they do that shit."

"I do. That's why other magicians suck. They say the wrong words." He spoke it like he believed it, and for a moment he was again the boy from childhood, proclaiming the weirdest - but sincerest - of things. And now he was your loveable oddball. "Daddy's gonna get you some dry ones."

And there was the gross-ass man he'd grown into.

Nevermind.

"Okay, you're taking that in a direction I don't want to go in, Tae," you protested, flimsily, through persistent laughs. With a half-hearted kick, you nudged him toward your bedroom. "Hurry up, my ass is getting cold."

“A cold ass will do you good,” was his nonsensical retort. He wriggled out of his own, damp jeans as he went, gifting you the sight of his luscious ass in curve-hugging cotton.

You were appallingly close to catcalling take the boxers off too!, but in your current state you could barely lift a pinky, let alone give him the vigorous fucking he deserved.

---

A little channel-hopping later, Taehyung returned. Armed, coincidentally, with your favourite flannel bottoms. Yes, it was likely just coincidence, but the romantic in you posited destiny. "Legs up," he commanded. You did try, but the attempt was laughable. Taehyung's sigh hit the back of your thighs. "Listen here, lazy," he crooned, turning your body with the care one would an undercooked omelette. Pyjama pants in hand, he glowered down at your defiant face, brandishing them like a threat. "You gonna co-operate?"

"Nope." You turned your attention to the TV to stifle further laughter. Why you were hindering his attempts to help with your misbehaviour was anyone's guess. There was something irresistible about making trouble for him, though. Probably because Taehyung, too, was an unrepenting rascal.

"Okay then," was his equivocal response. You scrutinised him through narrowed eyes, waiting on his next, underhanded move.

Which was to tickle your feet. Underhanded indeed.

"Oh, God, no!" you yelped, cried, rasped for breath. Flailed your legs like a fawn on skates.

"Thought you couldn't move, huh? Huh?" Taehyung caught your ankles amidst their thrashing and pulled them through freshly-laundered flannel.

Once the pyjamas reached your knees, you relented in your nonsense and shot him a buoyant smile. "Thanks."

"Hips up."

This time, you were obedient.

And Taehyung was thankful. A fine smile shone back at you as he settled the waistband around your hips. Your smile, however, drifted. Awe replaced it as you stole glances at his beautifully-hewn features. He truly was sublime. The bridge of his nose was high and strong, its tip hosting the most precious of moles. Beneath his bottom lip there was another. These little details, of course, hadn’t escaped you before, but it was something to see them so close now. With time, you would kiss each and every of his chaotically placed moles.

When you recalled your gaze upward, Taehyung was watching you. The chocolate of his eyes was molten with feeling. Love and warmth irradiated him. "Can't believe you're mine now."

It was crucial that you kiss him.

You moved to do so. His lips were only a breath away. But then—

Three, distinct knocks.

You traded looks. Yours, petrified. His, outraged.

"Wait—"

But Taehyung's weight had already left you. An intimidating energy lingered in his wake as he strode toward the staircase, fists clenched. "I'll get that."

"Tae, no—"

The difficulty with which it took you to extricate yourself from your slanket was all the more frustrating for the urgency of the situation. You staggered, almost toppled, to catch him, but he'd already descended the steps by the time you reached the top. Damn those lovely, long legs of his. All you could do now was brace yourself on either bannister to prevent a gruesome fall. Because no amount of honeyed pleading was going to stop him. You peered, lightly nauseous, down the expanse of stair as Taehyung slung open the door.

It came as no surprise that it was Jungkook stood there, his doe-eyes wide.

It eviscerated your guts, nonetheless, to see him.

“Noona!”

At first, he lit up in elation. Perhaps he thought the door-answerer to be you. When Taehyung’s identity became clear, however, that elation morphed. First, to shock. Your long-legged lover wasn’t wearing pants, after all. But when Jungkook spied you at the back all shy, sadness again descended upon him. It was a sadistic hope that your sickly appearance intensified that upset. That it fueled his guilt for having decimated you. With every, shredded fibre of your being, you wished Jungkook hurt.

“Thank you for answering the door,” he began with an earnest bow, as though he didn’t know just how much you abhorred him. “H—”

"I answered the door. What do you want?" Taehyung straddled the doorframe, asserting his dominance over the territory. Jungkook's every attempt to look past him was foiled. The lissom man angled himself obstructively, and yet you sought Jungkook's face, too. Wanted to glimpse the heartbreaker for yourself, like he was some loathsome thing of legend. Like it was hard to believe you'd looked into that face just yesterday and seen the world. "Don't you ever give up?" he added, his patience sounding pencil-thin.

After several, weighty seconds of silence, Jungkook eventually acknowledged Taehyung's existence. Addressed him earnestly. "I know I'm not welcome here. I just want a couple of minutes with ____ to explain what she saw—" A derisive snort threatened to cut him off, so he continued hastily, and louder— "—Not for my benefit. For hers. I don't want her to—to—" Choked with frustration, Jungkook thrust himself into your sightline. Implored you with large, gleaming eyes. "I don't want you to blame yourself in any way."

You despised how pregnable you were under his gaze. Like imminent, avoidable death, it became impossible to look away. The void called. There, in his desolate eyes. He wanted you to join him.

No, Jungkook didn’t need you anymore. What he wanted was absolution. At great personal cost to you. But whatever he wished, no matter how detrimental, you would likely grant.

Because as much as you hated him, you loved him.

“I—”

But you loved Taehyung, too.

“____?” And he was there, soft voice enticing you back toward the light. Back toward his pretty face and tender-hearted intentions. There was no hurt to be had with Taehyung.

"I don't,” you spat, clear-minded once more. “I don’t blame myself, Jungkook. Only you.”

But you did blame yourself. Every second since, in fact.

Too fat, too boring, too ugly, too old, too much baggage—

It mustn't have been too convincing an outburst. Jungkook's mouth remained a thin, grim line. And those fucking eyes of his were so fucking ridiculously big and sad and—fuck!

It was all too much.

Mercifully, Taehyung was composed enough to mediate. You, however, were on the brink of emotional - and physical - collapse. "You heard her." Again, he filled out the doorframe. Stood provocatively close to the man in front. "You fucked up majorly. Actually—" Taehyung leaned in. His baritone dived lower. "You're lucky we're not alone right now."

Jungkook did not recoil an inch. Neither did he square up, though. He just stood, toe-to-toe with Taehyung, receiving the vitriol.

"You've imparted your message. You’re too late. You shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Are you finally going to go?"

At that, something bubbled within Jungkook. It shook his frame, balled his fists. Blinking came more rapidly. And then— "I know all that, dude. Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I appreciate what you’re doing, and that you’re protecting her, but I just—I need to talk to noona—to ___ a little longer. Privately. I just need a little more time. Please. Let me get the words out."

Taehyung bore impossibly close. "You don't need more time."

Jungkook’s mouth opened, combatively downturned. But whatever he meant to launch next was stymied when you took one, noodly step down the stairs. Taehyung turned toward the movement, and Jungkook peered past. It was then that he clocked just how arduous it was for you to move. “Noona? Are you okay?”

Dizzyness crowded your peripheral vision. But Jungkook was front and centre, and so painfully clear, that the influenza quietened. "I don't want to see you, Jungkook. I’m pretty sure I got that across yesterday. How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone? What if I don’t even want to hear your damn sob story?"

He fell mute when your words reached him. Like he could scarcely believe you'd deigned him worthy of directly addressing. Palms pressed together and with his mouth agape, he looked the picture of a supplicant.

But he was unworthy.

No, I am.

You hung your head again. It was strenuous on your neck; weighing like a cannonball. "I don't want to stand here all day, Jungkook. Fucking say something. Why did you come here if—"

"Because I love you!” he gasped. “I love you, and—"

"Bullshit you do!"

It came from Taehyung, not you. He'd turned back, teeth bared, no longer saying but growling. There he was. Your guard dog. The leash was straining. "You don't love someone and hide a fucking fiancee, you piece of shit." Jungkook flinched at Taehyung's ferocity, but remained stalwart on his spot. Curled his lip instead. "You blew it. Now go."

Jungkook shook his head suddenly, violently. Flung rain from his hair and onto the walls. "This has nothing to do with you!" The bridge of his nose scrunched tight and bared not bunny teeth, but fangs.

Taehyung swatted away the finger poised aggressively at his chest. Stepped closer, but didn't stop. No, he bumped him back toward the threshold with his chest. "It does now. Read between the lines, dumbass."

Jungkook was ineffably innocent. “What do you mean?” He stared into Taehyung’s narrowed eyes to glean more meaning.

And then he gulped.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to Taehyung’s immodestly nude legs, and clarity began to dawn. It astounded you how little reaction Taehyung’s state of undress had initially garnered from Jungkook. But now he was giving the situation its due attention.

A few, unmoving moments later, he gulped again. Harder this time, like something tangibly obstructed his speech. “N-Noona?” It was a mere rasp.

When Jungkook looked back, eyes glossy with devastation, your heart tore again. Right along its freshly-stitched seams. You tried desperately to avert your gaze, but the void shimmering back at you was dense. His voice reached for you again. "____?"

Your name, alien in tone, was what finally closed your eyes. Fresh tears ran down established tracks. You turned away, grip on the bannisters dubious.

"You and—him?" Jungkook gasped, so quietly, so pained, it was like agonal breath.

You crumpled as if stomped on. Your chest was ablaze, and you wanted so desperately to clutch at it. To smother it. To cradle your torso as it caved once more. But you were too impaired to move. Instead, you stood there, frozen and hunched, crying uglier than you could remember ever letting anyone see. Staring at your toes as the carpet caught your tears.

But why? You should be overjoyed to shatter him as he had you.

"Get it? Now go." Taehyung sighed, all the fight siphoning from him. He backed up from Jungkook and went monotone. "You've upset ___. Again. This is your last warning. Get going."

Predictably, Jungkook didn't budge. In the ensuing silence, however, he didn't plead his case as he once would have done. No, something about him was changed. An aggrieved aura hugged him, expanded, until— "Last warning? Fuck you, Kim Taehyung." His eyes, once brimming with tears, now seared with a fury. Even Taehyung looked taken aback. The outburst came sharp despite its gentle source. Again, Jungkook thrust forward an accusing finger. "Don't pretend you're better than me. You're selfish. I knew you couldn't wait to get your dick in her. I knew it ever since we saw you at the movies and you looked so fucking jealous—"

The gasp that exited you was so heavy with outrage it almost took you with it. You gripped the bannisters tighter, wobbled down two further steps. You had to de-escalate this. Somehow. "Jungkook!"

He granted you a brief, guilt-ridden side-glance before once again affixing his target with a glare. "You were just waiting for your moment, weren't you? Didn't want her 'til I had her. Couldn't bear the thought of your closest friend not being one of your conquests."

“Shut the fuck up!”

You didn't make it in time. Not before Taehyung wound back his elbow and snapped it forward, a hard, coiled fist on its end. It landed, brutal and blunt, on Jungkook's jaw. A dull, fleshy thud resounded, but to you it was like a gunshot. And so was the way his head and body whipped away, spiralling until his knees buffered his fall.

"Oh my G—Jungkook!"

The younger man, crouched away as he was, breathed deep, coppery air. Smeared his mouth along his sleeve, leaving red where it touched. And then, standing, he glared hatred at Taehyung. His shoulders shuddered with untethered anger. "You—"

"It's more than that for me. I can't say the same for you," Taehyung cut in, surveying his reddened knuckles. He flexed his fingers for feeling. "Fucking cheater."

Distracted, Taehyung was unprepared for the solid hunk of human that caught him around his midsection. Jungkook tackled him without caution, throwing his entire, intimidating mass into Taehyung's lankier frame. The two surged into the ground, clawing and grappling at the other's limbs, eyes wild, lips stretched back from teeth.

"Stop!"

"Oh my God, stop it!"

Neither listened. They were feral. Both heard only the rush of blood.

Knowing you must intervene, you manipulated your ragdollish limbs into descending the last half dozen steps. It was then, after an elongated struggle, Jungkook clambered atop Taehyung and fisted the collar of his shirt, glaring daggers enough to maim him.

“You’re so fucking smug—”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who fucked up!” Taehyung crowed from beneath, maniacal. He taunted Jungkook with an angular grin, like he wasn’t the one at disadvantage.

“Shut up!”

Once your feet met ground, you crumbled to your knees, Taehyung's head of hair between them. The sneer he brandished fell when he caught sight of your sweat-soaked face. Pitifully you pressed against Jungkook's shoulders, dissuading him from further violence. You felt like a toreador pushing on 1800lbs of charging bull. Jungkook didn't even so much as register your attempts until you wheezed out, "P-Please stop."

He did. He went rigid, in fact. Trembled, when he became aware of your touch. His rage evaporated and the boy that sat there was no longer a bull but a meek little kit. Trepidation rolled from Jungkook in waves, and he would not meet your eyes.

Why?

Was he now repulsed by you?

How could he judge you for your indiscretion when he—he—!

No. It wasn't an indiscretion. What you did with Taehyung held no moral ambiguity.

It occurred to you, then, that the pair of you hadn't been so close since the last time you were intimate. And happy. Though damp, Jungkook's familiar, and once comforting scent, brushed your nostrils. Perhaps your proximity was what flustered him.

When he finally met your gaze, you knew it to be true. He didn't look upon you with the anger nor revulsion you expected. Not anything obvious, anyway. Instead it was the wide-eyed wonder from your first date. The shyness. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to revisit it.

But then his brows drooped low in remorse. "Noona," he called to you like you were far away. Pined for you. Taehyung's shirt fell from his clutches, and you found his hands on your elbows instead, propping up your drooping form.

Feverish before, you were positively boiling now. To have his gentle palms on you again, no matter the circumstance, was a threat to your hastily-cobbled retreat. His fingertips told you, as they caressed your inner elbow, that any other man's hands would never do. And yet - you squirmed feebly, recalling it - those hands had been on, been in some other woman's body. And that would never do. "Don't touch me, J-Jungkook. Not with those hands."

But it was his hands that stirred your heart into uproar.

No. It was simply the flu. Nothing more. It influenced your body in the oddest ways.

And there was someone that had pumped your blood for far longer.

You cast your eyes to where Taehyung lay, honey hair a halo about his head and eyes only for you. Love bloomed fiercely in the bowels of your heart. “You really don’t look very good.” He made to push Jungkook off, but the younger man was already up on his knees, scanning your wan complexion.

"Are you burning up?" Jungkook murmured, his lips a line of concern. "You feel hot." Again he clasped your elbows, testing along their length for temperature. When he reached your upper arms, he was bold enough to advance on your neck, thumbs either side the line of your jaw. To your great shame, though you attributed it in most part to the fever, you enjoyed Jungkook's handling. "Your glands are out. And—" he pressed a cool, clammy palm to your clammier forehead. Spellbound, your eyes closed. "Yeah, you're even hotter up here, noona."

"No shit, dumbass," Taehyung growled from above. When you opened your eyes, he was no longer supine but towering over the two of you, fingers twitching by his sides. You foresaw Jungkook's imminent scalping if you weren't quick to intervene. "You chased her into torrential rain. She's sick, asshole, and it's your fault."

But there was no need to intervene. Jungkook didn't anger again. Nor did he stare down the man spitting insults. His focus remained fixed on you. On the damage he'd done. The deadened, bloodshot eyes, the pallid skin, the absence of joy. Of understanding. "I-I'm sorry," was all he could think to say? Again?

Desperate, you implored him for more with forlorn eyes. Begged him for sense. Practically mouthed the word please. It would be nothing you wanted to hear, but perhaps hearing it could bring closure. Some semblance of peace, eventually, in some far-off year.

Jungkook stared back, ruminating, and you knew there was no sense to be found. None that you wanted, anyway. Jungkook was a liar, an adulterer, a manipulator—

"Alright, you said sorry again. Time to go." Taehyung hauled him up by his underarms and, hopefully, away from you forever. It was a credit to him for tolerating Jungkook’s presence for so long. Especially when all he did was regurgitate the same, tired shit. "Don't come here again, or I'll call the cops," he snarled to Jungkook's ear, spittle flying. With a grip on the scruff of Jungkook's jacket, he whirled him toward the door.

"She's not my fiancee!"

Taehyung paused. As did you, in your agonised ascent into standing.

"She's not my fiancee," Jungkook repeated over his shoulder, looking for you over his gathering jacket. "I wanted to talk to you about it calmly, and in private. It's not simple, and it’s hard to believe."

"Don't lie to me n-now, Jungkook." The finger with which you jabbed at him, trembled. "I asked you that. You said she was."

Taehyung's expression darkened by the second. It would devolve into another brawl at this rate, and you didn't want that. Not because you didn't want to see Jungkook get served, but because you didn't want him in your presence another gut-wrenching moment.

Brazenly, Jungkook yanked himself from Taehyung's grip and turned, palms up and pacifying. He inched back toward the door; a gesture of his intent to finally leave. "Look. It's because technically she is, but it's not real—I'm going, asshole!—" Jungkook waved his arms demonstratively at the nearing door. Having appeased Taehyung, he pinned you again with fervent eyes. "What you saw wasn't the truth. If you won't hear me out entirely, at least hear that.”

“No-one believes you. Everything you say is a fucking contradiction.” Taehyung was red and riled again.

Jungkook ignored him, his time short. “I won't text you anymore, I won't come here anymore. What I’ve done to you is unforgivable. I know that. I should never have lied. But—" The lamp outside illuminated his bedraggled hair. The tip of his nose when he turned. "You know my number if you do want to hear me out. I'll be around for a bit longer.”

A bit longer?

You granted him the minutest of nods.

It was enough. Nodding back, Jungkook turned on his heel and flew around the corner. And though he was gone, his silhouette stayed seared into your retinas, haunting your every blink. It was only when Taehyung replaced him in the doorway that Jungkook faded. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you back on the sofa.”

Wow, he was tall.

Oh.

Somehow, you were on the floor again. You squinted up at him with sore, watering eyes, overwhelmed by it all. You reached for him like an infant would its parent, too vulnerable to move, and too stupid to know better. “Okay.”

"It’s been a shitty day, but I’m gonna try and make it better. Why don’t we have a Netflix nostalgiafest?" Taehyung cooed into your sodden hair, no minding the sweat. He wound your arms around his neck, legs about his waist and chauffered you up the stairs, grunting by the step. Exaggerating the effort by comedic amounts in order to provoke you.

“Sure.”

But you were far, far away. Hidden behind your glazed eyes, the encounter replayed on loop. Lingered on Jungkook's Disney eyes and big buck teeth. The ones you loved back when he deserved to be loved. The nonsense he spouted toward the end was of particular interest in your mental re-runs, even though it should have immediately been dismissed.

'What you saw wasn't the truth.'

But neither was his relationship with you. Not when he kept such weighty secrets as sport.

'I'll be around for a bit longer.'

And that? Another of his manipulative tactics? Was he really leaving, or merely dangling the threat of it?

But why would it be a threat? You wanted nothing more than him to be gone.

Oh, it was all so bad. Everything was bad. Everything was too much, and, oh, even being in your body was too much, let alone your mind. You were drowning in affliction. Assailed from all sides with nothing for defense.

"Babe."

All went black, and then you opened your eyes. Taehyung stood over you, mouth downturned. Cotton caressed your naked skin, and you knew these were your sheets. This was your bed. Your lover had stripped you of your oppressive pyjamas. You stared at the mole on his nose, the one under his bottom lip. One, two. You could count to two.

"Are you doing okay? Your fever really spiked there. Should I call a doctor?"

“No, no.”

Perhaps you'd simply hallucinated the entire encounter. Perhaps it was your mind's exercise in catharsis. Or perhaps Jungkook had never existed to begin with, and his betrayal was the product of a detailed fever dream. Taehyung was real, though, and here he was still. Your forever best friend. Your secret love. You had not yet confessed your love to this real Taehyung. But now you were awake, you would seize the chance. Because if there was one thing your prolonged nightmare had taught you, it was that you should have just done it to begin with. On the porch those years ago, when the stars weighed heavy over his head and dared you to kiss him.

"I love you," you rasped, sounding like Death's next call.

And just like it should have happened then, Taehyung lowered his face to yours. "I love you too, noona," he murmured through a joyous smile, brushing together your noses first, lips second. "But it's time for your next dose of painkillers. We gotta get this in you ‘cause your fever’s really mounting. Pretty sure you’ve been hallucinating. It’s worrying me. I’m this close—” he pinched together his fingers— “to calling a doctor. I don't think that asshole turning up did you much good."

Brainless, you repeated. "No doctor. Asshole?"

"Yeah, Jungkook." A tray of painkillers dangled from the corner of Taehyung’s mouth while he poured water. "Lying douchebag. Who, by the way, will not be working at the school anymore. Not if I have something to say about it."

The words went in, but floated right back out. The ceiling swirled.

"Oh." He was real.

Of course, you knew that. Even in the murk of fever it was apparent. Still, it’d been nice to pretend for a while.

The sound of preparation ceased and the mattress dipped. Taehyung extended your next dose and a glass of water to you. His expression was no longer so sunny, but clouded with disquiet. "Talk to me, ____. I know you're sick, but that's not all that's going on in that muddled head of yours. It might help to talk. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t have to be afraid. Just try it."

It was a credit to your weakened state that you were so loose-lipped. You downed the pills and curled around Taehyung's seated position, molding to his lap. "I'm just—I don't know." Your cheek was hot against his thigh. His Calvin Klein waistband stared back at you. "I don't want to be sad anymore. I'm so, so sad. It's unbearable. I can't handle much as it is. It doesn't take a lot to drag me down, but this, this—" Tears welled. Taehyung's slender fingers were there to catch them. "This feels almost too much. Even with you here. It's like I'm locked in a mental prison."

"I know, babe," he whispered, stroking your face free of limpid hair. "It's gonna take a while to feel better, like it does with any big change. What he did to you was villain material. Of course you're going to be devastated." For once, you listened. "You don't owe him forgiveness, though he tried his damned best to get it. For his own selfish satisfaction, I'm sure. And you don't owe him anything else, either, not even the thoughts in your brain. Though I know that's gonna take a while, too. I'm sure it's all you can think about." You nodded, snuffled into your blanket until it was wet. A sob felt ripe for eruption. "The flu won't make things easier, either. You're not losing your mind. You just need rest. And when you're not resting, distraction. I'm on hand for the latter." All that he said was all that you craved to hear. A tremulous smile - of relief, of gratitude - wobbled into place. Taehyung must have seen. "That's it, babe. It won't always be this bad, okay?"

You nodded, marring his exemplary thighs with a variety of unpleasant excretions. "Ugh. Sorry." You’d been intimate just one day with Taehyung and you were already establishing yourself as a repellent bog monster. Usually that happens at least 3 years in.

Taehyung merely chuckled. Kept the tissue box out of reach when you moved for it, thinking himself funny. It was only upon your panicked pleas of oh my god, snot’s gonna go in my mouth, that he finally indulged you. By wiping your nose for you, cooing all the while. "That better, little baby?"

Your face spelt vexation. But inwardly, yes, yes, it was better.

Taehyung made you so.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #taehyung #kim taehyung #jungkook angst #taehyung angst #jungkook scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts angst #bts scenarios #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #wylei

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reidandweep · 6 years ago

Text

Little Doe

Jon Snow x Reader (female)

A/N- I was sent a request by @witch-of-letters around three weeks ago. Turned out it sent my brain into hyper drive and this was the outcome. I did not expect it to be this long. But I have never felt so proud than I have writing this. SO, @witch-of-letters , I am sorry for the wait and I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count- 19,891 words. Yes that is correct.

Warnings- death, angst, murder, spoilers (bit late now), fluff, and everything in between.

“I bet you can’t shoot an arrow through the middle of the target.”

“I bet I can.”

Y/N Baratheon was not a girl to be challenged. Especially by Jon Snow. Her closest and dearest friend from the North.

Ever since her father, King Robert Baratheon, and Ned Stark had formed an allegiance, Y/N had travelled with her father to Winterfell every month. Being the only true born Baratheon of her siblings, Y/N and her father was very close. Whilst Robert and Eddard Stark discussed important royal matters, Y/N and Jon were often causing trouble. From antagonising each other to cause mayhem, or choosing to do so on their own terms, the two together were a handful. With Robb added to the duo, the chaos greatly increased. For the trio showed no mercy with their mischief.

Robb smirked at the younger duo. Leaning against the pillar, he watched on as Y/N furiously grabbed her bow and arrows.

“If you shoot the arrow through the target, you can have my portion of shank at dinner tonight.”

Jon knew she would never back down the chance to have more food. Even though the Baratheon’s was one of the strongest families in all the kingdoms, the House of Stark produced the most glorious food in the kingdoms. Food that tasted like it was made with love and from the heart.

Squinting at the young bastard, Y/N nodded.

“Deal. And if I miss?”

Jon looked at Robb, a smirk forming on both of their faces.

“You have to wear a dress at dinner tonight. And we mean, a dress preserved for weddings and balls; not any sort of old tat.”

Y/N glared towards Robb as he spoke the conditions. Looking back at Jon, she waited to hear his opinion.

The young man winked at the young woman, shrugging his shoulders as though he did not know what Robb was going to say. He did. They had agreed on her punishment earlier that morning.

The young Baratheon loathed dresses. Refusing to wear them, unless for extravagant events; much to her mothers’ chagrin. She preferred to wear breeches and a tunic instead. They were more form fitting than that of a man’s; for her mother only appeased with the clothing if it could be altered to uphold some femininity.

The boys waited with baited breathes for her response.

“Deal.”

Cheers rang from the pair. Y/N shook Jon’s hand. Watching as the young bastard walked towards Robb, and away from the direction of the target. And any areas around it. They were all still learning to shoot, so It was no surprise that an arrow wold stray every now and then.

Taking a deep breath in, Y/N closed her eyes, slowing her breathing down. Opening her eyes, she raised her bow and arrow. Pulling the string back with necessary force, her vision zeroed in on the target. Moving her aim so that the arrow should fly straight through the centre. Taking one last inhale, she begins to release the string of the bow when-

“Y/N!”

The shout of her name caused Y/N to flinch, the arrow flying through the air. Embedding itself into the target. Just to the right of the bullseye.

Y/N groaned, throwing the bow to the floor, she swivelled to the direction of the shout. Looking towards the balcony, Y/N stared at her father.

“Father look what you did. You just cost me an extra shank you knob.”

Many would have been shocked to have heard how the princess spoke to the king, but it was normal. The two Baratheon’s were not the conventional pair.

King Robert chuckled heartily. With Eddard at his side, who raised an eyebrow in his son’s direction. The two boys bowering the heads, to hide their laughter.

“All of you get ready for the banquet tonight. Robb come with me and your father. We have matters to discuss.”

The three friends looked at each other in confusion. Robb shrugged his shoulders as he walked in the direction of your father and his.

“I wonder what they need him for.”

Y/N walked towards Jon. The pair watching as Robb and their fathers head into the castle.

“Well, you better start getting ready. Who knows how long it’ll take to get into your dress.”

Jon laughed as Y/N turned towards him, stepping so close that their breathes mingled. Leaning impossible closer to his face, Y/N glared into Jon’s eyes.

“I may have missed the bullseye, but if that was a real man, it would have gone straight through his heart.”

At the end of her words, Y/N moved back from their proximity and walked in the direction of her chambers. Jon staring at how her hips swayed as she aggressively walked further away.

Flittering his gaze between his chest and the target, he realised she was right. Shaking his head, Jon began his trek towards his own chambers. The only thought flittering through his mind was how he was one day going to marry Y/N Baratheon; bastard or not. He was going to make it a reality.

The banquet had begun 20 minutes before Y/N had arrived. Robb sitting next to his siblings and parents at the head of the hall. Even Theon was sat amongst the Starks. For once, Catelyn had allowed Jon to attend; to appease Y/N’s begs of her friend being present. Sitting away from all Baratheon’s and Starks, Jon conversed with his uncle Benjen, speaking of matters that could affect his future greatly.

Jon had been awaiting Y/N’s arrival. When she had walked through the door, he could not help but catch his breath. Neither could Robb, or any young man in close proximity. Whilst Jon could not tear his eyes away from Y/N, his uncle Benjen left Jon to ogle.

“Bloody hell. She should be bent over and ravished in that dress.”

Robb elbowed Theon in his stomach. Causing the ward to lose his breath; coughing on the lack of it.

Y/N looked at the table at the head of the room. Seeing her plate next to her fathers and her mothers. Walking towards it, she reached where it laid.

At the sight of their daughter, her parents ceased their conversation.

“You’re finally looking like a lady Y/N. What has caused this drastic change? Or should I ask whom?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at her mother’s words.

Going to grab her plate, she hiked up her skirt to climb up the platform to the table.

Piling more vegetables and mashed potatoes on her sparsely filled plate (most likely her mother’s doing) she shoved her shank into her mouth, ripping off a large portion of the meat. With her plate in one hand, and her shank in the other, Y/N pointed at her father with the bone of meat. Amusement clear on his face. Whilst her mother and siblings held disgust. Laughter could be heard from the Stark children at her antics.

“Stupid bets with the stupid Stark boys. I would have had it if father had not called for me.”

Robert bellowed with laughter at his daughter’s frustration.

She turned to glare at him, however, she could not keep a smile from taking over.

“Because of that, I am going to sit with Jon. The poor bastard is probably bored out of his mind.”

Cersei shook her head at her daughter’s words.

“You will do no such thing.”

Y/N bore her eyes into her mother’s, taking another bite out of her shank.

Chewing the meat ever so slowly, she swallowed the chunk. Throwing the bone on her plate, she licked her fingers clean; angering her mother even more.

“Let her mother, she’s acting like a homeless harlot any way.”

Whipping her head towards Joffrey, she took in his words. Looking her younger brother up and down with a glare that could kill, the young Lannister swallowed harshly.

Heading to walk past the Starks and down the steps of the platform, she kept her eyes on Joffrey, stopping to stand in front of the young Stark girls.

“Sansa cover your ears.”

The girl did so.

Directing her words back to Joffrey, she smirked at her brother.

“You can call me a harlot. But at least I’m not an incestuous little bitch.”

Cersei’s head whipped in her daughter’s direction. Watching as she diverted her attention to the Starks.

Y/N smiled as Arya, Theon, and Robb chuckled at her words. Motioning for Sansa to uncover her ears, she knew the girl still heard. But she didn’t care.

“Now if you’ll excuse me. I have fulfilled my duties and my part of the bet. So, I am going to sit with Jon and enjoy my meal.”

As she continued her path across the platform, Y/N reached out her hand to quickly grab Theon’s leftover shank.

The ward standing in his seat.

“You fucking bitch! I didn’t finish that.”

The girl trotted down the steps, walking through the array of people backwards.

Much like she had done to her father, Y/N used the shank to point at Theon.

“Next time you talk about bending over a girl and ravishing her without consent, think about how you will go hungry for the rest of the night.”

Turning to face Jon, she walked towards the man; who had witnessed and heard mostly everything.

Robb sitting next to Theon, laughed as the ward fell back into his seat in a sulk.

“She’s right mate.”

Theon scoffed.

“At least I won’t be married to her and have her not love me back.”

Robb stared at the Greyjoy.

“What do you mean? She might learn to love me back.”

Theon scoffed, continuing to eat the food left on his plate.

“You really think her, and Jon only see each other as friends. Why do you think her father and yours are marrying her to you? Jon’s a bastard and not a Stark. If he were, they would be married by morning.”

Robb shifted in his seat. He knew Y/N did not see him the same as he saw her. But for others to see the obvious tension between Jon and Y/N, and he hadn’t, made it even more real for Robb.

Sitting back in his seat Robb looked forward.

“Remember, you aren’t a Stark either Greyjoy. So, stop pretending that you are.”

Theon paused his eating at Robb’s words. Rage bubbling deep inside as he began to drink his wine excessively.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dropping her plate in front of Jon, Y/N raised her skirt to sit comfortably on the chair. Shovelling Theon’s shank, unattractively, into her mouth. Using her sleeve as a makeshift napkin to wipe her face.

Jon could not help but watch in amusement.

Swallowing the food, Y/N looked into her friend’s eyes.

“Has Ned told you?”

Taking a swig of his wine, he placed the cup down.

“Told me what?”

Wiping her mouth once more, Y/N reached over to grasp Jon’s drink, gulping some down herself.

“My father and Ned have arranged for Robb and I to wed.”

In disbelief, all Jon could do was stare at Y/N.

Putting his cup back on the table, Y/N leaned her head on her hand, watching herself play with her food.

“They haven’t told me yet. Turns out Arya over heard them tell Robb. She came to me straight away. Telling me that Robb did not argue against it, the cunt.”

Jon licked his lips. Running his hands over his face. Looking back at the young woman in front of him, Jon analysed her expression.

“And you’re not happy with this?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his question.

Waving her hand in the air, she answered.

“Of course, I am not happy Jon. Robb is like a brother to me. I don’t view him in that way. And unlike some people in these kingdoms, I don’t want to fuck my family. I want to marry whomever I choose.”

Jon laughed at her words.

“Anyway, what did Benjen want? You seemed to be having a pretty serious conversation.”

It was Jon’s turn to stare at his own plate.

“He came to inform me that he was travelling to join the Nightswatch. And I told him that I want to join too.”

“Oh.”

Jon raised his gaze to the girl, seeing her expression fall.

“So, Lord Stark, Sansa, and Arya will be travelling to Kingslanding back with your family. I will follow Benjen to the wall-“

“And I will be here, marrying Robb, and helping your mother tend to Bran, whilst Theon does God knows what.”

All Jon did was nod his head.

“Well we better make the most of today and tomorrow.”

Raising her shank, she laughed as Jon cheered it with his own. The pair continuing to laugh throughout the feast.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As there last day together approached, Y/N and Jon never left each other’s side. Causing more mischief than ever before. King Robert and Eddard chose not to interfere, knowing that it was going to be a while before they would see each other again. Robb had also left the pair alone, for Y/N would be his wife soon, and they would be together for a long time coming.

The day went too quickly for the pair, and as morning came, Y/N could not help but feel the tears gather in her eyes at the thought of being left by her father and Jon.

Watching as Arya and Sansa left with her family in tow. She stood next to the Stark sisters as the clambered onto their horses.

“Keep Sansa safe Arya.”

“I will.” The younger Stark replied.

“And Sansa?”

The older Stark looked towards Y/N.

The Baratheon smiled.

“Help yourself to all my dresses and fabric. I’ve have never worn most of them.”

Sansa smiled in appreciation.

Y/N’s expression became more serious.

“And please be careful.”

“I will.”

The pair went to begin their journey to Kingslanding.

Y/N turned to the guard next to her; already mounted on his steed.

“Please watch over them Sandor. You and I both know how evil of a cunt Joffrey is.”

The Hound huffed at her words. Lifting the helmet, he placed it on his head.

“I’ll do my best. Don’t get yourself killed now little Doe.”

Y/N laughed at his nickname for her, watching as her family and the Starks set of on their journey.

She had already said goodbye to her father in privacy. Not wanting to cry even more than she knew she would when she would have to say goodbye to Jon.

Once the carriage and horses were a mere speck in the horizon, she allowed herself to face Jon. Examining the exchange between him and Robb, she could feel her heart hurt at the sight.

Strolling towards them, Y/N witnessed as the Stark brother’s let each other go. Quickly taking Robb’s position as he left the pair to say their goodbye’s.

Standing next to his steed, Jon watched as Y/N walked slowly towards him. Quickly gulping down the sobs in her throat, Y/N pulled Jon in too a tight embrace. Burying her head in the crook of his neck, the young pair stayed in that position for a long time, that ‘just friends’ would deem too long.

Jon was the first to pull away. Holding her face in his hands, Jon stroked her cheek with his thumb. Catching the tears that had escaped her eyes.

“I promise that we will see each other soon. You can tell me all about the married life with my brother.”

Y/N laughed. Clutching Jon’s furs with her fists. She pulled him closer, their heads resting against the others. A solemn look falling on her face.

“I don’t want to marry Robb.”

Jon let out a breath.

“I know. I wish you wasn’t.”

She replied.

“So, do I. I love him, but not in the way a man and wife love another.”

Pulling her head back, Y/N’s hand travelled to Jon’s neck. Her surprisingly warm fingers sending tingles down the man’s spine.

“Promise we will see each other again.”

Jon nodded his head.

“I promise.”

As he muttered his promise, Y/N leaned her face closer to his own. Placing her lips on his cheek, she slowly pulled them away. Detaching herself from the Stark bastard, Y/N sadly smiled at Jon.

“You better get going. By the time you get there, the snow would have melted.”

Jon chuckled. Mounting his horse, he positioned himself comfortable on the saddle.

Benjen began to follow the Nightswatch as they started their journey out of the gates of Winterfell.

Y/N stepped back as Jon trotted his horse to catch up with his uncle.

“Jon!”

Turning his head, he caught Y/N’s gaze.

“Remember. If you ever need to, aim to the right.”

Jon felt a large smile take over his face.

“Straight at the heart.”

Y/N smiled in return.

“Straight at the heart.”

Much like her father leaving, Y/N stood in her place. Refusing to move until Jon was a speck in the distance.

As she stood, watching Jon leave, Robb slowly approached. Standing to the side of the Baratheon princess.

The pair stood in silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Robb looked towards his soon to be wife.

“What for?”

She let a few tears fall.

“I love him.”

“I know.”

“I love you too.”

Robb turned his gaze back to the gates. The two watching as the guards shut them closed.

“But not in the same way.”

Y/N shook her head.

Placing a hand on Robb’s shoulder, their eyes connected.

“No. But I will be the best wife I can be.”

Robb smiled at her words. He had no doubt she wouldn’t.

Squeezing his shoulder, Y/N let her hand drop, walking away from Robb and away from the gates where she had said goodbye to her family and Jon. Walking into the castle that she now would call home. But nowhere would be home without her father. And nowhere would make her feel as happy as when she was with Jon.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As the months passed, it became easier for Y/N to become more comfortable in her permanent residence at Winterfell. Coming to terms of her life with Robb. He was her friend, and he needed her help. Robb accepted the fact that she did not love him the same, but he knew she still cared for him deeply. And when word had come to Winterfell that King Robert Baratheon had sadly passed, Robb’s shoulder was there for Y/N to cry on. Y/N had reciprocated the compassion when news of Ned’s execution hit Winterfell. She hated Joffrey and her mother with a passion.

The young Baratheon was distraught. Being the closest to her father out of her siblings, she felt as though she had lost the only true family member she had. Heartbroken that she was not at his side when he sadly passed. Her tears of sorrow were soon replaced with tears of dread when she realised what would occur if anyone was to find out the true bloodline of her siblings. She had known for years of Cersei and Jaime’s relationship. How nobody else had realised why she looked so contrasting to her siblings, Y/N prayed for the day that the truth would be revealed to never come.

However, it did, and as Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, word had travelled around the kingdoms. Causing the War of the Five Kings to begin. With Joffrey, her uncle Stannis and Renly, Balon Greyjoy, and Robb, all fighting for the throne.

As the war surged forward, Y/N noticed that Robb’s attention had been caught by one of the young healers; Talisa. Watching the pair converse, Y/N smiled to herself. She was happy that he had finally found true love. And at that moment of thought, Jon entered her mind. She wondered where he was now. If he ever thought of her on his travels. If he was safe, or even still alive.

On a seemingly quiet night, Catelyn approached Y/N in the drawing room. As she pulled the girl into her embrace, she informed her of the nuptials that would occur that evening. “For Robb and I?”

Catelyn shook her head, a smile taking over her features.

“No. For Talisa and Robb.”

Y/N let out the breath she held. Robb was her “brother”, and he was finally going to get married. To someone who loved him back.

“Thank high heavens. No disrespect Catelyn. I love your son. But not in that way.”

The Stark woman laughed at the Baratheon’s exclamation; enveloping her in another hug.

“I know you mean no harm in your words. It’s not your fault that your heart belongs to Ned’s bastard.”

Y/N shook her head, pulling herself out of the woman’s grasp.

“Give the boy some slack Catelyn. He’s out there defending the wall for us.”

Catelyn dismissed the girl’s words with a wave of her hand.

“Now let’s get you in something more suitable for a wedding. No more breeches for the rest of the day.”

Y/N followed begrudgingly as Catelyn helped her get ready for Robb’s wedding.

Walking across the field, Y/N sauntered into Robb’s tent, watching as he finished getting ready.

“Well somebody looks like a king.”

Robb chuckled, turning to his friend.

“And somebody looks like a princess.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am one, you dickhead.”

“You don’t dress like one.”

Y/N punched Robb’s shoulder at his words.

Robb laughed.

“Come one. Let’s go get you married. This is going to be the best wedding in all the kingdoms.”

For soon after the ceremony occurred, blood flooded the floors of the room. Waldor Frey’s men killing everyone and anything. With Greywind at her side, and a bow in her hand, Y/N fought off many of the soldiers. Trying her best to protect Robb.

Out of nowhere, one of Frey’s soldiers jumped from behind, swinging his dagger in Y/N’s direction. Just as Y/N thought this would be her end, Greywind attacked the soldier’s arm, causing the sword to slice Y/N’s face; narrowly missing her eye. She was alive. She could deal with a cut face as long she was alive. Pulling her arrow back, she landed it perfectly into the heart of the solider; Greywind keeping him down with his grip on the man’s arm.

“Y/N!”

At the shout of her name, she turned to Robb.

“Get out of here. Take Greywind with you.”

Y/N shook her head.

“I am not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are. Go find Jon at the wall. I am not going to lose both Talisa and you. Mother and I will be okay. Go.”

Y/N looked at Catelyn’s direction.

“Go.” The women whispered.

AS Catelyn held the knife to the throat of Frey’s wife, Y/N slipped out the room. Quickly mounting one of the horses, with Greywind at her side, and her bow on her back, she fled from the wedding and from Winterfell.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------She could feel in her bones the guilt of leaving Robb and his mother behind. Of not being able to help Talisa. Of not being able to do something more. The guilt and grief only grew more when on her way to the wall, as she stopped to eat in a small tavern, Y/N over-heard of the gruesome events that occurred after she left. Hearing men laugh as they spoke about how Waldor Frey’s soldiers cut off Robb’s head and paraded his body around. How Catelyn’s throat was slit open. How Talisa was murdered, and so was her and Robb’s unborn child.

She could not hear no more. Continuing to travel as she arrived closer and closer to the wall. Collecting weapons, furs, and food along her travels. Greywind never leaving her side. Y/N remembered the directions to the Nightswatch, having spoken to her father and Eddard about it in great deal; when she was younger. She was always fascinated by the stories of the wall, so it was no surprise that she would want to know more about the men who would be guarding it.

Y/N had been travelling for weeks when she finally arrived at the wall. Searching for a secluded space, she hopped off of her horse. Stroking the animal’s mane, Y/N grabbed out the necessary food from her satchel. Feeding both the horse and Greywind before devouring an apple herself. She could not risk lighting a fire and cooking. It could draw unwanted attention. But what she didn’t know was that she had already done so by being there. As she was finishing her apple, out of nowhere, Greywind began to snarl. Instantly dropping the core of her fruit, Y/N reached for her bow and arrows; standing in front of the horse with Geywind at her side.

Looking towards the area where Greywind gazed, she saw fur and lots of it, approaching where she stood at the wall. The figures moved closer and closer. Wildlings. Y/N had no time to run or hide. With the direwolf and horse by her side, she would not be able to escape quietly. Drawing her bow, Y/N made sure her weapons were secure on her body. She was not going to be killed by Wildlings. Not when she had survived this long.

As they approached, one by one, the Wildlings noticed the woman in front of them. She was dressed very similar to them. The only differences being that her furs were a mixture of red and black. Tormund stood near the front of the group with Ygritte by his side. So, it came as a very big surprise when they reached the wall to enter the watch, that a woman stood in front of it. With a bow in her hand and a huge fucking wolf snarling towards them.

Y/N pulled her bow to aim at the ginger Wildlings’ chest.

“Take another fucking step and I will shoot this arrow straight through your heart, Wildling.”

Tormund let out a boisterous laugh at her words.

“Will you kill me little fox? Will you kill us all? You don’t know who you are messing with.”

Without missing a beat, Y/N answered.

“No.”

Tormund continued to laugh.

“But he will help me.”

AT the sound of her words, Greywind began to growl louder, his body arching as he slowly strode closer to the Wildlings.

Tormund quickly became quiet.

“Now if you don’t let me go, I will paint this wall red with your blood and use your skulls as bowls to feed my direwolf. You hear?”

Silence encompassed them.

“I like her.”

Y/N shifted her arrow to the ginger woman at her words.

Tormund’s shocked expression moving to gaze at her as well.

Ygritte simply shrugged her shoulders.

“She has fire. You of all people should know how strong a person kissed by fire is.”

The Wildling’s murmured amongst each other, looking at Tormund to respond.

Tormund looked at Ygritte. The ginger girl giving a quick nod of her head. Their silent conversation coming to an agreement.

Turning back to the Baratheon, Tormund sheathed his dagger. Taking another step closer; to only take it back as the direwolf growled once more.

“Okay little fox. We do no harm.”

Y/N never let her eyes leave the group. Keeping herself on edge for any attack.

“Here me out little fox.”

“Do not call me fox. I am not a fox.”

Tormund could see Ygritte smirk in the corner of his eye. Yes. She would fit right in.

“If you have no place to stay, come with us Wildlings. You will be safe.”

“I don’t need your help. I am safer alone.”

Ygritte rolled her eyes at the girl’s words. She felt that way once too.

“You won’t be safe when the Whites arrive.”

Y/N shook her head. Not wanting to believe her words. She had heard stories, but it has been hundreds of years since White Walkers roamed around Westeroes. But her mind suddenly reeled back to all the warnings Eddard Stark had given before his death. Winter is Coming. That is what he meant.

Slowly lowering her bow, she kept the object in a type grip at her side. Clicking her tongue, she signalled for Greywind to heel at her feet. The direwolf still on high alert.

“If I was to come with you, you swear an oath to do me no harm.”

Tormund laughed once more. As did many of the other Wildlings.

“An oath? Were Wildlings. You’re lucky to even be offered shelter.”

Y/N continued to stare at the man, her eyes flickering to Ygritte’s, as the woman’s expression remained serious.

“We swear.”

At Ygritte’s words, the Wildlings bellowed disagreements.

Y/N, taking Ygritte’s word, began to lead her direwolf and horse towards the Wildlings. She trusted Ygritte. She even felt compelled to trust the big ginger one, but she still kept her eye out for any dirty bastard who would break their word.

“Fine. We will amuse this oath. But if you are to stay with us, you will live the Wildling way. They call me Tormund Giantsbane.”

As they began to head towards the Wildling’s keep, Y/N walked between Tormund and Ygritte. The rest of the Wildlings in front of them. Greywind stayed close behind Y/N for protection, as she led her horse by its reigns.

“Why Giantsbane?”

“I killed a giant when I was 10. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife. When she woke up, she suckled me at her teat for three months. Thought I was her baby. That’s how I got so strong: giant’s milk.”

Y/N could not help but smile at the man’s story. Confusing Tormund as many of whom he had told the story to would either look deathly afraid, repelled, or even turned on. Not amused like Y/N was.

“Now what do they call you little fox.”

Y/N thought whether or not to reveal her true identity. To be trusting or to be safe. She chose the latter.

“They call me Doe.”

Tormund looked at the woman in confusion.

“Doe? A deer?”

Ygritte laughed at Tormund’s expression.

“A female deer.”

Tormund glared at his Wildling friend.

“I know what a doe is, you fucker.”

Ygritte smirked.

“It sounded like you didn’t.”

As the two bickered back and forth, walking either side of the Baratheon, Y/N could not help but reminisce of the funny quarrels between her, Robb, and Jon. She missed them both dearly. Whilst she may never be able to reunite with Robb, she knew she was so close to seeing Jon. She could feel it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Turns out, Y/N’s feelings were correct. For the bastard of Eddard Stark was a lot closer than she thought. She had been living with the Wildlings for nearly a year when Ygritte had travelled back from her duties at the wall. But Ygritte wasn’t alone. It seemed she had turned the tables on her capture; catching the crow herself.

As Ygritte travelled back to the Wildling den with the crow, Y/N and Tormund sat at the fire. The man watching as the woman hacked and carved the elks they and other Wildlings had caught earlier that day. She had come to take position of cook the minute she arrived. Being near the fire reminded her of life back home. She had also taken up cooking whilst living with Robb; wanting to become friendly with the servants and hand maidens that she thought would be with her for life. But how she was wrong.

During her months with the Wildlings, her skills in sword fighting had become a lot stronger. Adhering the techniques of the Wildlings, the Starks, and those her uncle Jaime had taught her, made Y/N’s fighting style unique. Untouchable. Her skills with an arrow had no match to anyone else either. She was a strong warrior. One the Wildlings had come to admire.

“You’ve grown strong Little Doe. Nearly as strong as I.”

Y/N smiled at Tormund’s words. The man reminded her of her father. His contagious laugh and rosy cheeks were similar to that of the Baratheon king. Cutting the elk into pieces, Y/N placed them onto the fire.

“And I did not need one drop of giant’s milk.”

Tormund bellowed with laughter at the girl’s sarcasm. She was still a spitfire. That aspect had not changed.

Y/N had come to adapt to the Wildling lifestyle very quickly. Most of it not being that different to her adventures with Jon and Robb. Hunting, sparring, and amongst other training activities. She was more comfortable here than she had ever been under the gaze of her mother. No dresses in sight. Just thick furs and weapons. Jon would have fit right in, she thought.

Wiping her hands on her trousers, Y/N stood up, handing some already cooked food to Tormund. The man began to devour the food instantly.

“I am going to give the rest of this food out to the ones who have yet to eat. So, don’t think about eating my plate or else the last words out of your mouth would have been about how strong I am. Got it Tor?”

The man held up a thumb, shoving the rest of his forkful into his mouth. He had learnt that the young woman did not kid when it meant food was involved.

Picking up the large box of prepared food, Y/N trudged out the camp and headed towards the groups of Wildlings she had left to feed. The women and children smiled at her arrival. The men nodding their heads in respect. She began to hand out the meals; blissfully unaware of Ygritte and many other Wildlings entering the camp with Jon Snow at their side.

“Hey Dongo?”

The giant stopped hammering the pole at the sound of his name. He smiled once he saw it was Little Doe. Even the giants had come to care for the Baratheon. Everyone treated her as though she was a born and raised Wildling.

As Y/N’s attention was aimed at feeding the giant, she failed to see the crow, behind the large beast, being ushered into the main tent. Grabbing a large slab of shank out of her box, she handed the meat to the giant.

“If you want anymore, Xera is also cooking in the tent over there. You’ve worked really hard today.”

The giant nodded in appreciation, watching as Y/N carried on weaving through the groups of Wildlings to feed the hungry.

“I smell a crow.”

Tormund had ceased eating once he felt the presence of a stranger in the tent. Ygritte stood to one side of Jon, as the Lord of Bones stood at the other. The man pulling of his mask as he spoke.

“We killed his friends. Thought you'd want to question this one.”

Tormund kept his back to the trio.

“What do we want with a baby crow?”

“This baby killed Qhorin Halfhand. He wants to be one of us.”

At Ygritte’s words, Tormund stood from his seat; staring at Jon.

“That half-handed cunt killed friends of mine. Friends twice your size.”

Jon took deep breaths. Trying to not show his fear.

“My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts.”

“Plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart. And there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. What's your name, boy?”

“Jon Snow.”

Tormund’s face changed to one of confusion. Having remembered a time when the Little Doe had mentioned a man named Jon. No last name. But it had been one of the few times she had talked so openly of her past. Of a boy she had grown besides, who had to leave to protect the place he lived.

Jon kneeled before Tormund, mistaking him for Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall.

“Your Grace.”

The wildlings laughed, Tormund ignoring his thoughts.

“Your Grace? Did you hear that? From now on, you'd better kneel every time I fart.”

With the Wildlings laughing, Mance Rayder appeared from the shadows, heading towards the crow.

“Stand, boy. We don't kneel for anyone beyond the Wall.”

Jon raised to his feet, watching the man before him.

“So, you're Ned Stark's bastard. Thank you for the gift, Lord of Bones. You can leave us.”

The lord of Bones left, Ygritte soon following in tow. As she exited the tent, Y/N approached the woman, food already in hand.

“Here you go Ygritte. Just heard you had arrived back. With company as well. Who’s the poor soul this time?”

Ygritte smirked at the girl’s words. Much like Tormund, the girl had spoken of a Jon. But had given no name. However, with the details she had told, Ygritte knew the man in the tent was the man Y/N had spoken about. Not wanting to give anything away, Ygritte took the food from the woman.

“You know, just some crow. We killed the rest. Thought this one could be useful, He’s in there with Mance and Tormund. Head in if you like.”

At the end of her words, Ygritte walked away, watching from her peripheral vision as Y/N began to walk into the tent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As she stood outside the tent, Y/N could hear Mance Rayder and Tormund tormenting the poor crow.

“The girl likes you. You like her back, Snow? That why you want to join us?”

As she quietly stepped into the tent, Y/N body became rigid at the sight of dark black curls. It couldn’t be.

“Don't panic, boy. This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls.”

Tormund came to stand at the entrance, his face turning to see Y/N frozen in the doorway. Concern taking over his features.

“This chicken eater you thought was king is Tormund Giantsbane.”

Jon refused to turn to look at the man; only until he saw Mance Rayder’s expression change as well.

The leader of the Wildling’s had also seen Y/N stand in the door. Both men worried at her reaction to the sight of the crow.

“Little Doe is there something wrong?”

At the sound of the name, Jon’s head whipped to the direction of the door. Only one person other than Sansa that he knew was called Little Doe.

For the first time in two years, Y/N and Jon was in each other’s presence. Through loss, deceit, fear, they had gone through it all and were back together again.

“Y/N?”

Tears sprung to her eyes at the sound of her name. She never thought she would the sound of her name so much. But she missed the man that spoke them more.

“Jon.”

As she cried his name, the man strode towards the woman. Jon pulling her body flushed against his own. Clinging to each other with all their strength. Pulling the other tighter and tighter. Afraid to be ripped apart once more.

Pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, Y/N spoke to Jon for the first time in a long while.

“I came to the wall after what had happened, and I stopped to rest. But then Tormund and the Wildlings came; warned me about the dangers beyond the wall. I’ve been here since. I’m sorry I didn’t save Robb and Catelyn. I’m so sorry Jon.”

The girl cried. The sound broke the hearts of all three men. None of the Wildlings had ever seen or heard the woman cry. They weren’t aware of the terrors she had fled when they had found her.

Jon wiped away the tears. His hand cupping Y/N’s face, as the other continued to hold her waist; keeping her body close.

“It’s not your fault. You are a Baratheon, not a Lannister. You did not kill them.”

The young woman hiccuped.

“But I didn’t save them either. I should have tried harder.”

Jon held her closer, trying to sooth the woman in his arms.

“Baratheon?”

Y/N ceased her sobbing at the sound of Tormund’s voice.

“Shit.”

Lifting her head from Jon’s chest, she kept a firm grip of the man’s furs, as she turned her head to where Tormund stood next to Mance Rayder. Tormund continuing to look confused, whilst Rayder’s showed no expression.

Y/N sits down with the men and begins to explain to them her story. Of how she was meant to marry Robb Stark, the events of the Red Wedding, of all the hatred she held towards her mother and siblings.

“I have felt more at home here and at Winterfell than I ever did in Kingslanding. The only reason I was still there was because I am the only pure born Baratheon and I was not going to leave my father. If you wish for me to leave, I will do so. But I never intended to harm you. In anyway, and I am sorry that I lied to you both, and the others.”

Mance Rayder looked at Tormund, the man staring back. Their silent conversation being recognised by Jon as he came to sit next to Y/N. His body gravitating to sit as close as he possibly could.

The two men nodded towards the other. Looking back at the girl.

Mance Rayder spoke clearly to the woman.

“You have shown through your words and actions that you are no Lannister. That you are no coward. That you are a Wildling. Through and through. The only way you could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed you himself.”

Y/N chuckled at his words.

“That is true.” Tormund agreed.

“You are one of us. That will never change.”

“Thank you Rayder.”

The man smiled at the young woman. Taking that as his leave, he stood from his seat and walked towards the entrance.

“Snow.”

Jon looked at the man standing at the door.

“We shall discuss matters of you being here at a later time.”

At the end of his words, Mance Rayder left the room, leaving the trio alone.

“You’re still our Little Doe. Still unstoppable with a bow and arrow and a fucking great cook.”

Jon smiled at Tormund’s words to Y/N. He was proud that she had been able to survive so long in the game that was being played. Away from most of the carnage, but still aware of the fight. That she had been able to gain respect from a group that many people in Westeros never dared to fight against.

“Thank you, Tormund. You are still my fire.”

“Aye. You better tell that to your friend.”

Tormund left the pair alone in the tent. His laughter becoming quieter and quieter the further he travelled away.

Turning to face Y/N, Jon threaded his fingers through her hair. Wanting to feel her presence as much as he could. Cupping his hands with her own, Y/N leant into his touch. Glad to feel the familiar touch of the man before her.

“So, tell me about the Watch? Have you finally made some friends, besides me and your family?”

Jon chortled at her words. Y/N had always teased Jon about his lack of companions when they were growing up. As Robb and Theon grew older, they had many friends and even some women at their sides. Whereas it seemed Jon was content with only having her.

“A young man called Samwell Tarly. He has become a great companion of mine. But all men of the Watch are brothers in arms. We have each other’s backs.”

A sullen look took over Y/N’s features as she pulled her face away from Jon’s caress. Worry instantly took over Jon at the sudden change in her demeanour.

“And what would they make of you here with us Wildlings?”

Jon huffed out a breath; unsure how to answer.

“But you are not a Wildling.”

Y/N took great offense to her friend’s statement.

“You heard Mance Rayder. I am a Wildling. Through and through. The only way I could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed me himself.”

“Y/N, you are a Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister. You are meant to be in a castle, safe and away from all of this.”

Y/N was hurt. Jon of all people should know how much she hated her life in Kingslanding.

“You know that I have never wished to be a princess. You know that one of the reasons I travelled with father to Winterfell so often was because the horrible torment I would have faced when he had gone.”

Y/N rose to her feet, as her anger began to take over her emotions. Jon regretting his words as soon as he said them. Y/N’s hands slammed on the table between them.

“You know that the place I felt safest was at Winterfell and that all went when Theon betrayed your brother. When your brother betrayed his vow. When my grandfather betrayed me. Sending men to kill us all. Your brother may have died. But I had to watch one of my best friends die at the hands of my uncle. I had to run as I knew that Cateyln, the only honest and caring woman in my life, be killed. Whilst you were in Castle Black. Having no idea of the atrocities I faced.”

Y/N wiped her nose, as tears pricked her eyes once more. Looking away at the man in front of her. His saddened expression making her wish she wasn’t so harsh. But she could not allow him to disrespect all she had been through. “These people took me in. They could have left me to die, whilst I searched for you, but they didn’t. They helped me grow as a warrior. If Ygritte and Tormund did not take me in, I would most likely be on the other side of that wall, with eyes as blue as the summer sky, and skin as cold as the ice.”

Jon flinched at her words, at the idea of her being part of the dead beyond the wall. Standing from his seat, Jon strode around the table, moving to stand in front of Y/N, forcing the woman to look at him.

“I am sorry. They were your family as much as they were mine. I cannot imagine the feelings you have felt. But I am here now, and I am going to make sure that you are safe.”

Looking into his eyes, Y/N searched to see any lies. She loved Jon. More than she cared to admit, but they were a part of a game much bigger than the both of them, and that meant having to question the actions of those they loved.

Stepping closer, toe to toe, Jon could feel Y/N’s breath on his face. His eyes momentarily closing at the feeling.

“Will I be safe in Castle Black? Among the Nightswatch? Because I don’t think I will.

Y/N left the room, allowing her words to linger in Jon’s heart. His chest feeling heavy at the thought of Y/N feeling unsafe with him. But he knew it wasn’t his presence that made her feel unsafe, but that of the Nightswatch. For as far as they, and everyone else in Westeros knew, Princess Y/N Baratheon was dead. And she was. For this new woman, sitting next to Wun Wun in the open camp, was not the same Baratheon that Jon had left in Winterfell. But Jon’s heart still thumped as hard.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days after Jon’s arrival at the camp, Mance Rayder ordered for Tormund to escort a group of Wildlings to attack Castle Black from the rear. Instructing Tormund to have Jon accompany him.

Tormund and the Wildlings had prepared to leave camp, when out of nowhere, Y/N appeared at Tormund’s side. Cloaked and ready for the journey ahead.

“You are not coming Little Doe.”

Y/N stared straight ahead, ignoring Tormund’s words.

“He’s right Y/N.”

Jon slightly flinched at the glare she through his way.

“I am still pissed off at you Snow. So, don’t tell me that I would be safe at Castle Black, then tell me I cannot come with you. Because you will be proving yourself to be a liar.”

Turning her head back forward, Y/N began to march forward with the Wildlings. Jon was frozen in his place. Staring as the woman walked at the front of the group, unafraid of what was out there. Turning his head, Jon realised that Tormund had ceased moving, much like Y/N, glaring at the man in question. Jon gulped.

“You better start walking crow. You’ve already pissed off one Wildling today. Don’t make it another.”

Jon instantly began to walk, he and Tormund quickly catching up the group; situating themselves at the front once more.

It did not take long for things to go South. With Ygritte and Jon’s near-death experience climbing the wall, to Jon refusing to kill the innocent man, Y/N had to step in. She may have been angry with Jon. But she was not going to watch him be killed.

“Tormund! Stop! You are not going to kill him.”

As Y/N runs to aid Jon, Ygritte grabs her arms from behind; restraining the young woman.

“Ygritte if you were my friend, you would let me go.”

Ygritte held on to Y/N’s arms tighter.

“I am not going to let you go because you are my friend, and you will make the wrong decision.”

Out of nowhere, Summer and Shaggydog arrive at Jon’s side. Greywind had been kept absent from the expedition due to the treacherous climbing and walking. They could not carry supplies for twenty plus Wildlings and a direwolf.

As Jon was fighting successfully against the Wildlings, with the help of the direwolves, Y/N fought excessively hard to get out of Ygritte’s grip. Successfully doing so and grabbing her bow and arrow as well. Holding the arrow in the direction of Tormund and Ygritte, Y/N stepped closer towards Jon.

“You are not going to kill him!”

“He’s a traitor. Still loyal to the Nightswatch.”

“He’s my family and so are you. I am not losing anymore family…”

As Y/N held back the Wildlings, with Summer at her side, Jon successfully killed Orrell. Suddenly, an eagle swooped down to attack the man, clawing him across the face. Y/N turned at the commotion, running towards Jon, she whistled, causing a horse to approach. Placing her bow onto her back she pulled out her sword, swinging it back and forth to keep away the eagle and any approaching Wildlings.

“Get on the horse now!”

Jon slowly climbs onto the horse. He holds out his hand for Y/N to take. Looking sadly at the man, she ignored his hand.

“One day Jon Snow, we will see each other again.”

Clapping the horse on the back leg, Y/N urged the stead to gallop away from the Wildlings. Jon watching as she was quickly restrained once more by the people she had called family. She had put herself in danger to save him. Jon would never forgive himself.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s arms were bound tightly together. Gagged to stop her screams as Tormund ordered for Ygritte and other Wildlings to chase after Jon. She fought and fought to free herself, but she could not fight no longer. Tormund carrying Y/N himself to their base to rest. Facing forward, he dared not to look down at the woman in his arms, hearing her soft broken cries caused his heart to replace the anger he felt at her actions to change to sadness at the sound of her tearful woes.

Jon cleaned his facial wounds in a small pool. His horse grazing nearby. He heard the sound of a bow being drawn, turning to see Ygritte, an arrow notched and aimed at him. Anger surges through her at the betrayal of the man. His betrayal to the Wildlings. To Y/N. Her friends.

“Ygritte, you know I didn't have a choice. She always knew what I was. What I am. I have to go home now. I know you won't hurt me. Y/N wouldn’t want you to hurt me.”

Ygritte’s hold on the bow began to loosen.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. You know nothing of what you and her family have put her through.”

“I do know some things. I know I love her.”

Ygritte grunted, drawing her bow harder in rage.

“I have loved her since we were children. I loved her when her father told her she was meant to marry my brother. I loved her when I left for the Watch. And I love her now. Through all she has been through. I love who she was and who she has become.”

“Then why did you betray her. Why did you betray us?”

Jon paused with his words. Staring deep into Ygritte’s eyes, seeing the blinding rage that she held towards him.

“I have to make things right. To make it better for her.”

Ygritte fought back tears at the thought of Jon taking away her friend. But also, for the fact he was leaving her once more. Jon turned around, unaware, as Ygritte loosened an arrow into his shoulder. Jon fell to the ground, grunting in pain. Notching another arrow, Ygritte watched as Jon lurched up and grabbed onto his horse. She hesitated. Not wanting to hurt him more than she had. He was right. Y/N would not want her to do this. But she had to.

Jon mounted his steed as Ygritte shot an arrow into his leg; crying out as he spurred on his horse. With her anger rising once more, Ygritte shot her third and final arrow, lodging it into the crow’s back. If he were a target, it would be right on the bullseye. Cursing as she let the man gallop away.

When Ygritte arrived back to camp, her quiver empty, but no Jon in sight, Y/N wasn’t sure if she had successfully killed the man and left him to other creatures beyond the wall, or if she had let him go.

Y/N sat next to Tormund, arms still secured behind her back. Her face void of any emotion. Ygritte went to walk past the woman but halted as words left the princess’ mouth.

“Did you kill him? If you were my friend, you could at least tell me that.”

Ygritte looked at her friend, bound and sat on the floor. Like a slave. Like a prisoner. Nothing like one of their own. She hated to see her like this. But they had to be careful.

“I did what I had to do.”

Ygritte walked away from the woman, ignoring as her hunched shoulders went slack. Y/N no longer had the will to fight. Jon had betrayed her, the Wildlings had betrayed her, and she had betrayed them as well.

Y/N was kept detained for the time that the Wildlings prepared to invade the Black. Even though she had fought against them, Tormund and the Wildlings still cared for her. Becoming increasingly worried as she refused to speak and eat. All day and all night, she sat shackled, watching them prepare with a blank stare. Tormund could not deal with it no more.

Moving to sit next to the distant woman, Tormund dropped to the ground with a loud thud. Bringing a canter to her lips, he forced her to swallow.

“You are not dying because of that traitor, Little Doe. I understand why you did what you did. We forgive you.”

Y/N shook her head at his words.

“You shouldn’t. I protected him. I haven’t seen him for years, but the moment he goes against him, I was by his side. I turned against you when I should have stopped him.”

Tormund drank from the canter, staring into the distant hills. The air was cold, but not as harsh as it had been before.

“But we do forgive you. People do all kinds of things for love.”

Y/N scoffed.

“I don’t love him. Not anymore.”

Tormund couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s malice filled words.

“Yes, you do Little Doe. You love him, and he loves you. Through all the changes and things that have done you wrong, you love each other. Between you, there is fire, scorching hot fire. It cannot be put out. But it can be made stronger.”

Y/N processed Tormund’s words.

Tormund left the woman to think. She knew of the raids that had occurred in the towns. Having been kept behind and guarded by a group of Wildlings as they had occurred. She knew that the siege of Castle Black was to occur that night. She had to prove to her Wildling family that she could be trusted. That she has always been and will be a Wildling.

Rolling onto her back, Y/N pushed herself forward, flipping onto her feet. Bending her knees to get used to the feeling of standing once more, Y/N casually strolled through the Wildlings and towards Mance Rayder and Tormund and they spoke with numerous wildlings about the battle that was about to commence.

Slowing to stand beside Tormund, she listens to the conversation. Hearing the plan of action, Y/N nods her head.

“Okay, if someone can untie me, I’ll grab my weapons and get prepared.” Tormund jumped at the new presence, unaware of the woman at his side.

“You are not coming.”

Y/N turned her gaze to Mance, the man’s steely eyes piercing her own.

Determined, Y/N easily pulled her hands free from her restraints.

Tormund looked between her hands and the girls face.

“You could have freed yourself? You could have escaped.”

Y/N kept her gaze on Mance Rayder.

“But I didn’t because I had to pay for what I did. I still do. Let me kill those bastards who changed the man I knew. The Jon I knew would never have lied of his word. He is probably dead now anyway. I will have to come to terms with that. So, Mance Rayder, please allow me to fight. To fight for the Wildlings.”

Y/N knew he was alive. She knew Ygritte had not successfully killed him. The woman had overheard her words to Tormund. Her shots were calculated to hurt no kill. But Y/N had to, for once in her life, fight for family.

The man stayed quiet, the Wildlings around them waited for his reply, Ygritte, who was amongst the crowd, watched in anticipation.

“No.”

Y/N’s determined look fell.

“You will not fight for the Wildlings. You will fight with the Wildlings. With your family.”

A cheer broke out amongst the camp. Y/N beamed with a smile. She was not going to disappoint them again. Not this time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Castle Black, Jon and his men prepared for the battle. Jon hoped that Y/N would not be there. That she would not fight. But he knew, that if the Wildlings had forgiven her, that he would see her right at Tormund’s side. The battle could see the end of them both before they had even begun. A horn was blown. The crows stood their stance, ready to fight. But then another horn was blown, and Jon knew, that she was there, ready to fight as well.

Swords were swung, and arrows were flown. Blood from both sides was spilled and bodies of brave men and Wildling women fell. Jon was right, Y/N never left Tormund’s side, hacking and slashing all Nightsmen that came in their way. Taking a hit here and there, she entered the castle with Tormund, infiltrating from the inside.

Jon had just killed Styr when Ygritte had caught his attention. Her bow and arrow aimed at the Northern man. She slowly began to lower her bow.

“She’s inside with Tormund. Get to her.”

Jon nodded, going to thank Ygritte, when he felt the arrow fly past. Watching as it embedded into Ygritte’s chest. He ran to her, clutching her body as her breaths became shallow.

“Jon Snow. Look after her. You love her, and she loves you.”

Jon clutched Ygritte. He had made a friend in the sarcastic Wildling and he knew Y/N loved the woman as a sister.

“No Ygritte, she needs us both. She needs you.”

Ygritte struggled for one last breath.

“You know nothing Jon Snow. She needs you more.”

As the words left Ygritte’s lips, her body went limp in Jon’s arms. The man watched as Olly continued to fight. The bow still in his hands. Jon quickly carried Ygritte’s body to a safe space, covering her up. Taking a breath, he turned to the castle, heading in the direction he had briefly seen Tormund run.

Tormund and Y/N were back to back, fighting off the guards that crowded them. They had heard the cheers of the Nights watch. But they were not giving up. Y/ was not giving up. Tormund had two arrows embedded into his back, and Y/N’s left arm had taken a deep cut from one of the swords. Another scar to add to the rest. It was two Wildlings against many more crows.

“It’s over. Let it end.”

The pair looked to see Jon, deflated and broken.

“This is how a man ends.”

As Tormund raised his sword, clashing it with one of the men of the Watch, Y/N’s eyes widened in shock as she saw Jon reach for the cross bow. Aiming for Tormund’s leg, Jon released the arrow. The arrow hit where Jon aimed. However, it was not embedded in Tormund’s leg, but in Y/N’s left leg.

Jon looks on, masking in horror, walking to kick Tormund to the ground.

Y/N’s own legs collapsed from underneath her. The pain and exhaustion taking over.

“Put him in chains, we will question him later.”

“You hurt her any fucking more than you have, I will slice your throat boy.”

Two crows did as Jon instructed. Tormund screaming as they dragged him away.

Jon turned to leave.

“What about the girl?”

Y/N glared at Jon. Her breaths heavy and long.

He could not risk her any harm. If he gave her leverage, then they could both be harmed.

“Patch her up and take her to the cells.”

Before they could grab a hold of her, Y/N pulled the arrow from her leg, throwing the object to the ground

She stood, allowing the soldiers to pull her hands behind her back.

“Lock me away, but I a not having your filthy feathered hands touch me. I would rather bleed out. You’ve changed Jon Snow. This game. This war. It changed all of us. Some for good and some for bad.”

Jon gulped down the tears. Hurt from her words.

“I SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THEM. BUT HE SENT ME TO FIND YOU. TO BE SAFE. AND LOOK WHAT FINDING YOU DID TO ME!

Jon knew she referred to his brother and Catelyn. Even though she was being locked away, she still kept her identity a secret; knowing it would harm his position. He would have been killed for hurting her. Hurting the Baratheon princess. But she would have rather died a Wildling than lived longer as a noble.

The crows held her tighter, escorting her the same way that Tormund had been led.

Jon did not move until he could see her no more. Only then did he leave for his chambers. Preparing for the next step. Though she hated him, he was doing this all for her. He hoped that it would work.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whilst laying in their cells, Tormund and Y/N had been made aware of Ygritte’s death. Screams and cries were heard from Tormund for days on end; for his fallen family. When men walked past Y/N’s cell, they heard silence. Only Tormund heard the quiet cries at night. His own tears erupting once more. Crying for Ygritte and for the pain they both felt. She apologised over and over, and Tormund reassured her over and over again. It was not her fault.

Jon was soon named the 998th Lord Commander. The wildlings below unaware of their leader’s death and to position Jon was going to take of asking for their help. During their time’s in the cells, Y/N had become dormant. Hardly eating, sleeping, talking, or doing anything at all. Detached from all that was surrounding her.

When Jon came to free Tormund and herself, to help travel and save the remaining Wildlings. Jon had unsuccessfully tried to speak to Y/N; the girl simply ignoring him as she had everyone else. They were all worried for her health.

“She is too ill to travel.”

Tormund glanced at the woman in the cell, debating Jon’s words.

“If she has to stay in this hell hole, at least get that large friend of yours to help her health.”

Jon nodded his head.

Walking to Y/N’s cell, Jon crouched at the gates. The woman stared blankly at the floor. She seemed lifeless, but the expanding of her chest proved otherwise.

“I know I have changed. We both have. But I am doing this all for you. So, you can have the life you deserve. Away from all this shit that has happened. You cannot die. You did not die then, and you won’t now. So, for once, you are staying here, and you are going to accept help. Samwell we come down to get you better and keep you company. I wish I could home you in proper chambers, but they would kill you if I did. We will be back soon.”

Y/N slowly lifted her head as Jon spoke. Taking in his words. The two stared at each other in silence. Her eyes flickered to Tormund’s figure.

“Keep him safe Torm. Keep yourself safe too.”

Tormund smiled, glad to hear his Little Doe speak again. He had missed her voice.

“Aye,I am a Giantsbane. We will be all right. Ain’t that right boy?”

Jon nodded, still holding his gaze on Y/N. Even as they left the dungeons, the man never wavered his look from her. He saw her lie on the floor as they left. Falling to sleep.

Jon informed Samwell of his commands, making sure that he kept it private between the two. He did not want anyone else to question why she was having assistance. Samwell took the orders with no hesitation or question. Instantly going into action, the minute that Jon and the other Wildlings left.

Everyday Sam would force Y/N to eat and drink. Checking her wounds, bringing her fresh furs and even cleaning her own. Doing all he could to make sure she became healthy again. For a while, it was only Sam talking to fill up the silence. He spoke of his life before the watch, to his opinions on pointless things, to information of the houses. Y/N hid her amusement when he recited the history of House Baratheon to the woman. Still unaware of who she was. To him, she was a Wildling with hardly a clue of the history of the houses. Of what had occurred within the kingdoms. Or so she thought. Samwell was a smart man. Smarter than he looked.

“Jon told me stories of when King Robert and Princess Y/N Baratheon would visit Winterfell. Of how close he was to the princess.”

Y/N’s ears perked up at Sam’s words. Clearing her throat, she spoke to the young man for the first time.

“What kind of stories?”

To say Sam was shocked was an understatement.

“Well, he spoke of how they met and all the trouble they caused with his brother, Robb. Of how devastated he was when he heard that King Robert and Eddard Stark had agreed for her to marry his brother. How it confirmed his reasoning of joining the watch.”

Y/N pulled the thin blanket around her tighter. Her frame had become similar to how it was before, but she still did not fit her furs as she did before.

“If the betrothal had not been agreed then he would have stayed in Winterfell?”

Sam nodded.

“Precisely.”

“That bastard. He left because of Robb and I. He knew I never loved him.”

“I knew it.”

Y/N froze at Sam’s explanation. All this time she had been able to hide who she was, and this oaf had reeled it out of her.

“You’re the princess.”

Y/N drank from the cup at her side. Placing it back down, she leaned her head on the concrete wall, turning to look at Sam, who sat on the other side of the bars. On a stool, holding his own drink.

“Well, you going to kill me? Sell me for ransom and bribery?”

Sam shook his head in a comical manner. The girl quirked an eyebrow. From the time he had spent tending to her, she had come to realise that Samwell’s actions were pure. But she could not help but pull up her guard.

“I wold never. I had my suspicions when Jon asked me to tend to you that you meant something to him. But it was not until you began to eat once more, and your face began to fill out, that I recognised your features. You look very different to your siblings yet so much like your mother and father. You have her beauty and his dark hair and eyes.”

It had been a long time since Y/N had heard of her father or had been compared to him. She ignored the comments of her siblings and Cersei. But to hear that someone could recognise her as her father’s child made her smile once more. “Jon asked me to look after you. And that I will. I will do anything to make Princess Y/N Baratheon better once more.”

Sam’s words brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. Not of sadness or pain like she had cried for the times that have passed. But tears of gratitude. She felt for the first time, in a long time, happy to hear her name. To hear her father’s house and her name together. Even through all she had fought, Y/N truly believed her father would have been proud.

By the time that Jon, Tormund and many of the Wildlings had returned, Y/N was better and nearly stronger than ever. Sam had successfully convinced to be placed on full time guard duty of the Wildling woman. Helping her repair and get better. Sam confided in Y/N of his desires to become a maester. The woman encouraged him to do so, reminding him to not forget about Gilly and the child he has come to love as his own.

Sam travelled to library, where Jon sat, waiting for the news of Y/N’s condition.

“She’s better. She eats well, sleeps well, talks quite a lot.”

Jon let out a small chuckle. Remembering of all the times she talked his ears off growing up.

Sam relied all of her improvements. Before mentioning his desires to leave. To become a maester. Remembering both Gilly and Y/N’s encouraging words.

Jon stared at Sam, saying nothing.

“I’ll be more use to you as a Maester. More use to everyone now that Maester Aemon’s gone. The Citadel has the world’s greatest library. I’ll learn about history, strategy, healing. And other things. Things that will help when they come.”

“If Gilly stays here then she’ll die. And the baby that she named after me will die. And I’ll end up dying, too, trying to protect them. Which means that the last thing that I’ll see in this world will be the look in her eyes when I fail them. (pause) I’d rather see a thousand White Walkers than see that.”

Jon inhaled and exhaled. Nodding somberly, allowing Sam to go.

“Thank you.”

The men continued to discuss Sam’s relationship with Gilly and what it would mean for him to become a maester.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“I’ll come back. You’re not my only friend anymore. I have you and Princess Y/N to visit.”

Jon’s head whipped up at Sam’s words.

“How do you know?”

Sam smiled faintly.

“All the times you spoke of her, `and how you were so adamant of a particular Wildlings safety rang bells in my mind. Then when she was getting better, she looked more Baratheon every day. I asked, and she replied. Told me all that had happened since she was reported dead. Well, since your brother passed.”

Jon looked towards the doors. Pondering on whether to leave to see her. He had been wanting to since he arrived. No doubt Tormund had already re-laid all that had happened, to her.

“Go. She may act like she does not want to see you. But she does. She spoke the most when your name was brought up in conversation.”

Jon stood from his seat, bringing his friend into a hug.

“To you return.”

“To my return.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jon travelled to the cells where Y/N still stayed. Without an explanation, he unlocked the door. If the rest of the Wildlings were roaming around Castle Black, so should she.

Startled at the sudden noise, Y/N sat up from her position on the ground. Watching with baited breath as Jon yanked open the metal bars. Her time in the cells, and with Samwell, had left her hours to think long and hard about how she felt. How she felt about the game. How she felt about friends. How she felt about Jon. And how she felt about herself. She did not want to become a bitter woman. Y/N knew that Jon was doing what he thought was right. He always had. The man may have caused her pain and sorrow. But he was her best friend. He was her Jon.

Jon bent down to sit near Y/N, leaning his back against the wall, he left space between them. Trying to show that he did not want to over step any boundaries.

Without a word, Y/N scooted closer to Jon, so that their arms touched. Neither moved their gazes from the wall in front of them. Slowly, Y/N laid her head on his shoulder.

The pair sat there in silence for a long period of time. Basking in the shared company. It had been the first time in years that Jon and Y/N had been able to sit together, without talking about what had happened to them or what was going to happen next.

Ever so gently, Jon placed his right hand over Y/N’s left. Interlocking their fingers, he stroked the back of the woman’s hand. Basking in the small pieces of affection.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Jon smiled at her words. He was not sure if Sam’s words were true. If she still cared for him.

“So am I. You can wonder freely around the castle now. You can share my chambers, if you would like. I know you don’t feel relatively safe amongst the other men of the Watch.”

Y/N pondered his invitation. Snuggling closer to Jon, she tightened her hold on his hand.

“Yeah. I would appreciate that a lot Jon. Thank you.”

“I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Y/N tilted her head to stare into Jon’s own eyes. Entranced by the other, their bodies moved closer together. Y/N laying practically on top of Jon.

“And so, would I.”

They stayed in the cells for the rest of the night. Enjoying the silence and each other’s company. Cuddled in an embrace, Y/N and Jon fell asleep, wrapped around each other.

What they had been unaware of was little Olly slowly creeping down the cellar during their moment. Seeing his Lord Commander spread across the Wildling woman made the lads blood boil. He had lost his family, his village, his home, all to those foul monsters. And now the watch had lost their leader. A traitor. That is what Jon Snow was.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------And a traitor’s death Jon was given. Sitting in his chambers, Y/N had left mere minutes earlier to speak to Tormund about increasing her training once more, now that she had been healed better. Jon’s face was still flushed from the surprising kiss on the cheek from the woman. The unexpected affection causing the colour to travel across his face.

It soon disappeared when Olly quickly knocked on his chamber door, breathlessly explaining to Jon how Y/N had fallen down the steps when rushing to find Tormund. How she had heard a crack and could not move her right leg. Jon quickly left his chambers, following Olly who told him that Thorne was with the woman, who had refused any help unless Jon was there.

But what Jon had arrived to was not Y/N on the ground in pain with Thorne at her side. But Y/N held captive by Thorne; surrounded by members of the watch. The woman was gagged and shackled. The same she had been when the Wildlings lost the Battle of Castle Black.

Jon sees the woman crying. Turning to ask Thorne what the meaning of this all was, before Jon’s words could leave his mouth, Thorne plunged a knife into his stomach. Y/N’s screams ringing loud, even with the gag in her mouth.

With a hand on his stomach, Jon quickly manouvered to reach the woman. The loss of blood causing him to stumble. Just before he could reach her, Yarwyck, Marsh and two other black brothers proceed to stab Jon. Each dedicating their action ‘For the Watch.’ Jon dropped to his knees, swaying as he watched Y/n thrash against the men who held her captive. Her gag falling loose.

“Stop. Stop it now!”

Thorne moved to stand behind Y/N, his dagger held tightly to her throat. When she gulped, she could feel the blade digging into her neck.

“Don’t hurt her. She did nothing wrong.”

Thorne sneered at Jon.

“She’s a Wildling. Everything she does is wrong.”

Blood soaked Jon’s armour.

“She is Princess Y/N Baratheon.”

“I am a Wildling. Born and bred.”

Jon looked into Y/N’s eyes. Tears falling from both his and her own.

If he was going to die, she was not going to let him save her. She was not going to allow the title she despised to kill the man she loved and save her life.

And as Olly laid down the final blow, stabbing Jon in the heart, the last thing he saw was was Thorne, a man he had come to respect and follow, slice the blade across Y/N’s neck.

Their bodies falling to the ground simultaneously. Neither breathing. Neither alive. The blood poring out their bodies, and down the small dips in the snow, connecting the two puddles together. Even in death, Y/N and Jon were connected.

With a sign above Jon’s head, labelling him a traitor, and a sign above Y/N’s labelling her a savage. The men of the watch dismembered, leaving the bodies to be found in the morning.

And as the pair lay dead, Greywind and Ghost howled to the air, alerting Davos, Edd and his men about the bodies that laid in the snow. The group quickly bringing them into their quarters, with Greywind and Ghost protecting the door.

“We don’t have the numbers.”

Edd looked at Davos in contemplation.

“We have two direwolves.”

“It’s not enough. I didn’t know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn’t have wanted his friends to die for nothing. Speaking for Princess Y/N Baratheon, those men have killed an heir to the throne. Our Lord Commander’s partner. Our friend in arms. She will not die for nothing."

“If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room. We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go.”

Davos began to feel frustrated at Edd’s words.

“We need to fight, but we don’t need to die. Not if we have help.”

The men in the room murmured amongst them.

“Who’s gonna help us?” questioned one of the Nightswatch.

Davos looked across the faces in the room.

“You’re not the only ones who owe your lives to Jon Snow. Once they find out one of their own has been killed, they will come fighting and swinging. For Y/N may have been a princess, but she has a wilder family that lay closer to her heart.”

Realisation swept over Edd. He turned to the Night’s Watchman at his side.

“Bolt the door. Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Edd exited the room. The man swiftly and quietly left the room, heading down the halls and out the castle to the man who could help them. For now, they needed the help of the Wildlings.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ash. All she could see was ash covering the grounds of Kingslanding. Of her home. The sound of screams and burning fire growing louder by the second. As the screams become louder, her vision started to blur. With the Red Keep in the distance falling to the ground; fire encompassing the building. Just before the darkness took over, Y/N heard a single word, over the screams and the terrifying sound of burning. As clear as day, a single word; Dracarys.

Y/N gasped as her eye’s shot open. Taking in the cold and chilly air around her, it quickly came to Y/N’s attention how exposed she was. Feeling a nudging of her hand, Y/N turned her head to see Greywind at the side of the pillar in which she laid. A blanket held softly between his teeth.

Slowly sitting up, Y/N took the blanket from the direwolf, wrapping it around herself securely. Her body felt extremely cold; like a corpse. How could she be alive? Jon’s men stabbed her. Looking down to her stomach, Y/N could see the angry red scars of where her stab wounds were. The last thing she remembered, before her dream, was Olly killing Jon.

Jon? Was he alive or dead? Y/N had no idea. As she began to panic, air leaving her lungs at a rapid pace, the door of the room creaked open. Twisting her head to look at the figure, she watched as Tormund stood in the doorway in shock.

“Tormund.”

“Little Doe!”

The man rushed into the room. Coming to help Y/N as she weakly stood from the pillar. Engulfing his arms around the small woman, she went to hug him back. Until she remembered her exposed state.

“I’m kind of naked Tormund, so I cannot really reciprocate.”

Tormund squeezed the Baratheon princess harder before letting go.

“It is only skin Little Doe. You are as naked as the day you were born. You should feel powerful.”

The woman laughed.

“I feel as though I was stabbed multiple times.”

“That’s because you were.”

At the sound of the new voice, Y/N watched as Melisandre entered through the doors. The dark red head gracefully walked through the doors and travelled to stand next to Tormund.

“She’s the witch that brought you and Jon back. I always say those kissed by fire had special powers.”

Tormund laughed at his own words.

Y/N could not help the shock in her body. She had died and been brought back to life. But so, had Jon.

“Where’s Jon? I want to see Jon.”

Tormund ceased his laughter at Y/N’s desperate pleas.

“I will get him for you.”

Tormund gave the woman another comforting hug.

“Don’t worry Little Doe. He’s okay.”

Releasing Y/N, Tormund headed to the door. Leaving the two women in the room alone.

Y/N felt the red witches gaze on her body. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she felt Greywind move closer; sensing his owner’s discomfort.

“You hold great power.”

Y/N looked towards the woman. Confusion written across her expression.

Melisandre stepped closer to the Baratheon.

“Power so pure that mystic creatures will fall at your feet in awe. That even the darkest of heart will not be able to hurt.”

The pair stared at each other in silence until the door opened once more. This time it was Jon who would walk through.

“Y/N.”

Hearing her name from his mouth brought tears to her eyes. The images of seeing him stabbed by the men of the watch tumbled through her mind.

“Jon.”

She sobbed as the man rushed through the doorway and encircled his arms around her body.

As Jon held Y/N, Melisandre exited the room. Her words hanging heavily in Y/N’s soul. She could not think of them now. Because Jon was alive. They were both alive.

Y/N rose her arms, to encircle them around Jon, when she suddenly realised again, she was exposed.

“Jon, I would love to reciprocate this hug, but I am naked.”

The man instantly let go. A blush covering his entire face and neck. He turned to see a set of clothes on the chair closest to the door. Quickly grabbing them, he handed them to the woman. Turning, once again, to face away as she began to dress.

Once she was fully dressed, Y/N walked towards the Stark bastard, wrapping her arms around his torso. Spinning in her hold, placed his arms onto her waist.

“How are you feeling?”

The girl winced at his question.

“Sore. Tired. Probably the same as you. How long have you been alive again for?”

Jon looked at the ceiling, thinking of all that had happened since he had awoken.

“A while. We thought you weren’t going to awaken. I’ve dealt with Olly and the men who did this to us.”

Y/N nodded her head, silently glad she was not present for the execution.

“And I have handed over Castle Black to Edd.”

Now that surprised her.

Looking up at the man, she could not formulate words.

“Why?”

“Because the Watch is not my home. We are going to take back Winterfell. Take back our home.”

“We?”

“You, I, and Sansa.”

Y/N placed her arms on Jon’s shoulders, staring her friend in the eyes.

“Sansa’s here?”

Jon grabbed onto Y/N’s hand, guiding her through the halls ever so slowly. The woman still getting used to the feeling of being alive once more. Her headache slowly dissipating and her legs becoming sturdier. Turning around the corner, Jon opened a door to a dining hall. The room full of many unfamiliar faces eating, and a few familiar ones.

Jon lead Y/N to the table which seated Sansa, Tormund, Edd, Brienne, and Podrick. All of their heads turning to the commotion of the pair entering the room. Murmurs becoming louder as many men of the watch saw Y/N alive. Much like their Lord Commander, brought back from the dead for a reason.

Sansa stood from her seat at the site of the Baratheon princess. All of them being informed of what had happened to her and Jon. For the more days had passed, the more they thought she would not return.

Letting go of Jon’s hand, Y/N embraced the young Stark woman; glad to see she had survived her tormented family.

“I am sorry for what that cunt Joffrey did to your father; and to you.”

Sansa grasped Y/N tighter.

“It’s okay. I survived. And the moment was splendid. But I had to leave as quickly as I could. Joffrey has been the smallest of my troubles thus far.”

Sansa pulled Y/N to sit down, with Jon moving to sit at her other side.

Y/N looked in front of her to the unfamiliar pair. However, one was more unfamiliar than the other.

“Podrick Payne?”

Startled, Podrick looked to the young woman.

“Yes, m’lady?”

Y/N let out a cheerful laugh.

“My god. You’re alive. And you’re no longer attached to my uncle’s side. What happened?”

“He was trailed for treason m’lady. For Joffrey’s murder. He did not do it. But he did not want me to be brought down with him, so he handed me to Brienne of Tarth.”

Y/N looked to the woman at his side. Amazement beaming in her eyes.

“You were sworn to the kingsguard of my uncle Renly.”

Brienne looked surprise at the amazement on the princess’ face and at her knowledge.

“That is right m’lady.”

Y/N smirked at the woman.

“There’s no need to be shocked. I made sure I knew everyone who was associated with my family. Even after I left Kingslanding and Winterfell. I still found my ways to know. The only reason I don’t know now is because I died.”

The table went awkwardly silent.

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Lighten up. I am alive aren’t I. You will need to tell me everything later. I need to know it all. I am just glad that everyone here is safe. I do hope Arya, Bran and Rickon have survived as well.”

Sansa looked towards Jon.

“The Bolton’s have Rickon.”

Anger surged through Y/N’s veins. It seemed that this war would never end.

“We will get him back, I promise. We will get back Winterfell, we will find Bran and Arya, and we will end this war.”

Determination laced the Baratheon’s tone. The group startled at the woman’s words. But slowly, one by one, they raised their glasses, ready to fight for this battle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A battle is what they fought victoriously against Ramsay Bolton and his men. Y/N refused to stand a side; fighting on the battle field. With Podrick and Brienne having travelled to Riverrun at the command of Sansa, Y/N made sure to protect Sansa with all her might. Even escorting her to the dungeons as she unleashed the hounds onto Ramsay. Watching from the side as the man who had defiled her friend, die at the paws of his hounds.

Y/N watched on as Jon named Sansa the Lady of Winterfell. She watched on as Jon was claimed King of the North. But she refused to watch on as Jon prepared to leave for Dragonstone to meet the Khaleesi.

“I am coming with you and that is final. My uncle is alive. He sent the letter. I want to see him, and I am not leaving you.”

Jon raised his head to the sky, becoming quickly frustrated with the woman in front of him.

“What happens if this goes south?”

Y/N huffed at the man in front of her, crossing her arms.

“We’re in the North, wherever we go will go South. Except for Castle Black, and we’ve only just come back from there.”

Jon was not in the mood for her smart mouth.

The pair continued to bicker, unaware of those that watched on.

“This sounds familiar.”

Sansa giggled at Tormund’s words, having heard a similar conversation occur multiple times between the pair.

“This was my life before we left. If they were not causing trouble for each other, they were causing trouble for everyone else. Usually with Robb beside them.”

Tormund nodded his head.

“And he still has not admitted his love for her.”

“No. Neither has she for him.”

Sansa could not help but scoff at the duo’s ideocracy.

“Jon I am not letting you leave again. We are both alive for a reason.”

Jon grasped the woman’s shoulder with his right hand. Bending his head slightly so that they were eye level.

“And I want to keep you alive. That is why you are not coming.”

“Watch me.”

Before she could even try to walk away, Y/N was yanked back by Jon. Being pulled flush against his chest as his lips slammed into her own.

Sansa and Tormund looked on in surprise.

“We spoke too soon.”

Y/N moved her hands to tangle into Jon’s hair. His own hand’s gravitating towards her lower waist. The lips locked in a passionate embrace; exerting years of pent up emotion. Love, frustration, desire, sadness, and more rolled into this one action between the pair. Their lungs begging for air as they simultaneously broke the kiss. The space between their bodies not moving an inch. Both their chests heaved for breath. Y/N biting her swollen lip as Jon’s lust filled gaze stared into her own.

“That was long overdue.”

Jon chuckled at Y/N’s words.

“I would say so.”

In her peripheral vision, Y/N could see Sansa smirking at the pair with Tormund at her side; a beaming smile on the man’s face.

Shaking her head, with a smile permanently fixed, Y/N gazed at the man in front of her.

“I am coming with you. A kiss like that gives me even more reasons to be at your side. Don’t want you falling in love with this Dragon Queen, now do I?”

Jon groaned, throwing his head back at the woman’s words; continuing to over react as it caused the woman he loved to laugh.

“Fine.”

With her hands still in his hair, Y/N pulled his head back to her own. Their foreheads leaning on one another.

“You’re not getting rid of me again Jon Snow.”

Jon smiled back at Y/N.

“I don’t intend to.”

Y/N simply smiled back.

Hopping aboard the boat with Jon and Davos, the trio prepared to set sail to Dragonstone. To meet the Queen of Dragons and to take the next step in the Game of Thrones.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The trio sailed for weeks before they arrived. Y/N and Jon having become like their younger selves once more. Causing mischief for one another and for Davos. The man could not believe his eyes; seeing the Baratheon princess and the Stark bastard act so care free. He let them be, for once they would arrive to Dragonstone, all carefree antics would be out the window once more.

Looking into the crystal blue waters, Y/N breathed in the crisp see air. Jon moving to stand behind her, his hands encircling her waist as he laid his chin on her shoulder.

“We’ve survived this far. Do you think we will make it home?”

Y/N’s words were serious and deeply questioning. She wasn’t sure herself if they would make it home. If the Queen would comply with their plan.

Jon’s hands squeezed Y/N tighter to his chest. Her own hands raising to place over his, stroking her thumb across the rough, calloused skin. Bending his head down, Jon placed a kiss on her neck. Keeping his head in the crook of her neck as he breathed deeply in and out. He had taken accustom to doing so when he wanted to be reminded that she was here. Truly here with him. For he had imagined her touch so many times, that it took more than her hold to bring to reality that she was her; at his side.

“I will do anything I can for us to make it home. To make it back to Winterfell.”

“Whether its Winterfell, Castle Black, or even further North of this world, as long as you, Greywind and Tormund are by my side, I know I will be okay.”

The pair stared out into the ocean; allowing the silence to encompass them.

A mere few days later, the trio arrived at Dragonstone. Docking the ship at the harbour, Jon and Davos walked down the ramp of the ship to meet their awaiting company. Y/N staying on the ships a few minutes longer; making sure that all was secure for the journey home. Stood at the end of the dock was not only Y/N’s uncle Tyrion, but Missandei and Greyworm; ready to escort the guests to their queen.

“The bastard of Winterfell.”

“The dwarf of Casterly Rock.”

Tyrion and Jon both stared at each for a moment, quickly breaking into smiles. They stepped forward and shook hands.

“I believe we last saw each other on top of the wall.”

Jon chuckled, remembering the moment ever so clearly.

“You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right. You picked up some scars along the road.”

Tyrion nodded his head in agreement.

“It's been a long road. But we're both still here.”

Turning to address Davos, Tyrion introduced himself to the gentleman.

“I'm Tyrion Lannister.”

“Davos Seaworth.”

The pair shook hands in acknowledgement.

“Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay.”

Davos chortled.

“Unluckily for me.”

Moving a step backwards, Tyrion introduced Missandei to the two guests. The woman bowing her head in respect to the two men.

“Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons.”

Jon looked at Davos and his men.

“Of course.”

“I am not giving over my weapons. No fucking way. Not whilst we are on foreign land.”

The men and woman all turned to the sound of the new voice.

Y/N walked her way down the plank and to her accompanying men. Head held high, she situated herself to the right of Jon. Making it clear she was not letting go of her bow and arrow, or her sword. Her hand holding it tightly as it laid sheathed at her side.

Tyrion did not recognise his niece as she travelled closer to group. The face only becoming familiar once she ceased her steps, standing alongside the bastard of Winterfell. The last he had seen of her was before she and her family departed for Winterfell. Her dark brown hair long and luxurious like her mothers. She had been draped in the colours of both House Lannister and Baratheon. Now, as she stood before him, her hair laid half up and half down; slightly shorter than it had been before. Her body draped under fur upon fur; mixtures of browns, greys, and tans. She stood taller, stronger, more prepared for danger. Nothing like the innocent Baratheon he had last seen. Her face scarred from not only the Red Wedding but from the dangers she had faced whilst playing the Game of Thrones.

“You’re alive?”

Y/N could not help but chuckle at her uncle’s shock. She knew her family thought of her as dead. Her where about had not been recorded since the destruction of the Red Wedding. Not until now anyways.

“As are you uncle Tyrion. Seems we both took a hit to the face.”

The man touched his scarred cheek, staring directly at the one that laid across the right side of Y/N’s face. Slightly pink due to the rough wind and cold breeze.

“Whilst you were scarred in battle, I was scarred in a massacre. At the order of my own grandfather.”

Tyrion looked guiltily to the ground. Keeping his gaze fixed to the floor, he replied to his dearest niece.

“I took care of him.”

Y/N refused to drop her anger fuelled expression. She may have loved her uncle Tyrion, but to see a member of her family for the first time in so long, brought forward the repressed hatred she held towards her mother, grandfather, and other Lannister’s involved.

“I know. He deserved what he got. He should never have treated you the way that he did.”

Tyrion raised his head in surprise. Staring at the woman before him.

“He should have never called the order of the Red Wedding.”

As the group became silence over the woman’s malice filled words, Jon placed his hand on top of her own. Squeezing it ever so slightly; motioning that he was there for her. She squeezed back.

Missandei stepped forward, standing slightly behind Tyrion.

“The Khaleesi wishes to speak to you all at once of your arrival. But first, your weapons please.”

Y/N went to argue once more, only choosing not due to the look she gained from both Jon and her uncle. She felt like a teenager again. Huffing she pulled her bow and arrows from her back and unclipped her sword from her waist. Handing them over to the leader of the Unsullied.

“You better not damage them. Wildlings don’t have luxuries, like a Queen, to buy new weapons when one is broken.”

“Wildlings? I thought you were a princess?”

Y/N smiled at Missandei’s confusion.

“I was a princess. Not anymore.”

Missandei continued forward.

Davos, Y/N and Jon followed the woman on the path to where the Queen awaited. Tyrion and Greyworm trailing at the rear.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Jon, Y/N and Davos approached the throne room as Dothraki guards opened the doors to allow them entrance. Coming to a halt, the group cannot help but stare at the sight of the Khaleesi, sitting highly on the intricate throne.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.”

At Missandei’s words, Jon turned and looked at Davos.

“This is Jon Snow. He's King in the North.”

Tyrion could not help but smirk. Neither could his niece.

“Thank you for traveling so far, My Lords. I hope the seas weren't too rough. And who may this be accompanying you both? I was only made aware of the presence of male guests.”

Y/N resisted rolling her eyes at the Targaryen woman.

Before Davos could introduce her, Tyrion cleared his throat.

“This is Princess Y/N of House Baratheon, my Queen. Oldest and only pure blood child of the former King Robert Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Y/N could not hold her tongue.

“I was Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, your Grace. But I am no longer.”

Daenerys was not sure how she felt about the woman before her. Deemed a princess but refused the title.

“Why so?”

“For the Houses in which my lineage belonged have hands soaked in blood. Mostly for the wrong reasons. I choose not to be associated with such terrors.”

Daenerys took in the woman’s words.

She continued to speak of the former support of House Stark to the Targaryen seat of the throne. Apologising for the actions of her father and more. Offering Jon Snow the position of Warden of the North if he swore to bend the knee.

Whilst the Khaleesi spoke to the trio, images flashed in Y/N’s mind. Segments of the dreams she had whilst Melisandre resurrected her those few months ago. The voice. The language. The destruction. It was her. The Khaleesi.

“You're right. You're not guilty of your father's crime. And I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows.”

Jon began to discuss with Daenerys about the dangers of the White Walkers and the threat the Night King held. Seeking help from the woman and her armies.

“Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?

The torches of fire flew above them. Like in her dream. As the memories of her dreams began to take control of her attention, Y/N’s eyes misted over. It was as though a mystic force was forcing her to view these images of what may be the future. Throughout the sounds of fire and screams, Y/N heard the faint sound of a bird. Calling in the distance. The sounds of a crown.

“The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Knight King is real. I've seen them. If they get past the wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves –"

He began to walk closer to the throne.

“We're finished.”

Turning away from the Khaleesi, he faced the Baratheon woman. Concerning taking over as he saw only the white of her eyes. Her Y/E/C completely gone.

Daenerys paused. Sensing the shift in atmosphere from the Northern man.

“I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it.”

Standing from the throne, Daenerys began to walk towards Jon, unaware of the cause of his concern.

“We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea.”

She ceased her steps as she neared the man in question.

“They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.”

Jon swivelled to face the woman.

Daenerys face fell as the colour drained from Jon’s. Following his gaze as everyone moved to stare at frozen stance of Y/N. Her face contorted in fear and anguish.

Y/N lip began to quiver as the sound of screams and fire became too much to handle. When all of the sudden, her breaths stopped. Her lips quivered no more. While Y/N eyes were still misty, her gaze was now transfixed on the Khaleesi. Her eyebrows furrowed, and terror was still apparent across her features.

Jon moved to stand closer to the woman, worried that she could collapse at any moment.

“Y/N?”

Her gaze did not waver. With her eyes on the Khaleesi, and the sound of screams and fire dissipating in her mind, Y/N uttered a warning. High Valyrian leaving her tongue as though it was her mother language. The words sending a shiver of fear down the Khaleesi’s spine.

“Ash kessa ropagon toliot se sīkuda Dārȳti. Syt lo se suvion won't ossēnagon īlva, perzys kessa.” (Ash will fall over the seven kingdoms. For if the ice won't kill us, fire will.)

Once the words left her mouth, Y/N breathed once more. The mist in her eyes slowly evaporated; coming back to her sense.

Shaking her head, Y/N looked around at the people in the room. Confused at why the Khaleesi and everyone else looked towards her in either worry or shock.

Locking her gaze on Jon, she grabbed his hand.

“Are we done? Is it time to rest now because I have a large headache.”

No one uttered any argument. Even the Khaleesi did not object, nodding to Tyrion as a sign that the conversations was over. For now.

“Missandei, may you please show our guests to their chambers. We will continue talks on the matter shortly.”

Tightening his hold on Y/N’s hand, Jon could not tear his eyes away from his woman as they were escorted to their temporary chambers.

“Y/N?”

Continuing to walk between Jon and Davos, Y/N turned her gaze to the Onion Knight.

“Yes, Davos?”

“Do you speak more than one language fluently?”

Instantly the girl replied.

“Yes. I speak three.”

The duo awaited her answer.

“I speak our mother tongue, sarcasm, and Tormund.The man makes up his own words. You get used to them.”

The two men looked towards one another. A silent conversation discussed between them. They would need to look into this matter further tomorrow. But as for then, they were all due a rest. For the weeks ahead in Dragonstone was to become some of the most active and challenging.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------During their stay in Dragonstone, Jon had convinced Daenerys to give her hand in support against the White Walkers. Gaining sufficient amounts of Dragon glass to help prepare the weaponry for the war. Since the meeting with Daenerys, Y/N’s words were not discussed. However, the Dragon Queen kept a close eye on the Baratheon. Stunned at the woman’s words and sudden eloquence of High Valyrian. For a woman who had denounced her title and lived amongst Wildlings, Daenerys could see she was powerful. And when Y/N interacted with the Queen’s dragons for the first time, Daenerys could see how strong that power truly was.

Whilst Jon and Davos assisted with the mining of Dragon glass, Y/N had found much time on her hands. Becoming acquainted with her uncle once more, and even learning more about the ruling of the Khaleesi. She was clearly loved by many. Especially her dragons.

Y/N had not meant to wander as far as where the dragons were held. But she was bored. And with Jon out of the castle, there was not much she could do. Walking across the grounds she whistled to herself, shuffling her feet as she walked. All of a sudden, the harsh sounds of flapping wings could be heard. Y/N looked up to the sky, to see Drogon descend to the ground, Y/N quickly stepped back. Keeping a safe distance from the creature. He was the child of the Khaleesi, and Y/N felt that the Queen was still not particularly fond of her.

Once Drogon reached the ground, the dragon roared loudly into the sky. Y/N covered her ears at the screech; instantly beginning to panic. The Khaleesi probably was already on her way. Accusing her of harming her dragon.

“No. No. Please stop screeching. I am not going to hurt you. Look I am really small. I have no weapons. I’ll even take off my furs if it makes you shut the fuck up.”

In her panic ridden words, Y/N pulled of her cloak, and carefully placed it onto the ground. The dragon sensed the woman’s panic; stopping his roars. Drogon’s eyes pierced into Y/N. Watching her as she stood a mere few feet away from the creature; her arms held up in surrender.

Elsewhere in the castle, Jon had arrived at the throne room, discussing with Tyrion and Daenerys about the next step in the plan; capturing a white beyond the wall. The roar from Drogon had startled them all, causing the trio to rush to the location of the noise. Greywind, Missandei, and Davos all hot on their trails as they emerged from their own locations.

But when they arrived at the heart of the noise, no one could believe their eyes. For Y/N no longer stood far away from the dragon; fear and panic taking over her features. But she stood next to the dragon’s enormous head, stroking the creature’s snout in a soothing matter. Rhaegal and Viserion had arrived between the time it took for the group to arrive. Each at either side of Drogon. All staring at Y/N in the same content and soothed manner.

“One night, I hold on you Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, you Castamere, Castamere, Castamere, Castamere A coat of gold, a coat of red A lion still has claws And mine are long and sharp, my Lord As long and sharp as yours.”

Daenerys slowly stepped forward. Y/N still blissfully unaware of the group.

“What is she singing?”

Tyrion came to stand by his Queen.

“It is the song of House Lannister, my Queen.”

Y/N never let her eyes drift from the dragon’s. Resting her own head on its snout as her hand travelled to stroke the dragon’s neck. She felt a connection with the creature.

“And so, I speak, and so I speak A girl of House of the Dear. And now I weep, and now I weep For the friends who are no longer here.”

Tyrion exhaled a deep breath.

“That my Queen… is not part of the song of House Lannister or Baratheon.”

“No.”

Everyone’s gaze locked on Y/N. Surprised that she had finally acknowledged their presence.

“It is part of me.”

Jon held his breath at her words. Watching in sorrow as a tear not only fell from Y/N’s eyes, but the three dragons as well.

Daenerys raged within. She was powerful indeed. If she had been able to connect with her children, moving them to tears, Daenerys would have to do all she can to keep the woman on her side. For even though Y/N did not wish for the seven kingdoms, Daenerys knew that she could still grasp it from the Targaryen’s hands.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When the night drew in, Y/N and Jon travelled to their chambers. Aware that their days ahead would be filled with difficult decisions and extreme conditions.

Even though the pair had shared chambers throughout their travels, they still ceased to have consummated their relationship. Both feared what the physical action could change between them. They knew of their love for one another. They had died for each other and would do so again. And yet neither had uttered those words. But in a world, such as their own, change was inevitable.

Once the duo had entered their chamber, Y/N discarded of her furs once more, pulling of her boots and untucking her shirt. Jon could see that she was still emotional. It seemed her emotions from her moment with the dragons had not dissipated.

Jon would usually leave Y/N to unchanged for bed, changing in one of the large bathrooms down the hall. However, he could not seem to have it in him to leave her alone at this moment.

Y/N began to get more frustrate with herself as she tried and failed to unbuckle her sword. Jon watched as she quickly gave up the task, holding her head in her hands in frustration. She had not felt this overwhelmed since the moment Jon arrived in the Wildling’s camp. Seeing her uncle again, the segments of dreams, her moment with the dragons, and the tension she felt from Daenerys, all became too much. Tears fell from her eyes and into her hands.

Jon’s heart broke at the sight of Y/N crying. He had only seen her cry few times of the years they spent together. Most of which had been the last few years. He missed when times were easier, brighter, happier. When all he thought about was marrying her. He still thought about it. But this game had clouded his brain; stealing time that he could have had with her. He did not want any more time to be lost.

Walking across the room, Jon lowered to his knee in front of Y/N. Pulling her hands away from her face, Jon wiped away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Slowly placing his lips onto her own, gently caressing his mouth across hers. He wanted her to know he was there. That he had always been there. Y/N reciprocated the gesture. Allowing her arms to travel to the man’s hair, pulling his raven locks free from its confines. Enveloping her hands through the tresses. Jon could not help but moan at the feeling. Pulling back, he muttered the words that had always been there. But had never been said.

“I love you, Y/N Baratheon. I loved you from the moment you arrived with your father for your annual visit when I was 12 years old. I loved you then and I love you now.”

Jon waited for a reply. The room filled with silence. Y/N’s hands still in his hair as she stared at the man in disbelief. Jon began to regret his decision when suddenly, Y/N began to giggle. The giggle soon turned into a boisterous laugh as a large smile overtook her face.

Jon looked on in hurt and confusion.

Seeing his confused state, Y/N pulled Jon’s face down to her own, placing a chaste kiss onto his mouth.

“I love you too, Jon Snow. There was a reason I did not want to marry Robb. I had another Stark in mind.”

“Me?”

Y/N giggled, her right hand moving to hold Jon’s neck.

“No, Sansa. Yes, you. It has always been you Jon.”

To say he was elated would be an understatement. That moment, Jon knew however this game ended, if Y/N was by his side, he could withstand the most ruthless leaders and most horrendous torture, as long as she was alive.

With the confessions of their love, the moment elevated their relationship emotionally and physically. For that night Y/N and Jon became each other’s half. Consummating their relationship… more than once. Deep down, they had always known that they held love for each other, but they both had to grow as people; as their own individuals.

The cherished moment seemed to have sparked a light in the pair. For after that night, they refused to leave each other’s side. Words of love and encouragement shared in intimate moments. They still caused trouble for each other as much as they did when they were younger, but now all Y/N and Jon could feel was each other’s love. And they would both do anything to keep the other safe.

The duo and Davos soon saw their group expand. Heading to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to capture a White Walker, they had gathered Tormund, Jorah Mormont, Gendry, Sandor Clegane, Thoros, Beric Dondarrion, and a few others along the way. With the loss of Thoros, a few other men, as well as Viserion at the hand of the Night King. Jon and his group had travelled to Kings Landing, to ask for the assistance of Queen Cersei against the White Walkers. Y/N had refused to attend. Her mother and uncle Jaime still blissfully unaware of her livelihood. She could not face her mother, after everything she had done. Not yet.

Winterfell was their next adventure. Travelling by boat with the Khaleesi and her hands, Jon wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist. The same as he did all those months ago when they had voyaged to Dragonstone. She turned in his hold, running her hands over the man’s shoulders.

“Are you ready? Ready to be back in Winterfell. With your family. With me.” she questioned her partner.

Jon looked down at the woman in his arms.

“I have never been so ready for anything else.”

“Neither have I.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Laying in the chambers that had once been his brothers, Jon turned to his side to see Y/N still fast asleep. Tired from the journey they had taken to Winterfell with the Khaleesi and her army. She had been feeling more tired in the past few weeks, blaming it on the numerous exertions beyond the wall, having to deal with Jon and Tormund every day, and her body still getting used to being alive once more.

Jon admired his beloved, wrapping his arm around the woman, pulling her to lay as near to him as possible. He watched as Greywind slowly move closer to the bed, placing his head on top of Y/N’s stomach. Jon dismissed the action, not thinking anything of the creature’s behaviour.

A smile overtook the man’s face. Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss on Y/N’s forehead, smiling even wider when her own face broke out into a sleep filled smile. Still unconscious, Y/N reached out her hand in Jon’s direction. Jon instantly tangling it with his own. Laying his head down to rest, Jon shut his eyes. They would both need sleep to prepare themselves for the inevitable war.

However, what both of the wild spirits failed to realise that they no longer had to keep each other safe, but also the life that was growing as they slept. Greywind nuzzled Y/N’s stomach, hearing a small heart beat loud and clear.

For Jon may have thought to have been a bastard and Y/N a princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, but their child would be so much more. A child of the Houses Targaryen, Lannister, Baratheon, and Stark. A child of the Wildlings and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. A child of the North, South, East and West. A child that would create a new world.

A/N- Woah, three weeks of non-stop writing as well as exams. My next piece is either going to be Podrick or Sandor Clegane. So please, send your ideas. I hope you enjoyed this one.

#game of thrones #game thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #jon snow #jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #jon snow x imagine #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen imagine #robb stark #Theon Greyjoy #sandor clegane #sansa stark #podrick payne #podrick #imagine

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les-mis-still-makes-me-cry · 5 years ago

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Lily Evans Has a Boyfriend: Chapter One

A new Jily fic full of tropey goodness. Enjoy!

Lily really wished she understood what possessed her to say what she said on Monday 25th July, 1977. She wished she could find any way of justifying why she opened her mouth and said a sentence that would change the course of not only her summer, but her entire life. She wracked her brains in the following months, running the conversation over in her mind, trying to find a logical explanation for why her brain led her right to those words that she couldn’t take back. But time after time, it was no use. She just said it. And that’s how it all began.

***

It was the height of summer and the middle of the holidays, and the Evans ladies were taking full advantage in their back garden. Stretched out on towels underneath the glorious sunshine, they were the picture of tranquility. On either side lay 2 young women: one bony, tall, and bleach blonde, the other slender with fiery red hair. Between them lay their mother, short and plump with her friendly face hidden under her over-sized sun hat.

She took the hat off to fan herself for a moment, puffing air heavily as she attempted to keep cool.

“I swear you girls must be made of ice, I’m absolutely roasting in this heat,” their mother huffed.

“That’s me, Frosty the Snowman,” said the redhead.

“You’ve just got to have the dedication, Mum. Tanning is an art,” agreed the blonde.

“Well, it’s alright for you Petunia, you actually tan without burning like Lily and I,” sighed their mum, tapping Lily’s shoulder with her floppy hat. Lily flipped onto her stomach and grinned back at her.

“Beauty is pain mother dearest, we all have to suffer for our art,” she joked.

“Well, I think I’ve suffered all I can for just now. I’ll go inside and start getting lunch together,” said their mum, staggering up.

“No, wait, don’t leave us!” Petunia said, rather too quickly for Lily’s liking. She narrowed her eyes at her sister, but their mother butted in.

“I’m sorry Petunia, I just can’t handle lying out here all day doing nothing. Besides, it’s nearly 2 o’clock, I’m famished.”

“Ugh fine, I’ll come in too,” Petunia moaned. She sat up and started to roll up her towel. Lily couldn’t help herself from snapping at her.

“What, afraid you’ll become a freak too if you spend any time alone with me?”

Petunia glared and shot back immediately. “As if, thank god one of us is normal.”

“Boring, you mean.”

“I’d rather be boring than a freak.”

“Well, you’ve succeeded admirably then, Tuney.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that!”

“GIRLS!” shouted their mum, who both girls had forgotten was still standing there. “How on earth have you turned me making sandwiches into a fight?”

“She started it,” Petunia instantly answered.

“I don’t care who started it, you’re not children anymore. You’re getting married this December Petunia, act like it,” she scolded.

Lily smirked at this, causing her mum’s anger to shift target. “And you! You’re of age in the wizard world, don’t antagonise your sister over nothing. I love you both but you behave like absolute toddlers as soon as you’re together and I’m heartily sick of it. For goodness sake, can we not have one pleasant afternoon?”

She looked close to tears suddenly, anger dissipated, sunburnt shoulders slumped sadly. Lily and Petunia were both filled with regret. Lily stood to put her arms round her mother, while Petunia fiddled with the edge of her towel awkwardly.

“We’re sorry mum, we didn’t mean to ruin your afternoon,” said Lily.

Their mum held her arms to her side, refusing to hug her daughter back, although her face softened.

“Sandwiches would be amazing if you still want to make them, mum,” Petunia added, venturing an apologetic smile. Their mum sighed deeply and smiled back, throwing an arm quickly around Lily’s shoulders.

“Well I suppose I can’t let you starve, can I. You two sit there, I’ll be back in ten minutes.” She went in through the open back door, and moments later they heard her whistling through the kitchen window.

Lily and Petunia looked at each other for a moment, as though daring the other to start back up again. Ever since they had been little, their bickering had been a constant factor of their relationship. Lily would take a dig at Petunia; Petunia would call her a freak; Lily would insult her right back; and on it went. It was no wonder that their mother was sick of it.

It was only lessened by the fact that Lily was away at school 10 months of the year, and that Petunia had moved to London two years ago to take a typing course. It was there that she had met her fiancé, a large man called Vernon Dursley. It was safe to say he was not Lily’s favourite person. Lily remembered when she and Petunia were very young, before she learned about magic, when she and Petunia had dreamed of one day marrying tall, dark, handsome princes, and living in matching castles next door to one another. She doubted Vernon would even fit through the door of a castle.

Eventually Lily sat down again. Petunia was very clearly pretending Lily wasn’t there, eyes firmly closed behind glamourous sunglasses. This suited Lily just fine, and she buried her nose in the novel she’d brought outside with her until their mum returned with a plate stacked with sandwiches. Lily and their mum wolfed them down ravenously, whereas Petunia held back, only eating two before beginning to take them apart and only eating the filling.

“Eat up Petunia,” encouraged their mum, noticing her hesitance. “They’re not poisoned, I swear. Or are you on about avoiding carbs before the dinner again?”

Lily’s ears pricked up. “What dinner?”

Petunia huffed, looking irritably at their mum, who seemed even more confused than Lily.

“You haven’t invited Lily? Petunia!” she admonished, putting down her half-finished sandwich.

“Mum we spoke about this,” Petunia whined.

“And I remember telling you it would be very insulting not to invite your own sister!” said their mum.

“What dinner?” repeated Lily angrily. The other two stared at each other intensely for a second before Petunia finally caved with a frustrated sigh.

“On Saturday I’m having a dinner with all my bridesmaids and our partners, just a big quadruple date, that’s all,” she said defensively, crossing her arms.

“Mum told me you hadn’t picked your bridesmaids yet!” Lily said, aghast.

“Because I knew you would react like this! Look, everyone in the wedding party has a husband or a fiancé, it just ruins the symmetry of it to have you there!” Petunia replied, her voice suddenly very high pitched.

“So that’s it, in I’m not in the wedding because of your bloody symmetry?” Lily shouted.

“Language!” interjected their mother.

“So I can’t swear but she can kick her own sister out of her wedding party? That’s rich!” Lily was on her feet now.

“I haven’t kicked you out, you were never in it! If you had a boyfriend or something it would be different, but you don’t!” Petunia yelled, also on her feet.

“Well you wouldn’t even know if I did since you can’t say two words to me without one of them being ‘freak’!”

“And you can’t say two words without bringing up your witch nonsense! Everything just has to be about you, doesn’t it?”

“Says the most self-absorbed person on the planet!”

“You’ve never shown the slightest bit of interest in my life before now so why would I give a damn about yours,” Petunia spat. “You haven’t even asked me about the wedding once so why should you be in it.”

Lily’s mouth opened but she had lost her voice. She realised that Petunia was right, she hadn’t asked about the wedding at all. Silence hung heavy in the air, both girls breathing heavily. Their mother looked from one to the other, regretting opening her mouth.

Finally Lily stepped back, snatching up the towel from beneath her. She knew she was in the wrong but her stubborn Gryffindor pride refused to let her leave without having the last word.

“Fine, don’t invite me. Just for your information, I do actually have a boyfriend, another freak like me. And he’s twice the man Dursley will ever be,” she said venomously, before stomping back towards the house. She made it all the way up to her bedroom before the tears gathering in her eyes started to fall on her cheeks.

She threw herself down on her bed, scrubbing the tears away from her eyes angrily, unsure whether she was angrier at Petunia for being so heartless or herself for caring about it so much. It was true, she hadn’t asked about wedding planning, she’d never shown any interest in the dull subject of Vernon Dursley. Petunia had just become the exact type of person Lily didn’t like, snooty and materialistic and always talking behind people’s backs. She avoided all conversation with Petunia where she could, always expecting the snide comments of “do your type even have those” and “I guess you must have picked it up in that school”. Why would she want to spend time discussing flower arrangements with a person who looked down on everything Lily did?

And yet, for some reason, she still desperately wanted to be her bridesmaid. She remembered those childhood daydreams of matching princes and matching castles, that had always come with matching weddings and being bridesmaids for each other. That’s what sisters did, right?

With every argument, every snappy retort, every underhanded comment, somewhere inside Lily still hoped that one day her sister would suddenly turn back to the way they were when they were nine - before Lily started jumping off of swings, before Snape showed up, before Petunia’s jealousy made her despise every little thing Lily did. They had really loved being sisters once, had done everything together. Lily had hoped that enough of that love still remained that Petunia would want her sister to be there for her on the biggest day of her life. But apparently not.

Lily tried to ignore the hurt she felt at her sister’s rejection and went to fix her appearance in her bedroom mirror. Classic redhead complexion, she thought self-pityingly, staring at the red blotches on her pink skin. She scrubbed at her eyes once more, taking deep breaths to steady her breathing.

“…But surely this fixes the problem?” A voice floated in through Lily’s ajar window, causing her to creep over and peek out. Petunia and her mother were still below in the garden arguing.

“If the only issue is the symmetry, then this fixes things! You won’t have to worry about the pictures!” their mum said encouragingly.

Petunia seemed less than convinced. “The only thing worse than having an unbalanced wedding party would be having some bloke we’ve never even met show up and ruin things! If he even exists that is, I guarantee she just said that to piss me off.”

Lily ground her teeth, itching to defend herself. Petunia had always had too good a sense for when Lily was making things up. There was no greater delight to her than ratting Lily out to their mum when she tried to cover up something.

“Now don’t be silly Petunia, Lily wouldn’t make up something this important,” their mum admonished. Lily felt a pang of guilt at her mother’s faith in her. “And you can meet him at the dinner, then you’ll be able to see that he’s a lovely boy, I’m sure.”

“He’s not coming to the dinner, I’m not having some freak-”

“Petunia Caroline Evans, I’m sick and tired of hearing you talk about witches and wizards like that. Lily is not a freak, she’s a girl with an interesting talent who has found a group of people like her, including whoever this boyfriend is. Now this is not up for discussion, you will invite Lily AND her boyfriend to the dinner, and you WILL be civil to them.”

“FINE, alright, they can come to the dinner,” Petunia said bitterly. “But if he acts weirdly or Vernon doesn’t like him then I’m not having her as a bridesmaid, I’m not ruining my day.”

“Of course not love, it’s your big day,” said their mum soothingly. “You want to spend it with the people you love. Now how about we go and look over the menu again, you know you weren’t quite settled on the starter.” Lily’s mum’s voice got softer as she led Petunia into the house.

Lily almost smiled, satisfied that she had won out this time. However very quickly her stomach lurched, realising what she had just gotten herself into.

She hadn’t had a boyfriend since 3rd year, when she had a brief puppy love with a 4th year Hufflepuff called David Cooke. She’d had a crush on him for weeks; he’d asked her to Hogsmeade; they had sat in Madam Puddifoot’s for an hour, making awkward small talk, Lily blushing furiously every time they made eye contact; he’d walked her back to the Gryffindor common room, kissing her cheek gently to say goodbye; then she didn’t hear a word from him for two weeks, eventually discovering she’d been dumped when she saw him kissing a Ravenclaw girl in the entrance hall.

The whole experience had put Lily off boyfriends, but not as much as the incessant asking-out that she faced in 5th year from the infuriating James Potter. She’d never met anyone so arrogant, assuming he could get any girl in the school because he was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and one of the school troublemakers. He couldn’t seem to understand why any girl would refuse to go out with him, so for the whole year he had made it his mission to break her will with elaborate proposals, embarrassing declarations of adoration, and constant showing off that only served to further her disgust.

The only good thing to come out of the fight between her, Snape and Potter during their OWLs last year was that Potter had ended all that nonsense. In fact, they’d barely spoken to one another over the past year. He’d shown a surprising level of restraint, not hexing younger students, barely fighting with Slytherins, and not even once did he ask her out to her great joy. However, she was still wary of this apparently reformed Potter, suspicious that at any time his head could re-inflate and bring back the same old toe rag that she hated.

Lily shook thoughts of Potter out of her head, getting back to the issue at hand. Who the hell was she going to bring to the dinner? For that endeavour you want someone reliable, someone who can keep a secret, someone you already have a friendship with-

“Merlin’s beard!” Lily leapt up, running over to her desk, and rummaging in a drawer for a quill. Lupin! He would be perfect! Model boyfriend material. Although she and Remus hadn’t been too close over the majority of their school career, largely due to an arrogant floppy-haired someone who she wanted to hex when he came within 3 feet of her, over the last year they had done Prefect rounds together and discovered they had a lot in common. They started spending even more time together when they partnered up for potions, since Peter didn’t qualify for NEWT level and Lily’s old partner was out of the question. She could probably say Remus was now one of her closest friends at Hogwarts, and definitely the only person she could trust with this task. She sat down and started writing.

Dear Remus,

Hope your holidays are going well. Mine were going swimmingly up until about half an hour ago when I made an absolute arse of myself.

To cut a long story short, I told my sister I had a boyfriend. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that this was a lie, and a very obvious stupid one at that, but I need a boyfriend to attend a dinner she’s having for all her bridesmaids. Writing it out, I feel even more ridiculous, but please don’t judge me. If you had siblings, you would get it.

I’m writing to you, O wise, kind, and benevolent Remus, to beg for you to help me in this deceit. Please come to the dinner with me on Saturday and pretend to be my boyfriend, just for the night. I just need to convince her to let me be in the wedding, then we can fake breakup our fake relationship (although I would be fake distraught to see you go as I’m sure you would be a fantastic fake boyfriend).

I’ll cover your Prefect rounds whenever you want, I’ll look the other way if you and your friends want to pull a (small and harmless) prank - whatever grovelling you require, I will do. I am on my metaphorical knees here Remus.

Write back as soon as you can. I languish in despair at my own stupidity until then.

Your humble grovelling snivelling slave,

Lily

P.S. Was that enough grovelling? I can do more (grovel grovel grovel)

Lily went over to the other side of the room where her owl Scarlett was snoozing in her cage, hooting blearily at Lily as she opened the door and took her out.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead,” Lily whispered, giving her the letter. “Please get this to Remus as fast as you can and I’ll give you a nice treat when you’re back.”

Scarlett nipped her finger in acknowledgement. Lily approached the window and opened it wide, hoping none of the neighbours were looking up as Scarlett flew off in the bright afternoon sun. She really should have waited till dark, but Statute of Secrecy be damned, she had a fake boyfriend to acquire.

***

Chapter 2 here and Chap 3 here!

Further updates posted on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289330/chapters/58546243 and FFN at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13591650/1/Lily-Evans-Definitely-Has-a-Boyfriend if you want to read more!

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spiralledcupid · 5 years ago

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‘ people say friends don’t destroy one another (what do they know about friends?) ’

Peter Lukas/Elias Bouchard, 1947 words.

Peter and Elias watch The Weakest Link.

CW for toxic dynamics and british game shows

They’re almost always busy. Organising the apocalypse was hard work, and when Elias wasn’t submerged in paperwork and plotting, Peter was out to sea and mourning his failure – and when Peter wasn’t on the Tundra, Elias was too busy laying traps for his Archivist. It was nothing personal, though Elias sometimes liked to act like it was, just to bait a reaction. It was simply hard to schedule time for relaxation, hard to plan when getting hold of each other was near impossible. But, on the nights where they both happened to be available and in England, Peter always ended up on Elias’ doorstep. Somewhere along the line, Elias would let him in, they’d pour drinks – cider for Peter and red wine for Elias, the latter stocked high and the former with just a few cans gathering dust in a corner – and they’d end up in front of the television. And Peter would put on a game show.

They’re an odd little fascination, one Peter developed during a horrid interval when the Tundra was trapped portside for a week, or maybe two. Though he’d expected his enjoyment of them to pass when he was finally free to sail on his silent ship once more, the habit stuck and more often than not he found himself watching one quiz show or another. Not the silly ones like Eggheads or Pointless, when it all boiled down into teamwork and collaboration, but the truly cutthroat ones, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and such, where the contestants were pitted against each other from the start. The ones where they were all so obviously praying their fellow contestants would fail so they could get their chance at whatever meaningless award was offered.

Elias – though he had been James Wright at the time, if Peter remembered right – had called Peter for the first time ever when that couple cheated Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, gloating over how they’d worked together to snatch the top prize from ITVs helpless hands. It took all the fun out of it, really, working together. It robbed the shows of that intoxicating isolation that populated so many of them, the terrifying knowledge that there would be no help given, that everything had to be done alone. That was quite wonderful.

Peter allowed himself to sprawl over their shared sofa. For once in his overlong life, Elias had decided to be pleasant, only complaining twice when Peter commandeered the remote to put on a rerun of The Weakest Link. And he’d kept quiet during the best bits, when the contestants nominated the contestant to leave the show that round.

“You are being kind tonight.” Peter remarked, when the second-rate replay channel shoehorned in yet another ad break.

“Am I?” Elias asked, swinging his long legs into Peter’s lap. Peter shuffled away to the tune of Elias’ laugh. The last thing he needed was Elias ruining the delicious pain of second-hand isolation by forcing Peter to remember his presence. He regretted talking at all when Elias began prodding his toes into the worn jean of Peter’s thigh. His socks were covered with eyes, tessellated together into some sickening collage of sight.

“Can you see from those?” Peter asked without thinking. On the television, some pointless celebrity offered up a brand of washing power in a variety of scenarios, her face never losing a bland smile, her eyes clinging to hollow vacancy. Peter’s heart rose. There was nothing more enjoyable than the knowledge that this woman, whoever she may be, would have left the recording studio for a flat far too big for her in the centre of a bustling city, the open plan forcing her voice to echo and rebound from the stock-photo walls should she try to call any of the fake friends she had. But there were still millions of women across the country watching her vacant face and wishing with all their lonely little hearts that they could be her, convinced that if they just had her hair or her face, her money or her family, they could wash the loneliness from their lives for good. They were wrong.

Peter hoped no one told them.

“Can I see through my socks?” Elias mused, closing his eyes. Seconds, minutes later, he blinked them open again, “Your trousers are terribly frayed.”

“I don’t need to see through my socks to know that.”

“You should fix them.” Elias suggested, in the voice that meant he wanted Peter to do no such thing. Elias fed from making sure Peter always felt his Eye on one of his flaws or another and Peter, in turn, fed from never listening to Elias’ opinion when he chose to give it. It made Elias feel terrifically, terrifyingly lonely, when people didn’t care what he thought about them.

A five second clip of the introduction music signalled the end of the nauseating ad break. Peter was very conflicted about ad breaks. On one hand, it didn’t really seem fair to exchange five minutes of mediocre television for five minutes of mind-numbing adverts displaying things no one person could possibly need, even if they lived as long as Elias had. On the other hand, advertisements were built around the need to make the viewer feel inferior, a gateway drug to loneliness if there ever was one. Where there was inferiority there was insecurity, the fear of being left out or left behind, and both of those were fears The Lonely found delicious.

Yes, Peter would adore ad breaks, if he didn’t have to see them too.

“How could they cancel this?” Peter sighed, as onscreen Anne Robinson belittled a contestant for enjoying wrestling.

“It’s possibly the only good thing the BBC has ever done,” Elias said, purely to provoke a reaction, “I mean it. I’m not antagonising you.”

“I didn’t think antagonising, I thought provoking,” Peter said pleasantly, “I would prefer it if you stayed out of my head, though.”

The thought of Elias watching his thoughts, taking a personalised tour through his brain like a tourist at an isolated art gallery, sent Peter’s skin crawling. It was the worst thing about spending time with Elias, the knowledge that he, should he feel inclined, could dip into Peter’s head and watch to his heart’s content, dig up every little secret and throw them back into Peter’s face just to see how he’d react. And the knowledge that any reaction Peter gave would feed Elias’ patron.

“What a shame.” Elias remarked, tugging Peter’s attention back to The Weakest Link.

“What happened?”

“She didn’t bank. Lost them almost all of the money.” Elias clicked his tongue in a sham of sympathy.

Peter groaned, “You made me miss it.” The frustrated looks of the other contestants weren’t nearly as satisfying without the memory of the woman’s mortification to back them up.

“What a shame.” Elias repeated. His feet were still pressed against Peter’s thigh, a constant, bony reminder that Peter wasn’t alone anymore, would never be alone again should he ask. He wondered if he should be happy about it.

“You think,” Elias said, “far too much. What does it matter if you’re not always lonely? I’m not always Watching.”

“You had your Eye on that archivist of yours not ten minutes ago.” Peter said, taking Elias’s sudden frown as confirmation of his hunch. But that was all wrong too. Surely normal people wouldn’t be joking if their partner had spent a night with them watching one of their co-workers. Surely they’d be upset about it.

“We’re not partners.” Elias reminded him.

There were two contestants left, vying for the money that hadn’t been lost by their idiotic competitor. Peter tried to focus on them, and not on the way Elias was looking at him, on the half-smile playing across the lips Peter liked so much. When they were together, of course. When they were apart, Peter thought, Elias’s mouth was just another mouth.

“Liar.” Elias hissed. The bolt of insecurity that darted through him was honeysuckle sweet. In retaliation, Elias dug his heel into Peter’s leg as he stretched out over as much of the sofa as he could, crowding Peter against the arm. Peter didn’t look away from the television.

“The man on the left wins,” Elias snapped, “It’s a question about Hadrian’s wall and he snatches it right out from under the other man’s nose. He spends his pathetic gains gambling himself into worse debt then he started with.”

“Oh,” Peter complained. Anxiety swelled in his gut at the show of Elias’s power. He didn’t know Elias could dip into the minds of people on television too. Was there anything he couldn’t See, any secret he couldn’t Know as soon as he wished to?

“I can’t. I’ve just seen this one before.” Elias said, observing Peter’s wide eyes with barely-concealed delight. What did Elias care if the power he’d hinted at didn’t exist? Peter’s original rush of fear had been enough to make them even.

“You,” Peter said, “are a bad boyfriend.”

“I don’t care, as long as I’m not yours.”

Careful, Peter closed a hand around Elias’ ankle, covering some of the eyes that danced and winked along it. Elias’s smile widened.

Peter tugged, and Elias let himself be moved.

Peter lifted, and Elias let himself be raised.

When he sunk his fingers into Peter’s hair and pushed his nails into Peter’s scalp, Peter didn’t protest. Instead, he placed Elias in his lap and let himself be kissed.

Kissing Elias was a little like breathing in a burning building. It was a little like Christmas, or existing on a crowded ship. In other words, it was unbearable, but Peter wanted, needed it anyway. It was choking and over-hot and crowded and pushy and Peter wanted it more and more and more and more, until he couldn’t breathe without Elias pressed firm against his chest.

Elias pulled his mouth away, because it wasn’t enough for Peter to just feel his smirk apparently.

“Your metaphors are ridiculous.” He wiped his mouth with one hand and smoothed his hair with the other.

“I never was fond of words.”

“That much is clear.” Elias said, as if they hadn’t had this conversation a thousand times before, as if they wouldn’t have it a thousand times again before they were finally done with each other. Peter caught his breath as Elias rolled his shoulders, blazer slipping down from the movement, before craning his neck to glance at the television. Peter watched the credits reflect in his shiny, dark eyes.

“Can we put Big Brother on? After all,” He patted Peter’s cheek, “You’ve had your fun.”

“If you want.”

All those people trapped together but encouraged to hate, to isolate even when there was nowhere to go, to say one thing when they thought and felt another, to not trust anyone they were confined with. It was lonely enough for Peter.

“Everything’s lonely enough for you,” Elias said, rubbing at the faint red of beard rash decorating his cheeks, “You’re very simple to please.”

The familiar panic washed over Peter again, the fear encapsulated in the knowledge that Elias would always, somehow, Know Peter better than Peter knew himself. The fear that, whatever Peter was, Elias could See it and take it and keep it for himself.

Peter pushed Elias from his lap.

They split a pack of biscuits, though they were both hungry for something more sustaining, and Peter wondered if he could never get used to having all his secrets laid out in a glass cabinet, for Elias to view as he pleased.

The look on Elias’ face said that, even if he could, Elias wouldn’t let him.

#tma #the magnus archives #peter lukas #elias bouchard #lonely eyes #long post #fanfic #fanfiction #spoon writes #did this a few nights ago n forgot to put it on here whoops

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kirisaki-daichi-scenarios · 5 years ago

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idk if this has been asked before, but anyway what type of girls would hanamiya, imayoshi, and haizaki take seriously? and i mean SERIOUSLY like, consider her as THE woman y'know? what kind of personality does she have, or what does she do to make them stay, etc.

(just a disclaimer: i honestly doubt any of the three would be find “the one” till they were at least in uni, and more far mature than they are in high school.)

Haizaki Shougo

Right, working off the canon, his favourite type of girl is an “erotic girl”. Consequently, if you’ll excuse the vulgarity of my words, I’m pretty sure his ideal woman would be someone he’d be able to engage in good sex with, someone with their own kinks, as well as someone willing to experiment with his kinks. Otherwise, even if the relationship was pretty sound, the likelihood of him cheating (just for the sex) would be pretty high, due to his high libido.

Moving on, almost ironically, the person that Haizaki would stay with is someone that’s not forcing him to stay. A clingy nature just encourages him to fight against it; he finds it cute for a hookup, but, if it goes on for too long, he gets fed up. After all, a key aspect of Haizaki is his need for independance. From this, we can also presume that Haizaki wouldn’t want an overly jealous s/o. Some jealousy - hot, shows they care. Too much jealousy - a turn off, especially as Haizaki’s never going to be completely subtle about his attraction to other girls.

Otherwise, Haizaki needs a strong s/o. His ideal woman, whether he realises it or not, is a woman who’ll be able to stand up against him when he’s being stupid, or unpleasant - someone that can call him out on his bullshit, and stop him from making mistakes he’ll later regret. Haizaki’s the kind of person to fight his own sadness/insecuries with anger; if his s/o is unable to work past his anger, then the relationship will never get anywhere. Of course, it’s perfectly understandable that someone may be scared by Haizaki’s shouts, and cursing, but he’s not dangerous. He just has no way to express his emotions otherwise. His ideal woman understands this, and can work with him. And, in time, he’ll be able to support his s/o, mentally, as well.

In conclusion, therefore, his ideal woman is someone that won’t villanise him.

Hanamiya Makoto

The canon says that Hanamiya’s ideal type is a stupid girl; I’ve discussed my opinion of that matter, in detail, here but, to simplify it, that kind of girl is not one he’d be able to stay in a long term relationship with. His ideal s/o doesn’t have to be the most brilliant person academically, but they do need to be someone with whom Hanamiya can have intelligent conversations. Without conversations like that, the two of them would just fade apart: there would be nothing to hold interest in one another. And the intelligence would also be key for

That said, there is an element of opposites attract here. Ideally, Hanamiya would be in a relationship with someone who can be pleasant to make up for his attitude, someone (dare I say it) like his mother. And, by this, I don’t mean someone overly optimistic, who forces their “sunshine views” down Hanamiya’s throat, but merely someone more optimistic/realistic than completely pessimistic. This ideal s/o is someone that, though they can accept his snarky comments about others (possibly make a few of their own), will also be friendly, will make mentions of how nice so-and-so looks today. The salty-sugar to his pepper, if you’ll excuse the poor analogy.

However, unlike Haizaki (someone whose ideal woman seems a set type to me), Hanamiya’s ideal woman is less of a strict set of boundaries. One thing we notice with Hanamiya, in comparison to Haizaki, is that he tends to get along with people better. He antagonises people, yes, but his teammates, despite their variety of personalities, all seem to get along with him. From this, we can infer that Hanamiya could find more than one type of person an ideal woman for him. Apart from the matter of intelligence, he could end up with several different personalities: extroverted or introverted, loving or more subtle with their affections, and so on. How they met each other would play a part in the relationship working too. But there are some little aspects that would be important for Hanamiya too: his s/o not trying to change him, his s/o getting along with his mother, and his s/o understanding/agreeing with his views of people/society.

Imayoshi Shouchi

KUROFES describes Imayoshi’s type of girl as a kikubari girl (someone respectful, ‘attentive of society’) which is a good place to start with our analysis of Imayoshi’s ideal girl. We can infer that his ideal s/o has to be mature, and this strikes me as being important for two reasons. Firstly, Imayoshi himself can seem quite mature; he’s good at calming down his teammates (see Wakamatsu and Sakurai), he’s polite, and even his motto “wisdom is to realise one’s own ignorance” creates the impression of maturity. Hence, his ideal s/o would be someone who can match this maturity - someone childish could grow irritating. But, beyond this, Imayoshi is childish; ultimately that’s what the hidden arrogance (the “horrible personality” Hanamiya describes) leads to. And so, his s/o’s maturity would be key in balancing out these more concealed parts of Imayoshi’s attitude.

Adding onto this, Imayoshi’s ideal woman (or man, quite frankly) is someone who understands society. That may sound vague, but allow me to explain. A key aspect of Imayoshi’s play is mind games; he’s intelligent, and he’s described as practically being able to ‘enter others’ heads’. Consequently, we can ascertain the idea that he’s got a good grasp on psychology, and his s/o would need to be able to understand people (society) too. This could very well serve as the relationship’s base: a conversation starter, an equal respect for one another, and allowing (to express this overly colloquially) for Imayoshi and his s/o to become a “power couple”, always a few steps of everyone else.

However, most importantly, this aspect of his ideal s/o’s would prevent them from falling for Imayoshi’s games. Imayoshi does enjoy mocking others, studying their psyche to find their weaknesses (allowing for teasing which, despite its subtle nature, can still be distressing); if his s/o ever allowed themselves to fall into his traps, he’d lose respect for them, and the relationship would be broken up. In contrast, Imayoshi’s ideal s/o would be someone that would identify his mind games, possibly end respond to his comments with retorts of his own. Relationships survive off the equality of the two partners, after all.

To summarise: his s/o has to be intelligent, aware (’kikubari’), and someone that thinks things through. His s/o is the eloquent young woman/man people aspire to be: someone cautious, but not overly so, and capable of holding their own.

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years ago

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CHELLE I HOPE I’M NOT LATE !! I’m always a mess when in comes to time difference I’m sorry.. 🥺 Well I hope you had a wonderful week ~ I still love very much your blog... and the blogger 👀🥰♥️ Can you give me a fluffy Bammie please? I’m in my Bambam moods lately and I won’t leave me 🥺 I you can’t it’s okay, I just want you to know that we always appreciate all your work, your wonderful writing, and I’m ready to fight anyone for you with my tiny tiny hands ✨

Not late at all! It’s only 7.43pm here! I had the most stressful week I’ve had in awhile to be fair. But it’s over now, I’ve written a bit in the last couple of days so I’m feeling the stress slowly melt away haha. I still love you too. Thank you for your endless support. And of course, I can write Bam! I love to write him! Xxx

Pairing: BamBam x reader

Word count: 257

______________________

“Look!” you said, pointing to your lap where BamBam’s cat, King, had curled up and gone to sleep. You grinned happily at your boyfriend. “He loves me!”

“What’s not to love?” BamBam replied, feeling uneasy yet again.

BamBam wasn’t envious of you with his cat. The problem laid in your wording. Taking a drink out of the refrigerator, BamBam drank half of it to quench his annoyance. He didn’t want to use the word love unless it was directed at you. BamBam realised recently that he loved you. Trouble was, he didn’t know how to tell you. And you had been using the word a lot more in conversation lately and that was bothering him.

Just like right now.

“Do you think all your cats will love me?” you called out, approaching BamBam in the kitchen as you carried King around with you.

He shrugged in response, gulping down the rest of his drink until you added on, “Do you think you love me?”

He spluttered, trying to turn fast enough so most of the drink ended up in the sink. After placing King down, you moved to BamBam, cringing. “Sorry, it’s just I know you want to say it but you’re struggling and so I thought I’d help but -- oh no, are you okay?”

“You knew?!”

You nodded.

“Then why not just tell me? I’ve been antagonising over this for days!”

“I love you, Bam. And you love me too, right?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, taking you in his arms. “I do love you.”

______________________

My ask box is open for this week’s Chelle Chats!

#chellechats #pwyl; saturday drabbles #got7 #got7 drabbles #bambam #bambam drabbles #kpop drabbles

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thelawsofdaylight · 5 years ago

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17, enjoltaire 🥺 also i hope you're doing okay!!

Thanks, anon! I feel a lot better now, thank you (a big old nap always saves the day!!!) This came out as a space AU for reasons I that escape me, but I hope you enjoy it! Enjoy some endearingly awkward ExR with added stargazing

Prompt: “I can’t sleep, can I stay here?”

Grantaire is used to having the control room to himself during the nightshift. Between the demanding work schedule and the general daily chaotic-ness that makes up life on the ABC, he’s often grateful for the peace that the nightshift brings.

This may be why he startles so badly when there’s a knock at the door.

His eyes flick to the controls for the briefest of seconds before landing back on the door- all the locks are still in place, which means there’s no chance of an intruder ambush. It’s just one of his crewmates.

“Come in,” he calls out.

A second later the door slides apart, revealing none other than Enjolras, who nods to Grantaire as he steps inside. Grantaire is transfixed, as he always is, whenever Enjolras is in his vague proximity, but he frowns as Enjolras steps closer.

There are bags under his eyes and his hair is no longer in the neat, contained braid he usually wears it in, but loose around his shoulders.

“Hi,” Enjolras says. His voice sounds almost as tired as he looks. Grantaire can’t really recall a time when he’d seen Enjolras up so late.

“Hi,” Grantaire response, feeling woefully unprepared for an interaction with Enjolras at this hour. “You feeling okay?”

Enjolras begins to nod his head but stops halfway through the motion, jerking it to the side instead. “I can’t sleep,” he admits, “can I stay here?”

Grantaire blinks. “Of course,” he says, opening his arms as if in invitation. “I can’t promise you good company though. You’ll either be subject to my ramblings or my silences, neither of which, I’m told, make for a good conversation partner.”

Enjolras gives him a weak smile and sits himself down in the chair beside Grantaire’s. “I happen to enjoy your company.” he says.

Grantaire knows for a fact that can’t be true.

Enjolras catches him staring and amends his statement with a wry smile. “When you’re not antagonising me, at least.”

Grantaire laughs. “Have we ever even been in that situation?”

“A few times,” Enjolras says, “more so recently.”

Grantaire is intrigued now; he has the urge to ask Enjolras for specific situations, but Enjolras still looks tired and Grantaire doesn’t want to push.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe Enjolras; he just knows, objectively, that they’re not that close. Grantaire would never doubt Enjolras’ love for the ABC and its crew, and he understands on some level that technically includes himself, it’s just- they’ve never developed a bond beyond crewmates in the way everyone else seems to have done.

“In that case I strive to be on my best behaviour.”

Enjolras just rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Well, I appreciate it.” he says.

They sit in silence for the most part, although Enjolras is still jittery, Grantaire can tell.

“So, what brings you here?” Grantaire asks when he can no longer stand the silence.

Enjolras looks up, as if surprised at being addressed. He hesitates before answering, looking out the window to the vast expanse of the stars in front of them. “Sometimes being able to see outside helps,” he says, which clears absolutely nothing up for Grantaire. “It’s reassuring.”

“Sure,” Grantaire says, for lack of a better answer. “I didn’t have you down as the scenic type, though.”

Enjolras hums, thoughtful. “It’s not about the scenery, really. It’s just... quiet.”

“Do you know any constellations?”

Enjolras turns towards him, “I know some names but I wouldn’t be able to identify them.”

Grantaire smiles, adjusting the sensor on the control panel. There aren’t many stars visible tonight, but Grantaire points out the ones he can see, helping Enjolras to make sense of the connections and going into some of the mythology behind each constellation he manages to pick out.

For his part, Enjolras remains quiet. It’s not a disinterested kind of quiet, but a thoughtful one, and he frequently gestures for Grantaire to continue whenever he hesitates, or asks simple questions for Grantaire to expand upon.

Once Grantaire has exhausted his knowledge of stars and constellations and galaxies and legends, he looks back to see Enjolras watching him, a faint smile on his lips.

“Thank you,” is all he says, when Grantaire raises an eyebrow in question, “this really helped.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what exactly it helped, or even how for that matter, but Enjolras seems more relaxed now, and for that he’s grateful.

“Anytime.” It’s a little awkward and almost too sincere for his liking, and he clears his throat afterwards to masquerade his embarrassment.

Enjolras merely smiles, bright and beautiful.

Together they watch the stars.

#enjoltaire #enjoltaire fic #my writing #this took a while becuase i started this whole space thing and had to restrain myself from creating another goddamn wip #it was getting too complex so i filed away space related shenanigans to explore later #and tada! actually managed to keep something under 1000 words #amazing #Anonymous

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ofstormsandwolves · 5 years ago

Text

cheerleaders and fighter pilots

Teen

Wishverse

Buffy, Giles, Oz, the Master, Anyanka

Canon divergence

Read on AO3

In an alternate timeline, Giles fails to destroy Anyanka's amulet. What happens now?

Summoning Anyanka had been a foolish idea, Rupert Giles realised almost instantly. As if it wasn’t enough that he was very clearly a male and Anyanka dealt with scorned women, she also hadn’t taken too kindly to being told she had to undo her spell.

Which was how Giles had ended up pinned to the wall of his apartment by his neck, the vengeance demon squeezing hard as she slowly cut off his oxygen.

“This is the real world now,” Anyanka sneered, and Giles felt his vision narrowing. “This is the world we made.” She smirked. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Giles struggled against the demon’s grip, but it did no good. He could feel himself fading fast, as he gasped for breath, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable end. But just before his vision faded entirely, he saw Anyanka’s amulet glow green. He clawed at it with a hand, and the next thing he knew...

He was falling.

The Master had Buffy in a death grip, pulling her towards him with a look of triumph. Jaw clenched, Buffy thought quickly. How did she get out of this? What should she do?

There was a thud, followed by a growl from the Master, and suddenly the death grip was gone. The Master had turned his attention elsewhere. Not wanting to let the opportunity pass her by, she lunged for her stake, having dropped it as she sparred with the master vampire. Spinning round, Buffy plunged it into the Master’s back, and watched as his body turned to dust. His skeleton seemed to hang in the air for a moment before clattering to the floor.

Lifting her gaze from the pile of bones, she glared at the boy who had been stupid enough to antagonise the Master.

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” she told him lowly.

To the boy’s credit, he simply stared back impassively.

“I didn’t need your help, you know,” Buffy added with a frown.

The boy gave a small smile at that. “I know.”

Something about the calmness of the boy threw Buffy, so instead she distracted herself with looking around the warehouse. There were bodies everywhere, as well as plenty of piles of dust, but it looked like everyone else had vacated the premises while she’d confronted the Master.

The boy was staring down at the bones. “So, uh, what exactly are we going to do with these?”

Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “They don’t normally leave bones.” She nudged the skull with her foot. “I suppose I should take them to Jeeves.”

“Giles,” the boy corrected, and a look of recognition seemed to flit across his face. “You’re the Slayer. Giles said you weren’t coming, that he couldn’t contact you.”

Buffy shifted uneasily at that. Something about the way the boy was scrutinising her made her feel uneasy. It was like he was observing her, analysing her. “Yeah, well,” she shrugged again. “I’m here now.”

“You are,” the boy agreed. “I’m Oz, by the way.”

Buffy, however, was busy looking around the room. “We’re going to need something to carry the bones in,” she said.

As she and Oz started looking around for something to use as a bag for the Master’s remains, a silence fell over them. Picking over the dead bodies, Buffy eventually found what seemed to be a dust sheet, and quickly moved back to the remains. Seeing that she had found something, Oz moved to help her with the task.

“I’m Buffy,” she said after a few moments of transferring the bones to the middle of the dust sheet so they could gather the four corners together.

Oz smiled softly at her then, and said nothing. The Master’s remains gathered, the two teens straightened up.

“My van’s outside if you want a ride,” Oz offered. “It will be quicker than walking.”

Buffy surveyed him for a moment before finally nodding. “Fine. Lead the way.”

The drive to Giles’s apartment was one filled with silence, but it wasn’t anywhere near as awkward as Buffy had expected it to be. The boy- Oz- seemed quite comfortable with the whole not-talking thing, and she couldn’t help but feel a little grateful about that.

When they finally pulled up outside the apartment block, they climbed out of the van and ascended the steps. As they reached the courtyard, however, Buffy froze, and frowned.

“What is it?” Oz asked with a small frown.

“Stay here,” she responded, shoving the Master’s bones at him and creeping across the courtyard.

The door to the Watcher’s apartment was slightly ajar, and Buffy balled her hands into fists, ready for a fight. But as she kicked the door open, she saw nothing but chaos. And a body slumped on the floor.

“Giles,” Oz breathed, and he must have followed Buffy even despite her telling him not to.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, as she stepped into the apartment. She crossed to the body, scowled at the bruises around the man’s neck, and bent down to press two fingers to his pulse point.

“He’s alive,” she stated, before looking around the room.

The remnants of a casting were evident on the wooden desk- herbs and candles and jars of things Buffy couldn’t identify.

“He tried to summon the demon,” she said as she took it in. “He tried to break the spell.”

“But we’re still here,” Oz said unnecessarily.

“Well, obviously it didn’t work,” Buffy responded, before surveying the Watcher again.

The man- Jeeves, or Giles, or whatever he was called- groaned, and for a brief moment Buffy thought he’d open his eyes. But he didn’t, and she sighed.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?” she asked Oz.

“Sunnydale General,” Oz answered promptly. “Maybe ten minutes in the van.” Then, without her needing to ask, he said: “I’ll take you.”

Giving the boy a swift nod, Buffy bent down to haul the unconscious Watcher up. Oz moved to support some of his weight, but he was about the same size as Buffy and she could already tell he wouldn’t be much help. So she was more than marginally surprised when he managed to take more of the man’s weight than she’d anticipated.

“You know,” Oz said, seeing her eyes widen slightly, “you’re not the only one with a secret identity.”

He gave an enigmatic smile then, that left Buffy wondering about him, as they slowly moved towards the door.

Sunnydale General was a large, bland building full of confused and crying teenagers. Apparently those who had escaped the Master’s warehouse had sought out medical attention for their wounds, and Oz and Buffy had to pick through clusters of baffled high school students to reach the admissions desk.

“Rupert Giles,” Oz said succinctly to the bored receptionist. “We think he was attacked. He was unconscious when we found him.”

The receptionist took one look at Giles and called for an orderly, who showed them to the bed. The bed was in a corridor, along with a dozen or so other beds, and Buffy realised that Sunnydale General apparently wasn’t equipped for a sudden rush of patients.

“I’d have thought living on a Hellmouth would mean they’d be more prepared for this sort of thing,” Buffy mused as they hauled Giles onto the bed.

Oz shrugged uncomfortably. “Usually people patch themselves up at home. It’s not usually safe to be out at night here.”

“It still isn’t,” Buffy retorted. “Just because the Master’s dealt with, doesn’t mean everything’s suddenly safe.” She glanced pointedly at the bones Oz was still carrying around in the dust sheet.

A nurse came by to check Giles over then, and Buffy wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when Oz explained that the man had had several head injuries previously.

“So he makes a habit of getting knocked out,” Buffy stated once the nurse was gone. “Figures.”

Oz eyed her carefully. “Giles said that you were supposed to be in Sunnydale, long before tonight,” he ventured carefully.

Buffy folded her arms, avoided his gaze. “So I heard.”

Sensing she didn’t want to continue the conversation, Oz turned his attention back to Giles. He didn’t like feeling so helpless, particularly when it came to Giles. He was the leader, the one in charge. The adult. There was something unsettling about him being out cold like this, even if Oz had seen it before.

He just hoped Giles woke up soon.

Giles was taken for tests, and when he was finally brought back, most of the teenagers had been kicked out and the sun was beginning to rise. Oz and Buffy sat on either side of the man’s bed, Buffy feeling a little awkward about the whole thing, and waited for him to come round.

“You said this has happened before,” Buffy said after a lengthy silence. “Does he usually take this long to come round?”

Oz blinked, and considered the best words to use. “No,” he responded eventually. “It’s never taken this long.”

Buffy eyed the man in the bed. “Well, that’s what happens to a guy who summons demons for fun.”

“It wasn’t fun,” Oz said, and Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d offended him or not. He was kind of hard to read. “He was trying to save us.”

“I was trying to save us,” she countered with a shrug. “That’s why I went after the Master. Jeeves here was summoning demons on a hunch he might be able to undo this supposed spell.”

There was a groan from the bed then, and the man in question opened his eyes briefly before closing them again.

“W-Whoever is talking,” he said in a strained, hoarse voice, “please shut up.”

Buffy snorted. “I killed your supreme vampire for you and you tell me to shut up? Well, that’s gratitude for you.”

Giles opened his eyes again, and peered at Buffy in confusion. “Buffy?” he asked. “Buffy Summers?”

“Yeah, we’ve already covered this, several hours ago,” Buffy told him, before looking to Oz. “You weren’t kidding about the head injury thing.”

Giles followed her gaze, and blinked at Oz, a delighted smile tugging at his lips. “Oz,” he greeted, “you’re alright.” He frowned. “And everyone else?”

Oz responded with an apologetic shrug. “Quite a few people escaped, but I don’t know who,” he admitted. “I lost sight of Larry during the fight. I would have checked the bodies to see if I recognised anyone, but the Master left us a leaving present and I had to help Buffy with it.”

He held up the bundled dust sheet then, and Giles frowned, moving to push himself into a sitting position.

“What’s that?” he enquired even as he winced.

“The Master’s bones,” Buffy stated. “I figured you’d know what to do with them. Usually the vampires don’t leave me a ‘going away’ present.”

A doctor entered the room then, cutting off all conversation.

“Well, Mr Giles, it looks like you had quite the night,” the doctor noted in a cheery tone. “There doesn’t seem to be anything too wrong, and nothing’s broken, but you do have some cracked ribs as well as a bruised larynx.” The doctor frowned then. “May I ask what exactly happened? Your... Friends here weren’t able to fill in all the details.”

“An intruder,” Giles rasped. “Most likely trying to steal from me.”

Buffy almost rolled her eyes at how easily the doctor accepted the explanation.

“Well, you’ll have to take it easy for a few days, and be sure to drink lots of fluids, but I see no reason to keep you here any longer. I’ll just go see about getting your discharge papers.”

It took all of about ten minutes to discharge Giles; apparently Sunnydale General had a quick turnaround regarding patients. As the three of them made their way out to Oz’s van, Buffy glanced up at the older man.

“I’m guessing the thing with the demon didn’t work out, huh?”

Giles scowled at her. “She must have escaped while I was unconscious. The spell worked fine, but she was stronger than I anticipated.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t kill you,” Buffy said as they reached the van. “Most demons don’t let their victims live.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Giles snapped, before wincing at the pain in his throat. “We’ll simply have to summon her again. I’m fairly certain the amulet around her neck is her power source- it was glowing.”

Oz had already climbed into the vehicle, and watched as Buffy and Giles climbed in. “Well, maybe we should probably wait to summon her again,” he said as he started up the engine. “Between the three of us, we might be able to take her.”

“Or next time she gets to kill two men,” Buffy frowned. “I don’t see why you’re so fixated on what this girl told you anyway. Who says this is a result of a spell? What if this is just life?” She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest. “Maybe you both need to let go of this fantasy that there’s a better world out there.”

Oz and Giles glanced at each other and said nothing.

Giles was immediately sent to relax on the sofa when they reached his apartment. Oz busied himself tidying up the debris from Anyanka’s visit, and Buffy leaned against the wall and watched.

“Buffy,” Giles said after several long moments, “why don’t you bring the Master’s remains over here? Let me take a look?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, crossing the room to dump the remains on the coffee table. “But they just look like a bunch of old bones to me.”

Giles said nothing, and instead slipped a pair of glasses on before unfolding the dust sheet. A heavy silence filled the air while he examined the bones, and Buffy quickly grew tired of watching him. If she hadn’t believed he was a Watcher already, the way he scrutinised the remains would have proved it to her. He looked fascinated, in a way that she had only ever seen on her other Watchers’ faces.

“We should bury these,” he said after several minutes. “In consecrated ground.”

“We should destroy them,” Buffy countered. “I’m not about to give some vampire a nice little funeral.”

Giles blinked, and Oz watched the scene from where he was finishing tidying up the desk. “Well, I, I understand your feelings,” the older man began slowly, “but I don’t think destroying them is necessary-”

“Isn’t it?” Buffy interrupted coolly. “And how many supreme vampires have you fought?”

Giles stuttered a little more at that, and Buffy folded her arms across her chest.

“We’re destroying them. We’re destroying them, and then I’m leaving.”

“Now hang on,” Giles protested, finding his voice even if it was a little hoarse. “What about Anyanka? We still need to break the spell!”

“You can do that without me,” Buffy dismissed. “You have Oz to stop you from being beaten to a pulp again.”

“But Anyanka deals with scorned women,” the man continued. “I’ve already tempted fate summoning her once-”

“Fine,” Buffy said loudly, cutting him off midsentence. “We destroy the bones, summon this Anyanka, and then I leave.”

Giles seemed to sense that this was the best he was going to get, so he nodded after only a brief hesitation.

Buffy looked at the bones set out on the coffee table. “Have you got a sledgehammer?”

Although he didn’t own a sledgehammer, Giles had the money for one. They all piled back into Oz’s van with the bones and drove to the nearest hardware store, before continuing on to the woods.

“I do vaguely remember something about my taking it easy,” Giles muttered as Buffy led them deeper and deeper into the woods.

“You could have waited in the van,” Buffy countered over her shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” came the rasping reply. “You are the Slayer, and I am a Watcher, and it is my duty to-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Buffy sounded extremely unimpressed. “I’ve heard it all before. A Slayer slays, a Watcher watches. You’re here to watch me pulverise some bones just so you can make sure I’ve done it. Haven’t you guys ever heard of trust?”

She came out in a clearing then, and dumped the bones onto the ground. Giles and Oz came to a stop just at the edge of the tree line, and Buffy moved to take the sledgehammer from the younger man.

They watched in silence as the Slayer got to work methodically smashing the bones into the ground. Shards of white bone jumped through the air, buried their way into the dirt, scattered across the grass. There was an angriness to the girl’s movements, and when Oz glanced towards Giles he knew that the older man had seen it too.

Buffy didn’t stop until the shards had been hammered into the ground, until every last bone was barely more than dust, and when she turned to face them, there was a furious look in her eyes. As she walked past Oz, she shoved the sledgehammer at him and he took it without thinking.

She didn’t stop walking until she reached the van.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Giles surveyed the stubborn Slayer with a slight unease. None of them had talked about Buffy’s actions in the woods, but he couldn’t help but feel the reason for her anger might have been at least in part linked to her failure to show up in Sunnydale. Still, he could tell that forcing the matter would only anger the Slayer, and he knew their current priority needed to be undoing the wish.

“I’ll do the mixing of the ingredients,” he told her carefully. “I simply need you to recite the spell. When Anyanka appears, you will need to grab her amulet and destroy it. That will reverse the spell.”

Buffy didn’t look convinced, but Giles pointedly ignored that and instead set to work mixing the ingredients. When he was ready, he nodded to Buffy.

With a sigh, she leaned over to read the words for the spell. “Anyanka, I beseech thee. In the name of all women scorned, come before me.”

Oz startled as the demon appeared in the middle of the room, and even Giles unconsciously backed away. But Buffy just arched an eyebrow at her.

“You know, I was expecting something a little scarier,” the Slayer said as she scrutinised the demon in front of her. “Oh well. Let’s just get this over with.”

She darted forward then, and aimed a blow at the demon’s head, but the demon blocked it.

“Slayer,” Anyanka greeted with a smirk. “How nice of you to join our little town.”

Buffy said nothing, and instead blocked a blow from Anyanka.

“B-Buffy,” Giles’s nervous voice came from a few feet away. “We might have a problem.”

Landing a blow to the demon’s stomach, Buffy glanced over her shoulder with a scowl. “What?”

“T-The amulet,” Giles said, wide-eyed.

“Yeah?” Buffy prompted.

Oz pointed towards the demon. “She’s not wearing it.”

The Slayer blinked, and looked back at Anyanka. There was no amulet around her neck. Anyanka laughed.

“Do you really think I didn’t know what you were planning?” the demon sneered. “I wasn’t falling for your little scheme! My amulet is safe and sound somewhere you’ll never get your hands on it.”

“Without the amulet, we, we can’t reverse the spell!” Giles informed them, sounding more than a little anxious.

“Oh, you won’t be reversing anything,” Anyanka grinned. She looked around wistfully. “I hope you enjoy your new lives. They were so much fun to watch unfold.”

And before anyone could react, Anyanka had vanished. Buffy blinked at the spot where the demon had been just a split second before. A heavy silence filled the room.

“I take it that wasn’t the plan?” Oz said at last.

“No,” Giles agreed quietly. “It wasn’t.”

Oz left a little while later, sent home by Giles to get some sleep.

“I should go,” Buffy said, standing by the front door.

“Back to your Watcher?” Giles asked, perched on the arm of the sofa.

Buffy shrugged and avoided his gaze. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Giles frowned. “You know,” he said after a moment, wincing at the soreness of his throat, “when I was first told I was destined to be a Watcher, I was told that the most important thing for a Watcher was to be trusted and respected by their Slayer.”

Buffy watched him suspiciously then. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, looking away across the room. “Just that I don’t think you trust your Watcher, if you’re so reluctant to return to him, and that isn’t right.”

The Slayer scoffed. “Look, I can handle myself,” she said, frustrated, “and-”

“I’m sure you can. But it isn’t right that you are stuck with a Watcher you don’t feel a connection to. A Watcher is there to train and guide the Slayer, and the Slayer must have absolute faith in them. Otherwise people get hurt.”

Buffy stepped a little closer then, arms wrapped round herself and a hint of vulnerability on her face. “My Watcher hates me,” she said after a moment. “The one before hated me too. And the one before that. They all had these perfect ideas about a Slayer, and because I didn’t fit into the mould they tried to force me. And when that didn’t work, well...” She shrugged, not meeting Giles’s gaze.

“I remember,” Giles said slowly, watching the small girl in front of him, “that Cordelia Chase knew you were meant to be here, in Sunnydale. That I was sent here to await a Slayer by the name of Buffy Summers, that I was to be your Watcher.” Buffy met his gaze hesitantly. “That there was another world, a- a better world than this, where you made it here and I did my duty.” He swallowed, dropped his eyes to his hands, unable to look at her any longer. “We might not be able to reverse the spell, to undo this nightmare entirely, but perhaps we could- could make this world a little more tolerable.”

“How?” Buffy asked, though he sensed she knew what he was hinting at.

“You have no connection to your Watcher, Buffy, perhaps because he was never meant to be your Watcher. By the time I was made aware of your not arriving in Sunnydale, I had started building a life here, and I was informed by the Council that alternative arrangements would be made for you. But what if those arrangements were doomed to fail? What if the world Cordelia came from got one specific thing right? You being in Sunnydale as the Slayer, I as your Watcher?”

“What if my presence here changed everything, you mean?” Buffy asked, and she looked vaguely ill at the thought. “If I’d arrived when you were expecting me, how much would have changed?”

“Exactly,” Giles agreed, and he couldn’t help the excitement building in him. It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t been disappointed when he had been informed of the change of plans, that he would not receive a Slayer. And to have her here, now, albeit a couple of years later than planned...

“You can’t put that on me,” Buffy said, voice quiet and angry. “You cannot hold me responsible for the way things turned out here.”

The man frowned, and suddenly realised how his words had been misinterpreted. “I- I don’t,” he hastened to assure her. “I, I merely meant that your presence here in Sunnydale might help this world find its balance. Clearly Anyanka has taken extra precautions to keep us from getting her amulet, and while we could try summoning her again, I’m quite certain she’ll avoid Sunnydale in its entirety for the foreseeable future.” He sighed. “I just wanted to offer you an alternative, to going back to a Watcher you don’t trust, or, or being on your own. You were meant to be here in Sunnydale, and so the Council can hardly protest at your staying here. I just thought you might like the option.”

Buffy frowned a little at that, apparently confused by the idea of choice. She moved across the room, and sank slowly onto the sofa, causing Giles to have to move in order to see her.

“Options,” she echoed softly, before meeting his eyes. Suddenly, she wasn’t that cold, hard Slayer who had found him at the side of the road; she was a scared, lonely teenage girl. “I haven’t had options for a long time.” She gave him a tight smile, and the action looked foreign on her face. Giles was willing to bet all his good scotch on the fact she hadn’t had a reason to smile for quite a while. “You know, when I was a kid, I was gonna be a cheerleader. Or an ice skater. My biggest concern when I started high school was getting on to the cheerleading team. It was all I cared about.” Her brow furrowed. “Then it became all vampires and demons and death.”

She lapsed into silence then, and Giles felt compelled to say something.

“When I was a child,” he responded quietly, “I wanted to be a fighter pilot, or a grocer. I was rather quite put out when I was told I’d be a Watcher instead. I think part of the reason I hated it was because I wasn’t given the luxury of choice. It was like what I wanted didn’t matter. I even ran away for a while; I dropped out of university, ran off to London. Did everything I could to avoid the call of the Watchers Council and my destiny as a Watcher. Eventually I went back, of course, but only when I felt ready.”

Buffy seemed to process this. “I don’t think I ever felt ready,” she admitted, voice barely more than a whisper and a pained tone to her words. “I even tried to quit, after my first Watcher died. They wouldn’t let me.” She glanced up at Giles, gave another smile, and somehow this one felt a little more natural. “It’s nice to know someone gets it. My Watchers have always been pretty smug with themselves for being picked. I think it’s why they hate me so much. They can’t understand why anybody wouldn’t want the job.” She thought for a moment longer. “Is the offer to stay still on the table?”

Giles smiled back then, a soft reassuring smile that made Buffy’s eyes light up just for a second. “It is,” he nodded. “I’m afraid the spare room is rather full of things right now, but I can make up the couch for you until we get it cleared out?”

Buffy nodded, though he could see she was trying not to let on how affected she was by his words. “Sounds good.”

Giles stood then, and paused briefly before turning back to her. “I know you’ll probably say no, but I’ll ask anyway. Did you want to call your Watcher?”

“No,” Buffy responded calmly. “But we should probably call the council. Make my move official, and all that.”

Blinking at that, Giles found a slow smile spread across his face. “We should?” he asked, not wanting to get his hopes up just yet.

“Yep,” Buffy said, getting to her feet. “You’re back on the clock, Watcher.” She moved past him to the kitchen. “Got any cereal?”

And as the Slayer began rooting through his cupboards for food, Giles couldn’t help but smile. This world wasn’t perfect. In fact, it had been downright horrific for the past two years. But something told Rupert Giles it was about to get a whole lot better.

#buffy fanfic #buffy summers #rupert giles #wishverse

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cassandra-acton · 5 years ago

Text

HALLOWE’EN 2019 [1 of 2]:

So here’s the first part of an exchange between Cassie and a couple of the Russians she’s going to spend a bunch of her time antagonising, because I enjoy traumatising her, and hurting myself in the process. Thank you.

Date: October 25th, 2019. Warnings: None.

“I see you waited for Spencer to leave.”

“I see you’re still overly concerned with what Spencer is doing…”

The woman chuckled to herself at that, but it was obvious she wasn’t amused.

“Well, he was my friend.”

The silence that followed was a painful one. Cassie hoped for the both of them.

“So was Harrison.”

The two hadn’t spoken in years, and they most certainly shouldn’t have been talking now, but as soon as Cassie had watched her disappear unaccompanied to the balcony, she couldn’t help but follow—not a Chief Whip in sight to stop her. There stood the costumed Greek Goddess in all her glory; ethereal and sad, exhausted by being the most beautiful and most hated woman in the room. If the politician hadn’t been the one who despised her above all others, perhaps she would’ve felt some pity.

“Cassandra—”

“If you’re about to start fighting your father’s corner, Mila, I’m really not interested,” she scoffed, already defeated, cutting her off before she could begin an argument Cassie had tired of the first moment she’d heard it. Glancing at her knuckles, white from her tight grip on the railing, she wondered whether he would hurt the same if she pushed his precious daughter over the edge. The MP pressed her lips into a thin line. “Why are you here?”

Seemingly annoyed by her companion’s attitude, she hesitated to respond. Grabbed for a cigarette to take the edge off an exchange that had years of ground to cover but would ignore all of it.

“My husband has business here. Hospitality, mostly,” she added the latter bitterly, before returning to her cigarette with a grumble, “just in case you were going to start with the snide accusations.”

“Konstantin Vorshevsky, right? Big wedding…”

The name alone seemed to make her bristle.

“It’s funny, because I hadn’t thought anything of it—even his connections with your father—until a friend of mine pointed out that there’s another Vorshevsky in London right now,” Cassie continued, her heart dropping a little at the thought. A friend of mine. The truth was she’d barely discussed Lenny since her death. Maybe it was an insult. Maybe she was a bad friend. Maybe she just couldn’t take the pain that came with acknowledging losing people she cared about anymore. “Svetlana, I believe. I actually bumped into her earlier this evening.”

“Svetlana runs clubs—”

“Yeah, so after my friend pointed this out to me, I decided to do a little digging of my own.”

Lyudmila looked as though her patience was thinning with each interruption, but Cassie was too drunk and too angry to care about anything more than hurting her.

“Vorshevsky isn’t a particularly common surname, as luck would have it. I found a few more of them in Launceston, and believe it or not, they’re also relatives of your husband,” she said, tone far too accusatory for the words she’d offered. Cassie turned on her heels slowly, as though the address was completely casual. “A lot of nasty rumors, there.”

“I think you know firsthand that the press loves to create nasty rumors with no basis.”

Now it was Cassie’s turn to let out a snort of laughter.

“Do you expect me to believe that? Or, better yet, did you really believe that people wouldn’t put two-and-two together? Figure out what his family is?” And then it dawned on her: “Or did you just think your father’s power made you so untouchable you could marry into the Russian Mob without consequence?”

“Aren’t we a little old for conspiracy theories, Cassandra?”

The words were half-hearted enough to take her by surprise.

“Does your husband’s family fund your father’s campaign?” Now was categorically not the time to be addressing an issue that’d plagued her since she’d started her investigations last year. It was bigger than attacking their past out of pettiness and hurt. It was criminal, and it was the cause of an entire country being on the brink of civil war. It would be a revelation that shook the world stage and she was pointing fingers dressed as a fucking giraffe. Whilst Cassie had suspected that Korshunov’s party relied on mob funding—the HCA too, maybe as a consequence—she hadn’t expected he was stupid enough to let his daughter marry her way into it. “Does your husband’s family fund the HCA through your father? For him?”

It was as though she could physically see her tense up.

“Those are some bold accusations,” Mila snapped, tossing her cigarette aside in annoyance. It was clear she was rattled. Cassie could see it in her pained eyes. “You need to be careful about what you’re insinuating, and whose names you’re marring with your crazy ideas. Some people won’t take kindly to it.”

It was worded as a threat, but sounded more like a warning.

Her blood ran cold at the thought of Lenny pushing so hard that she’d paid the price. Cassie wasn’t sure she’d met anyone who’d hated the Russians more. Had it been the reason she’d been killed? How could anything be worse than this?

“Using intimidation to keep people quiet sounds fairly criminal to me,” she said, before adding with a smile, “Though I’m sure it feels like home to you.”

“We’re done here.”

The fact that she felt as though she had any right to decide when this conversation ended angered Cassie even more. Her passive attitude toward her father was one thing. Her passive attitude toward said father’s enablement of the HCA being the reason Harrison died another. But to turn her back now as though the accusations weren’t even worth her time was infuriating.

“They killed my fiancé. Your friend,” she stabbed back in hushed whispers, physically blocking the woman from leaving the balcony. “I’m not saying his family sympathizes with their ideals, but business is not business when it’s with fucking terrorists. How can you sit back and watch this happen?”

“We’re done,” Mila repeated.

It felt as though she was looking right through her.

Even though Cassie was clinging to the anger, she couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy about the monotonous tone. That the look in her eyes wasn’t so sad anymore.

“No, we aren’t—”

Out of nowhere, she felt somebody grab a hold of her wrist. The grip was so painful it was anything but an innocent attempt at vying for attention; vice-like, and surely tight enough to leave a bruising reminder of the exchange in the morning.

“Yes. You are.”

The voice belonged to a man.

Mila hadn’t been looking right through her, at all. She’d been staring at the stranger stood behind her who’d been listening in on the conversation.

“Aviv…”

“Excuse me,” Cassie huffed, taken aback; partly by the pain, partly by the force. Even though she struggled to pull free—fully expecting that he would let her go now his point was made—the attempts were futile. All she could see were eyes as cold as the tone that’d addressed her, daring her to try something. As though he wanted a reason to do more than leave a couple of bruises… “If you don’t let me go, I swear to God, I’m going to fuck you up.”

The man didn’t speak again, but with one effortless shove, she was a lot closer to the balcony than she would’ve liked.

“Aviv,” Mila repeated, a little more desperately this time. “Please.”

“Mr. Vorshevsky’s business is none of your concern.”

Cassie felt her back pressing into the railing. Whilst she didn’t honestly believe that even these people would be stupid enough to throw her over the balcony at a public event, that didn’t stop her heart from attempting to break out of her fucking ribcage in innate panic. She didn’t know why she struggled so hard to keep her expression blank, but it must’ve taken enough effort for him to notice because the look of amusement that followed was chilling.

“Do you understand?”

Perhaps if she’d been braver, she wouldn’t have responded at all.

It’d been fear that had her nodding.

“Good.”

After a moment’s hesitation—part of her had been expecting him to break her wrist as a parting gift—he finally let go, shoving her against the barrier in one last assault. Aviv took one look at Mila, before nodding his head in the direction of the doors. It was a silent order, but one that even she looked too nervous to ignore.

With her pulse still pounding in her ears, legs like lead, the politician watched intently as Korshunova whispered one last thing before departing.

The words had been just as bizarre, and the tone just as frightening, as the entire exchange before it.

Cassie simply stared in silence.

“Find Adam, and go home. Now.”

#self para #self para: hallowe'en #event: mobhalloween2019

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svubloods · 6 years ago

Text

Imagine being set up on a date with Danny

(A/N: Not edited. Sorry, it’s awful, I’m telling you in an advance. I’m aware that I mentioned taking a break which I am so I’m not ignoring you. But this was almost finished and you had all waited long enough because I barely know what I’m doing anymore)

Imagine being set up on a date with Danny

“Reagan?” You questioned, hoping you were wrong, but as the man turned around to look at you from his seat on the bar, you realised you were right.

“Y/L/N?” He shot back his eyes widened in shock as they locked eyes with yours and his body tensing at the sight of it, “Oh wow!”

His words were helpless as if they just slipped out of his mouth, as you caught the moment his eyes looked you up and down, drinking you in. You had tried for tonight, wearing something that you would usually wouldn't wear but your best friend and colleague Kate instead that you looked fantastic in the clingy velvet red dress she’d picked for you. Wearing more dramatic make-up with your hair done. It was supposed to be a first date after all and even though it had been a while and you had protested about going, you did want to make an effort. Even your brother Ethan had complimented you, so you knew you looked decent.

But you couldn't focus on your blind date right now. You were too focused on the man in front of you. The only person you didn't want to see tonight.

“What are you doing here?” You accused.

“What are you doing here,” He repeated, “Wait, did you follow me here?”

“You wish,” You jeered, folding your arms and glaring at him.

“Well, it isn't much a stretch,” He snapped, “What are you doing? Writing another article about awful I am,”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Reagan,” You sneered, “And I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. My article was on the NYPD’s Major Crimes Department, not you,”

“Well, I’m the Head Detective of that department so it’s basically about me,” He waved off dismissively.

“Of course you would think that,” You laughed dryly, “You’re such an egotistical bastard,”

“In the flesh,” He winked.

You shook your head at him and gripped your folded arms tightly, seething. Of course on the one night you let yourself be forced to go on a blind date, he was here. And now you were not only going embarrass yourself, but you were also going to have an audience. This was the last place you would have expected to see him, an upscale modern restaurant in Manhattan, one of the most popular in the city, though to be honest, it was the last place anyone who knew you would look for you too.

You took a deep breath and looked at him again.

“You still haven't told me why you are here,” You reminded.

“What’s it to you?” He fired back, “Going to write another article about it?”

“Depends,” You shrugged, “Is it worth writing a story about?”

“Do you want to sit?” He asked avoiding the question.

“With you?” You asked, sceptically.

“You can stand their and glare if you want,” He shrugged before turning back around and looking straight at the bar.

You bit your lip before sitting down beside him with a huff, your date wasn't here yet anyway so you might as well take a seat and get a drink while you waited for whoever this mystery man was.

“What’s your poison?” He inquired before taking a swig of his beer.

You rolled your eyes at him before pointedly making eye contact with the bartender, “I’ll have a beer please,”

You saw Danny smirk as he took another sip. You looked him over for a second. In your annoyance, you hadn't noticed how differently he looked tonight. In all your previous encounters with him, he was always dressed up for work. So he looked smart if not a little ruffled in a suit. Tonight he was wearing a white dress shirt, with a skinny coloured tie and tighter pants than usual. Which you surprised yourself by noticing, He looked good though, nicer than usual but you knew you always thought he looked good. But like always you shook of any nice thoughts you ever had for Danny Reagan. He had become the bane of your life ever since you had met a couple months ago and ever encounter left you annoyed and not furious. And he obviously felt the same. You got under his skin as much as got under yours.

“If you must know I’m waiting for my date,” He finally admitted after a brief but surprisingly comfortable silence between the two of you.

“Oh,” You acknowledged, an undeniable sinking feeling settling in your stomach, were you disappointed? Were you jealous? No, you couldn't be, ignoring the feeling and masking it in your voice so he wouldn't pick up on it.

What right did you have to be jealous, anyway, you didn't even like him.

You met Danny while you were researching a possible corruption scandal within the NYPD a couple months ago. You worked as an investigative journalist and though you usually investigated Big Corporations, your boss thought you would be perfect for this job.

And he was right, you weren't ashamed to admit you were damn good at what you did but then again you had to be. You needed those promotions, advances and bonuses, you needed them to survive. So you worked hard, you were ruthless and you and your family were comfortable especially now as one of the youngest ever senior contributors in your papers history. But you still threw yourself into work every day, letting it take over your life in a way because you knew at any second something could happen and change your whole world. It had happened before, so you needed to be prepared. At all times. Which meant besides sleeping and taking care of your brother all you did was work.

So you went in fully admitting that you were a reporter but hid the real intention and subject matter of your article secret and giving them something else. You had been given a name that your tip had said was the one they knew for sure was taking bribes. But you wanted your story to be fully fleshed out and for that, you needed all the details. Everyone was very forthcoming at that department expect for Daniel Reagan, who admitted openly that he couldn't stand reporters. And you’d met types like him before and you could be extremely charming when you wanted to be, anything for what you wanted. But you couldn't charm him, in fact, you annoyed him as much as annoyed you.

You continuously butted heads and he was the only one to suspect that you might have some alter motive with your sneaking around and even though he was right you weren't about to give him any of the satisfaction. You had a couple of heated arguments about it all, surprising as no one could get to you like he could. You did back off a little and made your investigating more covert after the last one before publishing your story which ran on the front page. Which made Danny even more annoyed as he was the face of the department as Head Detective. But your article focused on one particular officer in the department after you figured out that he was the only one taking bribes and everyone else, including Danny, were very good at what they did. Danny did track you down and confronted you about the article and you defended it to no end. The people deserved to know that the cop in question had been covering up crimes and taking bribes for his almost forty-year career.

And even though Danny accused you of lying and blindsiding the NYPD at the time. That was true either. You had respect for cops and what they did every day and you weren't going to start a major scandal that could ruin the people's trust in them. So you made sure to inform the internal affairs department before the article with all the evidence so they had the upper hand. And you were sure Danny didn't know it at the time but you had even talked to the Commissioner of the NYPD who you found out was Danny’s father. And he thanked you for exposing essentially a criminal within the NYPD which they didn't know about.

But ever since Danny, didn't like you. Perhaps it was pride or something else but either way you didn't get on. And after everything was said and done and you thought you would never see him again and yet you just kept on bumping into each other around the city and every single time, you would both mess with each other even more. The last time you had run into each other you were been shopping for groceries with your brother and he was there as well.

Your brother thought it was hilarious how quickly you guys became engulfed into an argument seemingly unable to have a conversation without antagonising each other despite it being a short encounter. He left quickly because of work and you spent the next fifteen minutes complaining about him which just led to you brother teasing you about it for the rest of the day, just like your best friend and colleague Kate did whenever you complain to her about him too.

“So who's the unlucky girl?”

He turned to face you directly, a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue but he was interrupted by the hostess appearing behind you both.

“Mr Reagan, your table is ready,” He smiled, two menus in his hand.

“My date isn't here yet though,” Danny informed.

“Is this not…” He began to question, looking at you.

“Oh no,” Danny waved off, “This is…”

“We’re not together,” You piped up.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking puzzled, “The reservation by Mrs Franklin had both of your names listed,”   “Whose Mrs Franklin?” Danny demanded.

“My best friend Kate,” You informed, “This is her husband’s restaurant,”

“I still don't understand. I’m here because my sister set me up on a blind date,” Danny began to explain still confused.

“Wait you are?” You interrogated, looking straight at him and catching his eye in shock, “Because I am too,”

“Are you messing with me?” He accused.

“No, Kate set me up on a blind date, she sorted everything out and just told me to turn up here at 8,” You elaborated.

“My sister told me the exact same thing,” He confessed, “Though she added that she had found me the perfect date,”

“You sister’s the DA, right?”

He nodded.

“Kate is a court reporter. They must know each other and set us up,” You deduced.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Oh, I wish I was kidding,” You seethed, “I can't believe she would do this. After all the times I told her how annoying you are,”

“Obviously, this is some kind of a joke because I told my sister all about you,” Danny huffed without thinking.

“Really?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Oh don't act like you didn't admit about talking about me constantly,” He snapped, rolling his eyes.

“With disdain,” You added insistently.

“So can I take you both to your table?” The hostess, taking the brief pause as an opportunity to interrupt you both.

You both wordlessly snatched your jackets and headed over to the table where you were seated opposite each other. You watched each other as you both silently scanned the menus. Both of you clearly acting like you didn't want to be there yet either of you protested or made an attempt to leave.

“You nervous Reagan?” You finally asked, eyeing him up from across the table unable to hide the amused grin on your face as he seemed to squirm under your gaze.

“You wish,” He countered, quickly, “I can't believe she would set me up with you out of all people. After…you know you just weren't the person I was expecting to be spending dinner with,”

“Who were you expecting?” You entertained, “Considering this a blind date and all?”

“I don’t know anyone but you,” He sighed.

“Anyone but the person you confronted in the middle of the street about an article she wrote about your department while she was just trying to get coffee?” You offered, blankly with a false smile.

“Exactly,” He muttered.

An awkward silence developed between the two of you and lingered along with the tension, incessant and ruthless, filled with heavy breathing and the sounds of a bustling, upscale Manhattan restaurant. A waiter came over and took your drinks order while you both separately pursued the menus. Coming back with your drinks before leaving you in silence again.

“Well, this blows,” Danny huffed from across the table, his palms pressing against the table as he looked from side to side, scanning the restaurant around you.

“Tell me about it,” You agreed, folding your arms across your chest and purposely trying not to glare exactly at him, your usual confidence apparently disappearing but you were determined to hold your own.

“And just for the record if I knew it was you, I wouldn't have come, okay?” He insisted unconvincingly, leaning across the table slightly towards you before jerking away and leaning back in chair uncomfortably.

“Likewise,” You muttered, not looking at him still, cursing yourself, you had so much more to say to him.

“I should just go,” Danny announced, grabbing his phone and wallet from the table, “I’d rather waste my money on food that I’ll actually enjoy,”

“Why are you worried about that?” You questioned, taking a sip of your wine, “Dinner’s on the house tonight,”

“What why?” He counted, settling in his seat ever so slightly.

“My best friend Kate and I’m assuming your sister are covering the bill tonight,” You informed, “I guess to try and minimise the chance either of us walking out on this,”  

“Well, I’m never going to turn down free food,” He stated, with a confident smirk.

“I’ll toast to that!” You chuckled eagerly, lightening up a little.

“How about a toast to making it through tonight without you throwing a drink on each other,” He suggested, raising his second beer to you, “Cheers?”

“Cheers!” You agreed after pausing for a second, thinking it over.

You had promised Kate and Ethan that you would try on this date and not make any excuses to leave. Which was a promise you found weird at the time and now you understood why they had. They had clearly set all of this up maybe as a joke or perhaps as revenge for always complaining about how annoying Danny was to them.

You and Danny proceeded to make idle small talk before and after you ordered your three courses. It was only after the starters arrived, all those topics had been covered and you figured while you were both partially distracted it was the best time to ask.

“So…” You started.

“So…” He echoed, mockingly before taking a hearty bite.

“I’m trying to figure out what would have lead to your sister and my best friend coming to the conclusion that setting us up on a date would be a good idea,” You explained.

“Well, I have mentioned you to her a couple of times,” He confessed, looking down.

“Romantically?” You questioned, taken aback.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” He warned, flatly, “At first it was about you and your story and then it was about your article and then it was how you were always getting on my nerves,”

“You started it,” You insisted. “What about you?” He demanded, changing the subject, “Why would your friend think this would be a good idea,”

“Well similarly to you I may have mentioned you a couple of times,” You sighed, “All of which including a less favourable description of you being the bane of my existence,”

“Don’t you think that’s a tad dramatic,” He quipped.

“Not as dramatic as that tie you're wearing,” You fired back referencing the brightly patterned tie he was wearing.

“My son bought this for me. He said it would bring me good luck on my date,” Danny revealed, smiling down at his tie.

“Is it working?”

“It’s not not working,” He grinned at you, “It could be worse,”

“It looks good on you,” You agreed shyly, “You suit the dramatic look,”

“I guess Erin may have thought that I had a little crush on you,” He continued, “She said it was because I wouldn't stop talking about you,”

You let hearty laugh in response.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” He muttered.

“No,” You continued in an attempt to clear things up, “I’m laughing because Kate and my Brother said the exact the same thing. That you annoyed me so much because I liked you…romantically,”

“Oh,” He acknowledged, clearly surprised, “Was she right,”

“Maybe,” You teased, not looking him in eye and running your tongue over your lips.

“Well, the feeling is mutual if it is,” He said confidently.

“Really?”

“You’ve seen yourself right?” He chuckled, “Way too pretty to be at dinner with me,”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” You defended, “Plus, I’m never usually this dressed up. I just wanted to make a good impression…”

“Check,”

“And this place is way too fancy for my usual non-work attire,” You continued, beaming.

“Tell me about it,” He agreed, “If I’m not working, I’m not wearing a suit,”

“This isn't even my dress,” You added, “The kid insisted I wear one of my friends or it wouldn't look I was trying,”

“The kid?” Danny asked.

“Oh Ethan,” You corrected, “You met him at the store. I didn't have a chance to properly introduce him between our arguing,”

“I didn't know you had a kid,”

“Well, he’s not actually my kid,” You attempted to try and reason, “He is my baby brother but it’s been just been the two of us for so long. He’s basically my kid, I’m only parent he’s got,”

“I have two boys,” He smiled with evident understanding.

“I saw a picture of them on your desk with…” You remembered before trailing my wife.

“Their mom,” He finished for you, smiling fondly at you but his eyes filled with sadness, “She died a couple years ago now and ever since then it’s just been the three of us,”

“I’m sorry Danny,” You comforted and without thinking but thoughts wouldn't have changed your action, either way, reaching across the table and grasping his hand.

“Don’t be,” He shrugged off, squeezing your hand a little, “It’s been a while and I have dated since. Linda made it clear that she would want me to move on if anything happened. She just said make sure they were a good person and be a good influence on the boys,”

You nodded in understanding.

“This is not something you should bring up on a first date,” He sighed uncharacteristically apologetic.

“I get it, Danny,” You soothed, “I’m a single parent too I guess,”

“You are,”

“And I know how hard it can be especially with the whole dating thing,” You sympathised, “This is my first date in almost two years,”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my whole life since my parents died has been about working so I can take care of Ethan and being there for him so you know he didn't miss out on anything. Which meant I didn't have a lot of time to myself,”

“What changed?”

“He’s going to college,” You beamed, proudly.

“Where?”

“Stanford for Pre Med,” You revealed.

“That’s amazing,” Danny congratulated, “He must be a smart kid,”

“The smartest, way smarter than me,”

“San Fransisco is far though,” Danny acknowledged.

“Yeah, which is why I think he was so insistent that I go on his date,” You breathed, “I think he’s trying to make sure I’m not lonely when he goes,”

“Make sure you thank him for me,”

“Will do,”

The night continued proceeded pretty well. You and Danny deep in conversation getting to know each other beyond what you already knew. He even ended up apologising for the overreaction to the article, explaining that he took his forestation out on me, as the detective in question was his hire and he was upset that he didn't pick up on what was happening, as the head detective, sooner.

Danny helped you to put your coat on as you made your way out the restaurant together. You had spent hours there so it was late and Danny insisted on walking you back to your apartment that was close by.

“Can I ask you something?” Danny inquired as you made your way down the dark and empty Manhattan streets, your arms linked together, you didn't know how it happened but neither of you were making an effort to disentangle yourselves.

“Shoot,” You agreed.

“Why investigative journalism?” He pondered out loud to you.

“It actually wasn’t the original dream,” You confessed, “My whole life I dreamed of being on air correspondent doing international affairs but you can’t travel all over the world with a kid so I had to change my plans quickly. I needed a job that was flexible and preferably I could do at home. So I took this crappy job as a fluff writer for this smaller paper. It sucked but it paid well enough. I thought I would do that forever. But then I was invited to a college friends wedding,”

“A wedding?” He questioned, sceptically.

“I’m not finished,” You stated before continuing, “My friend was marrying into the richest family in her little town. And it all seemed like a fairytale but something was off. And I couldn't shake the feeling so all weekend I did some digging and I knew something was up especially after the groom went missing. I had to stay and get to the bottom of it because everyone was trying to cover it up including the local PD. So I called my boss and told him that I was chasing a story, she thought it wasn't worth pursuing and said I was fired if I didn't turn up on Monday,”

“What happened Monday?”

“I found out that the family had built their fortune in the 70s by smuggling for the Serbian Mafia and that that they had called favour which the family refused so they were holding their son hostage,” You revealed, “And I was fired but it didn't matter. I collected my evidence, gave it to the FBI, wrote my article which was published on the front page on the most popular newspaper in the country. Who offered me a job. And I’ve been exposing fortune five hundreds ever since,”

“You caught the bug,” He chuckled.

“There is something exhilarating about cracking a case open,” You sighed, contentedly, “What about you, why did you become a cop?”

“You’re not allowed to do anything else in my family,” He joked, before pausing and continuing, “I knew I was halfway decent at it and what’s better than making the city a better place?”

“I guess we can’t all have exciting origin stories,” You commented, teasingly.

“Har har,” He snapped, rolling his eyes.

“This is me,” You announced, looking up to see your apartment building.

A silence consumed you both as you let go of him and took the first step up the stoop. You turned around to face him.

“So,”

“So,” He echoed.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,”

“Me too,” He grinned sheepishly, “We should do it again sometime,”

“Really?” You let out helplessly.

“Yeah,” He nodded, “I really do like you, Y/N,”

“I like you too,” You smiled, “But…”

“But?” He repeated with an almost defeated look on his face.

“I also don't want to give Kate or Ethan the satisfaction of knowing they were right about us,”

“I’ll never hear the end of it if Erin hears this went well especially the second date well,” He shared in agreement.

“So what are you going to say happened?” You inquired.

“That I bolted as soon as I saw you and spent the night at a bar,” He winked.

“You dick,” You giggled.

“Yeah, yeah,” He played off, “What are you going to say?”   “That I threw my drink at you before you could say hello and walked out.,”

“What, why?”

“It’s funny,” You smirked.

“I’ll take it,” He sighed, “But only because we have a second date,”

“We do indeed,” You said, “Text me the details,”

“I’ll call you,” He insisted.

“Such a gentleman,” You joked, “Goodnight Danny,”

“Night,” He returned before you walked up the steps, turning back around at the top by the door to wave at him as he was waiting of you go inside.

As you spun around, your eyes met and he headed up the stairs after you.

“You forget something, Reagan?” You questioned, puzzled, as you looked into his eyes and your breath caught in your throat as you registered how close you really were to each other.

He nodded before whispering, inches away from your face, “This,”

And with that, he pulled you into a kiss. His hand sliding around your waist to steady you as you were losing balance in your attempt not to break contact. Your arms flung around his neck as you pressed yourself into him even more, letting go and giving into your impulses.

Eventually, you pulled away breathless but content, “Satisfied?”

“More than you know,” He winked before pressing a final kiss on your cheek, “Goodnight,”

“Goodbye Danny,” You whispered before he headed down the steps and disappeared into the night.

He wasn't gone for too long though. Calling you the next day to arrange your second date.

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