#i love my angry fire son

[rowyndodendron]

Diomedes really cranked the "simp-o-meter for Odysseus" from 0 to 12 in approximately 0.6 seconds in book 10 (choose ur spy buddy) and im snort-laughing.

Partially because of how Unnecessarily Extra Diomedes is.

And then even more so because of how Extremely Done Odysseus is in his reply (every time he uses the "long-suffering Odysseus" epithet i fucking DIE laughing. I can FEEL the -_-)

But also, because I feel like the opposite is more typical (Odysseus having the flowery flattering speeches and Diomedes just, like, "read at 2pm"-ing him in return):

I am choosing to headcanon that Dio is very subtly/very gently teasing/mocking Odysseus. And that Ody has done the "oh i pick Diomedes the incredible, the unmatchable, unwinnable force of the gods' will!!!" thing to him recently and Dio is now just throwing it back at him in a "do u hear what u sound like when u talk???" Kind of way.

Which is why Ody is peak "i am Unamused by this, diomedes" in the scene. Because he knows he's being gently roasted in a way the others likely won't pick up on/which is Just For Him.

And i think that's beautiful

[cumironi]

A BRAT IS ALL I WANT ！

TOJI FUSHIGURO has a breeding kink, and you’ll be damned if you give into it! but in reality, he just wants to start a family with you.

warning. husband! toji fushiguro, breeding kink, ōral ( m! receiving ), fingering, nipple-playing, dirty talk, pet names, name-calling.

wc. 4,5k | in this megumi wasn't born yet.

sure, you loved being toji fushiguro's wife. however, he sure knows how to get your nerves screaming. your birth control switched out for ibuprofen, holes in condoms, fucking you raw in your sleep even!

“c’mon baby.. i want a brat…”

toji drawls, so sexy and arrogant. you absolutely fume, straddling his lap as he gives you that big, scarred, smile. he has a breeding kink, and you’ll be damned if you give into it!

“let me fuck you raw again, baby…”

you glare at him defiantly, hands on your hips as you straddle his lap. “absolutely not, toji! we've been over this. i'm not ready for a kid right now.”

he just grins up at you cockily, large hands gripping your waist. “aw c'mon babe, don't be like that. you know you love feeling my cum flood your tight little pussy.” is thumbs rub circles on your lower belly. “and i know you'll look so damn hot all round and glowing with my baby growing inside you."

you scowl and try to wriggle off his lap but he holds you firmly in place, erection pressing insistently against your ass. “unhand me, you brute!” you demand haughtily, “i won't be bred against my will!”

his eyes gleam with mischief and lust, hands tightening around your waist as he chuckles deeply. “oh, but darling... i think you're enjoying this way more than you let on,” he teases, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

his fingers trail down towards your thighs, deftly slipping under the hem of your skirt to tease along your inner thigh. “besides, who said anything about doing it against your will? i just wanna see those pretty tits swell up with milk and feel our son kicking inside ya...”

with a swift movement, he flips you onto your back on the couch before you can react, pinning you beneath his heavy frame. his breath is warm against your neck as he whispers huskily, “now why don't we make ourselves comfortable while we discuss this further?”

“you're such an infuriating man!” you huff indignantly, squirming underneath him despite yourself. “fine then, if i have to do this, you better make it worth my while!”

your hands reach up to claw at his chest, nails digging into the hard muscle there as you push against him. the firmness of his body pressed against yours sends shivers through your spine. “show me what else you can do besides getting me pregnant...”

he smirks down at you, clearly pleased with your response. “is that so?” he murmurs seductively, trailing kisses along your jawline until he reaches your lips.

his tongue slips past them in a dominant sweep that leaves no room for argument. one hand moves from your hip to cup one of your breasts over the fabric of your shirt, thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple through the material.

“you've got quite the mouth on you when you're angry,” he growls approvingly before pulling away slightly to admire his handiwork— the flush spreading across your cheeks and chest. “but don’t worry baby... i plan on showing you plenty tonight.”

your breath catches in your throat as he continues his assault on your senses. you arch up into his touch, nipples pebbling harder against the palm of his hand.

“arrogant bastard...” you gasp out between moans, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity despite the heat pooling between your legs.

but it’s futile— every brush of his skin against yours sets fire to your veins and makes your heart race faster. the sight of him looming above you like this, so powerful yet so gentle at times... it drives you wild.

“just remember this next time you decide to play doctor without consent,” you manage to say through gritted teeth before biting down on your lip hard enough to taste blood. he chuckles darkly at your words, but doesn't stop what he's doing. instead, his other hand slides down from your waist to grip your thigh tightly.

“oh, i'll remember alright,” he promises huskily before leaning down to capture another kiss from you.

his free hand slips beneath your shirt to find bare skin, tracing up along your ribcage until he reaches your breast once more. this time though, there's no barrier between them— only soft flesh meeting rough fingertips.

“feel good?” he asks teasingly as he rolls your nipple between two fingers causing sparks to shoot straight down to your core. the sensation of his touch on your bare skin sends shockwaves through you. a low whimper escapes from deep within your throat as he teases your sensitive nipple.

“too good,” you admit breathlessly, tilting your head back against the cushioned couch back. your hips instinctively buck upwards seeking friction against nothing but air. the need for something— anything— to fill that empty ache gnawing at you becomes almost unbearable.

“just because i say yes doesn't mean you get to take advantage of me,” you pant out weakly, trying desperately to keep hold of whatever shred of control left over. but with each stroke of his fingers over your heated flesh, it feels less like a warning and more like an invitation into pleasureland.

a wicked grin spreads across his face at your words. “take advantage? me?” he questions mockingly, though there's a glint of amusement in his eyes.

slowly, deliberately, he starts to slide downwards— kissing and licking a path along your collarbone before dipping lower still until he reaches the swell of your breasts. “i think we both know who's really in charge here,” he rumbles against your skin, hot breath ghosting over one hardened peak, “and it ain't you.”

without warning, he takes the sensitive bud into his mouth and sucks hard— tongue swirling around it torturously slow while his hand continues its ministrations on the other side.

a sharp cry tears itself from your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you. his mouth on your breast feels incredible; too much so for comfort. your fingers tangle into his hair, holding him close against you. despite everything you’ve been saying, it’s clear that you’re losing ground fast.

“don't stop...” you breathe out heavily, unable to deny him anymore.

even though part of you knows this isn't fair— that he's manipulating things to get exactly what he wants— another part relishes in being taken care of like this. and god help you, but it feels amazing.

“oh, fuck! just please...”

he hums in approval against your breast, the vibration sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. “that's it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before moving to lavish attention on its twin. “just let go and enjoy it. you know you love when i take charge.”

his hands roam your body possessively, palming your curves and squeezing roughly enough to leave marks. when he finally pulls back to gaze down at you, his expression is pure sin— dark eyes blazing with hunger and dominance.

“now, where were we?” he muses, voice dripping with promise as he starts to unbutton his shirt— revealing chiseled abs and a scattering of scars. “why don't you show me just how grateful you are for my attention?” he suggests, fingers already working to undo his belt buckle.

the sight of him undressing, even partially, sends a surge of arousal coursing through your veins. your breath hitches in anticipation as he leans closer again. “like this?” you ask, reaching out to trace a finger down his chest, feeling the ridges of muscles ripple beneath your touch.

your hand dips lower, brushing against the bulge straining against his pants. a smirk curls your lips at the feel of him throbbing beneath your fingertips. “or maybe like this?” you whisper suggestively, giving his hardness a firm squeeze through the fabric. his bulge feels heavy on your palm.

he lets out a low groan at your touch, hips jerking forward involuntarily as you fondle him through his pants. “that's it, baby,” he encourages, his own hands coming up to cup your breasts again, kneading them roughly. “get me nice and hard for you.”

with a swift motion, he frees himself from his trousers, allowing his thick cock to spring forth. it stands proud and erect, the tip glistening with pre-cum. “now why don't you put that clever mouth of yours to good use?” he commands, stroking himself slowly as he watches you with hungry eyes.

“lick it clean first, then take me deep inside that sweet little throat of yours. show me how much you want to be bred by me, my love.” the sight of his impressive erection makes your mouth water. with shaky hands, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his shaft. he's warm and solid in your grasp— a tangible proof of his arousal. you can't resist leaning in to lap at the precum beading at the tip, savoring the salty-sweet flavor.

leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss onto the head of his cock before taking it into your mouth. the salty-sweet flavor explodes on your tongue as you start to suck gently. “mmm, tastes good,” you murmur appreciatively before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock and sucking gently.

as you begin to bob your head, taking him deeper into your warm, wet mouth with each pass, you feel yourself getting lost in the sensation. his musky scent fills your nostrils, and the weight of him on your tongue is intoxicating.

you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, determined to please him. your hand comes up to fondle his heavy balls, rolling them in your palm as you work his shaft with increasing enthusiasm.

you bob your head back and forth, taking as much of him as possible into your warm cavernous space. each stroke sends tremors rippling through your body making it difficult to concentrate on anything else besides pleasing him right now.

a low, guttural moan escapes his lips as you take him deeper, the sound vibrating through you as you suck. his fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your movements.

“fucking hell, just like that,” he growls, thrusting shallowly into your mouth as you work him over, “such a good little cocksucker, aren't you?”

he rocks his hips in time with your bobbing head, fucking your face with increasing urgency. the sight of your lips stretched tight around his girth, the way your cheeks hollow with each suck, is almost too much to bear. “you're going to make me cum so hard down your throat if you keep this up,” he warns, voice strained with pleasure. “ready to swallow every drop like a good girl?” his pace quickens, driving himself deeper with each thrust.

your nose presses against his pubic bone as he hits the back of your throat, the pressure building with each thrust. tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, but you don't dare pull away.

“mmph!” you gag slightly as he bottoms out, but quickly recover, relaxing your throat to take him even deeper. the vibrations of your muffled moans add to the sensations as you continue to suck and lick at his shaft.

your free hand slides up his abdomen to tease his nipples, pinching and rolling them between your fingers as you service him. the dual stimulation of your mouth and hands pushes you closer to the edge, your own arousal building rapidly.

you look up at him through tear-filled eyes, watching his face contort in pleasure as you work him over. his hips buck wildly, driven by instinct alone as you manage to take him impossibly deep. the sight of those full lips wrapped tightly around his cock, trembling from effort and pleasure— it's all too much.

“oh fuck, right there...” he grunts out, eyes locked onto yours, “that's it, swallow every inch.”

with a final powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt in your throat. he holds there for a moment longer than necessary, letting you adjust before beginning to move again.

“gonna fill you up soon,” he whispers hoarsely, his control slipping as ecstasy floods through him. his strokes become erratic as he teeters on the brink of release.

“just... just a bit more, my l-love...”

the feeling of him pulsing against your tongue is exquisite, his impending climax evident in the way his cock throbs and twitches in your mouth. you double your efforts, sucking harder and faster as you sense his orgasm approaching.

your throat constricts around him rhythmically as you swallow, milking his shaft for all it's worth. drool escapes from the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin and onto your heaving breasts.

you can feel your own arousal building to a fever pitch, your core clenching around nothing as you imagine him filling you up with his seed. the thought alone nearly pushes you over the edge. but you hold off, determined to make him come first. you want to taste his essence, to feel him pulse and twitch in your mouth as he finds his release.

with a guttural groan, he slams home one last time, holding you in place as his cock erupts in your mouth. thick ropes of hot cum coat your tongue, flooding your senses with the intense flavor of his release.

“fuuuckkk!” he bellows, eyes rolling back in bliss as he rides out his orgasm. his grip on your hair tightens, not painful but insistent, keeping you still as he empties himself into your eager mouth. wave after wave of his seed pulses across your taste buds, each spurt a testament to his pleasure. finally, with a shuddering gasp, he stills, his cock softening slightly within the confines of your lips.

“swallow it all, baby,” he orders, voice husky with satisfaction, “every last drop belongs to you now.”

you eagerly swallow every last drop of his cum, savoring the taste as it coats your tongue and slips down your throat. his seed is potent and rich, leaving an unmistakable warmth spreading throughout your belly.

reluctantly releasing him from your mouth, you sit back on your heels, panting heavily. your lips are swollen and bruised from their vigorous use, a satisfied smile curving them despite the discomfort.

you reach up to wipe away some of the drool trickling down your chin, smearing it over your cleavage instead. looking up at him through half-lidded eyes filled with lust and satisfaction, “did i do okay?”

he looks down at you, chest heaving with each breath as he fights to regain his composure. a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you, flushed and disheveled.

“you always did, baby,” he replies, voice rough with residual pleasure, “best damn blowjob i've ever had.” he reaches out to run a finger along your jawline, tracing the path of a single tear that has managed to escape. his touch is surprisingly gentle given the intensity of what just transpired.

“but we're not done yet,“ he adds with a predatory gleam in his eye, “it's my turn to breed you now.” without waiting for further response, he pulls you towards him until you're straddling his lap once more. his cock is already starting to stir again, eager for another round. you wrap your arms around him, smiling so beautifully just like how you are, his sweet, sweet little wife.

feeling your arms encircle him, toji lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. his hands roam over your body, taking delight in the softness of your skin beneath his calloused palms.

“i'm glad you're mine,” he murmurs into your ear, nipping gently at the lobe, “i plan on making you feel very well taken care of.” his hands slide lower, pulling your hips flush against his growing erection. the sensation makes him groan in anticipation.

“so let's get started, shall we?”

you giggle softly, leaning in to press your lips to his in a tender kiss. as you pull back, you whisper, “i love being yours, toji. show me how much.” emboldened by your words, you begin to grind against him, your slick heat coating his length through the fabric of your underwear. the friction sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you, stoking the flames of desire even higher.

he captures your lips again in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. when you break apart, panting, he grips your hips firmly and begins to rock you against him, the motion deliberate and slow.

“that's it, ride my cock,” he commands, voice thick with need, “let me feel that sweet pussy of yours rubbing against me.” his hands slide under your shirt, palming your breasts roughly as he continues to grind you against his hardness. the sensation is maddening, each pass sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“fuck, you're soaked,” he growls, breaking the kiss to trail biting kisses down your neck, “can't wait to bury myself inside you and fill you up.”

you moan loudly, the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your clit driving you wild. you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his grasp as he tweaks and rolls your sensitive nipples. you can hardly stand it anymore; the need to have him inside you is overwhelming. you start to move faster against him, desperate for more contact.

“oh god, toji,” you whimper, looking into his eyes, “please, i need you... need you to fuck me.”

hearing your plea, toji's restraint snaps. with a swift movement, he stands up, carrying you effortlessly in his arms. he strides towards the bed, laying you down upon it with surprising gentleness considering the urgency of his actions.

“you'll get exactly what you ask for,” he promises, yanking down your panties with a rough tug. his gaze falls upon your glistening folds, wet and ready for him.

positioning himself between your thighs, he lines up his throbbing member at your entrance. without another word, he plunges deep inside you, stretching and filling you completely. “fucking perfect,” he grunts out, beginning to set a punishing pace. each thrust drives him deeper, hitting spots within you that make stars burst behind your eyelids.

a loud cry tears itself from your throat as he fills you entirely, stretching your walls deliciously. the sensation is overwhelming, causing your entire body to shake.

“oh, t-toji, baby..” you plead desperately, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him even deeper if possible. every stroke hits just right, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scratching lightly over his skin as you cling to him for support. you can't help but buck up to meet each of his powerful thrusts, desperate to take everything he offers.

he growls in approval, loving the way you claw at him as he pounds into your willing body. the sound of your cries and the sight of your breasts bouncing with each forceful thrust only spur him on.

“look at me,” he demands, his voice thick with lust, “want to see those pretty eyes when i breed you.” his hands grip your hips tightly, anchoring you to him while he drives into you mercilessly. the slap of flesh echoes around the room, punctuating the symphony of moans and groans.

as he watches your face contort with pleasure, toji leans down to capture a nipple between his teeth, nibbling harshly before soothing it with a flick of his tongue. you obey instantly, meeting his gaze with wide, lust-filled eyes. the combination of his commanding presence and the raw pleasure he's giving you leaves you breathless.

“oh fuck, toji...” your voice trails off into a series of broken whimpers as he teases your nipple. the dual sensations of his cock pounding into you and his teeth grazing your sensitive bud send shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

your inner walls clench around him involuntarily, trying to milk him for all he's worth. but it's clear that you're far from finished; there's still so much more you want from this dominant man.

feeling your walls flutter around him, toji can't hold back a satisfied grunt. he releases your breast with a pop, watching as a bead of blood appears where he'd been sucking. “good girl,” he praises, slapping your thigh lightly for emphasis, “keep coming for me.”

with renewed vigor, he starts slamming into you harder than before. each thrust goes deeper than the last, aimed directly at that spot inside you that makes stars dance across your vision. the bed creaks under their combined weight as he picks up speed, driven by pure instinct and carnal desire.

the sharp sting of pain from his bite quickly gives way to intense pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly. your body bows off the mattress with each brutal thrust, helpless to resist the onslaught of sensation.

“o-oh god, oh god!“ you whimpering, your voice hoarse from crying out in ecstasy. your mind blanks, consumed solely by the primal urge to be filled, claimed, bred. you lock your ankles behind his back, using every ounce of strength to pull him impossibly deeper. your hips rise to meet his, creating a frenzied rhythm that threatens to shatter you completely.

the feeling of you wrapping yourself around him, urging him on, pushes roji closer to the edge. he feels your body tensing beneath him, signaling that you’re nearing your climax. “that's it,” he encourages through gritted teeth, “come for me, show me how much you love being fucked by your husband.”

his thrusts become erratic as he chases his own release. the thought of filling you with his seed fuels his arousal further. “going to breed you so good,” he vows before capturing your lips once more in a bruising kiss. the intensity of his words coupled with the relentless pace of his thrusts sends you spiraling into oblivion. a scream rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“i'm cumming!“ you cry out, your body convulsing around his cock as waves of pleasure rip through you. your juices coat his shaft, slickening the path for him to find his own release. your inner muscles clench and unclench rhythmically, milking him for all he’s worth. you can barely form coherent thoughts; all that remains is raw, animalistic pleasure.

feeling your pussy spasm around him triggers toji's own climax. with a guttural roar, he buries himself to the hilt and unleashes a torrent of hot semen deep inside you. “take it all, my wife,” he growls, his hips jerking erratically as he pumps you full of his essence. the sensation of his cum flooding your womb sends shivers down his spine.”

as the final pulses of his orgasm subside, toji collapses onto you, his heavy chest heaving against your own. he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, marking you with gentle bites and whispers of praise. panting heavily, you bask in the afterglow of your intense coupling. feeling toji's warm seed fill you to the brim brings a sense of satisfaction and completion.

“handsome,” you murmur contentedly, running your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. embracing the intimacy of the moment, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he recovers. your bodies remain joined, the evidence of his claim still dripping from your entwined forms.

toji hums in pleasure at your touch, nuzzling deeper into your embrace. he presses a soft kiss to your pulse point, savoring the taste of your skin.

“mmm, you're beautiful too, the most beautiful,” he murmurs, slowly rolling you to your sides. even in this position, he remains buried inside you, his softening cock still nestled in your warmth. gently, he begins to rock against you, stirring the mix of his cum and your juices within your shared depths. he action sends pleasant tingles through both of you, prolonging the intimate connection.

“this was perfect,” he says, his voice low and satisfied, “just what we both needed.”

your body responds eagerly to his movements, each subtle shift reigniting the embers of pleasure within you. you let out a blissful sigh, enjoying the lazy rhythm you've fallen into. “it was...more than perfect,” you agree, a smile curving your lips despite the exhaustion settling in. the tender affection mixed with the lingering heat of your lovemaking leaves you feeling cherished and utterly fulfilled.

as the minutes stretch on, you find yourself reluctant to break away from this sweet, languid closeness. it's moments like these that make you realize just how deeply you adore your husband— in every way imaginable.

toji gazes at you adoringly, taking in the blissful expression on your face. he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch feather-light and reverent.

“i love seeing you like this,” he confesses softly, “satisfied and happy in my arms.” he pauses, his expression turning thoughtful. “i think it's time we started planning our family, don't you? we could have a few more little ones running around, keeping us busy and on our toes.”

the suggestion is made with a playful glint in his eye, but there's an underlying seriousness to his words. toji wants to build a life filled with love, passion, and children— and he intends to start that process soon. at the mention of starting a family, your heart swells with joy. the idea of carrying another child conceived in such passionate, loving circumstances fills you with excitement.

“you know i've always wanted that,” you reply, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, “a house full of laughter and love...and maybe some mischief too, maybe later,”

the prospect of growing their family together stirs something deep within you. not just physical attraction, but emotional commitment— a bond forged not only between lovers but also parents-to-be. “but for now,” you continue, tracing idle patterns on his chest, “let's just enjoy this moment. our private paradise.”

hearing your agreement, toji smirks, his eyes sparkling with delight. he captures your wandering hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss.

“a private paradise sounds ideal,” he agrees, nipping gently at your fingertips, “but i suppose we should get moving eventually.” despite his words, there's no urgency in his tone. Instead, he seems content to simply stay here with you— lost in each other's company until reality comes knocking.

“but first,” he adds, pulling you closer until your breasts press against his chest, “i need to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips at his declaration. the idea of being thoroughly satisfied by your husband is quite appealing indeed. “oh, i think i am,” you purr, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate the residual ache left by their earlier activities, “but if you insist...“

you arch your back slightly, pressing even harder against him. the sensation of his semi-hard member still nestled inside you sends delightful sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins. “just one more round?” you tease, batting your eyelashes playfully.

toji's smirk widens at your teasing words, his dark eyes gleaming with lustful intent. he rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you with a predatory grace.

“one more round it is then,” he declares, beginning to move again, leaning closer to kiss your forehead. his renewed thrusts are slow and deliberate, designed to draw out every last drop of pleasure from both of you.

each stroke sends jolts of pleasure radiating throughout your body. the combination of his weight pressing down on you and the steady rhythm of his hips driving into yours creates an intoxicating blend of sensations.

“and when we're done,” he promises huskily, “we'll start planning our future...together.”

[multific]

The Dreamer Empress

Emperor Geta x Reader

Warnings: mention of murder, blood, and spoilers of the movie. The reader's character is based on Helaena Targaryen from House of the Dragon. 

Summary: You always dreamt—dreams of death, happiness and the Empire. But your dreams always come true.

The Dreamer Empress.

That is what the people of Rome called you.

What not one of them knew is how your dreams always come true.

Even as a child, you had dreams, and soon your suspicions were confirmed.

You dreamed of a man with firey hair whom you would marry. Who would love you so much, it was unimaginable. 

But whenever you see him in your dreams, he always has fire and death surrounding him.

You knew that had to be a sign.

A sign of his true nature.

But his eyes were so soft as he looked at you.

He couldn't be that bad right?

Perhaps you shouldn't have assumed so much. 

Perhaps you should have believed your dreams.

Emperor Geta was sadistic, angry and impatient.

But his eyes as he looked at you, seemed to change.

You saw it in them.

But you got scared, turned around and left.

After all, how would you explain to him that you have been having dreams about him? About a life you two can have.

The Emperor.

Of all men.

Of course, it had to be the Emperor.

You thought about running far. Never meet him again, but you still went to the Colosseum.

You still sat so you could see him. 

You watched as he decided on the fate of the men.

How can you already love him?

You only met him in your dreams.

Never even spoke a single word with him.

And yet you knew, you loved him.

Then, he suddenly looked at you. Of all the people there, his eyes locked with yours. 

And you immediately knew, there was no point in running. 

You were destined for him.

You met him the same day.

He was drinking some wine while his brother was laughing.

Geta was drawn to you the moment you entered. You tried your best to avoid him, but you knew it was pointless.

He found you and you gave yourself to him fully.

"Marry me." he whispered into the night before he kissed you.

---

You woke up in his arms, like many mornings before. 

You stirred and so did he. 

"My Love?" his voice was always so deep in the mornings.

"I had a dream." you whispered and he moved his head into your neck, you hugged him. "I dreamt... your brother was holding your head, but, your body wasn't there and Macrinus was behind your brother with a bloody knife in his hand."

"My Empress and her dreams. My Beautiful Wife and her gift from the Gods."

Geta learned about your dreams almost right after you two wed. You mentioned to him a Gladiator he would like. The next day, a new Gladiator showed up, earning the amusement of both Emperors.

Later, you mentioned to him a plan. The Senator's plan to overthrow him and his brother. You told him that in your dreams the Senator gathered with his people behind a lion.

Geta's soldiers found the Senator and his group of men hiding in a room with a lion statue blocking the door.

Geta believed in your dreams. He had no reason not to. They were all true.

He was the first to call your dreams a gift from the Gods.

"I will make sure Macrinus' plan falls." he said before kissing your lips. "My wife cannot lose me."

"I truly cannot." you looked into his eyes and he smiled, knowing just how serious you were.

He made sure Macrinus failed. 

Geta promised you a long and fulfilling life. And he would make sure to give you just that. 

Weeks passed, then a whole year.

Rome was growing and the people were happy.

They all loved the Empress, as much as the Emperor did.

"You haven't been having dreams recently." Geta noted one evening when you got ready for bed.

"I do have them, Geta. They are happy ones."

"You said those are rare."

"They are. But they do happen."

"Will you tell me what it was?"

"I had a dream of you with a boy."

"A boy?" he asked confused.

"Your son, I believe he was. He called me Mother as he ran to me when you told him to and he looked much like you."

"You dreamt of us having a son and didn't tell me?" he sounded rather hurt.

"I am sure I'm not pregnant."

"I know but... sometimes I wish I could see your dreams. The happy ones sound truly spectacular."

You smiled at him as you lay down in your bed.

"I am so used to seeing bad things, I rather not get carried away when I see something happy. I didn't mention this one to you because I was afraid it wouldn't come true."

"Of course it will. All of your dreams come true. This won't be any different. We will have that beautiful boy you saw. And we will be happy. I promise you, My Love."

"I like your promises. They are much like my dreams. You always make sure they become real." he kissed you on the lips after he joined you in bed. Moving to lay you on your back and he moved on top of you.

"That is because I simply love you."

"And I love you too." you said with a tear in your eye and pulled him in for another kiss.

Just how glad you were for not running away.

You were glad you stayed and decided to face your destiny. 

You were glad to have such a man by your side.

The crazy and violent Emperor of the people, who was also your loving and caring husband.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[invincibledc]

My birthday is tomorrow…. Can I get some Raccoon! Reader? Pretty please? 🥺

LITTLE RASCAL

BATFAMILY X RACCOON!READER

summary: such a little rascal, but that little rascal belong to the Waynes.

info: raccoon!reader is a small child of the age of 5-6. Adopted into the family, Damian found you in a dumpster and declared you as a Wayne, the other batboys have no saying other to accept the child. POV switch up cause I didn't even notice myself.

genre: short story

word count: 608

a/n: despite me being busy, here. ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Having a raccoon-baby sibling is crazy! The batboys have to babysit their adopted animal shifter who is a raccoon the next minute and a small child the next.

Dick keeps them dressed in onesies with his hero merch.

Jason always makes sure they are mostly fed and out of trouble.

Tim makes them have their nap time and most of the time distracts them with some puzzles that they are smart at despite the speech impediment.

Then Damian, the one that always buys them clothes, and most snacks, and just a spoiling big brother who adores how cute his baby sibling is!

And now, here they are, now freshly five years old, or five in a half, always doing reckless things like the racasl they are.

As much as the Batboys love them, they are such a kid to take care of.

Certainly, a little raccoon child was running around the streets of Gotham City, fully in raccoon form. The small raccoon jumped across fire escapes of apartments, running through other things like alleyways. Finally, they found a motherload, a trashcan with fresh thrown-out food from a pastry shop.

The raccoon chirped, smiling wide as their grubby greedy hands grabbed a clean cupcake. Inching the sweet treat into their mouth, they were suddenly grabbed up by a tight grip.

Jason narrowed his eyes at the animal shifter as the raccoon shifted into y/n. A cute little chubby child that loves to eat, oh how their greed disgusts Jason.

“I knew I should've gotten that damned child leash,” Jason says, leaving the alley as y/n screams, throwing a tantrum with their broken English.

“Ja-Ja lets y/n down! Y/n go down! Down!” their chubby hands smack Jason’s buff arm that's holding them. But of course, it had no effect as Jason put the small child in front of him—sitting calmly despite the angry child whose raccoon ears were flat against their head and arms crossed with a puff.

“Keep poutin' you brat, that won't let me let you eat straight trash from dumpsters.” he puts a small helmet on you and puts his significant one on as well. Jason rode down quickly to the Wayne manor, as they made it up there. Y/n was still petty and pissed. How dare their older human brother do this to them?! How dare he! Shame on them all!

Y/n must’ve spaced out so much, that now they are in timeout, facing the wall as they looked back to see the whole family consulting each other.

“We have to buy a child leash.”

“That’s too dangerous! What if they strangle themselves!” Damian exclaims, slamming his hand onto the table.

“But think about it, the pros of a child leash is that they don't get lost and run into traffic,” Dick says with a soft grin, placing a hand on the youngest brother’s shoulder. Damian gave him a quick face before nodding.

“I can comply with this 'child' leash then.”

Tim nodded along, “Plus, when on a mission, they don't go wild and get injured.” now all the boys nodded as Bruce stayed quiet watching his sons agree. Looking to the side to see you kicking the wall, Bruce got up and went over to you. You looked at him, ringed tail creased under your legs, neatly between them as you fully turned to him.

“Papa!” you lifted your arms, getting picked up by the man whose eyes softened despite his stoic nature. “Then it settles.”

The boys looked at their father, seeing Bruce let out a smile as you smiled, just happy to get out of time out.

“This little rascal needs a leash.”

[paranoiddreams]

Boyfriend!Sukuna x f!reader

non-toxic arguing?, crack, fluff, a few suggestive parts near the end, Sukuna using medieval ass insults, not entirely proof read, written at 4 am literally

A/n - Been a while since I added onto this. Hope you guys like!!

prev. ⟺ next.

Being Sukuna’s girlfriend means getting used to little fights. Not anything big, nothing toxic, but little fights that show you care.

Sukuna isn’t one who shows his affection…normally. We already know this. So when he huffs and makes a snide comment, you already know what he wants. Not just attention, but competition.

It’s not that he wants to ‘win’ or gain something for himself—he actually prefers when he ends up being yelled at by you. He loves seeing the fire in your eyes, and hearing your usually petal-soft voice turn into something darker.

You started to catch on when he just sat there, arms crossed and legs spread, a smile on his face as you ripped into him for, yet again, starting something.

“Sukuna, did you seriously have to call that guy an impoverished cow because he asked for my number?!”

Your boyfriend, who has no problem in basking in his lingering amusement from what happened, nods. “Yes,” he says, “I did. And I would’ve used much more disgraceful language if you didn’t drag me out by my hand like an angry mother.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. Yes, maybe you look like a mother scolding her son right now, but you can hardly think about that when this has happened so many times.

“He asked for my number and when I explained I was taken he completely backed off,” you huff. “Are you really going to go all out on someone who didn’t know any better?”

“All out?” Sukuna chuckles. “Oh, silly girl, I didn’t go all out. Not even close to it. Besides, I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just let me mark you up to let everyone know who you belong to,” he says with a deadly smirk, one you’ve seen before getting fucked into next week.

And maybe that’s what happens after every one of these little arguments. Maybe you’ve come to understand the love Sukuna has for making you yell at him.

[artytaeh]

okay. so, hear me out

we all talk about how the slytherin boys seem to never loose a chance for a fight. doesn’t matter the reason, or if there is any in the first place. it’s a well known fact they’re good with their firsts

but i thought . .

what would each of the slytherin boys’ reaction be to you throwing a punch for them because `` somebody was talking shit about them behind their back `` ?

the second paragraph got my attention. it made me think why the slytherin boys would get into fistfights and how good they are at throwing a punch.

mattheo's experience was built in physical impulsivity since he first felt the need to defend himself; theodore learned from mattheo because being his best friend walks hand in hand with supporting mattheo through his chaos; lorenzo comes from observing mattheo's antics; blaise definitely got a stepfather somewhere who was closer than the others, and blaise liked him because he taught blaise stuff that fathers, typically, teach their sons; draco is lucky that he's armed with a lot of rings and somehow it works.

about being defended by their significant other...

MATTHEO is torn. on one hand, hot as fuck; on the other hand, please tell him that it didn't fuck up your knuckles. definitely giddy that he was worth the fight in someone's eyes, especially a loved one like you are. if you got hurt, mattheo will carefully bandage/take care of your fingers himself, then teach you how to properly land a punch — and the weakest spots you could go for, in any scenario you might find yourself in. still insists that you have him for a reason; mattheo is here to beat up his way for you, so no need for you to get your hands dirty. probably the beginning of playing tickle fights.

THEODORE immediately dislikes the idea that he indirectly provoked problems slash pain for his partner. even though theo can't control people's opinions, he can't help the guilt that naturally comes to him, wondering if his bad habits are being, somehow, influencing you to do the same. doesn't want you to think that he's angry, so after some silence, he gives you a smile and breaks the quietness with a sarcastic comment to make you laugh. discreetly implies that he'd rather not bring you to his mess, while pressing a kiss to each of your knuckles.

LORENZO would be giddy. at first, his boyfriend instincts would fire loud alarms in his mind, then soothing with a sense of pride that he's being defended by his partner. enzo enjoys the attention, truly, to the point that he doesn't immediately get upset that people are tearing his image apart in a harmful way. gently coaxes you away from the conflict, caressing the hands that defended him with you on his lap; kisses you silly, every inch of skin he finds. and when you're distracted, enzo makes sure that he got the funny guy or girl alone to make a proper threat to shut the fuck up—more important than that, for them to leave his partner alone.

BLAISE doesn't fancy conflicts. avoids them because he's too classy and superior to that, unless absolutely necessary—if someone manages to get him that furious, or to make sure that his friends aren't outnumbered. blaise might hear people talking badly about him, but in his eyes, it's more powerful the act of not caring/treating those gossip as an unimportant thing that'd waste his time clearing up. that being said, wouldn't really like that you are increasing the problem—but wouldn't be mean about it. takes you away from the fight with grace, smoothly talks you into ignoring those words with him.

DRACO is a mess of different opinions, thoughts and feelings. it's not a surprise that he'd enjoy the chaos, especially if his partner landed a good hit on whoever low life that wasted time badmouthing draco. makes a 'oooh' sound—like in poa during beasts class, or gof while cheering for the dragons—with his friends joining to hype you up. only afterwards does he get slightly insecure that people might think that he needs someone to defend him, because he's not enough to defend himself on his own. wouldn't take it out on you, but the doubt would eat him away.

[chheolie]

dad seokmin forgot to keep his promise

seokmin was having one of those days where he planned to spend the entire afternoon entertaining his son with the most outlandish games he could think of. full of enthusiasm, he turned on the toy fire truck, which started zooming across the floor with its lights flashing and siren echoing throughout the room.

"look at this, buddy!" he exclaimed, excitedly, calling his little one over to watch the toy in action.

but to his surprise, his son, sitting on the floor with a surprisingly firm look, just crossed his arms and put on an expression that looked way too serious for a three-year-old. his little lips pushed out into a dramatic pout, as if he was experiencing the worst day of his life.

seokmin raised an eyebrow, confused, trying to decipher the unexpected reaction.

“is he mad about something? or maybe he just doesn’t like fire trucks anymore?” he thought, watching his son curiously.

determined to keep trying, he brought the truck closer and attempted to get him excited again.

"let’s put out the fire, son!" he said in an upbeat tone, waving the toy from side to side, trying to make it as fun as possible.

to his complete shock, the little boy, still with his pout intact, kicked the truck with his chubby foot, sending it sliding across the rug until it bumped against the couch leg. the kid’s angry face only grew, and the pout? somehow, it looked even bigger.

seokmin had to try really hard not to laugh. he felt his lips tremble with the urge to let out a chuckle, but he held it back. he didn’t want to make his little one any more upset.

"okay, my love… you don’t want to play with the fire truck," seokmin said in a softer, more paternal tone. "how about we go for a walk outside?" he suggested, smiling as if it was the most amazing idea ever.

the boy looked at his dad with a mix of disapproval and stubbornness, then turned his face away, crossing his arms even tighter.

seokmin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling clueless. he tried everything he could think of – he even offered to go outside and watch the “big trucks” his son usually loved to see, but nothing worked. feeling at a loss and a little desperate, he finally picked up his phone to call for help from the real expert: his wife.

with quick fingers, he typed a message, and soon his phone buzzed with a reply.

seokmin: babe, help.

he saw the typing bubbles pop up and then the message appeared.

seokmin: i think i just became our son’s number one enemy. 😩😩

y/n: 🤨 really? why?

seokmin: he won’t talk to me. won’t play with his favorite fire truck, doesn’t even want to go outside…

y/n: did you ask him why? maybe it’s something important

seokmin: babe… he’s only three. how’s he supposed to know how to explain what he’s feeling? 🥺

y/n: 🙄 ASK HIM, seokmin.

seokmin was ready to finally fix the situation, but he couldn’t resist asking his son one more time, now that the little boy seemed a bit less upset.

"son, did daddy do something wrong? why are you so upset?" he gently held his son’s tiny shoulders. "is there anything daddy can do to make you not be mad anymore?"

the little boy looked at him, still pouting, and said in a slightly teary voice, "you… you pwomised… stwawbewwy ice cweam… and you fowgot!"

seokmin had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. of course, it was about food! and he vaguely remembered mentioning something about ice cream the night before, but with all the excitement and games, he’d completely forgotten.

"oh, son… i’m really sorry! daddy forgot about the ice cream!"

seokmin quickly grabbed his phone and texted his wife, almost as if he needed her to witness what he’d just discovered.

seokmin: babe, he said it

seokmin: i promised him strawberry ice cream after lunch, can you believe it? 😩😩

almost immediately, her reply came in.

y/n: really? i’m a witness.

seokmin: i forgot i’d promised that 😳

seokmin: but… how could he remember that? he’s just a baby!

y/n: he’s your son, seokmin. your legacy: selective memory for sweets and pizza.

seokmin: 😅😅😅😅😅

y/n: give him his ice cream before he packs his bag to run away from home.

laughing at the thought of his son packing a bag and searching for a new home that took ice cream promises seriously, seokmin headed to the kitchen to prepare the long-awaited treat. he grabbed a small bowl, added a few scoops of strawberry ice cream, and went all out: strawberry syrup, colorful sprinkles, and of course, a cherry on top. he carried the bowl back to the living room like it was a trophy, still imagining which uncle his son might ask for refuge with. maybe vernon? surely he wouldn’t forget a promise.

"here it is, buddy! your strawberry ice cream, with everything you deserve!"

the little boy, now with bright eyes, immediately dropped his pout and grabbed the bowl with both tiny hands, amazed by what he saw.

"yummy!" he said, fully focused on the ice cream and visibly happy.

seokmin crouched down beside him and asked hopefully, "so… do you forgive me for forgetting?"

the child nodded, but he was so engrossed in the ice cream that seokmin wasn’t sure if the forgiveness was genuine or just temporary. the ice cream was clearly priority number one.

he quickly sent another message to y/n.

seokmin: he forgave me…

seokmin: but i’m not sure we’re totally okay yet… i think his heart’s still divided between the ice cream and the grudge.

y/n: hahaha, i’m glad for you, babe.

seokmin watched as his son enjoyed the ice cream, and with each spoonful, the little boy let out a happy “mmm!” while seokmin watched, relieved to have made things right.

when his little one finished, he held up the empty bowl and grinned.

"was it good?" seokmin asked, smiling back at him.

"good, good!" he replied with his sweet little voice and eyes shining with joy.

suddenly, the boy got up, handed the bowl back to seokmin without much ceremony, and ran over to the fire truck still sitting on the floor.

"wooo woo woo woo!" he started imitating the fire truck siren with excitement, waving his dad over to join the game.

seokmin wasted no time. he ran to the kitchen to put the bowl down and, in seconds, was back in the living room, ready for the new mission to save the world. he pretended to put on an invisible firefighter helmet and gave his son a salute.

"firefighter seokmin reporting for duty!" he announced with a determined, goofy expression. "what’s the emergency, chief?"

his son held onto the toy truck, looking at him with serious little eyes.

"fire! big fire! daddy, come!" he shouted, running around the room with the truck while seokmin followed, pretending to turn on a siren.

the house transformed into a "fire station," and the two of them spent the next several minutes saving stuffed animals from the imaginary blaze.

seokmin: babe, we’re friends again

seokmin: we’re playing firefighters

y/n: alright, mr. firefighter, don’t make promises you won’t remember to keep

seokmin: 🫡🫡🫡

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 9

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

"He'll be fine," Esmeray said evenly.

Zahra couldn't help but flinch, her eyes fixed outside the window. She didn't get to see anything, there was nothing to see, but…"How do you know that?" Zahra demanded sharply.

Esmeray didn't seem the least bit surprised at the harsh question."Because my son will always do whatever he has to do to survive," she said drily. "Just as he should. He'll come home to you." Her words were blunt, straightforward and to the point and Zahra felt the sudden tightness in her throat ease slightly.

Azriel was going to come home…it wasn’t like he was walking into…enemy territory right? He had survived two wars…he could survive dinner with his family…

“But normally his enemies aren’t his own brothers,” she whispered. Regardless of her own personal feelings about Cassian and Rhys…she didn’t doubt for a moment that…they were both exceptionally powerful.

Esmeray said nothing for a moment, her face pensive. She watched Zahra with an intense gaze, the silence drawing on as Zahra tried not to fidget under her scrutiny, her own gaze meeting Esmeray’s as the older woman tilted her head.

“Has Azriel told you what happened to his hands?” Esmeray finally asked her.

That…wasn't what Zahra had expected to hear. Zahra blinked as she stared at Esmeray, her mouth opening uselessly for a few seconds as she tried to form words. But in the end, she couldn’t find the words and settled for a shake of her head, her eyes wide as she stared at Esmeray.

She had seen the violent scars. Of course she had. They were impossible to miss. And she knew how they had pained him…though the useless golden glow of hers seemed to at least have eased that particular agony. It hadn’t seemed like they had bothered him again. 

“Or where he spent the first few years of his life?” Esmeray continued.

"No," Zahra admitted, her voice small.

She had an inkling that whatever had happened to Azriel as a child...it must have been bad. Really bad.

“I was 17 when a Azriel was born. One of the Lords at a War Camp fathered him,” Esmeray said, her voice quiet. “I was young…I was stupid…and my family had too many mouths to feed. So…I became his mistress. He took my son from me, when he was still a babe. And he kept him from me…for the years that followed. I was allowed to only see him an hour a week. My own son,” she spat out these words

Zahra stared at Esmeray.

She felt...sick. Sick and furious and heartbroken all at the same time as she listened to Esmeray's admission."Any other child...They wouldn't have survived these years locked away in that dungeon. And if they had....they would have been angry at the world and ready to watch it all burn," Esmeray continued softly. "But not Azriel. Not him. Not my son… He got the scars on his hands when his half brother’s decided to see how fire and oil would mix. The scars… were the result."

She wanted to vomit. 

The pain and heartbreak in Esmeray's eyes spoke of horrors that she couldn't possibly begin to imagine.

"The shadows came to him after that...And his father...he realised how dangerous Azriel would be in the future. So he send him away. To train. And for one decade, I thought I was never going to see my son again," she recounted, shaking her head. "I thought that if the years in the darkness hadn't killed him...then the training would. Illyrian start training young. He was already 11. He couldn’t even fly, Zahra. They had bound his wings to his back since he was a baby."

Zahra stared at Esmeray, her eyes wide.

She swallowed. It sounded like torture. Plain and simple. 

She hadn’t been treated…well as a child... hadn’t slept in the same nursery as her sisters, but instead in the servants quarter on a lumpy mattress with some mice to keep her company…but she hadn’t been…she hadn’t been locked in the darkness. She had gotten food…not the food the family ate but what the servants ate. She had been ignored…but even if Nesta hated her…she had never put her hands on fire. 

And Azriel…

"But he survived," Esmeray continued. "He survived. With these shadows of his. And he became a Carynthian, he touched the sacred peak of Ramiel...and then he came back for me," Esmeray said with a shake of her head and a shaky sort of laugh. "He came back for you?" Zahra repeated, her heart twisting in her chest as she listened to Esmeray’s words.

She couldn't even begin to imagine the love and loyalty Azriel must feel for his mother, to survive all that, and return for her.

"He did," Esmeray said softly. "He had every right to forget I even existed...but he didn't. He killed one of his half- brother during that Blood Rite...and he killed his father the moment he set a foot in that training camp where he was born. And then he came for me and brought me here," Esmeray said softly. "This is what he did for me, his mother. For his mate? I can promise you one thing, Zahra, with absolute certainty: As long as there is breath left in my son, he'll return home to you."

The words sounded almost like a promise and Zahra felt the tightness in her chest ease. Hearing the conviction in Esmeray's voice, the absolute belief in her son...made Zahra believe, just for a moment.

"His father wasn't a...good man. He was a monster," Esmeray said softly. "And he did...horrible things to me. But I'll never regret having Azriel. He's the only good thing that male ever created."

Zahra felt her throat close up at those words. At the unwavering and fierce love in Esmeray's voice, even as she spoke of the monster...and her son.

Zahra thought about herself. She didn't know if she could have...if she could have loved a child created from what had been done to her. Wouldn't know if she could have...if she would have been...able to love them as fiercely and beautifully as Esmeray clearly loved Azriel. 

"He’ll come home to you," Esmeray repeated. "Don't borrow troubles."

It was easier said than done. 

"I never wanted him to fight with his family for me," Zahra said weakly.

"It's your family too, is it not? Your sister is married to Rhysand…your other to Cassian," Esmeray pointed out reasonably. "What happened?"

Zahra felt her face heat up in shame as she avoided Esmeray's gaze.

"My sisters don't particularly like me," she said weakly. "I am a constant reminder of our father's...infidelity."

"And what does that have to do with you?" Esmeray asked, voice sharp.

Zahra flinched back in surprise at the sharp tone and how direct the question was.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Esmeray snorted derisively. "Your father's infidelity...is exactly what it says on the tin: your father's sin," she snapped. "Not yours. You are your own person, not an object created solely to hurt your half-sisters or their mother. Who do they think they are, to decide who you are based on their father's mistakes?"

She could just blink at Esmeray as she felt a knot in her throat. Zahra swallowed past it tightly. She had always just been a bastard created by her father’s infidelity. That was the one thing…that she would never get away from. 

But there was also…

"... I had an affair with a married man," she admitted weakly. "While I was human."

Esmeray fell silent, the only sound echoing the quiet.

Zahra didn't meet Esmeray's gaze, her hands curled into tight fists on her lap as she waited for the older woman to speak.

She was waiting for judgment. 

“Do you really think, you’ll get judgment from  me, when I did the same?” Esmeray asked her, her voice quiet. “Azriel is the result of that, Zahra. So were you…But you must have been…awfully young?” Esmeray said softly. “You are what? 20 now?”

"24," Zahra corrected her weakly. "I was 15. When it started."

Esmeray's face twisted in fury when Zahra answered her question. It was clear that she already put the pieces together, even before hearing the young woman's answer.

"You were a child," Esmeray snapped. "How much older than you was he? A few decades, l imagine?"

"Eighteen years older," Zahra responded quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "...Feyre was sick. He owned the apothecary. We had no money and she needed medicine and I..."

Zahra swallowed back the bile rising in her throat as she recalled the fear of those days, the pain and terror as she desperately tried to protect her sister.

She remembered how he used her. How he took advantage of her when she had no one else to turn to, no one else to rely on.

"In what world would you call this an affair, sweetheart?" Esmeray asked her weakly. "How long did it go on?"

Zahra took a shuddering breath as she stared at the ground.

"Six years," she answered, voice shaking. “I would rather call it an affair than call myself a whore,” she said weakly. 

Esmeray reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "He hurt you." It was said flatly. Not a question.

"Yes," Zahra choked out, forcing the words passed the knot in her throat. "He hurt me." The words tasted like ash as they left her lips, the pain and shame they came with making her feel sick to her stomach.

She didn't want to think about it, about him, or the pain he made her feel.

She never wanted to think about it again, she didn't want to recall the things he did to her. There was no escaping the pain the memories brought, or the pain he caused for all those years. And still to this day. 

"I won't be able to have kids," she whispered. "He took that from me too."

Esmeray reached forward, a shaky hand resting in the younger woman's.

"Oh, sweetheart," Esmeray muttered, her voice shaking in sympathy and fury. And then..."There were two pregnancies after Azriel," she said softly. "I miscarried the first...the second...he beat me so badly that...the baby was too small to survive," Esmeray said softly. "Not anymore after that. He took that from me too."

Tears welled in Zahra's eyes as she listened to Esmeray's soft words.

"I'm so sorry," Zahra whispered. The pain Esmeray felt was so evident in those words, and Zahra couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

She couldn't begin to imagine how it must feel, to lose children the way she did.

"Don't be," Esmeray reassured her, voice shaking. "It was a long time ago...and I love my son. I love Azriel. He's more than enough for me. Why mess with perfection?" she asked, her voice firm. Zahra couldn't help a weak laugh that escaped her.

"And if you and Azriel decide that you want children one day...there are ways to have children that aren't the traditional way," Esmeray continued. "There are plenty of illyrian children that are simply...thrown away. Not here in Rosehall but in some of the more traditional camps. Not enough food for too many mouth to feed...bastards themselves...physical disabilities...plenty of reasons," she said with a shudder.

Zahra blinked in surprise at the words.

She...she hadn't had the chance to think about anything beyond surviving yet, let alone how...how she and Azriel would have children some day in the future, if they wanted. after everything that happened.

But children, a family...she had always wanted a family. A family of her own. She just...hadn't even considered how that could ever happen to her.

There were children like her, thrown away as unwanted, but she hadn't known that it was such a... common occurrence.

"That's horrible," she whispered under her breath.

To think that those children were left behind, abandoned, or thrown out when they were too young to even take care of themselves... It filled her with rage. How could an entire society treat people like that?

"Sometimes it's something as simple that they are girls," Esmeray said, her voice bitter. "Girls are useless in their eyes."

Zahra felt her heart twist in fury at the words.

The fact that an entire society could think that girls were useless enough to throw them aside...it sickened her.

"Azriel will come home," Emeray promised her with a squeeze of her hand once more as she pulled back to go back to her cooking. "Could you set the table?"

Zahra nodded quietly, her words stuck in her throat as she swallowed her tears.

She stood and slowly went over to the kitchen, gathering the things necessary to set the table for dinner.

But she couldn't get one thing out of her head. "Do you...Do you keep an eye on his half brother?" She asked the shadows softly. "So he'll never hurt Azriel again?"

The shadows writhed in the air, twisting around on themselves for a few moments as if in agitation.

Zahra swallowed slightly at the sight of the shadows reacting like that.

"Could you?" Zahra requested. "please? Just for my own sake of mind?"

The shadows writhed a little more before they seemed to quiet down, only a gentle shift in movement now, as if the shadows had accepted her request.

"Thank you," she said softly.

You're welcome, the voice was as soft as a breath, as otherworldly as that as well.

Zahra couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine at the voice that echoed in her head.

It was as otherworldly as it was strangely soothing.

***

Azriel was tired. Tired and exhausted and hurting and furious and hungry, his rage and exhaustion leaving him on a hair trigger.

His shadows writhed in the air around him, agitation and fury rolling off of

It was done. He had had that talk. It had gone...better than he thought it would. Which was something, he supposed. But it left him tired...

His exhaustion was seeping into his bones, settling deep and leaving him heavy and...worn. He was exhausted deep in his marrow, all the way down to his very soul.

He didn't like to fight. He had never liked to fight. Especially not this kind of fighting. Fighting with knifes and swords was one thing...this kind of emotional bloodletting was another thing entirely.

It hurt so much more, to be vulnerable, to lay his emotions, his deepest secrets and insecurities, bare and have others know them. Have others be able to twist and use those things against him if they so desired.

And even when this had needed to have happened...needed to be done...this didn't make it any easier.

It had made him feel horrible to use…Zahra’s most traumatic moments as pressure points. 

He just needed...he just needed to see Zahra. Jsut needed to know that she was safe.

That need rose like a crashing wave.

He could feel it now, the need to get to his mate, to know that she was safe, to see her and feel it.

So he winnowed. The wards around Rosehall bent to his will...and just seconds later, he got to walk through his mother’s front door.

He heard voices, his mother's low murmur and Zahra's soft responses to the older woman, the words a quiet hum in the air that carried him further into the small home.

The smell of food rose in the air, the rich scent of stew and bread wafting through the hallway as he followed the voices and the scent of food into the dining room.

„Azriel!" and then Zahra was already throwing herself at him and he caught her instinctively, burying his face against her shoulder. Not a scratch on her. Nothing. Just the warm scent of her.

Honeysuckle and something he never could quite place. 

His mate was safe. She was whole and unharmed and right there...in his arms.

“She was worried for you," his mother said drily.

He ignored the words for a few moments longer, clinging to his mate.

Azriel took another deep breath, the scent of his mate so close easing the tension in his body little by little.

He finally pulled back, his hands moving to frame her face, just to feel her warm skin against his palms.

Their gazes met, the green of her eyes familiar and safe and comforting and Azriel felt some of his exhaustion and tension bleed away.

Being in her presence always felt like he could simply...breathe, no matter the circumstances.

In her presence, he could breathe.

"All is well," he promised Zahra who leaned into his touch, her eyes misted with tears. But she simply nodded.

She believed him. 

That small, simple gesture. The way she nodded and trusted his word, was enough to make him lean in and press a kiss against her forehead.

"Are you hungry? We made stew. Esmeray was nice enough to teach me how to make Illyrian flatbread." She asked him and he nodded. His stomach twisted a little at the reminder.

Yeah, he was hungry. Starving actually.

"Food and then bed for both of you," his mother said with some amusement as she filled his plate for him.

He huffed out a breath, his hands still in a gentle grip around Zahra as if to ensure she wouldn't slip away from his grasp.

For once, he couldn't bring himself to complain about his mother's bossy attitude.

The idea of food and then sleeping in a warm bed with his mate curled up against his chest, her steady heartbeat and slow breathing a reminder that she was there, safe and whole beside him...it sounded like perfection.

He cleared two plates of stew and then curled up in the guest bedroom with Zahra, tucked safely and warmly underneath his mother’s quilt.

"How did it really go?" Zahra asked him in the darkness of the room, drawing random patterns onto his naked chest. 

"Both better and worse than I thought it would," Azriel answered honestly. Then he grimaced. "...I told them. About what happened to you."

"Oh," she said, voice quiet even as she shifted closer and wrapped her arms around him. "How did they…..take it?"

He had expected anger. Expected…something.  "You aren't angry?" He checked and Zahra just weakly shrugged. "They wouldn't have understood without, would they?" She forced out, her voice trembling.

She was right. He wished they didn't need to use her trauma as a shield but...

She was right.

He hated it. But he couldn't deny the truth in her words.

"Your sisters were distraught," he said delicately. "Elain wants your forgiveness… Feyre wanted to know where you are."

He heard Zahra take a shuddering breath, felt the way her chest rose as she tensed.

"Why?" she muttered, sounding more tired than angry.

He didn’t need to be Rhys to be able to read her thoughts. Why did Feyre care now?

"She wanted to apologize," he answered softly as he felt the tension in her body, rubbing her should gently. 

"And Nesta?" Zahra asked weakly.

"Let's just say, I am pretty certain that Cassian and her are going to have a screaming match sometime soon."

"Why?" she asked, her voice so quiet and small that it made his chest ache. 

His hand moved to gently brush over her waist, slowly stroking along her side in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

"Let's just say that she didn't take the news of our mating bond well, and leave it at that," Azriel said with a snort. "It doesn't matter what she thinks."

Zahra huffed a small amount of breath, the tiniest of laughs.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed, body leaning more heavily against his as the tension slowly drained from her. "Your mother is lovely, by the way," Zahra said softly.

That made him smile a little bit, warmth flooding him at the mention of his mother. He was so glad Zahra and Esmeray seemed to get on as well. He couldn't quite put it word, the relief and happiness he felt at the knowledge that the two people he loved seemed to get on so well. And the shadows... well they were already enamored with Zahra as well.

He felt the shadows curl and twist around his waist in fond affection and he couldn't help but smile faintly.

They had been fond of Zahra since the beginning, but now..they were practically in love with her.

He pressed a kiss against her forehead and closed his eyes. 

Between one breath and the next Azriel fell asleep. 

Only to be roughly awakened by his shadows what seemed like seconds later.

Master. Master, you need to wake up. He was awake immediately, thrown back to the last time they had done the very same thing to him. But there was no iron-rich scent of blood in his nose. Nothing of that sort. And Zahra was peacefully slumbering away next to him, looking younger in her sleep than she did awake…nothing out of the ordinary. 

What's wrong? he demanded immediately. He could hear his mother's quiet heartbeat down the hall, nothing seemed to be amiss with her either.

Something… happened, his shadows whispered hesitantly and the sound of it made him sit upright in bed, his grip tight around Zahra, shielding her from danger as he stared into the darkness of the bedroom. We…maybe broke a rule, Master.

A rule.

There were only very few rules the shadows had gotten from him. Mostly to not outright starting to murder anybody unless he allowed it.

What did you do? he asked with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. Had they gone back to their habit of gambling a truly ridiculous amount of money all at once? He had gotten them to do it more often but with smaller sums of money so it wasn't as obvious as it once had been centuries ago.

Esmeray told her about what happened to your hands, Master, the shadows admitted softly. And that you went to get her after the Blood Rite... Our Mate asked if the shadows kept an eye on…*him*. 

Oh, he breathed out, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. What did you do? he asked with a sigh. Did he want to know? If they had killed his half-brother that would be...well there were worse things they could have done, he supposed...He just hoped they made it look like an accident if they did murder him. 

The shadows stayed silent for a moment.

He's still using the dungeon, the shadows said softly. But the warding is...broken. The warding that had kept him contained. Now it would be nothing but a blink of an eye to break...but for a weak 8 year old...it had been impossible to escape.

What did you find? he asked, swallowing.

We may have...taken her, the shadows admitted quickly. But if we hadn't, who knows how long she would have survived down there!

Azriel stared into the darkness, taking a breath at the word.

Who exactly is *she*? he demanded sharply.

His bastard daughter, the shadows said quickly. She's just a baby!

You kidnapped a baby?!?!

[valyriians]

-values of marriage.

cregan stark x fem!targ!reader.

requested: yes.

wc: 7287.

warnings: mention of childbirth, miscarriage, smut, MDNI, oral (f receiving), mention of death. brackets are high valyrian translation.

You let out a laugh while Vermithor roared a victorious screech that could be heard everywhere on the island and patted his back.

’’Tegon, Vermithor!’’ you told him. (land)

He landed at the base of the staircase that led up to the great castle, sliding down as he lowered his body so your fall to the ground wouldn't be harsh you trailed your hand over his neck while you told him to be calm as the dragon keepers walked over to you preparing him to break his fast.

’’What is on today’s menu Claedon?’’ you asked the dragon keeper who is in charge of the dragons.

’’A dozen cattle and three goats, Princess.’’ Claedon says.

’’Give him some more goats, he did so very well today and the rope on the left side is starting to become loose so you need to fix that and maybe have the saddle adjusted while you’re at it.’’ You say while walking to your brothers who are landing with their dragons.

’’Of course Princess, anything else?’’ Claedon asks.

’’No that will be all thank you Claedon.’’ You say as you dismiss him.

’’While my dragon may be smaller and swifter you still somehow manage to best us both.’’ Jace says while he slides down his saddle.

’’Maybe you should’ve paid better attention to the dragon keeper lesson in King’s Landing, you would then be the better rider.’’ You say, half jesting but you always paid attention to anything dragon related, whether it was history, anatomy or just basic stuff.

’’I’ve only been a dragon rider for five moons but I assure you I will one day beat you.’’ Luke says, Arrax was small and had only recently begun taking Luke to the skies.

The three of you share a laugh until you see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, you hit Jace beckoning him to stop laughing.

’’Your lady mother needs to see you!’’ She shouts.

You take Luke's hand and begin walking to her and bow to her asking what is the matter.

’’It is best if your mother tells you.’’ Rhaenys looks at you, taking your face into her hands.

Unlike your brothers, you were the result of a successful bedding with Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor, you had the golden-silver hair of Old Valyria. Your grandmother loved all of her grandchildren, she saw her son in you the most. In your looks and your love for your dragon. It was known that Seasmoke was Ser Laenors pride and joy, just like Vermithor was yours.

A concerning look dwelled upon your face as you raced up the staircase to your mother's chambers where you heard screaming and grunting, you entered with your brothers in tow.

’’Mother?’’ Jace asks.

’’Your grandsire, King Viserys has passed.”

Your mother said, panting.

“Viserys?!” Luke cries out.

“The greens have repudiated the succession and claimed The Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned king.” Your mother said, following cries and grunting.

Your grandfather is dead and your uncle has been crowned king, your mother's birthright and throne had been stolen from her, causing her to go into early labour Maester Gerardys believes.

You felt faint and everything blurred, you sat down and thought about how this had happened, just last night you were having dinner with your king, and everything felt like it was in place. You would’ve never thought that everything happened so quickly and soon.

“What is there to be done about it?” Jace asked in an angry tone, the fire inside him is ready to burst but for the sake of his mother he kept himself composed.

“Nothing yet.” your mother replies, crying and sweating.

“Where is Daemon?” You ask, wiping away your tears and standing up.

“I don’t know, gone to madness, gone to plot his war.” she cries out.

“Leave him with me.” you say to your mother while crouching to her.

“Whatever claim remains to me you are now its heir, the burden is a heavy one.” your mother says to you, clutching your arm.

“I won’t fail you, mother.” You say to her and then walk out of the room.

-

You walk into the main hall with red puffy cheeks and still in your riding clothes, Daemon is by the table pointing to the figurines on the table while the lords are writing things down and talking to each other.

“I will fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tullys support.” Daemon says.

“You will do no such thing.” You say, making your presence in the hall known, Daemon looks at you.

“My mother has decreed no action be taken while she is abed.” You say firmly.

“It’s good you’re here young princess, you’re needed to patr-“

“Did you not hear what I said? As Princess of Dragonstone I command this.” You shout, making all the lords look at you, Daemon with rage in his eyes.

“Come with me.” Daemon says gritting through his teeth.

He takes you to the highest top on the Dragonmount. Where he stands before you and shouts at you.

“You dare to command me? I don’t take orders from you, I am your mothers right hand and while she is abed I have the control not you!” He shouts.

“That’s it, your control is only so limited, I will however be my mothers heir as long as I breathe air!” You scream at him, unleashing the anger and grief you feel.

“None of this would have happened if my mother married you!” you said, it was partly true.

“You have only brought pain and torment to her, she’s more than some brood mare who you can have children with and right now she is in anguish, screaming and begging for you! Her husband! The father of her children!” You shout at him, unleashing a scream from you and at the same time a dragons roar shakes the ground, Vermithor felt you, he mirrored your emotions.

You fell to your knees, crying clutching your arms to your chest. You hear footsteps and see Daemon kneeling before you.

“I'm taking control because I am her husband and the mother of my children, for all our safety.” he says, taking your shoulder.

“Now come, we are both needed by someone.” He grabs your hand the both of you walk to the castle.

-

“Wait here.” Daemon says before he walks into his shared chamber with Rhaenyra.

It was good to let your feelings out, the rage inside you had finally burst out and you were feeling confident.

You went to your brothers who were in the nursery with Aegon and Viserys, trying to keep your mind occupied while you comforted them.

You played with Aegon's curls and looked at the toy Viserys was playing with which was a toy soldier and wooden sword. It filled you with fear to think about your brothers having to fight, Aegon had his dragon of course while Viserys didn’t have one.

-

Syrax lit the funeral pyre for your sister whom your mother named Visenya, seeing your mother and Daemon standing on the over the pyre is heartbreaking, you hear armor clinking and see a white cloak walking towards your mother.

“I mean no harm brothers.” Ser Erryk calls out, reaching into his bag he pulls out your grandfathers crown.

“I swear to ward the Queen, with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife. Hold no lands. Father no children. I shall guard her secrets. Obey her commands. Ride at her side and defend her name and honour.” he calls out, holding the crown.

Daemon takes the crown from him and crowns your mother, then kneels before her, calling her his queen.

You kneel with your brothers, acknowledging your mother as the Queen.

-

You get dressed into a more comfortable outfit, with dragon scale detailing and red and blue lace design.

Walking into the room and taking your place beside your brother who looked anxious and troubled.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Everything is happening so fast, I wish for this to be over quickly.” Luke says.

You take his hand comforting him and give him a faint smile.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Your Grace.” Daemon proclaims, looking at his wife proudly.

You would have never guessed that she had just said goodbye to her child, she looked ethereal and stood tall despite the circumstances.

“Where do we stand?” The queen asks and Daemon and the maester reply to her.

You had the majority of the houses on your side, there were some who needed to be reminded of who King Viserys named his heir.

“Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore flying the banner of a three headed green dragon.” a white cloak announced.

You looked at your mother who knew well who it was.

“I shall meet them.” The queen said, beckoning you closer to her.

“Take your brothers to your chamber, if anything should happen to me, it’s your duty to take care of them. Do you understand?” she says.

“Yes, my queen.” You bow and gather your brothers, Baela and Rhaena.

-

A load of things happened before everyone were once again gathered in the hall, your mother lost in her thoughts as you listened to the lords talking about how their troops are ready to fight and have been dispatched to their locations.

“Do your forces have enough food and supplies?” you ask Lord Celtigar.

“We have enough to last us for two moons but we shall be prepared for anything Princess.” he replies looking over his books.

“Vermithor and I will patrol the skies for food and drop some for your forces.” You say, Lord Celtigar bows to you and gives his thanks.

“The Lord of the Tides! Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen!” Ser Erryk shouts, all eyes gloom at the limping man going down the stairs.

“My lords.” Corlys says,

“Lord Corlys, it brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.” the queen says.

“I’m very sorry about your father, Your Grace.” he says, offering his sincere condolences.

Corlys looks at you, proud as ever, you looked so much like your father in certain lights.

-

“We must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie and Storm's End.” Lord Bartimos says.

“I will prepare the ravens Your Grace” the maester says.

“We should bear those messages, dragons can fly faster than ravens, and are more convincing.” Jacaerys says.

“Send us.” he asks, but more like demands.

“My brother is right, the last King in the North bent the knee to the Conqueror when he saw Balerion.” you say, remembering your history lesson.

Your mother was not very keen on the idea, sending her children away, but her daughter was correct. Dragons are faster and they have no time to loose.

“Very well, Prince Jaceaerys will fly to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Princess Y/n will fly north to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat Lord Borros Baratheon.

We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore and the cost of breaking them.” your mother says, you are up to the task, Vermithor has seen the snow in the north so it will be easier for you to go north.

-

“If you take this errand, you go as messengers, not as warriors, you must take part in any fighting, swear it to me now under the eyes of the Seven.”

Luke was the first one to place his hand on the book, then you, then Jace.

“I swear it.” you say.

You bow to her, she takes your face into her hand and kisses your forehead, she knows you will be safe but goodbyes are always hard.

You walk to Vermithor who has been on the coast, he was sleeping but roused up when you walked closer. You placed your hand on his neck and urged him to lower his body so you could climb onto the saddle, you then strapped yourself in and took the reins and commanded him to fly, he stretched out his bronze wings and let out a roar then he took flight, climbing higher and higher into the cloud.

You looked at your grandmother Rhaenys and then your brother Luke who was on his way to Storm's End and waved them goodbye.

-

The flight was long and cold, stormy weather and winds made it difficult to hold on but it was easy for Vermithor, being used to harsh climate and familiar to the North, the old king Jaehaerys I visited the North once.

You spotted Winterfell, it was covered in snow and the walls were high and covered in the banners of House Stark. You circled over the castle thrice and then landed outside the castle, shaking the ground and the snow melted beneath Vermithors body, many servants and guards looked at the Bronze Fury in terror and awe.

You unclasped yourself from the saddle and dismounted, giving him a stroke on his neck and whispering to him to stay calm.

Four guardsmen approached you.

“Princess Y/n, we are here to escort you to the inner courtyard of Winterfell.” one guard said.

You nodded your head, then allowed Vermithor to linger around and then you approached the guards and began to make your way into Winterfell.

-

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen” a guard shouted in the courtyard as you looked around the courtyard, it was in some ways like Dragonstone, high black walls and everything was made from stone.

You turn your head to look at the man who stands tall among the crowd, a huge sword in his hand, his black hair is pulled back and is covered in light snow. His coat is big and covers his left arm.

“Winterfell is yours, princess.” he bows down to you, beckoning a young child beside him to walk to you with a bouquet of blue winter roses, native to the North.

“Welcome to Winterfell princess, I hope your journey fared well.” the young man said while handing you the bouquet, it was Lord Starks first born child, Rickon.

“Why thank you my lord.” you crouch down to him so you can talk with him better.

“These roses are very beautiful, how did you know blue is my favorite colour?” you joke with him and he laughs.

“Would you perhaps escort me to your father? For I desire to speak with him.” You ask him while inspecting the bouquet.

He nods his head and takes your hand and drags you to his father. Cregan was tall and had a handsome sharp face. He had the eyes you could fall into easily.

“Princess.” Cregan said to you, as he took your hand and kissed it softly and gently. You fully got lost in a trance and stood there for a moment.

“Lord Stark, I have brought you messages from my mother, the Queen.” you say, giving him the scroll.

“Let us go inside.” He said, taking your hand and leading you into the castle where a fire was lit.

You arrived into the hall and looked around, not many decorations were around but it was warm and welcoming.

“Would you like some refreshments Princess? some ale perhaps?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” you say, sitting down while straightening out your dress.

Cregan poured some ale into a jug and handed it to you, taking a sip of the drink made you cough and Cregan let out a laugh.

“Not the drink you’re used to eh?” he asked.

“Certainly not my lord.” you say with a sour look on your face.

There was a moment of silence, he looked at you as if he had seen the gods, he was taken away by you.

“Lord Stark, I am not sure if the news has reached so far but my grandfather, the king, has passed away.” you stand up and walk around the room.

“He was a good king with a gentle heart, my condolences princess.” he says while clasping his hands together.

“That he was, he always…. he always cared for me.” you say with a heavy heart and sniffled.

Cregan stands up and goes to comfort you.

“Princess-“ he begins.

“Your father Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath to King Viserys and my mother to acknowledge her as the princess of Dragonstone and the heir to the Iron Throne and I need to affirm your support. The Hightowers have placed Prince Aegon on the throne and crowned him in the Dragonpit. You have a choice to make my Lord, you can choose to honor your fathers oath and stand with the rightful ruler or you can learn the consequences of being an oathbreaker.” You proclaim to him, he steps back and his mind is clouded.

“You sound tired princess, have your rest change your attire because as the evening grows, the colder it will be.” he says as he walks away.

“I will send a lady to attend to you.” he added as a guard guided you to your chamber.

You walked into the chamber where a large tub and bed was waiting, you looked around, put your gloves down on the table where old maps and books layed around.

‘Was I too harsh?’ you asked yourself and placed your head in your hands and felt the urge to cry but straightened up when you heard a knock.

“Come in.” you said, straightening your dress.

A girl entered the room, she was about the same age as you, with brown hair and hazel eyes, her clothes were probably mended just a few moments ago.

“Princess, Lord Stark sent me.” she said.

“Yes, what is your name?” you asked.

“Mariah, princess.” she said.

“Right, I wish to bathe before I meet with Lord Stark again, I didn’t bring anything with me. I was wondering if there is something I might be able to wear.” you ask her.

“We have already prepared you a gown for tonight princess, it is quite splendid.” she says.

You start to undo your dress with the help of Mariah, she looks at your gown with awe in her eyes, she runs her fingers over the intricate design and lace and quickly shakes herself out of the trance and undid your hair.

You enter the tub and allow yourself to submerge into the water, Mariah gathers some oils and herbs to add into the water, along with soap.

“Your hair princess, may I?” Mariah asks and you nod your head, allowing her to rinse through it and wash it gently.

There was a long momentary silence when you finally spoke up.

“Tell me Mariah, how are the customs here in the North, I wish to be as respectful and modest as I can.” you ask her, she’s clearly stressed at the question but answers with grace.

“Well, it has been some time since your house has arrived here, last time it was King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne so you can imagine our surprise when the Bronze Fury graced the northern sky once again.” she said, she had clearly done her research.

“Well, I know that Queen Alysannes visit here brought great fortune, I certainly wish to do the same.” you tell her.

“You have already won the favor of Lord Cregans, ever since the late Lady Stark passed away Lord Stark has been very cautious about his son, protecting him from all harm and danger.” she says, clearly reminiscing about the old days.

“What was the late Lady Stark like?” you ask, in a low voice.

“She was very beautiful, the epitome of a lady.” Mariah answered.

You stayed in the tub for some time, not wanting to get out as riding for such a long time made your legs ache and the comfort from the hot water soothed the pain.

“Princess, I have gathered some gowns for you to pick from.” Mariah says while she helps you cover up.

Before you there were three beautiful gowns that were clearly fashioned for the North, you let your fingers glide over the dresses and then you picked a grey gown that showed your shoulders and covered your arms with another piece of fabric draped around your arms. Mariah brushed your hair and braided the top of it, allowing some hair to fall to your shoulders and back.

She lathered some oil on your collarbone and placed a dragon broach in the dress.

Mariah took one last look at you and bowed, leaving the room, letting you have some time alone before the feast began.

-

You walked into the great hall as a guard announced your presence, making everyone stand up and looking in your direction.

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” was announced loudly.

You walked through the hall with your head high and when you reached the table where Lord Cregan and his family were sitting you nodded to him, making sure to keep eye contact. You then took your place beside him on the table.

The commotion in the hall began after you had taken your seat and you looked over at the great number of people, taking a sip from your drink.

“I hope Mariah was satisfactory, princess.” Cregan asks you.

“She was, my lord. I thank you for the hospitality.” you answered.

“You must forgive her, she was only trained to serve ladies, not princesses.” he jests, trying to make something of the conversation.

The tension between the two of you didn’t go unnoticed, some man then marched over to the table and bowed.

“Princess Y/n, the tales are true then.” the old lord says.

“Which tales might that be my lord-?” you ask him, wondering about his name.

“Hornwood, princess. Lord Cregan told us of your beauty, said you were as beautiful as the dawn.” Lord Hornwood said, making you blush and smile at him.

“You are much too kind my lord.” you replied and looked at Cregan who was embarrassed as he hid his face in a horn of wine. Lord Hornwood walked away after bowing to you and his lord.

The feast continued with lots of drinking and singing when you finally managed to talk with Cregan about your reason here.

“As much as I appreciate your hospitality and welcome here, I will need an answer from you before I leave for Dragonstone again.’’ you told Cregan, who sighed and looked at your face with much admiration.

‘’Of course princess, I have gone over the demands and conditions in the letter from your mother with my council and we have decided that, while my duty as Warden of the North is the most important to me, fulfilling my father's oath is just as important to me.’’ Cregan answers.

He rises and grabs the attention of everyone in the hall, raising his cup.

‘’My lords and ladies, I bid you all a warm welcome to my home on this occasion, while the harshest of winter snow has not yet fallen from the sky, a harsher wound this realm has faced. The king is dead.’’ he says, with a crack in his voice and people begin talking, looking at you with apologizing eyes. You looked down at your hands and tears began to swell your eyes.

‘’While I never met King Viserys, my father told me he was a just man and always wanted peace and unity across the realm. He also told me about the time he travelled South and bent the knee to him on the Iron Throne alongside Princess Rhaenyra, swearing his sword and allegiance to them both and acknowledging his first-born child as his heir and successor.’’ He shouts across the hall, having everyone listening to him. It was quite a show.

‘’Princess Y/n arrived here with a message, signed by her mother, the Queen.’’ he says, he recognized your mother as the queen, you felt shivering in your spine and arms.

‘’She says that the Hightowers have usurped her throne and crowned her half-brother Aegon as king, she asks that I do not forget my father’s oath and pledge for her if war will ensue which she does not wish for’‘ Cregan continues

The North does not forget oaths easily, we stay true to our word.’’ Creagns says, earning an agreeable shout from everyone.

“The North will honor the sworn oath to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. We know that a Targaryen must sit the Iron Throne when the Long Night arrives, an alliance between the crown and the North is crucial.” He shouted, banging on the table to capture everyone’s attention. The way his hand fists met the wooden table and made everything shake was riveting.

“Each house will supply a hundred men that will march for Harrenhal and await my commands.” he made his decree.

You looked at him, with glossy eyes, you thought your mission had failed when he distanced himself from you, maybe stalling so the greens could come for you but how wrong you were.

“To Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name!” He lifted his cup and shouted, being met with joyous screams and cheers from the hall.

The celebrations continued until you decided to retire and Cregan himself escorted you to your chambers

“The Queen is most thankful for your support, with the strength of the North by our side we shall see much success if war ensues.” you say while walking slowly.

“Of course princess, we will start making progress in the next few days.” he says to you, clearly anxious.

“I shall be returning back to Dragonstone on the morrow, my mother will be most pleased with the news.” you tell him as you stop in the hallway.

“What will you do next?” he asks, questioning you.

“I will do what my mother commands, whether it is fighting, being by her side or marrying someone.” you say, with disappointment in the last words.

You always knew you had to marry, not for love but for political alliances or stability, a marriage for love in your position is not something that would be possible. You would always put the responsibility of the crown first.

“Marriage? You have someone in mind, princess?” he asks.

“No, my Lord.” you say then begin to laugh.

“Well there was this one boy who worked in the kitchen in the Red Keep, he always sneaked some sweets to me when I was younger, I told myself I would marry him because he always listened to me and bring me sweets, I like to think of him as my first love but it was childish really.” you say, clinging to the sweet memory like a child with a blanket.

“I wish to share my life with someone who listens to me and honors the values I myself uphold, who wants the same things as I, someone that knows their histories and cultures.” you say to him, imagining a life with your future one and smiling.

“That sounds like a very fine match princess, I do hope you find him.” he says with a sincere smile.

You both smile at each other and chuckle.

You see a small shadow behind the corner of the hallway, and soon find out that it is Rickon as he runs up to his father.

“Rickon! What are you doing here little one, you’re supposed to be abed.” Cregan says to him as he picks him up and puts a kiss on his forehead.

“I had a nightmare, the Others were coming for me riding giant spiders and I was so scared.” Little Rickon said as he snuggled with his father, burying his face into the thick coat his father wore.

“Oh my son, the Others have been dead for thousands of years, no harm will come to you, I swear it.” Cregan says, sharing a sweet moment with his son. You smile at the sight.

You hear someone walk to you, it is a guard wearing the Stark sigil and he bows before you.

“My lord, you are needed in the great hall.” he says.

“I will be there soon, I must put my son to bed”. Cregan says.

“Forgive me my lord, it is quite urgent.” the guard says.

Cregan becomes annoyed, sighing to himself and then starts putting him down when you intervene.

“I can tuck him in, if the little Lord would have me.” you smile as you stroke his cheek.

“Is that okay Rickon?” Cregan asks his son and he responds with a nod.

You pick Rickon up and caress his curls and begin walking to his chambers, you set him down in bed and tuck him in so he is comfortable.

“There you go Rickon, are you comfortable?” you ask as he nods and begins playing with his toy. You begin to walk away when he starts asking for a story. You sit down beside his bed.

“I heard you were talking about the Others to your father, can you tell me about them?” you ask him.

“They are big scary creatures and they ride dead horses and big spiders, they are made of ice and are very strong.” he says, shaking with fear, no wonder he woke up and asked for comfort. You nod to him and then straighten your back to grab the dragon broach from your dress and show it to him.

“You know what this is?” you smile and show it to him.

“Yes, a dragon!” he says with a smile on his face.

“Yes! a dragon you are correct and can you tell me what dragons do my lord?” you ask while holding the broach.

“They fly high into the sky!” he raises his arms up.

“Yes and what else?” you say with a smirk.

“They can breathe fire!” he says at last.

“Yes they can, and what does fire do to ice?” you ask.

“I don’t know.” he says with a confused look.

“Fire melts ice.” you say with a serious tone while spinning the broach in your hand.

“My dragon can breath so much fire that if the Others were to ever come, they would melt in an instant and turn into a big puddle. His wingspan is so wide it can cover a small town. My dragon would do anything I tell him to, all I must do is tell him ‘dracarys’ and he will breathe fire.” you tell him, he looks at you with much admiration and smiles.

“So if the Others were ever to come, all you must do is call me and I will arrive with my dragon.” you say to him and lastly give him the broach.

“So you remember me.” you say, giving him a kiss on the forehead as he begins to yawn and rub his eyes.

“Goodnight, my lord.” you whisper.

You stand up and see Cregan in the doorway, smiling at him and begin walking out.

“He’s a sweet boy.” you say as you cross your arms.

“It’s been hard, his mother died giving birth to him. He has never been satisfied with any maid or woman that has tried to comfort him.” Cregan tells you while dropping his head.

“I have experience, my younger brothers Aegon and Viserys are quite a handful, they only want my mother or me to tuck them in.” you tell him, you miss your brothers dearly.

You walk to your chambers at a slow pace.

“He has your eyes, you know.” you tell him, offering some comfort.

You reach your chambers, the walk to it felt so short and you felt heavy at heart when you reached the door. Wanting the company of Cregan to last forever you reach for his hand.

“I thank you for tonight Cregan, it was most enjoyable my lord.” you say caressing his hand.

“I am most pleased princess, I shall see you on the morrow before you leave.” he tells you as he places a kiss on your hand.

Looking into his eyes you felt your heart skip a beat and felt your hair rising when he kissed your hand, making you twitch inside with excitement.

“See you then, my lord.” you tell him.

He bows and leaves you.

You walk into your chambers and begin to discard your clothes and dress into a warm nightgown suited for the north, Mariah helps you and then bids you a good night.

The kiss Cregan left on your hands made you sigh and smile, the day had been long and tiring but being with Cregan was worth it, how his hair moved in the wind, how delicate his rough hands were and the way his voice rasped when he talked in the great hall. You were ashamed to admit it but you felt excitement and pleasure. You wanted to spend the moment with Cregan and have his body close to yours and feel his hands in yours.

You got under the endless pelts in the bed hoping to that sleep would find you but as you twisted and turned in bed making it impossible for you to rest, staring at the ceiling as you took a deep breath you started rub your thighs together and felt a tingling sensation where your womanhood was placed. You had one time felt that sensation when you saw servants in the Red Keep, the man was buried under the skirts of the woman and she clutched his hair and her mouth made an O shape, it was like she was drowning but at last she let out a gasp and the man slowed down and started to kiss her, you ran away before they could see you.

She felt like she was drowning and wanted to come back up for air, desperately wanting for air but not knowing how to breathe. You felt ashamed, you were a princess and this was not appropriate behavior. You finally gave up and got up from the bed and reached for the door and walked to the room where a maestar was located, you knocked on the door and the maestar opened.

“I am sorry for the late hour maestar but i have trouble finding any sleep, I was wondering if I could request a drought to help me?” you ask the man, who looks young and hale.

“Yes princess, I shall have it sent to your room if it pleases you.” he answered.

“Thank you.” you tell him and walk the cold corridor that leads to your room, you grab the door handle when you gasp, feeling the excitement you felt before once again clutching to your skirt and feeling your legs tremble.

You walked in and took off a layer of your nightgown trying to escape the burning heat that filled you up, pacing the room trying to catch your breath when a knock on the door drove your eyes to the door and opened it.

“Princess.”

It was Cregan, the maestar told Cregan what you needed and he delivered it personally. He held the bottle by the throttle with his arms crossed, the way his veins were illuminated by the torch in the hallway.

He barged into the room and placed the bottle on the table. You inhale the scent as he walks by you and once again feel that sensation but manage to contain your breath.

“Lord Cregan, the hour is late.” you tell him, ashamed to be feeling like this.

“Please, enough with the formalities, I am Cregan to you.” he says as he walks slowly to you, discarding his cloak.

“Cregan..” you say but he grabs your face and kisses you, a hand slides around your waist and takes hold on the nape of your neck, pushing deeper and deeper into the kiss and then going down to kiss your neck as a moan escapes your lips. You are lost in your thoughts and as you grab his hair he pushes back.

“I’m sorry princess, that was improper of me.” he says as he avoids eye contact and begins to walk away.

“Cregan” you shout at him, as you grab your chest and then you walk to him.

“I want this.” you say shyly, “I want you… to be touched by you.” you manage to form those words into a sentence with a shaky voice.

“Whatever the princess commands.” he answers and grabs your face and plants a harsh kiss on your lips with no warning and he begins to move your hair from your face to see the whole of your face. Then he stops and looks into your eyes.

“I will not sully you princess, you have my word.” he says, while caressing your cheek.

He leads you to the bed and motions you to sit down, looking at you with hungry eyes like a wolf looking at its prey as he removes your dress, shyness crept over you but you kept eye contact.

He kneels down facing your body and lift his two rough hands to separate your legs, revealing your womanhood and then he rises up to your face and starts kissing you as he places his body between your legs, you lay your back down on the furs as he starts leaving kisses on your body, the shoulders, the arms, the belly. Your soul was on fire, the constant kissing and touching made you twitch inside and with every kiss the fire grew larger and stronger. He placed your legs over his shoulders and began to place kisses in between your thighs and then started to kiss the place where you felt the burning sensation, he started to pleasure you with his mouth and with each breath you started to see stars, the way his hands grabbed your hips and thighs was just a beginning, he continued to be glued to your womanhood and you grabbed his hair and gasp, you had never felt that before. they way he stayed in a comfortable pace but also made sure you always felt pleasure, your back arched when he had started a faster pace and you started to feel your legs tremble and as you moaned out your body felt electric, this release was the thing you needed, he still touched you as you were calming down from your high and looked at you with glimmer in his eyes as you gasped and panted.

When he was finished with you, he climbed on top of you and started to kiss you passionately, the wetness from your womanhood still on his lips while he cupped your behind.

The two of you laid there together for a long while, he continued to kiss your shoulders and grasp your behind as you started drawing shapes on his chest, he didn’t leave you, he stayed with you.

“Princess.” Cregan says.

“It is Y/n, my name is Y/n.” you correct him.

“Y/n, I hope this did not scare you.” he asks.

“I’ll admit I was scared but when you touched me, something in me fired up, something I've been wanting to experience for some time. I thank you, my lord.” you say.

“My name is Cregan, you will call me Cregan.” he then says as he grabs your waist and rolls you under him as you laugh. You start kissing each other again and when sleep finally reaches you he leaves, making sure not to make a sound.

-

You wake up to the sound of ravens crying out, you call for Mariah and she gets you ready, helping you with your hair and riding attire. You thank her for the help and give her a bag of coins for her service which she accepts gleefully and runs off.

As you make your way to the courtyard to formally leave Winterfell you notice everyone looking at you, with a confused expression and also sadness. Your heart begins to race when you start thinking about what happened last night, did someone see you? or hear you with Cregan? Did Cregan himself tell someone? Your reputation will be ruined if word reaches the Queen.

You get to the courtyard and see the great host that has come to say goodbye to you. Cregan stands in the middle with a letter in his hands and looks at you, his eyes are glistening and looking at you with sorrowful eyes.

“My lord, is everything well?” you ask him.

He takes your hand and walks away from the crowd leading you to a secluded place and gives you the letter he was holding. It had the sigil of House Targaryen, likely from Dragonstone. He hands you the letter and gives you some space. As you read the letter, sadness overcomes you but also rage and guilt. In the letter that was signed by your mother, was the news on the death of your brother Lucerys, he had been slaughtered by your uncle Aemond when they met each other at Storm's End.

Your sweet younger brother was dead, he died alone with only his dragon who did not survive. They clashed into the sea and the red cape he wore tangled into his dragon's wing. Your mother had found it while searching for your brother.

You stared at the paper while tears began to run down your cheeks and you quietly walked away and then you broke down and hit the cold ground beneath you, clutching the letter and screaming cries of anguish and in the moment a loud roar was heard that shook the earth, Cregan flinched but you sat still letting cries and scream escape your body.

You stayed there for a while until Cregan came to you, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“The Queen requested you to return to Dragonstone at once princess, she will be wanting you back no doubt.” he said.

“The first thing Luke said to me after I claimed Vermithor was that I was now the rider of the second largest dragon in the world, almost the same size, I do wonder what would have happened if I went to Storm's End in place of Luke, I could’ve matched with Vhagars size and ferociousness.” you tell him in between sobs as you sit motionless.

“You cannot blame yourself.” Cregan says.

“I know I should not but I cannot help myself.” you cry out.

A thunderous roar came from above as Vermithor landed before you, walking towards you and shaking his entire body.

“Gather your army and march to Harrenhal, when the time is right you and I will lay waste to the Greens army.” you tell him as you take his hand.

“Winter will be coming for them, I swear this.”He places his lips on your hand and bows and walks away, he senses Vermithor getting himself ready to take flight and he backs away, allowing himself to be alone with your dragon.

“Gūrogon issa lenton.” you tell Vermithor, as you mount him, the tears on your face freezing as you go higher and higher, sadness quickly becomes rage as you think about Luke. The Greens will never know peace again. (take me home)

-

this is only part one! i am thinking of turning it into a series but we will see. hope you guys enjoyed!

[tealvenetianmask]

Does Blitz blame himself for Cash's abuse?

Stick with me, and I'm truly sorry.

All of the people except Cash featured in the memories Rolando shows Blitz are people who Blitz has cared deeply for and felt like he hurt, failed to get close to, or let down.

Let's look at them (again, yes)

Tilla

Fizz

Verosika

Loona

M&M

Barbie

A whole lot of Stolas

So. What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is Cash Fucking Buckzo. Doing in this line-up?

Well. Hurting Blitz, horribly. My first meta on this scene didn't really capture this, but as many have pointed out, this is Cash grabbing Blitz's freshly burned wrist after the fire and smacking the ever living shit out the burned side of his face. Presumably blaming him for the fire and everything (and everyone) lost from it. And then Cash telling Blitz in the hospital that Fizz doesn't want to see him.

It's emphasized too. Right after we see the memory of Cash hitting Blitz, we see Blitz physically flinch while watching it.

So if this is just a compilation of horrible memories, maybe that's all there is to it.

But if it's a grouping of the people Blitz cares for, well . . . it makes sense for it to be that, doesn't it? Blitz has a lot of love in him, and yet he's scared of intimacy. His trauma is ABOUT hurting people, losing people, driving people away, craving closeness that he can't have . . .

Being an abuse victim is complicated. Being a family scapegoat is complicated too. A lot of abusers try to make the victim think that they're ACTUALLY the cause of their pain and everyone else's, and we already know that Cash did this to Blitz (literally in this same set of memories in the hospital).

But we also saw it in The Circus when Blitz was much younger, and saw how much this tactic got to Blitz.

Cash guilts his son into going into a dangerous situation for him. If Blitz doesn't do this, their lack of resources, the possible suffering of his parents . . . it will all be Blitz's fault.

And Blitz cares deeply (he always has!), so he does it.

Now one might argue that Blitz says "of course I want to help Mama" here and leaves Cash out of his reply, so he doesn't love his father. But reality is often more complicated than that. He's upset here that Cash is forcing this on him. Cash hurts him. His mother (seemingly) offers much more love. That doesn't mean that Blitz doesn't ALSO feel some care and responsibility for his father's wellbeing.

I think that Blitz believes (or at least a significant part of him believes) that he destroyed Cash's life too with the fire, and that he deserved that beating and being turned away from the hospital and possibly many of the beatings and beratings that Cash delivered in the past. I think that in the moment when Cash grabbed him, he felt that he fully deserved the agony he felt when Cash held his wrist.

I think a part of him loved his father growing up and still loves him-- that there were moments between the incidents of cruelty where they had fun together as a family, and where looked up to his dad and wanted desperately to win his approval.

I think that Blitz has a lot of anger toward Cash too, and that a part of him always knew that Cash was wrong to hurt him. He had a whole lot of resilience and defiance in him even as a young kid.

I think that he felt guilty for all of the times he felt angry at his father. I think he might still.

I'm off to cry and then grab my pitchfork and storm wherever Cash is living nowadays. Who's with me?

[batsandbirdbrains]

Teenage Dirtbag Dick Grayson

Heavily inspired by one of my fav fics, White Christmas, on ao3 (here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34854298)

I want a teenage dirtbag Dick Grayson. He’s in his rebellious phase. He’s just taken on the Nightwing persona bc he’s mad at Bruce for firing him. He’s 17-19 and he’s angry and he’s lost and he’s making it everyone else’s problem.

He lives at Titans Tower because Bruce kicked him out. But Bruce is still keeping tabs on him bc he’s controlling and doesn’t know how to healthily express his love and concern. He sees paparazzi pics of Dick partying his ass off in New York and Alfred finds him with his head in his hands mumbling to himself about is this is karma for what he put Alfred through (Alfred talks to Dick daily, texts at the very least, and sometimes gives him pointers on how to either ease a hangover or cook something or further annoy Bruce because he loves Dick that’s his son/grandson but he does enjoy this form of poetic justice for the bullshit Bruce put him through when he was a teenager/young adult).

I want a fic where the other batboys get sent to the past and they find their big brother who’s currently younger than both Jason and Tim and only a couple years older than Damian. They find him blackout drunk at a party where there’s people smoking joints, snorting shit, doing body shots, taking an assortment of pills, that kinda shit.

The thought of seeing Dick smoke a cigarette is enough to freak them out. To see him doing pretty much all of the above? Tim’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

They see Dick and Roy together partying their asses off. And they all knew Roy had gotten up to some things in the past, but they had no idea Dick had been there with him.

And tbh I don’t rly have any other ideas for this run. I just like teenage dirtbag Dick Grayson. Maybe instead of the other batboys getting sent to the past, Dick gets deaged to that point in his life and starts trying to hit Roy up, only to call him a square when he tells Dick he doesn’t do that shit anymore. He’s being extra sassy and snappy towards Bruce. Alfred seems to be the only one Dick is nice to, and Alfred dotes on him because he knows how hard this point in Dick’s life was the first time.

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Words: 9k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: References to disappearances, kidnapping, threats, and emotional angst. Care. Comfort.

Tommy meets your brother when he shows up at the betting shop looking for you. You meet Ada looking for help with a little problem and find a champion in Polly. Tommy surprises you completely.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

The betting shop was unusually quiet when an unfamiliar young man walked in. He wasn't hesitant, like many who weren't regulars there, but he wasn't charging in like a fool either. His approach was measured, like he knew he didn’t belong but had decided to walk in anyway. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. Slim build, shoulders squared in a patched coat that had seen too many winters. The young man's eyes were sharp, locked on Arthur, who leaned back behind the counter, watching him like this was all a bit of theatre.

"You lost something, lad?" Arthur asked, grinning around his cigarette.

The young man’s jaw tensed. His voice was tight and controlled, but steady. “My sister.”

Arthur’s smile faded—not with guilt, but with interest.

“Ah. That one.” He stood, stretching like he’d been waiting all morning for something to liven the place up. “Bit late for all that, eh?”

The younger man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Tommy watched from the back office doorway, caught the way his hand hovered near the inside of his coat. He was armed. Brave but stupid.

Tommy stepped out then, made his presence known.

Arthur lit up. “This one’s yours, brother. Came to collect what’s left.”

Tommy said nothing at first, just studied the stranger. Young. Angry. Focused. But the lad wasn't reckless. He wasn’t here to posture, the way John Boy did more and more these days. No, he was here because someone he loved was gone, and nobody was giving him answers.

"Name?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Rory." The young man met and held Tommy's gaze. "Rory Flynn."

The surname matched the girl’s—his girl’s—file he’d already had drawn up. But now, standing in front of him, the boy wasn’t just a name on paper. He had her eyes—same shape, same quiet fire behind them. The sharp, observant way he took everything in was familiar too, saying very little but missing nothing.

But Rory Flynn reminded him of someone else. Tommy couldn't immediately place it.

Tilting his head, he studied him for a beat longer. "Who's your father?" he asked. 

Rory’s gaze dropped for just a moment. "He died in the way in France. 1916."

Their father had died in the war then. “Name?”

"Malachy Flynn." 

There it was.  Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but inside, recognition tightened his chest. He remembered Malachy Flynn. Their father had been older than him by at least a decade. They hadn’t served side by side. Flynn was in earlier, already a sergeant when Tommy was still green. The name Malachy Flynn meant something. Tommy had heard it in the trenches. Flynn died a hero, pulling two younger soldiers out of a crater after a shelling. He could’ve saved himself but chose not to. 

“I knew your father,” Tommy said in a lower tone as the boy blinked in surprise. “He was a good man.”

In that moment, the something shifted between them—something almost like understanding. He understood the boy in front of him better. He was his father’s son.

"My sister’s been gone two days," Rory said in a tight voice, cutting to the chase. "She was supposed to be… delivered to your brother. No one’s seen her since.”

Arthur gave a low whistle, but Tommy raised a hand. Quiet. Let him talk.

"Our mother’s worried sick," Rory added, his expression cracking just enough to show the truth of it. “She doesn’t know who to ask, who to trust. So I came here.”

Tommy stepped closer, arms loosely crossed. “And your stepfather?”

The boy's gaze hardened, but he didn't answer.

And that was answer enough. Tommy watched him try to control his emotions, mostly suceeding. The kid wasn’t just worried—he was plotting something. A pistol hidden in the lining of that patched coat or maybe a cheap folding knife meant for a throat that had made a deal no decent man would’ve dared. Tommy recognized that look. A young man with nothing left to lose, trying to change his world with a single, violent act. It was foolish, but he respected it.

“You plan on killing him?” Tommy asked bluntly.

Rory’s gaze returned to his. Some intense emotion flashed there before his expression was guarded again. “He deserves worse.”

"Why?"

"For wanting my sister out of his house," Rory said tightly. "She's a temptation to him, see. He wants her more than our mother."

Tommy filed that bit of information away. He recalled her telling him that their stepfather wanted her gone. Now he knew exactly why. She wasn't another mouth to feed and she helped the household earn money. No, the man just wanted her. While was a good, decent young woman, he couldn't do that without resorting to rape. No, now him offering her up made sense. Once the Shelbys soiled her, she was fair game to him.

As he returned his attention to her brother, he realized the boy wasn't bluffing. This was a brother who cared more about his sister than himself. And that meant something. The young man had more honor than many of the men Tommy had dealt with this week.

He exchanged a glance with Arthur, who shrugged, then grinned. “You’ve got your hands full now, don’t you?”

On the one hand, the boy let him know that, so far, his plan was working. No one outside the family knew where she was. Not the local blokes who’d heard about the wager and were sniffing around for gossip. Not the old women who watched from behind their curtains on Gray Street, waiting for her to come walking back home in shame.

She’d disappeared.

And in Small Heath, disappearing meant one of two things: death or Shelby. The right people were wondering. The wrong people were staying quiet. That was exactly what Tommy wanted. She wasn’t just gone—she was untouchable. Hidden. Held. And the longer she stayed out of sight, the louder the message would ring when Tommy was ready to speak it.

But the rest of the conversation? The situation was too delicate, too exposed, to continue it there. The last thing Tommy needed was a scene in the middle of the betting shop. Too many eyes and ears. Word about the girl couldn’t get out—not yet.

Tommy straightened, smoothing the front of his waistcoat with a slow, practiced motion. “Walk with me,” he said, already turning toward the hallway that led to the back office.

Rory didn’t move. “I came to speak to Arthur.”

Stopping mid-step and turning back, Tommy eyed him with a glint of steel behind his eyes. “You’re speaking to the man in charge.”

Arthur let out a small chuckle behind the counter, clearly enjoying the moment. Mostly because he was still pissed at Tommy for the entire affair. “He is, y’know. Always has been.”

Rory’s spine straightened, but Tommy saw the hesitation. He didn’t trust this. Didn’t like being led somewhere less public. Smart.

But Tommy didn’t ask twice. He met the boy’s eyes, voice low and final. “If you want answers about your sister, you’ll come with me. Now.”

There was a beat of silence, thick with challenge. Rory’s hand hovered near his coat again, and for a second Tommy wondered if the lad would actually try to be brave enough to draw on him. But then—a slow nod. Rory stepped forward, lips pressed into a grim line, eyes burning with controlled fury.

Tommy turned without another word, the sound of Rory’s boots following close behind. And just like that, the game moved behind closed doors—where Tommy always played best. 

Once the door was closed and it was just the two of them in the back office, Tommy voice was calm, final. “She’s safe.”

Rory's demeanor didn't change. He barely moved. When he spoke, it wasn’t with the blind deference most gave the name Shelby. “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him, sharp.

But Rory didn’t flinch. “You’re a powerful man, Mr. Shelby. But I'm just supposed to take your word for it? That she’s safe, that she’s unharmed, that she’s not—” He cut himself off, swallowing the emotion before it could break the surface.

Tommy could see it—the fight between pride and fear, fury and helplessness all crashing together in someone too young to carry that much weight, and yet doing it anyway. This wasn’t about challenging authority. It wasn’t about standing up to the infamous Tommy Shelby just for the sake of pride. Here was a brother asking the only man who might know the truth if his sister was still the same girl who’d left their doorstep two nights ago. And now he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why am I talking to you?” Rory asked, voice sharp but not disrespectful. “Why isn’t it Arthur telling me she’s safe?”

Tommy let him talk on.

“Arthur made the deal.” Rory’s hands twitched at his sides, as if even his body didn’t know what to do with the storm building in his chest. “And now she’s gone. You’ve got her then. And I’m supposed to believe she’s just… being looked after?” There was a beat of silence, heavy, still. Then he added—“You turning her out? Passing her around behind those big gates like she’s…” He couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t say it out loud.

Tommy’s face didn’t change, but inside, something coiled tight. The boy was bold, reckless, and about three seconds from pushing too far—but not wrong for asking or for being afraid. The lad knew how the world worked. And worse, he knew what the Shelbys were capable of. 

In a softer voice, he finished with, “You’ve got no reason to lie to me. But I’ve got every reason not to trust you.”

Rory Flynn wasn’t a fool, nor soft either. He’d walked into a lion’s den armed not just with a weapon, but with the kind of quiet conviction Tommy rarely saw in men twice his age.

Stepping away from the desk, Tommy crossed to the cabinet near the wall. He poured two fingers of whiskey into a short glass, then set it on the edge of the desk without pushing it forward. A gesture, not an invitation.

“She’s not being turned out," Tommy said. The boy's gaze searched his, looking for the lie. “And she’s not being passed around. Your sister’s not a message. She’s the punctuation at the end of one.”

Rory’s brow furrowed slightly, not getting the answer he expected.

“Your stepfather made a wager," Tommy continued. "That debt was collected. You know what she walked into—and who made it happen.”

Rory nodded stiffly.

“But I made sure she was protected,” Tommy added. “From Arthur. From your stepfather. From every bastard in Small Heath who now thinks she’s someone they can have a turn with.”

“Why though?" Rory's voice broke through the weight of it all. “You don't know us.”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment. “Because your sister deserves better than what the world would’ve given her.” Another beat. “And maybe... I wanted her for myself.”

Rory’s first reaction was a flash of anger, sharp and instinctive, the kind of response any brother would have when hearing a man like Tommy Shelby admit he’d taken something that wasn’t his to take. Disbelief, drawn across his brow as he blinked, probably had the lad wondering if this was a twisted test or a joke he wasn't in on. Neither lasted. Rory's mind was impressive for his age. Tommy could see it behind his eyes as the weight of the situation settled in. His sister had been plucked out of a world that treated her like currency and was now in the hands of the most dangerous man in Birmingham.

Rory visibly didn’t like it—not by a long shot— but he understood the value in that. In a world as ugly and unforgiving as theirs, maybe it wasn’t the worst place for her to be.

He straightened just slightly, holding Tommy’s gaze. “So then what?” he asked, voice rough. “You planning to keep her locked up forever?” The worry hadn’t left. But neither had the fight. Not for blood. Not for vengeance. But for his sister.

Tommy held Rory’s stare, unflinching. The lad wasn’t backing down. More than most men in Small Heath, this one had the guts to ask a question that would’ve earned others a bullet.

“No,” Tommy said finally, voice low but sure. “Not forever.” Stepping around the desk, slow and deliberate, he kept his tone measured. "She’s not my prisoner, Rory. But right now, she can’t be seen. Not until the people who gambled her away learn their lesson. And not until she understands she’s safe here. With me.”

Tommy watched more emotion cross his young face, the way he wanted to argue—but didn’t.

“When this is over,” Tommy said, choosing each word carefully, “she won’t go back to the life she had before. I won’t allow that.” A pause. “And she won’t want to.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

“You came here today prepared to do something stupid if you didn’t like the answers," Tommy redirected their conversation back to Rory himself. “You're armed. But you didn’t. You asked questions instead. You listened. That’s more than most.” There was no mocking in his tone, no challenge—just an observation. A truth. Tommy would be truthful in turn. “She’s not your concern anymore. But she will be taken care of. You have my word.”

For a moment, Rory didn’t move. He stood there bravely, like he was trying to be a man in a room where boys didn’t last long. But something in him cracked, just slightly. He looked down—not in submission, but to keep himself from saying too much. Tommy admired the boy's control.

When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “She’s still my sister, sir.”

The words landed full of weight that didn’t need to be shouted. Fear, pride, and the guilt for not being able to stop any of it. She was still his sister. And no matter who claimed her now—that wouldn’t change. But there were conditions the boy needed to understand. 

Tommy looked him in the eye, the edge returning to his voice like a blade slipping back into a gloved hand. “You can’t say anything, Rory. To anyone.”

The younger man’s brows drew together, the fire in him flaring again.

“To anyone,” Tommy repeated, voice low, steady. “Not your mates, not your foreman at the factory, not the neighbor who always has something to say. And not your mother.”

Rory stiffened. “You can’t expect—”

“I do.” Tommy’s tone cut through the room like a gunshot. “Because the minute anyone knows where she is, the point of all this falls apart. The lesson ends."

The words hit hard—because they were true. And Rory knew it. But he wasn’t done. “Can I at least see her?” he asked, voice low now, more pleading than angry. “Or let my mum? Just to know she’s not… hurt. Scared.”

Tommy didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Rory’s mouth opened, protest rising, but Tommy cut him off before the words came. “She’s under my roof. That means she’s under my protection. And she stays hidden until I decide otherwise.”

Rory shook his head, frustration bubbling over. “And I'm supposed to what? Just give her up?”

Tommy’s voice lowered again. “No. But if you tell your mother, and she tells someone else—intentional or not—we’ve got a problem. And if this becomes a problem…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished but understood. “You’re a good brother, Rory. So be a smart one, too.”

Tommy turned slightly, as if the conversation was over—but then paused, glancing back at Rory with something like recognition. “Your stepfather isn’t worth the noose.”

Rory’s posture stiffened again. The flash in his eyes said it all—he’d been thinking about it. Planning something. 

“I’ve seen lads like you ruin their lives trying to settle scores that weren’t theirs to carry.”

Rory didn’t speak, but he was weighing Tommy's words.

“You want to punish him? Fine.” He held Rory’s gaze. “Make something of yourself. Become a man he’ll never be, like your father. Protect your mother. Look after your sister when the time comes.” He let that settle before adding, “But don’t end up in a grave over a man who already buried himself.”

Rory stared at him, the weight of it landing heavy—but not wasted.

Tommy stepped back behind the desk, nodding to the glass he hadn’t touched. “Drink that and go home.”

The boy's hand shook slightly. Still, he took pains to try and hide it. Knocking it back, he did as Tommy wanted and walked out the door. 

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tommy remained still for a moment, eyes lingering on the space where the boy had stood. 

Rory Flynn.

The boy was wasted on the factories. That kind of fire—controlled, not reckless—didn’t belong behind a grinding machine or buried under soot and orders. The boy had walked into a Shelby stronghold, armed and alone, and hadn't flinched. Had spoken with conviction, not desperation. He had the look of his father—Malachy’s grit, that quiet backbone. But more than that, he had the one thing Tommy valued most in a man: purpose. Even if it wasn’t quite shaped yet. And that made him valuable.

Loyalty born from blood is dangerous. But loyalty born from debt? From earned respect? That was something Tommy could build on.

Tommy reached for his cigarette case and lit one slowly, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. He'd keep an eye on Rory Flynn. There were uses for a lad like that. It wouldn’t just be strategic for Tommy—it would be personal leverage cloaked as kindness. His girl might not trust him now—probably didn’t—but if her brother was safe, fed, and rising under the Shelby name, it would chip away at her resistance more effectively than any locked door or quiet threat. It would show her that he wasn't just keeping her—he was looking after her people. That meant something to a girl like her.

She was fiercely loyal, just like him. If she saw her brother being taken seriously, being respected, she’d start to question her own resentment for the man who took her. She might not forgive him—not yet—but she'd feel tethered in a way Tommy could work with. Bringing Rory in gave her a stake in the Shelby world. And if she had something to lose inside it, she’d stop thinking so hard about running from him.

Better still, it gave Tommy a way in. A reason to have her near without forcing it, to speak to her under the veil of family concern. It made him look like a protector—not just of her, but of the people she loved. And that kind of power was far more effective than fear.

Because eventually, fear fades. But debt? That lingers.

***

You heard the commotion before you saw it the next morning as you carried your breakfast tray downstairs, just to get out of that room. A baby fussing, a door swinging open, and the kind of voice that carried through hallways like it belonged there. It wasn’t Polly. And it wasn’t one of the house staff. No, the young woman stepped cautiously into the corridor just in time to see a you coming through the front hall, a babe perched on her hip, and confidence radiating from every inch of her like she’d never once been told no. The stranger stopped mid-step when she saw you, arching a brow as if she’d just walked into the most interesting scene in Birmingham. 

“Well,” the woman said, eyeing her with open curiosity. “You’re definitely not one of the housemaids.”

You panicked, unsure what to say. You were supposed to be hiding. Panic rose as you just stared at the lovely young woman.

She shifted the baby higher on her hip, adjusting the wool blanket around him. “I’m Ada. Arthur’s sister.”

Of course. The Ada. The one Polly mentioned with half pride, half exasperation. The one who’d married a communist and kept her spine straight about it. Ada tilted her head, looking you over with a keen eye—not cruelly, but thoughtfully. Then a devilish excitement flashed in her eyes. You'd seen Tommy react the exact same way.

“You’re the girl, then?” she asked casually, as if they were talking about nothing more serious than a new dress Polly had brought home. "The one from Gray Street?"

Heat crept up your neck. “I… suppose I am.”

Ada grinned. “Well, I’ve been dying to know who managed to stir up this much Shelby drama and still be breathing after two days. You're all anyone's talking about. The girl Arthur won... You’re not exactly his type.”

The baby gurgled in her arms, waving a tiny hand, and Ada bounced him gently with an ease that didn’t match the sharpness of her words. Her face softened as she looked down at him, and for a moment, the sharp edge of her Shelby wit dulled. The baby was beautiful—rosy-cheeked, dark lashes, that innocent glow untouched by everything swirling around him.

Ada looked back up at you. “You don’t have to look so terrified,” she said, with a kinder smile this time. “I’m not here to drag you off and parade you through Small Heath. I wouldn’t want to face down that lot either if that was done to me.”

Out of all the Shelbys you'd encountered so far, Ada seemed to be the kindest. And you were grateful for that. You woke up with a headache, an ache in your lower back. Sharp cramps signalled it was time for your monthly and your lack of supplies there left you somewhere between panic and despair. As if your situation wasn't bad enough. It had taken a little while but you'd finally talked yourself into seeking out Polly to let her know of your latest situation and begging for her help.

Her expression shifted, brow knitting slightly. “Truth be told, I came here to ask Polly what the hell was going on. Last thing I heard, you were delivered to Arthur for the night and then…” She made a vague motion with her hand. “Gone. Vanished. Like smoke. And now here you are—in our house. Looking like a ghost someone forgot to let out.”

Before you could answer—before you could even figure out what to say—Polly’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Ada.”

Ada turned, smirking over her shoulder as her aunt descended the stairs with that familiar tight-lipped look that warned of no-nonsense ahead. “I was just talking to your guest,” Ada said lightly. "Or should I say Arthur's guest?"

Polly shot her a glare as she reached the bottom step. “She doesn’t need your commentary. And you—” her sharp eyes flicked to you, then softened just a touch, “—shouldn’t be running around the house."

"I'm sorry," you told her, watching the older woman's knowing gaze drop to the tray in your hands. You'd hoped to avoid that. You'd barely eaten anything. 

Shaking her head, Polly took the tray and carried it just inside the kitchen.

Ada raised a brow. “So why is she here?"

Polly didn’t answer right away when she returned. She looked at you for a long moment—not coldly, but carefully, as if trying to decide whether to tell the truth in front of you or send you out of the room first. “She’s here because your brother made a decision,” Polly said finally, her voice clipped, measured. “And now we all have to live with it.”

Ada's gaze shifted from Polly to you and back, the baby shifting in her arms. “What does that even mean?”

Polly cut her niece a steely look. “It means Tommy stepped into something Arthur started and decided he could fix it by making it worse.”

Ada blinked. “Tommy?”

Polly nodded. “Tommy's the one who settled the debt.”

Heat crept up your neck again, but something colder lingered underneath—shame, confusion, and the terrifying sense of being spoken about like you weren’t standing right there.

Ada’s gaze landed on you again, but her amusement was gone. Just realization. She adjusted the baby gently, then said, softer now, “I didn’t know.”

“None of us did,” Polly replied, eyes never leaving Ada. “Not until it was already done. He's hiding her here.”

To Polly’s astonishment, Ada didn’t argue. She didn’t huff or scold or lecture the way Polly expected. Instead, she stood there in the middle of the hall, baby on her hip, brow furrowed as she actually thought it over. The silence stretched a beat too long before Ada finally said, “Well… from a certain point of view…”

Polly blinked. “Ada.”

“No, hear me out.” She gave you a small, sideways glance—not unkind, just curious again. “He didn't send her walking home in shame the next morning over a stupid wager she wasn't even a part of. He's hiding her here and there are worse places to hide. I should know.” She shrugged, bouncing the baby again gently. “I mean, it’s twisted. But it’s Tommy. And for him?” She gave a small, incredulous laugh. “It’s almost… romantic.”

Polly stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Do you hear yourself?”

Ada's smile was impish. “I wouldn’t have expected it of him. That’s all I’m saying.” She turned her gaze back to you, a little spark of amusement in her eyes. “You’ve clearly shaken something loose in that cold, dead heart of his.”

You didn’t know what to say—was this a compliment? From the look on Polly’s face, even she wasn’t sure how to take it.

"Why does everyone think she’s missing then?" Ada asked.

"Because that’s what Tommy wants them to think," Polly said, and there was warning in her tone. “So you’re sworn to secrecy.”

Ada’s brows lifted slightly, but she nodded. “Of course. Shelby rules.” Then her gaze shifted back to you, her voice gentler. “What about her family?”

It was the same question you’d been asking yourself over and over again for the last two days. They must have been worried sick. Your mother probably hadn’t slept. Your brother… God, Rory. He could be doing anything right now. Searching the streets. Demanding answers from men more dangerous than he realized. The thought of him searching for you in vain cracked something open inside you. You tried to blink the tears away before they could fall, but it was too late. Both Shelby women saw.

Ada’s expression softened instantly, and even Polly’s sharpness dulled. “Oh, love…” Polly murmured, stepping closer.

Pressing your lips together, you tried to keep your voice steady. The wave of emotion hit you fast. The weight of being taken, hidden, claimed—and forgotten by the world you left behind—was suddenly too much to hold in. You were scared and angry now. You were grieving. And now, finally, someone realized it.

Polly didn’t say another word—she just gently placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you, guiding you down the hall like a mother ushering her child out of a storm. “Come on, love. Let’s not fall apart in the foyer.”

Ada followed without question, as Polly ushered you into the sitting room. She waved you toward the sofa while Ada settled into an armchair near the fireplace, the baby now babbling softly against her shoulder. 

Polly’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked you over, her arms folding across her chest. “You didn’t eat this morning.”

“I’m not sick,” you murmured, a little embarrassed. “It’s just… it’s my time.”

Ada gave a soft “Ah,” nodding in understanding.

Polly, however, straightened slightly, her expression immediately shifting to one of disapproval bleeding on concern. She shook her head and you weren't sure who she disapproved of - you or Tommy.

“I'm sorry," you added quickly. "I wasn’t exactly… prepared.”

Ada snorted softly, adjusting the baby’s blanket. “Well, if there’s any silver lining, that’s it, isn’t it?” she said, almost too casually. “At least we know you’re not pregnant.” 

The words hit the air and settled there, a truth no one wanted to say but couldn’t ignore. And you were grateful for that considering the last two nights.

Polly’s jaw tightened, her mouth a thin line. “Same clothes since she got here. No proper supplies. No privacy. No explanation. Just dropped into this house like she’s one of the bloody spoils of war.”

You looked down at your lap, fingers curling in the fabric of the dress you'd been wearing since your ordeal started. You couldn't even bringing yourself to mention you had no draws on top of it all. You were ruining a small towel you found to use until you could ask for help.

Ada shook her head. “This isn’t how it should’ve been handled.”

"It shouldn't have happened at all." Polly’s voice softened then, but didn’t lose its edge. "All this so your brother could strike more fear in the hearts of all those in Small Heath."

Polly looked at you then—really looked. Not just as someone Tommy was hiding here, but as a young woman dropped into something too big, too fast, and too cruel.

And in that moment, you saw it clear as day: Polly Gray had just decided she was going to look after you.

Whether Tommy liked it or not.

***

Tommy stepped through the front door later than usual, the scent of rain and coal smoke clinging to his coat. His boots echoed in the hall, the kind of sound that announced his arrival. The low murmur of voices drifted in from deeper in the house—John Boy and Finn, unmistakably, and Polly holding court in that no-nonsense tone she saved for family. The scent of supper wasn't lingering in the air, letting him know just how late he was.

He shrugged out of his coat, and laid it across the chair by the entry—his movements automatic and his mind was elsewhere. 

Tonight, his thoughts weren't on the Garrison, nor on business. 

They were on her.

He didn’t like the feeling. It was a crack in the armor he wore every waking hour. But it was there all the same, threading through him like the last drag of a cigarette he hadn’t meant to enjoy.

His conversation with her brother made it worse. Rory Flynn walked into the betting shop, ready to draw blood if it meant finding his sister. He’d held his nerve, asked the right questions, listened when it counted. Seeing the boy’s loyalty—his quiet devotion to his sister—unsettled something in him. It reminded him of what he was holding onto. 

Exhaling through his nose, he started toward the stairs. The truth was simpler, but much harder to admit. He just wanted to see her. And he didn’t like how much that mattered.

Polly caught him before he could make it farther. “Ada’s been by,” she said without preamble, arms crossed like she was bracing for his reaction.

Tommy stopped. “What did she see?”

“Everything.”

He sighed. “She saw her?”

Polly gave him a sharp look. “She found her before I could stop her. Ada won’t say anything. She actually seemed charmed by the whole thing.”

Charmed. Christ.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his shoulders sore from a day spent putting out fires at the Garrison—men needing reminders, deals needing to be reinforced. From trying to keep his focus on business all day and failing.

“I’m going to wash up,” he muttered, brushing past her. "Have my supper brought up."

“Don’t stomp in like you own the place,” she said, her voice low and clipped. “I'll send something for her too. She's not eating.”

Tommy paused mid-step, one brow lifting. “What?”

Polly’s expression didn’t flinch. “She’s not eating. Said she's not feeling well today.”

The words hit harder than he expected. He didn’t show it to Polly, but the truth of it pressed in just beneath the surface. She wasn’t eating. And that meant this game he’d started—this lesson for Small Heath, this cold, calculated plan—was wearing her down more than he’d accounted for.

He set his cap on the sideboard, slow and deliberate. “Send supper up then, Pol," he said. "And laudanum. She'll eat. I'll talk to her."

“Then mind your tone, Tommy.”  Polly watched him for another beat, she could always see right through him. After a moment, she stepped aside to let him pass. 

He didn’t ask anything else. Didn’t need to. Because now, as he climbed the stairs toward his room, that single detail—she’s not eating—settled into him, heavy and unwanted, coiling in that quiet part of his chest where concern lived, the place he rarely let anyone touch.

Tommy had built an empire by knowing what men valued. He hadn’t stopped to consider how often women like her weren’t valued at all. And now here she was, pulled out of one world and into another, not asked—just taken. Her brother's visit, the details about her relationship with her stepfather, ran through his mind. His girl's life had been far from easy. And just so he could have her, just so he could impose his will on the people in Small Heath, he'd gone and thoughtlessly made her plight worse. What had he thought? That she’d be grateful? That she’d look at the Shelby name like it was a lifeline instead of a collar?

The tension in his head grew, a culmination of business, family, guilt, and the uncomfortable realization that he’d miscalculated the one thing he thought he’d handled precisely. 

When he reached his room, he opened the door quietly. She was already in bed. Not asleep—he could tell by the way her breathing changed, the slight tension in her shoulders. She was lying on her side, facing the wall, hands wrapped around her abdomen like she was holding herself together. 

Stepping inside, he closed the door gently behind him, and studied her in the dim light from the lamp on the bedside table and the fire the maid kept up in the fireplace. Polly had said she wasn’t eating. Said she wasn’t feeling well. And now that he really looked—the way her body curled in slightly, the faint clench of discomfort in her posture—it didn’t take him long to work it out. She wasn’t ill. She was in pain. 

Pain had been a companion to him many times in his life, particularly during the war. But this pain wasn't the kind she could explain to a man like him. A woman's pain. It hit him then—the silent panic she must’ve been living with, knowing what he might expect from her, unable to say a word without fear and shame burning her alive. Of course she wasn’t eating. Of course her anxiety was through the roof. She was miserable. And worse—she was bracing for something she didn’t have the means to refuse. 

Tommy stood there for a long moment, staring at the girl he’d dragged into his world, knowing full well he was the last person she could admit that kind of vulnerability to. And he hated that, more than anything. Because he hadn’t just made her his. He’d made her afraid.

She shifted slightly beneath the covers, just enough to catch him in the corner of her eye. Her gaze met his for a second—just a second—and that was all he needed. It was there. The tension. The guarded fear. The unmistakable flicker of dread. Not the kind that came from the threat of violence or cruelty. The kind that came from not knowing how to say something you shouldn’t have to say. From being a woman stuck in a man’s world, afraid he might ask something of her that her body simply couldn’t give tonight.

Tommy’s chest tightened. He was right. And that look in her eyes twisted something deeper than guilt. It was shame. And it didn’t belong to her.

He crossed the room slowly, keeping his movements careful. No swagger or sharpness. When he reached the edge of the bed, he didn’t touch her. Didn’t sit. Just stood there and kept his tone low and even. “You’re alright. I’m not here for that.”

He watched the emotions in her eyes shift—not into trust, not yet—but into something softer. Something closer to relief. 

As he turned to pull the armchair away from the corner, his hand brushed against soft fabric—a small bundle of Ada’s old dresses draped neatly over the backrest. Tommy paused, staring at them. They weren’t folded like someone had forgotten them. They’d been placed there with care. His jaw tightened as the realization sank in. She’d only had the one dress. Since she’d found herself in his world, she'd been used like a bargaining chip and told nothing, given nothing. He’d been so caught up in deals, territory, strategy, and her silence—he hadn’t noticed. She’d been wearing the same thing, day after day, too proud to say a word, too uncertain of her place to ask for more. 

Pulling the chair forward slowly, he sat down, and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t like all this said about him. Didn’t like that she’d gone without because he hadn’t made time to think about her comfort. Only her presence. Only her usefulness. He was so used to having everything handled for him once he made decisions. He took for granted that the girl would request what she needed and that Polly and his house staff would provide it. Careless.

She'd been surviving, and he—the man who claimed to have rescued her—hadn’t even noticed she needed something as simple as a change of clothes. And now, here she was, in pain, curled up and too afraid to tell him. He exhaled slowly, voice low as he spoke—not to her exactly, but into the quiet. “This isn't going to happen again.”

And he meant it. Because if he was going to keep her, he’d damn well start acting like she was worth keeping right.

His voice, when it came, was low—steady but softer than she was used to hearing from him. “Supper’s on its way up.”

She shifted slightly under the covers, still not facing him, but he knew she was listening. 

“You need to eat,” he added. “Not because I said so.”

Quickly, he cleared his desk of the few items on it. It would work as a makeshift table. Moving the armchair next to the chair at the desk gave her a seat. It would work.

“After you’ve eaten, I’ll give you something for the pain. Laudanum,” he explained as he walked back to the bed, his tone even, steady. “I won’t hide it from you. You’ll see me pour it. You’ll know what it is. Can you sit up?”

She swallowed hard, taking a breath that trembled just slightly before she carefully rolled onto her back. Tommy’s eyes swept over her in the simple white nightgown she wore—a soft, modest thing Polly must’ve set aside for her. His gaze lingered only long enough to register what he needed to: no blood, no visible distress. It eased something in him.

She had what she needed, then. Polly had seen to that.

He moved closer to the bed, one hand extending toward her, the other already steadying her shoulder. “I’m going to carry you over to the desk,” he said quietly. “Supper’ll be easier that way.”

Her eyes widened just slightly—not in fear, but surprise. Like she couldn’t quite believe he would.

“Hang onto me,” he added.

Her arms wrapped gently around his neck, tentative at first, like she was still waiting for some trick or test. But she didn’t pull away from him. 

Tommy lifted her with ease, careful with every step as he crossed the room to the armchair he’d moved by the desk. She weighed nothing. And yet, somehow, he’d never carried anything that felt so significant. Easing her down gently into the chair, he adjusted the cushion behind her back before pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed and tucking it around her legs.

When she looked up at him, there was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. The beginning of trust mixed in with the surprise. "Thank you,” she whispered.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just nodded, smoothing the blanket one last time before stepping back.

The knock at the door came softly, and a moment later the maid stepped in, carrying a silver tray neatly arranged with two covered plates, a teapot, and a small glass bottle—the laudanum with a small empty glass. If she thought anything of Tommy Shelby taking supper at his desk, with a girl tucked gently into an armchair beside him, she didn’t show it. Not a flicker of surprise, not even the briefest glance between them. Shelby business was Shelby business. She moved efficiently, placing the tray on the desk and uncovering the plates—sliced roast, buttered potatoes, greens, a bread roll each.

But Tommy’s eyes weren’t on the food. He caught the subtle flicker in his girl’s gaze—the way it locked onto the small dropper bottle, amber glass glinting in the light. She didn’t say anything, but her hands tensed in her lap.

The maid finished setting the table, gave a small nod, and slipped out without a word. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. 

She stared down at the plate in front of her, then glanced sideways at him. “I don’t think I can eat.”

Tommy didn’t push the food toward her. Didn’t sigh or scold or tell her she needed to try harder. He just leaned forward, his voice low, calm. “You have to.”

She blinked, unsure, her fingers curling slightly around the edge of the blanket.

“Otherwise,” he continued, tipping his head toward the laudanum, “that’ll hit you like a punch to the gut and you'll feel worse than you do already.”

A pause.

“A little food first. Then the medicine.” Tommy watched her carefully, giving her the truth—not an order, not a demand.

And for a moment, he saw her shoulders drop, just a bit. He hoped she saw he wasn't trying to control her. He was offering help. And maybe—just maybe—she believed that now.

Tommy reached for his fork, slicing into the roast as if this were just another evening—ordinary, unremarkable. “It won’t be much,” he said, nodding toward the laudanum. “Just a little. No more than I gave Finn last summer when he broke his arm falling off the wall outside the Garrison.” He smiled at the memory. “Cried like a baby. The laudanum knocked him out cold after that. He slept like a prince.”

He felt her gaze on him as he took his first bite, still wary but not frozen anymore. Her fork inched toward the plate. Slowly, cautiously, she followed suit—a small bite at first, testing herself. Then another.

Tommy didn't react or try to praise her. He just kept eating, giving her time to do the same. Once her posture relaxed, he said, “Your brother came to see me today.”

Her fork paused mid-air. Her gaze met his—wide, searching.

“Rory,” he added. “Turned up at the betting shop.”

She swallowed, lips parting like she wanted to ask something, but the words didn’t come.

Tommy filled in the silence. “He wanted answers. He wanted you. He didn’t care who I was or what it might cost him.” He looked directly at her. “That’s loyalty.”

Her eyes began to shine, but she blinked quickly, holding herself together. She took another bite, listening with new hope shining in her eyes. 

“I told him you were safe. That you were being looked after. And I made sure he understood he’d see you again, just not yet.” He paused, then added—more quietly this time, “He reminded me a lot of someone I used to know.”

She looked up at him then, brows knitting faintly. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring into the distance, one hand still loosely holding his fork.

“Your father,” he said, finally. The words came slower than the others, like he’d turned them over in his mouth before letting them go. “I didn’t put it together until today.”

Her breath caught.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze fixed on the edge of the desk, his voice quiet but firm. “Not until I saw your brother. The way he stood. The way he spoke. That edge in his voice when he talked about you—like there wasn’t anything in the world that mattered more. That’s when it hit me. He looked just like your father... Malachy Flynn was one of the few men I knew in France that I’d call decent. Quiet, steady, older than the rest of us. He wasn’t trying to be a hero, but he died like one,” Tommy continued, his voice rougher now. “I knew him. Not well—not in the way men know each other in peacetime. But well enough in France.”

He looked at her, and this time, there was no distance in his eyes. Only memory. She was making an attempt at eating something so he carried on. Maybe she thought if she kept eating he'd have more to say.

A pause, and then—“Your brother's got that same fire. That same kind of bravery that doesn’t need noise to be felt. That’s how I knew who I was looking at.” He continued, something like respect in his voice. “He’s his father’s son. I see his strength in you too.”

He didn’t say it for comfort. He said it because it was true. But as soon as the words left his mouth, Tommy saw the way she reacted—subtle, but real. Her eyes dropped, not in dismissal, but in disbelief. As if no one had ever told her she was strong before and meant it. 

Her fingers tightened slightly around the napkin in her lap, her shoulders rising with a slow breath that trembled just enough to give her away. He watched the flicker of emotion pass through her—a flash of something close to pain, maybe even grief—like the truth of who her father had been, and what she had lost, was only just settling in now. She blinked rapidly, lashes wet but holding back. No tears. Not yet. But her lips parted like she wanted to respond, say something—thank you, maybe. Or I didn’t know. Or I wish I remembered him better.

Instead, she gave the smallest nod.

And for Tommy, that said more than any words could. She’d heard him. And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

Her voice, when it finally came, was soft. Fragile. “Is he okay? Rory?”

Tommy nodded. “He’s fine. Angry, worried. But fine. Taking care of your mother.” And then—just to make sure it sank in—he said, gently, “I just wanted you to know you haven't been forgotten."

He didn’t mention the stepfather. He didn’t have to. Because the way she looked at him in that moment—a flicker of trust blooming behind her tired eyes—told him she already knew.

“I’m worried about Rory,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but steady as she dabbed at her mouth with the napkin from her lap.

Tommy looked up from his plate, knowing where this was going.

“I’m afraid he’s going to…” She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish.

Tommy knew what she was going to say. The moment Rory stood in the betting shop, shoulders tense, hand hovering near his coat pocket—he knew. Just like he knew that fire wasn’t going to burn out on its own.

“Sean O’Grady,” Tommy said flatly.

She nodded, her fingers curling slightly in the napkin. “He’s not the type to just let things go. And Rory—he doesn’t care what it costs. Not if it means protecting Mum or me. He hates him.” Her voice cracked just a little on the last part.

Tommy leaned back in the chair, his gaze meeting hers. “He’s already planning something,” he muttered. “Even if he doesn’t know what yet.”

She held his gaze, fear creeping into her expression. “If he does something stupid—if he goes after Sean—”

“He’ll either get himself killed,” Tommy finished, “or arrested.”

The room fell quiet again, but this time it wasn’t a peaceful kind of silence. She looked to him, eyes searching. “I have no right to ask you for anything but... Can you stop him?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. “I’ll talk to him again. I’ll find a way to keep him from doing something that can’t be undone.”

She nodded slowly, but the worry didn’t vanish—it clung to her like fog. But, something in her eyes softened when she looked at him. Like she believed him. That he had the power to fix the world she'd been pulled from, and maybe even the one she’d been dragged into. It wasn’t worship or naïve. It was hope, shining just behind her tired eyes like a candle he hadn’t expected her to light again. And it had his heart squeezing in his chest.

A look like that was dangerous to a man. Not because of what it demanded, but because of the emotions it stirred. What wouldn’t a man do to have a woman look at him like that? Like he could work miracles. Like he might be something more than what the world had carved him into. Tommy held her gaze with an unfamiliar ache curling in his chest. He hadn’t set out to earn her trust.

But now that he had a glimpse of it, he’d do whatever it took to keep it.

Tommy shifted in his seat, glancing at their plates. They’d eaten most of the meal. It would do. The moment had grown too heavy, and she looked tired—like the weight of the day, the pain in her body, and the emotion in her chest had all fused together. So, he reached for the small medicine bottle, uncorking it with practiced care.

“Alright,” he said gently, pouring a measured dose into the small empty glass Polly sent along with the bottle. “Just a little. Enough to take the edge off and help you rest.”

She didn’t protest, just watched him in that same quiet way. He handed her the glass and waited, eyes on hers as she took it. No tricks. No pressure. In that moment, she trusted him, swallowing it down with a slight grimace because of the bitterness. She handed the empty glass back with a soft “Thank you.”

Setting it aside, he rose from his chair. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Her eyes fluttered slightly, already dulled by the slow creep of laudanum, but she nodded.

He stepped toward her, careful and unhurried. “Arms around me, love,” he said softly.

She did. Lighter than she had been before, her body already relaxing, she melted into him as he lifted her—gently, like something precious. As he carried her across the room, he felt the faintest sigh against his neck, and for one brief moment, it felt less like an obligation and more like something sacred. He laid her down, pulled the blanket up over her with quiet precision, then stood there a moment longer, just watching. 

Still not knowing what to do with what she’d just given him. But knowing damn well he wouldn’t let anyone—especially himself—ruin it.

She was already fading on him by the time he finished at the washbasin, shrugging out of his shirt and unfastening the rest of his clothes. The laudanum had dulled the edge of her pain, and it showed—she wasn’t curled up anymore, wasn’t holding herself tight like she might break open. She lay on her side, eyes half-lidded, facing him. Watching him without fear or dread.

Just… watching. As if she didn’t quite know what he was yet—a threat, a protector, a man who’d claimed her or someone who might one day earn the right to be more. But there was no flinch in her gaze. No recoil.

He let out a slow breath as he crossed to the bed and stretched out beside her. The sheets were cool against his skin, the sound of rain whispering against the windows. It was a cold night and the air was heavy. It was one of those nights that settled into your bones if you let it. He looked at her once more—eyes barely open now, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks—then reached out and pulled her gently toward him. She didn’t resist him.

She came easily, her body soft with sleep, her head resting near his collarbone, one hand tucked between them like she wasn’t sure it belonged. He held her close, his arm curved around her back, his other hand resting lightly against her hip. Not to claim or to control. But to keep her warm, close.

To keep her.

And as the rain deepened outside, and her breathing evened out against his chest, Tommy Shelby—a man who never slept easy—let himself rest.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle

[hedwig221b]

i always find amazing fics that have Talia Hale playing the bad guy, and while I kinda dig the characterization that shes a bit of a ball buster, i'm having some struggles with my mom right now and could use a fic with a good-guy mom. any fics you know with good mom Talia, or heck even heavy on good mom Melissa?

Hmm, you can check out Hales love Stiles fic rec list, they have supportive Talia. Let me also add these ones,

A Letter From Mom by StilesIsMySpiritAnimal

After waking up at the age of 11 without any memories of his past Stiles spends eight years with his father in the tiny town of Shelter Cove, California. After his father's death he receives a notice from a storage facility in some town called Beacon Hills. Stiles is confused and thinks the manager made a mistake until he finds a letter that should have been for his 18th birthday that his dad never gave him. It's from his mother, who he has no memory of. Weirdly enough, her letter mentions Beacon Hills and some woman named Talia, who he's supposed to trust. Confused and angry at his father, Stiles sets out for Beacon Hills anxious and determined to find out what his dad had been hiding from him all these years.

Last one Standing by RivanWarrioress

"I wish that Derek didn’t lose his family in the fire…that Peter didn’t kill Laura that night and then bite Scott. I wish they’d all been able to live out happy lives." Stiles thought that after the Nogitsune there would be time to rest and recover. He was wrong, with a deadly Necromancer arriving in Beacon Hills less than a month after Allison's death, leaving a path of death and destruction in it's wake. Scott, Kira, Derek and Stiles are able to defeat the Necromancer, but pay a heavy cost. Now Stiles is the only one left, the only surviving member of the pack. There isn't anybody left in Beacon HIlls alive that he ever cared about. Nearly catatonic with his grief, Stiles packs a bag and plans to leave Beacon HIlls behind, but exhaustion and heavy rain combine forces, and a wishful though becomes more than just a thought, but a reality.

Pack It In by CastleGachi

A little after Paige's sudden death, Derek is found in a coma. And Talia sets out for answers, who is doing this to her son, why are their witches running amuck and why didn't she sense that rabid Omega on her treeline? Furthermore, who in goddess' name do the Mage's Pack think they are?

Mother Knows Best by cathcer1984

Derek talks to his mom.

Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them." The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

[masterlist link]

[multific]

Moonlight 

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Wife!Reader

Warnings: childbirth (no detailed description)

Summary: Aemond loves his little wife, so naturally, when you give birth to your first son, Aemond falls in love even deeper. However, when a simple refusal of his breaks your heart, it will be difficult for him to win you back.

It was hard to keep you close. You were much like Aemond, a true fighter. You had a fire in you which couldn't be questioned. A fire towards him, pure love. And now, fire towards your son.

Aeren was only born a week ago, yet you protected him fiercely like a dragon.

And you refused to let the small child out of your hands.

When Aemond was allowed in the room, he saw the blood, he heard your screams and many times, he wanted to barge in but he knew he couldn't.

So, once he was allowed in, someone informed him that it was a boy and that you were in bad shape. 

Aemond could see it, you looked beyond tired, yet you smiled.

But your smile didn't last long.

Aemond refused to hold his son. 

"Give him to me." he heard your voice as he looked from the woman holding his son to you. You looked angry. Way too angry.

It was too late when Aemond realised what he had just done.

He refused to hold his own child.

And since then, you didn't speak a word to him.

You slept in a different room with your baby, sometimes, late at night, he heard the cries. He wanted to get up and go to you but he couldn't, his guilt was overbearing. 

"You should put a leash on her, brother. If I had a wife like that, she wouldn't be sleeping in another room." Aegon taunted his brother daily. 

One day, you were in the gardens, walking with your son in your arms when Aegon spoke up.

Aemond never heard his brother speak with such longing.

"I truly wish she was mine." 

Aemond looked at his brother who was watching you.

"But she's mine." was his simple and firm reply.

But you truly weren't.

You used to be, now, you just sat next to him during dinners. 

One night, you excused yourself, and he followed you.

In an empty corridor, he spoke up.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he knew why. He very well knew why.

"I'm sorry, My Prince." you turned and looked at him. "I believe you are mistaken. I'm not avoiding you, I just hate to see the disappointment on your face." this surprised Aemond. "I gave birth to a child you refused to even look at. I loved you, Prince Aemond, I truly did. But I love my child more. And if you cannot look at him, you won't get to look at me. Fill your bed with whores for all I care. Goodnight." 

"You are mistaken." he said, not letting you leave, but you did grab the handle. "You-You were in that bed, crying, screaming and bleeding for hours. I couldn't do anything. And when they let me in, the blood... so much... they told me you were weak, you survived but you needed a lot of rest. How-How could I hold my child when the love of my life almost died? How could I look at him when I was worried to even look at you? I feared you would die giving birth. I was shaking. I feared losing you and my child. That is why I didn't hold him. I was scared." you stood there, your hand on the door, you looked away from his eyes.

"Then you could have just fucking say so, Aemond! For fucks sake!"

"That is not very lady-like."

"FUCK lady-like, you made me believe you hate me and our son! I believed I disappointed you since you wanted a daughter."

"I said I would be happy either way. My emphasis was on a girl because I feared if you had a daughter, you would see that as disappointing my bloodline."

"You are fucking terrible at communicating." you opened the door and walked into the huge room in which you stayed the last couple of weeks.

Aemond followed you, and watched as you walked over to the small bed and picked up your son. "Next time, you should just tell me. Letting me assume things clearly don't work out." 

"Of course." a small smile found its way onto his lips, next time, it was the promise of a future, a promise of more, something he could work towards. He walked over to you after closing the door. "I wish to hold him." you handed him the small child who didn't even stir in his sleep. "Aeren you named him I recall." Aemond's attention was now fully on his son as you decided to leave the two alone after watching them for a couple of minutes.

You got changed and when you arrived back, Aemond was sitting on the bed, his son on his chest.

"Some nights I heard his cries. It broke my heart but I broke yours far more. I apologise for not being clear and for causing you pain. I am truly sorry."

"I'm sorry as well. I should have asked." you said as you sat down next to him. "I will have to feed him soon."

"I will stay here with you."

You smiled as the moon shined through the window, illuminating the room a little more, helping the fire so you could see your husband's face.

"I love you so much Aemond."

"I love you too, My Queen." you giggled, moving closer to him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You two kissed in the moonlight until your son made it clear that he was hungry.

It all made you look towards a better future.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[cameronspecial]

I thought about Rafe and reader having a fight or heated argument and their child is scared that they will get a divorce

Divorce

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Arguing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Loud screams coming from downstairs cause Colin to wake up from his dream where he is a firefighter. In fear a monster is in the house, he goes running to his parents’ room. The bed is empty and terror grows. What if the monster ate Mommy and Daddy? He rushes down the stairs in hopes they will be there. While on the steps, he recognizes the sources of the yells. He freezes where he stands. “I don’t understand what is so hard for you to understand. There is nothing going on between Heather and me. She is just my assistant,” Rafe argues. Through the bars, Colin can see his mommy’s eyes roll. She chuckles, “It’s not that I think you are doing something with her. I don’t like the way she looks at you. I know she wants a bite of you and I’m not sharing.” Colin has never heard his Mommy use such an angry tone. He remembers something his friend said about her parents screaming a lot before they got a divorce. Now, she can’t see her mommy or daddy every day. He has to stop this; he can’t let his parents get a divorce. 

Tiny feet slapping against the hardwood floor causes both parents to turn their heads in the direction of the stairs. Small blue eyes stare up at them with tears at the edge of his long eyelashes. “Colin, Sweetie, what are you doing up?” Y/N questions, bending over as he runs into her arms. His short arms wrap around her neck and she picks him up while she stands straight. Even if they are arguing, Rafe doesn’t hesitate to step forward and rest his left hand on Y/N’s hip and the right hand on Colin’s back. 

Colin’s head buries into his mother’s neck, “You and Daddy no get a divowce.” Warm tears begin to stain her neck. Rafe’s head tilts to the side. “Why do you think that’s going to happen, Buddy?” Her fingers flatten the hair on the back of the little boy’s head. “You and Mommy fight,” he muffles against his mom. The mother coos at her son, “Aww, Sweetie. Just because Mommy and Daddy have a little disagreement, it doesn’t mean that we are going to get a divorce.” “Weally?” he confirms, looking up at her through teary eyes. Rafe jumps in, “Yeah, Buddy. I know it sounds like Mommy and I are very angry at each other, but we really love each other and I, for one, know that we can overcome anything.” Y/N presses her lips to her son’s cheek. “Daddy and I can. I may not like how Ms. Heather looks at Daddy; however, I trust your Daddy and I know he loves me very much. Sometimes, Mommy needs to vent to Daddy a little bit,” she adds. 

This little pep talk seems to appease the worried boy and his breathing steadies. “You pwomise no divorce?” he confirms. Rafe nods with a smile, “I promise, Buddy. Now, how about we go night night. You can sleep in our bed tonight.” The little boy lights up with a grin. “Yayy!” Y/N sets down her son and gives his bum a little tap toward the stairs. “Why don’t you go get your T-rex and head to our bed? We will meet you upstairs,” she suggests, laughing as he runs to the second floor. She turns to her husband, “You know I trust you, right? She just makes me feel uncomfortable.” He presses his lips to her forehead and pulls her in for a hug. “I know. I understand how you feel and I’ll see if I can transfer her to another department. Not because I want her to stay, but because I can’t fire her for no reason,” he says. She nuzzles into his neck, “Thank you. How about we get upstairs so we can snuggle our baby boy to sleep?” 

He guides her in their movements to their room. “Let’s. I love you.” Her head falls on his shoulder, “I love you too.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[twisted-dork]

Batfam Reaction to May Beating Up The Joker

Batman (Bruce Wayne):

• He arrives with the Batfamily, fully prepared for a hostage situation, expecting the worst.

• Instead, he sees the Joker, one of Gotham’s most dangerous villains, lying on the ground, battered, possibly paralyzed, and groaning in pain.

• Then, there’s a civilian woman—no tactical gear, no weapons beyond a random baseball bat—standing over him, breathing heavily.

• Processing… Processing… This is not how things are supposed to go.

• He expected a hostage situation, not Joker getting bodied by a civilian.

• He’s immediately trying to analyze who this woman is—GCPD? Secret vigilante? Metahuman? Why is she this competent in a fight?

• Wants to step in but also… she’s winning?

• Will have a serious conversation with her later. This cannot become a regular thing.

Nightwing (Dick Grayson)

• Immediately loves this. He’s biting his lip to keep from laughing.

•He lands on a rooftop, sees the chaos, and just goes: “Well, that’s new. Usually, we do the saving, not… watch it happen.”

• A mixture of horrified and very impressed.

• If May glares at him, he immediately straightens up because that’s The Mom Glare.

• Tries (and fails) to hold back laughter when she kicks Joker where the sun don’t shine.

• Will absolutely try to get her to join the Batfam after this.

Red Hood (Jason Todd):

• Oh, he is in love.

• Watching Joker get beaten into the pavement? Best night of his life.

• Sees Peter’s reaction and immediately recognizes the “oh god, my parent is embarrassing me” sigh.

• When May walks past them carrying Peter on her hip, Jason just says, “Ma’am, I don’t know who you are, but I think I love you.”

• 100% track her down later.

Red Robin (Tim Drake):

• Brain.exe has stopped working.

• He was mid-strategy when she just… took over. Now he’s standing there holding a Batarang, questioning his life choices.

• “Did we… Did we just get outplayed by a woman with a baseball bat??”

• Nonetheless he pulled out his phone to record.

• The conspiracy part of his brain is firing up. Who is this woman? Why is the kid acting so casual about this? Is she ex-military? Secretly an assassin?

• “There’s no way she’s a normal civilian. I refuse to believe it.”

• Peter sighing like this is normal? Even more concerning.

• Now has to run a background check because who is this woman?!

Spoiler (Stephanie Brown):

• Is openly cackling.

• “Oh my god, is this a fever dream? Who is this woman?”

• Definitely post about it: “Gotham Report: Random Woman Just Beat Joker With A Baseball Bat, Kidnapped Child Only Mildly Annoyed, More At 11.”

• “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

• Wants to be May’s best friend.

• “Hey, do you want to team up sometime? I have a spare mask!”

Robin (Damian Wayne):

• Initially insulted that this civilian got to Joker before him.

• But then he sees the Mom Glare.

• And for the a moment, he had a flashback to when his mother had a look like that.

• He has no idea how to process this.

• Glares at Peter. “Your guardian is very violent.”

• Peter: “Yeah, I know.”

• Will demand to spar with May later, because if she can take down the Joker without training, he needs to test her skills.

Signal (Duke Thomas):

• Just standing there like, “What the hell is happening?”

• Was ready to jump in, but now he’s just watching.

• “Are we sure she’s not a vigilante? No? Just a really angry mom? Cool, cool.”

• Has NO idea what to do with this information.

• Is just staring at Joker on the ground like, Did this really just happen?

• “Man, Gotham’s weird.”

Orphan (Cassandra Cain):

• Watches May’s stance, movements, and general behavior.

• Immediately realizes: Oh, she has no formal training. This was pure, unfiltered Mom Rage.

• Instantly respects her (for how much she clearly cares for her son).

• Nods approvingly and leaves because clearly, May has this handled.

Oracle (Barbara Gordon):

• Watching the chaos unfold via Batcomputer cameras.

• “Okay. Someone please tell me we got a recording of this.”

• Secretly adding May to her list of People In Gotham You Do Not Mess With.

• Saves the footage. Forever.

Aftermath:

• They will track May down to figure out who she is.

• Jason will definitely flirt.

• Batman will try to talk her out of getting involved in vigilante business (spoiler: it won’t work).

• Peter is just so done with all of them.

ALMOST FORGOT ALFRED!!

Alfred Pennyworth

• Watching the footage from the Batcave while sipping tea.

• Casually comments, “Ah, reminds me of my younger days. Good form, excellent use of improvised weaponry.”

• Absolutely adores May before even meeting her.

• When the Batfamily inevitably brings her and Peter to the Manor, he’s already prepared tea and cookies.

• Looks at May and says, “Miss Parker, I do believe you are one of the most terrifying civilian I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing. You are most welcome in this house.”

• Offers her a baseball bat, brass knuckles, and knifed shoes from the Manor’s weapon stash.

• Instantly becomes Peter’s new grandpa.

Masterlist