#why save only one brother let's save ALL SEVEN

[pearlescentpearl]

We’re all familiar with the Fëanorion Time Travels Before The Oath, Tries To Change Things By Not Taking The Oath plot idea, right? Generally filled with the angst of How Many Of My Brothers Can I Convince Not To.

I often find this idea to be very sad, that not all of them can be saved. That they are overwhelmed with the enormity of the task of saving something, anything of their family from their grisly fate all by themselves.

So imagine with me, if you will, the comedy of errors of all seven Fëanorions time traveling and not knowing the others have time traveled. They are all running around in different directions like fluttering moths trying to be better people for the sake of love for each other, yet they can’t help but be incredibly suspicious of each other bc a. Future Crimes and b. Why Are You Being Weird.

Does this culminate in all seven of them trying to heist the silmarils out of Formenos before Melkor gets there only to catch each other in a seven way spiderman pointing meme?

I would like to think so.

[luminiamore]

SHH.

older brother choso x babysitter reader

a/n: this was for someone who requested a reader with waist beads. had such writers block with this omg

warnings: sub choso, he says mommy like once

masterlist

Homeless. The word never came to mind when you juggled around the possibilities of moving out of your parents’ home. You worked a decent job; it wasn’t much, but it was enough to pay the rent and small utilities. You never thought about what you would do if you happened to not have a job anymore. It never seemed plausible.

But unless this was some elaborate prank from your forbearing boss, you’re staring at a termination letter in the darkness of your room. You’re fired. There’s the proof right there, written in a fine, bold red print. They needed to cut budgets- they had to let a few people go. There’s also the fake sympathies of ‘We’re sorry to let you go’ and ‘You were a great employee’— all bullshit, really. A poor attempt at making you feel better.

You should’ve prepared for this, should’ve saved for more than a month’s rent. But you didn’t, and unless you find something in the next two weeks, you will run out of food. You had little experience, you had only been working at that café shop for three months. You try to find the same position at a different place, a little bit further from your place.

“Why do you want to work here?” A sharp feminine voice blinks you of your thoughts. Your eyes swiftly turn to the lady recruiter, but you frown when you realize hers were shifted downwards— on her notepad.

Because ya’ll are hiring?

You decide to take the honest route. You need to pay rent; you don’t have the capacity to come up with a lie. Maybe she’ll take pity on you.

“.. I- Uh. I just got fired from my previous job and only saved one month’s rent- I like the peacefulness of working at a local café since that was what I used to do. Your company also promotes natural and healing ingredients; that’s admirable.” You choose your words carefully.

You hear a hum, “Do you like these things?”

“I do. I like taking care of myself in and out, even energetically. It’s why I have these waist beads. They’re stones each have different healing properties.” Should you have rambled like that?

Your waist is a target of her attention, and as you mentioned, a collection of colorful, small, spherical stones adorn your waist. At least seven of them sat snugly under your slender stomach.

You piqued her interest because the next twenty minutes of your interview were a deep conversation about the different meanings held by the stones you wore. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, but her tone made it seem like she was impressed.

She dismisses you with a, ‘Expect a call in two weeks.’ and a smile. The only one she’s given you since you got here.

The wind in New York was quite strong, so when your shoes clattered on the cement beneath you, you were surprised when a paper hit you right in the face. Your lipgloss held the paper in place. You pull yourself to the side after moving the paper, and you see something just as you’re about to crumble it up.

babysitter wanted asap, will pay $50 an hour!

And just under that, his Instagram and a small description.

my name is choso, and i need some help looking after my little brother. he’s 5 years old, very cheerful, and generally well-behaved. i’m only 20, and if i continue taking care of him alone, i’ll probably fail my classes. it’s just the two of us, so if you’re interested my ig is @c.kamo

In all honesty, you were already hooked when you read $50 per hour. Is he rich or something? When you type in his Instagram, you’re taken aback.

The man you see now is dangerously attractive, making you wonder if this is a prank. You click on his story and- how lucky are you? The piercings on his eyebrow, nose, and lip were a striking contrast to his pale white face. His jaw is exceptionally sharp, his lips are pink and full, and his hair is styled into two adorable pigtails.

When you press your finger to show the following picture, you audibly gasp. His abs were pushing through a tight black compression shirt. His arms are veiny, firm- big. Your Uber almost left without you because of how struck you were.

You fold the paper stu, put it in your purse, and follow him, deciding to text him when you’re home. You just hope he’s still looking for a babysitter, you don’t know how long this paper has been rolling around the streets.

As usual, the doorman greeted you happily when you arrived after a short ride to your apartment. The constant buzzing on your phone since you got here has reminded you of the potential job offer that came to your attention a few moments ago.

You’re pushing your pants down when you go to his profile again, and you stop abruptly when you realize the man who followed nobody followed you back, and he sent you a message. A smile slowly creeps onto your lips, making you feel giddy.

That was easy, you think. If you had known how easy it was to earn money elsewhere, you would have quit ages ago. It makes you overthink, worrying that this was another one of those sex trafficking schemes you haven’t heard of yet.

Choso sends you his number afterwards and instructions for tomorrow. You feel at ease knowing that the address he sends you is in one of the skyscrapers in Long Island City. He even sent you the apartment number and told you to use his full name so the doorman could ring you up.

That morning, he informed you of a few things about Yuji. He may be reserved because his previous babysitters didn’t appreciate his energetic personality. Though, Choso assures you that once he feels comfortable, it won’t be long until he opens up. You’re a bit sad to hear that those who looked after him before weren’t very kind and that Yuji would often complain that he would have to play alone.

You figured they only mentioned babysitting to get Choso. When you told him this, his only response was,

‘get with me? i don’t see why, is there something in particular they want?’

Yeah, what’s in your pants. Is what you wanted to say.

Yuji leaves you feeling surprised when you meet him. This boy wasn’t anything like a reserved one. You don’t believe he could manifest such a thing. When he came to greet you, he jumped on you, and you had to quickly pull your hands from your pockets and catch him so he wouldn’t fall. You’re chuckling, and your voice is comforting the little boy when you speak,

“Oh! Hi, sweetheart. Nice to meet you, Yuji.”

His smile is blinding when he looks up at you, “You’re pretty! What are those beads for? Are you my new babysitter? Will you play with me?”

Choso observes your interactions with his brother and how you answer his questions as if it’s second nature. The beads that his brother mentioned caught his attention the moment you stepped through his door. He’s ashamed. He feels utterly ashamed to admit that he’s been gazing at them.

Out of curiosity at first, but then he noticed the way they moved whenever you did.

Choso was not the type to indulge in lustful thoughts. He didn’t have trouble keeping his eyes away from the previous babysitters who arrived at his house in the shortest skirts ever made.

So, why is it so hard to look away from you? From your waist?

There’s nothing revealing about what you’re wearing. Your outfit consists of a flowing white skirt that touches the ground, and he noticed that a black tank top keeps bouncing up no matter how many times you try to pull it down. Despite this, he is still unable to look away. You look soft, the beads are loosely adorning your hips, and suddenly, he can’t help but think of how his hands would look there.

Choso blinks. Where did that come from?

He shakes his head, attempting to shake himself away from these fantasies. He has to leave. He will miss his class if he doesn’t leave his seat on the kitchen counter.

He clears his throat, “He seems to like you already. I have to leave now.. for class. I’ll be home in 3 hours, and there is money on the counter if either of you gets hungry.”

When he speaks, you notice the uncomfortable look on his face. Does he not want to go? Is he worried? Although you hope not, you are questioning yourself when he walks towards you on the floor and gives his brother a kiss, but then passes you without even giving you a glance.

Well... That was uncalled for. Yuji takes hold of your hand and leads you to his LEGO collection, preventing you from pondering it.

Choso doesn’t come home in three hours like he said. Rather, two hours later. He did let you know, though. He really wasn’t the type to do this, so it wouldn’t be fair to you if he didn’t. He tried his best to delay as much as possible because he wasn’t ready to see you yet. He was afraid of those thoughts from earlier and wasn’t prepared to come face-to-face with them again.

Alas, he had to. He closes the door to his apartment with a smooth click and is greeted with the sound of TV. He doesn’t hear much, but what he thinks is.. light snoring?

He makes a slow walk to the living room, and there you both are. You’re lying on your back, your mouth slightly open in a light snore, and your left arm is dangling off the corner of the cushion. Yuji is on top of you, also on his back, and is practically in the same position as you.

Choso’s instincts drive him to walk towards you both, and what he does next is entirely natural. He lightly ruffles Yuji’s hair to avoid waking him and kisses his forehead. He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even with the few hairs on your laid black lace that covers your right eye when he looks up at you.

He brushes it to the side, immediately flinching back when you move your head in your sleep. What the fuck is he doing?

He rushes to get a glass of water, taking care not to make any abrupt sounds. He wants to let you sleep a little, he reasons with himself that he’s just being a good person. In reality, he doesn’t want you to leave yet. He refuses to believe he does not want to wake you because of his selfish motives.

“Choso?”

He jumps, almost dropping the glass in his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Yuji-” When he fully faces you, he stops short. The pictures on your Instagram had nothing on you, honestly. Both your skirt and tank top are now lower than when you came here, and he can clearly see your voluptuous tits. The cute pudge of your stomach wrapped by those fucking waist beads is also visible to him.

You’re still half asleep when you notice he’s not talking, so you don’t care much to interrogate him. Your tone of voice is one of concern when you say, “I put Yuji in his room, don’t worry. You okay?”

No. Far from it, actually. That is what he desperately wants to say. But how could he explain what it is that’s really wrong with him? He’s having unnatural thoughts about you, including your body and face. You might think that he’s a creep. Yuji seems to have a good relationship with you. What is the probability that he will find someone like you again?

He doesn’t want to risk it; he doesn’t want to take that chance. So, he answers you, “I’m great. Nothing is wrong at all. Did you, uh, have fun with Yuji?”

“Oh, yeah! He was great, he always had something new for us to…”

Whatever you’re talking about gets tuned out by Choso. He hates himself for it. He’s sure what you’re saying is important, he doesn’t doubt it for a second. But did you ever notice that your lips twitch whenever you speak? That you start playing with the ends of your hair when you suddenly become hyper-aware that his eye contact is unwaveringly on you.

He’s not looking directly into your eyes but rather at your entire body. His eyes would shift from your lips, then to your chest, but they would always find their way back to your hips. You had a hunch that he wasn’t really listening to what you were saying. And you catch on quickly, so you decide to tease him.

“I think if I keep stretching, I’ll be able to do the splits in a week. Don’t you think so, Cho?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Cho? You already gave him a nickname?

Even though you stifle a giggle, it eventually becomes a full-blown laugh. The mere sound brings Choso to a smile before he covers his face sheepishly.

“I didn’t mean to zone you out, I just had a long day.”

“I can see that.” You finish your fit of giggles and move over to his fridge and check to see if you have any leftovers from earlier, “You should eat. There’s some leftover Chinese in the fridge, I can heat it up for you?”

He hurriedly takes his bag off and drops it on the ground before sitting on the countertop. “I’d have to pay you more for your services.”

“You don’t have to pay me, I can’t in my good conscience leave you alone like that. You can barely stand up.” As you microwave some leftover fried rice, you can hear him hum. All the while, his eyes never leave your frame- waist.

“This is actually the first time I didn’t have to rush home early.” He murmurs, his hand holding his face up while he admires you.

As you wait for the timer to end, you turn your attention towards him, “Really? Is that why you took your sweet time coming home?”

He likes how you say ‘coming home’, as if he’s coming home to you. As though you were living together. When he detects the annoyance in your tone, he frowns, “I apologized.”

You notice his pout as you hand him the hot plastic food container. “It won’t happen again if that’s what you’re worried about. Please don’t quit, I really-”

“Woah, I’m not quitting.”

You cut him off, and he can reply with nothing but an “Oh.”

When you gather your purse and keys, Choso watches- You’re leaving already?

“Yeah, you pay really well, anddd I like Yuji.” You were sincere. A salary like this shouldn’t be wasted because of a delayed arrival. At least he informed you that he would be late; that’s better than nothing. And it’s true, you really liked Yuji. It was natural for you to get along with him as if he was already a family member.

It’s endearing how Choso abandons his food to follow after you as you walk towards his door. “It was fun babysitting, Cho! Text me when you need me-”

“Tomorrow? Could you come again tomorrow at the same time?”

You’re momentarily speechless, but remember he’s waiting for a response, “Tomorrow?”

“I might need you for the rest of the week actually, I have a few finals coming up.” Choso is smart. He doesn’t really need to study for these finals, but he figures he can use that as an excuse to have you here, with him.

You stutter out, “Well- Well, I still have to go job hunting..”

“I can triple your pay. Quadruple it if you want.” He said without delay as if he hadn’t offered to pay you more than $500 daily just to spend some time with his brother.

“Is money just not that big of an issue for you?” You laugh, perplexed as to why this man is just throwing money at you like you’re a common whore.

Not when it comes to you, no. “No. Will you come back for the week?” His answer is blunt, honest, stoic even, like he doesn’t catch on to why you’re in such disbelief.

“I- I guess.” At that moment, he offers you a lazy smile and wishes you goodnight. He complemented his words with a sweet ‘You looked very pretty today, by the way.’ Allowing you to drive away in the Uber flustered and thinking about the entire interaction on your way home.

The next four days were the same: Choso left for class, you spent an afternoon with Yuji, and a small conversation and meal between you and Choso happened right before you left for that night in the kitchen. You assumed it would be the same when he asked you to take care of Yuji while he was studying at home.

As you neared the end of the week, those conversations grew longer…and more secluded. Choso is usually found in his room with his face stuffed in a big textbook and his notes. When you sat on his bed, he would move them to the side and give you his full attention.

“So, you’ve never had a girlfriend?” You repeat his statement back at him with a look of apprehension. How is that even possible? He’s hot, rich, and really smart, too. How come he’s not taken?

When he answers you, he doesn’t seem embarrassed, “No. I haven’t met anyone.. interesting, yet.”

You stare at the ceiling as you take in his words, “Are you saving yourself for marriage?”

“I’ve had sex once. It wasn’t memorable enough for me to do it again.” Choso’s face becomes warm when he responds to you. Is it even right for him to share these things with you? He is curious about your thoughts when you don’t speak for an entire minute. His body is shaking in anxiety while he is in his gaming chair.

You huff, sprawled out on his bed, “I don’t think anyone’s first time is the best.”

He raises a brow, making a sound that urges you to finish, “You need experience to figure out what you like and don’t like.”

“Do-Do you have experience?”

You smile and finally turn to look at the pale man, “Why, yes, I do.”

“…Could you teach me some things?”

Silence. Choso doesn’t know why he said that. He’s not sure why you guys are even talking about this. Maybe it was too soon? Maybe you didn’t see him that way? What if you decide to leave?

“M-Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t have to-”

“Sure, I’ll teach you.” Lifting yourself off his bed, you stop in front of the space between his legs. The physical struggle he’s facing to not grab you can be seen as he repositions his eyes on your waist again.

Leaning close to his lap, you place your hands on his shoulders, “If that’s what you really want.”

Your movements are slow, particularly when you put your ass right on his bulge, which has been there since you entered his room. Choso is at a loss with his hands, so you help by positioning them on both sides of your hips. He instantly squeezes and you can’t help but notice that small mewl coming from his lips.

“Is that what you want, Cho?”

His nod is swift and desperate even as his mind starts to get hazy. You smell really good, and the feeling of you on his lap is quickly becoming something he wants more of. His head is already in the crook of your neck, and his soft lips touch you before he tentatively sucks.

You gently pull his head back by his hair, and the sound that comes from his lips is raw and deafening. “Don’t go mute now. Use your words.”

“Yes.. please.” He’s panting, his eyes hooded and low as he gazes into yours. His words prompt you to gently press your lips against his, proving his resolve. He didn’t have much, or any at all, because he snatched your lips harshly. You’re gasping because of the sensation of his hands gripping your waist and pulling at your waist beads. He’s grumbling about how you taste and how you feel so much softer than he could ever imagine.

Choso’s breath becomes choppy when you start grinding against his bulge, and he can even detect your swollen lips through your shorts. His hands begin to creep up your body, and his fingers immediately pull down the top of your tank, exposing your tits. You weren’t even wearing a bra.

You swallow loudly when he releases your lips and lowers his head to wrap them around your dark areola, squeezing the other hand to ensure it’s not neglected. Choso gets lost in your taste and hypnotized by how you twitch and buck whenever he bites gently. He withdraws with a pop and swiftly leans down to fill his mouth with the one his hand was holding.

You gasp out, “Since this is a lesson, I should teach you how to-”

“Eat you out?” Although his words are muffled, you can still hear them clearly. You make an effort to chuckle, but he bites your nipples again, making you release a small moan. There’s no chance to react because he suddenly lifts you up, takes two steps from his chair, and sets you down on his bed.

Choso is prompt and hurries you out of your shorts and panties. The lace pair is flimsy and rips easily due to his strength- his eagerness. His face is flush against your cunt as he forces your legs apart. Even if you tried, you couldn’t move because of his firm clasp.

Your lips are gleaming and dripping on his lips, you are so wet. When he finally drags his tongue between your folds, he can feel your throbbing, “You taste amazing.”

His lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly, causing slight twitching and cross eyes. It’s impossible to think he only did this once. He’s sucking so obscenely and poking at your quivering hole incessantly. Choso is moaning against you like he’s been dying to do this. There’s no way he only did this once. You’re overwhelmed by the way he’s making you feel,

“Right there! Shit- Oh! You’re doing so- so good.”

At the praise, his eyes roll back, and his cock throbs against his boxers. The way he slowly pushes his middle finger into you is riveting, stretching you better than your fingers could ever. Your breath staggers as you let out a sinful moan.

Your hips begin buckling, your beads thrash as you move, and Choso has to put a heavy hand on your stomach to prevent you from running away when he accelerates his ministrations. He’s keeping you steady while curling his finger upwards and punching your G-spot over and over again. He adds another one and twists them, hoping to receive your praise again.

You wail out a beautiful symphony, “Yes- fuck! M’gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum, baby.”

He loves the way you make dirty words sound angelic. He’s the one who’s going to make you cum, he’s the one making you tremble and cry out at the mercy of his tongue and two fingers. The pressure in your stomach is so intense that you feel like you’re on fire, like a dam is about to burst.

“Cum. Please, please. I want it so bad, want you to make a m-mess.”

Your head is turning as he continues to make love with your hole, kissing the hood of your clit with his rough passion. An earth-shattering orgasm rips through you, and your chest rises up and down as your back arches without much help. With your head thrown back, your hands scramble to grab his hair to keep him where he is. He was too determined to savor every last bit of your sweet essence, so he wouldn’t even dare move anyway.

As you stumble out, your body shakes violently, “Ah! You’re such a good boy, Cho.”

Low whimpers vibrate against your core, and you don’t delay in pulling him up your body and kissing him, moaning when you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s becoming needy once more and doesn’t hesitate to start grinding his fat cock against your thigh- his boxers being long gone.

He doesn’t pull away from your lips when he speaks, “Can I put it in now? Please?”

The way he begs is so sweet, and it makes you coo as your soft hand grabs his length to lead it to your sopping cunt. Jesus, he’s big. Abnormally big, how did he hide this?

You’re teasing him by slowly sliding his flushed tip between your lips, never going in. His moans are whiny, and his hips twitch every time he goes over your tight hole. Choso’s balls are churning, he might just cum like this.

“Please- wanna fuck you. Just put it in, p-put it- Fuck.”

His lips swell with a deep moan as you finally push his tip in. You’re so wet, so warm. He has to push the rest of his thick cock inside to feel you clench on him entirely, and he does. He bucks instantly, forcing almost half of him inside your dripping mound, and the stretch he’s giving you is painful but euphoric.

You have to silence Choso with your lips against his lips after he releases another pornographic moan, “Shh, baby. Don’t- Don’t wanna wake your brother up.”

You move your hips, causing him to slip the remaining inches inside you. He’s speedy in pulling back, bringing his tip to your entrance, and then slamming his hips against yours. You’re groaning against his lips, gasping every time you hear a slick noise coming from between your legs.

The sensation of your cunt being so warm and suffocating him back inside with a tight grip is making his mind go into a coma. As Choso gives you deep, sweet strokes, his hold on your waist is harsh, and you anticipate feeling sore tomorrow. He’s not going to last long, you feel too good.

“You’re fucking me so good, Cho! Harder, baby. Just like that, fuck me harder.” He follows your instructions swiftly as if he’s afraid of disappointing you. Your words are motivating him to work harder, to make this experience perfect for you.

He’s whimpering pathetically above you, his thrusts getting harsher and deeper when he fucks into you. “M’gonna cum. You feel so- Shit. Please- Please let me fill you up.”

“Yeah? Wanna fill me up? Beg a little more.” As you whisper in a daze, you’re spent and almost at your peak.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease- Ah shit! Please, mommy!” Choso moans into your neck while his hips bump into yours in uncoordinated movements. Your cunt is a perfect fit against him, he can’t get enough of it.

You were surprised by the impact a single word had on you. You’re wrapping your legs around the man above you, arching your back off the bed as your fat pussy squeezes his cock, releasing your juices all over his body. That’s all Choso needs to dump his seed inside of you, having to bite your shoulder to not release a loud moan that would surely wake Yuji up.

Choso falls onto you, both of your movements still, as your breaths are heavy and your bodies are dripping with sweat. You don’t speak but rather sink into his embrace and the aftertaste. He finally ends the silence,

“I think I know what I like now.”

You make a confused sound, “What’s that?”

“..You. I like you.”

As you prepare to respond, a faint snoring noise interrupts you. He fell asleep. You chuckle and stroke his hair in a comforting motion before kissing the side of his head. Your mind is brimming with unspoken thoughts of,

I like you too.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: Damian decides that it’s time to go collect his brother from his assignment. Danny is starting to sniff out some non-ghostly bullshit for once.

Damian knew his twin had been exiled from the age of seven, banished to travel and observe how scientists around the world engaged with Lazarus water. The only word that Damian received that his spare was still alive were the letters of lab reports and findings that were sent back to base. As the Heir, he’s pushed to be better lest he himself be exiled or simply executed. Danny becomes a fleeting thought and then once Damian arrived in Gotham, a none existent thought.

They weren’t raised to be friends or even friendly. The were not taught codependency or allotted time to bond. The could have been perfect strangers if not for their appearance and the stories of Danny’s shortcomings becoming Damian’s praise.

It’s only once Tim informs him of an intercepted letter, one sent and saved from years prior, that Damian recalls Danny enough to care. Tim prompts him to share more, especially given the coup recently committed by Deathstroke (Slade) and Talia gone into hiding with her zealots.

At family dinner that night Damian supplies: “I suppose I should be the one to bereave my twin of his assignment. His reports will certainly go unread.”

Chaos in the Batfam ensues- meanwhile across the country- Danny sneezes and finishes writing his yearly report: “No major discoveries aside from public record patents (attached), No assistance required. -Spare”. He doesn’t know why he bothers, he hasn’t received any contact from his mother or grandfather since he was 10ish and certainly hasnt thought about his twin. But, if there’s a chance (even an itty bitty one) that his reports are being read and are holding off his reassignment, he’d rather keep assassins out of Amity Park.

Little does he know that this letter is about to be intercepted by Pru, former assassin and friend of Tim Drake. He hadn’t expected his twin to suddenly arrive and tell him that his job was done. And certainly, seeing a plane filled with an uncomfortable looking ‘family’ that requested he join them and get to know Gotham and his birth father, was not on his bingo list.

Danny does his best to let them down gently- and they seem to be accepting that he’s acclimated to this weird little town and will leave him be- when Danny suddenly has to transform into Phantom in front of them to handle a rocket sent by Skulker.

They are less willing to accept his appeal to be left alone after that… Damian is trying to “bond” with him and all the others are trying to “help” in their own way.

Sam and Tucker howl with laughter at Danny’s suddenly very large family- all while secretly working with the Wayne’s to get Danny the fuck away from the Fentons before the scientists do something they can’t undo.

[timmydraker]

Thinking about Vampire Tim AU and him saving Bruce via turning.

None of the Drakes are actually Vampires, at least not permanently. It was a very strange instance that occurred out of pure chance and coincidence.

A pregnant Janet Drake in a foreign country having a run in with a starving vampire rouge that bite her just a few days before she gave birth.

Instead of the curse spreading to her, the labour of her child pushed and the spreading of lifeform spread to her baby as it was born. The child looked healthy, had no inhuman features, and they assumed her being so sick was simply the fact she was about to give birth.

Tim doesn’t realise what he is for a while purely because his parents are vegan and, until he was seven and had some beef from a classmates lunch, hadn’t had any blood enter his mouth.

Having to teach himself everything, Tim learned to manage both his hunger and abilities as quickly as he could. He studied history and mythos and did several test to figure out the limits to what he needed and could do.

He learnt that he could heal via blood, that he could go without air for days, and that his hearing was normal though his sense of smell was enough to distinguish blood types.

He learn that he could go two weeks without blood before it became a problem, but if he pushed it past three weeks he would start to experience literally decay.

Tim disconcerted his saving grace was that the hunger wasn’t as uncontrollable as people made it out to be in movies and books. At most, it was just like normal human hunger or thirst, and he was aware there was a huge variable in him being raised rather poorly.

He keeps it hidden for years, but then when he’s nineteen Bruce dies.

Not Batman, Bruce.

They got in a car crash of all things, the other drive running after they drove them off the road on the extremely rare instance that Alfred wasn’t driving.

Tim watched the tree branch in his foster father’s chest for several minutes as he thought about his options. Bruce was dead upon impact, gone with only the last wisps of life hanging to him.

Bruce was a father.

Batman was needed.

Even though it would out what he was, Tim forced his several sharp teeth out, all needle sharp and long enough his jaw had to unhinge slightly, and bit into his own wrist. The fangs, an inch long each, dug into his skin painfully before moving to dig into each of Bruce’s wrist and then finally his neck.

Tim smeared the blood into all three wounds and then squeezed as much as he could into Bruce’s mouth.

He had no idea how he knew what to do, trusting the instinct the curse seemed to just… give him.

When Bruce begins to breath again, Clark finally shows up. It’s been a total of eleven minutes and Tim only realises that the other took so long because he had been off planet, yet he is grateful because if he had been there…

Tim instructs Clark on how to cover up the scene, removing the cars and getting Bruce to the cave.

Dick is freaking out, worrying over his brothers ripped clothes and Bruce’s clear injuries, but Tim is quiet.

He takes Bruce’s medical cot and leads them both into a containment cell and then seals it, implementing his own lock as well as one of Bruce’s so no one can open it. He can hear someone banging on the glass a few times but he ignores it to stand over his father’s side and wait for him to wake up.

Naturally, when the older man does he’s panicked and screening Tim’s name.

Tim smiles at him sadly before taking hold of his hand, which Bruce immediately process as wrong.

“Why aren’t I dead?”

Smile growing sadder before fading to an almost formal look, Tim squeezed his hand before pulling away.

“I know you’ve had your suspicions and I thank you for trusting me regardless, but you are right. I’m not human Bruce, and now… you aren’t either.”

He lets the worlds settle for just a moment before continuing, knowing the other will want all the information he can. They’re both so similar in that way.

“I was born a vampire, I will always be a vampire. I will explain that all to you soon, but what you need to know is this: you do not need to drink human blood, you will not loose control over your thirst if you allow me to train you, and yes I had no choice. Gotham needs Batman and I-… I need my father. I will not apologise for my selfishness, but I am sorry you have to be like me.”

Bruce is quiet but he doesn’t move to kick Tim out, nor does he shout at him or cry in betrayal.

He’s surprised, but not more than Tim had ever seen before.

It’s almost an hour of silence between them before Bruce speaks again, “You… you are actually nineteen?”

Tim scoffs and Bruce glares, which makes Tim smile more, “I am. My body will age until around twenty five, at least that’s my hypothesis. If you are turned you stay the age you were, but I was born.”

Bruce nods and after a moment reaches out for his son’s hand.

Another silence before he squeezes it, “Have you told the others about… this change?”

Tim winces, “I tried to keep us separated because I knew you would worry for hurting someone, but I knew Damian would break in if he couldn’t listen so…”

“Ah. Understood.”

Then, in another rare instance that Tim thought he wouldn’t see for at least another few years, Bruce opens his arms to him for a hug.

Naturally, Tim crumbles into his father’s arms and sobs louder than a war drum.

Bruce kisses his head and holds him tight, a vampire embrace.

[em1989ts]

𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆

five hargreeves x reader

word count: 1.7k

part one. part two. part three.

summary: after discovering your husband cheated on you with his brother's wife, you run off to a different timeline using the subway, only to find a deli crowded with a familiar face.

author's note: this is my first fic that i'm actually posting lol, if anyone sees this i'll be totally shocked

“Just leave me alone, Five.”

You were speed walking down the steps into what looked like an abandoned subway, desperately trying to avoid the man you thought you knew, who was currently right on your tail.

“Not until you talk to me, y/n,” he pleaded, swiftly trying to catch up. 

“There’s nothing to discuss, Five,” you said in a cold manner. 

You just couldn’t speak to him. Not after what just happened in the living room with him and Diego. After what was just brought to light. 

You wanted to laugh, you really did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do so. 

Why would you hear him out? Why would he believe he had a right to explain himself? How could he? A marriage of over half a century, down the drain. And for what? 

Seven years with her.

Lila. 

His brother’s wife. The mother of his brother’s children. The child of the couple he assassinated. 

It made no sense. 

You angrily sped up and quickly got onto the train that was stopped at the station. It’s white light making you more stressed than you already were. 

The doors shut in his face. Just a couple more seconds and he would’ve been on this train. You would’ve been stuck having to hear him try and save face until the next stop. 

Sometimes the universe lets you win. 

But why not this time. 

You stared at him through the window of the subway car doors. He looked at you pleadingly. You looked at him disappointedly. 

Who was he, because he sure as hell wasn’t the Five you had known since you were thirteen years old. Stuck in the apocalypse with nothing but ashes and him.

 You had thought it was fate. You and him were meant to be stuck together, meant to be there for each other. Even after everything that’s happened. Apocalypse after apocalypse after apocalypse. 

The subway started to move. You stayed standing, staring at him with daggers in your eyes until he was out of sight. He didn’t chase after the car, he knew it was pointless. He knew he’d never get you back. He didn’t deserve you. 

Once the outside of the train was completely dark and all you could see was your own reflection in the window, you turned and took a seat. Hands in your lap, looked straight ahead, drained. 

What were you supposed to do now? Where would you go? 

Maybe this train would take you to a universe with a Five that could never dream of betraying you the way your own did. 

The lights shone over you as you were deep in thought. You had no idea where this train would take you, when it would take you. 

Suddenly, the car slowed to a gradual stop and the doors opened. You wanted to stay on, maybe pass by hundreds of stops until you actually got off the train but you heard footsteps passing by the station. 

Something in the back of your mind told you to get off at this stop, that you would find something important. 

You stood and slipped through the doors. As soon as you turned your head to scan your surroundings, that’s when you saw him. 

How could he have gotten here before you? 

Five was casually walking towards a set of stairs when he saw you and stopped in his tracks. 

You glared and felt a flame arise in you as you stomped over to him. 

“I told you to leave me alone, Five. What the hell are you doing here?” you pointed an angry, accusatory finger in his face but he just grabbed your hand and gently held it in his. 

You were confused, he seemed different. Less guilty. More sentimental. 

Your anger faltered as he stared into your eyes with an admiration you were already starting to miss. 

“y/n,” he said sincerely, “it’s been so long.” 

Of course he wasn’t your Five. You had just jumped onto a multi-dimensional subway for Christ’s sake. 

“Come on, follow me,” he said as guided you towards a stairwell. 

As you descended and turned a corner, warm glowing lights filled your sight. A warming, comforting sense of nostalgia flooded your senses. You looked up and read the lights on the sign, Max’s Delicatessen, as the Five you stumbled across led you inside. The sound of a familiar vintage tune filled your ears. 

Immediately, you felt all eyes travel to your frame. Every single pupil in this room belonged to a Five. The man you never wanted to see again. Each one of them looked at you with a shocked and astounded expression.

 The Five still holding your hand paid no attention and directed you into a booth seat. 

As you sat down, you took in your surroundings. The Fives behind the counter preparing food, the Fives taking orders, the Five delivering food, the Fives whispering at tables. 

There were so many of them, what was this place?

The Five sitting across from you looks in your eyes with a knowing look.

“It’s not often we get one of you around here.” 

You shake out of your confused thoughts and reply, “And what exactly is this place?” 

Before you can get a reply, a waiter Five comes up to the table and places two mugs of coffee in front of you and Five. Before he leaves, he places a couple cups of creamer and packets of sugar next to your mug. 

Without answering your question, the Five in front of you smiles and says, “We keep those in the kitchen and not on the tables since it’s really rare to see you.” 

You give him an annoyed look. 

“Can you explain to me what’s going on?” 

“Right,” he sat up a little straighter and took a sip of his coffee. “You hopped on a subway that took you to an alternate timeline. That timeline just so happens to hold a place where us Fives come after we’ve stopped trying to fix the problem.” He largely gestured to the room full of alternate versions of your husband. Ex husband. 

You stared at him for a few seconds, your brain rattled with questions, before you spoke. 

“Stopped trying? You mean trying to save the world?” 

“Stopped trying to fix the broken timeline,” he replied matter-of-factly. 

“The broken timeline?” you repeated in confusion. 

“There’s only supposed to be one, and I’ll bet you can guess who shattered the original timeline.” 

Before you could reply, you heard a bell as another Five yelled out, “We did.” 

Five made a disapproving yet knowing face as he called back, “Why you always gotta wreck shit, Brisket Five?” 

Brisket Five shrugged at him then winked at you before returning back to his work. 

“Okay . .” you started, trying to come up with the right questions, “So, our existence is the cause of the broken timeline. Is that why there’s constantly an apocalypse?” 

“Precisely,” Five responds, before gesturing to the framed pictures on the wall. “By the way, check out the artwork. All the different ways we made our universe go kaboom.” 

You stare at the photographs on the wall, noticing both familiar doomsday and entirely unique ones. Once your eyes reach a certain point along the wall you notice some framed images of you. Different photos of you and Five, living your lives together throughout the timelines. 

The Five across from you notices your curious glimpse. 

“I mentioned we don’t often see you around here,” he explains. “It’s because it’s rare that you survive your timeline.” 

You quickly turned back to him in response to his statement. You don’t survive? How many of the Fives in this room have lost their y/n? Has the Five in front of you lost his? 

“What do you mean?” 

“You and I will always meet, in every timeline throughout the universe. It just seems that fate doesn’t always take our side,” he says solemnly as he looks down at his mug. 

A Five piped up from the booth behind you, “My y/n was killed by the Swedes back in Dallas.” 

Another from a couple tables away said, “Mine died in the apocalypse, but we had a good thirty years together.” 

The Five in front of you looked up at you and said, “In my timeline, the Handler shot you and you died in my arms. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” 

He gave you such a genuine look. Like he’s felt shame and guilt for so long, his apology was heartbreaking. How could these Fives care so much about you, while your Five forgot all about you. 

“It’s okay,” you looked at him truthfully and took his hand in your, “I’m sure none of your y/ns would ever blame you for their fate, but they would for giving up. They’d want you to keep going, stay strong and do what it takes to save your family and the world. That’s what they loved most about you.” 

You felt bad placing blame on him but you didn’t understand how the man who has spent his whole life prioritizing the safety of his family and overcoming countless obstacles and stopping at nothing to save his family could just give up. Sure it was tiring, but that was the life the two of you lived, together. 

He smiled at you so lovingly it crumbled your heart. 

“Y/n, the doomsdays will never stop coming. The only way to end this constant cycle of saving and destroying the world is if our family ceases to exist.” 

Your heart slowed its beating as you stared at your interlocked hands, contemplating. 

You hated to admit it but he made sense. Whenever your family is all together, everything goes to shit. People always die and the world will always end. 

Before you could respond, you heard the door swing open and a tense tone fell over the deli. 

The Five across from you held your hands a bit tighter as he glanced up at the Five that had rushed in.

Your Five. 

☕︎

part two. part three.

[nyrasvoid]

In the Heat of Battle ⚔︎

♡︎ Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

𖤓 Summary: Lady Caswell defies her family to become a healer in the war of the Stepstones. Amid the violence, she forms a bond with Ser Gwayne Hightower.

⚝ Warnings: violence, sexual assault attempt (nothing happens), includes themes of war and injury and explicit sexual content

♜ Things you should know: reader is from a minor house of the Reach (House Caswell), when the news of war are spread the ladies are given the choice to serve as healers. Reader prefers to serve as a healer in the battle camps than becoming a septa or marrying.

⚝ A/N: this is a bit like the relationship between Robb stark and his wife in GOT, just a reminder that my requests are open 😊

- Word count: 6k words (ik I went a bit crazy this time)

The hall of your family’s keep is quieter than usual, though tension hangs in the air.

You sit at the long table, your hands resting om your lap, trying to keep calm as your mother and father exchange worried glances from across the room. The fireplace is the only sound that fills the room. Your sisters sit nearby, their faces show their concern, while your two brothers stand at the back of the room.

You know why you’re all gathered here. It’s a conversation that’s been pending for weeks, ever since news of the war of the Stepstones reached your lands. You and the rest of the ladies were given a choice, but it’s clear that your family doesn’t see it as one.

Your father clears his throat, breaking the silence. "My daughter, you are the youngest of House Caswell. You must understand the choices before you. There are...expectations. It is time to think of your future."

Your mother nods. "We’ve spoken of this before. You could marry, my dearest. There are lords who would gladly take a girl like you. Or, if marriage isn’t your path, the septas will gladly take you in."

You’ve heard this all before. Marriage or the Faith. Those are the only options anyone sees for you. But they don’t understand. You don’t want to spend your life praying in a sept or playing the dutiful wife. You want something else.

“I don’t want to be a septa,” you say firmly. “And I have no interest in marriage, not right now. The war… they need healers. I can help.”

Your father’s brows furrow. He sits back in his chair, eyeing you with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "The battlefield is no place for a woman, especially not a daughter of mine."

“I agree,” your sister, Melissa, interrupts from across the table. She’s always been the dutiful one, her nose always buried in the books of history. “The gods have plans for us. You could do good in the Faith, sister. Don’t let the horrors of war tempt you from a safer path.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “The Faith doesn’t call to me, Melissa. I’m not like you. I do not hear the call of the Seven like you do.” You look at your sister. “I want to do something that matters, to help people. People who are suffering because of this war.”

“Being a septa helps people,” she tries to convince you, “you’d bring the Light of the Seven to those in need.”

“But that is not what I wish for,” you insist, “I want to help with my hands. Healing those who are wounded. Saving lives.”

Your older brother, Ser Arthur, steps forward, his voice firm. “Do you know what you’re asking for, sister? You’ve never seen war. It’s not some grand adventure. It’s blood and death, and it will haunt you long after the fighting is over.” He pauses briefly. “If you think healing will spare you from that, you’re wrong.”

Your younger brother, Theo, who’s barely old enough to hold a sword, speaks up, his voice shaky. “He’s right. I’ve heard the stories from the soldiers who’ve returned. The screams, the smells. The battlefield is no place for a lady.”

You turn to them. “I am not asking for a knight’s life. I know what war is. I’m not foolish.” You glance between your siblings and your parents. “But I will not stand by while men die if I can do something about it, let me help. It is my choice.”

Your father slams his hand down on the table, startling everyone. “And what of your duties to this house? You think you can just abandon them, throw yourself into the mud and blood of battle?”

Your mother’s eyes fill up with unshed tears, and she whispers, “You’re our daughter, sweetling. We just want you safe.”

You swallow hard, trying to fight back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I know you want what’s best for me. But I need to do this. Not because I want to run away from my duties, but because I want to make a difference. If I can save even one life out there, then that’s worth it to me.”

Melissa stands up, coming closer to you and resting her hand on your shoulder. “Please, sister. You’re smarter than this. You don’t have to go looking for death. The gods have other plans for you, if you’ll just listen.”

You turn to her, “I love you, Melissa. But I can’t live my life praying every single day, locked up in a sept.”

Everyone turns quiet, you could only hear your mother’s sobs and the fireplace.

Finally, it is your father who breaks the silence, his voice rough. “If this is truly what you want…” He shakes his head, sighing. “Then go. Serve as a healer. But do not say I didn’t warn you.”

You meet his gaze, nodding. “Thank you.”

Melissa looks like she wants to keep trying to convince you, but she just sighs in defeat. “May the gods protect you, sister.”

Arthur steps forward, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing”

“So do I,” you murmur, though you know this is the path you must follow, you still have some doubts in your mind.

As you rise from your seat and begin to make your way out of the hall, you feel the guilt of not listening to them, but you’ve made your choice. The battlefield may not be a place for most women, but you are not most women.

You will go, and you will help. No matter what anyone else says.

The morning you leave for the war, the sky is heavy with clouds, as if the gods were trying to tell you it was the wrong path. Your family stands around you, silent in disappointment.

Your mother is the first to approach you. She takes your hand, into hers. Her eyes are still red from the tears she shed last night. "Please, my dearest, be careful," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I know you think this is the right choice, but I can’t bear to lose you. You’re still my little girl."

You feel a bit of guilt but gently squeezed her hand in return. "I’ll be careful, mother. I promise. I’ll write whenever I can."

Your father stands a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. He hasn’t spoken to you since you made your choice.

"My daughter," he says, "If you find that this is too much, if you wish to come home, there will always be a place for you here."

You nod. "Thank you, Father. But I won’t be coming home until I’ve fulfilled my duty."

Your sister Melissa approaches next, she’s spent the entire night in prayer. "I will pray for you every day," she says softly. "May the gods guide you and keep you safe."

You smile at her, grateful for her words even if you no longer share her faith in the Seven. "Thank you, sister. But I will be relying on my own hands to keep me safe."

Arthur steps forward as he pulls you into a firm embrace. He doesn’t speak, but the hug says enough. "You’re braver than I thought," he says. "I just hope you know what you’re getting into."

"I do," you reply, meeting his gaze. "and I will come back, brother. Do not worry."

Your younger brother Theo, looks up at you with sadness in his eyes. "If I were old enough," he murmurs, "I would be going with you."

You ruffle his hair, "Well, I am glad you’re not. Stay here, and keep the family safe for me, all right?"

His smile turns into a pout, but he nods, "Fine," he mumbles. "But you better come back in one piece so we can play like we do."

You give him a small smile, although you want to do this, you do not like the idea of leaving your family behind. “I will come back in one piece, I promise.”

With one last glance at your family, you get on the back the carriage. You know this journey will change you. There’s no denying that. But you also know you’ve made the right choice.

As you ride away, the gates of your family’s keep slowly close behind you, and the view of your home begins to fade.

Your journey to the Stepstones begins, it is a long trip, longer than you expected, and after just a few hours on the ship, you’ve already had enough of the sea.

It’s uncomfortable, and filled with rough men, mercenaries, and knights—making their way to the battle in the Stepstones. Among them, you are one of the very few women, and the looks you get remind you of it.

But you are not alone. On the second day of the journey, you meet Lysa, a fellow healer, although her skills lean more towards battlefield survival and self-defense. She is very brave and before long, the two of you find yourselves sticking together, watching each other’s backs.

One evening, you and Lysa sit on the deck, talking about your families and why you both chose to leave them behind for war.

“So,” Lysa says, “you chose to be a healer instead of a septa. I have to say, I would have done the same, given the choice.”

You smile at her. “I couldn’t bear the idea of spending my life in a sept. Too quiet, too… restricting.”

Lysa laughs. “I get it. I couldn’t stand being tied down either. I’d rather be out here, risking my life, than sitting at home waiting for a husband.”

As you share stories, the bond between you strengthens. You find that you trust her in a way you’ve trusted few people in your life. It’s comforting to have a friend, especially on a ship full of strange and dangerous men.

But not everyone aboard the ship is as decent as Lysa.

That same night, as you make your way to your shared quarters, a man blocks your way. He’s an older knight, his face scarred, his breath stinking of ale.

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he slurs, leaning in too close.

You step back in disgust. “I am a healer, here to tend to the wounded. Nothing more.”

The man chuckles, his eyes roaming over your body. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be doing plenty more. A pretty girl like you… I’m sure the men will find other uses for you.”

You feel sick to your stomach at his words. “I’d rather be eaten by sharks than entertain men like you.”

The man’s smile fades, “You ought to watch your tongue, girl. Do not forget your place.”

“Trust me,” you say loud enough for the surrounding men to hear, “I know my place. It is not in your bed, and certainly not besides a man who reeks like a wet dog.”

You can hear the laughter from the other men around, and the knight’s face flushes with embarrassment. You ignore his presence and go inside your shared quarters.

Lysa claps you on the shoulder when you reach her, smiling widely. “That was brilliant,” she says. “You put that dog in his place.”

You shrug, “I just hope he takes the hint.”

Unfortunately, the old knight doesn’t. Later that night, while you’re asleep, you hear footsteps in the darkness. Before you can react, a rough hand covers your mouth. Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to break free, kicking around as hard as you could.

But before the man can do anything more, he’s pulled away from you, and you hear a familiar voice. “Get your filthy hands off her, or I will slice your throat myself.”

The man growls, but Lysa doesn’t back down, she presses the knife to his neck and slightly cuts it.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Lysa whispers, standing over him. “Try something like that again, and I’ll throw you overboard.”

The knight, humiliated and angry, mutters something under his breath before retreating back into the shadows.

“Are you all right?” she asks, turning to you.

You nod shakily, your heart still racing. “Thanks to you.”

She sits down beside you, her expression softening. “Us women have to stick together out here. There aren’t many people you can trust on a ship like this.”

You take her hand, squeezing it. “I won’t forget it.”

The rest of the journey passes with fewer incidents, though the tension never quite leaves. You and Lysa keep a careful eye on each other, making sure that no one else tries anything again. When the ship finally reaches the Stepstones, you’re relieved to set foot on solid ground.

When you arrive at the healers’ tent, you’re greeted not by the woman you were expecting but by an old maester. He introduces himself as Maester Aegred, and though he is kind, you could see the surprise in his eyes the moment he saw you.

“You’re the healer?” he asks, raising his brow slightly.

“I am,” you reply, straightening your back, “Lady Caswell, sent by my family to serve here.”

Maester Aegred nods slowly, though he seems uncertain. “You’re one of the only women in this camp, I’m afraid. It will not be easy for you.”

“I’m not here because I thought it would be easy,” you say firmly. “I’m here because I want to help.”

The maester gives you a small approving nod. “Very well. Welcome to the Stepstones, Lady Caswell.”

He gives hands you a basket filled with herbs and bandages. “You’ll be starting with the fevered men,” he says, “Boil these herbs for teas, and keep their wounds clean. Watch for signs of infection.”

You get to work without hesitation, the first man you attend looks barely conscious, his face wet with sweat. You dip a cloth into cool water, before placing it gently on his forehead.

“There now,” you whisper, “Rest easy. I’m here to help.”

You prepare the herbal tea as the maester instructed, bringing the it to his lips. He barely sips it, but you’re persistent, bringing him to drink more. His skin is hot to the touch, and you pray the fever will break soon.

As you continue tending to the soldiers, the hours pass by. There’s little time for anything else besides cleaning wounds, applying creams, and offering them tea.

Days pass like this—hard work from dawn until dusk. You grow more accustomed to the sight of blood. Your hands become more skilled.

One afternoon, after days of dealing with nothing but fever and infection, you’re called to tend to a knight who’s been brought in from the front lines. His armor is dented, and his face is pale beneath a layer of blood. His men carry him into the maester’s tent.

“Bring water!” the maestro yells at one of the younger healers before turning to you. “Caswell, I need you over here!”

You rush to his side and assess the knight’s condition. His leg is badly wounded, a deep cut through the muscle. Blood keeps coming through the wrapped bandage.

“I’ll need to clean this and stitch it closed,” you say. The sight of such a severe injury would have once made your stomach turn, but now, you see only the work that needs to be done.

The knight’s eyes flutter open as you begin to work, and he lets out a low groan of pain.

“You’re… the healer?” he rasps, his voice rough from pain and exhaustion.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice calm as you clean the wound. “Stay still, and I’ll cure this soon.”

He’s in pain but does his best to remain still. “Not what I expected,” he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone despite the situation.

“And what were you expecting?” you ask, keeping your focus on his leg.

“An ugly old maester with cold hands,” he says gritting his teeth. “Not… someone like you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” you say in amusement.

He lets out a weak laugh before groaning in pain. “I’m not disappointed… just surprised.”

“You’re lucky to still be alive,” you say as you finish cleaning the wound. “The cut was deep. If you hadn’t been brought in when you were…”

The knight nods weakly. “Thank you… for saving my life.”

“I haven’t saved it yet,” you reply, threading your needle. “This will hurt, but it needs to be done.”

He grits his teeth and nods again, preparing himself for the pain. You work as quickly as you can, stitching the wound closed. Despite his discomfort, the knight bears, only grunting occasionally.

Once you finish, you sit back, wiping the sweat off your face. “There you go. It should heal well if you keep off it and give it time.”

The knight exhales, “Thank you… Lady—?”

“Caswell,” you say simply, not offering your full name. There’s no need for it here.

His brow lifts as if trying to place your family name, and you see the moment he realizes that your house is one of little significance. “Ah,” he says simply, “a Reach girl, then. Far from home.”

“I go where I’m needed,” you reply “as do most of us who serve.” You pause before you realize that you still don’t know his name. “And you are?”

“Ser Gwayne Hightower,” he says, giving you a small smile. “Of Oldtown.”

You pause at the name. You’ve heard of him before, of course—who hasn’t? The eldest son of Otto Hightower, the hand of the King.

You nod, standing up to gather your supplies. “Rest, Ser Gwayne. You’ll need your strength.”

As you turn to leave, he calls after you. “Lady Caswell?”

You pause, turning around. “Yes?”

“Will I… see you again?”

You can’t help but slightly smile at the question. “Only if you’re foolish enough to get yourself injured again.”

With that, you leave the tent, though his words linger in your mind.

The days pass on, and Ser Gwayne Hightower stays in the maester’s tent, recovering from his wounds. Despite the chaos and demands of the camp, you find yourself drawn to him more often than you’d expected. Every time you pass his bed to check on other patients, his eyes follow you. Sometimes, he even offers a tired smile.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just another soldier in need of care. But there’s something about him that keeps him in your mind.

One morning, as you tend to another patient, you hear his familiar voice call out from across the tent. "Lady Caswell!"

You sigh, trying to focus on the soldier’s arm, but Ser Gwayne does not give up.

“Lady Caswell,” he says again, this time louder, "I am dying of boredom over here. Come and put me out of my misery."

You finish your task, shaking your head, but you can’t help but smile. This has become routine, Ser Gwayne calling for you whenever you pass by, always with some comment or complaint. You try not to encourage him, but the man is relentless.

As you approach his bed, you find him sitting up on the bed, looking far better than he did when he first arrived. The color has returned to his face, and his leg, still bandaged, seems to be healing well.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” you ask, crossing your arms as you look down at him.

He shrugs. “Resting is boring. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for days now. I think I’m going mad.”

“And what would you have me do about it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Talk to me,” he replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the only one in this place with anything interesting to say.”

You roll your eyes, but the truth is, you like speaking with him. “And what exactly do you think is so interesting about me?”

He leans back against his pillow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “For one, you’re the only woman I’ve met who’d rather patch up wounds than sit in some lord’s castle or pray to the gods.”

You tilt your head slightly, furrowing your eyebrows. “Is that your way of saying I’m strange?”

His smile widens. “Strange? No. Unusual, perhaps. A good kind of unusual.”

You suppress a laugh. Despite his status, he doesn’t seem to carry the same arrogance as some of the other knights you’ve tended. Still, you remind yourself why you’re here. You’re a healer, not some maiden looking for a knight’s attention.

“Well,” you say, “I’m here to heal wounds, not provide entertainment. If you’re well enough to chat, perhaps you should be focusing on getting better so you can leave the tent.”

“Leave?” Gwayne looks offended. “And abandon the finest healer in all the Seven Kingdoms? Never.”

You smirk. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Ser Gwayne.”

He chuckles but falls silent as you reach for the bandages around his leg. Carefully, you peel the cloth to examine the stitches. The wound looks clean—no signs of infection, and the stitches are holding well.

“You’ve been keeping your leg high, I hope?” you ask, meeting his gaze.

Gwayne nods, “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, “A man can’t lie around forever. I’ve been getting up—only for a short walk around the tent, of course.”

You sigh, “You’ll undo all my hard work if you push yourself too soon.”

“Aye, but how else am I to win your favor?” he teases.

You shake your head, standing up. “You’d better focus on getting well before you concern yourself with winning anything.”

As you turn to leave, he calls after you again, this time more serious. “My lady.”

You pause but don’t turn around. “Yes?”

His voice is softer this time. “Thank you. Truly.”

You nod once before continuing on your way, trying to push the thought of him from your mind. You don’t have time for distractions, not with so many lives depending on you.

Over the next few days, Ser Gwayne’s persistence doesn’t fade. Every time you pass his bed, he finds some excuse to speak with you, to ask you how your day is. You try to remain professional, to keep your distance, but it becomes harder and harder to ignore the way his presence makes your heart skip a beat, even if only for a moment.

One evening, you find yourself alone for the first time in what feels like weeks. You’re sitting outside the maester’s tent, the cool breeze making you feel relieved at least for a moment. For a second, you allow yourself to close your eyes and breathe.

But, as if summoned by your thoughts, Gwayne appears, limping slightly as he approaches. “Lady Caswell,” he greets you.

You open your eyes and look up at him, surprised to see him outside of the tent. “You shouldn’t be walking,” you say.

He lowers himself onto the ground beside you, groaning as he does. “I needed some air,” he says quietly. “And I think you could use some company.”

You sit beside Ser Gwayne in the quiet of the night.

“You know,” Gwayne begins, his voice soft, “this is the longest conversation I’ve had in a while that didn’t revolve around injuries or strategy.”

You chuckle lightly. “I can imagine. It’s not easy finding moments of peace in a place like this.”

Gwayne nods. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before. About how you came here to make a difference.”

“Yeah?” you reply, looking at him.

Gwayne meets your eyes, “You’re doing more than most of us, you know. You’re saving lives, giving hope.”

You blush slightly, “It’s not always easy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m making any real difference.”

“You are,” he insists, reaching out to gently touch your hand. “I see it. I’ve seen the way you care for everyone, how you give everything you have.”

You feel a shiver at his touch, the warmth of his hand against yours.

Gwayne leans closer, his eyes searching yours. “I know this isn’t the place for… this,” he says softly, “but I needed to tell you how much I admire what you’re doing. And how much I appreciate you.”

Before you can say more, he gently closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. You respond, feeling the passion and longing in the moment.

But as the kiss deepens, a wave of realization hits you. This isn’t the time, and it’s certainly not the place for such feelings to complicate matters. You pull back gently, your breath quick.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, standing up. “We shouldn’t… We’re both here for important reasons, and this—” you gesture between you, “—isn’t right.”

Gwayne looks at you with understanding, his expression a mix of regret and affection. “I understand,” he says quietly. “It was a mistake.”

“No,” you correct him, “not a mistake. Just not the right time. We both have too much to focus on right now.”

He nods, his eyes filled with warmth and a touch of sadness. “Goodnight, Lady Caswell.”

“Goodnight, Ser Gwayne,” you reply, offering him a soft smile before turning away.

As you walk back to your tent, your mind is a whirl of emotions. The kiss was a moment of connection, but the reality of your situation settles in. You need to stay focused on your duties and not let personal feelings distract you from the important work ahead.

The next morning you found Lysa outside the tent, sitting on a barrel.

“You know,” she said as you sat down besides her, “I’ve seen the way that knight looks at you.”

You sigh, not in the mood for this conversation. “He’s recovering, Lysa. His mind is clouded with fever and pain. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying.”

Lysa chuckled, shaking her head. “No, his fever broke days ago. Trust me, that man knows exactly what he’s saying.”

You glance at her. “It’s nothing.”

“Is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I see the way you talk to him. You like him.”

You roll your eyes, “Lysa, I didn’t come here for this.”

“Maybe not,” she said, leaning back, her gaze shifting to the distant horizon, “but sometimes life gives you things you didn’t expect.”

You and Lysa were still talking near the tent when the distant thud of footsteps reached your ears. The sound wasn’t normal. It was too loud, too fast. Then, the shouting started.

“Attack!” someone yelled from the other side of the camp.

Soldiers were rushing to grab their weapons as a group of enemy soldiers burst through the camp, moving with terrifying speed.

You turned to Lysa. “We need to get the wounded out of here, now!”

Together, you rushed into the tent where the injured men lay, Ser Gwayne among them. He was awake but clearly in no condition to fight.

“What’s happening?” Ser Gwayne asked, struggling to sit up.

“The camp is under attack,” you replied quickly, moving to help another soldier out of his bed. “We need to move everyone before the raiders get here.”

Ser Gwayne tried to get up, but his leg gave out, and he collapsed back onto the bed. You hurried over to him, “You’re coming with us. No fighting.”

He frowned but didn’t argue.

More healthy soldiers rushed into the tent, and together, you began lifting the wounded onto a cart that had been brought to the entrance. You worked quickly, heart pounding, as the sounds of the attack grew closer.

One of the soldiers, helped you carry Ser Gwayne onto the back of the cart. “Let’s get them out of here!” he shouted.

The man climbed onto the driver’s seat, grabbing the reins of the horses. You and Lysa jumped up on the cart sitting with the wounded.

The horses raced forward, pulling the cart through the camp. You could see the flames now, the camp had been set on fire.

The wounded moaned and shifted with every bump, but there was no time to stop.

“We’re almost there,” the man muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon. You could see the cliffs that bordered the camp, and just beneath them, the mouth of the cave you had mentioned earlier.

The cave was deep enough to hide in, and for now, it was your only chance of getting everyone to safety.

As you neared the entrance, one of the soldiers riding beside the cart let out a sharp scream. You turned to see him clutching his side, an arrow protruding from between his ribs. He fell off his horse, but you couldn’t stop.

“No!” Lysa screamed in disbelief.

“We need to hurry!” you yelled, gripping the edge of the cart.

With a final burst of speed, the cart entered the cave’s mouth.

“We made it,” Lysa breathed, her voice trembling with relief.

You jumped down from the cart to help unload the wounded. The soldiers who had made it into the cave with you began pulling the injured men off the cart, laying them down on the cool stone floor. Ser Gwayne was the last one off, his face pale.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as you helped him to his feet.

“You can thank me when we’re safe,” you replied. Outside, you could hear the distant sounds of fighting in the camp, but for now, the cave was safe.

“We need to stay quiet,” Lysa whispered, moving to stand beside you. “If they find us here…”

“They won’t,” you said. You turned to Ser Gwayne, who was leaning against the cave wall. “How’s your leg?”

“I’ll manage,” he replied through gritted teeth. “But what now?”

You looked around the cave, your mind racing.

“We wait,” you said after a moment. “Just long enough for the fighting to stop. Then we move again.” See Gwayne nodded, although you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

The wounded soldiers groaned softly as they tried to make themselves comfortable on the rocky floor. Lysa sat beside one of them, her face tight with worry as she tended to their wounds.

The night dragged on, and the once distant sounds of battle now sounded closer every moment. You and Ser Gwayne sat at the back of the cave, listening to the clashing steel and the cries of men in the distance.

You stared up through the small opening at the top of the cave’s ceiling, where you could perfectly see the moon high in the sky. You glanced at Gwayne, who was leaning against the wall, his face pale and tense as he listened to the battle. His leg was stretched out in front of him, still causing him pain despite the bandages. Every now and then, you saw his hand twitch toward his sword, as though he were ready to fight again despite his injuries.

"They're not going to stop," you said softly, breaking the silence.

Gwayne looked at you, "No, they won't."

The battle was drawing closer. You had been hiding for hours, and the hope that the fighting would stop had vanished. Even if you went back, the camp would likely be destroyed, the supplies either burned or taken. There would be no help, no rescue.

"We might not make it through the night," you whispered.

Gwayne's gaze softened. He reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. "We might not," he agreed, his voice quiet.

“You ever think about how strange it all is?” Gwayne whispered after a moment. “One minute you’re fighting for your life, the next you’re here… staring at the moon.”

You smiled. “It is strange. But I suppose that’s life. Never quite what you expect.”

He laughed softly at that. “You’re far too calm about all of this. Most people would be panicking out of their minds.”

“Trust me, I’m frightened,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “I just hide it well.”

He reached out, his hand brushing against yours, the touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself shifting closer to him.

“You’re something else,” he said softly, his voice low. There was an edge to his tone, something raw and unguarded.

You felt your pulse quicken. “Is that a compliment, Ser Gwayne?”

“It might be,” he replied, a teasing glint

You looked down at your joined hands. "I never thought it would end like this," you murmured, "In a cave, with nothing left but a few wounded men and no chance to save them."

Gwayne’s grip tightened. "It's not the end yet," he said, "But if it is…"

You took a deep breath, "If this is it… if this is the last night…" You said with a shaky voice, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. "I don't want to spend it in fear."

Gwayne looked at you, he gave you a small chuckle. "You know… I've thought about that too. If we're going to die, why waste the time we have left in misery?"

You look at him, your gaze fixated on his lips "Then let's not."

Gwayne's eyes searched yours, and then, without another word, he pulled you toward him.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, filled with a need that went beyond mere desire.

He pulled you closer with his good hand. The kiss deepened, growing more desperate. You pressed yourself against him, your heart racing as his lips moved down pressing soft kisses against your neck.

He looked back up to you, “My leg’s no good for much, but I’m not about to let that stop us,” he whispered.

You smiled, “Then let me take over.”

Gently, you guided him down to the ground on his back, careful of his injured leg. He watched you with desperate eyes as you sat on top him, adjusting yourself carefully so as not to cause him pain. His hands instinctively slid to your hips, his touch firm but gentle.

Your hands rested on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat racing, matching the wild rhythm of your own. You leaned in close, pressing your lips to his with a tenderness that contrasted with the fierce urgency you both felt.

You broke the kiss for just a moment, sitting up to pull your shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you with raw hunger, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your sensitive nipples.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning up to press his lips against your collarbone, kissing his way down.

You gasped softly as his lips found a tender spot on your neck. Your hands moved to undo the ties at your waist, slipping out of your pants, leaving you completely bare before him.

With his help, you shifted slightly to tug his trousers down. He was already hard, his length pressing eagerly against your thigh as you settled back atop him. The tension between you both was almost unbearable as you pulled yourself up, the tip of him brushing against your wet entrance.

He groaned softly as you lowered your body and began to roll your hips against him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, helping to guide you as you moved.

“Does it hurt?” you whispered breathlessly.

He shook his head as he looked up at you. “No… it feels good. Don’t stop.”

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice filled

with pleasure. He tilted his head up, capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bodies moved in sync, the sound of your panting breaths and the sounds of your bodies clashing filled the cave.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you kissed him harder, your hips rolling harder. You could feel yourself nearing your climax.

“Gwayne…” you gasped his name, breaking the kiss.

He groaned again, his eyes locked on yours as he thrust up into you with what strength he had,“I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice low.

That was all it took for you to come. Your body trembled as you reached your peak, your head falling back. You felt Gwayne follow moments later, his grip on you tightening as he came too, his body trembling beneath yours as he filled you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths in uneven gasps. You collapsed against his chest, your bodies still connected.

His hands moved lazily up and down your back, a gentle, reassuring touch. You lifted your head, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline.

“That… was worth it,” Gwayne murmured, his lips quirking into a tired but satisfied smile.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I think so too.”

“I think I can die at peace now.” Gwayne sighed gazing at the moon.

“I think so too.” you nodded smiling at him.

Pt.2???

[vigilskeep]

i think one of the things i find hard to understand about the aveline hawke dynamic is that. okay the basic setup is that aveline, regardless of her opinions of hawke, has an intense loyalty to them from lothering onwards that is almost impossible to break even seven years later. spying on hawke and potentially interfering with hawke’s brother’s career is what, in aveline’s words, saves her protectively “camping on [hawke’s] doorstep” after what they went through together. i can see what aveline thinks she owes hawke; hawke got them flemeth’s help, and helped deal with wesley in whatever way, and aveline got into the city off the back of the hawkes’ year of indentured work. although the way she shows it is weird and invasive, the reasoning all basically checks out, sure

i guess i just don’t understand what aveline ever did for hawke for hawke to let her do all that without the option to draw a boundary. fleeing from lothering, she doesn’t particularly protect hawke’s family, and all she says as long as she still has wesley is that they can all go back to hating each other when it’s over. and in kirkwall, she never does anything for hawke or hawke’s friends with her guard position, as i’ve been seeing people point out today, despite the extreme danger many of them live in day-to-day through no fault of their own. (and aveline only got that guard position in the first place because the hawke siblings were doing a year of ugly work to get her into the city at all!) she even makes hawke do the work that she doesn’t expect of the guards, and protects guards accused of rape from investigation the way she never does for hawke’s friends. i think a simple conversational mention that, idk, she spent a year helping feed your family while you and your sibling were working off the debts, or a personal quest where the protectiveness of you that she talks so much about actually happens, would do a lot.

the game often acts like she’s doing you a favour just by descending to walking around with the likes of you and your friends. but it’s not like you need that; you can leave aveline out of the party and go the entire game without getting anything from her at all. and it’s not like aveline is actually better than the rest of them to be lowering herself by working with them. the difference, exclusively, is that the privilege she was born with got her access to an above-board position and a legal life. which she shows no awareness of and you can’t point out. annoying!

i don’t just wish you had the option to kick her out of the party because i don’t want her there, although, admittedly, i’d be tempted. i feel like having the option would just make sense for her role as a companion. it’s irritating that you have to deal with how presumptuous and judgemental aveline is without any option to not put up with her, as if you owe her anything. the game lets you treat most of the other companions abysmally, but locks a lot of your roleplaying choices by for some reason always operating on the basic assumption that you and your character must like aveline and want her there, even on 100% rivalry. and i don’t understand why it expects that or what she did to earn it

[brucewaynehater101]

Hm if Janet/ Talia happens there is a chance that Tim met Damian before the rest of the bats, which means there is also a chance that Damian prefers Tim to the rest, which means Damian might either

a) be given Robin willingly by tim

or

b) go with Tim to save Bruce

I love your brain. Fudge. We're gonna add into Lady Shiva [Sandra] too :)

Okay... Hmm... So, Talia and Janet get together in a way that both Damian and Tim know of each other.

Let's just say Jack died when Tim was five, which caused Janet to either take Tim with her or visit Gotham more often. This includes taking Tim to meet up with Talia after the two get serious.

The siblings have a seven year age gap (depending), so the theoretical youngest they can be is when Tim is seven. I would assume Talia is still somewhat enamored with Bruce... So let's say the youngest is when Tim is eight.

This is vital because this is before Tim figures out that Batman = Bruce. Tim meets his maybe brother who's one. He knows he's the son of Batman (which is really cool to the eight year old!!!), but doesn't know who Batman is nor that he should inform him.

Nine year old Tim figures out who Batman is... and does he inform his moms or keep it a secret? Either way, he doesn't tell Bruce about his two year old son. That's Tim's little brother, and he doesn't want to share with Dick (he's nine, y'all. He's intelligent, but he assumes he wouldn't become a brother to Dick. After all, Janet isn't dating Bruce too). Therefore, Tim asks for some lessons from Talia so he can continue being the cool big brother.

Talia asks Lady Shiva to come over and help out. This leads to a romance between Janet, Sandra, and Talia. Tim also becomes well-trained with the bo staff and other measures (he's not training for Bruce, but Janet won't let him kill. She thinks he should be older before making that decision for himself [since she's dating two killers, she can't really tell Tim no]. She's fine with Tim learning how to as long as he isn't actually doing it).

Lady Shiva, after seeing both of her partners with kids, tracks down twelve year old Cass. Cass thus learns to speak with Talia and Janet's resources and becomes an older sister to Tim and Damian. She will spend time with either Damian or Tim [or both if they are together] when she's not spending time with her mom (and the two of them are able to resolve their differences a bit more with Talia and Janet's help). Cass will travel with Tim sometimes to Gotham.

Damian, with Talia, Janet, and Tim around, does not become as adverse or guarded to Bruce's family. It helps that Tim gushes about the Robins and Nightwing to Damian and refers to them as Damian's brothers (but not Tim's. Thus, Tim accidentally gives Damian the mindset that Tim and the Waynes are separate groups that might fight. Damian is extremely loyal, so he'll choose the brother he's known practically his whole life over the strangers he's only heard of in stories [if it came down to a fight]).

Then Robin (Jason) dies. Damian is five and thus much too young to become Robin. Tim talks to Talia (and then Janet) about Tim stepping in.

The moms do *not* want to do this. This would mean less time with Tim, hiding his travels from the Detective, and their soon to he thirteen year old getting into harm's way (even though he's only planning to ask Dick at first).

Tim is a stubborn guy, though, so they agree as long as Tim passes a certain marker in training. It takes a few months, but the moms nervously allow Tim to do what he must. Cass goes with him, though, so they'll be more reassured. She doesn't make her presence known to the Bats, but Tim's gotten used to knowing when she's there or not.

The moms are not pleased when they realize he's Robin. They do find out that Tim is able to lie to Bruce and pretend to be a prodigy with training. Tim tells the grieving man (who's not as focused as he should be) that the kid got experience from gymnastics and mixed martial arts. That's why his base is so good. He also takes down King Snake again and excuses some of his more lethal moves (that he learns to adapt to less lethal) as training from Lady Shiva during that time. He lies that he will have no further communication with the woman (his third mom).

So Tim is a scarily efficient Robin who makes time to visit Damian and his moms (where he also receives more training). He tells Damian that he's merely holding the title of Robin for the kid if he wants it when he's older.

The timeline is a little fucky, but Tim finds out (maybe less than a month into being Robin), that Jason is alive.

At first, he's excited, relieved, and disappointed. Jason can come back to being Robin, but all of Tim's work (him putting up with Bruce's bad attitude [and no. Tim does not tell his moms about that]) is for naught.

Then he visits Jason without informing Bruce to confirm. He quickly understands that Bruce can not know about Jason in that current state. However, Tim encourages Damian to seek out a relationship with Jason (who's Damian's older brother).

Tim goes back to being Robin, and Cass finally gets caught tailing Tim. Tim vouches for her but asks Barbara to look out for her instead of Bruce. Cass is then allowed to patrol and assist Tim officially (as well as gain some independence and her own cases outside of her younger brother).

Jason becomes close with Damian before and after being shoved into a pit. This becomes fractured, however, when Tim first shows up to meet Jason again.

Jason does not like Tim and spits all the shit he did in canon. Tim becomes upset but allows Jason his space. Damian becomes upset with Jason, so Jason reluctantly starts hiding his resentment (he eventually gets to thinking of Tim as a younger brother. It takes a bit, though. It then takes a while for Tim to believe him).

Anyways, yes! Damian knows Tim will give him Robin when the time is right, and they also have healthy communication set up.

[sepherinaspoppies]

New Girl (Modern! Aegon x Aemond x Roommate! Reader)

warnings: voyeurism, threesome, modern incest, blowjob, and many more when I release it lol.

Summary: To save money, you decide to move in with two complete strange guys from a Facebook ad. Unknowingly, one of them is a very well known pornstar and his younger brother, an ​​erotic audiobook narrator from one of your favorite smutty books. What happens when you accidentally find out their hidden– shared secret?

Sneak Peek!

You knew it was wrong, very wrong for you to click on something so private. If the situation was reversed, and Aegon had borrowed your laptop, you wouldn’t want him to deep dive into your personal files. Not that there was anything lewd in your laptop, maybe one picture of yourself in your bikini when you first visited the Dornish beaches, but that was it. 

But what was in front of you, called you out like a moth to a flame. 

So you silently said to yourself: ‘fuck it’– and clicked on the little blue folder. Instantly so, your jaw cast open and your eyes almost bulged out of your eye sockets at what you saw. A list of multiple pornographic videos of Aegon splayed across the screen. You knew he was a pornstar, and his videos were all over the internet; but why did he have them saved to his laptop? 

Perhaps as backup? 

However, a hard drive was a better option to save his work.

You randomly clicked on one video before you made sure to lower the volume and the brightness of the screen. That’s when you saw a close up of Aegon and his curved–hard dick, you assumed he was adjusting the lens and you were right as he walked out of frame, revealing a black haired woman on her knees with another guy’s dick in her mouth. 

Oh Seven Hells. This was a threesome! 

But who was the other guy? You could only see from his chest down, his face out of frame. Though, he looked very well endowed as the woman sucked less than half of his length down her throat. 

“Take more of his cock, darling. There’s plenty of room down your pretty throat to fit ten inches.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

You watched amazed as the woman seemed to comply with Aegon's orders and took the guy’s dick further down her throat, slowly and vehemently. The guy cradled the back of her head, fucking her at a languid pace until that pace began quickening ardently and you could hear the woman’s cries and gags as she struggled to take all of him. 

This continued for a few more minutes until the guy tugged her head away from his dick, giving her no time to relax her rapid breathing, and between him and Aegon they positioned her into all fours. 

Aegon thrusted into her without any warning or hesitation, bestowing many harsh slaps to her ass that even you could see his hand prints from the other end of the screen. 

The mysterious guy crawled in front of her, his dick still very hard as he pointed his swollen, red tip to the bottom of her lip, smearing what looked to be pre-cum. For the first time, you heard the guy moan, and you swore you recognized those moans from somewhere. 

You looked closely at the screen, at the guy; until you made out a dragon tattoo sketched on the guy’s left thigh. You knew that tattoo all too well. And who that tattoo belonged to. 

Aemond fucking Targaryen.

-----

this is for kinktober and might be more than one part!

let me know if y'all wanna be tagged in the full fic by commenting down below :))))

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [2/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3115

Summary: The Night’s Watch was a nightmare to the one eyed prince. Longing for his freedom once more, the gods decided to toss a coin and play with him. Meeting a peculiar wildling that could be his answer. And the Targaryen prince could be the answer to her people. 

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.”

Aemond knelt before the weirwood tree as he spoke the watch’s oath. Although he was devoted to the seven, a hint of guilt lies deep in his heart. He recalls how his mother devoted her life to the seven and prays daily to the sept. Praying for him, Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, her own mother, it felt wrong kneeling in front of the old gods. What would his mother say of him?

Does she know that he’s alive?

Did Lord Stark told her of his fate? 

He could only get lost in his thoughts as he stood up to face his commander. The summer snow falls heavy upon his now black garb, traditionally worn by the order. He should’ve had drowned in that lake alongside with Vhagar and his uncle. Why did the gods saved him just to give him a fate worse than death? 

May the gods be with me.

“Just so you know, new recruits are sorted into three orders. Rangers, warriors of the watch to patrol beyond the wall and fend off any wildling. Then we have Builders, tasked to maintain The Wall itself such as castles, arms, and all that shit. And uh last we have Stewards, cooking and tending horses,” His commander said.

“As much I would love to put you as a Steward, princey…we all know you are needed as a Ranger. You are a skilled warrior aren’t you not?”

Aemond could only stare at the commander, letting out a quiet hum. “You don’t talk much do ya?” Stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “It’s better that way,” Aemond replied coldly.

The northerner scoffed, spitting onto the ground. 

“Cocky little shit.”

Walking away from Aemond alongside with the other crows. Turning his back on them, Aemond stared down at the weirwood tree. It was laughing at him. At his demise, his fate. The old gods were not with him. He cursed them under his breath, stomping away from the scene as his cloak dragged across the snow. 

Training with the northerners wasn’t any different than he had with ser Criston back then in the keep. It’s even easier for his liking. Aemond being a skilled swordsman he is, didn’t hesitate to show off his skills as he competed with new recruits of the watch. Even the ones that were longer in the brother hood had to put up a good fight to keep up with his skills. Yet Aemond was persistent on winning every single time.

“Get up,” Aemond said coldly to a young boy aching in the ground after getting hit by Aemond. “We are not done yet. I said get up,” he repeated himself. Is this the kind of men that they’re sending to the wall? Meek and puny men who are supposed to defend the realm from savages and creatures? 

Pathetic. 

“Stand up straight, boy,” Aemond told his competitor, tapping his leg. “Keep your legs strong if you want to live,” he said before striking again, thankfully the boy paid attention and kept his form strong. It went on for awhile after Aemond defeated them again and again. 

“Enough!” His commander’s voice boomed. “You, Targaryen.” Pointing at the one eyed prince. Approaching Aemond, he questioned, “What d’you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“That’s enough.”

“These men aren’t ready—,”

“—oh now you’re lecturing me? A fucking know it all?”

“Yes I know it all. You’re sending these men into a death sentence,” Aemond pointed his sword towards the new recruits. “Is that what this brotherhood is meant for? Sending men into their deaths because they chose not to die sooner in the hands of you northerners? This is not honour, this is a—.”

Before Aemond could even finish his sentence, his commander punched him in the face, hard. A punch he haven’t felt in years throughout his youth. Tumbling to the ground, Aemond felt his cheek was sore and aching. Wincing in pain, he felt his nose bleed.

Stupid northerner.

Licking the blood flowing through his nostril, he scoffed. “That’s what you northerners always do, hm? Finishing the matter with violence.” Prancing up, Aemond wanted to behead his commander right there on spot. But he was held back by the other watch members. Grunting, ordering them to let him go, their grip only tightened.

“If it weren’t for Lord Stark, I would’ve stabbed you here for tainting the watch’s name.” Tapping Aemond’s chin with his own sword. “You’re lucky you’re protected under the starks, boy. Or else your corpse would be lying in the forest as those savages feast on ya.” Tapping Aemond’s cheek with a mocking laugh before his men threw Aemond to the ground, leaving him alone. 

His clothes, once neat and tidy, were now tattered and stained, clinging to his battered frame. Aemond lets his legs give up as he was left alone in the field. Even if his face was in pain, he was relieved that he is finally alone in this dreadful place. Even if it was for awhile, he savoured the moment and laid back on the cold harsh ground of the north.

Looking up, he saw the sky being dark and grey. Snow has stopped falling from the sky, that’s also relief. He wondered what his mother is doing right now. Is she praying for him? For his brother? What about Helaena? Has she forgiven him after what he had done and asked her for? She was kind. Helaena didn’t deserve the war or any of them. Not even himself.

What of Alys? His newborn? What does he look like? Will she successfully give him an heir? But what is the use of an heir if he is not present to see its birth? If he has lost the war. If the blacks had claimed the throne and cast his family aside? Was the war actually worth the fight? He should’ve perished at that lake to end his misery. At Least he didn’t have to endure the aftermath of the war. But now he’s nothing but a crippled Targaryen, surrounded by a useless brotherhood that we would die to escape from. 

A crow flew above him, landing on one of the trees surrounding the base. 

He used to see dragons flying above him. 

Now he is only left with dreadful black crows.

Yet they are free. Unlike his fate. Trapped in a cage he wished to be free from. 

May the gods be with him. 

He wasn’t surprised when they put him on duty that very night to the Nightfort. Of course they put him in the Nightfort. They said that the fort was haunted since it’s twice as old as Castle Black. Aemond sighed, lighting up his torch looking around the barely standing fort. They would have abandon this fort in a few years. Aemond didn’t mind the dark or the haunting noise of the creaking floors of the fort. For Harrenhal was far more haunting than this old fort. 

Even Alys’ visions were far much terrifying. 

He saw a few men on the ground as he stood by the bridge of the old fort. Scared shitless when they felt a small blow from the wind. “Cowards,” he muttered under his breath. The cold wind swept his hair as he stomped through the old fort. Yet when he slowed down, he heard a double foot step. He kept walking.

Tap…tap..Tap..Tap..tap..Tap..tap.

A quite tap was heard from a distance trying to sync with his steps. 

Someone was following him.

For the love of the gods, Aemond whined in his head. He drew out his sword and faced his stalker, finding the boy he duelled earlier raising his arms with a shocked expression. “I-I’m sorry!” The boy stuttered in fear as Aemond’s sword touched his chin.

“Why do you lurk in the shadows, boy? Did they send you to assassinate me?” He accused the boy.

 “N-no, ser—,”

“—Prince. Prince Aemond.” 

The boy swallowed a lump in his throat.

“My pr-prince..I…I am not here to kill you.”

“Then why did you stalk me in the dark?”

“I…I did not want to disrupt your peace. I swear it!”

Aemond stared at the boy for a moment, trying to find guilt in his expression. Yet he found none, so he lowered his sword. “Speak,” he commanded. “I…I..I am..scared…of the nightfort.” The boy’s confession made Aemond scoff, “Those stories they tell you were only lies.” Walking ahead, not bothering to stop and have a proper conversation with the young recruit. “Oh but it’s true!” The boy jogged, catching up to the Targaryen prince. “My brother saw a ghost in the halls. It was the perished wildling who died in this fort!”

Rolling his eye, Aemond said, “Lies.” 

The boy curiously looked at Aemond as they walked side by side. “What happened to your other eye?” A question that Aemond’s sick of hearing and answering. “My nephew took my eye when we were children,” he coldly said. “Why a sapphire?” 

No one ever asked him that before.

Only his mother asked him why he chose a sapphire. He remembered her smiling when he requested a sapphire to replace his eye. He remembered how she told him it suited him. How it made him handsome.

He smiled thinly at the memory.

“Symeon star eyes,” Aemond proudly said.

“The blind knight? Ah yes that makes sense. I read about him once. He’s an amazing hero, isn’t he?” The young boy asked, intriguing Aemond. “He is..and he is a brave knight. Taught me that being blind does not mean you must limit yourself from greatness.” Touching his sapphire eye, he recalled how uncomfortable it was when they placed the stone into his socket when he turned 13. But now he is used to it. As time went by, it slowly moulded into his skin. It was his identity now.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Jack.”

“And how old are you now?”

“I just turned Ten-and-three now.”

He was just a boy.

Aemond stopped in his tracks, “You are merely a boy. Why are you here at the watch?” Aemond asked curiously. 

“I wanted to.”

Aemond scoffed.

“It’s true! I want to be a crow! My brother was one and I have become one!” 

“Where is your brother now?”

Jack went quiet, looking down to his feet. “He died. A wildling shot an arrow through his heart,” he answered. Aemond sighed, in normal circumstances he would not say anything and leave the matter behind. But Jack’s loss reminded him of his own. Aegon. “I lost my brother too,” Aemond said reassuringly. Jack looked up, wiping a snot away from his nose. “You did? What happened to him?”

“He was poisoned. By his own council, I heard,” Aemond vaguely said. “Oh, you were a prince, weren’t you?”

“I still am.”

“What is it like…riding a dragon?”

Trying to recall what it was like to mount on dragonback, feeling the wind blowing through him as Vhagar took him up to the skies, he answered,

“I was free.”

He missed Vhagar. His only companion. The only thing that made himself worthy. Without Vhagar, what is he? Without his claim as prince, what is he? Just a skilled swordsman who coincidentally has silver hair. What has he put himself into?

Crack. Thump.

Aemond turned his head towards the haunted forest. “What was that?” Jack asked. “D’you think it’s a squirrel? Or a bird?”

Thump. Thump. 

“That is no bird, boy,” Aemond warned, shielding Jack from their surroundings. 

Swish- crack!

An arrow shot beside his head. 

“Wildling,” Jack says in horror

Aemond pulled the arrow out from the wooden walls of the fort. Examining its sharp carved edge of the arrow. It was clearly handmade with lack of detail, yet it is efficient to kill. “Warn the others,” Aemond said under his breath. “What?” Aemond rushed and hurriedly push the boy out from his place. “Warn the others. We’re under attack.” Aemond’s words drove Jack into panic before he runs away from the bridge. Leaving Aemond alone with the wildling arrow.

Pulling his sword out once again, Aemond aimed the sword around him.

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

“I know you’re there. Show yourself!” Aemond commanded, “Do not hide yourself from me, you savage!” 

Thud. 

He felt the floor shake as he heard something- or..someone jumping inside the bridge he stood on. Before he could fully turn around, the wildling pounced onto him. He landed on the floor with a thud. Aemond hastily aimed the sword to the intruder but when he looked up, he saw a she-wildling curiously looking down at him.

Her messy wavy hair was braided disorderly as it hangs above his face. He felt how thick her fur clothes were as a few leftover snow stuck onto her fur slightly falling when she pounced on him. Aemond was ready to strike if the wildling made sudden movements or even dared to harm him. He glared at the she-wildling, gripping his sword. 

“Do as you please, wildling. And I shall stab your hea-.”

She curiously lifts a strand of his hair. Feeling the texture of his hair. 

What?

She looked at his hair with a smile, “It’s actually silver,” her sweet voice said with a chuckle. 

“So you speak?”

She looked down at him, “Of course I do,” she answered with her thick rough accent. “Good. Then keep your hands off me!” Shoving her away, Aemond quickly stood on his feet. Pointing his sword at her. 

“Where are the others?”

“What others?” She smirked.

“Do not think this is a joke, wildling. We know your attacks—,”

“—Attacks? No! No! Gosh.” 

What is this wildling trying to do? Play with him?

“You’re different.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re not from the north,” she repeated, stepping closer towards him in which Aemond does not want her to do, still keeping his sword pointed at her. “And you’re not here by choice,” she continued, stopping right in front of his sword. One step closer, Aemond could stab her through her chest with his sword. “Is it true?” She asked.

“What?”

“That you are those people who owned a dragon?”

“What does a wildling know about dragons?”

“Surprisingly we know some things,” she lightly said. “And my grandfather has seen two dragons flying above the wall. But they refused to go beyond the wall.”

King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. 

His ancestors.

“What do you want, wildling?”

“I have a name, y’know.”

She spoke of her name that sounded foreign to his ears.

“I do not care of your name, tell me why are you here before I drag you to the watch—,”

“—oh, now you’re loyal to the crows? The last time I saw you, you threw a punch at the Lord Commander.”

What? How did she know of it?

“Were you spying on us?” Aiming his sword closer to her throat. “Oh really? You’re asking me that? We’re wildlings, of course we spy on crows like you. Or are you really one?” Her question made him grunt in frustration. “Tell me why are you spying on me?”

“Because you’re different. You didn’t ask to be a crow!”

“You do not know that!”

“Oh but I do. I do,” she challenged him.

“And not to mention, your purple eye and sapphire eye caught our attentio-.” Aemond frustratingly tackled her down. “You’re wasting my time,” he hissed at her. Their faces are inches away from each other. She scoffed, “Am I? Or am I making your job far much more entertaining? You seem bored being stationed in this old fort,” she chuckles. 

This woman is insane.

“This is going nowhere. For the last time, tell me why are you here,” he warned her. “Before I cut your throat, you savage.”

“Do you want to be trapped among these crows, snow haired?” She asked. 

Did he want to be trapped amongst these crows?

The watch?

No. 

But he could not admit that.

Not to a fucking wildling.

“You know nothing, wildling.”

“Oh but I know some things. I know you wished to be freed from this prison.” 

He did.

He did want to be free.

“You are such a know it all, wildling.”

“Aye, I am a savage. But I am also a free woman. Do you want to be free like me?”

Her eyes bore into his healthy eye. “If you were to kill me, you could’ve done that minutes ago. You would’ve cut my throat right here, right now. But you didn’t. For you knew my offer is too interesting to igno-,”

“Do not test me, you savage.” 

She scoffed at him.

“Then do it. Cut my throat. Drag me to those men you call brothers,” she challenged him.

Aemond aimed his sword at her.

One swift motion, her throat would be slit and she will lie there lifeless in his arms. That's easy. 

But why couldn’t he move?

His sword just stayed in place. 

He was a ruthless warrior who burned everything to the ground. He slew the strong family line. He killed those bastards and beheaded their men. Killing a wildling is nothing to him.

But he didn’t.

Fuck.

For she could free him from the watch. 

“Come with me. And you can escape from this place. I can help you go back to your home behind the wall. If you agree to come with me.”

She can take him home?

To Kings Landing.

His mother.

The keep.

“And you can help us as well. You don’t have to stay and become a crow—,”

“Targaryen!”

He heard a watch man called him from afar with Jack pointing to Aemond’s direction with the wildling. “Ah so that’s your name. Targaryen,” she jokingly said with a light laugh. She shoved Aemond away making him stumble back onto the hard floorboards of the fort. “Catch her!” He heard a watchman said again as they ran towards them. Aemond picked himself up and was ready to leap and stab the wildling. 

To no avail, the wildling was swift and jumped on the edge of the bridge. 

“This is my cue to leave. My offer stands still, Targaryen. We shall meet again.”

Giving Aemond a wink before jumping down, nowhere to be seen. Disappearing into the cold night air.

a/n: woohooo Aemond finally gets to meet the reader! Hope he’s fond of us🫶🏻🐇 Anw thank you for reading this chapter until the end! I will upload the next chapter asap<3 Alsooo I currently don’t have any taglist so if you want me to tag you in upcoming chapters just LMK🌷

🍰current tags: @suntizme @8812-342 @ladytargg @barnes70stark @magpiewritingsforonce (bold means I can’t tag you and idk why😔🐦‍⬛)

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | vii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You don’t sleep a wink that night. How could you? You are living a waking nightmare and the monster isn’t under your bed…It’s right outside and locked you in before it left.

First, shock shackles your body to the bed. For hours, you’re numb, barely moving. Thoughts collide in your head. While staring at the tapestry on the wall, you try to peel back the layers of your hazy memories. Nothing matches.

Coriolanus was kind to you wasn’t he? He brought you gifts, listened to you, wiped your tears, soothed your sorrows. So many times you lost count. You were drowning in the grief of losing your brother. The world dulled to pale colors. Life lost its flavor. Every breath you took was hell, your heart feeling like it could shatter at any time. 

Then he came back into your life. It all seemed to make sense. Divine mercy perhaps.

You lost a brother and gained another one. Though not bound by blood, you shared history, a fondness for Sejanus. 

Or so you thought. 

Now you find yourself questioning everything. His sweet smiles. His reassuring words. His gentle gazes. Was any of it real? Or has Coriolanus been a wolf all along and you the sheep willingly walking to their slaughter? 

Still, you can’t fathom why he would do that, betray you, hurt you. You couldn’t make sense of the bleeding wound inside your heart and it’s what hurt most. The utter confusion. 

Your world has been flipped upside down and you’re dizzy from it.

Eventually, you start to move. You rise on wobbly legs and peer at your surroundings. The room you found beautiful before is now a gilded cage. 

You rush to the stained glass windows, peeling back the velvet curtains. Sunlight spills inside the room. This should be a perfect morning. The sun’s gentle warmth kissing your skin, the prospect of another peaceful day. This should delight you. Instead, dread clutches your insides at the thought of his return. Who knows what he’ll do now that you’ve voiced your doubts about him? You can already see the change in him, the way his voice grew colder, his harsh gaze sending chills down your spine.

Anything can happen now and you’d rather not stick around to find out how much worse everything can get. You need to find your way back home. 

You try to push the windows open. Horror freezes your blood as you realize the windows have been locked too, only opening by a tiny crack as you frantically shake the handle. A sliver of snowy air blows inside the room, making your white nightdress flutter. 

Dejected, your grip on the handle slackens.

You rub your arms as goosebumps erupt on your skin.

As your gaze wanders outside to the statue of Lady Justice in the far distance then drops below, your stomach sinks. It’s at least seven stories between the Snows’ penthouse and the ground. Even if the window could be opened, you’d crash right to your death if you tried to sneak out that way.

You stagger back from the windows. Your shoulders slump, regret tugging at your heart. You should have left with William that day. It may have been hard to explain everything and save your engagement, but at least you’d be home safe with him and your parents. 

If you hadn’t been such a coward, maybe none of this would have happened. 

You can’t help but feel that all of this is your fault. You let him in. You believed every lie gliding off his silver tongue. You made space for Coriolanus Snow in your life and now it’s all falling apart. 

You keep inspecting the room. There are no secret passageways, as some old houses tend to have. Nothing but four infuriating ornate walls. You look inside the vanity and rummage through your hair accessories. A flicker of hope blooms inside you when you find a hairpin. It’s the closest thing to a sharp object in the room.

You head to the door and insert the hairpin in the keyhole after bending it straight. You read that in a book before when you were little. A princess was trapped in a tower and used her hairpin to twist the lock open. You hope there is a seed of truth in that tale and that, like the princess, you can trick your way to freedom that way.

But no such miracle occurs.

Instead, the hairpin gets stuck in the keyhole and breaks. Tears fill your eyes. Your hands spread over the wood as you slide down to the floor, sobs shaking your frame. You end up at the bottom of the door with your knees against your chest.

A wave of despair surges inside you. You’ve tried all that you could. There is no way out. The only thing left to do is to wait. The thought alone makes your pulse go haywire. It’s impossible to predict what state Coriolanus will be in when he returns.

The panicked course of your thoughts is halted when the door jostles behind your back. You jump to your feet. Terror grips your throat as you watch the door slowly open.

Your eyes go wide at whose head peeks through the slight opening.

“Tigris,” you whisper.

She smiles as she fully enters, clicking the door shut behind her.

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to come down and have tea and petit cakes with me and Grandma’am.”

Disbelief draws a shocked gasp from you.

“Tea?” you exclaim, your voice high-pitched. “I need to go home, Tigris.”

Her gaze darts about the room as she twines her hands behind her back. “Coriolanus said you two will talk when he comes back.”

For a few minutes, you gape at her like she just grew a second head. Surely, Tigris cannot act like any of this is normal? Is she in on whatever the hell this is?

Once more, betrayal stabs at your chest. She too became such a good friend to you, the two of you growing even closer the last few weeks. The idea of her deceiving you too makes your mind throb.

You take a firm stride towards the door and shout at her.

“Let me out!”

Still impeding your path, the blonde sighs.

“Coriolanus said you might be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Unwell and a little…distraught.”

Distraught?

You let out a wry laugh. This isn’t happening. None of this can be. 

“I’m not distraught! He locked me in here!”

Tigris gives you a long onceover, sadness dimming her face.

She then approaches you. Before you can process what’s going on, Tigris’ hands unfold from behind her back, her fingers snapping a metallic object around your wrist quickly.

“What are you doing?” you screech. Using your surprise, Tigris attaches the other end of the object around the bedpost, effectively shackling you to the bed. 

An appalled exhale leaves you as you pull at the handcuffs. They tear into your flesh every time you try to yank yourself free. You grimace at the pain.

Guilt creeps on her angular features.

“I’m sorry.” Hugging her frame, she steps back. Not meeting your gaze, she explains, “He said it was for your own good, that it was for the best after last night. After he found you standing on the windowsill and you almost…” A foreboding sensation mounts inside you. She lifts her head. Her honey orbs glisten with unshed tears. “Do you really miss your brother that much?” She puts a hand on her mouth, a shaky sob wracking her slender frame. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” 

For a while, the words are glued to your throat, struggling to get out as disbelief engulfs you.

Coriolanus lied about you trying to…

Anger and horror bleed inside your chest.

You lick your lips, your tone ginger as you say, “I do miss my brother, so so much, but I’d never…I’d never put my mom through that again.”

Tigris’ mouth wobbles. She doesn’t make a move to untie you and you grow frustrated.

“He is lying, Tigris. He lied to me and he’s lying to you too.”

“He said that’s exactly what you’d say, that you’d do anything to get out and…finish the job. That you’d even make up stuff about him.”

A wave of ice settles over you.

She heads for the door and you pull even harder on the handcuffs, uncaring of the dents the metal prints into your flesh.

“Tigris! Tigris, don’t you dare leave me here!”

Hand resting on the doorknob, she gives a sad smile.

“I’ll have the maid bring you some food.”

Your heart sinks. As the door slams shut, you collapse on the floor. First, Coriolanus. Now, Tigris. You thought you were amidst friends.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

As Tigris instructed, food is brought to your room. Each time the click of the key into the lock reaches you, your nerves thrum with panic. You keep expecting Coriolanus. But this time, it’s the maid. Allegra, you believe her name is. You wonder what must be going through her mind, if she’s been handsomely compensated or simply doesn’t care. It wouldn’t surprise you if she didn’t. It’s no secret the elite of Panem treats lower classes like they’re invisible, disposable really. Invisible worker bees meant to make their lives easier. So why should the girl care about some rich heiress’ plight?

She places a silver tray next to you on the carpet. A bowl of fruit and a glass of water sit on the tray. Disdain scrunches your features as you glare at the food. You’d rather starve. At least then, you’d be free. 

“Allegra?” you call the girl.

She smiles at you, her tone perky. It unsettles you. How can all of them act like any of this is normal? 

“Yes, miss?”

“You have to help me.”

You feel awful for even asking. You know this could get the girl in trouble. But you are desperate.

Unfortunately your pleading tone leaves her unfazed. The cheerfulness doesn’t fade from her tone as she states, “Master Snow will be back soon.” A shudder runs through you at the mention of his name. “You must feed yourself until then.”

You twist your shackled wrist. “With one hand?” 

She lets out a little chuckle.

“Very clever, miss, but the food has been diced so you simply need to-”

Irritated, you kick the tray with your foot. The food and utensils fly across the carpet and scatter with a loud clatter. 

The maid flinches back, her smile faltering for a few seconds. She then makes a beeline for the door, mumbling under her breath.

“Apologies, miss. I’ll leave you be.”

The following hours slog forth at a snail’s pace. You’re on edge the entire time, awaiting the inevitable return of the architect of your downfall. Multiple times, you try to free yourself. Your wrist grows sore. You even consider breaking your own bones but then remember you’d still be confined to the bedroom, and your chances of escaping will simply dwindle with a broken limb.

It’s dark outside, stars already peppering the purple sky, when the noise that has your heart racing lands in your ears once more. The slide of the key into the hole.

You go still, cowering against the foot of the bed. Air rushes inside the room as muffled steps pierce through the silence. You sense movement in the corner of your eye. 

You shiver on the floor, too terrified to move a muscle.

The door closes and your heart leaps to your throat.

The sound of his firm steps grows louder until they stop near you. Fear sings in your blood, your eyes darting about the carpet. There is nowhere to hide. Your skin heats from how exposed you feel in nothing but your thin white nightgown.

Coriolanus unleashes a deep sigh as he crouches before you. His blue gaze follows the trail of the food you tossed in your ire.

“I see you’ve made a mess, princess.”

“Screw you.”

His cheek pulses, his eyes narrowing briefly.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. You know I care about you…” His fingers stretch towards your face but you swiftly turn away. Annoyance flickers on his face, his hand falling to his side.

Poison spills from your tongue.

“You’re keeping me here against my will, Coriolanus. How else is it supposed to be?”

“You threw wild accusations at me. I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Let you out so you can besmirch the Snow name, my reputation?” He gets on his feet, brushing absent dust from his impeccably tailored pants. “I don’t want to do this, but you’re making me princess. We were great, you and I. Why can’t we just go back to-”

“You lied to Tigris about last night,” you interrupt. “You lied about the night at Clemensia’s. You’re a liar, Coriolanus. It’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done.” Your voice breaks, tears sizzling the back of your eyes. “I mean, were you and Sejanus even that close?” You lift your gaze to meet his. He freezes, his focus on you sharpening. It hurts to even utter the words, suggesting that the last few weeks have been a lie as well. As much as it shatters your heart to acknowledge it, grief may have blinded you to obvious truths. Your entire friendship with Coriolanus was a house of cards he meticulously built. A tower of lies. “I remember when we were little, you never harassed him like all the other kids but was it all just because…” A humorless chuckle bursts from your tongue. “You thought such uncouth behavior was beneath the son of the great Crassus Snow?”

The muscles of his jaw clench, fury setting his eyes ablaze. He reaches inside his breast pocket and approaches you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins. He shoves a tiny key in the handcuff tying you to the bedpost. The shackle comes loose. You get no time to process that your wrist is suddenly free as he hauls you from the floor.

“You ungrateful little wench,” he snarls, picking you up and flinging your body across the bed. You try to crawl off the bed but he’s faster than you. He drags you back so he can loop the chain of the handcuffs around the carved holes in the headboard. He closes the loose handcuff around your free wrist, effectively binding your hands above your head.

Hope flatlines inside you. You shake your head as he begins to angrily unbutton his pants.

Your voice trickles out in a terrified tremor.

“Coriolanus, don’t…”

“I mean, who do you people think you are? You, your parents, Sejanus…all of you are district scum pretending to be the same as us.” he sneers, leering at you with a confounding blend of lust and hatred seared in his blue orbs. “I mean I almost forgot that you were…Almost.”

He fumbles with his pants and boxers until his swollen length springs free. Your mouth dries. His tip is already glistening, the vein running along his shaft pulsing. A chill slithers through you as he begins to crawl to you, his weight making the mattress sink.

His gaze is clouded with desire. You’ve never seen that expression on his face and it makes your blood run cold.

You pull uselessly at your shackles, sobs shaking your frame. When you attempt to close your legs, he wraps his hands around your ankles and crudely spreads your legs apart. He wedges himself between your thighs, using his knees to trap you in this position.

His warm breath breezes over your face when he leans over you. His long digits creep beneath your nightdress. The material gathers on his arm as he finds his way to your core. Your heart pounds a cacophony in your ears. You squeak as his fist squeezes around the lace, tugging hard enough to rip your panties completely.

He nuzzles your neck, teeth nipping at the skin there. 

“You should feel lucky I can even get hard at the sight of you,” he whispers against your neck. Your stomach wrenches. Coriolanus’ hand cinches around your throat as his tip prods at your entrance.

“No…”

He sinks inside you in one blunt thrust and you gasp, a silent scream flying from your parted lips.

He sets a brutal pace right away. Tears flow down your cheeks as your tight walls strain around him. The bed rattles across the wooden floor with each wicked snap of his hips into yours.

Heat rushes to your belly. Pleasure mingles with the pain and you’re horrified, loathing your body for yielding with such ease.

“You wanna know what happened that night?” A devilish grin expands on his lips. Air dwindles in your lungs as he reaches between your bodies and pinches your clit. You grow overwhelmed as he teases your tender heap of nerves relentlessly. You tense, your legs trembling. Warm tingles burst across your flesh. You shatter around him, your eyes rolling back. Your back arches as you clench around his cock. Coriolanus’ wicked laugh resonates in your ears. “You came around my cock, just like this, princess.”

Shame pools in your gut.

“It doesn’t matter what your mouth says, I know you want this. That your body’s craving this just as much as mine is.”

“Coryo, please…” you implore, broken whimpers warping  your voice. “Just let me go home.”

You search his eyes, unsure what you’re even looking for. Perhaps a spark of goodness buried deep, a sliver of mercy, empathy. But all you find is madness, cruelty. 

Your chest lifts, grazing against his, as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. Your slick walls cling to him and you grow more disgusted.

He strokes the side of your face, his fingers collecting your warm tears. It used to be a tender gesture, caring. Now it makes your stomach turn.

“Oh, but you’re already there. Didn’t I tell you already?” He bends over you, his tongue tracing the salty trails under your eyes. His cock twitches inside you. His lips curve upward against your drenched cheek. “Our home is your home too, princess.”

[amiableness]

At Last

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: jj's cousin comes to town and attempts to get with y/n, pissing off jj in the process.

wc: 7.6k

warnings: dean turns out to be an ass, pet names (baby & sweetheart), oral (m & f), dirty talk, language, and p in v {there might be more, let me know!}

a/n💌: she's here! thank you for all your patience while i worked on this fic, hit some writers block while working on it. some of the smut might be familiar if you've read some of my old work, it's because i copied it from gentle. i will be deleting that fic and 'replacing' it with this one!

JJ Maybank couldn’t remember his childhood without Dean Maybank in it. There wasn’t a time he could recall when the nearly identical blonde wasn’t by his side. From diapers to teens, both boys spent most of their time together. Separated by only two months, the boys were practically brothers. There were mistaken for siblings nearly everywhere they went. Whenever one went, the other one was sure to follow. Their moms used to pretend they couldn’t tell the boys apart when they were little, sending both boys into a fit of giggles as they desperately tried to get their moms to remember their sons.

He was twelve when his mom left, and everything fell apart instantly. Luke turned to bottles upon bottles of alcohol to soothe the ache she left in her wake, and JJ was forced to grow up quickly. Andrew and Cecelia Maybank weren’t far behind, taking Dean with them. JJ never knew why his mom left or why his aunt and uncle followed him closely behind. But he was left alone to wonder for many nights why he was left behind.

JJ had years of practice burying the hurt and anger he felt, but as he sits across from his cousin at a table of The Wreck, he can feel the anger simmering. He’s not particularly fond of his cousin being back in town, but that’s not getting under his skin. It’s the fact that Dean has been eyeing you for the past twenty minutes.

“Wait, how long since you have been here?” Cleo asks Dean, attempting to break some awkward silence between JJ and him. Cleo slides into her chair next to Pope while she sends a welcoming smile to Dean, who sits across from Pope.

“Been a while, about seven years now.” Dean Maybank answers with a soft smile. He’s got the same blonde hair as JJ, but he keeps it a lot shorter and has dark blue eyes. They look like they could be twins.

“No wonder I haven’t met you then; I haven’t been around long.” Cleo supplies as Pope tosses his arm over her shoulder and presses a kiss to her temple.

“And Y/n?” Dean asks as he glances back over at you as you laugh with Kiara and Sarah while waiting for your order. Cleo’s lips part a little, and she spares a glance over at JJ, who has pulled his attention away from his phone at the mention of your name. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his body is tense as he stares down at his cousin. Dean doesn’t notice, his eyes glancing back at you.

“She joined the group about six years ago.” John B answers just as the three of you walk over with full hands. John B is sitting next to Dean, saving a spot for Sarah. From the look his best friend is giving him, he’s glad he sat next to Dean.

“Kiara, I love this place, but it’s so slow when you aren’t working here.” Sarah sighed as all the plates were set down and passed around. There’s a rumble of agreement at the table, and Kiara laughs loudly before sitting beside Sarah.

You slip into your spot between Cleo and JJ. JJ would never admit it out loud, but having you fall into the seat next to him and speak softly to only him sends a spark of possessiveness. He loves it when your attention is only on him.

“I got us a milkshake to share,” He watches as you rip the wrapper off the straw before pausing, eyes darting between the straw in your hand and the milkshake sitting in front of you. “They only gave us one; I’ll go grab-”

“We can share.” He grabs the straw from your hands before plunging it into the chocolate shake between you and taking a quick sip. You flush, realizing that you both will be sharing a straw. This wouldn’t bother you in any other case, but it’s JJ. You wouldn’t have thought twice about it if it had been anyone else. But something about him fills your stomach with that giddy feeling that makes you almost jittery with nerves.

His grip is still on the straw as he gives you a slight nod to take a sip. Your cheeks flush when you realize that he’s holding the drink, expecting you to take a sip like this. You lean forward, taking a tentative sip, ignoring how JJ watches you so closely. Having his eyes on you sets off that flurry of butterflies again.

“So cute, guys.” John B teases, making a heart with his hands, and your cheeks burn. You fight the urge to toss a fry at him. John B was notorious for calling out any moments you shared with JJ, which always left a hot flush on your body. Were your feelings for him that obvious? Did JJ know?

You peek over at JJ, who is flipping his best friend off.

The table is quickly drawn back into the conversation as your friends try and get to know Dean more. JJ stays quiet, instead choosing to eat and mutter things to you occasionally. You can’t help but be curious about why he avoids talking to his cousin. John B said that they used to be close, but from how JJ is acting now, you can’t help but wonder what happened.

“Y/n isn’t much of a surfer either.” Your ears perk up at the mention of your name. Sarah is giving you a pointed look indicating that you totally missed out on something.

“I was saying I’m not a big surfer,” Dean supplies at your confused expression. “Maybe we could do something else so everyone heads out to surf later.” The soft smile he sends your way makes your cheeks flush.

You open your mouth to answer, but JJ cuts you off.

“You used to surf all the time.” JJ’s tone is flat, surprising you that he finally decided to speak during this lunch. He had spent the last hour not saying a word to Dean. You glance over at him to see he’s sending an unimpressed look toward his cousin.

“Used to. Not anymore.” Dean shrugs, and you can tell he feels a little unsure around JJ, and you don’t blame him. If JJ was looking at you the way he was looking at Dean, you would feel a bit unwelcome too.

Ever the people pleaser, you send a smile over at Dean. “I would love that, Dean.”

“Dean Maybank is cute.” Sarah breathes out dramatically once all four of you are alone in her room. The boys are all at the Chateau; Cleo thought this might help JJ warm up to Dean more. You highly doubted it.

Your cheeks flush when you realize Sarah is directing this comment at you. You give a little shrug as you sit on the edge of her bed.

“Are you calling JJ cute then? Because they look like brothers.” Cleo teases as she pulls her bikini out of her bag. In front of the mirror, Kiara braided tiny pieces of her hair, laughing lightly at Cleo’s comment.

“Is that what we’re really gonna talk about right now?” You ask, feeling apprehensive about comparing the two. There’s no way you wanted to compare the two, mainly because you knew that JJ would always come out on top in your eyes.

“Yes! He seems pretty damn interested in you.”

“Maybe, but Dean isn’t the Maybank she wants.” Kiara sings songs, and your mouth parts as your sputter out a reply, but you can’t seem to deny it.

“I-no! JJ and I are just friends; we always will be.” You wanted to be sick saying these words.

“Are you serious? He looked ready to kill Dean when he asked you out.” Kiara glanced over her shoulder at you making your cheeks burn.

“He did not ask me out.”

“He made a move for sure,” Cleo called as she headed towards Sarah’s bathroom with her bikini. A sigh passed your lips just as the door clicked shut.

“Nothing is gonna happen whether he made a move or not.”

“Why not?” Sarah asked, tossing herself on her bed next to you.”

“I just-it feel wrong.”

“Because it’s not JJ,” Kiara states this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world as she finishes her hair and turns to face you. Sarah and Kiara nearly scream at the expression on your face, giving you away.

Maybe it was selfish, but JJ had been hoping you had forgotten about agreeing to spend time with Dean while the group went surfing. But here he was, watching the two of you walking up the beach and away from the group. Surfing with his friends meant you would be sat higher up on the beach immersed in one of the many romance books you owned. 

Not this time. He watched as you walked away, this time as his cousin held your bag for you.

“JJ, you comin’ or what?” John B hollered. JJ sighed and headed towards the beach, aware that this was the first time in his life that he did not want to go surfing.

“It’s not a date, man; quit pouting.” His best friend mumbled, clapping JJ on the shoulder. The blond sent him an irritated look.

“But he damn well wants it to be,” The thought made JJ’s stomach tighten with discomfort. “She could want it to be.”

“I doubt it,” John B shook his head in disagreement. All the different times he had caught Y/n or JJ pining after each other had proved otherwise. But that wasn’t his place to tell. “Listen, if you like Y/n, you need to tell her. I’m not saying she’s gonna end up with Dean, but I know she won’t be single forever.”

“It’s complicated,” JJ grumbles as he rakes his hand through his hair. He needs a haircut but refuses to get one after he overhears you say you like long hair on guys. Maybe that makes him pathetic, but so be it.

“It’s really not; you’re just making it that way by avoiding telling her.”

“John B, fuck off,” JJ snaps, but his best friend knows not to take offense. “Telling her how I feel could mean losing her as my best friend, and that’s not worth it.”

“But what if telling her means you get her as your girlfriend and best friend?” John B’s words cause his stomach to flip at the thought.

“Wishful thinking, man.”

Your time with Dean was going well, and you were thrilled that you got on with him so quickly. Part of you wanted to ask, but you were scared of making a fool out of yourself if he told you no. Not that you were hoping it was; you just genuinely weren’t sure how Dean viewed this hangout.

He had taken you to a little ice cream shop, one that he said his mom used to bring him and JJ to all the time. Your heart had squeezed in your chest at the reminder that you weren’t there to watch him surf, one of your favorite pastimes. Quickly reminding yourself to enjoy the present moment, it was fair to Dean if your mind was caught up somewhere else.

“This is the best ice cream I’ve ever had; how did I not know about this place?” A quick moan of appreciation slips pasts your lips as you bite, proving your statement true. Dean laughs at your reaction, thrilled to see you enjoying one of his favorite places so much. The last time he was here was with his mom and JJ to have a quick treat after dinner. They left two days after that.

“One of the best places in OBX, hands down,” He replies, studying you with a soft fondness that you are oblivious to. Your entire focus was on stirring your ice cream to make it nice and smooth.

“Totally out of my comfort zone today,” You confess as you take another bite of the cotton candy ice cream. But the soft pink color was so pretty you just couldn’t resist. “JJ and I usually share mint chips.” Dean drops his eyes down to his ice cream at the mention of his cousin. 

“Can I ask you something?” He finally asks, and you quietly hum to tell him to go on.

“Are you and JJ..?” He trails off, unsure if he should continue his question by the look on your face. You place your spoon in your bowl and sigh.

“We’re just friends,” By the shrug of your shoulders and the way you naw on your bottom lip, Dean can tell you aren’t a man of this.

“And you’re alright with that?” He asks, hoping for an answer that could turn this into a date between you.

“I-uh-” You clear your throat and glance at the window towards the ocean, hoping to catch a glance of JJ. To no avail. “I’ve liked him for years, but I’m pretty sure he isn’t interested, so we’re just friends.”

Dean gives you an understanding look, but inside, he’s thrilled about your answer. You weren’t JJ’s.

It had been a couple of weeks of hanging out with Dean: trips to the beach, talking about books, getting ice cream, and movie marathons. You knew how this looked, but it was purely just as friends. You knew that, and Dean knew that. Or so you thought.

“So let me get this straight, you guys have been going on dates pretty much but just as friends?” Cleo asked, totally confused by what was happening between you and Dean.

“Yes, just friends,” You clarified as you attempted to fix your hair in a way you liked for tonight’s party.

“He brought you flowers this morning.” She deadpanned, glancing over at the bouquet of pink poppies on your bedside table. They were placed next to a picture of you and JJ, making Cleo snort quietly.

“He was just being nice,” You sounded exasperated, and Cleo wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or her nitpicking. “Nothing is going on.”

“Maybe for you! He’s clearly interested; he’s been taking you on dates -“You open your mouth to cut her off. “Yes - dates, all week. He’s interested.”

“I thought you were team Dean.” Your hair fell from your hands as you gave up on making the perfect bun; it just wasn’t going to happen tonight.

“That was Sarah. I’m team whoever makes you happy.”

“So, would you be happy if I went out with Dean?” You nibbled on your bottom lip as you waited for her response. Her eyebrows rose, and she stared at you for a second.

“Thought you were just friends.”

“We are! I just-“You paused, taking in a big breath of air and holding it for a second. “I don’t wanna miss a chance with a great guy because JJ doesn’t return my feelings. I can’t hold out hope forever.”

“First party of the summer, Dean! You excited?” John B asks as he presses a beer into Dean’s awaiting palm.

“It’s not the first party of the season,” JJ grumbles, and you shoot him a look, hoping he can control his anger towards his cousin for the night and enjoy the party.

“The first one he’s been to; he’s been too busy with our Y/n here.” John B taunts, sending you a wink when he sees you looking flushed. JJ feels sick. Are you blushing at the thought of being with Dean? Have you actually been going on dates with him all this time?

“Baby, leave them alone,” Sarah admonishes, giving a light slap to his arm. He lets out a laugh and drops his arm over her shoulder, leading her in the direction of the house.

An awkward silence falls over the three of you. Pope, Kiara, and Cleo had already headed inside to get drinks, and you were now desperately wishing JJ had too. Anything would be better than the way he is currently glaring at Dean for standing too close to you.

“Want a drink?” Dean leans to whisper in your ear, and you send him a grateful smile.

“Yes, please,” You smile up at him, watching him for a second longer as he slips through the crowd. JJ clearing his throat is what brings your attention away from him.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing with him?” He asks, taking a step towards you. 

“We walked here together, and I-”

“No. What’s up with you spending so much time with him? I’ve hardly seen you in the last few weeks.” He steps closer and closer until the two of you are standing so close you can count all the freckles on his nose.

“We’ve been hanging out.” You supply, not wanting to give too much away. It’s not that we’re trying to be secretive, but you knew that JJ had a habit of getting protective over you. Guess what happens when you’re friends with someone for so long.

“Hanging out or going on dates?” His hand pushes the stand of your hair, blowing in the breeze. At the proximity of him, your heart squeezes, and your breath catches.

“Hanging out?” You answer in nearly a whisper, so focused on starting up at him. The heat of his fingers touching your skin feels like you have been branded.

“You don’t sound so sure.” There’s that cocky tone. He can tell you’re flustered by how close he is to you. You’ve always reacted to him this way. It’s moments like these where it doesn’t seem unbelievable to him that you might like him back.

“We’ve been hanging out, but it might be becoming more and-”

“Y/n” At the sound of Dean’s voice, you take a step away, startled. There’s a tone to Dean’s voice that JJ doesn’t like. He sounds possessive, too possessive for a guy who has only met you a couple of weeks ago.

Dean’s eyes flicker between the both of you, quickly picking up on the tension and closeness. In an act of jealousy, he slips his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, something he’s never done before. Your features flash with surprise that JJ quickly notices.

“Have a goodnight, JJ.” Dean bites out before steering you toward the direction of the house.

“I thought you said that you and JJ didn’t have anything going on.”

“We don’t.” You glance up at Dean, who still has his arm wrapped around your shoulder. His jaw is tense, and you feel a flash of discomfort at seeing this new side of him.

“Didn’t look that way. He was close enough to kiss you.” Dean grits out, squeezing your shoulder that makes you wince.

“But he didn’t. I don’t understand-”

“You said that he wasn’t interested. I thought I clarified my intentions when I started taking you out on all these dates.” Your stomach flips, and you glance around at the crowd. None of your friends are nearby.

“I didn’t-“You clear your throat, willing yourself to make your voice come out stronger. His shift in personality has really thrown you off. “I thought we were hanging out. I didn’t realize you thought these past few weeks were dates.”

“They were dates, Y/n. Does John B or Pope ever take you- just you - out for ice cream or to the movies?”

“No, but JJ-”

“Jesus, Y/n! JJ doesn’t view you as a friend. If we’re gonna be dating this summer, I don’t think you should hang out around him.” You were utterly confused. There was never a time when you two were hanging out. Did he act like this or make his intentions about dating you clear. And there was absolutely no way you would give up being around JJ, even if Dean’s attitude hadn’t done a 180.

You were beginning to panic, unsure how to handle his growing anger. 

“Dean!” Your shoulders immediately relaxed at the sound of another Pogues voice. You were sure his name was Noah, and that he was friends with the boys, but other than that, you didn’t really know him. You watched as Dean plastered a smile on his face and greeted his friend. Without warning, you slipped away from Dean and slipped through the crowd towards the bathroom.

Usually, a party like this is just what JJ needed, but his mood was much too sour to enjoy it. Not when you had shown up with Dean and disappeared into this run-down house on the Cut nearly an hour ago. He has tried desperately to shake you from his thoughts. But nothing has worked in the past couple of weeks, so he has spent this entire night pathetically sober and on edge.

John B and Pope had tried to include him in the conversation with other guys from the Cut, but he didn’t have the energy to pretend to be interested. So instead, he sat next to the fire along the group and continuously glanced back at the door as if somehow he could keep an eye on you that way.

Dean’s voice catches his attention and pulls him from his thoughts of you. Dean comes jogging down the steps carrying a beer and quickly finds an open seat amongst the guys. JJ ignores the urge to tell him his seat is taken; it feels too middle school.

“Where is she?” JJ asks, sounding terribly protective, but he can’t help it. He’s sat rigid in his seat, waiting for his cousin’s answer. He wouldn’t have left you alone at that party even for a second if he was with you.

“She wanted to spend some time with the girls.” Dean looks flatly at JJ, both boys growing frustrated with each other. Dean is becoming sick of JJ only acknowledging him when it has to do with you. He doesn’t want JJ’s thoughts to be of you at all. The tension between the two is glaringly apparent to the group, so Pope incessantly glances at the house door for about twenty minutes before JJ incessantly glancing at the house door finally pays off.

There you were.

Standing on the porch with tears streaming down your pretty cheeks and arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. JJ felt his stomach drop and the immediate desire to kill whoever made him feel like this. But it seems his cousin has the same desire because both boys stand up at the sight of you.

Dean is the first to step towards you, softly muttering your name. You don’t even glance in Dean’s direction. It isn’t until he repeats your name again, louder this time, that you finally look over at him.

JJ watches as you descend the steps, whip away a stray tear on your face, and stand a couple feet before the group of boys. You don’t take your eyes off Dean, and JJ prepares to watch Dean take you home and knows he will comfort you.

“I just wanna go home,” JJ doesn’t think he has ever heard you so broken up, and it makes him feel physically sick. “Can you please take me home?”

Dean immediately turns to grab his jacket that it tossed over one of the logs he was sitting on. “Of course, let me just-”

Then, you make eye contact with JJ, and the brief eye contact causes your eyes to tear up again. Without thinking, JJ jogs over and wraps you in his arms.

JJ has hugged you plenty of times, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt you hold him this tight. Your arms are tossed around his shoulders as his arms are looped around your waist. Dean turns, ready to take you home, and falters when he sees you wrapped in JJ’s arms.

“JJ, I’ve got her. She asked me to take her home.” Dean’s voice is flat, and you tense in JJ’s arms. Hoping to get a look at Dean, you pull away from JJ slightly so you can look over at him. While hugging JJ, both of you had shifted so JJ’s back was no longer to the group. Instead, Dean has a clear shot of both sides and how you and JJ are so intertwined. He feels sick watching you grip JJ so tightly.

“I was talking to JJ.” At this, JJ’s grip tightens around you as a possessive feeling strikes through him. He wants to be smug; rub it in Dean’s face that you chose him. But he would much rather get you home and figure out why you were so upset.

You turn your head, looking up at him, with his shirt clenched between your fists. Looking down at you, he can see the tears glistening in your eyes. “JJ, I want you to take me home.”

“I know, baby. Let’s go home.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead and leads you in the direction of the Chateau. 

It wasn’t until you got to the Chateau that you finally let JJ know that happened, and he had been pacing around his bedroom ever since.

“I’m gonna kill him,” JJ practically grits out, his jaw so tense from anger.

“No, you’re not,” You sniffle as you stay wrapped up in JJ’s hoodie and sheets. The second you had reached his room, you climbed into his bed, you’re ultimate comfort place. There were so many times when you ended up in JJ’s bed, feeling wholly protected just by being next to him.

“Y/n, he acted like you were his. He didn’t even ask you! He was-fuck!” The bed squeaks as JJ tosses himself down at the bottom edge of the bed. His head is buried in his hands, and you can see the tension in his back. You slip out from beneath the covers and crawl towards him without saying anything. He tenses when he feels you wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his shoulder, but then he shifts to hold you to him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with men in my family.”

“You don’t have to apologize; you’re the only Maybank man I care about.” JJ nearly melts at the kiss you place on his cheek.

“Y/n.”

“JJ.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if I had told you sooner.”

“Told me what sooner?”

“About my feelings for you.” Your heart feels like it has given out when you hear him say this.

“No.” Your voice is a whisper as you look up at him.

“No?” His voice is just as soft as yours.

“That isn’t fair to put on yourself; Dean did what he did because he’s a dick.”

“I should have told you that I’ve been in love with you for a long that I can’t even remember when it started. It feels like I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I’ve loved you so for so fucking long, and I never told you,” He pauses, tucking a stray hair behind your ear like he did earlier in the night.

“I never thought I’d have a shot with you, and then I saw you with Dean. God, Y/n, I wanted to kill him. He had everything I ever wanted,” A soft sigh leaves his lips, and you simply watch him, your stomach fluttering at his confession.

JJ, you sigh, “Everyone knew my feelings about you; I don’t know how you didn’t. Why do you think I was always the first to clean you up after a fight? I would always share the couch with you if I had to. Not like it was a problem for me. I invited you to stay at my house; when have I ever invited Pope or John B to stay in my bed? I’ve always liked you, J, and always will.”

He stared at you as you talked, and you moved closer to him, taking a chance, sitting in his lap, and interlocking your hands behind his neck. His hands quickly found your waist and held you in his lap.

“I’ve always been in love with you,” You whispered softly, too nervous to say the words too loud, worried you might scare him off despite his previous comments. He didn’t say anything at first, simply tugging you into his chest so you had your legs wrapped around his waist as you hugged him. He pulled back to look at you, and your stomach flipped when you saw how he looked at you.

As close as you and JJ always were as friends, you had never been this close as you stared at him. Your heart was racing to see him stare at you like he found you stunning; he had never looked at you like this before. If he had, you had never gotten to see it.

“J?”

“Yea?”

“Can you kiss me?” When his lips meant yours, it wasn’t rough, or fast-it was gentle and soft-like he wanted to take all his time in the world with you. He brushed his lips against yours, slipping his hands into your hair. Relishing in the feeling of you pressed against him. His lips were soft and slow against yours, making you melt into him. Of all the times you had pictured kissing him, it had been quick and heated. But as he laid you down and pressed gentle kisses to your lips and neck, you preferred this to your fantasies.

He brushed his lips against yours, mumbling about how much he loved kissing you, making you smile against his lips. His hands trailed all over your body, barely touching against your skin, but enough to leave goosebumps behind. When he reached your hips, he would give a gentle squeeze. Sitting up, he used an arm to bring you up with him. You had waited so long to kiss JJ; now that you were, you didn’t want it to stop. His hands trailed along your thighs as you sat in his lap, leading the kiss.

“Arms up, baby,” He told you as he pulled your sweatshirt over your head, tossing it to the ground. Watching his eyes raking up and down your body made you dizzy. You let his eyes take in your body before tugging at the hem of his shirt, silently telling him that you wanted it off. This was your chance to admire his body’s dips and curves. There was never a time that you could admire him up close, and that you had, you never wanted to stop. You knew he was muscular from the countess times you had watched him surf and walk around shirtless, but getting to touch him this way was entirely different. Being alone meant you didn’t have to worry about your friends catching your longing looks; there was no John B to relentlessly tease you. Just you and JJ.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” He said as he slipped his fingers under your white bra straps and let them fall down your shoulders.

“Thank you, you’re pretty beautiful too,” Your voice teased as you threw your arms around his neck. Quickly, he leaned forward to kiss you, not wanting to waste another second without tasting you.

“Damn right,” He mumbled, making you giggle. You were about to reach around your back to rid yourself of your bra when he stopped you.

“That’s my job from now on,” He shot you a cocky grin and pushed your hands away from your bra to do it himself. He reached one hand around you, and you felt your bra drop.

“One hand, baby,” He joked. You laughed loudly, remembering that JJ and John B had borrowed yours and Kiara’s bras years ago, hoping to learn to do it one-handed. They eventually did know after you and Kiara stepped in to teach them.

“Pure fucking talent,” You sarcastically answered him, but he wasn’t really listening anymore. He groaned when he saw your bare tits and perky nipples. Your mind blanked as you heard the noise that came from him. 

His mouth closed around your nipple, biting gently, ripping a gasp from your throat. Their back arched into his chest to give him better access. He wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. Beneath you, you could feel how quickly this was turning his hair wild from when you had your fingers through his hair. Soft sighs were filling the room as he licked and sucked, alternating between both of your tits. The wetness between your legs grew more apparent as he touched you.

He grabbed your waist and moved you off of his lap, pushing you down so that you were laid out underneath him. His hands slipped under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down, bringing your underwear with them. Your first reaction was to close your legs; you were not used to having someone see you like this. But he gently placed his hands on your knees and pushed them apart. 

You sat up as he stood at the end of his bed, slipping his shorts down. Oh fuck. Wetness pooled between your thighs as his cock was released from his underwear. You had always wondered whether he would be big or small, and you weren’t surprised he was in the bigger size. A quick kiss was placed on your lips before he touched your chest, pushing you back on the bed. With your back against the pillows and your legs spread, he finally got to look at all of you. All bare and glistening, and he swore he had never been harder in his life. He glanced up at you, asking for permission, and you nodded. Pressing kisses from your ankles to between your thighs, he slowly made his way to where you wanted him most.

“God baby, you’re soaked for me,” You could only answer with a whimper as he slipped his fingers over your clit, causing you to arch your back. He was slow as he began to circle your clit, adding fingers to pump in and out of you.

The moan you let out was pornographic when he replaced his fingers with his mouth, letting his tongue slide along your pussy. From the bottom to the top, he licked through your folds. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, but you knew he wouldn’t if you asked him to go faster; he seemed pleased to take things slowly and gently.

“Your pussy tastes so good, it could eat you out for hours,” He mumbled against you, causing you to moan loudly. Your fingers twisted in the sheets as you continued licking and sucking your clit, bringing you closer to your orgasm. Your legs began to shake, and you were momentarily embarrassed. It had been months since you were last touched, and without warning, JJ between your thighs was bringing you to your orgasm embarrassingly quick. Without warning, he pulled away from you, leaving you a little confused.

“Lay at the end of the bed,” You were still shaky, but you did as you were told and glanced up at him, kneeling at the foot of his bed. He kissed your lips before standing up, and you realized what he had in mind.

You watched as he grabbed his cock between his hand and guided it into your mouth. The moan that left his mouth as he felt your mouth had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Holy fuck, you look so pretty like this,” Desperation laced through his voice, making you feel entirely feral for him. You were willing to do anything that he told you to do.

His hands were in your hair as he created a makeshift ponytail to hold you in place as he fucked your mouth. Youhines were muffled b cock, and from the sounds that were leaving him, you could tell he was enjoying this. A quick peek up at him let you know just how good he was feeling. The flush on his cheeks and his furrowed eyebrows were your indicators.

You pulled away from him with a pop, leaving a trail of salvia attaching you to him, “I need you to fuck me; I’ve waited too long to do this.” 

Your voice sounded incredibly desperate as you begged him. He said nothing, just leaned down to kiss you before reaching beside the bed. He dug around in his shorts before grabbing a condom from his wallet. You sent him a soft smile and laid your back against the pillows, waiting for him. He sat before you, then situated himself between your legs and used his arms to hold himself above you. He looked down at you, and you sent him a giggly smile.

“I love you, J,” You told him, causing him to gently lean down and kiss you.

“I love you, baby,” He whispered against your lips, sending butterflies throughout your stomach. 

He sat up, grabbing your thighs with both hands, moving your legs so that you could slip between them. Your knees were bent, and your legs were on either side of him as he brushed his fingers against your clit again.

“God, you have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen,” His simple words caused a gasp to be pulled from you.

His cock replaced his fingers, teasing your clit before sliding the tip inside you. At the feeling, both of you let out satisfied moans. JJ quickly grabbed your hands and intertwined your fingers before fully pushing inside of you slowly. “Jesus Christ,” He was nearly gone. “So fucking good.” All you could do was moan in response.

His thrusts began slow, sliding in and out of you at an agonizing pace, making you cry out at him to go faster. He didn’t listen.

“You look so pretty getting fucked,” He reached his hand down, using his thumb to rub against your clit in the slowest circles. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

If you hadn’t been so fucked out, you would’ve been embarrassed at hearing how wet you were desperately cried a pathetic, moaning as he quickly flipped you over and grabbed get enough of you.”

When he slipped out of you, you desperately cried in protest. But he was quick to flip you over and grab your hips, pulling you onto all fours. He gave your hips a gentle squeeze and placed a few kisses on your shoulder. Your skin prickled with goosebumps as he ran his fingers down your spine. Lifting yourself up so your back was pressed against him and your neck was exposed so he could press kisses against you. His arms slid around your waist, his right hand going up to grab at your tits as he nipped at your neck. Your legs felt shaky as he held you up and against him. The moans that filled your ears being this close to him drove you crazy. You didn’t think you would ever get used to hearing him like this. So fucked out and close to coming.

“Fuck J, please go harder.”

“You want me to fuck you harder, baby?” You babbled incoherently in response, making JJ grin.

“Beg me, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, JJ! Please, I need more of your cock. I want you to take me, be rough with me.”

He pushed you forward, forcing you back on all fours. You let out a loud ‘fuck’ when he shoved his cock back into you, not sure how long you could hold yourself up. His hands gripped your hips tightly, keeping you in place, and he slid his cock in and out of you, the room filling with both of your moans.

“Is that what you wanted, baby? Wanted to fucked rougher?”

As he quickened his pace, you stuck your ass in the air and pressed your cheek against the bed, raising your arms above your head as he fucked you. Your fingers were tangled in the sheets, and you knew the neighbors could probably hear you. Out of all the times you had been with a guy, you didn’t think you had ever been this loud. Each time he thrust into you, you let out a high-pitched moan, unable to stop yourself.

His name and curses fell through your lips, and you got closer and closer to coming. You knew you would come quicker than you usually would since you had spent years fantasizing about JJ. You had spent countless nights getting off to the thought of getting to be with JJ, and if you knew him at all-he did too.

“Fuck JJ, I’m getting close,” You whined, your voice shaky as he pounded into you. “Gonna cum!”

“Fuck. Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” you knew you could let go with him. You could tell by his quickened pace and sloppy thrusts.

When you felt him grab your hips hard and pound into you a few more times, you knew you could let go with him.

“JJ! Fuck, I-”

“I know, fuck. I’m gonna cum.” that admission, your back arched as you felt your pussy squeeze around him. The moans leaving you were beyond loud, and you hoped to God none of your friends had decided to come back from the party.

“Fuck.” He grunted as he thrust one final time into you before squeezing your hips tightly. The feeling of him switching inside you sent you over the edge. You let go, pleasure coursing through you as you felt your whole body shake as the feeling shot through your entire body.

“Jesus, baby,” JJ mumbled as his head dropped to your back. You let out a giggle, understanding how fucked out he was feeling.

He slowly slid out, falling onto the bed next to you. You let your hips drop, moving so that you were on your side facing him. You were both breathing hard and knew you would need a shower and clean sheets after this.

“God, I love you.” He kisses your head before standing up and heading into your bathroom. You hear him come back after a few minutes.

“Turn over, baby.” You turn to see him with a warm washcloth; he slowly moves your legs apart and cleans up the mess between them. Your heart melts as you watch him take care of you. Once he’s done, he tosses the rag and lays beside you; you move so that you’re lying against his chest, and he throws his blanket over the both of you.

“JJ?”

“Yea, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for taking me home.”

“Be fucking quiet; you’re gonna wake her up.” JJ snapped, sending a glare over at John B. It was nearly 9 am, and they were the only two awake, the rest of the group fast asleep after the party.

“I am being fucking quiet, dumbass.”

“I don’t need her finding out what happened this morning,” He grumbled, glancing down at his bruised and bloody knuckles. John B’s snort caught his attention, and he glanced up at his best friend, who was looking at his hand.

“Like that won’t give it away?”

“I’ll just say I got into it with some kooks.”

“You’re gonna lie to her?” John B sent him an unimpressed look.

“Jesus, John B! I don’t know what I’m gonna tell her yet.”

“Tell her the truth. That you beat the shit out of our cousin for her,” He shrugged like it was the most straightforward option. “Where is she anyway? Did you take her home?”

JJ faltered at that question, the memories of last night running through his head. He still needed to update John B that your friendship had been properly ruined. But he didn’t know what the two of you were now. Were you dating? Casually seeing each other for now? That was something that he should clear up soon.

“No, she’s uh-“His door creaked, and you were wrapped in his sheets. Your hair was a mess, a couple of marks littered your neck, and your eyes were squinted with sleep.

“J?” You called quietly, and JJ nearly melted. How did he get so lucky? How did this angel have feelings for him? “Can you come back? I miss you.”

You must have been delirious with sleep and not have even noticed John B because there was no way you would’ve felt comfortable looking and speaking this vulnerably in front of him any other time.

“Yea, baby. I’ll be there.” You sent him a sleepy smile and closed the door. JJ nearly jumped up from his spot to get to you.

“Baby?” John B let out, sounding incredibly smug and wearing a grin. “Looks like you finally told her.”

JJ didn’t say anything; he just flipped him off with a smug smile as he closed the door to his bedroom and slipped into bed with you.

“Hi,” He quietly greeted as he settled into his pillow facing you.

“Why’d you leave?” Your voice was laced with sleep as you scooted closer to him.

“I went and saw Dean,” He felt you tense in his arms, and for a second, he wondered if he had made the wrong decision by telling you. He would never regret punching his cousin for the way he treated you.

“J, what did you do?”

“I punched him, and I know you aren’t a fan of that, but-“His words were cut off by pressing your lips to his.

“Thank you, he deserved it,” You quietly mumbled before snuggling back into his chest.

JJ had never loved you more.

[fandoms-x-reader]

MC Doesn't Like Asmo

Requested By: @rainedroplets

Headcannons

Summary: The brothers' reaction to MC who doesn't like Asmo and feels uncomfortable around him. The Seven Demon Brothers x Reader Includes Asmo's reaction at the end Word Count: 2,226

Lucifer is unsurprisingly the first one to notice how uncomfortable you are around Asmo.

He couldn’t blame you - he knew that his little brother could be overbearing. 

It’s his and his brothers’ job to make sure that you enjoy your stay in the Devildom so he won’t hesitate to step in and try to mediate the situation.

If Asmo is hugging you, he’ll notice the look on your face and he’ll ask Asmo to let you go calmly.

If Asmo protests, he won’t hesitate to come to your defense and demand that Asmo let you go, knowing that the fifth-born wouldn’t be able to refuse a direct order from him.

Asmo pouts as he lets you go, but Lucifer notices the look of gratitude that you have when you look at him.

He’s glad that he's the one in charge when it comes to his brothers so that he can help you whenever you need it.

If Asmo ever asks him why you don’t want to spend time with him or why you shy away from him, Lucifer will be completely honest with him.

He wants Asmo to be less touchy with you so that there might be a chance of you accepting him.

After all, Lucifer cares for you, but Asmo is also his brother and you were all stuck there together.

As the one who chose you for the exchange program, he feels like it’s his responsibility to try and find a remedy for the situation so that you can all live peacefully together.

Mammon doesn’t like it when anyone touches you, let alone his lustful brother.

So, when he finds out that you don’t like it when Asmo is all over you, part of him is happy.

But the other part of him is protective. 

You would leave his sight for a moment and he would find you with Asmo’s arms wrapped around you. 

He’ll immediately march over to the two of you and his heart can’t help but swell at the way you look at him as if he was your savior.

“What do ya’ think you’re doin’, Asmo?” Mammon asked, crossing his arms as he stared at his little brother who returned his glare.

An argument will then ensue about how Asmo was just trying to show you his love. Mammon will relentlessly tell him that he's too close and to back off.

It’s only when they turn their attention back to you that you’re allowed to speak for yourself.

Asmo states that you like the attention, and that’s when you can finally speak up and protest his advances.

Mammon looks like a proud boyfriend as he gives Asmo a pointed look before gently pulling you away from the demon who was still shocked at your answer.

Once far enough away, Mammon will make sure you’re okay before telling you he’ll always be there to protect you from any situation.

Levi isn’t very comfortable with physical touch from others, so he knows exactly what’s wrong when he sees the face you’re making as Asmo pulls you into a hug.

He feels bad for you because he knows how pushy his brother could be.

He couldn’t imagine having a demon you didn’t know very well constantly throwing himself at you.

He commended you for your patience because he for sure would have lost it by now.

Levi didn’t like getting in confrontations so he was torn between saying something and letting you figure it out on your own at first.

But, then he thought about the times that you had saved him from a situation he didn’t want to be in and now he wanted to return the favor.

Of course, Levi isn’t as good as you were at getting people out of trouble.

He tried to distract Asmo from you by talking about random things, but it quickly became clear that strategy wouldn’t work.

Levi tried a few more things and while you appreciated his attempt, you just weren’t confident anything he did or said would allow you to escape from Asmo’s clutches.

Eventually, Levi gets frustrated and snaps at his little brother, simply telling him to let you go.

Levi doesn’t get mad very often, so his outburst causes Asmo to let go and Levi can’t help but feel a sense of gratification as you move to his side.

Being a quiet shut-in, not many people sought him out for protection, and yet you trusted him to do just that.

Levi will tell Asmo to leave you alone and when Levi wants to be scary, he could be. He wasn’t the third strongest for no reason.

Satan is the most observant out of all his brothers, so he picks up on your discomfort pretty easily.

He understands how his brother's insistent displays of affection could become unbearable. 

He cares for his brother, but even he knows when enough is enough.

And what was worse was that Asmo had no respect for what you were doing when he decided he wanted attention from you.

You could be making dinner or getting ready to go to bed and Asmo would just barge in and walk up to you, pulling you into his arms.

Currently, you were sitting next to Satan in the library, peacefully reading and enjoying your time with him.

Asmo entered the library, loudly, and immediately went to you, complaining to you as he pulled you up from the couch, attempting to get you in his arms. 

You’ve never seen Satan move so fast as he carefully pulled you from Asmo back down to the couch.

He’ll give Asmo one warning, looking nonchalant as he does so, and if Asmo decides to try again, Satan won’t be afraid to get a little physical.

At the end of the day, he was technically considered Asmo’s older brother and that definitely wasn’t based on their birth order.

He didn’t want to remind Asmo of that fact, but he would if he had to.

Beel was a bit oblivious at first to how uncomfortable you were around Asmo.

He was so used to people fawning over his older brother and fighting for his attention.

He assumed that you would be the same way, so he didn’t question it when Asmo started being clingy with you.

When he found out that you were uncomfortable with Asmo’s affections, he was surprised.

After you told him that you didn’t like it, Beel noticed how you would hide behind him whenever Asmo entered the room, hoping that Asmo wouldn’t detect your presence. 

Beel’s heart immediately broke at the sight. On one hand, he thought it was adorable that you wanted him to protect you.

On the other hand, he didn’t want you to feel like you had to hide whenever Asmo was around.

He’s not afraid to confront Asmo about it, but it seems like everything he says goes over Asmo’s head. 

Asmo doesn’t believe in a world where someone doesn’t like his attention, so he refuses to accept what Beel told him.

That leaves Beel with no choice but to be your personal bodyguard.

Whenever he sees Asmo making his way to you, he’ll step in front of him, either whisking you away or telling Asmo you’re busy right now.

He doesn’t love his brother any less, but he wants to do whatever he can to make sure you’re happy down in the Devildom.

As the youngest brother, Belphie was used to being doted on by his older brothers, especially Asmo.

There wasn’t a single day that went by that Asmo wasn’t trying to give him some sort of physical affection and Belphie wasn’t always a fan.

So he completely understood where you were coming from.

Belphie could be quite clingy as well, but he wasn’t trying to throw himself at you or make you uncomfortable. Not in the way Asmo was.

He liked taking naps with you and it was hard to do that when Asmo was trying to either crawl into the bed with the two of you or take you away.

So, Belphie takes you to places where he doesn’t think Asmo will look in an attempt to escape him.

If Asmo does manage to find the two of you, Belphie isn’t afraid to fight for you. He will get as physical as he needs to ensure that you don’t end up in Asmo’s arms against your will.

That will usually end in Asmo whining in despair about how he can’t believe Belphie actually hit him, chipped his nails, messed up his hair, etc.

Belphie will use that time as a chance to escape with you once again.

He didn’t care if the two of you spent your lives on the run, he would make sure the Avatar of Lust didn’t have his way with you.

You just might have to carry him after some point because he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be awake.

After they all discovered your true feelings about their brother, the brothers banded together to try and fix things.

Some of them tried to talk to Asmo. This group usually consisted of Lucifer, Beel, and Satan - if he was in a good mood.

They didn’t want you to always feel negatively towards Asmo. They wanted him to understand that he was being overbearing and only pushing you away. They knew that it all stemmed from Asmo’s desperate need to be loved. But forcing your love on others isn’t the way to make them love you.

They tried to make him see that and they asked him to stop giving you unwanted attention. They asked him to try and get to know you in a way that you would be more comfortable with. But asking the Avatar of Lust to stop showing his love is like asking the Avatar of Gluttony to not be hungry or the Avatar of Greed to not want money.

The others - Mammon, Levi, and Belphie - were even more protective of you. They didn’t want Asmo around you at all until he learned how to control himself. Beyond that, until you had asked to be alone with Asmo. 

They understood where Asmo was coming from, but they also knew how pushy he could be. And to push himself on you, someone they cared so deeply for, was unacceptable.

God forbid Asmo do anything while they were all in a room with you. A riot would promptly ensue. The room erupted into an incomprehensible slur of protests as you are pulled in every direction, all in an attempt to protect you.

They all had their own ways of showing it, but the simple fact was that they all cared about you and they didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around them.

So, if Asmo refused to play nice, then he wasn’t going to get any time with you. Every hug would be intercepted, every flirty comment would be interrupted, and every time his hand reached out to touch you it would be promptly swatted away.

Asmo is - obviously - completely unaware of the way you feel about him. 

Most of that was due to selective hearing and denial of the fact that someone could not love him.

Deep down, Asmo tends to be very insecure. The perfect act is just that - an act he puts on for others so that they don’t see the flaws that he constantly sees when he looks in the mirror.

But those insecurities start eating away at him more and more as he notices the way you tense up at his touch and the way his brothers are constantly trying to keep you away from him.

It comes to a point where he can no longer deny it - you don’t like him.

Asmo is on the verge of having a mental breakdown as he finally accepts the truth that his brothers had been trying to tell him.

He tried so hard to make you love him. He did everything the same way he did when he was trying to get others’ attention. So, why didn’t you like him?

That’s when he realized what he just said. He tried so hard to make you love him. Everyone knows that real love isn’t forced.

He genuinely wants to get to know you. To have the same friendship with you that his brothers have. To have a chance to vie for your love the same way they do.

He turned to his brothers to help him understand what exactly about him you don’t like and if it’s something he can fix, he’ll do it immediately.

He’ll apologize to you for being so overwhelming and explain that he didn’t know any better. He’ll tell you that he didn’t mean to scare you off or make you dislike him.

If you want space, he’ll give it to you. If you don’t want to be alone with him, he’ll make sure one of his brothers is there with the two of you. Whatever you need.

If you tell him that you simply don’t like him and that you won’t change your mind, he’ll be heartbroken. But he’ll eventually learn to live with it after his brothers console him.

He still has a lot of people who love him, right? Too bad he only wants the love of one particular person.

[wileys-russo]

childhood sweethearts (12) II a.russo x reader

playlist one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven

childhood sweethearts (12) II a.russo x reader

"took your time!" you stepped aside as the two taller boys pushed inside making you roll your eyes. "please, come in!" you gestured sarcastically, slamming the door shut behind you. "get off russo." you huffed, smacking away gio's hand as he ruffled the hair you'd just finished doing.

"that was not an hour. that was forty minutes you're lucky i'm ready!" you warned them both, kicking harry's feet off your coffee table with a glare. "forty minutes is an hour in guy time, you'll learn." your brother dismissed with a wave.

"nice place shortstack, teachers salaries must be better than i thought." gio whistled as he wandered around your living room. "not really." you chuckled honestly with a shrug. "she's just good at saving money, squirrels it all away like a little mouse." your brother teased pulling a face.

"i had to! you and lil were always stealing it from me." you shot him a filthy glare as he held his hands up. "you have no evidence of that." he grinned with a wink. "hang on. you're not wearing that are you?" gio narrowed his eyes and pointed at you accusingly.

"yeah. why? whats wrong with it?" you frowned, playing with the hem of your jumper. "it's sky blue!" gio groaned without explaining as your frown deepened. "oh he knows the color wheel! good job buddy." you mocked sarcastically with a clap.

"manchester city are sky blue you idiot. we support arsenal, go find something red!" harry chimed in pointing away as you scoffed. "sorry i didn't know there was a dress code for a football game." you rolled your eyes.

"no it's fine we'll just get you a jersey from the armory. go find a hoodie or something, but not blue!" gio dismissed, shooing you off toward your room. "all this over a stupid fucking football match." you mumbled to yourself as you left, both boys yelling at you for the comment.

"can we go now?" you sighed, gesturing to yourself as the boys nodded, dressed in distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie and a black puffer vest on over the top, harry hauling himself to his feet.

"yes we can now you no longer support the enemy. so are you still allergic to football or have you actually grown up?" gio threw his arm over your shoulder guiding you away as you grabbed your keys, leaving the lights on and locking up.

"oh she's still deathly allergic, pretty sure she thinks the ball is a square." harry grinned as you flipped him off and buckled up, gio immediately beginning a rambling recount of all of the rules and history as harry started the car and you sat in the back with a sigh.

you contemplated texting alessia to let her know you were coming but the first moment your fingers touched the device to pull it from your pocket it was snatched from your hand.

"you're a teacher shortstack you should know better than to have a phone out in class, football school is in session and there will be a test." gio grinned wolfishly dropping your phone into the front console and ignoring your protests to have it back.

the three of you split up as you arrived to the emirates and your eyes almost bugged out of your head at the amount of people wandering around. "they're all here for the match?" you asked in disbelief, harry disappearing to get some food as gio dragged you off to get a jersey, again ignoring your protests.

"yeah! you've clearly been living under a rock if you don't know how big womens football is." the boy chuckled with a shake of his head, the two of you waiting in line. "didn't you literally go to the world cup? and you still can't believe how many people are here?" he laughed as you looked around in awe.

"in my defense the last match of alessia's i attended that wasn’t a world cup semi had about fifty people watching!" you frowned, only making him laugh harder, patting you on the back and shaking his head. "well, times have changed kid." he grinned, again ruffling your hair as you shoved him away and you moved closer in line.

"so. you and my little sister, worked things out then?" gio asked, leaning in to practically whisper at you as you frowned, unsure what he was asking. "please. don't play dumb with me i know you far too well to be fooled by that!" the boy warned with an amused smile as your eyes widened.

"she told you that we..." "yeah. i went to visit her at college a couple of months after she moved, she got quite drunk and babbled everything." gio smiled somewhat sympathetically.

"everything?" "yeah, everything. i had your back though she should have told you her plans and i made sure to let her know how stupid she was to mess everything up." gio shrugged.

"christ did both of our families know?" you huffed with a scowl, forever under the impression your relationship with the striker had been a well kept secret, though as time passed it seemed more and more people had been clued in than you thought.

"not the parents. dunno how they didn't catch on given you and less were hardly subtle, luca and i had our suspicions long before less told me i can promise you that." gio chuckled with a wink making your face heat up as you arrived to the front of the line.

"we're just friends though." you quietly answered his previous question as he gave you a look and nodded, turning toward the cashier with a dazzling smile.

"could i please get a red gunners beanie and a russo home jersey in a size..." he glanced to you clearly waiting an answer as you shrugged cluelessly, never having bought a jersey before. "large." he answered for you and rolled his eyes at how you looked like a fish out of water.

"better too big than too small." he shrugged, pushing you away with a firm shake of his head as you tried to pay, tapping his phone and grabbing the bag with an appreciative smile. "gio!" you hissed with a scowl, punching his arm as he whined and rubbed it.

"a thank you would have sufficed!" he mocked, waving at harry who was wandering about with a confused look a hundred or so metres away.

"put it on we haven't got all day." gio waved impatiently as he handed you the bag and you sighed, stripping off your puffer vest and pulling the jersey on over your hoodie, shrugging the vest back on.

"perfect! now you at least look the part even if you're still as clueless about football as a newborn baby." the boy grinned, yanking the beanie down on top of your head and spinning you around. "i have not missed you." you grumbled as he smacked away your hand from pulling off the beanie.

"aw my little sister in law i love you too." he pinched your cheeks as the two of you caught up to harry, your face going almost as red as your beanie as you were squished between both boys. "did you not get me anything?" you poked your brother accusingly as he handed gio some food but not you.

"you didn't ask for any!" he defended as you all squished into an elevator. "you didn't ask me if i wanted any." you rolled your eyes at his thought process, tuned out by the rumble in the elevator.

"they sometimes have food in the box." gio shrugged as your head whipped toward him and the doors opened, the boy gesturing for you to step out. "the box?" you questioned with a suspicious frown.

"friends and family box." harry answered with a grin, the pair of you following after gio. "he comes with me and luca sometimes." gio answered with a chuckle before you could even ask.

"most of the time mum and dad or some of the extended family come too but they've got some swanky lunch they can't get out of." he shrugged, handing you and harry a lanyard as you only nodded, at a loss for words.

having gotten over your initial shock and now settled in your seats waiting for the match to begin you nodded as both harry and gio seated either side of you attempted to debrief you on everything they felt you needed to know for the game.

you of course were still clueless, focused more on trying to spot alessia as they lined up for the team photos, noting her right away as you hummed, gio and harry sharing a look over your head and rolling their eyes.

it wasn't until half time when you felt like you could finally exhale, a familiar but unwelcome sensation settling in your stomach, worry.

this match had been particularly aggressive, yellow cards hardly in short stock as you winced every time alessia's body went tumbling down onto the pitch, just like you used to all those years ago when you watched her you still worried.

you accepted the drink from gio as he returned with a grateful smile, the older boy just chuckling at the blatant worry in your eyes. "she's fine! she's a big girl she can take a tackle or too, and dish them out." he assured you as you nodded, falling into conversation with harry about lily's upcoming baby shower.

your panic came in a different form the second half, the score locked 1-1 with only injury time remaining you bounced your knee anxiously amusing both boys either side of you who hadn't hesitated to tease you all match about it.

you held your breath as again alessia went down, this time not getting back up as a few of her team mates waved for the medics and she slowly sat up, your grip on your cup tightening.

"hey, she's okay." your brother noticed your discomfort and squeezed your knee, draping his free arm over your shoulder.

"this is sort of insane." you breathed out, having been taken aback all match by the chants and passion of the spectators filling out the stadium, all 59,000+ of them which sent your brain spinning. "yeah next match we'll teach you some chants!" gio grinned, nudging you with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"or at least alessia's. she'll be horribly offended if you don't know her chant at least!" harry chipped in, both boys clearly doing their best to distract you as alessia was looked over by the medics.

you exhaled as finally she got back to her feet rewarded with a thundering cheer from the supporters, a free kick given for the poor tackle as the stadium exploded in support.

"speaking of!" harry laughed as alessia's name echoed around the pitch. you shook your head with a smile of utter disbelief, you knew she was clearly famous you weren't that naive, but seeing how many people were yelling her name with a clap had your heart bursting with pride.

"so less doesn't have to take the kick right, and they can get their players in front of the ball?" you questioned for clarification as harry nodded, explaining roughly how it would work and what arsenal would try to do to force man city to concede.

you held your breath as two of the arsenal girls lined up for the kick, watching as alessia was shoved and pushed around, repeatedly yanking away hands and arms which jostled and poked at her.

you watched frozen to your seat as the kick was sent in, a mad panic exploding in the box as a flurry and fight of heads, limbs and feet flailed around to try and make contact.

then finally there was a swish as the ball hammered the back of the net, the whistle blew and the stadium exploded.

"oh my god!" your eyes almost bugged at of your head as alessia sprinted away from the goal with her hands in the air, tackled to the ground by her team as you jumped up to your feet alongside nearly every single person in the stadium, cheering loud and proud for the blonde.

"she's still got it." you grinned at gio who laughed and nodded, shoving your head playfully as alessia was announced as the goal scorer and the crowd went mental at a replay of her goal.

"now they just need to park the bus for six minutes." harry whistled, turning and explaining to you right away what he meant before you even had to ask, the three of you settling back into your seats.

you weren't sure quite how but you were near certain you didn't breath for those next six minutes, your eyes widening in shock as with three to go alessia was shown a yellow card and walked off with a roll of her eyes.

"told you she gives as good as she gets sometimes short stack!" gio beamed, full of pride only making you chuckle quietly. "you'd know, she used to beat you up!" you teased the boy who shushed you and pulled the beanie down over your eyes.

you finally let out a deep exhale as the full time whistle sounded, the crowd erupting into cheers of victory as you watched alessia do her laps of the pitch clapping the fans.

"she'll be a fair while, she'll sign some stuff and go shower then come up." gio explained as you all returned inside the box to escape the cold, the weather well and truly taking a turn for the worst as thunder started to rumble in the far off distance.

meanwhile alessia had finally returned to the locker room, unable to wipe the smile off her face as she laughed and sang along to the music leah had blasting all around.

"hey less did your brother get a girlfriend? ben said he was all over some girl he brought with him to the box." beth laughed as alessia pulled a face, grabbing her slides out from her cubby and tying her wet hair up into a bun.

"no? that would be news to me." the blonde frowned with a shrug, shoving her belongings into her bag, now one of the last ones left. though sure enough as she tiredly made her way into the box flanked by vic and kyra her frown returned seeing her brothers arm draped over a girl, both of them with their backs facing her.

but right before she could reach them the girl spoke and shrugged his arm off, making a beeline for the toilet as alessia charged toward her brother. "did you bring a girl to my game and not tell me you were seeing someone!" she accused with an annoyed frown poking at his chest.

"did i what?" he laughed in disbelief, an annoyingly smug grin curling on his lips as he realized where his sisters thoughts were. "yeah actually i brought a little date!" he grinned, knowing the moment you returned everything would fall into place for the striker.

"gio!" alessia huffed punching him in the arm, temporarily distracted as a few of the girls and their family members wandered over and pulled her into conversation. "those bathrooms are so nice!" you marveled, your brother pushing you away as you shoved your hands into his face demanding he smell how good the soap smelled.

gio smirked as at the sound of your voice alessia spun right around, ignoring the questions fired toward her by the small group of people she was with as she finally noticed you, smacking about your brother as he wrapped you into a choke hold.

"i never said who the little date was for." gio smirked as he appeared at alessia's side, the blondes cheeks flushing bright red as she hurried to smooth her jumper out, suddenly wishing she'd made an effort with her hair.

"go on lovergirl, she's even wearing your jersey. you're welcome!" gio whispered, pushing her in your direction as she stumbled slightly and shot him a filthy look over her shoulder.

catching gio's eye harry let go of you and pushed you away, shooting over to the other boys side before you could tell him off, turning around and practically running into a body.

"you're here!" was all alessia managed to get out with wide eyes as you nodded. "i didn't know you were coming." she added on with a nervous smile, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

"not of my own free will. thing one and thing two kidnapped me!" you pointed to your brothers over her shoulder, not missing the strange look which crossed the taller girls face.

"hey, less i'm only joking. you had a great game!" you were quick to make amends, hoping your comment hadn't rubbed her the wrong way. "that volley? class!" you complimented, the blondes lips curling into a surprised grin.

"well well well, look whose been studying her football jargon." alessia teased, nerves melting away as you bumped her with your shoulder and a playful roll of your eyes as the two of you chattered away, everyone else in the room ceasing to exist as you only had eyes for one another.

"i see old habits die hard. will you ever learn?" you sighed dramatically, reaching a hand up to tuck away a loose strand of wet hair out of her eyes. "when have i ever listened to you?" alessia smirked, you having forever warned her against not drying her hair or at least leaving it out.

the two of you so engrossed in conversation alessia failed to notice a few of her friends eyeing the two of you off, laura and leah looking especially pleased as they gave the two of you some space, just sending you a friendly wave from a distance which you returned.

alessia also failed to notice a few of them creeping closer, jolted out of the little bubble with you as an arm slung around her waist with a squeeze. "hello!" vic addressed you as kyra and teyah appeared on alessia's other side and she withheld a groan.

"and who is this?" the dutch girl smirked as alessia shot her daggers briefly. "this is my..." she struggled for a moment giving you a glance. "my y/n." she answered awkwardly, wishing the ground would swallow her up as she shot kyra and teyah a firm glare at their giggles.

"well hello lessi's y/n. pleasure to meet you! i am lessi's vic, this is lessi's kyra and lessi's teyah." vic beamed as you couldn't help but laugh, alessia shoving vics arm away and moving to stand protectively by your side as the three younger girls all began to speak at you.

"oi! lay off she's not a performing monkey." alessia warned, hand settling on the small of your back as you struggled to keep up with the three different accents, lines of conversations and questions. thankfully leah noticed and swooped in, quickly ushering away the three troublemakers as alessia mouthed a thank you.

"they seem fun." you grinned up at the blonde who groaned quietly. "that's one word for them." she sighed. "seem to remind me of a certain outgoing outspoken loud mouthed young striker." you paused to look away contemplatively as alessia cracked a smile, harry and gio joining the two of you, the tall girls hand remaining on the small of your back.

"hey how did you get here?" alessia asked as the boys ducked off to use the toilet, the box clearing out. "i told you, kidnapped!" you teased, alessia's stomach clenching strangely as you smiled up at her and her knees went a bit wobbly.

"would you like to come over for dinner? i'll cook." alessia asked before she could talk herself out of it, nervously playing with the strap of the bag still slung over her shoulder.

"are you asking me on a date?" you asked quietly, smile growing at the slight blush which coated alessia's cheeks. "yeah. is that okay? or we can do something else!" she breathed out, corners of her mouth curling upward as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

"dinner sounds lovely." you agreed, trying to ignore the butterflies swooping and diving around in your stomach as alessia seemed to relax a little. "i'm gonna get a ride back with less." you spoke up as the boys returned, the four of you falling into conversation for a bit before parting ways.

"uhh, stay here for a second. please!" alessia stopped you suddenly after taking you down the back of the stadium, disappearing around a corner as you crossed your arms and waited, eyes roaming the photos of past teams and their victories on the wall.

"okay!" you jumped as alessia suddenly returned, the blonde apologizing with an amused smile nodding for you to follow her again. she lead you out to the back lot, having moved her car away from prying eyes where a few fans were still hanging about.

she wasn't quite ready to have to explain that aspect of her job to you just yet.

"nice jersey, your favorite player?" alessia grinned as the two of you arrived to her place, parking out the front as you rolled your eyes. "don't flatter yourself your brother bought it and forced me into it, and this!" you gestured to the beanie on top of your head which alessia found absolutely adorable.

"ouch, my poor ego!" the blonde sighed dramatically clutching at her chest as you rolled your eyes. "it could use the humbling. we've got, lessi russo! we've got-" you clapped as alessia's cheeks went red and she shoved you mumbling for you to shut up.

"we might need to sprint for it, my umbrella's in the boot." she shifted tones, the rain now hammering down against her car as you hummed in agreement.

"on three?" you nodded as both your hands hovered by the door handles. "three!" alessia announced as you both flung your doors open and made a dash for it, your laughter lost into the mid afternoon air as alessia almost sent herself flying down her stairs.

the two of you collapsed into one another laughing once you were in the safety of her front porch. "whose got wet hair now!" alessia teased tugging your beanie down over your eyes and scrambling for her keys.

"might have to bin this jersey since its all wet, shame." you yanked off the beanie and tousled your hair with your hand, stepping out of your soaking wet shoes as alessia slipped out of her slides both pairs left by the door.

"i can get you another one, even sign it for you if you like." she winked making you roll your eyes as she wasted no time pulling off her sopping wet jumper and gesturing you do the same. "mmm would up the resell value for ebay. have you got a pen handy?" you teased.

"do you want a shower?" the blonde offered kindly, biting her lip to stifle her laughter at both of your soaking wet states. "just some dry clothes if you don't mind." you replied with a somewhat shy smile, alessia nodding and sprinting off before you could say another word.

she returned mere seconds later, a pair of joggers and a hoodie in hand, nodding for you to change and give her your wet clothes so she could put them in the dryer. as the bathroom door closed with a click alessia went into panic mode, racing around her house tidying as well as she could in the small window of time she had to do so.

you couldn't help but inhale once you were changed, now drowned in the familiar smell of your ex girlfriend, though for once it wasn't accompanied with a weird stab of guilt, you allowing yourself to just enjoy the sense of safety and comfort which settled on your shoulders.

what alessia hadn't anticipated was you exiting the bathroom right as she rushed past with a basket piled high of dirty washing she intended to hide, her body slamming into yours and sending the two of you to the ground and her laundry into the air.

"i'm so sorry!" her face paled as she winced and gently peeled off her training shirt from where it had landed on your head, the two of you buried in a mountain of her dirty clothes as alessia wished the ground could swallow her up.

"if this is a way of you telling me to do your washing for you, you could have just asked!" you laughed and rolled off of her, alessia relaxing a little at your reaction, quick to her feet and helping you up to yours.

"two minutes." the striker promised still red with embarrassment, hurrying to shove her clothes back into the basket, grabbing your wet ones from the bathroom floor and darting off into the laundry, yelling out for you to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.

alessia took a moment once her washing was safely in the machine and your clothes in the dryer to collect herself, gripping the bench and taking a few deep breaths, nodding firmly and exiting the room.

an affectionate smile curled onto her lips to see you sat up at the island bench of her kitchen, your legs just a little too short to touch the ground you'd tucked one beneath you and were absentmindedly swinging the other to and from.

alessia would be lying if she didn't something settled over her which could have maybe been described as a sense of possessiveness seeing you sat in her house in her clothes once again. though she quickly tried to shake that off, giving herself a firm reminder the two of you were taking things slow and you were far from being hers anymore.

the large black adidas hoodie she'd given you to change into was big on alessia so it hung down to your mid thigh, and the blonde grinned in amusement seeing you'd had to roll and cuff up the ends of the joggers given her legs were a fair bit longer than yours.

"so whats on the menu chef russo?" you smiled sending her stomach into knots again as she joined you in the kitchen. "what do you feel like?" alessia questioned, washing her hands and rolling up the sleeves of her jumper with a raised eyebrow.

"anything. just no pineapple!" you teased, alessia laughing dryly and flicking water at you from her wet hands before wiping them on a tea towel. "pasta?" you nodded happily.

"just no tomatoes." alessia now teased your own eating habits as you mocked her and pulled a face. "wait, from scratch?" your eyebrows shot up in surprise as alessia breezed around the kitchen pulling out ingredients.

"obviously. did you forget i am italian!" she grinned and you smiled softly seeing her tie an apron around her waist, resisting the temptation to tease her for it and instead settling for enjoying how cute it was that she had one handy.

"half italian." you reminded earning yourself a glare and a middle finger in your direction as a cutting board and knife appeared on the bench in front of you. "make yourself useful would you." alessia smirked, placing down some peppers, onions and carrots on the board and tugging playfully on your ear.

"you know typically when you ask someone on a date and offer to cook them dinner, you don't force them to be your sous chef!" you shook your head but rolled up the sleeves of alessia's hoodie.

"aw you think you're at a sous chef level, that's adorable babe." it was a simple slip up, so much to the point alessia didn't even clock what she'd said but you did, your face burning bright red as you focused your energy into prepping the vegetables as she busied herself making dough.

the two of you fell into conversation about your upcoming weeks, alessia filling you in on her training schedule and commitments as you explained your lesson planning, both of you hanging off the others words, fully engaged in making an effort to show your sincere interest in what the other had to say.

"only you would just casually have things laying about to make pasta from scratch on a sunday night!" you grinned, now stood by the stove keeping an eye on the sauce at alessia's request. "if its not better than anything you've made pre-made i'll retire tomorrow." alessia challenged confidently, moving to take her hoodie off leaving her in joggers and a singlet, not wanting to get flour all over herself.

you wrenched your eyes away from her bare arms as she expertly kneaded the dough, muscles flexing as you turned back to the sauce, stirring it occasionally as a comfortable silence fell between the two of you.

"come here." you glanced up to see alessia wipe away a few small beads of sweat on her forehead, nodding for you to join her. she leaned over and flipped the stove top to the lowest heat it could so the sauce wouldn't burn.

"a pasta making lesson with a real life italian? should be charging." you teased as alessia demonstrated how to fold and roll out the dough, shaping it into spirals melting you a little as she made a point to note she knew they'd been your favorite growing up.

"christ you make this look easy." you credited her as you struggled with the dough, tensing up a little as you felt her body settle in behind you, her front pressed to your back as her bare arms wound around you.

"like this, push with your palms." she murmured, maneuvering your hands with hers on top as she helped you to roll out the dough and shape it like she'd shown. you thought once you started to get the hang of it she might move away but she stayed pressed against you.

"is this okay?" she checked quietly as her hands settled on your waist and her chin rested on your shoulder and you nodded, a little lost for words as waves of emotions you refused to overthink crashed into you, alessia starting to very gently sway the two of you.

"perfect!" the blonde beamed proudly as you finished rolling out and shaping your half of the dough. "had a decent teacher i guess." you smiled, craning your head back to gently kiss her cheek as alessia's hairs stood on end and she pushed herself away from you, moving to quickly finish off her half of the dough as you returned to the sauce.

on her orders you had a pot of water waiting to boil, leaving the sauce to thicken on low as you moved to watch her finish off the pasta. "do you want a pro tip?" alessia smiled as you nodded, gesturing for her continue.

"always flour your board." you gasped as her finger reached out and rubbed flour all over your nose, the taller girl grinning clearly quite pleased with herself. not even waiting to speak your hand darted out into the leftover flour, your hand pressing against her cheek leaving a white hand mark on the side of her face.

that seemed to open the floodgates as you chased one another around the island flicking and smacking flour against one another until alessia called for a truce, wincing at the flour which now coated her once clean floors.

however as the two of you retreated back toward the stove in typical alessia fashion, she slipped.

"less!" you cried out as she grabbed out for you to steady herself, instead taking you down with her, your body landing on top of hers as you both groaned.

"i'm beginning to think you do this on purpose now!" you tutted, hint of a smile on your lips. hyper aware of her large hands resting on your back an odd sense of deja vu settled over the pair of you, neither of you paying attention to anything than one another when you suddenly found yourself admiring and studying over ever little feature of her face, alessia doing the exact same.

just like clockwork the longer you maintained eye contact the smaller and smaller the room seemed to become, alessia's eyes flickering down to your lips just for a fleeting second.

"would it be too fast if i kissed you again?" the girl whispered, eyes still locked with yours as you gave a small shake of your head. "please." was all you managed to breathe out.

your hand moved to brush a few strands of her golden blonde hair out of her face, leaning in ever so slowly.

just like last time your hands moved to tangle in her hair now brushed out and dry again, and in turn alessia's own hands came to rest on either side of your face, thumbs tracing soft circles on your jaw, ever so gently guiding your mouth within millimeters of her own.

you both sighed as your lips met, the kiss slow and calculated and tender. alessia kissed you like you were made of glass, terrified that one wrong move and you'd break, her lips soft and inviting as they moved against yours.

you parted your own slightly as her teeth ever so gently tugged at your bottom lip, her tongue slipping into your mouth as the kiss became just a little less sweet.

though you hissed and pulled away at the feeling of something burning your neck, the blonde underneath yours eyes widening as she tightened her hold on your face and sat up taking you with her.

"what's wrong? was that too much? too fast? i'm so sorry." she rambled out, chest heaving with worry as you were quick to shake your head. "i think something bit me!" you gently moved her hands off your face and turned your head, moving your hair out of the way as alessia frowned and glanced at your neck.

but everything suddenly made sense as she heard a strange noise and looked up to the stove, realizing exactly what had happened.

"shit the water's over boiled!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

thirteen

our cute little lovers seemingly all happy but will it last?

what do we think is going to happen? what do you want to see happen?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 1: Am I More Than You Bargained For Yet]

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

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, a brief history of burn treatments, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), a wild Sunfyre appears, catching feelings for literally the single most inappropriate man on the planet.

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.3k.

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

💜 I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world! 💜

@doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody @backyardfolklore

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 

You scream when he grabs you, this lightning strike of a man with a grip like an animal trap that splits bones. He pulls you away from the soldier you’re soothing—a young dark-haired Norcross, disoriented, doomed, his intestines spilling out onto the grass and blood on his lips—and through the forest of smoke and corpses and pine trees. Your eyes sting and water, your boots snag on gnarled roots. When you yelp and stumble to the earth, the man drags you upright again. You struggle like a beast with a blade at its throat, cold, serrated, pressure on the jugular. You shove and scratch at him, trying to plant your boots in soil strewn with gore and glowing embers.

“Stop, stop it, you’re hurting me!”

“Hurry up.”

“You’re going to break my wrist—!”

He wrenches you around to look you full in the face, and only now do you know who he is. A gasp hisses through your teeth; the acrid air in your lungs vanishes. Every muscle and tendon and ligament of you is taut with horror, tight enough to snap. It’s like meeting one of the Seven, the Warrior or Stranger or Smith, a shade you know only from myths and nightmares. It’s like being led to the executioner’s scaffold. His long silver braid hangs over one shoulder. His eyepatch conceals the childhood maiming that left him half-blind. There’s blood and ash on his scarred face, a ruthless breed of fear in his remaining eye, icy blue, creek-shallow, soulless. The man clasping your wrist is Prince Aemond Targaryen. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t come with me now.”

He does not wait for your protest or acquiescence. You couldn’t give it anyway. Your muddied boots move numbly as he tugs you forward, this man they call Aemond One-Eye, a monster, a murderer, a kinslayer. The earth is littered with carnage from the battle, charred ribcages and disemboweled horses, scattered armor and severed limbs. Ashes fall from the smoldering treetops like dark snow.

What does he want from me?

Rape seems unlikely; everyone knows Prince Aemond’s deviancies do not run in that direction. He is cold, hateful, dispassionate, made of stone. He does not lust for anything but power and retribution, fire and blood.

To kill me?

But why not do it here, now? There is a sword hanging from his belt, a dagger in one fist. There is no reason to wait.

To take me prisoner? To feed me to his dragon? To torture me for information?

Surely there are more knowledgeable people around to torture. What use could you be, a healer, a woman? Unless…

Unless he knows who my father is.

You glance down at the fabric band looped around the upper half of your right arm, the only mark you wear of your house, stark white banner, skittering red crabs. It is soaked through with blood. It is unreadable.

Someone is shrieking, but not like a dying man. He has too much fight in him for that, too much glass-clear agony, unwanted blistering consciousness. He screams like someone being flayed, gutted, burned alive. You’ve only ever heard this sound once before. You choke on the greasy, putrid, metallic sweetness of scorched human flesh as it sears down your throat, not knowing if it is real or remembered.

There is a tent in the midst of the pine trees, fluttering canvas that’s green like emeralds or jade. The wind is picking up; you will need to evacuate soon. The cinders will spread and the forest will blaze. Somewhere a dragon is roaring, wounded and mournful like the cry of a lost child. The screams of the man grow louder; they fill your skull like a fever, scalding and senseless and red. Aemond yanks the tent flap aside and pulls you in. And when you breathe it is nothing but the sickening miasma of burnt flesh, coppery blood, suffering, sweat, ruin.

He’s writhing on a wooden table, the man the Greens call king. It has to be him: white-blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes and fine aristocratic bones. Two ancient, shaky-handed maesters—hastily commandeered from the defeated House Staunton, you assume—confer nearby, clutching glass bottles of milk of the poppy. A man in armor is cutting tatters of clothing from the so-called king. When he lifts the fabric away, skin sloughs off with it. Aegon wails, struggles, begs him to stop. Aemond goes to his brother and carves away scraps of melted leather and charred cotton with the swift blade of his dagger.

“Shh, shh, don’t fight us, we’re trying to help—”

“Aemond, let me die,” the burned man rasps. He is trembling violently, he is half-mad with pain. Meleys’ flames claimed a swath of his right cheek, his neck and chest and back, his arms down to his wrists, his belly to the crests of his hip bones. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want it to hurt anymore. Don’t try to help me. Just let me die.”

Aemond looks back at you. “Can you treat this?”

He thinks I’m a Green, you realize with panic, with relief, with terror. And of course he would: you had wandered into the Greens’ side of the battlefield and therefore did not surrender or flee or die with the other Blacks, you were tending to a Green soldier when he found you. Aemond the Kinslayer would not comprehend the notion of service to humankind without a line drawn down the middle of it, of uncategorical compassion.

“Can you help him or not?!” Aemond shouts; and you know that he is not just afraid but shattering, spider-leg cracks inching across a window or a mirror. Perhaps the Greens have souls after all.

You shed your paralysis like daylight erases the stars and approach to examine the so-called king. You do not touch him; still, he whimpers, sobs, quakes like waves in a storm. “He needs more milk of the poppy. A lot more of it.”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees immediately. His streaming eyes—a bleak, murky blue like the sea off Claw Isle—list to you, agonized and grateful.

The maesters gape. “More could kill him,” one says. And they are petrified of being blamed for it. They are plagued by visions of Aemond hacking off their heads and displaying them on spikes above the stone walls of captured Rook’s Rest.

“No drawbacks at all then?” Aegon manages between moans.

“If his pain does not abate, he will die of shock,” you say. “He must be unconscious.”

“Knock me out,” Aegon pleads, pawing at Aemond. “Tell them, tell them.”

Aemond looks to the man in armor: dark-haired, olive-skinned, Dornish. Sir Criston Cole, you realize. The Hand of the King. The Kingmaker. After a moment, Criston nods. “Do it now,” Aemond orders the maesters.

Grimacing, grim, they pour the opalescent liquid into Aegon’s mouth. He gulps it down as quickly as he can. “Enough,” you tell the maesters. Instinctively, you reach out to comfort Aegon: a palm rested lightly on his forehead, fingers threaded through silvery hair that’s filthy with soot and blood. You should hate him, but you don’t. When you look at the Greens’ broken king, you cannot see a murderer, a usurper, a depraved hedonist, a consumer of innocence. You can only see a man worn threadbare by ill-advised bravery.

“Hello, angel,” Aegon murmurs as he gazes up at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes really do remind you of home: ocean currents like iron, fog like flint. “Welcome to the end of the world.” And then he’s out, extinguished, eclipsed.

Servants bustle into the tent carrying heavy buckets. “What is that?” you ask.

“Pork lard,” one of the maesters says. “For his wounds.”

“No, no, no, some of these burns are nearly down to the muscle. They’re too deep, too fresh. Lard is for later, to help with scarring, although olive oil or rose oil would be better. He needs to be cleaned with vinegar diluted with water. Or red wine, if that’s all that can be found.”

“Vinegar?!” one of the maesters exclaims.

“It helps prevent infection. Nobody knows why.”

The same maester turns to Aemond, imploring him. “My prince, I can assure you, the Citadel recommends pork lard or cow dung as topical cures, or both used alternatingly. There are also reports of cases where frogs have been helpful, warmed in oil and then rubbed on the affected area.”

Criston blinks. “I’m sorry, you do what with the frogs…?!”

They’re going to kill him, you think. Not with malice, but with stupidity. A wasted life, a wasted death. You demand of the maester: “When was the last time you treated burns this severe?”

He glowers at you, sharp dark eyes like flecks of onyx in a nest of wrinkles. And you know you’ve won when he replies: “When have you?”

“My brother was burned in a housefire started by an upturned lantern. It was five years ago, but I remember the direness his injuries. And what was done to save him.”

Silence in this tent the color of summer: green grass, unsinged trees. Aemond waits for the maesters to produce some astute rebuttal. When they cannot, he orders the servants: “Vinegar, water, rags. Now.” They dash off to oblige him, wide-eyed and quivering like small dogs. Then Aemond looks to you. “What next?”

“His wounds should be treated with honey and then bandaged. The dressings must be changed frequently, at least once per day. He must be repositioned so the scar tissue does not immobilize his joints. He will suffer, it cannot be avoided, but he should suffer as little as possible. Listen to him when he says the pain is too much. Let him sleep. When he is awake, he must drink plenty of fluids. He is losing water through his burns, and it must be replaced. Milk is preferable. Tea and fruit juices are good as well. Some wine is acceptable if that’s what he likes best.”

“And it certainly is,” Criston mutters. You’ve heard the same: that the Greens’ king is a drunk, an adulterer, a coward, a ghoul. You cannot speak to any of this. You know him only as someone who is horrifically pained and sick to death of fighting. Again, without thinking, you comb your fingertips distractedly through his hair as he lies unconscious on the table, bleeding from everywhere. He’s so young, so breakable, so unlike the monster you’ve been led to believe he is.

“Get honey and bandages,” Aemond tells the maesters. They depart, casting each other incredulous glances: Are these our new overlords? Men who heed the wisdom of impetuous young women filthy with blood and earth?

“I’ve heard salt can be helpful for wounds,” Aemond says. “They used it on me when…” He gestures to his eyepatch, to his scar. Lucerys Velaryon took that part of him in self-defense; at least, that is what you have always been told. But you’ve read enough to know that for every event, there are at least two stories. Whatever the truth is, Luke paid for that eye. He paid, Rhaenyra paid, the world continues to pay the price over and over again.

“Because it dries. It absorbs moisture.” You skim your palm over Aegon’s forehead, without lines of fear or anguish as he sleeps. There is a ring on his left hand, a gold dragon with glinting dots of jade for eyes. You twist off the ring so it will not hinder circulation as his fingers swell and give it to Aemond. “But burns weep as they heal. They need to be wet. If they get too dry, they will crack open and fester.”

“Is that what happened to your brother?” Aemond asks.

“Where we did not pay enough attention. The backs of his knees, the soles of his feet.”

“But he survived.”

“Yes,” you tell Aemond; and you can see how desperately he is searching for hope in your face, your words. “He did.”

The servants return with buckets of water, handfuls of rags, glass bottles of vinegar that is cloudy and rust-colored.

“What’s it made from?” you say.

“Fermented a-a-apples, my lady,” one of the boys sputters. He watches Aemond out of the corner of his eye like sheep look for the shadows of wolves. He shivers, he sweats. This boy, who last night was fetching meat and mead for Lord Staunton, has heard the same stories you have: the degenerate king, his murderous brother.

“That’s fine then.” You haul over one of the water buckets and Criston helps you lift it up onto the table. You empty half a bottle of vinegar into the water, mix it by wobbling the bucket back and forth, and then soak a rag in the pungent liquid. “You can help,” you tell Aemond and Criston. “Dip a rag in the bucket, wring it out, then press it to his wounds. Remove any dirt or scraps of fabric. But don’t rub. Try not to damage the skin he has left.” You demonstrate: dabbing at flesh that is torn and bloody and blistered, a black-and-ruby wasteland that at best will leave him irreparably scarred and at worst will swallow his life like ships sink in storms.

Tentatively—with hands at ease with killing but not tenderness—Aemond and Criston join you, studying your movements and imitating them with great care. There is a sniffle, a teardrop that falls onto Aegon’s filthy but unburned left hand and glistens there like a splinter of glass; you are alarmed to see that the Kingmaker is weeping.

“Criston,” Aemond says gently. “We are doing everything we can for him.”

“Since the day he was born, I promised…”

“I know.”

“Your mother…”

“I know,” Aemond says again, and you think: The Greens aren’t demons, they aren’t savages. They’re just patchworks of memory and flesh and suffering, the same as any of us. “He will live. And his sacrifice won us a victory today.”

As you tended to wounded men caked with blood and pine needles, you saw them tangled above in the overcast sky, scales of scarlet and gold and an ancient muddy viridescence. There were flames and shouts, and then all three dragons hurdled towards the earth and out of view. “The Red Queen?” you ask Aemond, mindful to keep your voice perfectly level.

“Dead,” he says: dark satisfaction, fearsome pride. “And so is her rider.”

“The gods are good.” You are amazed at how easily it slips out, a reflex of self-preservation while your mind is elsewhere. Does my father know yet? Does Rhaenyra, does Daemon, does Corlys? People will be searching for you soon. If you do not appear from the smoke and chaos of the battlefield, your eldest brother Clement will come looking with his sword in hand. Everett, scarred and unagile but clever, will be pouring over maps to see where you might have ended up.

There is no suspicion in Aemond’s face when he glances over at you. He is gingerly cleaning soot and charred strips of ruined skin from Aegon’s chest, which rises and falls in deep, slow breaths. “Which family is yours?”

House Celtigar, but you can’t tell him that. You scramble for a noble family of the Crownlands whose accent you share, whose history you have been taught, whose men fight for the Greens but are not so distinguished that Aemond will know them well. “House Thorne.”

He nods. “Are you one of Sir Rickard’s sisters?”

You startle. Perhaps you have chosen the wrong disguise. “Far less illustrious than that. Just a cousin.”

The two maesters return, their archaic hands piled high with linen bandages and glass jars of honey, a fiery gold like sunset. “Set them down over there,” Aemond orders, pointing. He has a presence, it cannot be denied. He is tall, fierce, swift yet calculated. He moves like a man who has killed once, twice, again until it is no longer something that keeps him awake at night. It is something that has become a part of him like arteries or bones. “Prepare a room in the castle.”

“For Prince Aegon?” one of the maesters says, then quickly corrects himself. “I mean, for the king?”

“For until we decide what to do with him.” Aemond stares at Criston. Criston stares back, his dark eyes huge and shiny. There is a war to be waged, but Aegon will not be able to help them. Not for months, at least. Not ever, if he dies. The maesters disappear again, grumbling to each other. Unwelcome tasks, unwelcome guests.

Rhaenys is dead, you think as you work. It doesn’t feel real. Meleys is dead. Hundreds of Black soldiers are dead. Rook’s Rest is the Greens’ greatest victory yet, and one they desperately needed. This war is nowhere near over. And the betting odds keep changing.

You say to Aemond and Criston: “Help me turn him. We must clean the burns on his back as well.”

They listen, they obey, they help you because helping you means helping Aegon. When he is washed as well as he can be, you spread a thin sheen of shimmering honey over his wounds—an amber river that will trap moisture and discourage inflammation—and wrap him in bandages. The only burn you leave uncovered is the one on his right cheek. It creeps up over his pale face like red tentacles, curling and grasping, hungry, insatiable. They match now, you think. Two brothers, two scars.

Criston assembles a group of Green soldiers and Aegon is carried in a litter to the castle that serves as the seat of House Staunton, once allies of Rhaenyra, now traitors, now dead men walking. Outside rain has begun to fall, putting out flames born from dragonfire. The pine forest is saved; wounded men lie in the dirt with their mouths open hoping to quench their thirst. By the time Aegon is placed in an opulent bedroom with a view of Blackwater Bay, he has already bled through his bandages. You clean him again, bandage him, dribble milk of the poppy down his throat when he begins to stir and whimper. Aemond gives you command of a makeshift fleet of caretakers: the two requisitioned maesters, three maids, servants to bring food, drink, bandages, wood for the crackling fireplace.

My family is searching for me, you know as you battle to save their enemy’s life, this maybe-king with silver hair and eyes like deep water.And then: I cannot leave him. Not now, not yet.

In the night, as cool rain patters against the ocean and Aemond and Criston are slaughtering House Staunton men down in the castle courtyard, you dose Aegon with milk of the poppy every few hours. The maesters refuse to take responsibility for it; if the king is poisoned, it will be you who swings from a rope for it. You hold cloths dripping with cold water to his forehead. You feed him nibbles of bread and venison when he is conscious enough to eat, cinnamon tea, pomegranate juice, goat milk. You inspect him for any signs of infection. You braid a small lock of his hair before you’ve stopped to consider why you’re doing it.

And when no one else is watching, you untie the bloodstained armband of your own house and burn it to ashes in the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Someone is jostling you, grabbing at you. You fell into an exhausted, sporadic sleep in the next room long after midnight. It’s morning now; warm sunlight blooms like flowers on your face, yellow roses and buttercups and daffodils. When your eyes open, they are sore and unfocused. Aemond is a blur of white hair and black leather. He is tugging on you again, his lithe fingers like a vice around your forearm.

“Stop it, get off me!” You shove him away. He waits, bemused. “You can’t keep dragging me around like this!”

“Why not?”

Because my father is one of the wealthiest men in the Seven Kingdoms. Because I may not have silver hair or a dragon, but if you cut me open the blood of Old Valyria would spill out like red waves. Because the man I am pledged to marry is good at killing, very good at killing, maybe even better than you. “Because I’m a noblewoman. I’m a lady.”

“You don’t act like one,” Aemond counters. “Ladies flee from blood and gore. Ladies are nowhere to be found on battlefields.”

“I like being useful.”

“Then I have brought you a gift. You are needed now. Aegon is asking for you.” And then, when you hurry out of bed, finding your footing on chilly wood floors: “Well, that certainly got you moving quickly.”

“He’s in pain?”

“Not especially, from what I can tell. I think he just wants you.” Aemond glides out of the bedroom. You follow him to Aegon’s chamber. The Greens’ king is propped up in bed on a great mass of pillows, bandaged, limp, eyes glazed and barely open. There are men huddled around him. You recognize Criston, though not the other ones, some old and some young and all in armor. You hope that none of them are Sir Rickard Thorne.

You feel Aegon’s forehead for fever. To your relief, he is no more than modestly warm. He catches your hand, holds it tightly, doesn’t let go. After a moment’s hesitation, you sit down beside him on the edge of the bed. There is a curl of his lips, just a whisper of a smile, just a phantom of one. Aemond glances at you and Aegon with mild interest, then turns his attention to Criston.

“Aegon,” Criston informs the king, patiently, like a good father would. “We have to move you back to King’s Landing.”

“No,” Aegon says. His voice is so low and weak that he’s difficult to hear.

“Your recovery will be long and arduous,” Criston explains. “Aemond and I will be needed in combat. We cannot stay to guard you. The Blacks may try to retake Rook’s Rest. You staying here is not an option. King’s Landing is safer. It is well-supplied, it is protected. And we have our own maesters there who will help tend to you.”

“Can’t leave,” Aegon croaks. “Sunfyre.”

“Aegon—”

“I can’t leave without Sunfyre,” he forces out with immense effort. Then he gasps and moans, tears pooling in his eyes. You offer him milk of the poppy; he guzzles as much as you’ll allow him to have.

Criston sighs. “You can’t stay. And Sunfyre can’t leave. One of his wings was nearly ripped off, he’ll never fly again. We have no way to transport him, he’s too heavy.”

One of the armored men mutters: “And that’s assuming he wouldn’t incinerate anyone who ventured close enough to try.”

“Where is he now?” Aemond asks the man.

“Down on the beach, my prince. Eating dead soldiers.”

Criston shudders. Working in close proximity to dragons has not given him a liking for them.

“Can’t leave him here,” Aegon whispers, shaking his head.

“You must,” Aemond says.

“What if it was Vhagar?”

“I’d leave her. I’d have no choice.”

Aegon frowns, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s all too much for him. “Not the same.”

No, perhaps not; Aemond’s dragon may be the largest and most lethal in the world, but Aegon’s bond with Sunfyre is said to be what legends are built of, words written in ink and stone. You watch the agonized confliction on Aegon’s drawn face: can’t leave, can’t stay, can’t fight, can’t run. You say softly: “Could Sunfyre be assigned a detachment of guards?”

Aemond looks at you as if just remembering you’re here. “What?”

“Men could be tasked with ensuring the dragon is secure and fed. From a safe distance, of course. They could report on his health. Then perhaps when he is stronger, he can be reunited with the king.” The king. Again, it stuns you how easily the treason rolls out, like waves bubbling over rocks and sand.

Aemond turns to Criston. “Could it be done?”

“I don’t foresee many men volunteering for the task. But it could be done, yes. Sure.”

Aemond asks his brother: “Would that make a difference?”

Aegon’s eyes drift to you. They are churning with sluggish, clunky thoughts, heavy burdens to bear on raw shoulders. The braid that you wove absentmindedly into his hair is still there. “Alright,” Aegon agrees at last. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Aemond says. “We leave at dawn tomorrow.” Then he looks to you. “You will come south with us.” His tone invites no argument. He doesn’t even conceive of it as a possibility. Why would you refuse? Why would you, a purportedly devout Green, shy away from the opportunity to nurse your king back to health? You bow your head in compliance. You wonder what is being discussed in the Black Council; you wonder what your father is thinking, what Everett believes happened to you.

“But I have to see him first,” Aegon says.

Aemond does not understand. “See who?”

“Sunfyre.”

“But you can’t walk to the beach,” Criston says. “You can’t walk anywhere.”

Aegon grins, showing his teeth. His dazed, deep blue eyes glitter mischieviously. His hand has not disentangled itself from yours. “Then carry me.”

The deal is struck, like a face minted onto a coin or a bolt of lightning meeting the earth. Soldiers transport Aegon down to the stony, mist-sopped shoreline. Blade-sharp agony is flooding back into his face, but he refuses more milk of the poppy. He wants to be awake when he gets there. He wants to be himself.

The soldiers cannot get too close to Sunfyre; no one besides Aegon can. He is helped off the litter and then tries to amble across the wet, grey sand. After a few steps he collapses. You rush to him, dodging Aemond and Criston’s grasps as they try to stop you.

“No,” Aegon says when you attempt to help him to his feet. He is panting from the pain, his face flushed with torment and exertion. His white-blond hair whips in the wind. “Do not follow me. Not even if I pass out, not even if I’m dead. I don’t know what Sunfyre would do to you.” And then he crawls forward alone on his hands and knees.

Waves crash, spraying saltwater into the air. Crabs scuttle over rocks. Gulls swoop low to claim mouthfuls of flesh from bloated corpses in worthless uniforms. The dragon known as Sunfyre the Golden is curled up on the beach. Many of his metallic scales are singed; the pink membranes of his wings are tattered like lace. His right wing hangs at a ruinously odd angle. You would know how to set that if he was a human. And you could do it without the threat of being reduced to ash and history.

Sunfyre unravels as Aegon nears him, long angular face rising, frayed wings settling by his sides. You have seen dragons before, of course—Syrax, Caraxes, Arrax, Vermax, Meleys—though never from this close. They horrify you. You cannot look at them without thinking of the devastation they sow like a plague, of how they so unmistakably no longer belong in this world.

Sunfyre’s head stretches out towards his rider, a half-dead man kneeling in wet sand and wearing only bandages and loose cotton trousers. Beside you, Sir Criston Cole sucks in a noisy, nervous breath. Aemond watches Aegon, his face like stone. His hair hangs in long, damp waves.

Aegon embraces Sunfyre, clinging to him, resting his face against the dragon’s. They stay like that for what feels like a very long time. Then Aegon crawls back to you, sobbing with pain by the time he is lifted into the litter. You give him milk of the poppy and he accepts it eagerly. He is unconscious again within seconds. Down the beach, Sunfyre looses a soft desolate cry like a plea: Don’t go. Don’t leave me. You might never come back.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drivers have been instructed to proceed slowly and with caution; still, the carriage pitches and jolts as you traverse the Rosby Road towards King’s Landing. In addition to the caravan’s most precious cargo—the Greens’ fragile and intermittently sentient king—it transports also two severed heads: Lord Simon Staunton’s in a basket, and Meleys’ in the bed of a mule-drawn wagon. High above in slate-grey clouds, Aemond and Vhagar are safeguarding your progress. Criston rides on a monstrous warhorse just outside the carriage. You are leafing through a book that you found in the castle library at Rook’s Rest: anatomy, surgery, sicknesses and cures. Aegon is bandaged and heavily medicated in the cushioned seat across from you. While servants flit in and out frequently, you are the only passengers in the carriage at the moment. You do not know that Aegon is awake until he speaks.

“Sinful,” he says. His voice is groggy, only half-here. He is gazing blearily at the illustration on the open pages of your book: a quite detailed naked man, his arteries and veins mapped like the roads of Westeros, his cock bare and sizeable.

“It’s informative,” you reply in your own defense, smiling.

“My father would have hit me for looking at something like that. If he’d noticed.” Aegon smirks, resting his head against the back of his velvet seat. His hair has been scrubbed and rinsed by servants, the braid you made for him undone. “He probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Mine has a great love for all books.” Bartimos Celtigar is eternally turning pages: computations, records, revenue. He does not just sit on Rhaenyra’s council. He is her Master of Coin. He funds her war effort, he fuels her like wood to a fire. “Besides, I have seen naked men in person. No book can scandalize me now.”

A little twitch of his silvery eyebrows: fascination, amusement. “He does not lose sleep over your spent innocence?”

“He has other things on his mind presently.”

“Like what?”

Like helping Rhaenyra win the war. You find a different truth to tell him. “Some men consider one daughter to be too many. My father has four. His attention is thoroughly divided.”

“He doesn’t like you?”

“He likes me plenty. He just doesn’t need me.”

Aegon nods. His eyes travel over you slowly and meditatively, not leering but learning, memorizing slopes and angles, taking you in like he’s never been able to before. He is in the brief lull between doses of milk of the poppy: lucid enough to speak but not so much that he can feel the full extent of his injuries. “Are you married?”

This is a bit of a fraught subject. “I am betrothed.”

“Oh,” he says, with what might be disappointment. “And he wouldn’t rather have you home right now? Putting all that knowledge of male anatomy to good use? That’s difficult to believe.”

You peer evasively down at your book. “He has a role to play in the war. I’ve been given permission to serve in my own way until it is over.”

“Permission,” Aegon echoes. He finds this interesting. He studies you for a while before he asks, his voice gentle: “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s honorable, he’s brave. He’s marvelously formidable. He could carry you around like a sack of potatoes.”

Aegon chuckles, a slow reflective laugh, curiosity, intrigue, something to think about besides the fact that he’s missing half his skin. “Do you fear marriage?”

What is the answer to that question? Do you even know yourself? “I fear being possessed. And having no remedy if the circumstances are not to my liking.”

“You can’t get one of your three superfluous sisters to marry him instead?”

You smile faintly. “No, we’ve met. He chose me, he favored me. I’m not sure why.”

“Probably because you’ve read all there is to know about cocks.” Aegon grins, drowsy and crooked and playful. “Who is he?”

“Just a man,” you say. You can’t tell Aegon more than that. It would give your Black affiliations away.

You are betrothed to the Warden of the North, Lord Cregan Stark.

[really-fanny-longbottom]

the night we met

summary: azriel, cassian, and rhysand find something that will change their lives forever.

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, abuse, death and violence.

pairings: batboys x reader (platonic)

Words: 5.8k

a/n: this is part of my second chance series but it can be read as a stand alone.

Cassian hated Windhaven. He hated it with all his strength.

No matter how many years, decades, and centuries had passed, he would never forget what he went through in that camp and how he was treated.

How he was still treated, it didn't matter that he had won the title of Carynthian or that he was the General and the Commander.

To them, he was always gonna be a bastard. 

Someone they wouldn't hesitate to disrespect or to spit on if it weren't for the seven red siphons adorning his body.

He hated almost everything about Windhaven. The males - how arrogant and violent they were and how they treated the females. 

Lord Devlon - how he managed the camp and how he treated him and Azriel. 

And the weather - despite growing up here, Cassian preferred the sun of Velaris over the rain and cold of Windhaven any day.

But the biggest reason for him to hate Windhaven as much as he did was how the females were treated.

It reminded him of his mother. His mother, who had to work until her death. His mother, who was taken advantage of. His mother, who was alone for all those years, he was trapped in this horrible camp.

His mother, the one person that he wanted to save the most but couldn't. He couldn't even remember her no matter how much he tried. And all of that, because some stupid male believed he was superior to her.

That's why he was here right now. 

Cassian and his brothers had arrived a few hours ago for another meeting with Devlon regarding the females’ training.

Nothing guaranteed him that he could make a change for those females, but hell, he was sure gonna try it. For her.

The meeting was supposed to end an hour ago, but Devlon's stubbornness kept prolonging it.

It finally ended half an hour later with Rhys' final decision that the females would be training three times a week during two hours before their chores.

Lord Devlon didn't like it, but there's nothing he could do against the High Lord's decision, so he had to 'suck it up', as Cassian made sure to tell him.

As the brothers made their way to the edge of the camp so they could finally leave, Cassian released a long breath letting go of the stress and anger that had built up in his body after seeing Devlon's arrogant face when they first arrived.

"That took longer than I expected," Rhys said, also releasing a long breath.

"It's Devlon. You know he never changes when it comes to the females." Azriel replied.

"Well, once a son of a bitch, always a son of a bitch." Cassian finished for them. 

Cassian's brothers laughed at his words, humming their agreements. 

"Az, I need you to come here for the next few weeks to verify if the training is happening." Rhys told him while they kept walking, "I know you don't like to come here, brother, but with the meetings between the Courts starting in a few days, I'm not gonna have the time." 

"I know, Rhys, I'll do it. Don't worry." Azriel replied indifference settling on his face, trying to hide how uncomfortable he is with these visits, but deep down Cassian and Rhys knew it.

"I'll join you." Cassian said, clapping a hand on his back.

Azriel's only response was a small nod and a weak smile.

When they reached the entrance of the camp, Rhys moved to stand in front of them and extended his hands. "Shall we?"

Cassian looked at the sky before looking towards his brother. "Why don't we fly today?" 

Rhys shot him an incredulous look, "You want to fly all the way over Velaris?" 

Cassian shrugged his shoulders, "Why not? I mean, when was the last time we enjoyed a good flight?"

"I agree with Cass," Azriel spoke this time. "Also, something tells me that we should fly today." 

Rhys lowered his hands, realizing that they were still extended, with furrowed eyebrows he asked "What do you mean? Your shadows?" 

"Yes, they're acting differently today" Azriel paused a second, "I don't know why but they got more restless about an hour ago." 

Confusion set on both Rhys and Cassian's faces, but Azriel just shrugged, not wanting to talk more about it and getting a little uncomfortable at his brothers' gazes.

Noticing this, Cassian changed the topic of the conversation when he saw Rhys was about to talk again "So should we get going?" He looked towards Rhys, a grin appearing on his face and amusement in his voice to match it "Don't tell me your age it's starting to get to you, brother." 

Azriel couldn't help the laughter that escaped his lips.

Rhys chuckled, forgetting what he was about to say to the Shadowsinger. "Cass, not to be mean, but you know you're older than me, right?" 

Cassian's grin didn't break. In fact, it grows even more. "Yeah, but unlike you, High Lord," Cassian bowed, exaggerating the movement before standing to his full height again. "I still train every day." 

Rhys rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Please, I'm still in form, Cass." 

Cassian crossed his arms over his chest, the amusement still present in his voice. "Sure, if you say so." He said while bumping shoulders with Azriel, who was still laughing.

"I am!" Rhys tells them, passing a hand through his black hair "Okay, enough, you two." He raises a hand gesturing to the sky with his wings appearing behind him. "Let's fly." 

Rhys turns around, ready to take off when his brothers’ chuckles reach his ears. Turning again in order to see them, Rhys catches Cassian, making a horrible imitation of him and Azriel not being able to contain his laugh.

Rhys releases a long sigh. "Are you done mocking me?" His eyes looked straight to his General.

Cassian holds his hands in surrender. "Yes, we can go now." A smile never leaving his face. 

As in sync, the three of them stretch their wings wide open before making their way into the sky with the sun already leaving so the moon can take its place for the night.

-

Cassian had been right. It had been a long time since he had the opportunity to fly just to enjoy it.

Their flight had begun two hours ago, and was going well. Cassian found himself enjoying the little things that only people blessed with wings had the pleasure to witness.

But his favorite thing was the view. That was never going to change. 

He had the perfect view of the sky that was now painted orange and pink with the last rays of sun disappearing in a few minutes.

He saw the sky changing to a purple before giving place to a dark blue that was now shining with the stars.

One more hour and they would be in Velaris. 

Cassian was eager to get home, after the day he had, all he wanted to do was to take a long bath, have dinner and go to bed. Maybe polish some of his swords, that always helped him relax after a hard day.

However, he was pulled from those tempting thoughts when his brother's shadows started acting agitated around their master's shoulders.

"Az," Rhys started, when the three brothers stopped flying and started levitating "what's wrong?" 

"I don't know. They just started doing this''. With Azriel's last words, a small group of his shadows departed from the Shadowsinger and made their way towards the south.

Following that direction could only lead them to two places: the Court of Nightmares or the border.

The males just stared at the shadows flying away, unsure of what to do and it was Cassian who broke the silence "Should we follow them?" 

Rhys focused his eyes on Azriel before asking him "You said your shadows were acting weird today. Could this be the reason?" He said, using his hand to point to where the shadows had been only a few minutes before.

"Maybe. I think..." Azriel wasn't able to finish his sentence after noticing that his shadows were coming back.

One of them made his way to his ear whispering to him the reason for their behavior.

The Shadowsinger eyes widened at the information that one of his little spies had just shared with him. He looked at his brothers before continuing "There's movement at the border." 

That was all it took for the males to resume their flights, now heading to the border instead of home, flying as fast as possible.

Rhys talons scraped their minds gently asking for permission to enter and when the other two males allowed by lowering their minds shields, an order filled their minds. Not from their brother but from their High Lord"Be ready for anything." 

-  

Blood. 

That was the first thing they were able to distinguish when they landed at the border between Night and Day. 

They could tell by the scent lingering in the air that it wasn't much but enough, so whoever or whatever it belonged to, was seriously injured.

Cassian reached for the two swords that occupied his back, he kept one to wield, passing the other to Rhys, seeing that Azriel was already wielding his favorite and precious dagger - Truth Teller.

Grabbing the hilt of his sword tighter, Cassian gave the first step, starting to follow the direction that the scent led him to. His brothers quickly followed him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Cassian could see that the closer they got to their destination, the more restless and nervous Azriel's shadows became.

He didn't like the behavior the shadows were having, if it was a threat or a creature, they would've known by now, and the shadows wouldn't be acting like this. 

Cassian realized that in all the centuries he had known the Shadowsinger and his little companions, they had never behaved like this and that made him nervous. 

He made a silent prayer to the Mother. "Let it be an animal, please, just let it be an animal."  But deep down, Cassian knew it wasn't. The little bundles of darkness wouldn't be acting like this if it was.

Cassian released a long breath and prepared himself for the worst.

After walking for a few minutes in silence, the scent got stronger, and the General dared to look down. 

A tiny footprint covered in blood marked the ground. His line of sight followed the footprint, and he found more like that previous one. 

His breath got caught in his throat, and he froze for a moment, understanding to whom they belonged.

His brothers called his name, noticing the change in him, Cassian remembered that the males behind him had yet to see the footprints. The tiny little footprints. 

It was Rhys who broke the deadly silence. "Cass, what is it?" 

"It's a child." Cassian heard his brothers gasps, aware of the shock on their faces without having to look. 

"It's a child." He repeated, more to himself than to them, and without a second thought, Cassian ran.

- 

You had run away from your house after your stepfather had hit you again. 

It wasn't the first time or the second, but you had enough and for the first time in years, you decided to do something about it.

You were born in Winter, in a small village near the border with The Middle. 

You grew up with your stepfather, after your mother's passing when you were just a babe. 

Things weren't always bad even though he never liked you. The only reason your mom agreed to marry him was because she had a one night stand with your father that resulted into pregnancy, she didn't want you to be born outside of wedlock and be seen as a bastard. 

So she made a bargain with the male - if he kept the secret about you, she would marry him.

And so she did. She died two years later.

You also grew up with Marion, a old female who used to babysit you. She was kind, sweet and an excellent cook, being in her care was your favorite part of the day. But she was very old and by the time you were five, she had already left this life and begun the next one.

Leaving you with your stepfather.

You tried to hold on for as long as you could. You also tried to ask for help but the adults dismissed you, some saying you were just looking for attention, others saying you should be grateful to have someone taking care of you and not being in the orphanage. 

Although you would prefer the orphanage to that male if you had the choice. You didn't even consider him family, for Cauldron's sake.

That made you angry. So angry that you boiled everything for weeks, only to let it all out that day.

The day you stood up for yourself and fought back.

Unlike some other lesser faeries, you were blessed with ice in your veins. 

You were laying on the ground from the impact of the slap you had just received and when that awful male raised his hand to hit you again, you were quicker than him, grabbed him by the wrist and froze his entire arm.

Shock spread across your face. You knew you had powers, but you didn't know you could do that. 

The truth was that you didn't exactly know what you were capable of or how to use them. You never had anyone to teach you, so your control over them was non-existent.

The male's screams broke through you. Afraid of what he would do to you after that, you ran to your room, freezing the lock, and escaped from the window.

With nothing but a dress, a pair of shoes and a red cheek.

You ran and ran, and didn't dare to stop or to look back.

-

Cassian had been running for how long he didn't know, but it felt like forever. He knew Azriel and Rhys were right behind him from the shouts of his name that he was able to hear.

From the moment he saw those footprints, all of this felt like a nightmare, one that he couldn't wake up from. 

It was a nightmare that he wanted to end as fast as possible because Cassian wasn't sure if he wanted to find out what those marks were leading him to.

Once again, Cassian sent another silent prayer to the Mother, wishing with all his strength that she was hearing him "Be okay. Please be okay."

When he finally reached his destination, his heart stopped and his face went pale.

Cassian considers himself to be a strong male. Not just physically but also mentally.

He lived through wars, participated in countless battles, killed a lot of enemies, lost soldiers, friends, and a lover. He knew pain, violence, and torture. 

But nothing prepared him for the sight of a little girl laying on her side, with her back facing him, unconscious on the cold earth with blood in her exposed arms and legs, another amount of blood stained her dress and the ends of her white hair. Her feet were fully covered with blood, the size of them matching the footprints he found earlier.

His brothers reached him and stopped by his side. The males put away their weapons, without taking their eyes off the little girl.

From his right, Azriel spoke, "By the Mother. Is she dead?" His voice broke on that last word.

"I...I...I don't...I don't know." Cassian tried to speak, his voice weak, not being able to process what was in front of him.

Understanding his brother, Rhys rested a hand on his left shoulder and gave him a nod before stepping forward.

The High Lord made his way to the little girl - to you. His hands were shaking and his heart was beating faster than it should. 

But, then you moved. A tiny movement almost imperceptible if it weren't for their fae sight.

That made Rhys halt in his steps and the three males took their turns in releasing relieved breaths, a weight being lift from their shoulders.

You were alive. Now the only thing left to know was how injured you were.

Rhys looked behind him to his brothers, giving them a small nod before continuing his walk.

When you were only two steps away from him, Rhys stopped and bent down. From this closure he could only see half of your injuries.

You had cuts on your arms and legs, probably from branches, your feet covered in blood from walking or running on the solid ground, your dress slightly torn, and your skin extremely pale. 

He tried to listen for a heartbeat or a breathing. But all he could hear was the unsteady heartbeats from his own heart and his brothers.

"Is she okay? Please tell me she's okay." Cassian said, his voice betraying him, while taking a few steps forward, Azriel following him.

Rhys looked behind his shoulder, at the males, "I don't know. I can't see the full extent of her wounds." 

"Try to turn her around. Gently." Azriel said to him, his shadows still restless as they swim around their master's shoulders.

Rhys faced you again, he extended one of his hands to grab your shoulder and do what his Shadowsinger had suggested.

But the moment his fingers brushed your tiny shoulder, you opened your eyes and attacked. 

-

You had lost track of time. You could have been walking for hours or days, you didn't know. 

You didn't know where you were going. You just followed the stones that you found on the ground, at the exit of Winter Court.

They formed a kind of line, like a path, as if someone had placed them there for you, as if showing you the right path. They took you north, to the Solar Courts.

Every time you thought the stones were almost running out, many more appeared, always indicating the way. You thought it was a sign from the Mother.

You didn't think you'd make this far, but apparently you were stronger than you thought. 

Or maybe it was your stubbornness. The people from your village always complained about how stubborn you were, but finding yourself in this situation, you started to think they were right.

Now, you only had a dress to protect you.

You got rid of your shoes a couple miles back when you realized their noise had attracted unwanted attention.

You had the feeling you were being followed and watched, but every time you looked around, you found nothing. Still, you got rid of the shoes for precaution even though the feeling never went away.

Your feet hurt with every step you gave, but you walked through the pain and didn't stop.

Your stomach growled. The last thing you ate was an apple when you climbed a tree for the night, and that was two nights ago, or was it more?

Your throat was dry, the last time you had to drink water was when you passed a river and you couldn't remember when that was or if it even happened.

You didn't know. The only thing you knew was that you were too weak. Your were dragging your feet, your eyes were unfocused, and from time to time, you would lose your balance.

You wanted to stop. You just wanted to lay on the ground and close your eyes, but your instincts and your stubbornness didn't let you. 

But it wasn't just that. The feeling that you were still being watched remained, you weren't sure if you were or if you were just imagining it but you were not about to find out.

So you kept going. You refused to give up. You would rather die here than go back to that house. 

When the sun left and the moon came to replace it, bringing a dark sky with it, you thought of stopping for a few hours and starting again once the sun returned.

But your body beat you to it. Before you knew, you were collapsing on the ground, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion taking over you.

The last thing you remember seeing before closing your eyes, was a skeleton creature with a black cloak watching you from the trees, and you could swear you heard him saying, "Don't worry, child. They're almost here. Rest now, you're going to be fine," right before he dropped a handful of stones - the same ones that led you here.

But you weren't sure if that was real too.

- 

Rhys didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late.

You turned around so fast that he barely saw it. One second you were laying on the floor and the next one, you were biting his hand, right between his index finger and his thumb. 

The High Lord of the Night Court cursed out loud, shock and surprise spreading through his features. He had never been so caught off guard like that before, and especially not by a little girl.

He ripped his hand from your mouth and stood, shaking his hand slightly to the sting that you just caused him.

When he looked down and went to reach for you again, you were already gone. He turned around and saw you ran towards the General.

Cassian bent his knees and extended his arms to try to grab you but you were faster than him.

Before he could close his arms in order to try to wrap you in them, you dodge to the side and when you saw him slightly standing up, you took your opportunity and kicked him in his private parts. 

Cassian didn't have time to react, you were already passing beneath his legs to escape him. 

Your only obstacle now was the Shadowsinger.  Azriel was so busy watching you, this little girl, facing his brothers that he didn't realize it was his turn.

He didn't know what to do, so he followed Cassian's move and try to grab you too, but before he could even try, you launched yourself to his leg wrapping your arms and legs around it and then reached for the shiny dagger that was settled on the top of his hip, pulling it off and grabbing it.

The moment the dagger was in your hand, you let go of his leg and proceeded to walk backwards while raising your arm and pointing it at the three males that now stood in front of you.

Azriel was taken by surprise, how did you do that? He didn't even notice you had taken his dagger from him. Cassian was still bent over from the kick you gave him and Rhys was clutching his hand. 

The males were dumbfounded.

Cassian was the first to talk "What the fuck just happened?" He whispered with an incredulous look on his face.

The males changed looks between them before Rhys took a step forward that led you to take a step back.

He put his hands up in surrender and told you with a soft and calm voice. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you." 

He tried to take another step forward only for you to repeat your previous movement.

Rhys stopped, and with a hand pressed against his chest, he said, "My name is Rhysand. These are my brothers, Cassian." He gestured to the General, "and Azriel," he gestured to the Shadowsinger. 

"We're not going to hurt you. We just want to help." Cassian said this time.

Your arm never flattered, dagger still pointed at them, your body still running with adrenaline.

Understanding that you wouldn't budge, the High Lord did the only thing he could do - he entered your mind.

He saw everything. Where you were born, your home situation, your stepfather and how you got here. 

Rhys showed your memories to his brothers, the three males now angry for the reason that had forced you to run away.

Before you could find another way to humiliate them, you felt a darkness fill you and put you to sleep.

Falling to the ground one more time, you released your grip from the dagger, letting it fall at your side and entered into a deep slumber.

- 

Azriel was the first to move. He walked towards you and bent down to pick up his dagger and put it back where it belonged. The Shadowsinger glanced at his shadows and saw they were calm, they looked relieved now that you were safe.

Still bent down, he removed the hair from your face before looking at his High Lord "You put her to sleep?" 

Rhys gave him a firm nod "It seemed the only solution. Unless, of course, you wanted her to make us look stupids again," he finished while smiling.

The males chuckled at that, still not believing that you managed to outgrown the three of them.

"I can't believe she actually kicked you in the nuts, Cass," Azriel said, a big laughter erupting from him and Rhys.

Cassian growled "Shut up, Az. At least she didn't disarm me." He told his brother before speaking in a low voice "Idiot." 

Azirel became more serious "Unbelievable isn't it? I only noticed she had Truth Teller when I saw it in her hands, how did she even do that? I mean, look at her," the Shadowsinger said with his hands gesturing to you.

They did. You were a child, and they were three full-grown illyrians males. Warriors. 

Cassian started to laugh again, and at his brothers’ gazes, he explained, "She's a fighter. She could've just ran but she didn't. She decided to face us instead. No other child would've done that." 

"Hum, that is true. I guess that makes her different from the others." Rhys concluded it.

Cassian removed his coat before making his way to you "We're taking her with us." 

Rhys said surprised, "Of course we are." As if leaving you there was even an option.

Azriel lifted you gently so the General could wrap you in his coat before lifting you in his arms.

Now settled on Cassian's arms, you moved closer to his chest, resting your head there and seeking the comfort of his warmth.

Rhys approached Cassian, took off his coat and laid it over you, making sure you were well protected from the cold of the night.

Azriel followed his brothers’ movements and did the same with his, "Since we are all giving her our coats, plus it's much colder up there than down here." He said, remembering that they still had to fly to Velaris.

The males stayed silent for a moment, looking at you to make sure you were fine before they resumed their flights.

"We should go," Rhys said while passing his hand through your head "Mor and Amren must already be worried and wondering why are we taking so long and she needs to be seen by Madja." 

Cassian looked up at the stars, knowing exactly what time it was by them "You're right. We're two hours late."

"Let's go home then." Azriel said for them.

-

Their flight to Velaris was faster than they thought. You passed the entirety of it sleeping peacefully in the General's arms, who would look at you every few minutes to make sure you were alright.

Before they knew, they were landing on the balcony of the House of Wind. 

Through the glass doors, they could see Rhysand's second and third in command. There was no doubt, the females were agitated with their delay.

The High Lord reached for the door handle before twisting it and opening the double doors.

He was the first to enter with Azriel right behind him leaving Cassian to last.

"Finally." The ancient one was the first to speak, a glass of wine or blood, on her hands.

"Where the hell were you? We were starting to think those bastards illyrians had done something to you." Morrigan yelled.

"Relax Mor, as you can see we're in one piece." Rhys said, trying to make his cousin lower her voice.

"Yeah," Azriel scoffed, "except our pride." He added.

The third in command gave him an angry look "What is that supposed to mean?" She yelled again. 

"Seriously, lower your voice, Mor" Rhys tried again.

"Why?" She said, not lowering her voice at all.

"Because you're going to wake her" it was Cassian's turn to speak, stepping forward with you still asleep in his arms. 

The females went quiet at your sight. The only thing audible was the wind from outside the House. Ironic, considering the House they were in.

Amren broke the silence "Please tell me you didn't kidnap the child." 

The High Lord gave her a confused look "What? No. We found her at the border, she was alone." His talons scraped their minds, and a second later the memories of what had taken place only a few hours ago filled the females minds.

While Amren chuckled at the memories of you standing against the males, Morrigan had tears in her eyes because of the ones of your stepfather.

The blonde knew very well what it was like to be a part of a family that wasn't good to you. But even in that, she was much older than you were. 

Cassian tears her from her thoughts “I'm going to lay her on one of the beds, why don't you go get Madja?" He asked her.

"Okay." Mor said, her voice barely a whisper.

-

An hour later, you were still in a deep slumber while Madja examined you with the Inner Circle present in the room in silence.

They saw as Madja healed your cuts that were now disappearing, and then moved to your feet that also started to heel. 

With anxiety taking over his body, Cassian can't help but ask "How is she? She's going to be fine, right?" 

The old female faced the General "Yes. All her wounds are already healed. Now, she may stay asleep for a few more days but that's normal. After everything she went through, her body is exhausted and needs resting." She answered him, but Azriel, ever the Spymaster, was able to see the look on the healer's face that said that this wasn't all. 

"But?" He made the first move.

The healer gave a long sigh and continued "She's too skinny. She needs to gain weight. A lot of it" 

"She will. We'll be taking care of her now." Cassian replied. The Inner Circle agreed with him, Rhys put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze.

"Very well. Come get me when she wakes up." The healer said after packing her things and making her exit. 

Everyone left the room but the General. He approached the bed and took a seat on your right side.

He pushed your hair out of your face gently and kept passing his hand in your head in a tender gesture while he saw you sleeping peacefully for a few minutes, gathering the courage for his next words.

And when he finally did, he said, his eyes soft and his voice calm "Don't worry, little star, you're safe now. No one is going to hurt you ever again. I promise."

- 

You woke up four days later. When you got out of the bed it was already dark outside.

You noticed you were washed and dressed in a clean set of pajamas, and that you were no longer injured or tired.

Now, you were just hungry, and when the scent of chocolate reached the room you were in, you gathered your courage and made your way downstairs while following the sweet scent.

It lead you to a living room - a fancy and very rich living room.

Several paintings decorated the walls, leather sofas with silk cushions took place at the foot of the fireplace with a coffee table on which a vase of flowers and several books sat. A huge dining table with matching chairs occupied the other side of the room, and in front of you in a long corridor were two closed glass doors that led to a balcony.

Your gaze settled on the chocolate cake that was on top of the table, with a lick of your lips you moved towards it.

You loved chocolate and you were so hungry that you ate half of it. You lifted the fork for another bite before stopping in the middle of it, when your eyes moved to the window. 

Intrigued by the view, you dropped your fork next to the cake and walked to the glass doors.

You opened them and made your way to the balcony.

You weren't tall enough to see beyond it, you tried to stand on your tiptoes but it still didn't do any good. Looking around you, you found a large pot with a plant in the corner and as you moved to use it as a bench, a voice stopped you.

"Already exploring?" 

You turned around and found the General. He was no longer in his leathers, opting for more comfortable clothes and his hair tied in a bun.

He tried again "I'm Cassian but my family calls me Cass. Can you tell me your name?" He said with a smile.

You didn't answer him but you didn't stop looking at him either, almost like challenging him. 

"I presume you're feeling better since you almost ate the entire chocolate cake," He chuckled, and when you gave him a nod of affirmation, his heart skipped a beat.

Progress. It wasn't a word but he was willing to accept anything you had to offer.

His eyes moved to the vase and then to you, understanding what you were trying to do.

"Here," He said while extending his arms, offering to pick you up so you could do what you came here for, "It's safer this way."

He watched you hesitate for a moment, "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

And then you moved. You put your hands on his arms and let him pick you up.

He moved forward to the edge of the balcony with you secured in his arms again, giving you the perfect view of Velaris and the sky above shining with the stars.

After a few moments of silence, his heart skipped a beat again at your words "Y/N."

He turned his head so fast to meet your eyes but you were already looking at him and with a small smile you added "My name is Y/N." 

Cassian couldn't help but return the smile, his gaze softened and when you turned your head again to gaze at the beauty of Velaris, the General found himself saying "Welcome to the Night Court, Y/N."

A/n: Thank you for reading!

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