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nolita-fairytale · 4 months

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bad moon rising | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

summary: in another lifetime, you meet mikey berzatto by chance one halloween night in nyc.

or, the fic based on this headcanon

warnings: angst, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person pov, drug usage, high mikey b, swearing, family drama, depression, not a happy ending

wc: 3.7k

a/n: i wrote about grief again. shocking, i know. thank you all for your interest based on the headcanon it came from and thank you for your patience. i wanted so badly to post this around halloween and have been sitting on it since the better part of last year as one of my wips. finally, finally, it's here!! i took a slightly different approach than the headcanon, but i think it still does it justice. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the carmy taglist.

this what-if fic takes place october 2021 because it's make my heart surrender-canon that mikey and reader never met; reader x carmy are best friends and colleagues but it has not gone further than that.

masterlist

Halloween, in another lifetime:

“Can I get hands, please!” Carmy shouts out to the entire kitchen, only to be met with a strong chorus of ‘hands’ in response.

His team works together like a well-oiled machine; a tight run ship, led by a captain near-suffocated under the weight of the chip on his shoulder.

“Chef!” you hear the sound of your general manager’s voice ring through the kitchen, causing many a-heads to turn. She rarely comes into the kitchen during dinner service unless it’s serious. Her eyes lock with Carmy’s as he looks up from his expo, as if she’s about to deliver bad news.

His mind races through the possibilities, preparing to solve the next oncoming crisis. Could it be an undercooked steak? An overcooked duck breast? Another complaint of ‘too salty’ or ‘underseasoned?’

“Chef, you uh… you have a visitor,” she says instead–the last thing he expects to hear.

A visitor?

“Wh-?”

“Someone’s here to see you. Says he’s your… brother??” Carmy’s ears begin to burn, as he searches for your face amidst the chaos, your gaze there to catch him even from across the kitchen. Your presence feels reassuring, like a strong man in a storm. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s knee deep into service and he cannot get the sound of tickets being added to the expo out of his head. He opens his mouth to say something but he’s uncertain any words come out of his mouth, unsure of what he’d even say. You send him a reassuring nod, and it’s as if in one look, you’ve made the decision to go.

“Chef, you good?” Carmy hears you ask the head pastry chef.

“Yeah, we got it. But don’t take too long,” she answers with a curt nod of approval.

He watches as you nod again, this time in recognition of your boss’ answer, as you pull the food-grade nitrile gloves off of your hands, discarding them in the nearby trash can. Without a word, you follow Kate closely behind, exchanging a few words with her as the two of you disappear to the front of house. There’s a war inside of Carmy as he watches you go–a pang of guilt and a feeling of relief–that whatever it is, you’ve agreed to take care of it.

In all of the years that he’s been in New York, no one’s come to see him–the possibility of it happening now, let alone as a surprise, feels improbable.

Must be a prank or some shit….

It couldn’t really be Michael, could it?

As you seek out the answer, your feet carrying you faster than you anticipated, you realize that you’re searching for a face you’ve only seen in photographs. Kate follows closely behind while you push through the front door of the restaurant only to find a man pacing just outside of the restaurant, a ghostface mask in hand. You can tell he’s been sweating, the circles under his eyes just as dark as the ones you’ve become so familiar with in Carmy, with an anxious look in his eyes as his gaze turns towards you.

He’s certainly not the larger-than-life older brother you’ve seen in the sparse amount of pictures that Carmy’s shown you.

“I got this, Kate,” you mutter over your shoulder with a confident nod, letting your general manager know that you’re good on your own. “You sure?” she asks you quietly.

“I’m sure,” you answer, watching as a disappointed look spread across Michael’s face as soon as he sees that:

“You’re not Carmen.”

“Uh… no. I’m not,” you reply, hearing the front door to the restaurant close behind you. The man swears under his breath, and you watch as face changes from disappointment to annoyance quickly, as you try your best to come up with an explanation that may satisfy him. “He uh… he can’t come out. Not right now. So he sent me.”

Michael scoffs with a shake of his head, his eyebrows quickly rising and falling incredulously as he takes another drag off his cigarette.

“Shit... the guy can't even make time to see his big brother?" he asks, the annoyance obvious in his voice this time.

You take a step towards him, your arms folded across your chest.

“I’m sorry. I-, I don't think he was expecting you,” you answer, much more compassionately this time.

“Right,” Michael mumbles, barely loud enough for you to hear. You watch as he throws the butt of his cigarette down on the pavement, before stamping it out.

“It’s just-. He would if he could. I know it. It's just a busy night. I-... we're doing 200 covers tonight and uh... well, he runs the kitchen so,” you try again, and you can practically feel the disappointment (and resentment) burying itself deeper in Michael.

“Yeah, no thanks, lady. You don’t need to explain it to me. Jagoff can’t even make time to say ‘hi’ to his brother. Sends you to do his dirty work instead,” Michael dismisses you, bitterly.

He takes a beat. And then another, as if he’s accepted that he’s not going to see Carmy after all.

“Why don’t you come inside? I’m sure-,” you offer, taking another step towards him.

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” he dismisses you again, this time gentler. “You don’t need to make up for his bullshit.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything in defense of Carmy—but you’re certain that nothing you have to say will be enough for your best friend’s older brother (save for Carmy coming out here himself).

With a nod, you accept defeat, turning to go back inside. But there’s something that stops you—like you just can’t just go back inside without trying to remedy the situation one last time. This time all you say is:

“I don’t know how long you’re in town for but… we should be off by midnight.”

Michael only offers you a sympathetic smile before you slip back inside.

—---------------------------------------

It’s not until you and Carmy are packing up your things to head home that he brings it up—his mysterious visitor—hesitant to ask the question that’s been eating at him all night.

“So uh… was it really him? Michael?” he asks you, cautiously, as he watches your face carefully for any kind of reaction.

“Uh… yeah. I mean, at least the guy I recognized from your pictures,” you reply, hoping that the answer (or the fact that he missed his brother) won’t break his heart.

A beat.

“What’d he want?” Carmy asks, trying to mask his curiosity as best as possible.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Seems like he found himself in the city. I didn’t ask. I didn’t… know if you wanted me to.”

Carmy tries again.

“Oh no. It’s-, no I didn’t-, no, it’s okay.”

He takes his time, making up his mind about what he wants to say next.

“It’s weird, right? Guy can barely pick up the phone to say hello but… he can show up unannounced and just like-, expect me to drop everything?” he asks you—the look in his eyes telling you that his mind is miles away.

“I- I don’t know, Carmy,” you reply, heavily. “Are you… do you wish you had gone instead of me?”

Carmy’s quiet as he follows you out of the back door of the restaurant, thinking his answer over.

“I don’t know,” he answers slowly, a lack of confidence as the words fall out of his mouth. “Maybe?”

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel and right now he just feels… ambushed, which only makes him want to shut down.

Instead, Carmy changes the subject back to your post-work plans, the two of you debating what kind of post-shift late night meal you’re going to have before settling on a few slices of pizza on the way back to your place. You and Carmy cut through the alley to the front of the restaurant so that you can begin your late-night sojourn, and it’s only when he spots something odd that he stops you.

“What the fuck?” Carmy cuts you off, holding an arm out in front of you to stop you from walking any further.

You follow his line of sight right over to a figure moving towards the both of you. In the brief glimpse you’ve gotten of the person moving towards you, all you can see is a quick flash of the ghostface mask they hold in their hands as a bus drives by, obstructing your view.

Carmy’s heart stops, fear filling his chest as the bus speeds by, the person getting closer and closer until…

“Michael?!” Carmy shouts, squinting as he sees the man approach. His expression of pure shock leaves his jaw agape, rendering him speechless as he scrambles to try to find better words that:

“What-, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Shit,” Michael scoffs playfully, with a chuckle, his breath uneven from the light jogging pace he’d kept. Michael takes note of the arm his younger brother’s extended, shielding you from him. “What? Can’t your big brother come surprise ya in the big city?”

Carmy shoots him a look that says, ‘when have you ever done that’ and Michael nods knowingly, his eyebrows quickly raising, then lowering as he makes peace with the fact that he’s never been that guy.

“Me and Deb… we came up for the weekend,” Mikey admits with a heavy sigh. “Tried to do something nice for her but, you know, broad’s been a real bitch-.”

“Mikey,” Carmy warns, taking a tone you recognize—the kind he uses when he’s going to yell at the saucier for a broken mornay.

“Right,” Mike course corrects at the volume of a mumble, heaving a heavy, yet disarming sigh.

Carmy nods slowly as he allows some part of him to relax, his arm falling away from you as the two of you exchange a look.

“We uh…. Got into another fight. She’s on her way back to Chicago now,” Mikey explains, the disappointment evident in his voice this time, almost as if it were an apology.

“Sorry,” Carmy mutters quietly, as you exchange a look with him.

“Nah it’s-, she’ll get over it,” Mikey brushes off with a shrug, his tone shifting as he extens an arm out to you.

“Fuck, where are my manners? I never properly introduced myself earlier. I’m Mikey. Mikey Berzatto,” he grins with a charm and confidence that’s been absent in both of your interactions with him till now. The smile that spreads across his face is contagious as he looks from you to Carmy, then back to you. “Shit. I’m sorry. ‘M fuckin’ jagoff, interupting your night like this. I should probably get-.”

“No!” you protest, almost too quickly, earning a look from Carmy. “We weren’t-, we were just getting off work and were gonna grab a bite. Maybe even… a drink?” you suggest, a hopefulness in your eyes as you turn towards Carmy.

“Yeah?” Michael asks, his interest piqued.

“Uhm. Just gonna grab a bite actually,” Carmy forces out, sending a glare in your direction.

“You know what’s crazy? I know a spot. With food. And drinks,” you challenge him, silently begging him to just go with it.

“You cool with that, Carm?” Mike asks this time, looking from you to his younger brother once more. It’s the first time that Carmy thinks Michael’s ever looked to him for approval.

Carmy’s quiet for a moment, torn between wanting to burn it all down or declare a gleeful ‘yes’ because at least Mikey wants to spend time with him.

“Um. Uh. Yeah. Yeah okay,” Carmy finally agrees.

“Alright, let’s fuckin’ do it!” Mikey rallies.

And as he turns to go, your voice instructing him that it’s only a few blocks from here, you and Carmy fall into stride, just a few steps behind Mikey.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Carmy threatens you—though there’s no weight to it—through gritted teeth.

You shove him playfully, bumping your shoulder against his side as the two of you walk, answering with a promise that: “You’ll thank me later.”

—---------------------------------------

You sit on one side of Carmy, Mikey on the other, and you can see why Carmy looks at his older brother like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars above. There’s something different about Michael—something different than when you met him just hours ago outside of the restaurant—as he corrals the three of you into a round of shots.

As the shots of tequila arrive at the bar, Carmy dismisses his, his attention fixed to the still-full whiskey on the rocks he’d ordered earlier, just to appease his older brother. He watches you carefully as you and Mikey clink glasses before throwing back your own respective shots.

“Carm?” Mikey asks, nodding towards the third, untouched shot glass.

Carmy hesitates.

“It’s fine. I’ll take his,” you jump in, half as an attempt to give Carmy the out he so desperately desires, and half because, admittedly, meeting the great Mikey Berzatto makes you a little nervous.

Before anyone can protest, you reach out, picking up the shot glass, before tapping it down against the bar top, fearlessly throwing it back. Michael watches you with a sense of amusement, as your face crinkles in response to the sting of the liquor and the bitterness of the lime you chase it with.

He smirks, sharing a knowing look with his younger brother that says, “I like this girl,” which in turn only causes Carmy to blush. Before Mikey can say anything more, the song that blares through the speakers changes, earning his attention as he hears the familiar words:

“I see the bad moon a-risin' I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today”

“Alright, alright. Think it’s a little too on the nose if I admit that I love this song? On Halloween? C’maaaaaahn,” Mikey asks, almost as if it’s a confession in reference to the easily recognizable Creedance Clearwater revival hit.

“No! No, I love this song,” you’re quick to assuage his hesitation as your eyes light up in response to his recognition.

“You got good taste, kid,” Michael notes confidently, winking in his brother’s direction. “I like this girl, Carm.”

Only this time, he says it out loud. Carmy only shakes his head, the blush already running across his cheeks taking a deeper shade of red.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh. You both uh.. Like music,” Carmy smiles, gesturing from you to his brother. At least this is going a lot better than he expected it to, he reminds himself.

“Oh yeah?” Michael asks, clearly intrigued.

“Oh that’s right!” you exclaim, simultaneously. The excitement that brews within you has you stumbling over your words as you manage to get out:

“You’re-, oh my god! The Lennon jacket!”

“What?” Mike asks, shooting you a funny look.

“I’m sorry. I just-. I realize I’m not-,” you stammer over your words, trying your best to explain your earlier exclamation over your own excitement.

“You gave Carmy the denim jacket – the 1950s selvedge Wrangler!”

“Just like the-,” Michael starts, the two of you finishing his sentence at once with:

“... just like the one John Lennon had!”

“Marry this girl, Carm. Marry her right now. Tonight! Or I will,” Michael encourages, slapping his hand down against the bar. He speaks with so much bravado and conviction that you can only imagine that there was none left for Carmy. “Fuckin’ christ. I never should’ve let you two meet,” Carmy groans on an exasperated exhale as he shakes his head once again.

“Oh c’mon, Carm,” Mikey rouses him, with a playful eye roll.

“It’s totally my favorite jacket of his! I-, well, it’s a long story but we actually became friends over the jacket because he spilled a drink on me and-,”

“Ahhh real smooth.”

“No! No, it was okay, I promise. I-, I don’t know if we would’ve gotten to know each other if he hadn’t so-. Call it a lucky jacket, I guess,” you smile, stealing a look in Carmy’s direction. He shoots the smallest smile back to you, cognizant of the fact that Mikey’s observing the entire interaction.

As you begin to tell Michael the story about the aforementioned Lennon jacket, it could be minutes, hours, or days that pass, once you and Mikey finish trading facts about music like they’re trivia cards. It’s almost as entertaining as watching Mikey and Carmy go at it, bouncing facts about the history of denim like you’re at the French Open.

You excuse yourself to the restrooms—partially because you really have to pee and partially because it seems like this evening is going well—wanting to give both brothers some time alone. And as soon as you’re out of earshot, Mikey’s on Carmy like an FBI Investigation.

“This your girl, Carm, or what?" he asks with a casualness to his voice that sets off alarms in Carmy’s head.

"Mikey, stop it,” Carmy dismisses him, hoping more than anything for this to be the end of the conversation.

Instead, Mikey scoffs, shaking his head as he downs another shot.

"Then at least tell me you're hittin' that."

“Michael!" Carmy hushes his brother, a warning and protectiveness in his voice this time.

"Are you fuckin' serious right now, Bear?” Michael pushes further. “What, you're telling me you're not when she’s walkin’ around in your jacket, talkin’ about wearing your clothes to your big brother and I’m supposed to think-?"

"She's not!” Carmy cuts him off. “She doesn’t do-, she’s.... my friend. Jus’ give it up alright.”

"Shit. Wish I had a friend like that. Ya friends, kid, or are ya... you know... friends?" Mikey smirks, earning a venomous glare from his younger brother.

Carmy shakes his head in response, jaw clenched, as he stares down at the bar top, a feeling inside of him that he doesn’t like when he even thinks about Mikey looking at you like that.

"Shit, I thought I taught you better than that, Bear."

There it is again.

That feeling.

He’s not sure how to name it, but it’s enough to make Carmy want to deck his brother right then and there as it rises inside of him.

"I'm serious, Mike. We’re just friends,” Carmy spits out. He’s much more serious this time. “Cut it out."

But Michael’s too quick, his voice growing louder as he interjects on the tail end of Carmy’s insistence.

"Oh come on! The chick's smokin' fuckin' hot. And I can tell that you like her. I'm not blind, Carm. I see the way you-."

And if it’s as if something snaps inside of Carmy as he exclaims:

"Don't talk to me like you know what's going on in my life! Fuck!"

"Carm-."

"Can't even pick up the damn phone and then you just... waltz into town acting like everything is okay?!” he fumes, standing up out of his chair.

His face grows redder with each word, and it only confirms Mikey’s suspicions: that his little brother is absolutely a goner for you. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Carmy like this and he’s torn between feeling proud of his kid brother or pissed that the kid’s turning this around on him.

"Well, if you ever bothered to come home. You know mom's been askin' about you since you never fuckin’-,” Mikey roars, eager to relinquish the hotseat here.

“Oh don't bring mom into this!" Carmy protests.

It’s your voice that snaps him out of it—brings him back to earth as he hears you ask:

“Everything okay?”

Carmy can practically hear his heart pounding away in his ears; can feel the blood rushing through his head as he takes a deep breath. He swallows, takes a beat, then turns to you.

“Yeah uh. I think we should go,” he states, his voice uneven and tense as you try to get a read on either brother.

“Uh… yeah, I guess we can-, um,” you stammer out, wondering how things went from good to hell in a matter of minutes. Carmy mutters something about getting your stuff as you try your best to put the pieces together.

“It was uh, nice to meet you, Mikey,” you say softly, as soon as you get your coat on.

“Yeah. You too, sweetheart,” he nods, something distant in his voice. Carmen scoffs at his brother’s usage of the word before tugging on your arm.

You wait a beat, in anticipation of some kind of goodbye between the brothers, but there is none as you follow Carmy out of the bar.

—---------------------------------------

Halloween, again — in this lifetime:

When Carmy comes to, he can hear the faint sounds of an episode of Pasta Grannies in the background, uncertain of what time it is.

“Hey, you. You fell asleep on the couch and I didn’t have the heart to wake you up,” you say, as he begins to sit up. Carmy blinks his eyes a few more times, watching as you make your way from the kitchen island over to the couch, taking a seat at his feet.

“Did you still want to watch a scary movie? You know, in the spirit of the holiday?” you ask him with a soft chuckle.

All Carmy can remember before falling asleep was what he was thinking about: what it would be like if you had met Mikey. It’s something he thinks of often, especially as the two of you grow closer—as your relationship gets more serious—and it’s something he hates that he’ll never be able to give to you.

“This was his favorite holiday,” Carmy manages to get out, the sleep heavy in his voice.

You’re not all that surprised. Carmy’s been on edge lately and you assumed it was because Mikey’s birthday’s coming up. But this… this makes sense too.

“I wish I could’ve met him,” you smile, reaching out for one of his hands.

Carmy nods.

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah. Think he would’ve loved you.”

Maybe a little too much, he thinks to himself.

“You think so?” you ask with a vulnerability and a desire for reassurance that catches Carmy off guard.

He nods with much more confidence this time, offering you a soft, sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know so.”

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feyhunter78 · 1 month

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Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow #tyrion lannister #lannister!reader #new series alert!#I know y'all don't want this but I wanted to make the title thing so bad #tyrion's daughter #theon greyjoy x sansa stark #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got fanfiction #robb stark

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spider-jaysart · 4 months

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Okay soooo, first time I'm doing something like this, but I wanna introduce a fave oc of mines today that I've been working on for a longtime now :)

Her name is Nadja Al Ghul-Wayne-Kent and she's a Damijon kid

(Click for better quality)

@camo-wolf @paladin-of-nerd-fandom65

The name Nadja means "hope" in Arabic. My very dear friend @theredheaded-stuff was the one who helped me pick it. And her hero name is Super Canyon, which is inspired by the Canyon Wren bird

(More under the cut)

(Edited some stuff on this post now btw)

Backstory:

After being inspired by the story of how Kon was created, a secret group of no good scientists, who just love causing chaos with many of their inventions, decided one day to create a mixed clone of both Damian and Jon, thinking they can do better than Lex did, so they collected both of the boys DNA's after one of their recent battles in public and got to work. Once their experiment was supposed to be done, they saw that their machine had actually created a baby girl instead of a grown, powerful clone like they had wanted, so they were ready to dispose of her as a failed subject, but were suddenly stopped just on time by Damian and Jon who broke into the place and kicked their butts after finding out that a recently committed crime they were investigating was caused by them. When they were done, the boys found Nadja and were surprised to find out she's a clone related to them both. They decided to take her with them and made her their daughter to raise together after that.

Personality:

She's helpful, stubborn, is as intelligent as Damian is, friendly but also tough when she needs to be, observant, sometimes a little too honest about things but doesn't always mean it as rude, courageous (a trait that can be pretty helpful sometimes, but also get her into really big trouble during dangerous situations too), a prankster, and very protective of others, especially her loved ones

Abilities and skills:

She has the usual Kryptonian abilities, which are flying, super strength, superhearing, superspeed, superbreath, ice breath, invulnerablity, x-ray vision, and laser vision that's purple instead of the usual red (because Lois has purple eyes, so it's something unique that was passed onto her that way). Sometimes they don't always work though and can accidentally get out of hand too since she's still growing and learning, but Jon aways tries his best to help her get better at using and controlling them. Nadja also uses many concentrating tips from Damian too for improvement, like meditating for example and other things like that, and he helps her practice them

And because she's half Kryptonian, she also has a couple of unlocked special abilities of her own too, which is invisiblity, the ability to phase through walls and objects, plus the power to also transfer the heat of her laser vision into the palm of her hands to burn who or whatever she touches and she can also let it absorb her whole body too if she wants, which makes her even more untouchable and at the same time lets her release a strong fiery blast around herself onto enemies or incoming threats (her body glows completely purple whenever she does this and if it's just her hands, the same happens to them too). Nadja hasn't been able to properly master these special powers yet though, only one of them, which is the invisiblity one

For skills, thanks to teachings from Damian, plus Talia whenever she visits her, Nadja knows how to use a sword and fight well in combat in case her powers aren't working the way she urgently needs them to during patrols and missions

Random facts:

She calls Damian Baba and Jon Dad.

She calls Clark "Grampops" and Bruce "Grampbats". For Talia, she calls her "Grandmother" and for Lois, she calls her "Grandmama".

Her best friend is her same age Cousin Dick II, the Son of her much older Cousin Jake Grayson and his Wife Meredith Robinson. In the Batfamily (besides Damian), she's close with all her Aunt and Uncles. And for the Al Ghul's, she also gets excited whenever she visits Talia and Ra's. And while she definitely also gets along a lot with her other relatives who are in the Superfamily, the person she's most closest to there (besides Jon ofc) is Kon, due to them both being created as clones meant for evil but turned out good instead, which got them to bond even more as Uncle and Niece.

Her voice sounds like Clementine's from Telltales the walking dead games, but specifically the version of it from season 2 for the tween age she's in right now.

She has messy hair like Jon when she lets it loose. Jon is the one who always has to brush her hair whenever it gets tangled up, since the steel strength of it is just too difficult for Damian to actually handle himself.

Nadja laughs at Damian's jokes all the time since she gets his dark humor and he loves that. They always laugh a lot about it together but when Jon's around, they're Iike "You wouldn't get it" and he gets all offended.

Jon passed his love for noodles onto Najda and Damian's usually like "That's not healthy!!" And tries cooking her vegetarian meals more often or healthy ones that Talia would used to make him back when he was a kid, just so that Najda will eat real food lol. Najda also really loves the meals that comes from Damian's culture too and gets happy whenever he makes them for dinner.

For nicknames, Jon will sometimes call her "Sweetpea", "Sugar cookie", and "Tootsie pops", while Damian calls her "Habibti", "Thamin" (meaning "precious" in Arabic), and "Galbi" (which means "my heart" in Arabic)

Damian matches his outfits with Nadja all the time just like Talia would always used to do with him when he was a little kid. He does this with Jon included too and they take pictures together.

When making her hero suit, Damian was the one who helped Nadja out in drawing the designs and brainstormed ideas with her. When she had finally found one she liked and was ready to make it, Damian and Jon could've helped her sew it and everything, but they didn't have many materials that she could use or a sewing machine either, only a regular sewing kit that they use to fix up their own suits whenever they get damaged, so they let her make it with Ma's help instead at her place when they visit her and Pa again, since she actually owned a machine and also had a sewing room filled with many useful materials. When asked, Ma didn't mind letting Nadja use her stuff at all and was instead delighted about it since it would just give them the chance to spend time with eachother while doing one of her favorite hobbies together.

And next time, while having their usual Mother and Son days out together, Talia helped Damian pick out the sarong skirt for Nadja while hanging around stores, since they thought it would be nice for her to have one. Jon was the one who bought Nadja the red sneakers while shopping together with Kathy, since it reminded him of Kathy's old purple, rainbow ones, but with a twist of red thrown onto it, which also reminded him a lot of his favorite old ones that he used to always wear as a kid too. Dick and Cyborg helped her insert digital tech into her cuffs, which lets out hologram screens that let her know whenever she's over using her powers since she's still mastering them and it does plenty of other useful things for her too.

Najda was also given a mask to go with her suit at first too since she thinks it's annoying to wear glasses in her regular life everyday, but then it got lost during a fight and some villains saw her face, so she was still forced to go with the glasses route in the end anyways.

As adults, Jon's a scientist and Damian's a veterinarian. Najda likes visiting both of her Dads at their day jobs after school and doing her homework there while they work. She always promises to behave and not get in the way and if she has no work to do, she'll help them out too, which they appreciate. She also loves watching what they do and let's them happily explain their favorite stuff about the job to her. She knows a lot about taking care of animals and science because of this.

Nadja loves music and making it too. She even thinks about playing rock music for a living when she grows up. Damian and Jon support her in this and buy her the instruments she needs and they also listen to her songs when she wants to show it off to them. Because of them being in a band themselves back when they were kids, Damian, Jon, Chris, and Jake give her lessons sometimes on how to better play her instruments.

Civilians and especially interviewers always question about how they had Nadja and just assume that she's adopted or assume that just because she looks more like Damian, she's probably from a secret ex girlfriend he had before being with Jon. The last one annoys both Damian and Jon so much, especially Jon since Nadja is actually his kid too and he gets jealous at the thought of the ridiculous idea. Both him and Damian hate these rumors and just want everyone to mind their own business.

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thebastardofwinterfelljonsnow · 1 month

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They were the shields that guarded the realms of men.

#jon snow #game of thrones #GOT #got Jon snow #oc #game of thrones Jon snow #Jon #jon snow x reader #jon snow x oc #winterfell #kings landing #free lands #house stark #house lannister #house targaryen #house baratheon #house greyjoy

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sunlitgotham · 6 months

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Spartan's Uniform, and some random doodles from Sunlit Gotham

#sunlit gotham #sunlitgotham #apollo cabin #cabin 7 #will solace #austin lake #kayla knowles #damian wayne #jon kent #percy jackson oc #child of apollo oc #pjo x batman #pjo x dc

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damianwaynesbelovedsposts · 6 months

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pov: you have two boyfriends

meet Damian Wayne’s girlfriend iris isley and their boyfriend jonathan kent<3

green is damian

red is jon

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lovebaela · 1 month

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THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH - MASTERLIST

(Bran Stark x Fem!Targaryen OC)

“ 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 , 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑶𝒍𝒅 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 , 𝒊 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒏’𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 .”

⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝑹𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑹𝒀𝑬𝑵 ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Rhaella is the daughter of Mad King Aerys’ younger brother. Before the rebellion of Robert Baratheon, he fled to the Summer Isles, where he fell in love with a woman. He married her and they both consummated their marriage. Rhaella doesn’t know much about her parents, and always struggled with having a true home. One fateful day, her cousin Viserys sent her away to the Starks. Little did he know, that was the start of her journey of self-discovery.

“ 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌 , 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑴𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 , 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆’𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 . 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 .”

⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑵 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑲 ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Bran is the fourth child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. All he ever wanted was to become a knight. He always thought one day he would join the kingsguard. That was until the day he found out he was betrothed to Rhaella. He didn’t think much of it, still able to be a warrior…until the day he became broken. All he wants is to find a purpose now in his life.

✮ ₊ Chapters ✧ ᵔ₊ 𓆪

1, 2, 3, 4

Disclaimer: I don’t own asoiaf, any pictures, or gifs that I use in the series🤍

Art by eleneyaart, fredrickruntu

Dividers by @saradika-graphics @saradika

Taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea

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feyhunter78 · 26 days

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Chapter Three - Your father has taken notice of your blossoming interest in a certain dark-haired northerner.

Ch 4

“The boy is looking at you again.” Your father drawls, moving his elephant across the cyvasse board with disinterest.

You take a sip of your wine and hum in response, moving one of your trebuchets forward.

He clicks his tongue. “Bad move, little lion, that leaves me free to attack your king.”

You glance at the board and curse internally; you have been far too distracted by Jon’s barely subtle stares to properly play the game. “Perhaps I am simply letting you win, you are getting older, Father, it is only the kind thing to do.”

Your father raises an eyebrow and delivers his final move. “Ah yes, it is kindness that distracts you, not the strapping lad who seems he will burst into flames if he does not look at you every three seconds.”

You glance over at Jon, who swiftly turns his attention back to Arya, correcting her stance out in the training yard, the ground freshly cleared of snow.

You and your father have taken a seat on one of the benches within one of the entrances to the guest chambers that spills out into the yard. It’s the perfect mixture between the warmth inside and the crisp morning air outside.

“I have not the faintest idea what you speak of.” You say, popping a grape into your mouth and chewing slowly, trying to hide your smile from your father.

He sighs and shakes his head. “All those years spent teaching you to mask your emotions, to have the perfect expression that never reveals anything, gone with the simple presence of a dark-haired northern boy who does naught by train and brood.”

“He reads as well.” You say, unable to stop yourself from defending Jon.

“Oh, does he now? Someone send word to the Grand Maester, we have found his newest acolyte.” He snorts, taking a drink from his glass.

You wrinkle your nose in response. “You are quite humorous, Father, truly you could put the court fool out of a job.”

He sets his wine down and heaves a heavy sigh. “You know I only ever wish for your happiness.”

“Yes, it is why you are my favorite father in the whole continent.” You smile teasingly, pulling your cloak closer around you as the wind picks up.

“But he is a bastard—”

“You said all dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes, and yet you are still a man worth respect and titles.” You cut in, surprising even yourself with your outburst.

“Y/N.” Your father says sternly, laying his hands flat on the table.

You duck your head. “Sorry, Father.”

“He is a bastard, he cannot be your husband, a lover, or a guard, yes, but not a husband. If we were not Lannisters, if our house was not as it was, then perhaps it would be allowed. Gods know I do not wish to force you into a marriage you despise, but you are still a lady, still have the potential to win over great victories for our family.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, turning his words over in your mind. “Are you suggesting I proposition him, like Queen Rhaenyra did Ser Criston Cole?”

“I am not suggesting anything, I do not wish to think of my only daughter as a lady grown, but if you must follow Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps…perhaps it is a Lord Harwin Strong you should seek instead.” His tone is careful, teetering the line between fatherly advice and the words of a Lannister.

You toy with the edges of your cloak. “Jon cares much for his honor, it would be shameful to even ask him such a thing.”

Your father’s hand covers your own. “That bleeding heart of yours, it comes straight from your mother.”

You smile. “And you, as well, do not downplay your kindness. An unkind father would have shipped me off to the richest man who asked for my hand the moment I first bled.”

He shivers in disgust at the thought.

Your eyes drift over to Jon and Arya, the latter who has been distracted by the appearance of Sansa and Joffrey.

“Perhaps a guard then, you could do worse than a guard you have grown alongside, it breeds loyalty.” Your father muses, watching how Jon shifts to put himself between Arya and Joffrey.

You cringe when Joffrey challenges Jon to a playful duel, ignoring your father’s words. “This will not go well.”

“Perhaps it will be good for your cousin’s ego to be beaten into the ground by someone he deems below him.”

You meet your father’s eyes and you both burst into laughter.

“Y/N, Uncle, stop laughing and come, all must witness this display of skill.” Joffrey calls, beckoning you both over.

“I cannot, Nephew, I must meet with your Uncle Jaime.” Your father calls back, hopping down from the bench.

“Father.” You hiss, silently begging him not to leave you with Joffrey.

He pats your hand. “You will be fine, stiff upper lip, little lion, remember?”

You groan and pout at him, but he shoos you forward.

Sansa crushes your hand as you watch Jon and Jeffrey spar, it’s clear Jon is holding back, you’ve seen him training, he puts more effort into hitting the dummies than he does attempt to hit Joffrey.

“Should you not cheer for your cousin?” Sansa asks.

The thought has never crossed your mind, and now it makes your stomach turn. “I would not want to break his concentration.” You say gracefully, trying to keep your eyes on the clashing swords and not Jon.

“Who cares?” Arya cheers, “Go Jon, knock him flat.”

Jon flashes her a smile, one born of confidence and the rush of near victory, and your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you can imagine him competing in a tourney. His polished armor flashing in the sun, ripping his helmet off and letting it fall to the ground, his curls set free as he directs that smile towards you, the crown of roses in his hand naming you his Queen of Love and Beauty.

“Good work, My Prince, hit him hard.” Sansa cheers in direct opposition of her sister.

Joffrey turns towards Sansa, basking in her praise. A fatal mistake, his distraction allows Jon to knock him to the ground.

The action rips a gasp from you, not many aside from your Uncle Jaime would dare to knock Joffrey off his feet.

Your cousin lies there stunned, then he darts up, sputtering, his face turning red as he hurls insults at Jon, before storming off, Sansa jumping up to follow after him.

You catch her arm. “Lady Sansa, I would leave him to his solitude, my cousin is not fond of sharing in his embarrassment.”

Sansa looks as if she wishes to argue, but relents and turns to scold Arya for her cheering.

Jon’s gaze falls upon you, he hasn’t even broken a sweat, his eyes the color of a winter storm in the sunlight.

Perhaps a guard then. Your father’s words echo in your mind. You didn’t need to follow in Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps, you could follow in Queen Alicent’s. Your maester had spoken of the pure and courtly bond between her and Ser Criston Cole when you were young, and you had been enraptured by the devotion Ser Cole had to his queen.

“Well done, Lord Jon.” You say, giving him a smile and a slight nod of your head as you take a step forward, then another until you are standing before him. Then you lean in, “though I would not have protested if you bruised his jaw when you knocked him flat.”

A slight smile tugs at Jon’s lips, and your eyes dart down to them.

He sucks in a breath, then takes a step back, putting more space between you, an overly appropriate amount of space. “Thank you, Lady Lannister.”

“Y/N, or if we must use titles, Lady y/n.”

Jon swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat. He has a nice throat, well-formed, pale with a smattering of dark stubble where it meets his chin. He must be freshly shaved, there’s a slight nick near his right ear.

You must get a hold of yourself, a nice throat? Y/N, you are shameful. You chastise yourself internally, tearing your eyes from him.

“As you wish, Lady y/n.” He whispers, his voice nearly stolen by the wind.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss

#meg's writing #jon snow x you #jon snow x reader #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagines #jon snow imagine #jon snow #lannister!reader #tyrion lannister #tyrion is such a good dad #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #asoif fanfic

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samieree · 3 months

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"Dawn of the North || Robb Stark" Masterlist

(fanfiction)(Robb Stark x OC)

[General Masterlist with list of boys I can write one-shots with here] [Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon Masterlist]

[my works are also avaiable on Ao3: Samiere and on wattpad: _Saelin]

!IMPORTANT INFO!

Introduction + Prologue

Chapter I "Family"

Chapter II "War in the south"

Chapter III "Silver-haired"

Chapter IV "News are various"

Chapter V "Truth?"

Chapter VI "First step"

Chapter VII "Mutual happiness [+18]

Chapter VIII "Temporary peace"

Chapter IX "The Twins"

Chapter X "Wildlings"

Chapter XI "The Letter"

Chapter XII "In the sight of the Seven..." [+18]

Chapter XIII "Harrenhal"

Chapter XIV "Proposition"

Chapter XV "Are you a witch?"

Important info!!!

Introduction + Prologue

Chapter I "Family"

Chapter II "War in the south"

Chapter III "Silver-haired"

Chapter IV "News are various"

Chapter V "Truth?"

Chapter VI "First step"

Chapter VII "Mutual happiness [+18]

Chapter VIII "Temporary peace"

Chapter IX "The Twins"

Chapter X "Wildlings"

Chapter XI "The Letter"

Chapter XII "In the sight of the Seven..." [+18]

Chapter XIII "Harrenhal"

Chapter XIV "Proposition"

Chapter XV "Are you a witch?"

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siravalondulac · 4 months

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that silhouette | j. snow x fem!oc

summary: and then she was here and jon knew - he would be safe in her arms. always.

warnings: smut, p in v, woman on top, bottom jon snow

Silken drapes swayed softly from the canopy above him. The open balcony doors let in a cold breeze that chilled him to the bones. Rays of light from the crescent moon offered him a meagre look at his surroundings.

Jon didn't know whose bed he was lying in. Nor did he know whose room he was in.

The mattress dipped beside him, and before he knew it, she entered his view.

“Elle.”

Her braid fell over her shoulder, the brown almost black in the darkness. The blue of her eyes seemed to glow before him, making his heart beat faster. She smiled.

“Hush, my love.” She lowered her face towards his. “We do not want to wake the Others, do we?”

As his chest rose it touched hers. Only for a moment, and with layers of clothing between them, but still.

Her left hand came up to his face, her fingers lightly ghosting along his jaw, before laying down on his cheek.

Jon’s breath hitched, and then she closed the distance between their lips.

She was cold and soft and gentle, slow and controlling and wonderful. He would never let himself forget the taste of her lips, how they moved against his, the way she slowly coaxed his mouth open with her tongue. He obeyed, of course. She could do whatever she wanted with him, and he would let her.

Sometime during this, Elle had straddled his lap. He only realised after she had started grinding herself against him, burying both of her hands in his hair to get a better grip. She swallowed his moans, never once detaching herself from his lips.

Jon's hands clutched the blanket beneath him. He was getting hard, and uncomfortably quickly at that. His hips started bucking upwards, meeting Elle's halfway.

She moved her mouth away from his, allowing him to catch his breath, if only for a moment. Because soon afterwards, she started sucking on a spot right over his throat that made him let out a moan.

Elle smiled against his skin.

“You are allowed to touch me as well, my love. It would be a shame if you did not.”

His hands soon found their way underneath her shirt, gently running up and down her sides, making her shiver. And somehow, that reaction made him proud.

Her mouth left his skin as she quickly discarded her shirt and then helped him get out of his. Their pants followed.

She sat bare above him, and Jon could do little else but stare. Stare at her beautiful body, her small breasts, her strong legs.

He raised his hand and let it run down the underside of one of her breasts. Her breath hitched, and something in her smile changed. Not for the worse, thank the gods. No, it became a tad softer, more intimate - a smile shared between lovers.

As if in response, Elle moved her hips, and he wanted to pass out on the spot. Her centre rubbed over the underside of his cock, her wetness making it all the more pleasurable.

She lowered her mouth back on his, quieting his moans as he gripped her hips with both hands. He didn't even know what he wanted to do, stop her or encourage her to keep on moving, please keep on moving, never stop moving.

Her left hand travelled down his body, her nails raking over his stomach and drawing dangerously close to his dick. She smiled against his mouth at the increased movement of his hips.

“Please”, he begged quietly. “I need you.”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Her hand encircled his dick, pumping once, twice before she raised her hips above it.

Jon held his breath.

The moment his tip was enveloped by her walls he almost came. She was so soft and warm and wrapped around him so perfectly. But he forced himself to hold back. He needed to enjoy this while it lasted.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she sank down on him, her mouth never once leaving his.

How did he come to be so lucky? Never once in his life had anyone ever spared him a second look and now he was in the arms of the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes upon, being treated like he was worth more than all the gold in the kingdom.

He finally bottomed out inside of her. Elle pressed their foreheads together, apparently needing to catch her breath as much as he did.

They fit together so perfectly. His dick sat snugly between her walls and her chest pressed against his so closely, he could feel her beating heart.

One of her hands found his, still gripping her hips tightly, and interlaced his fingers with hers. She pulled both of them upwards and laid them gently onto the pillow beside Jon's head. So gently, never letting go, as if it was the only anchor that kept her in this world.

Elle moved her face away from his and opened her eyes. He had never been able to fully nail down what shade they were, appearing intense like ice one night and deep like the ocean the next. But now, with the way they glowed through the darkness, neither seemed like an apt way to describe them.

Then, she started moving.

Jon breathed in deeply in surprise, his mouth dropping open. It took everything in him not to moan loud enough to wake the entire Keep.

Her hips moved around in circles, slowly at first, then gradually increasing their speed. Her walls clenched around his cock, making him whimper and buck his hips upwards. She smiled, and started moving properly, her hand never once letting go of his.

He didn't know when or how it happened, but Elle's hair had come loose from her braid. It now fell in gentle curls just below her shoulders.

A crown would suit her well, he thought. One made of the finest of golds, inlaid with rubies the colour of blood. And her hair would be decorated with blue flowers the shape of stars, like the ones he had seen in Winterfell's glass gardens.

She bounced faster and faster on top of his cock, the slapping resounding throughout the room. His moans had turned into soft whimpers long ago. And yet, throughout all this, her eyes had never left his.

Jon was close, so close. He could tell Elle was too, the way her breathing had quickened just like his, the way her walls started spasming around his dick.

He knew he would never leave her. They belonged together, like sun and moon, like wolf and lion, like ice and fire. As long as he was with her, nothing would happen to him.

Just a bit more, he was standing right at the edge. Everything inside of him felt so good. The sweat and tears would all be worth it. He only needed one last push, then he would come. And once he did he would make Elle his-

Jon awoke with a jolt.

A dream. It had all been a dream.

Thankfully, he tried telling himself. He had not broken his vows. Even if he, technically, hadn't taken them yet.

His clothing was drenched in sweat and his dick was so painfully hard. He wanted - needed - to relieve himself, but even thinking about that brought his mind back to his dream. Back to Elle and how she fit so wonderfully-

No! He would not think about her, especially not in that way. He was to be a brother of the Night's Watch, and she was his friend. Maybe. Hopefully.

Jon looked around the room, studying his friends’ faces, wondering if he had made any sounds in his sleep that would have disturbed them in their sleep. But no one seemed to be awake.

He took in a deep breath and fell backwards onto his pillow again.

(The bed in his dream had been softer.)

He turned around and pressed his hips into the mattress, pleading for his hard-on to go away quickly.

(Much like how his dick had gotten hard so quickly as soon as he had seen her in his dream.)

His uncle had told him he would regret joining the Watch at his age, before he had experienced any of what made a man. Jon had wanted to laugh at him back then. But he didn't want to laugh now.

Why did his life have to be so difficult?

note: if you are intrigued by this one-shot and elle, might i direct you to the story this is inspired by: meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight?

#jon snow x oc #jon snow smut #asoiaf #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf smut #game of thrones smut #game of thrones fanfic #jon snow #fic: meet me in the dark kiss me in the moonlight #fic: gilded stars of silver grace

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

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hi, idk if you write this kind of thing but would you mind writing something with either carmy berzatto or frank castle and a recovering addict! gf?

she relapses and he's angry but he loves her so he's gentle. he doesn't know what to do.

i’m not doing so well atm and i’m really struggling to stay clean, your writing and just fics in general really help take me out of my own head.

There's Always Tomorrow.

Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.

Author's Note - hi sweet anon. i'm sorry to hear you're not doing so well at the moment. i lost a good friend of mine to addiction, and i know how hard it can be. just know that you're never alone - there's always someone you can talk to. you're doing amazing, and I'm wishing you all the best. you've got this.

i got this request and knew i had to write it, as it's something very close to my heart. i've tried to handle it as sensitively as possible, without going into too much explicit detail. i've included some resources at the bottom of this post such as websites and hotlines if you feel like you need some support. so much love to anyone who's struggling. i see you, and i admire you. you're always stronger than you think x

Pairing - Frank Castle x Recovering Addict Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - addiction. mentions of relapse. talk of sobriety and being clean. cursing. please do not read if this will be triggering to you in any way.

Word Count - 1.7k

Masterlist. Requests.

Frank knows something is wrong the minute he walks through the door.

Usually, he yells honey, I'm home! and is greeted by you jumping into his arms, covering his face in kisses.

Today, you're nowhere to be found.

He's storming through your house, yelling your name at the top of his lungs. A thousand scenarios are running through his head, all of them horrifically tragic. He's terrified.

He gets to the closed bathroom door and yells your name again.

"Sweetheart, you in there?"

You don't reply, but he hears you sniffle.

"Shit, baby, are you cryin'? Open the door. Whatever it is, I'll fix it, okay?"

"You can't," you sob. "Not this time."

Frank has never heard you this upset, and he's starting to panic.

"Open the door, honey. Please. Just open the door and we'll work somethin' out."

"You don't want me to," you cry. "You're going to hate me."

"Hate you? I could never hate you. I love you, you know that. Open the door. Please."

You sniffle again, but make no attempt to move.

"Alright. I'm about to break it down. Move back, so I can kick it in."

"Don't you dare," you threaten. "This door was expensive."

"Then open it."

You're not sure if it's his words, or the way he sounds exhausted, but you decide to give him some respite. You stand up and turn the lock, before slumping back down into your spot on the floor.

Frank takes a good look at you, and his heart shatters.

Your cheeks are tracked with mascara stained tears. You're wearing nothing but a tank top and some underwear. Your hair looks like you've been running your fingers through it repeatedly. Your lips are bitten and raw. You look tired.

"Baby," he whispers. "What happened? Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you lie.

"You're not fine. You're clearly not fuckin' fine. We don't lie to each other, do we?"

When you don't answer, he grabs your chin to look at him where he's standing.

"Do we?"

"No," you mutter, shaking your head. "We don't lie to each other."

"That's right," he says, moving to kneel in front of you. "Now please, honey. What happened?"

Silence. More sniffles.

"If I tell you, you're going to hate me. You're going to leave me and you're going to hate me."

"I don't think there's anythin' in the world that could make me hate you," he reassures.

Frank looks at you intently, proving you have his full attention. He cups your cheek gently, and waits for you to tell him the truth. Eventually, you speak.

"I relapsed," you whisper.

Frank's whole body goes rigid, and he freezes. He's still looking at you, but it's different now.

"Frank," you say gently. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

Your blood runs cold. He sounds... distant. Detached. He sounds angry.

"Please don't hate me. I told you you'd hate me. God, I knew this would happen."

There are fresh, warm tears streaming down your face, dripping onto your shirt. Frank still remains stoic, removing his hand from your cheek.

"I don't hate you," he says eventually. "But I need you to give me a minute."

With that, he rises to his feet and leaves. You're left on the bathroom floor, sobbing and alone.

⋆ 　　 . ✵　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵

Frank sits on the edge of your bed, trying his best to take deep breaths.

Your addiction isn't a secret. You've talked about it time and time again, telling Frank all of the details that you swore to yourself you'd never tell anyone. You met him, and felt instantly safe. He's the perfect confidant - he listens, he understands. He's compassionate, he's gentle, he's empathetic. You've opened up again and again, and Frank has never judged you once. It's one of the reasons you fell so hard for him.

You've been clean since you met him. A naive part of him hoped that he'd never have to see you otherwise. He knows that sobriety is a journey, he knows that it isn't linear. But he hasn't been through it. There's only so much he really understands. He tries, though. God, he tries.

He's sitting in your shared bedroom, wondering why he left you in the bathroom by yourself. Is it because he can't bear to see you upset? Is it because he can't handle it like he thought he could?

He realises, suddenly, that it's because he simply doesn't know what to do. He's never been in this situation before, and he doesn't know which course of action to take. Does he sit and cry with you? Does he yell at you to never do it again? Does he tell you he still loves you, no matter what? He decides, unsure, to try a mix of all three.

Frank strides back into the bathroom and sees you still in the spot he left you. You're still crying, and it lodges a lump in his throat. He fights back his own tears, and sits down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

"Hey, hey. You're okay. We're okay. It's all okay."

"It's not okay, Frank," you sob. "I'm so mad."

"At me? I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't have stormed out like that. I just panicked and -"

"No, no. At myself."

Frank soothingly strokes your hair, rocking you gently. You relax into his hold, tears subsiding slightly.

"I've worked so hard on being clean. It's a choice, every single day. Why did I choose wrong today? I've ruined everything. I've fucked up all of my hard work, all of my progress."

"You know," he begins. "There's no end goal here. It's a constant journey. And on any journey, there's gonna be ups and downs."

You try to protest, but he cuts you off.

"One bad day doesn't determine the rest of the week. Or the rest of the month. Or the year. Okay?"

You nod your head, and he kisses your temple.

"There's always tomorrow, baby. There's always tomorrow. We can start again. Today doesn't undo everything. It just changes your course a little."

"Frank Castle. A poet. Who knew?" you tease. He laughs, and the vibrations buzz through you both.

"Only for you, honey."

You both sit on the floor for what feels like hours, content to just hold each other. Frank is wondering what caused the events of the day, what made you feel like you had no other option, where you even got a hold of everything. But he doesn't ask. He knows you'll talk about it tomorrow. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, and tries to match his racing heart to the beat of yours.

"Promise me that if you feel like this again, you'll tell me. I don't care where I am, or what I'm doin'. We're in this together."

"I promise," you whisper.

"There's always tomorrow, honey," he murmurs into your hair.

"There's always tomorrow," you echo.

He's right. There's always tomorrow.

Al-Anon / Ala-Teen Hotline - 800-356-9996

SAMHSA Hotline - 1-800-662-4357

DrugFree Hotline - 855-378-4373

Alcoholics Anonymous (UK) - +44-800-9177-650

DAN 24/7 (England&Wales) - +44-808-8082-234

Narcotics Anonymous (UK) - +44-300-999-1212

MIND Website (lots of useful UK resources here)

SAMHSA Website (USA)

these are just a select few. there are hundreds, if not thousands, of websites, hotlines and places to turn for support if you're struggling. asking for help might be the hardest thing you'll ever do. but it's so worth it. promise x

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darlingshane · 8 months

Text

> DRABBLES & ONE-SHOTS – Greetings from Boston (GN!Reader) – Secret Ingredient – The Storm * – Something Crazy * – Let it rip, Coach – Burden (platonic Carmy & SIL!Reader)

> CHEMISTRY SERIES – Part 1: Afternoon Delight * – Part 2: Kiss the Cook *

> SALT OF THE EARTH (Michael x OFC) – Chapters 1 - 4 – Chapters 5 - 7 * – Chapters 8 - 10 *

* = Explicit – No use of y/n. No physical descriptions. – F!reader unless stated otherwise. – Check out my main masterlist for other characters.

#michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto #michael berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #michael berzatto masterlist #character masterlist #jon bernthal #michael berzatto x ofc #michael berzatto x oc #mikey berzatto

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 8 months

Text

Legacy of Fire (series masterlist)

Summery: Vaeloria Targaryen's life journey. How a girl who grew up as the only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell hidden away in Dorne, life change when she discovers she was in fact Vaeloria Targaryen all along after all.

Warnings: Cursing, death by sword, death by fire, death by hanging, war, humiliation, betrayal, violence, use of the word bastard, incest, angst, fluff, burning, threatening, future smut, P in V, fingering, cunnilingus, scissoring, blowjob, handjob, anal sex, girl x girl, boy x girl, boy x boy, dragons

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

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puppiesandnightlock · 6 months

Text

Link to Ao3: A Robin's Song

Summary: Since diapers, Jon and Damian have been best friends. Accidentally encouraging jon to go ask out a girl, damian must now deal with the consequences of pushing his what he thinks are unrequited feelings down. He turns to music to vent, posting under an anonymous online username "Robin".

What he was not expecting, was for the music to blow up, leaving him internet famous, and his feelings out in the open.

and Jon is completely clueless.

A/N: THIS IS A REVERSE ROBINS AU AGES R: Damian is 17 Duke is 16 Tim is 14 Steph is 13 ½ Cass is 12 Jason 10 ¾ Dick is 5 Jon is 18 Kon is 14 Bart is 13 Wally(will be mentioned eventually) is 5 Roy(also will b mentioned eventually) is 11

Based on this post by @jaybirbie

December 3, five weeks before.

“Can’t believe you, Mr. Jonathan-its-under-fifty-degrees-please-wear-a-jacket, didn’t wear the biggest coat you could find today.” Jon snorted, rifling through his closet.

Damian’s bronze skin was dusted with a pretty pink as he scowled, a knitted green sweater and black skinny jeans his only defense against the cold.

“It’s a weekend, Jon, I had no intention to go out, and I let Duke take the big jacket because he was going out with friends.”

Jon hummed sympathetically before pulling out the next sweater he had, his letterman.

“Try this on, Dames.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that warm.” Damian eyed it skeptically. Jon gave him a look, and he scoffed, shrugging it on anyway.

“Looks better on you than me.” Jon cackled, snapping a quick picture.

The sleeves went past his hands, the jacket going down to his mid-thigh. Damian was drowning in a sea of warm fabric, and for a moment he was lost, inhaling deeply and smelling the fabric softener Jon’s mom used, a hint of the cologne he stole from his father, and a smell that was utterly Jon. Just Jon. His best friend, and definitely nothing more. Never…anything more.

“Dami?” Jon croaked nervously, silence taking over the room.

Damian snapped out of his little dream world and flushed red, scrambling to take it off and hand it back. “Way too big.”

“Is it normal for you to smell clothing?” Jon raised an eyebrow, was that a small, miniscule burst of pink on his cheeks?

No, stop messing with your own emotions, Damian.

Damian turned his nose up and scowled. “Yes, when was the last time you washed that thing?”

“Hey! It’s clean, thank you!” Jon shot back indignantly, but not before sniffing it quickly, just to make sure.

His friend snorted, before putting on the light jacket he’d brought over his knitted sweater.

“We can just stay home and watch tv or something,” he offered.

“Should I put on Glee?”

“I’ll grab some cocoa.”

Five weeks after.

“What a sight for sore eyes.” Jon sighed, slumping against his locker. Damian looked up, shutting his as he grabbed his books.

“Your locker?”

Jon let out a breathy chuckle. “No. Her .”

He followed his gaze to a girl walking down the hall, laughing with a group of girls. Some wore a cheerleading outfit, but she wore a skirt with leggings, white shirt, and a low cardigan. Her skirt and sweater were varying shades of blue, and when she opened her eyes, one could see her eyes were as well.

Thick pieces of brown hair fell to her hips, two long layers framing her face, slightly shorter bangs parted in the middle of her forehead.

And with one glance, he could already tell. Jon was utterly enamored with her.

“What’s her name?” Damian asked quietly.

“Haisley. She’s one of the cheerleaders, and god, her voice when she sings. Angels, Damian, I swear to you she’s what angels sound like.”

Every word out of Jon’s mouth was ripping him to shreds and he fought the sudden urge to scream. Instead he swallowed hard, spitting out words like they had done him personal harm.

“You should go talk to her.”

Stop, Damian, don't do this to yourself.

“I’m sure you’ll get on very well, she looks sweet.”

Jon went pale. “Oh, God, she’s coming this way! Damian, what if I screw up?”

“Jon, it's a simple greeting. Say hi, I’m Jon, I’ve seen you around, then blah blah, say something charming. You’re good at that.”

He said it so dismissively, it nearly convinced himself that he didn't actually care. His taller friend inhaled sharply before meeting her halfway. Before he made it to her, she was tripped by something, and dropped her books. Being the good boy he was raised to be, he rushed over to help.

Damian winced as Jon said something to make her laugh, his pale complexion flushing crimson at the sound.

Fighting off the stupid emotions, he kept his head down and sped out of the hallway.

What had he done?

Present day.

Third wheel again.

It was lunch, and instead of the usual eating under the big oak in the courtyard of their high school, Damian was stuck between Haisley and Jon, trying not to scowl as they chattered and flirted.

It was disgusting, frankly, and never failed to make his appetite disappear.

He had long since stopped trying to join their conversations, always drowned out by the “we’re-not-together-yet-Dames” couple.

“I’m just going to throw my tray away.” He called loudly over their talking, the only acknowledgement that he received was a thumbs up from Jon and a sweet smile thrown his way by Haisley.

Never one to waste food, he tucked the remaining packaged snacks and apple in his backpack before returning.

Before he made it to the table, he saw Jon draping his letterman over Haisley. The same one he’d been given on that cold day. Bile rose in his throat as he saw her lean her head tentatively on his shoulder, watching as Jon grew flustered, and just as hesitantly, wrapped an arm around her.

Damian suddenly felt as if he’d stumbled across something private, and hastily turned and walked away.

The walk turned into a run, and suddenly he was in the library, holed up in a corner as he cursed the sniffles he got.

This is hardly something to cry over , he scolded himself. I knew it was never going to happen.

He stayed in the little corner until the bell had rung, sketches of characters that didn't exist pouring over his sketchbook.

*****************

Walking home had always been something held to high regard for Damian these last few weeks since Haisley arrived. The only time he could have Jon to himself like he used to. These moments were treasured now, more than ever.

“Where’d you go at lunch, Dami?” Jon asked, strolling along the sidewalk.

“The library. There was a book I wanted to check out.” He said smoothly.

“Where is it then?”

“Oh, they didn't have it, so I had to put it on hold. I must have gotten distracted looking at the other ones.”

Yes, he had precrafted a story or five to tell.

“Did I miss anything important?”

“No, not really.” Jon let out a whoosh of air. “Just that I may actually be falling in love with Haisley.”

Hurt struck him like glass daggers to his heart, but years over playing games with his brothers had ensured he had an absolutely stellar poker face.

His mask of indifference washed over him as he responded with a tremor to his tone.

“Is that so? What makes you think that?”

“Gosh, she’s so pretty, for one.”

Damian’s stomach twisted, and he spoke. “So, is it just physical? That’s not love, Jon, that’s a crush.”

“Wha-? No, I'm not done. She’s sweet, kind, and funny. She can actually have a snarky side if you hang around her enough. She has a good heart, and I know my parents would approve. Besides, do I gotta mention all the other stuff? The way her eyes get all squinty when she laughs, her smile, all the blue. I look good in blue, don’t I? We could match~”

Jon continued gushing and at the corner, Damian clapped him on the shoulder and declared with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes that he was happy for him.

“You sure, D? You don’t look too excited.” Jon seemed worried.

“Course, J, I only want you to be happy. If you're happy, I'm happy. Just…this won’t come between us, right?”

He would die before he let their friendship burn, even if that meant he had to keep his distance.

“Never. You're my best friend, Damian. We’ll always be like this won’t we? Forever?”

“Yeah. Forever.” Damian swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and breathed a sigh of relief as he hit the row of small houses.

“My stop. See you tomorrow.”

Before he could hear the response, he scurried away and across the street to the little tired house on the corner.

He unlocked the door and shut it behind him, slumping against it. The inside of the house was warm and cozy, the smell of cooking food making it homey.

When he opened his eyes, he could see his oldest younger brother, Duke, in the kitchen, the old yellow apron they had tied around his waist.

“You okay, Dames?” Duke set the pan down and lowered the fire, moving to help him up.

“Peachy.” He responded, letting himself be pulled upwards.

He hung up his coat and backpack and tried a smile, which Duke returned sympathetically.

Marching into his room, he starfished across his small bed and screeched into the pillow.

“✨Anger issues✨” Was hummed from above him.

Grumbling, Damian launched his pillow towards the person, his mood lifted slightly as he heard an “oof-” as the pillow hit his target.

“My dear menace to society.” Damian grinned as the pillow was thrown back and a black haired head popped up from the top bunk of the bunkbeds next to him.

“How was imprisonment for you today?”

“Fine, fine, I won't bore you with details .” The teen waved his hand dismissively, before raising an eyebrow.

“How was your day, is the question we should all be asking if you came in here and tried to summon a demon with those screams.”

“And summon a demon, I did.” Damian gestured upwards to his little brother.

“Asshole.”

“Swear Jar.”

A quarter was thrown at his face.

“I’m serious, I'm fairly certain you and Duke are the ones who pay like half the bills from just the jar.”

“Shut up.” Tim stuck his tongue out, Damian returning the gesture.

“Kon told me Jon got a girlfriend.” His tone softened. “Are you okay?”

The crush was well known between the three oldest brothers and Cass, and it was often used as a teasing device, if not them actually trying to convince Damian to say something.

“Fine. And they’re not together yet, tell Connor to get his facts right.” he waved off his brother’s concerns.

Tim looked at him, seeing directly past the lie, however, knowing better, he kept his mouth shut.

“You should write,” He said instead. ”Healthy venting.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Nonetheless, Damian followed his advice and took out a writing pad, proceeding to stare at the blank page for the next half hour until his youngest siblings and father arrived home, much like the author of this fic.

************

After dinner, everyone lounged around the living room, chattering and doing activities with each other.

Dick bounced onto the couch next to Damian and turned on the biggest puppy eyes he could muster.

“Dami?”

“Dickiebird?”

“Will you play for us?”

Damian inhaled sharply. It had been awhile since he’d touched his guitar, but it still remained one of his younger brothers favorite pastimes.

“I’m a little rusty, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try.”

He went and grabbed it, repositioning himself back on the couch. His siblings paused in their activities to watch.

Hesitantly he tunes and strums, before playing around with some notes. Finding he quite liked the pattern, he continued with the slow melody, switching it up and returning it.

“I’ve never heard this song before.” Steph turned her head to the side, pausing in painting Cass’s nails.

Jason bookmarked the page in his book and tore a page from one of Damian’s sketchbooks, coming to sit in front of Damian.

“Can you play that again? It was really pretty.”

He repeated it, again and again until the tune swirled around the house, bringing everyone into the song.

The kids had made a small circle around the couch, Bruce putting down his newspaper in favor of listening to his eldest.

There was nothing in his heart that spoke of pain and longing, all poured into the melancholy melody surrounding them.

When he came back to the present, the paper Jason had torn was covered in little scribbles.

Music notes.

“Timmy helped, but these were the ones that we got, so that you can play that again sometime.”

“Please play it again!” Dick chirped.

“ Very beautiful.” Cass agreed out loud, trying to sign, but stopped by the wet paint on her nails.

“You should write lyrics!” Duke suggested. “I can help!”

The rest of the evening was spent curled in the living room, Damian writing furiously and Duke helping him make things flow, Tim leaning over occasionally and remarking how similar they sounded to Damian's own predicament.

Damian was subjected to yet another day watching “Jaisley” as Tim and his group of friends, Duke, and if he was honest, he called it that as well, pine after each other.

If he had to hear the words “She’s an angel, D.” in a lovestruck tone one more time, his father would have to pick him up at the local police station for arson and vandalism.

Luckily, his savior came in the form of one Duke Wayne, who magically showed up almost every time Damian was on the brink. Today was his full school day, so he walked with Jon and Damian back home, wincing everytime Jon opened his mouth to gush about Haisley.

“Well, fuck.” Duke muttered as they walked into the house, dropping a quarter into the large jar as they did.

“It’s bad.” Damian sighed. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I can sweep this under the rug, it’ll be fine.”

“Dames-” his brother started, before Tim came barreling through the door.

“Bye guys!” He screamed from the porch, two boys and a girl waving back at him.

Shutting the door, he turned to his older brothers. “We gonna record?”

Damian crossed his arms, staring up at his taller (only by a few inches!) little brother.

“Wonderful idea, Timothy.”

He stalked towards the room, overhearing Tim whisper to Duke. “ He called me Timothy, was it really that bad?”

“Worse, dude. Wayyyy worse.”

*******************

Damian was wearing an oversized black hoodie with yellow lining, a dark green domino mask from an old halloween costume, and had left his hair out in a way rendered mostly unrecognizable to most of his school peers.

Tim screwed around with the beat-up old laptop they’d salvaged awhile back, and a suspiciously high-quality recording mic.

He would ask where it came from later.

The three brothers threw out some song requests for Damian to warm up, and then began recording.

After the third take, they stopped.

“Dami, you sound monotone. Like you’re rehearsing a line and we have you at gunpoint behind the camera.”

“Sorry.” Damian flushed.

Duke spoke up. “This is your song, your story. Try singing it how you feel, like you’re watching them and monologuing internally.”

He chewed his bottom lip, nodding. “Can we try again?”

Tim smiled, counting down.

This time, he shut his eyes, letting the soft strumming of the guitar take him back to the moment when he felt his heart break for the first time.

He floated away into the memories of them on the cold December day, to when they saw Haisley for the first time, to just recently listening to the voice he loved to hear pine for someone else.

The tune flowed around him, lifting him up into the song until he was nearly sobbing with the pain of reliving those painful moments, pouring all he had into the few minutes.

When he hit the final notes, he let the tears building up catch in the mask, a few stubborn ones slipping past the white out eyes and being hastily scrubbed away as Tim stopped recording.

The silence was loud, and nervously, Damian spoke up. “Should we retake?”

“That was perfect, Damian.”

“God, I could have cried. That is how this song was meant to be sung, and I'll be damned if this doesn't blow up by next week.”

“SWEAR JAR!” Tim and Damian chorused.

“I’m giving compliments.” Duke grumbled.

Tim stuck his tongue out and Damian skimmed the top of his guitar with his fingers gently.

“I…I don't think I want it to blow up too much. These are my feelings, and to be honest I wouldn't be surprised if they find out it's me just by the words.”

“I guess.” Tim shrugged, going over the footage in his computer, and tweaking with the picture and turning the sound up over the videos, adding subtitles with the lyrics.

“Your old profile pic is that symbol you drew a few years ago. Do you wanna keep it?”

It was a bubble letter R in dark colors of green and red, a hint of yellow making it pop. Damian studied it before nodding.

“Yes. I'd like to keep it.”

**************

They had played the song after dinner, the family applauding at the end. Tim posted it online with everyone onlooking, and although Damian claimed he didn’t care much about any of it, he sent the link to Kon, and asked him to pass it along to his older brother.

And if he hacked into a few accounts to put the link in their recommendations, who would know but him?

…And the FBI agent that Bernard from across the street told him was watching the computer, despite using a VPN.

It was for a good cause anyways.

****************************

BIG HUGE THANKS TO MY AMAZING BETA READERS FOR THIS CHATPER @robbed-ghost and @redasuree !!!!!!!!!!!

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