Warning: mentions of neglect, ABUSE/ DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, cheating, gaslighting.
Words: 3.1k
The Wayne Manor was big enough to swallow people whole.
She'd learned that early on — how the echo of laughter could vanish in the hallways before it ever reached her room. How dinner conversations could flow around her like a river she wasn't meant to wade into.
They never meant to ignore her, she thought. Bruce was busy. The boys were always on patrol or training or helping with something important. It wasn't their fault that she didn't know what that "something" was. She wasn't supposed to ask.
When she first moved in, she'd tried—really tried—to fit into their rhythm. To be patient with Tim's distracted muttering over his laptop, with Jason's short answers and unpredictable moods, with Damian's snide remarks that she wasn't "really a Wayne."
Dick was the only one who ever really smiled at her. But even that faded after a while — when he started leaving early, showing up late, and laughing at jokes she didn't get anymore.
So she stopped trying.
Her days were spent in quiet corners of the manor — the greenhouse Alfred kept pristine, the long balconies that looked out over the trees, the spaces where no one thought to look for her.
That's where Evan found her the first time.
He wasn't from their world — just a guy from the city she'd met at a bookstore café. Easy smile, warm eyes. He listened when she talked. He noticed things.
"Your family's rich-rich, huh?" he'd teased once, when she mentioned the house.
"Not my family," she'd said with a soft laugh. "Just the people I live with."
He'd raised an eyebrow but didn't push. And that—more than anything—made her trust him.
Over time, she started leaning on him more. When dinners passed without anyone noticing she wasn't there. When Bruce forgot her birthday. When Damian called her "the charity case Bruce felt guilty about."
Evan was steady. Reliable.
He brought her flowers once, just because. Told her she was too kind for people who didn't deserve her. Held her hand when she tried to pretend she wasn't upset.
So when he offered to go with her to the Wayne Foundation's Charity Gala — the one she'd been dreading for weeks — she said yes.
⸻
The ballroom was gold and glass and polished marble, glittering with people who smiled too wide.
She'd been nervous, tugging at the hem of her dress while Evan's arm looped loosely around her waist. He looked completely at ease — shaking hands, sipping champagne, whispering small compliments in her ear that made her blush.
At first, it went well.
Dick had been there, charming as ever, and she'd laughed at one of his stories about Jason accidentally setting the sofa on fire.
It was the first time she'd laughed like that in weeks.
That's when she felt Evan's hand close around her wrist.
Not tight — but firm enough that the sound died in her throat.
"Let's talk," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "In private."
"Uh—yeah, okay," she said, glancing back at Dick. "I'll be right back."
Evan's grip didn't loosen until they were past the ballroom, down a quiet hallway lined with portraits.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"I don't like you laughing like that with other guys," he said softly.
Her heart skipped. "Evan, he's just—he's my brother—"
"Then maybe act like it," he murmured.
He smiled again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not mad, okay? I just want to be on the same page."
He kissed her forehead, gentle, reassuring.
And for a moment, she believed him.
***
Evan picked her up most nights now. They'd go out for drinks, drive around the city with music low and windows down. Sometimes it felt like freedom — being seen, being wanted.
Sometimes it felt like she was drifting further from home.
When she'd come back to the manor, the lights were always off. No one asked where she'd been.
It made it easier to convince herself that maybe Evan was right — that they didn't care.
⸻
It was almost midnight when Alfred and Dick passed by her room one night, heading toward the study. The sharp sound of glass shattering froze them both in their tracks.
Dick frowned, exchanging a glance with the butler. "That came from her room, right?"
Alfred nodded once and rapped on the door. "Miss Wayne? Are you all right?"
A long pause. Then the door cracked open.
Reader stood there, hair slightly disheveled, sweater slipping off one shoulder. She smiled quickly — too quickly.
"Oh—yeah, sorry. I knocked over the lamp next to my bed. I'll clean it up."
Dick leaned sideways, trying to peek past her. "You sure? Sounded like something exploded."
"Yeah, she's kinda clumsy," came Evan's voice from inside.
He appeared behind her, an easy grin on his face. His hand rested casually on her shoulder. "I told her not to balance it on a stack of books."
Alfred frowned, the smallest crease between his brows. "Well, I'll bring a broom—"
"No thanks, we got it," Evan interrupted smoothly, already closing the door. "Goodnight."
The door clicked shut before either man could answer.
For a long moment, the hallway stayed still.
Dick sighed. "You ever get a weird vibe off that guy?"
Alfred's expression was unreadable. "Often, Master Richard."
She'd gone to meet Evan at a rooftop bar downtown — one of those places he liked to go with his friends, she spotted him easily. His hand was on another girl's waist.
Her pulse was hammering in her ears as he looks over and sees her before rushing over as she starts storming off.
"Wait," Evan called out. "Where are you going?" He asked as they make it out onto the street.
"I saw you," she said, voice shaking. "You had your hands all over her."
"Her?" Evan turned, eyes wide, feigning surprise. "We were just talking. What is wrong with you?"
"Talking?" She gave a short, incredulous laugh. "What were you talking about that required your hand on her ass?"
"Maybe about how nice it is for me to have a conversation that isn't you bitching and whining all the time about your life and your family."
The words hit like glass splintering underfoot.
He leaned closer, voice dripping venom. "You know what? Maybe this is why they treat you like this. I can't imagine how exhausting it must've been growing up with you."
For a second, she couldn't breathe.
She just stared at him, hurt hollowing her chest. "Well," she said finally, quietly, "you don't have to worry about it anymore."
She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist.
"Wait—wait, I didn't mean that, okay? I'm drunk. I just—"
"Just what? You were okay with my 'bitching' as long as it came with a dollar sign, huh? All those dinners and clubs and VIP sections you wanted to show off—"
The slap came so fast she didn't see it.
Her cheek burned, her ears rang. For a moment, everything froze.
He stared at her handprint blooming red across her skin, his breathing uneven. "I—dammit, I didn't—"
But the damage was already done. She muttered about wanting to go home. Walking towards her car, Evan insisted in driving her and she not having the energy to dig her it agreed.
He drove her home in silence. She sat with her hands in her lap, watching the lights blur past the window. When they reached the manor, he touched her face, thumb tracing the mark like it was something fragile.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "You just—sometimes you push me, and I lose it. You know I love you, right?"
She nodded. Because it was easier than fighting.
Because maybe she did push him. Maybe she shouldn't have yelled in public. Maybe it really was her fault.
A few days later, Tim walked into the her room to see is she had seen his laptop and froze.
She was sitting in front of one of the tall mirrors, dabbing concealer across her cheek. A fading bruise peeked through.
"Hey," he said carefully. "What happened?"
She jumped, spinning around. "Nothing." She snapped standing up and pushing him out the door.
Tim frowned. "You sure? That looks like—"
"Mind your business, Tim." Her voice cracked halfway through the words.
He hesitated. Wanted to say more. But he didn't....He just...left.
But that image stayed with him long after.
⸻
The next time, it wasn't hidden.
It was another fundraiser. Another night where she'd smiled too long, laughed too bright.
Damian had been walking down the hall when he turned a corner and froze.
Evan's hand was against the wall — and she was pinned beneath it. His voice low, sharp.
Then she stumbled, hitting the wall harder than she should have.
Damian's eyes narrowed. "Is there a problem here?"
Evan turned with a practiced smile. "No problem, little guy. She just tripped, and I was trying to catch her."
Damian's stare didn't waver. "I'm fourteen, not four."
"He's right," she said quickly, stepping forward, fixing her hair. "I tripped. Let's get back to the party."
She walked past him before he could say another word, her perfume lingering in the air like smoke.
Damian watched them disappear into the crowd — Evan's hand gripping her arm again — and for the first time, he felt the sharp, unfamiliar sting of worry.
⸻
That night, in the manor, Damian found Tim in the library.
"I know what I saw....She lied," he said simply.
Tim looked up from his phone. "About what?"
"About that man," Damian said. "He hurt her."
Tim's expression darkened.
"Yeah," he murmured. "And I don't think it's the first time."
_____
By the time Jason noticed, it was already too late.
He'd been watching from a distance for weeks — the way her shoulders hunched when Evan spoke, how she laughed quieter now, always checking his face first.
Jason wasn't stupid. He'd seen this pattern before — the fake charm, the public smiles, the little gestures meant to control, not care.
He'd lived it in the streets, seen girls too scared to walk away.
So the night he found Evan leaning against his car outside the manor, waiting, Jason didn't bother with small talk.
He stepped right up to him.
"Look, I don't know what she told you," Evan said before Jason could even open his mouth, his smirk already in place. "But our relationship is perfectly fine — and quite frankly, none of your business."
Jason smiled, sharp and humorless. "My sister is my business."
Evan's eyes flickered — just a second, but Jason caught it. "I think you should go back inside," Evan said, voice lowering. "Before you start something you can't finish."
Jason stepped closer, close enough that Evan could feel the heat off his breath.
"See, that's the thing — I always finish what I start."
Evan laughed softly, backing up a step. "You don't scare me.”
Jason's grin widened. "Good. Then you won't mind me telling you that if you lay a hand on her again, I'll make sure you can't use it."
Before Evan could respond, the front door opened.
"Jason?" It was her. She froze at the sight of them.
"Everything okay?" she asked, looking between them.
"Peachy," Jason said, eyes still on Evan, whose smirk didn't falter.
_______
The movie played softly in the background, colors flickering across the darkened living room.
Reader sat curled into the corner of the couch, her head resting lightly on Evan's shoulder, a half-empty bowl of popcorn on the table.
It was one of those rare, quiet nights — no fundraisers, no awkward dinners, no questions. Just the two of them.
She was laughing at something on-screen when the sound of footsteps echoed in the doorway.
"Hey," Dick's voice broke through the low hum of the television. "Got a minute?"
Reader looked up, surprised. Dick stood at the edge of the room, jaw tight, a handful of glossy photos clutched in one hand. His expression wasn't teasing or casual — it was grim.
Evan shifted, his arm tensing behind her. "Kind of in the middle of something," he said lightly, but his tone had a warning edge.
"Yeah," Dick said flatly. "You might wanna pause it."
He stepped forward and tossed the photos onto the coffee table. The stack fanned out — clear shots of Evan downtown, hand in hand with a brunette girl, her head resting against his shoulder as they walked through a crowd.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Reader blinked, leaning forward slowly. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the pictures. "What is this?" she whispered.
Evan was already on his feet. "What the hell is this, Dick? You stalking me now?"
Dick didn't flinch. "No. I was downtown yesterday. You just happened to be cheating on my sister."
The words hit like a slap.
Reader's throat went dry. She flipped through the photos — Evan smiling, his arm around the other girl, their fingers intertwined. Her stomach twisted.
"You said you were with your dad yesterday," she murmured, looking up at him.
Evan's jaw flexed. "I was with my dad. That's not—" he laughed, forced — "that's not what it looks like, okay?"
"Really?" Dick said, folding his arms. "Because it looks exactly like what it is."
Evan shot him a glare. "That girl is just a friend."
Dick raised an eyebrow. "You hold all your friends like that?"
Evan's nostrils flared. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Is that why you weren't answering your phone?" Reader asked, voice cracking, barely above a whisper. "Because you were with her?"
Evan turned toward her, his tone sharpening. "No, I already told you — she's no one."
Her grip on the photos tightened, knuckles white. "Then why—"
He snapped suddenly, eyes flashing. "You always twist everything I say, make me out to be the bad guy! You don't believe me?"
She shrank back a little, her heart pounding.
"Why would she?" Dick scoffed, stepping between them slightly.
Evan's head snapped toward him. "Why don't you shut the hell up, huh?"
"Why don't you make me?" Dick shot back, his voice dropping, posture straightening. The easy-going older brother was gone — replaced with something cold and dangerous.
They stood nose to nose, the tension crackling in the air.
"Don't," Reader whispered, pushing off the couch, clutching the photos to her chest. "Please, stop."
But neither man moved.
Then Bruce's voice cut through the air — sharp, commanding.
"What's going on in here?"
Everyone froze.
Bruce stood in the doorway, flanked by Jason, Tim, and Damian. Even Alfred lingered in the hall, concern written across his face.
"We could all hear you yelling from the other side of the house," Bruce said, his eyes moving from Evan to his daughter. "Explain."
"Gladly," Dick said, snatching one of the photos from the table and thrusting it toward him. "Caught golden boy here two-timing my sister."
Jason reached out and took a photo, his expression darkening as he passed it to Tim and Damian.
Evan's jaw clenched. "You people are unbelievable. This is none of your business."
Jason gave a low, humorless laugh. "You cheat on her, scream at her, and now it's none of our business? That's a bold choice, pal."
Damian squinted at one of the pictures, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I knew you were shameless," he said dryly. "But even I didn't see this level of stupidity coming."
"Enough," Bruce's voice boomed, silencing the room. He looked at Evan, then at his daughter — her trembling hands, her tear-bright eyes.
Bruce took a slow step forward, his tone softening. "You don't have to protect him."
Evan turned, voice rising. "Protects me? I'm the one that protects her... I'm the one who's been there for here!"
Bruce's tone cut him off, but his eyes never left her. "Is he hurting you?"
She blinked, eyes darting around the circle of faces — her father, her brothers, Evan standing beside her, pulse hammering under his skin.
"W-what? Why would you even ask that?" she stammered, voice trembling.
Evan barked a bitter laugh. "Hurting her? Is that what she told you?"
"I never said that," she said quickly, shaking her head, her voice coming out small, desperate. "I would never say that."
Tim's voice came from the back of the room — quiet but firm.
"You don't need to," he said. "We see the bruises."
The air went still.
Her eyes widened. "I don't—I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't insult our intelligence." Damian's tone was cold, sharp. He stepped forward before she could move, catching her wrist gently but firmly.
"Damian—" she started, but his expression didn't waver.
He pushed up the sleeve of her sweater, revealing a constellation of bruises along her forearm — small finger-shaped marks, old and new.
Some faint yellow and green. Some still purple.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jason swore under his breath. Dick's jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. Tim looked away, his throat working.
Bruce didn't speak. His eyes dropped to the bruises, and for a moment, every ounce of composure he'd built over decades cracked.
Evan's voice broke the silence, too fast, too loud."She's clumsy, okay? She's always bumping into things—"
"Don't." Jason's voice was low, dangerous. He took a step forward. "Don't you dare try to spin this."
Evan laughed — hollow, defensive. "You think you can just swoop in now and play heroes? You don't even know her. None of you do."
Bruce took another step forward. His voice was low, measured, dangerous. "I know that you need to get out of my house and away from my daughter."
Evan straightened, smirking. "Your daughter? That's funny, because I don't remember seeing you around much until now."
Jason lunged before anyone could stop him. Dick caught his arm mid-motion, forcing him back with a sharp, "Jay—no!"
"Let me go!" Jason growled.
Evan stepped slightly in front of her, shielding her with his body. "You see? This is what I mean. They're all psychos. They twist everything." He turned to her, tone softening, coaxing. "Babe, we should go. Right now."
She looked torn — eyes darting between Evan's pleading expression and her family's furious, heartbroken faces.
"You aren't taking her anywhere." Dick snapped stepping forwards.
"That's not your decision to make." Evan said.
"You aren't going with him." Tim shakes his head in disbelief.
"She can go where she wants, she turned eighteen last week." Evan smirked. "Though I expect any of you to know that... guess you missed the party."
A silence fell over the room directly opposing the previous anger fills shouts that one full it.
“Let’s go.” Evan said walking to the front door before swinging it open.
“Stay.” Bruce said quietly looking at her with slightly pleading eyes.
Looking between the man she loved and the family she always yearned for, squeezing her eyes shut she muttered. “I’m sorry……”
Summary: You go with Adrian in search of his other dimensional self.
Warning: mentions of dismemberment, rushed writing.
Words: 2k
"I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna kill him." You mutter to yourself as you and Adrian walk down the street of the alternate universe, as you also think of all the different ways you could kill peacemaker...before he pushes you both into a bush. "Adrian! What the fuck?" You asked as his head pops up to watch the car drive by.
"I'm sorry sweetie but someone almost saw us." He says helping you out of the bush.
"So." You sighed throwing your hands up in frustration.
"So..." He mimicked. "What if someone that knows the us from this universe sees us from our universe and know we aren't the them from here, it'll blow our cover."
"Or... I could just make it so no one can see us." You replied.
"Oh yeah I kinda forgot you could do that."
Rolling your eyes you walk ahead as he trails behind you. "Are you doing it now?" He asked looking around frantically.
"Yes Adrian." You replied fighting a smile.
"Are you sure?" He asked looking down and inspecting his arms.
Before you could reply a pair of women walk by, you step to the side as they stride past you both without so much as a glance. "Yes Adrian."
Making it all the way to chase house, it looks exactly the same as it always did down to the flowers in the front yard.
"What are these things" Adrian says between laughing. "Look babe the squirrel." He points of out opening the front door.
"Door not locked at all...okay." You muttered.
"Did I make this? What do six cats have to talk about? I'm keeping this. My dad isn't gay here!" Adrian marvels as you walk through his alternate home.
Walking down the stairs and up to a familiar sign on the door.
"Do you think my keys are gonna work?" Adrian asked turning his back to the door.
"I don't know Adrian, maybe you should try it." You smiled nodding towards the door. "And maybe sometime soon, I don't think I can keep this up for long."
"Oh right, sorry." He says Turing around and trying the first lock, before he could turn it you stop him.
"Maybe this isn’t such a good idea." You point out hand on his keeping him from turning it.
"I don't see why it wouldn’t be." He counted looking down at you. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"Need I remind you that a little more than 72 hours ago you dismembered the body of this universe's Peacemaker?"
"Yeah but I think that's a little different sweetie"
"You know what go ahead." You relent. "But if this you tries to kill you... you I'm not helping you get rid of the body.
Turning the key it clicks unlocked prompting him to try the other two getting more excited as they all work.
Stepping into the room you notice how different this one is from Adrian's. Less stacks of money and drugs and more shelves and boxes
Walking around a shelf you find a man sitting at a desk. Before you bc pull stop him Adrian loudly announces your presence. "Hello?"
The man snaps his head around grabbing a gum and pointing it at the both of you. "What the fuck?" The other Adrian shouts as you push your Adrian behind you.
"Who are you and why are you here?" He asked glaring as Adrain continues to hop around excitedly.
"Oh dude hold on." Adrain stated putting down his keys and the box of 'cheeri-oh's'. "It me!" He exclaimed pulling his mask off.
"I'm you from another dimension, my keys worked to get in here." He answered with a smile.
The other Adrian stares at him with the same glare only for the same smile to break out of his face. "Are you fucking kidding me!"
"No!"
"Holy shit!"
"Oh we Spiderman memed?"
You groaned closing your eyes as you listen to them continue to point at each other from different angles.
"What the hell is all that noise?" A voice called from behind on of the stacks of boxes.
"What the fuck?" You say as another you pop up rubbing her eyes.
"Look!" The other Adrian replies. "It's another me, and another you...another us!" He informed.
"I have so many questions for you." Adrian says to his other self.
"Well I never though about asking myself questions so I don't relly have any for you but we can still talk." The other Adrian replied walking over to a sofa that sat under a window as your Adrian followed.
"What the hell is happening right now?" The other you asks standing up.
"We're here from another dimension looking for our friend." You explained. "But Adrian..."
"I understand." She says as you trailed off.
"Here's one, What's the best pokemon?" Other Adrian asked.
"Enfernape." Adrian answered. "What's the best thing to press your face against?"
"Shag carpeting." Other Adrain says. "What's the worst thing to softly touch you?"
"Human skin...except Y/N's"
"How long do you think this is gonna go on?" You asked as you open another box finding more guns and bullets.
"I don't know...could be forever." The other you replied cleaning a gun you assumed belonged to her. "I don't think he's ever met someone willing to hold this long of a conversation with him."
"True." you replied walking towards another box.
"Is your best friend Peacemaker?"
"Peacemaker? I fucking hate that guy."
"What?"
"Peacemaker, Christopher Smith?" Other Adrian asked. "He's my arch enemy, he's the reason I joined the son's of Liberty in the first place."
"The what?" Adrian asked. "Who are they?" As you and...the other you walk over to the pair, you take a seat next to your Adrian and the other you stands next to her.
"They're the only resistance the world has against the worldwide Nazi oppressors."
"Nazis?" You asked looking between the two of them.
"Yes, ever since the Nazis won WWII-" The other you explained but was cut off by Adrian.
"Whoa!" He exclaimed. "The Nazis won WWII here?" He asked.
"Yes."
"That's the craziest thing I've heard since I found out Cheeri-os has an 'H' on the end" Adrian laughed.
"Well what happened where your from?" Other Adrian asked.
"Cheerio ends with and 'O', how its supposed to." Adrian answered.
"With the Nazis." Other you snapped.
"Oh...The Americans won." Adrian answered. "I don't know who they teamed up with but I'm ninety-nine percent sure it wasn't the Nazis."
"The UK, The Soviets and China." You clarified.
"Wow you must live in a utopia." Other Adrian says.
"Umm...."
"I mean anything anyone has here is a the expense of those who are considered outsiders forced to toile away in camps their entire lives."
"So you use your powers to fight back against the Nazis?" You asked the other you.
"Powers?" She asked. "You think if I had powers I would be living in this basement?"
"You live in this basement?" You asked thinking about when you first met.
"No I actually live in a mansion down the street." She replied sarcastically.
"Maybe your powers are being blocked by all that bitch you have going on." You replied with a shrug earing a glare from you other self.
"Wait, you have powers?" Other Adrian asked looking at you excitedly. "What are they?"
"Telepathy." You answered.
"It's so cool." Adrian jumped in. "She made it so on one could see us on the way over here."
"Which turned out to be a good thing." You say to yourself as you think about what might have happened.
"She can do all kinds of things like... move things with her mind... or control other peoples minds...or read minds.
"Can you tell what I'm thinking right now?" Other Adrian asked. "Wait....don't."
"What was he thinking" Adrian asked.
"The same thing as you." You replied rolling your eyes.
"That the four of us should have a foursome to strengthen our dimensional bond?" Adrian asked.
"That's what you were thinking?" The other you asked her Adrian.
"Wait I just remembered something." Adrian cuts in. "We came here with a person that's technically black..." He revealed causing your eyes to widen.
"Technically like you can't tell?" Other Adrian asked.
"No you can fully tell it's one of the first things I noticed about her, it reminded me of Y/N." Adrian replied giving you his big goofy grin.
"We have to go right now, if they find your friend first you will never see her again." Other Adrian said walking towards the door with other you following.
The four of you walk down the street with the help of your powers making you invisible. Looking over at the other you, you notice her looking around at everything you passed. Realizing that this might have been one of the rare times that she was actually able to walk down the street without fear of being dragged back to a work camp or worst.
"How did you guys meet?" Adrian asked. "I mean since..."
"Since my existence is basically a crime." The other you finished.
"Its actually a really funny story," Other Adrian says. "I found her recently escaped from a camp running around and I sort of..."
"He kidnapped me." She finished for him.
"I wouldn't say kidnapped, more like saved." The other Adrian argued. "I mean I did have to keep her tied up until I could prove I wasn't going to hurt her but after that its pretty much just normal couple things."
"That's kind a how we met." Adrian marveled at the similarities.
"Really?" The other you asked.
"Really." You confirmed.
"It's a really funny story." Adrian started.
"It really isn't." You rebutted. "Wait...Ads is here." You say as you approach the Smith house that appeared to be surrounded by police officers.
"Oh no, did they find her?" Adrian asked.
"No." You replied reading the minds of the people on the property. "They are here for something else. She's over there and she isn't alone ." You informed heading towards the shrubs in front of the property.
"Ads." Adrian whispers as the four of you emerge from the brush.
"What the hell?" She replied looking at the extra set of her friends.
"It's us... and other us." He points out the obvious.
"Hi, Nice to meet you." Other Adrian greeted with a wave.
"Um what's this guy doing here?" Adrian asked. "I fucking hate this guy, this little fucking guy." He glared down at judomaster as they both stepped closer.
"You hate me cause I fucked you up?" Judo master asked.
Drowning out the conversation you focus on the minds inside of the house, learning that they had found Chris and were just waiting on you guys to return in order to leave.
"I'm cool with killing the cops." Judo master agreed.
"Can't we just sneak in first." Ads snapped.
"Yeah we can actually." You relied. "There is absolutely no one watching the back of the house."
"Great lets go." Leota replied sneaking towards the back.
"Hey." Judo master says as the group follows you towards the back. "Remember when you used your crazy powers to throw me across the room and jedi choked me till I passed out?"
"Uuum, Yeah..." You replied a but confused.
"Just checking." He says with a shrug you make it to the back of the house.
You all that turns climbing onto the patio, seeing Chris, Harcourt, and Economos -tired to a chair- in the kitchen with Chris' father and brother.
"Adrian don't." You says as you read his mind knowing that he was about to break through the glass door and kill Chris' father. Using your power you push the doors over as everyone files inside.
"Don't what, Kill the racist?" Adrian asked confused. "He has Economos all tied up."
"Yeah cause we broken into his house." You pointed out. "At least he's still alive."
"Is this the rest of you." Chris dad asked.
"Yeah, plus some extra." Harcourt replied.
"Good now lets get you to the library and out of here."
Ads and Judo master push Economos on his back and start dragging him behind the group as you all make your way the the library, when the front door bursts open and the cops rush in.
"Police let me see your hand." The detective shouts only for both Adrians to immediately open fire of them causing them to dive for cover.
The group rushes to the library ducking a dodging bullets as the two Adrians continue to fight the oncoming flow of police officers.
Before you know it you feel a sharp pain in your side, letting out a cry of pain you fall to your knees, dazed and in pain you watch as a cop comes towards you gun pointed to your head ready to shoot. before you can react you hear the other you.
"No!" She shouts hand shooting out towards you sending the mass flying across the room slamming into the wall to be rapidly shot by other Adrian.
Your Adrian comes over helping you stand as you follow the group into the library.
"Stay back you pigs, Son's Of Liberty forever!" Other Adrian shouts backing into the library both pistols raised before closing the door.
"All right time to go." Ads says rushing to the door after un-taping Economos from the chair.
Harcourt basically dragging Chris through the portal. as everyone goes through it just you and Adrian with you alternate selves.
"I can't believe I did that." The other you says referring to her burst of power.
"Of course you did, you're me." You joked holding your wound still leaned against Adrian. "You guys could come with us, I mean our world isn't perfect but you would have to live in a basement." You offered looking between the two of them.
"Thanks for the offer but, this world need us." The other you replied, the other Adrian nodding in agreement. "I think I could do a lot more now." She finished.
"Give them hell." You smiled as Adrian propped you up on the door frame before giving his other self a goodbye hug.
coming back to you as you both walk through the door letting it close behind you.
"You think we'll ever see them again." Other Adrian asked the other you.
"I kinda hope we do." She replied as you hear the sound of Police beating on the library door.
Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Rhaenyra/Laenor daughter!reader
Summary: Aegon has many titles, but king is not one he desires.
Warning: short
Words:1k
Dragonstone's great hall echoed with fury. The lords and ladies of your mother's court filled it wall to wall, voices colliding in waves of outrage and disbelief. Every other breath seemed to curse your husband's name.
"Crowned like a thief in the night."
"The boy was always weak, a drunkard."
"A puppet for the Hightowers, no better than his grandsire."
You stood near the side, your two children huddled close against your skirts, one clutching your hand so tightly his little knuckles had gone white. Princess Rhaenys, steady as the mountain she was, rested her hand lightly on your shoulder, a quiet anchor against the storm.
Your mother sat high on the black throne, shoulders drawn taut, her eyes hard but gleaming with hurt. Beside her, Daemon prowled like a blade unsheathed, every word he spoke sharp as steel.
"He dares call himself king." His voice carried over the din, silencing some of it. "He will not sit the throne long. His reign ends before it begins."
The court murmur in agreement. But you—your heart cracked a little more with every word.
Because you knew. You had been there, in those quiet stolen nights when Aegon begged you to take the children and flee across the Narrow Sea. You had seen him tremble at the thought of wearing that crown. He had not wanted this. Not truly.
"I do not want it. I do not want any of it. We will take the children and go—Pentos, Braavos, anywhere but here. Just say the word."
You had believed him. Gods, you had wanted to believe him.
But the plan died with the King. Aegon was caught, dragged by the Hightowers into the pit of duty he so hated. And you—left with no choice but to flee with your two young children and Princess Rhaenys to Dragonstone, to your mother.
Yet no one in this hall would listen.
You tightened your arm around your youngest, and when the voices rose again—spitting more venom—you found your own voice rising above them.
"You speak as though you know him," you snapped, your words ringing against the black stone.
A ripple of silence spread, heads turning toward you.
Daemon's eyes narrowed, amusement flickering like a flame. "Do you mean to defend him? The usurper?"
Your jaw clenched. "You do not know my husband's true character. You see only what others have placed on his head."
"You would excuse treason?" Daemon's lip curled.
"I will not excuse lies," you shot back. You pulled your children closer, their wide eyes watching the adults who spoke of their father like he were some monster. "And if you think I will stand here and let you slander him in front of our children..." Your gaze swept the hall, meeting Daemon's last, a glare that burned with Targaryen fire. "Then it seems you do not know mine character either."
The silence was heavier this time. A few murmurs stirred, some shocked, some dismissive. Rhaenys's hand pressed gently on your arm, steadying you.
Rhaenyra's face softened for a heartbeat, her lips parting as though to speak. But the moment passed. She looked away, shoulders set once more in steel.
________
The day the crown was brought forth, Dragonstone trembled with anticipation. Black banners unfurled, catching the sea-wind, and lords and ladies gathered in the courtyard, every step echoing with history.
You stood with your children near Rhaenys, who had insisted you stay close. They were restless, frightened by the heavy air and the way people whispered as they glanced at you—the traitor's wife.
Daemon lifted the Conqueror's crown and set it upon your mother's head. His voice rang out:
"Behold your Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name!"
The cheer that rose was thunderous. You pressed your hands to your children's ears as they winced from the sound, murmuring soothing words. For a moment, you thought perhaps the world had stilled—until the air split with a roar.
The shadow came before the dragon—vast wings blotting out the sun. Screams rippled through the gathered crowd, men and women scattering, hands going for blades.
Sunfyre landed in the courtyard with a crash that shook the stone beneath your feet. His golden scales blazed in the sunlight, his molten eyes sweeping the assembly.
"Get the children back!" someone cried.
Daemon's sword was already drawn, his teeth bared. "So he comes. To finish what he started."
"No..." you breathed, your heart slamming against your ribs. You could feel it in your bones—he hadn't come for war.
Your children clung to you, whimpering as the air thickened with smoke and fear.
And then Aegon slid from Sunfyre's back. His cloak was torn, his face pale, eyes burning not with pride but with something rawer—something almost broken.
The crowd hissed, some raising weapons, others shouting curses. He ignored them all.
Without ceremony, he pulled the crown from his head. Gold glinted in the sunlight one last time before he hurled it onto the stones at Daemon's feet. The clang rang louder than any cheer had.
Daemon froze, blade still raised. The court fell silent.
Aegon did not look at him. Did not look at Rhaenyra, nor at the men baying for his blood. His eyes—wild, desperate, breaking—sought only you.
"Wife." His voice cracked as he pushed past the crowd, as though the world itself were nothing but smoke between him and you. "My love."
Your children cried out when he reached them, their small bodies pressed against your skirts, but the moment Aegon dropped to his knees and opened his arms, they bolted into him. He clutched them with a sob, burying his face in their hair, holding them as though he'd never let go again.
And then his gaze lifted to yours.
There was no crown, no throne, no king in that moment—only the boy you'd married, the man who had whispered of escape, who had begged you to believe in him. His eyes brimmed with the truth of it.
You didn't hesitate. You sank into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you and the children alike, a fortress built of love and desperation.
The crowd murmured, uneasy, uncertain. Daemon still stood with his sword drawn, but he did not strike. Even he seemed stilled by the sight.
Behind you, Rhaenyra's face unreadable. But none of it mattered.
For that heartbeat, there was only the four of you.
Summary: When Johnny gained his powers he lost you.
Warming:None
Words: 2.9k
You reminded yourself three times on the cab ride over that this was just another assignment.
Not a reunion. Not a second chance. Just work.
The Baxter Building rose above the city skyline, all glass and impossible angles, gleaming like it belonged in another century. The closer the cab crawled through traffic, the tighter your grip became on your notebook. You could already hear your editor's voice buzzing in your ear: Get me a headline. Ask the tough questions. Don't fangirl.
Easy for him to say. He hadn't dated one-fourth of the Fantastic Four.
The memory of Johnny's grin — easy, cocky, blinding — crept uninvited into your thoughts. You shoved it away as you stepped out of the cab and joined the pack of reporters gathering at the main entrance. Cameras dangled from shoulders. Pens clicked. Someone rehearsed a question about Reed Richards' latest tech.
You were blending in fine until a young staffer in Baxter blue slipped through the crowd and touched your elbow.
"Miss L/N?" he asked quietly.
You blinked. "Yes?"
"Would you come with me, please?"
Murmurs rose behind you as he led you away from the cluster of press toward a quieter security door. You frowned, slowing your steps. "Is there a problem? My invite is—"
The staffer shook his head quickly, almost nervously. "No problem. Just... this way." He keyed in a code, pulled the door open, and gestured you inside.
The hall beyond was cooler, quieter, humming faintly with hidden tech. You barely had time to ask what this was about before you saw him.
Johnny Storm leaned against the wall halfway down the corridor, arms crossed like he'd been waiting hours just for you. His hair was a little shorter, his jaw sharper, but the glint in his eye — that insufferable mix of charm and mischief — hadn't changed a bit.
"Hey," he said. Soft. Tentative.
Your stomach tightened. "Johnny."
The staffer vanished with a muttered excuse, leaving the two of you alone.
Johnny pushed off the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets as though that could disguise the restless energy rolling off him. "Thanks for coming through here. I figured if I asked in front of everyone, you'd bolt."
"You figured right," you said curtly. "What is this?"
"This..." He gestured vaguely between you. "This is me asking for five minutes. To talk. To... I don't know. Clear the air."
You folded your arms. "We don't need to clear the air. We ended things. A year ago."
His brows furrowed. "Ended things? No, see, that sounds civilized. Mutual. What really happened was I woke up one morning alone, naked, and wondering if I'd dreamed the whole damn relationship. No explanation. No note. Nothing."
Heat rose to your face. "We broke up, Johnny."
"You broke up with me," he shot back, stepping closer. "Don't rewrite it."
You took a step back, pulse quickening. "It doesn't matter now. We don't need to dig through old history."
Johnny ran a hand through his hair, laughing without humor. "That's the thing, Y/N. It isn't history because the story was never finished.
The sincerity in his voice cut through your defenses for a moment, sharp and unwanted. You swallowed hard, trying to find steel in your spine. "I can't do this with you."
"Why not?" His voice cracked with frustration. "If I did something wrong — if there was a reason — then tell me. Don't just keep running away."
You shook your head. "I don't owe you an explanation."
His jaw tightened. "Maybe not. But I think I deserve one."
You opened your mouth — and realized the hall had gone strangely bright.
Rounding the corner, you saw the rest of the press group waiting in the atrium beyond. Every single face was turned your way. A dozen microphones. Dozens of wide eyes.
Johnny froze beside you, realizing the same thing you did: every word had carried.
"Yeah," Sue Storm said dryly, arms folded, one eyebrow arched. "The hallway has a bit of an echo." Her gaze softened as it landed on you. "Nice to see you again, Y/N."
Mortification burned hot in your cheeks. "Hey, Sue," you muttered, trying to slink past.
You didn't make it three steps before the reporters pounced.
"Were you and Johnny Storm in a relationship?"
"Did the Human Torch just say you dumped him?"
"Why did you leave him?"
"Are you two back together now?"
Flashes exploded like fireworks. The hallway became a wall of noise, of bodies pressing too close, of questions pelting you from every angle. Johnny's hand brushed your arm — not stopping you, just grounding you — but that only made the reporters shout louder.
You shoved through the crush, out the side door, into the blessed cold air of the city.
⸻
The next morning, the chaos was everywhere.
Headlines screamed from every stand:
"Human Torch's Mystery Ex!"
"Who Dumped Johnny Storm?"
"Reporter Y/N L/N: The One Who Got Away."
By the time you fought through paparazzi to your office, you were running late and half deaf from the sound of shutters snapping. Your boss was perched on your desk like a vulture, waving the morning paper.
"You didn't tell me you were Storm's ex!" he barked, half furious, half gleeful. "Do you have any idea what we can do with this?"
You cut him off, slamming your bag down. "I'm not turning my personal life into a headline."
"This is front-page gold!" he argued. "People want to know your story. They want to know why you left him. Hell, they'll pay to know. You could have the exclusive of the year."
You glared at him, throat tight. "Find someone else. I'm not for sale."
But as you sat down, trying to ignore the buzzing of your phone with incoming notifications, you felt the weight of all those eyes on you — the city's curiosity, Johnny's stubbornness, the unanswered questions you'd refused to give.
Your phone lit up again. Unknown number. A new message.
Johnny: We're not done. Meet me tonight. One chance to talk, no reporters.
You stared at the screen, your pulse a mix of dread and something you didn't dare name.
Because deep down, you knew he was right. You weren't done. Not yet.
The moment you read his text, your hands itched to delete it.
You should've.
Instead, against your better judgment, your fingers tapped out a simple reply: Fine. Tonight.
All day, your phone buzzed with new headlines, coworkers whispered across desks, and your boss circled like a shark.
"So," your editor said around noon, leaning against your cubicle wall with his coffee, "what's the Torch really like when he's not on fire?"
You didn't even look up from your screen. "Like every other man who thinks he's God's gift."
A few desks over, someone snorted. Your boss smirked. "Good. That's the angle. Bitter ex, truth-teller. People eat that stuff up. I want a first draft on my desk by morning."
"Not happening."
"Y/N—"
"I said no," you snapped, sharper than intended. "My life isn't a headline. And it isn't Johnny Storm."
His smirk fell. You turned back to your work, ignoring the weight of your coworkers' stares.
By the end of the day, your nerves were frayed. The Baxter Building loomed blocks away, but you didn't make it that far.
Reporters swarmed the second you stepped out of your building. Microphones jabbed into your face, camera flashes popped, questions flew like shrapnel.
"Why did you dump the Human Torch?"
"Did you two ever live together?"
"Be honest — what was he like in bed?"
"Any truth to the rumor about a sex tape?"
The last question froze your blood.
"Excuse me?!" you gasped, trying to shove past the bodies pressing too close.
"C'mon, Y/N, the world wants to know!" one shouted. "Was he hot everywhere or just when he lit up?"
Laughter rippled through the pack. Your vision blurred, breath coming fast, panic scraping up your throat.
You pushed, shoved, tried to break free — but every direction was blocked. Hands clawed for your attention. Voices dug under your skin. You couldn't breathe—
And then a shadow fell. Heat washed over the crowd.
Johnny Storm dropped from the sky like a meteor, flames flaring briefly before extinguishing as his boots hit the pavement.
"Back off," he barked, grabbing you around the waist without hesitation. His grip was warm, solid, unyielding.
The crowd gasped, cameras snapping wildly as Johnny shot upward, fire igniting around him. The city became a blur of light and wind as he carried you in his arms, soaring higher, higher—
Until the noise fell away and only the wind remained.
He landed gently on the rooftop of the Baxter Building, setting you on your feet near the edge where the skyline stretched in all directions.
You staggered back, clutching your coat, chest heaving. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did," Johnny cut in, his voice unusually hard. "They were tearing you apart down there. I couldn't just let it happen. They shouldn't have come at you like that."
Your throat tightened. "That's the job."
"No." He shook his head, stepping closer. "That wasn't journalism. That was a mob." He looked away briefly, shaking his head in disappointment before his gaze flicked back to you. His expression softened.
A small silence fell, broken only by the wind rushing past. Johnny shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, like he couldn't stand the quiet. "So... how have you been?"
You closed your eyes. "Johnny..."
"A whole year," he pressed gently. "That's a long time."
Your chest tightened. "Johnny, can we please just—"
"You look good," he interrupted, his smile small but wistful. "You always look good."
Something in you cracked at that, but you turned quickly before he could see it. "Okay. I'm going home." You started toward the rooftop door.
"No, wait—please." His voice stopped you, raw and unguarded in a way you weren't used to hearing from him. "Can you stop running away?"
You turned back to him, your eyes stinging. "I'm not running away, Johnny. I'm leaving."
He huffed, frustration slipping through, though not cruelly. "Yeah, well, it seems like the only thing you know how to do."
The words hit, and for a moment your breath caught. Then the dam inside you broke. You spun on him, anger and humiliation bubbling over, your voice trembling. "Are you surprised? You saw what happened down there, how they spoke to me."
He blinked, taken aback, his cocky confidence faltering.
"This is why I left, Johnny," you said, your voice shaking now but stronger with each word.
He froze, his brows pulling together, as though bracing for a blow.
"This." You gestured to the streets below where flashing lights still cut through the night, faint echoes of shouted questions drifting up. "The headlines. The crowds. Being treated like I'm nothing more than your ex-girlfriend. That's why I left."
Johnny's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his usual comebacks gone. The fire in his eyes dimmed, leaving something raw, unguarded. He opened his mouth, then closed it, stepping closer like he was afraid you'd vanish again if he didn't move fast enough.
"I never wanted this," you whispered, hugging your arms around yourself. "I never wanted to be news. I wanted to write it. I worked my ass off to be taken seriously as a reporter, not reduced to gossip fodder about who I dated. And I knew if we stayed together, this would happen. Every part of my life dragged under a microscope. Every choice, every word—twisted into some angle about Johnny Storm's girlfriend."
Silence fell heavy between you.
Johnny stepped closer, voice low, careful. "So you left to save yourself."
You didn't answer.
"And you never thought maybe I would've chosen you over all that noise?" he asked, softer still.
"I would never ask you to," you said softly, your voice breaking despite your best effort to keep steady. "You're a hero, Johnny. The world is a better place because of the Fantastic Four. You belong to everyone now. And me..." You shook your head. "I didn't want to belong to anyone but you."
Johnny's breath hitched, his eyes searching yours. "And you wouldn't have," he said quickly, fiercely, as if saying it with enough conviction could make it true.
But you only shook your head harder, tears threatening to spill. "No, Johnny. I would belong to everyone. Every choice I made, every outfit I wore, every headline—it would all come back to you. Wedding dress. Baby names. Where we lived, how we lived. They would pick it apart, twist it, make it theirs. And I—" Your voice cracked. "I don't think I could survive being a story instead of a person."
Johnny's chest rose and fell unevenly. He stepped closer, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. "You're not a story," he said, voice rough. "You were the only thing that felt real. Do you get that? Everything else—the interviews, the cameras, the stupid stunts—it all fades. But you... you're the only thing that stuck."
Your arms tightened around yourself, fighting the way your heart lurched at his words. "That doesn't change what the world sees."
"Then let them see," Johnny said, his voice firm now. He pulled his hands from his pockets, reaching toward you before stopping short, leaving the choice in your hands. "Let them write whatever they want. They don't matter. Not compared to this. Not compared to us."
His eyes burned into yours, pleading. "We wouldn't have belonged to them. We would belonged to each other."
The rooftop fell silent again, only the rush of wind and the city below filling the space where your answer should have been.
Your heart stuttered. The words cut through every wall you'd built, leaving you bare in front of him. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
"Johnny..." you breathed, and it was all he needed.
He stepped closer, hands trembling just slightly as he lifted one to your cheek. His eyes searched yours, pleading. His voice cracked as he whispered, "Please."
Your breath hitched.
"Please," he said again, softer this time, like a prayer.
The first kiss was barely more than a brush of lips—a tentative, fragile touch that made your chest ache. His forehead lingered against yours, his breath uneven. "Please," he whispered once more, his thumb stroking your skin, desperate for you not to pull away.
Something inside you gave way. You leaned in, and the next kiss deepened, slow but certain, a year's worth of grief and longing melting into it. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while your fingers curled into his jacket like you were afraid to let him go.
The world seemed to vanish—the city, the chaos, the flashing cameras, all gone. There was only warmth, only him, only the fire you thought you'd buried for good.
And then—
A deafening roar of blades cut through the night. The rooftop lit up under a harsh white beam. A news helicopter hovered just overhead, camera lens glinting as it zeroed in on the two of you, caught mid-embrace.
You tore yourself from Johnny's arms, stumbling back, chest heaving as the reality crashed over you.
Johnny turned, his face twisting in fury as the spotlight pinned you both in place. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, flames sparking faintly across his skin.
Below, the city erupted with fresh excitement, sirens wailing, voices shouting. The whole world had just watched Johnny Storm kiss the one woman in the world who didn't want his attention."
And there was no hiding now.
Something inside you snapped—not with fear this time, but with clarity.
The spotlight burned down on you, harsh and unrelenting, the sound of the helicopter blades rattling in your bones. You could already imagine the headlines being written in real-time: Johnny Storm Reunites With Mystery Ex. The gossip blogs, the tabloids, the morning talk shows. Your name, your face—everywhere. Exactly the nightmare you'd run from.
And yet... Johnny was standing there, flames flickering over his skin like sparks of barely restrained fury, his jaw clenched as he shielded you instinctively from the helicopter's glare. His eyes weren't on the cameras. They were on you—only you.
Maybe that was what did it.
Before doubt could creep back in, you closed the space between you and grabbed his jacket, pulling him down into another kiss. Harder this time, certain. Not in the shadows. Not hidden. Not running.
Johnny froze for only a fraction of a second before melting into it, his fire dimming down so he didn't scorch you. He cradled your face in both hands, kissing you like the world wasn't watching—even though it was. Even though it always would be.
The city below erupted—cheers, shouts, sirens. The helicopter's camera zoomed in, broadcasting your choice across a thousand screens. But for once, you didn't care.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, Johnny's grin was boyish, disbelieving, and so full of light it made your chest ache. "Guess that answers my question," he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek.
You let out a shaky laugh, equal parts terrified and exhilarated. "I'm probably going to regret this tomorrow."
"Then let's make tonight worth it," he whispered, kissing you again, slower this time, softer—as if to prove that whatever chaos waited, this moment was still yours.
For the first time, you didn't think about the headlines. You didn't think about belonging to everyone else. You thought only about him, and the fire that—despite everything—you hadn't been able to put out.
Summary: The first time an alien crash landed in time square.
Or
Johnny storm x starfire!Reader.
Warning: None
Word: 7.6k
Front Page |
Times Square had seen its share of chaos—taxi horns blaring, tourists gawking, flashing billboards that swallowed the night. But the moment the sky cracked with thunder, even New York paused.
A blazing streak shot downward, cutting through the clouds like fire. People screamed and scattered as the streak grew larger, brighter, hotter—until it slammed into the street with a deafening boom.
The ground shook. Car alarms blared. Smoke hissed from a crater in the middle of 7th Avenue.
And from the crater, you rose.
Your skin glowed faintly, heat steaming off your body as you staggered upright. Eyes wide, lips parted, you spun in place, overwhelmed by the towering screens and neon lights. The smells of food carts, exhaust, perfume—all of it clashed at once.
"This... is not Tamaran," you whispered in your own tongue, the words lilting and musical. No one understood you.
"Okay," Johnny Storm's voice cut in, casual even as his body shimmered with flame. He hovered above the crowd, smirk tugging at his lips. "That's new. We've got ourselves a glowing space girl."
"Johnny," Sue called firmly, shielding a cluster of civilians with a shimmering forcefield. "This is serious."
Reed's body stretched across the asphalt, pulling civilians out of harm's way while his eyes locked on you. "Definitely extraterrestrial. Biologically humanoid, but—"
You gasped at the sight of his stretching limbs, backing away with your hands raised, palms flickering with unstable energy.
"Reed, careful," Sue warned.
Ben stomped forward, stone fists raised. "Lemme guess—we punch first, talk later?"
"Hold on," Reed said, but too late.
You fired the first shot.
A crackling beam of golden energy exploded from your hands, colliding with Ben and sending him skidding back, asphalt breaking under his weight. The crowd screamed.
"Hey!" Johnny zipped lower, fire trailing behind him. "Not cool!"
You turned, eyes blazing, and unleashed another burst at him. Johnny twirled midair, laughing. "Whoo! Okay, she's got good aim. I like her already."
Your answer was a sharp command in Tamaranean, voice ringing with authority. No one understood.
"Still no subtitles!" Johnny called, swooping down.
Reed tried to restrain you, stretching his arms around your wrists, but you twisted with inhuman strength and hurled him into the side of a bus. Sue's shield barely held against the next blast from your eyes, cracks spidering across the invisible wall.
"Reed, this isn't working!" Sue shouted.
Johnny landed in front of you, raising his hands. "Okay, hey—let's chill. Maybe we just... talk this out?"
You didn't understand. You grabbed him by the front of his suit and slammed him down hard enough to rattle his teeth. Flames sputtered against your grip as he struggled, staring up at you.
And then—you leaned down and pressed your lips against his.
The world froze.
Johnny's flames snuffed out in shock. Reed blinked from across the street. Ben muttered, "What the hell—" and Sue's jaw dropped.
You pulled back, eyes softening, and when you spoke again, the words came out in fluent English.
"Why are you attacking me?"
Johnny sat up, coughing, eyes wide. "Uh—wait, what?"
Reed's eyes widened. "She can speak English now."
Ben frowned. "How'd that happen?"
_______
The Baxter Building hummed with quiet energy, its sleek corridors lined with gleaming glass and metal. To you, though, it felt like stepping into a living machine. Every light, every panel, every beeping console was a mystery begging to be touched.
You padded barefoot across the floor, pausing every few steps to press a button or flip a switch. A lamp blinked on and off, on and off, making you jump each time.
"Light without fire," you whispered in awe, touching the bulb gingerly. "How does it burn without heat?"
"It's electricity," Reed answered absently, scribbling notes at his desk. "A current harnessed through filaments to—"
But you had already wandered away, crouching in front of the refrigerator. You tugged it open and gasped as cold air poured over your face. "Snow!" you exclaimed. "You have snow in a box!"
Johnny leaned against the counter, grinning. "That's a fridge. Keeps food fresh."
Your eyes darted over the shelves until they landed on a carton of milk. You picked it up, shook it, and peered through the plastic like it was a potion. "White liquid," you said with reverence. "What is its purpose?"
"Uh, that's milk," Johnny said, grabbing a glass. "You drink it."
Obediently, you took the glass he poured for you and gulped it down in one go. Your eyes watered instantly. "It tastes... strange. Thick. Like clouds that forgot how to float."
Johnny burst out laughing. "That is the weirdest review of milk I've ever heard."
You set the glass down carefully, nodding with determination. "I will try again until I like it. If it is important to Earth, I must learn."
"So about before," Johnny remarked looking down at you. "You were just speaking gibberish and now you're fluent English? How—how did you do that?"
Sue spoke next, her tone was careful. "Yes. You couldn't understand us before. What changed?"
You tilted your head, studying their puzzled faces like the answer was obvious. Your fingers touched your lips lightly, almost with pride.
"I... borrowed your words," you explained softly, your accent melodic. "On Tamaran, when we do not know another's tongue, we take it. From here." You tapped your mouth gently. "Through contact."
Johnny's eyes went wide. "Through... kissing?"
You blinked at him, trying the word out as if it were brand-new. "Kissing. Yes. That is what you call it." Your eyes flickered with faint golden light as you smiled, almost proud. "It was very effective. I understand all of you now."
Ben let out a low whistle. "Well, ain't that somethin'."
Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, still rattled. "Yeah, uh—just so you know, that's not... the normal way we do things around here."
Your brow furrowed, confusion softening your glowing features. "It is not?" You looked genuinely curious. "But how do your people learn new words, then? If not by sharing breath and thought through mouths?"
Reed's eyes lit up with scientific curiosity. "Fascinating. A direct linguistic transfer through physical contact. The process must be neurochemical in nature—"
Johnny cut him off, flustered. "Okay, okay, science later. Can we just... acknowledge that I just got space-kissed by an alien who now speaks English? Because that's a lot to process."
You blinked innocently at him. "I did not harm you, did I?”
Johnny glanced at the faint scorch mark on his suit from when you slammed him down, then at your wide, earnest eyes. "...No. No, you're fine.”
"Good," you said with simple sincerity. "Then it worked."
Sue leaned on the counter, arms crossed but her expression soft. "Johnny, don't overwhelm her. She's adjusting."
"I'm helping!" Johnny protested. "I'm, like, cultural orientation. Way more fun than Reed's science lectures."
Reed glanced up with mild irritation. "She is a biological marvel. If she allows me a proper scan—"
But you were already pulling open a drawer and marveling at the cutlery. You picked up a fork and held it like a weapon. "Blades with many teeth," you murmured. "For battle?"
Johnny snatched it gently from your hand. "Uh, not exactly. That's for eating spaghetti."
You tilted your head, uncomprehending. "What is 'spaghetti'?"
Johnny grinned, tapping his temple. "Don't worry. I'll show you."
_____
A little later, you discovered Reed's TV. You sat cross-legged in front of the giant screen while Johnny flipped through channels with the remote.
"Moving paintings!" you gasped, eyes huge as a cartoon dog bounced across the screen. "They are alive, but trapped."
Johnny snorted. "That's called a cartoon."
"Cartoon," you repeated carefully, tilting your head. Then your face brightened. "I like cartoon."
He switched to a cooking show, then the news, then a soap opera. You gasped every time, clutching his sleeve. "So much knowledge! How do you choose what truth to believe?"
Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh... yeah, that's kind of a problem here too."
Sue poked her head in and sighed at the sight of you practically glued to the screen. "She's going to fry her brain before Reed even gets a chance to study her."
But Johnny just smirked. "Hey, it's called immersion learning."
You pointed at the soap opera characters kissing passionately on screen. "That," you said proudly, "is how you learn language."
Johnny nearly dropped the remote. "Uh—nope. That's... different. Whole different thing."
You frowned, confused. "But it looks the same."
Johnny groaned, burying his face in his hands while Sue laughed from the doorway.
_______
After the TV debacle, Johnny decided you needed something simple—something you couldn't possibly confuse.
"Okay," he said, tugging you toward the table. "Lesson one: Earth food that doesn't taste like sad clouds. Pizza."
You blinked at him as though he'd just declared himself king of the universe. "Pee-za?" you repeated carefully.
Ben carried a stack of pizza boxes, setting them down with a thud. "Hope you like food that doesn't explode," he said with a grin.
Sue placed plates and napkins around the table. "Try not to make a mess," she said gently, though her smile softened the warning.
Reed, sitting at the head of the table, adjusted his glasses. "Pizza is... simple. Low risk. You'll manage."
You climbed into a chair and leaned over the largest box, eyes wide. "It smells... alive."
Johnny laughed, opening the lid to reveal steaming slices. "Not alive. Just amazing."
You hesitated, picking up a slice. Strings of cheese stretched between your fingers and the box, making you giggle. "It fights me," you said.
"Just bite it," Johnny encouraged. "Trust me."
You did—and your entire face lit up. "It is... glorious!" you declared, mouth still full. "The flavors—they dance together! Fire and bread and... what is the red?"
"Tomato sauce," Ben said, taking a big bite himself.
"Tomato," you repeated reverently, like it was sacred. You took another enormous bite, humming happily. "Your world is strange... but it makes this."
Sue handed you a napkin, and you tilted your head. "Lesson two: napkins," she said softly.
"I will learn napkin," you replied, carefully wiping cheese from your lips.
Johnny leaned back, watching you with a grin that softened into something quieter. "Yeah. Not so bad, huh?"
Ben chuckled. "You're fitting right in already."
_____
That night, he took you up to the roof. The city unfolded below—miles of glittering lights, endless rivers of headlights crawling through the streets. You walked right to the edge, barefoot, hair tossing in the wind, staring down with wide eyes.
"It is so alive," you whispered. "Your world is loud, and bright, and it never rests."
"Yeah," Johnny said softly, standing beside you. "That's New York. The city that never sleeps."
You pointed to the massive billboards glowing above the streets. "Are those stars?"
Johnny laughed. "Nah. Those are ads. Like... fake stars trying to sell you junk."
You looked utterly baffled. "Why would stars sell things?"
Johnny opened his mouth, then shut it again, laughing helplessly. "Man, I don't even know where to start."
You turned to him, your face bathed in neon light. "Your world is confusing," you admitted. "But it is beautiful."
For once, Johnny didn't have a comeback. He just looked at you, and for a rare moment, the fire in him burned quiet.
"Yeah," he said finally, almost to himself. "Sometimes it really is."
"Johnny..." you said softly, looking up at him. "Fly... with me?"
He blinked, taken off guard. "Uh... you mean, like—right now?"
You nodded, a small, excited smile tugging at your lips. "Yes. Please."
Johnny grinned, flames flickering around his hands. "Alright... try to keep up."
Before you realized it, he shot upward into the night sky, and you followed instinctively. The wind whipped past you, and the city below shrank into ribbons of neon and moving headlights.
Johnny pointed toward the city lights. "See that? Empire State. Over there, Times Square—where you first landed. And way off that way, that's the river we were dodging drones over the other day."
You listened, eyes shining, occasionally leaning closer to him as if drawn by his presence.
For a heartbeat, you drifted a little too close to a building, caught in the thrill and wonder of the city. Johnny's hand shot to your waist instinctively, pulling you flush against him, keeping you steady midair.
Your chest pressed lightly against his back, and the sudden closeness sent a rush of warmth through both of you. You blinked, heart pounding, cheeks flushing. "...I... I did not see," you whispered, breathless.
He chuckled softly, his lips brushing near your ear as he steadied you. "Yeah... I got you. Don't worry."
You laughed nervously, still pressed to him. "...Thank... you."
You hovered together for a moment, the city lights reflecting in your eyes. Then slowly, deliberately, you relaxed against him, feeling the quiet intimacy of the moment—a shared heartbeat in the midst of the chaotic city below.
When you finally descended back to the roof, neither of you spoke immediately, just shared a small, lingering smile, knowing something unspoken had shifted between you.
"You okay?" Johnny finally asked, his voice softer than usual.
"Yes... I... I am" you said, brushing a hand across your hair, still flushed from the thrill and closeness.
Johnny smiled, ruffling your hair gently. "Good. Me too."
________
The Baxter Building had tall windows, and though you were told to stay inside, you often pressed your palms against the glass and peered down at the streets. People bustled below, completely unaware of you. Sometimes you wondered what they might think if they looked up and saw you staring back.
They did not wonder for long.
The first photograph appeared the next morning. Someone with a zoom lens had caught you on the rooftop with Johnny, the two of you silhouetted against the neon skyline. Headlines followed quickly:
"Fifth Member of the Fantastic Four?"
"Alien Girl or Publicity Stunt?"
"Who's the Mystery Woman With the Human Torch?"
Sue placed the newspaper flat on the kitchen table, her lips pressed thin. "It was only a matter of time," she said.
You looked down at the picture, utterly baffled. "How did they trap us inside paper? Is this magic?"
Reed rubbed his temple. "Photography. A chemical and digital process of capturing light."
You traced the grainy outline of yourself on the page, tilting your head. "I look... small. Flat. Like a shadow."
Johnny leaned over your shoulder, smirking. "Well, at least they got my good side."
You frowned. "They should not have taken us without asking."
"That's New York for you," Ben muttered. "Everyone's got a camera."
⸻
By afternoon, crowds had started to gather outside the building. From the window, you saw them—clusters of people pointing, snapping pictures, holding up homemade signs. Some signs welcomed you: We ♥ Alien Girl! Others were less kind: Go Home, Space Invader!
"They do not even know me," you whispered, pressing your hand to the glass. "Why do they love me... or hate me?"
Sue came to stand beside you, folding her arms gently. "People fear what they don't understand. And they're curious. You're new. Different."
You turned, eyes wide. "Is being different dangerous here?"
Johnny slipped in between you and the window, grinning in that easy way of his. "Nah. Being different is the only thing that makes this city fun."
That made you smile, even if your chest still felt heavy.
⸻
By evening, news vans parked along the curb. Bright lights flashed against the glass. Ted Koppel's face appeared on the television, announcing he'd be speaking with the Fantastic Four—and their mysterious new guest—in an exclusive interview.
Johnny flopped onto the couch, tossing a pillow into the air. "Well, guess we're going prime time."
You tilted your head. "Prime time?"
"Means the whole world's about to meet you," Sue explained softly.
Your eyes widened, childlike wonder mixing with sudden nerves. "The whole world? Through the moving paintings?"
Johnny grinned, giving you a mock-salute. "Yup. Welcome to Earth, star girl."
_____
The Baxter Building's living room had been turned into a makeshift dressing area. Bright lights, a few cameras resting on tripods, and piles of clothes everywhere.
You sat cross-legged on the couch, holding a suit that was far too stiff for your taste, tilting your head in puzzlement. "This... is clothing for ceremony?"
Johnny hovered above you, flames flickering nervously around his wrists. "Nah. Just... normal human clothes. Kinda fancy for humans who talk to cameras."
You examined the jacket like it might bite. "It is... heavy. And it smells like... metal?"
"That's just the fabric," Johnny said, grinning. "You'll survive. Trust me. Think of it as armor for social combat."
You tilted your head. "Social combat?"
Johnny flopped beside you, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. "Interview. Humans talk. Sometimes they ask tricky questions. You answer without... overwhelming them with lasers or kisses."
Your eyes went wide. "No kisses?"
Johnny nodded gravely. "No kisses. At least, not yet."
You touched your lips, looking puzzled. "But kissing... it is how I learn words. How I speak your tongue."
Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Yeah... that's why we're having this conversation."
Sue entered the room with a calm, reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Just be yourself. Speak clearly, take your time. We will help you."
You turned to him, eyes wide and innocent. "You will help me?"
Johnny grinned, ruffling your hair gently. "Yep. That's my job."
_______
The studio lights were blinding, casting long shadows across the stage as you and the Fantastic Four were led to your seats. You had your hands folded neatly in your lap, legs swinging slightly, eyes wide as you took in the audience's roaring applause.
"Do not be afraid," Sue whispered, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "They're excited to meet you."
You nodded, still unsure. "Excited? Or..."
Johnny leaned close, grinning. "Mostly excited.. Don't worry."
The host, Ted Ferguson, stepped forward, microphone in hand, flashing a practiced smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a very special guest: the newest member of the Fantastic Four—and an extraordinary visitor from another world."
Applause and cheers filled the studio. You shifted in your seat, feeling your cheeks warm. The sound was so much louder than you expected.
Ted turned to you. "So... tell us a little about yourself. Where are you from, and how did you end up on Earth?"
You straightened, clasping your hands together. "I am from Tamaran," you began, your voice soft but clear. "My home... was destroyed. I have been searching for a place to live, to belong. Earth is... beautiful, and I hoped it might be a place where I could stay."
The audience erupted in polite applause. You tilted your head at the sound. "Do they approve?" you whispered to Johnny.
Johnny leaned down, giving you a quick grin. "Yep. They like you. You're good."
Ted's brow quirked. "And... we hear you have a rather unusual way of learning languages?"
You nodded earnestly. "Yes. I must... touch mouths to learn words. To speak."
A ripple of laughter went through the audience. You frowned slightly, tilting your head.
Johnny covered his face, groaning. "Uh... don't worry about it. They just think it's... funny."
Ted, catching the cue, tapped his own lips jokingly. "So, do you want to learn a little Spanish?"
Your eyes lit up, wide and innocent. "I would love to."
Without thinking, you took a few eager steps forward, hands held out slightly, ready to follow the method you knew.
Johnny leapt in, blocking your path, placing a hand gently on you waist pushing you back to your seat. "Whoa, slow down."
Sue leaned toward the cameras, smiling warmly. "We haven't explained what 'joking' means to her."
The audience roared with laughter. You blinked, tilting your head. "is it a type of food?"
Johnny groaned, muttering under his breath, "Nope. Definitely not a type of food."
You looked back at him, eyes wide and earnest. "Then I must learn this... 'joke.' How?"
Johnny laughed despite himself. "One step at a time, One step at a time."
You settled back into your seat, still curious, still glowing faintly, still utterly human in your wonder—even as the whole world watched you.
_____
The cameras flashed like lightning as you stood stiffly in front of a Fantastic Four banner, arms crossed just as Sue had shown you. Johnny leaned against the backdrop with his trademark cocky grin, smoldering at the cameras like he was born for it.
You, on the other hand, were tilting your head with an uncertain smile.
"Am I... doing this correct?" you whispered.
Johnny leaned down, lips close to your ear. "Perfect. You look like a star already."
You blinked at him, confused. "I am not star. I am... person."
He laughed and straightened. "No, no. It means you look incredible. Trust me, everyone's eating this up."
When you beamed brightly at the cameras—truly, innocently—the photographers erupted in excitement. Johnny groaned. "Great. Now you're the fan favorite."
Later, magazine covers read: "Fantastic Five?" / "Alien Heroine: Friend or Threat?" / "Flame Meets Firepower: Sparks Fly Between Johnny Storm and the Newcomer."
Sue rolled her eyes when she saw the last one. Johnny smirked for hours.
_________
Against Puppet Master's creations, you flew beside Ben, blasting apart animated wooden soldiers. He grunted after smashing one to pieces.
"Not bad, kid. You're quicker than you look."
You beamed. "We make strong team."
Later, during a clash with Hydro-Man, you soared above his waves, unleashing beams of searing energy while Johnny boiled the water to steam. Reporters caught the moment when you and Johnny struck side by side, laughing breathlessly. Headlines the next day: "Dynamic Duo? Alien and Human Torch Heat Up the Fight!"
But not every battle went smoothly.
During a fight with the Wizard, you slowed midair, mesmerized by the neon lights glinting off a glass tower. Just for a heartbeat, you forgot the danger. That was all it took for one of the Wizard's drones to lock onto you.
"Watch it!" Johnny roared, flames bursting as he streaked across the sky. He wrapped an arm around your waist, spinning you out of the blast's path. The drone's energy bolt skimmed the air where you had been.
He hovered with you pressed to him, fire trailing off his shoulders as he glared down at the villain below. "You try that again, and I'll turn your toys into scrap metal!" His voice cracked with fury, but it wasn't at you—it was all for the Wizard.
You glanced up at him, startled, still feeling the heat of his arm steady at your side. "You... saved me."
Johnny looked down, his anger softening when he saw your wide eyes. "Yeah, of course I did." His thumb brushed your hip before he realized it and pulled his hand back slowly, though not completely. "Just... don't drift off on me like that, okay? Just stay close."
Your cheeks warmed, and you nodded, quieter than usual. "...I'll stay close."
"Good," Johnny said, smirking faintly, though his voice carried more relief than teasing. He let you go gently, flames trailing as he turned back toward the fight. "Now, let's roast this guy."
Ben's voice rumbled through the comms, amused. "Well, looks like Torch's priorities are clear."
You pretended not to hear—but you didn't drift far from Johnny again.
_______
"Hold still," Reed muttered as wires and sensors dotted your arms. The machines hummed, spitting out data as your energy levels spiked.
You craned your neck, watching the monitor. "That squiggle is me?"
Reed adjusted his glasses. "That's your energy pattern. It's extraordinary. I've never seen anything so—"
"Beautiful squiggle," you interrupted proudly.
Reed stopped mid-sentence, then allowed himself a faint smile. "Yes. Beautiful squiggle."
When he asked you to lift a bar weighted for Ben, you did so with ease, giggling when the equipment snapped under your grip. Reed scribbled notes furiously, muttering about "upper limits" and "cosmic energy resonance."
Johnny peeked into the lab, watching you flex your strength with curiosity. "Careful, Stretch. Don't poke and prod her too much. She might decide she likes me better."
You tilted your head. "Like... you better?"
Johnny smirked. "Yeah. Who wouldn't?"
Reed groaned. "Johnny, out."
________
The kitchen smelled of frying onions as Ben maneuvered a spatula in his massive rocky hand. HERBIE hovered nearby, reading out a recipe.
"Add one teaspoon of paprika," the robot chimed.
"Teaspoon? My hand's bigger than the whole jar," Ben muttered. He glanced at you. "Hey, kid, wanna help out?"
You nodded eagerly, leaning over the pan. "It smells... happy."
Ben chuckled. "That's dinner. It's supposed to."
You carefully stirred with a wooden spoon, tongue peeking out in concentration. HERBIE buzzed approvingly. "Good motion. Even distribution achieved."
Ben winked at you. "You're a natural."
Later, when the team sat down, you proudly announced: "I helped make this food. It tastes... alive."
Johnny nearly spit out his bite laughing. "Alive? You mean good."
Ben crossed his arms, smirking. "Don't knock it, hotshot. She's right. Food's gotta have life in it."
______
Sue sat cross-legged on your bed, a pile of new clothes spread out around her. "Okay," she said, holding up two shirts. "These two go together. Matching colors is important, or else people will stare for the wrong reasons."
Behind the folding screen, you pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft sweater. "Earth has so many rules for clothing," you said, voice muffled. "On Tamaran, we wore what made us feel strong."
Sue smiled. "Here, it's more about expression—and sometimes, practicality."
The door creaked open and Johnny leaned against the frame, grinning. "She could wear a potato sack and still turn heads."
You stepped out just then, tugging at the sleeves of the sweater, hair slightly mussed from changing. You blinked at him. "A potato sack? Would that look good?"
Sue sighed. "He's exaggerating. Don't listen to him."
But Johnny only smirked. "Hey, with or without clothes, I'm sure anything works."
You tilted your head at his words, studying him. Then, completely serious, you said, "You have already seen me without clothing. And you liked it."
The room froze.
Johnny's mouth dropped open. His face went red so fast Sue almost laughed. "Wha—hey—I—" He sputtered, pointing vaguely at the hall like he might run for safety.
Sue's eyes widened. "Wait. What?"
You frowned, glancing between them. "When I was changing. He came in. He looked. I did not mind."
Johnny slapped a hand over his mouth hiding his smirk. "Maybe, please stop telling people that."
Sue pressed her fingers to her temples, caught between amusement and disbelief. "Okay, first of all, Johnny—you need to learn to knock. Second—" she turned to you gently, "—on Earth, that kind of thing is private. If you tell someone you don't mind them seeing you... it sounds like you're inviting them.”
You blinked, confused. "Inviting them to... what?"
Johnny choked, running a hand through his hair. "Nope. I'm out. I can't do this." He bolted out of the room, mumbling something about needing air.
"I should not invite Johnny?" You tilted your head, still puzzled. "But he likes to see me?"
Sue sighed, laughing despite herself. "Yeah, sweetie. That's the problem."
_________
The months since your arrival had passed in a blur of laughter, exploration, and rooftop nights overlooking the city. New York had grown used to you—mostly—and the Fantastic Four had become your family.
But the peace shattered with Reed's urgent voice over the comm.
"Everyone, I need you in the lab. Now."
You floated down from your room and followed the others, curiosity prickling your chest. Reed stood hunched over a glowing console, multiple screens awash with violent waves of shifting energy signatures. His jaw was tight, fingers tapping rapidly across the keys.
Sue was the first to step forward. "Reed? What's happening?"
Reed adjusted his glasses, not looking away from the screen. "Unusual energy readings. They've been escalating for the past hour. And now—" he tapped a graph that spiked so sharply it looked like a blade "—something massive is approaching Earth. High velocity. Purposeful trajectory."
Ben crossed his arms, frowning. "So we're talkin' big? Like how big?"
Johnny let out a low whistle. "Company, huh? Can't be good."
You hovered near the ceiling, your heart sinking, the air suddenly harder to breathe. A shiver crawled across your skin. You already knew. You had known the moment the alarms went off.
Sue turned her head, watching you carefully. "You okay?"
"I..." Your voice caught. You forced it out, softer. "I feel... nervous."
Johnny tilted his head at you, frowning. "You look worse than nervous. What's going on?"
Reed finally turned from the console, his face serious. "Whoever—or whatever—is out there isn't just passing by. They're coming here. Directly here."
Your stomach twisted. Fingers curled tightly against your palms, energy sparking faintly at your fingertips. You wanted to tell them, you needed to—but the words locked in your throat, strangled by fear.
Johnny noticed first, his flame flickering along his arm. "Hey. You're acting weird. Talk to us."
"I... I cannot," you whispered, eyes darting away.
Sue's voice softened. "Cannot or... will not?"
You shook your head, guilt boiling in your chest. "If I tell you... you will be angry. You will hate me."
Ben shifted, his gravelly voice quieter than usual. "Kid, we've seen each other at our worst. Nothin's gonna make us hate ya."
Reed's gaze was sharp, unrelenting. "If something's wrong, we need to know. The safety of this planet depends on it."
You flinched at his tone, hugging yourself. Every warning from the monitors pressed heavier on your shoulders. Every second you stayed silent felt like a betrayal.
Johnny stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You're scaring us more by not saying anything. Just tell me. Please."
The plea in his voice broke you.
You dropped to the floor, no longer hovering, and the words tumbled out in a rush, as if you'd been holding them back for too long.
"I said... my planet was destroyed. That was not true." Your breath came faster, chest heaving. "Tamaran still lives. I—" You stopped, biting your lip until you tasted copper.
Reed's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"I left," you said quickly, the words spilling before you could stop them. "I left because I am... I am a princess there. And they... they wanted me to marry. An arranged marriage. To someone I did not want. I ran away. I thought—if I came here, no one would follow. No one would know. I wanted to choose for myself."
The room fell silent.
Johnny blinked. "Wait. You're a... princess?"
Your throat tightened. "Yes." You stared at the floor, ashamed. "And now they come. They come for me. Because of me, your world is in danger."
Sue shook her head firmly. "That's not your fault."
But you weren't listening. Your voice rose, trembling. "I should surrender. If I give myself, they will leave. They will not hurt Earth if I go. That is the only way."
Johnny's flames sparked brighter, his face twisting. "Are you kidding me? No way. You're not just handing yourself over."
You shook your head violently, tears stinging your eyes. "You do not understand! They will kill you if I stay. Your world will suffer because of me!"
Ben's voice rumbled, steady. "We've faced worse. You think we're gonna roll over now?"
Sue reached for your hand. "You're part of this family. And we don't abandon family."
But it was Reed's voice, calm and unwavering, that cut through the panic. He stepped forward, meeting your eyes. "You have every right to choose your life. You ran because you wanted freedom. That is not a crime—it is courage. And whatever force is coming for you, they will face us as well. Together."
You stared at him, lips trembling, your chest rising and falling too fast. "But... what if we lose?"
Johnny moved to your side, fire dimmed to a soft glow, his hand brushing yours. "Then we lose together. But I'm not letting you go without a fight."
The knot in your chest loosened—not gone, but lighter. For the first time since the alarms began, you let yourself breathe.
And deep inside, you realized: surrendering was no longer an option. Not with them beside you.
_______
Before you could answer, the alarms shrieked again, louder this time. The monitors flared with red warnings as energy signatures spiked off the charts.
Sue looked at the screen, eyes wide. "Reed... they're here."
"Already?" Johnny hissed, flames flickering across his shoulders.
A low rumble vibrated through the Baxter Building, rattling the lab equipment. The sound wasn't from inside—it was the city itself, groaning under the force of something descending fast from the sky.
You clutched your arms tight to your chest, terror flooding your voice. "It is them. The guard. They... they found me."
Ben cracked his stone fists together. "Then let's give 'em a proper welcome."
Reed's jaw set. "Everyone—move."
⸻
The four of them rushed out, you trailing behind with a weight of dread dragging every step. But when you reached the rooftop, the night sky confirmed your fears.
A massive ship hovered above Manhattan, obsidian and sharp-edged, its underbelly glowing with Tamaranian energy you knew too well. Around it, smaller crafts swarmed, soldiers clad in armor descending on beams of light.
The streets below screamed with panic.
Johnny swore under his breath. "You weren't exaggerating."
Your voice cracked. "They will not stop until I return with them."
"Not happening," Johnny snapped, fire bursting fully to life as he lifted off the rooftop.
The first wave of Tamaranean soldiers landed with a clash of steel and fire, energy bolts cutting across the night sky. Reed stretched forward to shield civilians, Sue raised a dome of shimmering force around a fleeing crowd, and Ben barreled into the first group with a roar.
You hesitated. Your powers crackled at your palms, but fear rooted you to the spot.
One soldier locked eyes with you and lunged.
"MOVE!" Johnny shouted.
The soldier fired an energy blast straight for your chest—Johnny streaked in, flames blazing, intercepting it midair. He wrapped an arm tight around your waist, pulling you against him. The heat of his fire mixed with the thundering of your heart.
"Eyes up, princess," he breathed, half a grin cutting through his worry. "You're with me."
Together, you shot into the sky.
⸻
The battle blurred around you—flashes of Reed's arms snaring ships from the sky, Sue throwing up shields to protect screaming civilians, Ben tearing through soldiers with unshakable fury.
Johnny guided you higher, weaving through beams of fire. "Focus on me. You can do this."
You nodded, breath shaky, and hurled an orb of green energy toward an enemy craft. It exploded brilliantly, scattering metal across the sky.
Your heart hammered as you whispered, "Johnny..."
He caught your gaze for a split second, eyes burning with fire and something softer. Then he grinned sharply. "Let's fry the rest of 'em together."
And for the first time since the alarms rang, you believed you could.
Then it happened.
A searing, jagged beam struck your back, the energy almost identical to your own. Pain flared through your body like a living thing, burning along your spine and exploding in your chest. You cried out, voice caught somewhere between shock and fear, as your body was hurled through the air.
Time slowed in a terrifying, vivid instant. The city stretched and twisted around you. Screaming civilians below, the chaotic dance of fire and energy from Johnny, the stone fists of Ben moving like meteors—none of it registered clearly. All you felt was the agony tearing through you.
You slammed into the ground with a deafening crack, the force of impact jarring your bones and knocking the breath from your lungs. You slid across the plaza, grinding against stone, your hands scraping as you tried to stop.
For a moment, the world went silent, except for the ringing in your ears. Pain clouded your vision; the edges of the plaza blurred, the lights of the city smeared into lines of color.
The heat of battle still lingered in the air—the acrid scent of scorched concrete, the hum of fading energy blasts. You struggled to your knees, winded and aching, chest rising and falling too fast. The impact from the beam had knocked the breath out of you, and your body screamed in protest.
"Are you okay?!" Johnny's voice cut through your daze. He hovered beside you, flames dancing low around his wrists, his eyes scanning every inch of your body.
"I... I... yes," you whispered, though your muscles burned and your back throbbed from the impact.
Ben crouched down, placing a massive hand gently on your shoulder. "Don't move too fast. You're shaken, but you're still here. That's what counts."
Sue hovered above, her force field flickering protectively, glancing skyward.
And then, like a living shadow tearing through the clouds, they descended.
Two figures, regal and immense, cut across the night sky—your parents. Your mother's robes flowed with an otherworldly luminescence; your father's body crackled faintly with the same energy that had blasted you moments before. The plaza felt impossibly small beneath their presence.
Your stomach tightened, and your hands curled into fists as your pulse surged. The beam that had struck you still throbbed in your memory, a burning reminder of their power.
"You defied us," your mother's voice rang out, sharp as a blade. It carried authority that made your knees want to buckle. "You abandoned your duty. You were meant to lead. You were meant to serve your people, and yet you ran."
Your lips trembled, but you forced words out, breath shaky. "...I... I had to leave. I could not stay. The arranged marriage... I could not accept it. I could not be forced."
Your father's eyes narrowed, energy humming around him like a living storm. "You disobeyed your family, your people. You leave everything behind. And now... you expect us to let you make this choice?"
"I have to," you said, voice rising slightly but still quivering. "This is where I belong. I want to stay. I cannot go back. I... I choose this life. Here. With them."
Your mother's voice snapped, rising like a whip. "Do you understand what you are saying? You are giving up your throne, your people, everything we have built. Do you think this is a game?"
"I am not playing," you said firmly, a tear slipping down your cheek. "I'm not running away. I want to protect them. I want to protect this world. I choose this. I am ready."
Your father's energy flared briefly, a crackling halo of power around him. "You are reckless, naive. You have no idea what you are giving up. You have no right to decide your fate!"
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand taller, fists glowing faintly with energy as you channeled the nervous tremor into resolve. Reed stepped forward, calm but resolute.
"She does. She has every right to choose her life," Reed said firmly. "No one can force her to be something she is not. This—your daughter—has shown courage beyond measure. You would do well to respect that."
Your mother's gaze snapped to him, sharp and appraising, but she said nothing, letting his words linger like a weight in the air.
You drew a deep, shaky breath, eyes never leaving your parents. "...I do have the right. I will not rule. I choose to live here. I will protect the people I care about."
For a long moment, your mother's glare pinned you in place, and you felt the tremor of fear, the pull of the life you'd left behind. The weight of your decision pressed down on your chest. But you stood your ground, chin raised despite the quivering of your limbs.
Finally, she exhaled sharply, the edge of her voice softening slightly though her tone remained severe. "You are defiant, just as your father warned. This choice... it will not be easy. You will pay a price. If you falter, there will be consequences. We will not forget what you have done."
You nodded slowly, fists still glowing faintly, and met her gaze unwaveringly. "...I understand. And I am ready. Here... with them."
Johnny hovered close behind you, flames flickering low in a protective halo, his hand brushing yours ever so slightly. He didn't speak, but the quiet squeeze of reassurance sent a pulse of warmth through your chest.
Ben stayed nearby, arms folded, alert but letting you hold your own against your parents. Sue floated silently, watching every subtle movement, prepared to shield if needed.
Your parents exchanged a long, measured glance, energy humming faintly around them like coiled tension. You felt the sting of fear and the weight of responsibility settle fully on your shoulders—but now, you also felt resolve. This was your choice. Your life.
And for the first time, despite the power and authority of your parents, you felt ready to defend it.
With one last look of disappointment, your parents wordlessly turned, their expressions unreadable but sharp with authority. Energy crackled faintly around them as they ascended, their forms shrinking against the night sky until they disappeared into the shimmering hull of the awaiting ship. Behind them, the remaining soldiers and smaller craft hesitated for a moment, then fell in line, retreating silently into the darkness.
The plaza was left in an eerie quiet. Smoke drifted from scorched pavement, small fires smoldered in the wreckage of energy blasts, and the faint hum of residual energy lingered in the air.
You slumped to your knees, the exhaustion of battle weighing on you. Your chest heaved as adrenaline faded, leaving the raw ache in its place. Johnny hovered beside you, flames now low and flickering like a protective aura. "You okay?" he asked softly, not needing an answer—the way you shook slightly and pressed your palms to your back said it all.
Ben crouched nearby, his large hands gentle as he helped you steady yourself. "You fought well," he said quietly. "Better than most heroes could. You held your own."
Sue floated just above, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the plaza to ensure no hidden threats remained. "They're gone," she said. "The city is safe—for now. And you... you're safe too."
You nodded, energy flickering faintly along your hands as if testing your own limits after the strike. "I... I did not know... if I could..." you admitted, voice shaking.
Johnny brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering a fraction longer than necessary. "Hey, you're still here. That's what matters."
_______
The public's opinion was divided. Some feared you, whispering about the destruction and wondering if your presence had brought the threat to Earth in the first place. Others marveled at your courage, praising your restraint and the way you had protected civilians. Children drew pictures of you soaring above the skyline, energy trailing like ribbons behind your hands, while adults debated your intentions in hushed voices over coffee or on social media.
Morning drills in the Baxter Building began to feel routine. You and Johnny sparred on the rooftop, flames and energy beams crisscrossing as you laughed through minor mistakes. He grinned every time you caught him off guard with a well-timed blast.
"You're getting better," he said one afternoon, tossing a ball of fire gently toward you. "Almost as fast as me."
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Almost? I will surpass you eventually."
Johnny laughed, shaking his head. "We'll see about that, princess."
Ben was just as patient. The two of you spent long afternoons in the kitchen, chopping, stirring, and tasting everything from pancakes to elaborate stews. "Careful!" he barked, laughing when a spoonful of batter splashed across the counter. "Cooking is about patience and precision, not just smashing things together."
"I... try to learn," you said earnestly, picking up the spoon and continuing. Batter clung to your fingers, and you licked it clean before anyone could react. Ben groaned, shaking his head, but there was a fondness in his gaze.
Sue guided you through missions with quiet authority, teaching you strategy, observation, and how to protect civilians without overexerting yourself. She never underestimated you, but she never pushed too hard either, letting you grow at your own pace.
Evenings brought quieter moments. Sometimes, you found yourself on the rooftop, gazing at the city lights with Johnny. Occasionally, your hands brushed, and a blush would rise to your cheeks while he smirked knowingly. Other times, you simply leaned against the railing, letting the wind carry your hair and the city's sounds wrap around you.
"I... I miss them," you admitted one night softly, eyes on the horizon, remembering your parents and the world you had left behind.
Johnny's expression softened, flames low around his wrists. "Of course you do. You're giving up a lot. But..." He nudged your shoulder gently. "...you chose this. And you made the right call."
You tilted your head, unsure of what "right" meant in this strange, complicated world. "I... I am happy. I am... content. I know I made my choice. Even if... they may never understand, I am where I belong."
The city stretched endlessly beneath you, alive and chaotic, but no longer frightening. You were part of it now. You belonged.
And for the first time, you smiled without hesitation—because this was your life, and you were ready for every challenge it would bring.
First, the bakery photo. Someone had snapped it through the front window—Homelander leaning against the counter like he owned the place, Ryan grinning ear to ear as Y/N bent down to hand him a cupcake.
Her bakery, her counter... but every headline forgot that part.
"Homelander, Ryan, and America's Sweetheart Baker—Perfect Family Outing."
"Step aside, Noir? Fans think Y/N and Homelander are the real power couple."
Y/N shut her phone off, but it didn't matter. She saw it on the TV at the gym, heard it whispered by customers at her bakery.
She told herself it didn't matter. That it would pass.
But then there was the bank. Ryan had begged to come along, bouncing on his heels beside her while she tried to show him how to fill out a deposit slip. He was sweet—so eager to please—but she couldn't ignore the weight of Homelander watching from the side, arms folded, smiling like a proud husband.
When she saw the shaky cellphone video online later that night, her stomach sank.
"America's strongest hero... and America's sweetest baker. Raising Ryan right."
"Y/N already looks like the perfect mom."
She threw her phone on the couch and rubbed her temples. I'm not his mom. I'm not.
And then came the bake sale.
Ryan's eyes had gone wide when he saw the tray: raspberry cupcakes topped with sugar crystals, the little chalkboard propped in front reading Raspberry Ryan.
"It's me?" he asked, almost breathless.
"Yes, you," she teased, brushing frosting on his nose. She meant it as a kindness. But when the photo went viral—Ryan holding up the cupcake with Homelander standing proudly behind them—it only fueled the fire.
"Family goals."
"Sorry Noir, but the people have spoken."
She hated herself for the small warmth that tugged her chest. It wasn't Ryan's fault. He was a good kid, too good for the life he'd been born into. She wanted to be kind to him. But every hug, every laugh they shared only gave Homelander another excuse to tighten his claim.
And Noir... Noir wasn't there anymore. Not the way he used to be. He came home later and later, silent even for him.
⸻
The Gala
The ballroom gleamed with chandeliers and champagne. Y/N clung to Noir's arm, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Cameras snapped every second, but what unsettled her wasn't the noise—it was Homelander. He was everywhere she turned. Too close. Always smiling.
Why is he always behind me? Always waiting?
She adjusted her grip on Noir's sleeve, but the thought nagged: You don't feel like him tonight. Why don't you feel like him?
The crowd surged when a reporter shouted a question. She stumbled, pushed from behind. Her shoulder slammed the window with a crack that echoed through the hall.
Gasps. People shouted. She tried to steady herself—Noir's hand reached for her—but another shove hit the crowd, champagne spilling under her heel. The spiderweb cracks bloomed wider, glass groaning.
Her heart stopped.
"No—" she gasped, too late. The pane shattered.
Air rushed past her ears, glittering shards spinning like knives in the night. The city screamed beneath her as she fell.
Then—steel arms locked around her. The fall stopped, her lungs heaving.
Homelander.
"I've got you," he murmured, smile flawless for the cameras above. "You're safe with me. I'll never let you fall."
And he carried her back up, slowly, deliberately, as if presenting her to the world.
The ballroom erupted as they landed. Reporters screamed, flashes blinded her. And then—
"Mom!"
Ryan's voice broke as he stumbled forward, face wet with tears. He crashed into her waist, arms squeezing so tight she nearly dropped to her knees. "Mom, I thought you were gonna—"
The crowd exploded. Cheers, applause, chants. Cameras whipped around to capture every angle: Ryan calling her Mom, Homelander holding her hand, her dress glittering with shards of glass like starlight.
Y/N's throat closed. No. No, I'm not his mother. I can't—
She tried to step back, to speak, but Noir appeared. Relief nearly made her sob—until she saw what he did.
He walked calmly into the light, silent, unreadable. And then he placed a gloved hand on Homelander's shoulder, the other on hers, and pressed their hands together.
The room lost its mind. Applause shook the chandeliers, chants of "Homelander! Y/N!" roared against her ears.
Her stomach dropped. Why would you do that? Why would Noir do that?
Homelander's fingers laced with hers, his smile softer now, triumphant. Ryan clung to her waist, looking up at her like she'd always been his mother.
Homelander gave a subtle nod to ‘Noir’ as he stood off to the side.
She tried again to pull away. Tried to speak.
But Homelander's arm wrapped around her waist before she could move, squeezing her side so hard it almost hurt. His smile didn't falter for the cameras, but his whisper was a blade against her ear.
"Don't make a scene, sweetheart. Everyone's watching."
Her lips parted, protest trembling on the tip of her tongue, but the roar of the crowd swallowed her voice. Flashes burst like fireworks, Ryan's happy voice carried above the noise:
"Yeah, Mom. We can be a family now."
And Y/N stood frozen in Homelander's grip, her heart screaming against the smile she forced for the cameras, trapped in the picture-perfect family she never agreed to.
Warning: Kidnapping, Hidden child, mentions of young pregnancy
Summary: After the tragic lose of son, Aegon is left without an heir…But perhaps not.
Or
In which you never thought the past would come back to haunt you.
Work: 2.9k
"Finish up, after dinner it is time for your bath," you inform your son as you stir the pot of soup, glancing back to chuckle as he drags the spoon lazily toward his mouth.
"Or you may delay until your father gets home," you tease, leaning on the counter. "I'm sure he will need help to unload the cart."
Your son drops the spoon in favor of lifting the bowl to his lips, the noisy sound of slurping filling the cottage. You laugh again, shaking your head, but then you both fall silent. Outside, the sharp, steady sound of hooves on dirt is followed by the low rumbling of wheels.
"Oh, too late," you whisper with a smile, grabbing another bowl to set aside for your husband's supper. But before you can move, the front door bursts inward with such force it slams against the wall and rattles the shutters.
The bowl slips from your hands and shatters, soup spreading across the floor. Your son rushes into your arms as you clutch him tightly, eyes darting to the door. A knight in polished armor steps inside, his crimson cloak dragging over the threshold.
"What is the meaning of this?" you demand, though your voice shakes despite your attempt at control. "We have already given our share of sheep this season, we cannot give more—"
"Quiet," the knight's voice booms, making you flinch. He casts a glance behind him toward the open door, then gives a nod.
The heavy, deliberate footsteps that follow make your stomach twist with dread. Someone of importance—someone dangerous.
Your heart stops as a familiar figure steps into the room, the very last man you ever expected—or wanted—to see again.
Aegon.
Your knees weaken. Forcing yourself down, you drop to the ground and pull your son with you, bowing low until your forehead nearly brushes the floor.
"Your Grace," you whisper.
"It has been so long," Aegon says, his voice oddly soft. You can hear the smile in it, but you dare not raise your gaze. "You are difficult to find. Does your father no longer run the bakery in King's Landing?"
"My father has passed, Your Grace," you manage, tightening your grip on your son's small hand.
A flicker of something passes through his tone. "You have my condolences."
"Thank you," you murmur. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you plead, "Please, Your Grace, we serve the crown willingly, but we cannot survive if more of our stock is taken. We would starve."
Aegon chuckles faintly. "Stock? I have not come for your sheep, nor your grain."
The words strike ice into your chest. Slowly, you lift your gaze until your eyes lock with his.
"Then why are you here?"
"For my son, of course." He says it as if it were the most obvious truth in the world, even with a smile tugging at his lips. His gaze drifts past you—to the child at your side.
Your blood runs cold. All the whispered tales you had heard in the village of Prince Jaehaerys' murder crash through your mind, of a babe slaughtered by those who sought to wound the crown. To harm a child was unthinkable, unforgivable.
"You... Your Grace, I had no knowledge of the plot against the prince, I swear it," you blurt, desperation flooding your voice.
"I know that," Aegon says, dismissive with a wave of his hand. "I meant our son. Word once reached me that you carried my child. That it was a boy."
Your stomach clenches painfully. Memory slams into you—the nights of whispered promises, his lips pressing against your skin, the little trinkets he gave you. Then the day you found him rutting against a brothel wall, laughing at your heartbreak, tossing you aside as if you had been nothing. And not long after, hearing the Queen herself was carrying his heir.
"Your Grace," you say, your voice tight, the lump in your throat nearly choking you. "That child did not survive the birth. I... I failed to bring him safely into this world. I beg your forgiveness."
His eyes narrow, suspicion flickering. "And this child?" He gestures to the boy clutching your skirts, wide-eyed and trembling.
"He is but four, Your Grace," you lie desperately. "He bears no Targaryen features."
For a long, terrible moment, Aegon studies you. The room is so silent you can hear the fire crackling in the hearth. Then, without a word, he turns away, strolling casually toward the table where the meal still waits. He picks up the pitcher, pouring himself a cup of water as though he were in his own hall.
You release a shaky breath, but it's short-lived. Before you realize it, the knight seizes you roughly by the arm and drags you upright, wrenching you away from your son.
"Mama!" your boy cries, reaching out, but Aegon moves faster. He bends, scooping him up into his arms with surprising ease, holding him against his chest.
"No!" you scream, thrashing against the knight's grip. "Please, don't touch him—please!"
"Calm yourself," Aegon says, his tone almost amused. He looks down at the boy, his expression softening. "Seven Hells, he has your nose. And your stubborn little mouth."
The child whimpers, trying to wriggle free, but Aegon holds him firmly, brushing a hand over his hair.
"Peace, little one," Aegon murmurs, though his eyes never leave yours. His expression is unreadable—half-smirk, half-accusation.
Still holding the child, he strides back to the table and reaches for the cup he poured moments ago. Instead of drinking, he dips his fingers into the water, swirls them idly, and then—without warning—tips the contents over your son's head.
The boy gasps, startled by the cold. Water runs in rivulets down his cheeks and neck, soaking the collar of his tunic. You thrash against the knight's iron grip, screaming—
"Stop! What are you doing? Leave him be!"
But Aegon pays you no mind. His gaze sharpens as he brushes back the boy's wet hair with a slow, deliberate hand. The dark strands cling to his scalp at first, but then—under the dripping water—the truth begins to show. Beneath the muddy brown, pale strands glimmer in the hearthlight.
Silver-white.
Targaryen hair.
Your son whimpers, squirming, but Aegon cups the back of his head almost tenderly, forcing the hair to part and reveal the crown of pale locks that had been so carefully hidden all these years.
"There," Aegon breathes, his tone triumphant, almost reverent. "Did you truly think you could conceal this from me? That dragon's blood could be buried beneath a peasant's dye?"
Your heart pounds so violently it hurts. "Please, Your Grace," you choke out, tears stinging your eyes. "He is only a child. He knows nothing of crowns, of dragons, of you. I beg you—leave him with me. He is safe here!"
"Safe?" Aegon scoffs, shifting the boy higher in his arms, though his hand lingers on that shock of silver hair as if claiming it. "You would have him slop mud in the fields? Grow into some nameless farmhand? No... he was born of my blood. He will not rot here in obscurity."
Your son struggles, reaching toward you again, sobbing now. "Mama! Mama!"
"Please," you plead, struggling so violently the knight growls, tightening his grip on your arms. "He is mine. He has only ever known me. He needs me."
Aegon tilts his head at you, the boy still in his arms, his silver hair gleaming wet beneath the firelight. His smirk softens into something far more unsettling—a smile that carries no warmth.
"And he shall have you," Aegon says smoothly. "Both of you. I do not intend to separate mother from son. You will come with me. You will stand at my side as my wife—my second wife. He will be named my heir, the future King. Your place will be secured beyond anything you ever dreamed in this hovel."
The words strike like a blade to your gut. For a moment, you can only stare, trembling, your mind reeling. Wife? Heir? As if your life, your family, your marriage meant nothing.
The door creaks suddenly behind Aegon, and your heart lurches. Your husband's voice calls, startled, wary:
"(Y/N)? What's happened—?"
Your husband steps into the doorway, carrying one of the younger children in his arms while the other clings to his trouser leg. He freezes at the sight: the knights, the king himself holding your eldest, and you restrained.
"What in the gods' names—"
"Quiet," Aegon says lazily, without even turning. He rocks your son lightly against his shoulder as though soothing him. "Ah, so here is the... farmer. And the others." His eyes flick over your two younger children, lingering in calculation.
"No..." you whisper, horror dawning. "Please, Your Grace, do not involve them."
Aegon finally faces your husband, his expression all regal severity now. "You are fortunate, peasant. Fortunate that your wife once warmed my bed, fortunate that her blood produced my son. For that reason alone, you live."
Your husband's jaw tightens. He shifts your youngest behind him, voice taut. "Put the boy down. You have no right—"
"I have every right," Aegon snaps, his tone hardening like steel. "He carries my blood. He is mine."
He takes a slow step forward, eyes narrowing. "And hear me well. If she and the boy do not come with me—if they dare defy me—then I will see your little brood dashed against these very walls, and you gutted beside them." His words drip with a cruel calmness, as if he were discussing the weather.
"No!" you cry out, your voice breaking. "Please, please, Your Grace—" You fall to your knees despite the knight's grip, begging, trembling so violently you can hardly speak. "Spare them. They are innocent. Do what you will with me, but please... do not harm them."
Your son clings tighter to Aegon's neck, sobbing, his small voice muffled. "Mama, no... I want Mama..."
Aegon lowers his gaze to the child, then lifts his chin toward you again. "Then choose. Now. Come willingly with me as wife and mother of the heir to the Iron Throne... or watch your little family bleed."
The room is silent but for your son's cries and the crackle of the hearth, the weight of your choice pressing down like a sword at your throat.
Your chest heaves with sobs as your husband stands frozen in the doorway, clutching the two younger children to him, his face carved in horror and fury. The knight restraining you yanks you upright, but you barely feel it. Aegon's words coil like iron chains around your neck.
You look at your son—your baby boy—his pale hair glinting where the water washed it clean, his little hands gripping Aegon's collar as he cries for you. Then you look at your husband, at the children clinging to his legs, their faces pale with fear.
The choice is no choice at all.
"I will go," you whisper, your voice cracking. You force the words louder, so Aegon hears them clearly. "I will go with you. Just... leave them unharmed."
Aegon's smile blooms slow and satisfied. "Wise," he murmurs, tightening his hold on the boy. "Very wise."
You sag against the knight's grip, defeated, your husband's anguished cry filling your ears as Aegon turns toward the door.
"No! You cannot take her—"
"Enough!" Aegon roars, his voice like thunder, silencing the cottage. He glances over his shoulder at your husband with a look sharp enough to wound. "She has chosen. And I have decreed it. Pray to whatever gods you keep that I do not reconsider your family's fate."
Your husband trembles, rage and helplessness warring on his face. He doesn't move as Aegon sweeps out of the house with your son, the knight dragging you in his wake. You dare one last look back, committing their faces to memory—their tears, their confusion, your husband's shattered expression—before the door slams shut and the world you knew is gone.
⸻
The journey to the castle is a blur of hooves and rattling wheels, your son's quiet hiccupping sobs filling the carriage. You keep a hand on his back, whispering reassurances you don't believe yourself. Aegon watches the two of you with a calm satisfaction, as though he has already won some long, silent war.
By the time the towering walls of the Red Keep rise before you, dread has curdled into numbness.
Servants descend upon you the moment you arrive. Your son is whisked away from your arms despite his wails of protest, while you are taken in another direction. Women chatter briskly as they peel away your roughspun dress, guiding you into steaming baths perfumed with rose oil. Your hair is combed and braided, the dirt of farm life scrubbed from your skin until you feel raw. Fine silks, softer than anything you have ever touched, are draped over your shoulders. Jewels are placed upon your neck and wrists, heavy shackles disguised as finery.
When at last they permit you to look in the mirror, a stranger gazes back. A noblewoman. A queen's shadow.
Your son is returned to you hours later, equally transformed—his hair gleaming pale and unbound, dressed in rich velvets of deep crimson and black. He clings to you, frightened, whispering that he wants to go home. You press him to your breast, heart breaking, even as the chamber doors open and Aegon strides in, his eyes roaming over the two of you with fierce satisfaction.
"There," he says, spreading his arms as though admiring his prize. "A dragon restored to its rightful place. My son... my heir. And his mother—my bride."
_____
Life in the Red Keep began not with ceremony, but with suffocation.
The very next morning, you were awakened before dawn by handmaidens, bustling about with silks and combs and trays of food. Your son stirred beside you in the great bed, his small frame dwarfed by the carved posts and velvet coverlets. His pale hair, now scrubbed and free of dye, gleamed like molten silver in the candlelight. They bowed to him—bowed—as though he were no mere child but already a king.
By midday, the court was summoned to the throne room. You were not permitted to speak, only to stand by the great pillars as Aegon carried your boy to the Iron Throne. His voice rang out over the gathered lords and ladies, announcing that the gods had not left him childless after all. Murmurs rippled through the hall like a rising tide—shock, disbelief, a flicker of hope in some, scorn in others.
"And here," Aegon declared, one hand gripping your son's shoulder firmly, "is the blood of the dragon, hidden from me too long. But no longer. My son. My heir."
The boy looked to you, eyes wide and wet with confusion, but you forced a smile, nodding, your heart pounding as the courtiers dropped into bows and curtsies.
⸻
When the doors finally closed and the court dispersed, the charade ended. Your son clung to you, burying his face against your skirts. You stroked his hair, whispering soothing words, but your eyes were fixed on Aegon as he approached.
"You see how they bent the knee?" he said quietly, satisfaction thick in his tone. He poured himself a goblet of wine, lounging back as if he had not just shaken the realm. "The moment they saw his hair, his face... there was no doubt. He will never be a bastard in their eyes, not while I draw breath."
You tightened your grip around your boy, your voice low, trembling. "He is only a child. He does not understand what you ask of him. He wants only his home, his family—"
Aegon's gaze sharpened, his smile fading. "This is his home now. And his family," he said pointedly, "is here." He gestured between the three of you, as though that settled everything.
Your son whimpered, whispering, "Mama, I want to go back..."
The words cut you like knives. You crouched, taking his face in your hands, kissing his brow. "Hush, my love. I am here. Always here."
But when you rose, Aegon was watching you with a look that made your stomach twist—a look that was both possessive and hungry.
"You'll adjust," he said smoothly, stepping closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "You and he both. The silks will feel less heavy, the halls less cold. And in time..." His fingers brushed the back of your hand, lingering too long, his eyes burning into yours. "In time, you'll learn to stop looking at me as though I've stolen you. You'll learn to be grateful."
You jerked your hand back, but he only chuckled, swirling his wine.
"Defiance becomes you," he murmured. "But do not forget—I keep your husband and brats breathing only because you are here. Should you test me, that gift can be taken."
The threat lingers in the air like smoke. You feel your knees weaken, but you force yourself to stay upright, to meet his gaze with quiet fury.
Later that night, when you are finally alone in your chambers with your son asleep beside you, you allow yourself to break. You bury your face in the pillows, muffling your sobs so he cannot hear. Because Aegon was right about one thing: you were trapped. The cage was gilded, the chains lined with velvet, but they were chains all the same.
And you swore, in the hollow of your chest, that no matter what he did to you, you would find a way to keep your son safe.
Warning: Gaslighting, Kidnapping, mentions of drugging, alluding to NON-CON, mentions of pregnancy
Summary: Felix rarely ever kept the people he collected, you thought you would be no different.
Word: 1.2k
The days at Saltburn blurred together. At first, Reader told herself it was because she was relaxing, allowing herself to finally unwind. But then she started sleeping longer than usual, sometimes not waking until noon. She would wake feeling heavy, the morning a haze that slipped away too quickly.
Sometimes Venetia would laugh, brushing a stray leaf from her hair, and say, "You slept through half the day again."
Other times Felix would tease gently:
"You dream too much. I think it keeps you tired."
She wanted to argue, but she could never quite remember when she'd gone to bed.
⸻
When she finally booked her train ticket to see her parents, she felt relief — control slipping back into her hands. But the morning she came down, suitcase in hand, she froze.
Her parents were already seated at the long breakfast table, sunlight spilling across their plates, laughing easily with Felix and his mother.
"Darling!" her mother exclaimed, standing to embrace her. "Why didn't you tell us how magnificent this place is? Felix was so thoughtful, inviting us down."
"Inviting you—?" she stammered. "But my train—"
Felix glanced up from pouring coffee, a picture of calm. "Ah, yes. I cancelled it. You said you didn't want to leave, so I thought it best to bring them to you instead." His smile was warm, affectionate, as though there were no question of overstepping.
Her parents exchanged a look, pleased, as if they were being let in on a shared secret.
At first, she tried to laugh it off, but over breakfast Felix leaned back in his chair, speaking with her father.
"She's been wonderful company these past weeks," he said smoothly, his hand brushing hers beneath the table. "I feel as though we've hardly been apart."
Her mother's eyes softened knowingly. "Well, that's nice to hear. Isn't it, love?"
Her father chuckled. "Better him keeping you busy than us worrying you're moping about alone."
Her protests caught in her throat. It was easier to smile than to try to explain — though later, alone, she swore she never remembered telling Felix she "didn't want to leave."
For two days, her parents were utterly enchanted by the Cattons — the estate, the charm, the easy laughter. Every time Reader tried to pull them aside, Felix was suddenly there, hand light on her shoulder, steering the conversation elsewhere.
⸻
When her parents' visit ended, she made up her mind to leave with them. She packed hastily, hardly sleeping that night, determined to be ready at dawn. But when she awoke, it was already late morning, the sun burning too bright through the curtains.
Her suitcase was still there. But her parents weren't.
Downstairs, Felix looked up from a book as she entered.
"You missed them," he said simply.
"What do you mean I missed them? Why didn't anyone wake me?" Her voice cracked with disbelief. "I told them—I told you—I was going with them."
Felix frowned gently, as though soothing a child. "Darling, you were exhausted. You needed the rest. And besides, your parents said they didn't want to disturb you. They thought you looked so peaceful."
Her skin crawled. She didn't remember falling asleep. She didn't remember anything past sitting on the edge of the bed, suitcase packed, heart pounding with anticipation.
⸻
That night, she swore she would leave. She packed again, heart hammering. She sat upright on the bed, determined not to fall asleep.
But when she woke — she was lying down. The clock showed nearly three in the morning. The house was too quiet, the silence heavy, the room dim, moonlight spilling through the curtains. Her head was heavy again, her limbs sluggish, as though she'd been underwater.
At the edge of the bed, Felix sat waiting, posture relaxed, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"You do love your sleep here," he said lightly. "Every morning, I think you'll wake early, and every morning you prove me wrong."
Her chest tightened. "I don't know why I'm always so tired."
He smiled, that infuriatingly soft smile.
"Well... I've helped with that."
Her breath hitched. "...What do you mean?"
Felix tilted his head, studying her expression. His tone was casual, almost playful.
"You needed the rest. You'd get anxious, talk about leaving, wear yourself out with worry. So I made sure you'd sleep through it. Quieter that way. Gentler."
Her blood ran cold. "You... did something to me?"
He gave a small shrug, as though it were nothing of consequence.
"Only what was necessary. You see, you don't even notice — and you always wake calmer. It's better for you. For us."
She stared at him, her pulse racing. "Felix, that's not—That's not right, you can't just—"
But he leaned closer, his hand brushing hers, voice softening to something dangerously intimate.
"You're still here, aren't you? That means it worked. It's the reason you didn't run. And now..." His gaze dropped briefly to her stomach, then back to her eyes. "...now you can't."
Her breath caught. He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were simply reality.
Felix smiled again, gentle, unhurried, as though nothing he'd said was extraordinary.
"You're mine. You've always been mine. I only had to make sure you realized it."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood.
"Sleep, darling. Tomorrow will make more sense."
_____
The next morning, sunlight poured into the room, too bright, too ordinary. She blinked awake to the sound of the door opening.
Venetia swept inside, a ribbon in her hair, her expression glowing with cheer.
"Oh, thank God you're awake! We've all been dying to talk to you."
The Reader sat up too quickly, heart racing. "Venetia—listen, your brother—he's been—"
Venetia cut her off with a laugh, sitting gracefully on the bed.
"Yes, yes, I know. He told us everything. About the baby."
The words landed like ice water. "That's not—"
"Congratulations," Venetia said brightly, clasping her hands as if it were Christmas morning. "You must be thrilled. Mother cried when Felix told her. She's already sketching dress designs. Can you imagine? A proper Catton wedding here at Saltburn."
Her throat closed. "You don't understand, Venetia, he—"
"Oh, darling, don't fret." Venetia reached for her hand, squeezing it warmly. "Felix said you'd panic at first, that you'd talk nonsense about school, about your parents... but none of that matters anymore."
The Reader shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. "It does matter. You don't know what he's done—"
Venetia leaned closer, still smiling, her tone lowering like a secret between sisters.
"What he's done," she said, "is love you enough to keep you. And now you'll give him something even greater. That's not something to fight, it's something to celebrate."
Her mouth opened, desperate, but Venetia rushed on, cutting off the words before they could form.
"Father's already arranged for a doctor to visit. You'll have the best care. And Mother's so excited, she's talking about names already."
The Reader's hands shook. "Venetia, please, you don't understand—"
But Venetia only tightened her grip, eyes glinting.
"No, you don't understand. You're one of us now. And once the baby comes, no one will even remember you ever thought otherwise."
The room felt tighter now, the weight of unspoken things pressing in from every corner of the table. Irina sat with her arms folded, smirk in place, though the questions she’d asked — and Tommy’s answers — still hung heavy in the air.
Grace was the first to break the silence. She leaned forward, eyes fixed on Irina. “And now? You still intend to kill him?” she asked, her voice calm but cutting. “Even knowing what you know?”
Irina tilted her head, lips twitching into the faintest smile. “Just business,” she said with a shrug. “I would expect the Shelby family to understand that better than anyone.”
Polly scoffed, reaching for her glass. “Business or not, girl, you don’t sit at our table and speak of killing my nephew.”
Irina’s eyes slid toward her, the smirk unfaltering. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have invited me.”
A sharp intake of breath came from further down the table. Little Charlie, who had been unusually quiet, looked at her with wide eyes. “I never knew I had a sister,” he said softly, almost in wonder.
The smile on Irina’s face hardened. “Well,” she replied after a pause, “I grew up with plenty of them. Turns out for the right price, anyone would give up their daughter.” A brittle chuckle escaped her. “So don’t get too excited.”
Ada shifted in her chair, bristling. “That’s not the same thing. You were stolen, sold off like—”
“Like cargo?” Irina interrupted smoothly, raising a brow. “Yes, I’m well aware.”
Tommy’s jaw tightened, but before he could speak, Finn blurted nervously, “But you have a family now, aunts, uncles, cousins, a brother, a mother and father.”
Irina’s gaze flicked to him, cool and detached. “I’ve had many fathers in my life,” she said simply. “Placed in many homes as a political tool, a spy, a pretty little token passed around. Usually they pretended I wasn’t there — let their wives dress me, feed me, teach me how to smile at the right people.” She paused, her eyes lingering on the tablecloth. “Sometimes, though, the men were kind. And I learned very quickly…” Her voice dropped to a near whisper, though the smirk stayed on her lips. “…that men are never kind without a reason.”
Her words cut through the room like glass underfoot. Finn looked down at his hands. Ada shifted uncomfortably. Grace’s expression softened, though she said nothing. Polly only stared at Irina with eyes sharp as razors, as though searching for every lie and every truth in her tone.
Tommy’s gaze never left his daughter, his voice low when he finally spoke. “You’re not a tool. Not a weapon for anyone else to use. Not anymore.”
Irina’s smirk deepened, her laugh soft but edged like broken glass. “Spoken like a man who believes it,” she said, then leaned forward, her eyes glinting. “Like a man who hasn’t made his way using women as tools — for business… and for his own pleasure.”
The table shifted. Grace’s head snapped toward Tommy, her jaw tightening. Polly exhaled sharply through her nose, eyes narrowing at the girl. Ada muttered something under her breath, too low for Charlie to catch.
But Tommy didn’t flinch. He sat very still, his cigarette burning down in his fingers. “You don’t know me,” he said finally. His tone was calm, but there was an edge there — the edge of a blade kept sheathed with effort.
Irina tilted her head, unbothered. “Don’t I? Men with power are all the same. I’ve sat at enough tables like this to know.” Her gaze swept the family, landing again on Grace. “The wives know it too. Don’t they?”
Grace straightened in her chair, her voice low and tight. “What I know,” she said, “is that you’ve walked into this house and spat on every hand extended to you.”
“Hands,” Irina repeated, rolling the word on her tongue like it tasted strange. “Funny thing, hands. Some feed you, some strike you, some hold you down. Hard to tell the difference, sometimes.”
“So… this Greta,” she said, not looking at Tommy, but at the liquid in her glass. “What was she like? Since apparently she and I are meant to be… connected.”
Tommy’s eyes softened, though his voice stayed steady. “She was kind. Gentle in a way I never was. She had a laugh that stayed with you. People listened when she spoke, not because she was loud, but because she was… good.”
Irina hummed, as though the answer were of little consequence. She tipped the glass back, letting the last drop burn down her throat.
“Why’d she give me away then?” The words slipped out so simply, so flat, that for a moment it almost sounded like she didn’t care either way.
“She didn’t,” Tommy answered without pause. His gaze stayed fixed on her, sharp as steel. “Greta didn’t live long enough to make that choice. She asked her sister to keep you safe until I came back from France. She trusted the wrong person. That’s all.”
Irina’s brows twitched, the smallest flicker of something breaking through before she leaned back, smirking faintly. “Mm. Tragic.”
She drummed her fingers once on the table, her tone still detached. “Where’s she buried?”
“In Small Heath. Next to her parents.”
Irina nodded slowly, like the answer was only half-noted, though she was memorizing every syllable.
“Did she name me?” she asked next, softer now, but still keeping her eyes fixed on the tablecloth as though it were nothing.
“Yes,” Tommy said. His voice had lowered, gentler now. “Irina. She she always talk about naming her daughter that.”
Her lips parted, just slightly. For once she didn’t have a quick retort ready. Her eyes lingered on the bullet standing upright between them, then slid away just as quickly.
“Well,” she said at last, her smirk returning like armor snapping back into place, “I suppose that’s something.”
But her grip on the edge of the chair had gone white-knuckled.
“Was my mother one of your tools?” Irina asked loosening her grip. “Like her, like them.” She said nodding towards Grace, Polly and Ada.
Grace’s eyes flickered, but before she could speak, Irina went on, voice smooth, deliberate. “Epsom, wasn’t it? You used your wife as bait in a game with Sabini, sent her walking right into the lion’s den because it suited your plan. And Lizzie Stark — whore to secretary to pawn, dragged out again whenever it benefited you. Even now she still comes when you call.”
Grace’s hand curled into a fist on the table, but Tommy’s face betrayed nothing.
Irina turned her head, her gaze sliding toward Polly and Ada. “And the women you trust most? You left them to carry the business while you played soldier in France. Let them bleed and bargain in your place. Then the war ended, and suddenly their voices didn’t matter so much anymore. You used them. And when you were finished…” She let the words trail off into silence, her meaning sharp enough without finishing.
Tommy finally broke the silence, his tone iron again. “Enough.” He stubbed out his cigarette, blue eyes locked on Irina. “Whatever you’ve been made into, whoever’s used you — that ends now. You’re here because you’re blood, whether you want it or not. And if Sabini sent you to put a bullet in me, you’ll find I don’t die so easy.”
Irina smirked again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She tapped the bullet once more against the table and left it standing there between them.
“And you’ll find,” she murmured, her gaze fixed squarely on Tommy, “that I very much enjoy a good challenge.”
The fire popped in the hearth. Nobody moved. Grace’s breathing was tight, Polly’s stare sharp as knives, Ada unsettled, Finn wide-eyed, Charlie clutching at his cup as though afraid it might break.
Before anyone could say anything else Irina stood from her chair, reaching over to retrieve the bullet before wordlessly walking out the door.
Summary: JJ Maybank x Reader, Ex Rafe Cameron x Reader
"And I turned on the mixer and batter was all over the kitchen." You laughed along with everyone else as you finished your story.
"Oh come on." Rafe groaned. "It wasn't 'all over the kitchen', just the counters, floor, and the fridge." He corrected causing you to stop laughing as you felt your cheeks heat up.
"Oh my god Rafe, counter, fridge, floors that's literally all there is to a kitchen." Sarah defended you.
"No Sarah its fine, I'm probably just exaggerating." You let out an awkward chuckle.
"Yeah you are." Rafe added taking another sip of his drink.
An moment of silence passed over the group as you kept your eyes to the ground, unable to deal with the sympathetic looks you would no doubt meet should you look up.
***
"I heard the scream and I jumped in and pulled him out." You finished with a small shrug. "Its was no big deal."
"No big deal?" JJ asked from behind you as you leaned your back on his chest. "No, no, no let me tell it." He insists to the group that had formed around you.
"So there we were walking down the pier, having a chill time, when all of a sudden...'Help! Help!'.....'My baby, someone help!" JJ acts out in different high pitched voices. "I'm confused so I look over and she's gone, I'm looking around and the next thing I see if my girl, running down towards the water, I swear to god she was in slow motion, full Baywatch." He said quickly cupping both your boobs before you slapped is hands away.
"So I run up to he edge, she's disappeared under the water at this point, I'm freakin out, the kids mom is freakin out then.....Boom! she pops out of the water like a mermaid or something." He tells drawing in more of a crowd. "The kids clinging onto her while she's swimming them both back to dry land. I pull them out of the water, no sweat." He adds flexing his arms. "The moms hugging her kid and crying, 'Thank you, thank you', I'm telling you my girl was like a superhero." He finished wrapping her arms around you before planting a dramatic kiss on your cheek as you laugh at his retelling of the events.
So caught up in JJ's antics you don't even notice Rafe standing across the boneyard staring intensely at the both of you, think to when that was the two of you.
Warning: descriptions of violence, mentions of infertility
Summary: Chess not checkers. One | Two
You hear the shouts and gasps around you, as stumble backwards attempting to steady yourself as you carried your child in your arms. You feel your child being taken from your arms as you finally loos balance falling to the ground, you place your hand over your midsection. Pulling your hand away. you see the red dripping down your palm.
"Guards! Guards!" Someone called out, looking up to the person standing above you, you lock eyes with Alys Strong.
"How dare you?" Lucerys sneered at the older women as he pulled his sword, before it could touch her neck it was knocked away. pushing Alys behind him Aemond steps up to Luce.
"Someone call for the Maesters!" Rhaenerya called out. "And have this women taken to the dungeons." She said dropping down to attend to the princess bleeding on the ground before her eyes close.
***
You wince once as the needle once again while the maester closes your wound, your hisses of pain are the only thing filling the deafening silence that surrounds you, your husband and the maester.
"I will have milk of the poppy delivered for the pain princess." Mellos informed.
"Thank you maester." You replied with a strained smile.
Collecting his materials, he quietly exit the room leaving you and Aemond alone.
After a few moment of silence Aemond feeling your glare on the side of his face as he attempts to avoid your gaze.
"I couldn't-." Aemond started. "I couldn't imagine what you must be going through right now."
"Did you bring her here?" You asked narrowing you eyes for any sign dishonesty. "Did you bring that woman here, to court?"
"of course not."
"Of course not." You scoffed. "Because its not like you have a history with her, of putting her before your family, and now she has arrived at court to take the lives of me and my children and I'm to believe it's not under your influence."
"How could you ask thi-."
"How could you defend her!" You shouted. "Before you me, before your son! You defended that whore in front of the entire court, now the women who tried to take the lives of our children still lives because you care more to have a place to put your cock then your own sons." You screamed, looking towards the door you see Lucerys accompanied by his family.
"Luce." You whimpered out as he rushed to your side taking a seat on the bed he wraps his arms around your shaking figure. "I was so scared."
***
Aemond departed soon after the arrival of Luce and his family, most of whom also left at your please to make sure that your children were safe.
"What will happen when he takes her for a mistress? What if she tries to harm me? what if she tries to harm my children? I care not for my life, but please don't let anything happen to my children." You pleaded to him as you gripped his shirt.
"I care for you." Luce said firmly leaning closer to you. "And I care for the boys just as much and I won't let anything happen to any of you."
Staring into his eyes its silent between you both before you lean in and attach your lips to his. Reaching your hand out you push your fingers through his dark curls as you pull him closer, without thinking Lucerys runs his hand down your waist causing you to gasp in pain.
"I'm sorry," He says as he attempts to catch his breath. "I should not have."
"Please don't apologize...not for this." You plead bringing your hand down to rest on his cheek. "I often wonder what it would be to have married you, how happy we might be."
Leaning his head down to touch yours Luce closed his eyes and let put a breath. "As do I."
Pulling him closer to you, you press your forehead against him. "I must ask a favor from you." You sighed out. "I know that Alys is being held in the dungeons...and I wish to speak with her."
"I will call for the maesters."
"Luce-."
"No! Clearly you have gone mad." He rebuttals pulling away. "Why on earth would you wish you speak to that woman after all she has done to you?"
"Because I need answers, Luce." You replied. "I need to know why she- I don't know. Why she- and Aemond will not give me answers and I feel like if I don't know I will live in fear and confusion and I can-."
"okay okay okay." Luce relents pulling you into a his arms. "If this is what you need."
Wrapping your arms around him before resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you Luce." a smile creeping onto your face.
***
Walking down to the dungeon on the late hours of the night you cling to Luce as you descend the stair. "Just down there." The guard instructed taking the bag of coins Lucerys offered for his discretion.
Walking along the hall of cells occupied by thieves and the like you come to the very last and see the woman in question sitting on the cold stone floor two cuffs adorned her hands attached to a long chain nailed to the wall.
"We've come to ask questions." Luce states stepping forward. "You will answer them if you know what's good for you."
Alys sat silent on the ground simply glaring at the two royals in front of her. "Why have you come?" You asked quietly clutching onto Luce's arm,. "Was I the only target of your rage? Do you plan to harm my children?" Still nothing was said before she scoffed and turned to face the puddle on the ground that was being fed by a steady drip of water from an unknown location.
Taking a deep breath you squeezed Luce's arm before speaking. "Perhaps, if you were to leave us alone for a few moments." You suggested. "Please Lucerys, it's not as if she could hurt me from in there, if this is the only way she will talk..." You say before he can protest.
"I won't be far." Lucerys said as not only an assurance to you, but as a warning to Alys before turning around and walking back down the hall.
Once Lucerys was far enough away Alys sat and waited for you to speak, she knew this would happen, that if she had failed in her attempt that you would come for her. She took shuddering breaths waiting for what torture you would see fit to subject her to this time, when something pulled her from her thoughts.
No....Nothing pulled her from her thoughts. the dungeon that was filled with the echos of groans, coughs, wails and whines of the captured criminals had all ceased. Glancing up Alys' breath hitched as she stared at the drop of water frozen in mid air.
"You know for all your faults." You spoke. "I thought you were smarter than this."
Snapping her head in your direction she sees that there is no longer a wall of metal bars between you, there is nothing stopping you from killing her.
"Don't worry Alys, I'm not here to hurt you." You assured.
"How can you be sure I won't hurt you?" Alys asked shuffling back, attempting to put on a brave face. lifting her chin and stoning her face. "Again."
"Do you really think if I didn't want you to stab me I would have let it happen?" You smirked at the women as she held a look of shock on her face. "Now your probably asking yourself, 'why would she do this?'," you mocked with a nasally voice.
"In truth I thought I could forgive Aemond for what he did but, the more I thought about it the more I found myself thinking of ways I could kill him without being caught, Training accident, poison, assassination, suffocating him in his sleep, hell most days I thought to just slit his throat and get it over with." You explained. "But then after three long months...you showed up and publicly attack me! and what does my 'loving' and 'loyal' husband do? he defends you." You let out a joyous laugh.
"After all Aemond is a not only a second son of a second wife but he's also what....three....four seventh in line for the throne and before Jacerys produces an heir, he stands to inherit nothing meaning and the only thing he could give my children is their titles and perhaps a bastard brother if that graveyard you call a womb ever proves fruitful, meanwhile the maesters fear I may never bare children again." You said letting a tear escape you eye before the smile returned. "But I will and that child will be Lucerys', it will be seen as a miracle and yet another strife I have overcome despite my unfaithful husband and his bastard witch mistress.
"Lucerys is heir to Driftmark and second in line for the throne, he could be King someday if Jacerys were to meet an unfortunate end, after I have my marriage to Aemond annulled Luce and I will request for the Queen to allow us to marry and he will take my children as his own, Armon could one day sit the throne as Aemon would on Driftmark."
"Why? Why go through all this trouble for a man you have no feelings for?" Alys asked.
"Oh I have a great many feelings for my dear husband." You sneered. "Disgust. Shame. Disappointment, but overall...Fury. How dare he humiliate me? Taking me for a fool? To push me aside for the like of the same blood her claimed to despise so much. A lesson needed to be taught, I made the mistake of excluding him from the first but this is one you two will learn together. You may stay in Kingslanding as is Aemond's right, but you will never know a moment of peace, you will always be looked at as the evil, vile, bastard, whore that attacked the princess with her child in her arms. You will be shunned, hated and looked down on as will any children you produce. Aemond has no claim to the throne in Kingslanding, Dragonstone is reserved for the heir and you no claim to Harrenheilm. No Lord or Lady would welcome you to their lands. You wanted Aemond more than anything as he wanted you and now you both will have nothing and no one besides each other." You explained as Alys stares blankly at a wall as your words pierce her mind with the new reality.
"Plus but just between us girls." You leaned in with a wide grin. "Luce is a far better kisser."
Alys lunged at you as your body glides through the bars, you back against the wall in an attempt to create distance between the two of you, Luce rushed towards to hearing the commotion only to find you cowering against the wall as Alys screamed curses at you.
Wrapping you in his arms Luce made sure to check that she had not harmed you as the guards finally arrived. "Its fine." Luce assured them before glaring at Alys. "Just an animal getting use to her chains." He spat before leading you away and out of the dungeons.
Summary: Tommy founds out he has a daughter he never knew about. Or The long lost Shelby daughter raised as a widow comes face to face with her father.
Request: Nah
Warning: description of violence
Walking into the club in downtown London, Tomas Shelby let his eyes scan the crowded establishment in search for the young woman he had seen earlier that day.
Flashback:
"Mr. Shelby," Devlin called as her entered the office. "Your next meeting is here." He informed.
"Alright, send 'em in Devlin." Tommy replied putting away the paperwork her was been working on in her time between meetings.
Entering the office once again, this time with a woman following close behind. "Ms. Kitty Jurossi." He introduced causing Tommy to halt in his movement for a moment before looking up at the woman.
"Thank you Devlin." Tommy says continuing to put the papers away.
Once the two were alone they sat in silence for a few moment, through it felt equally as eternal for them both.
"Hello Tommy." Kitty greeted the man nervously. "Or do you prefer Mr. Shelby now?" She asked with a slight chuckle.
"Tommy is fine, Kitty." He answered with a close lipped smile. "Please have a seat, feel free to have some tea." He offered gesturing to the seat at the end of the table with a fresh pot of tea sat in front of it.
"Thank you." She replied shuffling over and taking a seat in the wooden chair. "It's been a long time, how have you been?"
"I've been fine Kitty and yourself." Tommy asked squinting his eyes at the sister of his former lover, a sense of unease creeping in.
"I've been fine as well Tommy," She replied. "It took me awhile after Greta passed on and I think I can just about put it behind me and move on. Which is why I've come here."
Remaining silent Tommy sustained his gaze in the woman allowing her to continue with her story.
"I've wronged you Tommy a great deal, before you left for the war Greta confided in me that she was pregnant." Kitty revealed. "She didn't have the heart to tell you knowing you may not have made it home to meet your child. She knew she was sick and that she most likely wouldn't have that chance either. She asked that when she died I take care of the child and if you returned that the child should be with their father." she continued tears began filling her eyes.
"But that didn't happen."
"No that didn't happen, Tom." She confirmed. "It was hard after Greta passed, I had just lost my sister, I had this baby I had no idea how to raise and no one knew how long the war would last or if you'd even make it back." Tears falling down her cheeks.
"I have no idea how they knew about the babe or why but about a month after it was born some people came to me, they said they would pay me a lot of money to let them have the baby, they said they would give it a good home a good family." She explained wiping the tears from her face. "I was skint and couldn't provide for it, so I said yes and I took the money."
"I have a child." Tommy stated.
"After I heard that you had returned from war it was too late, the child was already gone and I felt that it would do no good for you to know about it seeing as Greta had passed on, knowing you had also lost a child might have broken you."
"But I didn't loose a child did I Kitty?" Tommy asked shaking his head. "You sold 'em."
"I know I've done an awful think Tommy, its been eating me alive all these years." Kitty said now sobbing quietly in her seat. "Which is why I've come here today, to confess, I only hope that one day you... and Greta, may she rest in peace, can find it in your heart to forgive me."
"where is he now?"
"I don't know Tom, But I heard of you, I know you have money, connections things that would make it a hell of a lot easier for you to find them." She answered. "I know most men have no interest with raising a child and I'm not asking you to, I have myself together now, a job and house and they deserve to know about their family about Greta. I can raise 'em take care of 'em now, I just need your help to find the child Tommy, please."
For a while Tommy sat simply staring at the crying woman in his office, a woman who he would have once been his sister-in-law but had sold his child, a living breathing legacy of her sister, her own blood.
"Alright Kitty." Tommy finally spoke breaking the silence. "I'll look for the my child and I will find 'em"
"Thank yo-,"
"And you'll not come anywhere near him." Tommy interrupts. "This will be you first and final warning Kitty, I'll let you walk now, but if you ever come near my family again. I will kill you."
Hanging her head Kitty Jurossi gave a slight nod before standing from her seat heading to the door. "Tommy," Kitty called as she opened the door turning to face him once again. "You should know, the baby...it was a girl. You have a daughter."
It took longer to find her than Tommy would like to admit, but there was obviously no paper trail for the deal Kitty Jurossi had made. Tommy sent men out to search hospitals on any record of Greta giving birth, one came back the all records of the birth and the child itself was taken by a man claiming he was from a home for orphaned girl in London, though he spoke with a Russian accent.
More digging and with the help of his friends (Alfie) in Camden, Tommy found the was one girls home that received many shipments to and from Russia.
‘The Red Room Home For Orphaned Girls.’
Four days Tommy waited outside the home, watching, waiting but for what he didn't know. Yet on the forth day all his waiting paid off as he spots a young woman walking down the street, his breath caught in his throat as he stared at an almost exact replica of Greta Jurossi. She shared nearly every feature with her late mother save a few her and there, but the one thing that wiped away any doubt was her eyes, even from across the street Tommy could see the deep blue color of them. His eyes.
With confident strides she walks up the stairs of the building before entering the door.
"Where have you been for four days?" Tommy muttered to himself never taking his eyes off of the building as he reaches into his breast pocket pulling out a cigarette. What also caught his attention even more was that an hour later she was once again walking through the door and heading off down the street. "What the hell kind of girls home is this?"
With a quick honk of his horn Tommy caught the attention of the blinder down the street, nodding in the direction of the girl, a second later the man began following the unknown Shelby down the street.
[<_>}
Irina sat in the club, small smile on her face, enjoying a glass of champagne as she watched the people around her dance, do drug, have sex and more.
She casually scanned the crowd waiting for her eyes to lock on the man she had followed here. Paul Lipton, he was in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with a pretty blonde women that most definitely not his wife. She knew that for a fact because that was the exact reason she was here, turned out Mrs. Lipton wasn't the type of woman to just set back and let her husband cheat on her.
Downing the rest of her drink Irina stood from her seat heading straight for the dance floor, Spinning and twirling as she attempted to blend into the crowd, making her way toward the unfaithful man she reached for the knife that was strapped to her upper thigh. Getting closer and closer to Paul she raised her arms, doing once final spin as she passed the man quickly dragging the knife across his throat.
It took Paul a few second to realize what was happening to him, she watched as the smiles slowly slipped from his face before his hands shot up to his throat in an attempt to stop his blood from spilling out of his wound. It wasn't until he fell to his knees that his partner noticed that something was terribly wrong. Seeing the red spill from his neck and down the front of his suit drew a scream from the blonde that pierced the ears of nearly everyone in the club.
In an instant the panic started as everyone began to scramble in all directions to what they hope would be safely.
Getting the feeling she was being watched Irina once again scanned the, now panicking, crowd. She had to admit she didn't expect to lock eyes with a man standing on the other side of the club dressed on a long black trench coat, blue eyes nearly completely covered my the peaky cap sat on his head.
After a few seconds of eye contact she took a step back disappearing into the crowd.
[<_>]
Pulling up to the large house 'Arrow' as it was called, Irina took note of the men standing causally outside. Guards, though not very good ones she would say.
"Ne nuzhno derzhat' mashinu v rabochem sostoyanii, ya chuvstvuyu, chto eto zaymet nekotoroye vremya." She said to the driver as he opened the door for her to exit the vehicle.['No need to keep the car running, I have a feeling this will take awhile.']
As she approached the door one of the men broke from the group stepping in between her and the door.
"Can I help you ma'am?" He asked looking down at her.
"No, I don't think you can." She replied rolling her eyes as he blows smoke in her face. "I have a meeting with a Mr. Shelby." She informed trying her best not to punch the man in the throat.
Looking over to one of the other men a bit away her nods his head in the direction of the door before turning back to her as the other walks inside. The man in front of her stares at her for awhile scanning her body ever once and a while.
"You know if your going to see Mr. Shelby, I'm afraid I'll have to search you for weapons." He smirked at her flicking his finished cigarette away.
"Touch me and it will be the last thing you do." She smirked back at the man already prepared to take him out. Her smile only grew as the man took a step forward.
"Mr. Shelby will see you now." The man from before announced sticking his head outside the door.
"Oh lucky me." She says sarcastically, side stepping the man in front of her, coming shoulder to shoulder with him she stops. "And extremely lucky for you." She states before walking up the steps and entering the home.
"Right this way ma'am." An older women in the other side of the door directed her though a hall that came to a large door way. On the other side was a dining room with a large table occupied by a approximately 13 people.
"Mr. Shelby, your guest has arrived." The woman says gesturing over to you. "Shall I take your coat?" She asked causing you to shrug it off allowing her to take it as she exits.
"Irina," The man sat at the head of the table greeted. "Thank you for coming, please have a seat."
Walking over to the table she approaches the seat Tommy had gestured to next to him. Across from her was a blonde woman who she noticed was in a very large portrait above the fire place, she sat next to a small child, obviously her son.
"Mr. Shelby." She greeted back taking a seat. "I have to say when I saw you at the club this isn't the exact way I pictured we'd meet again."
"No?"
"Well most of my clients don't usually introduce me to their family." She informed. "It's not really a family friends profession."
"Are you a whore?" The blonde woman asked looking at you from across the table.
"No...well, maybe." Irina smirked. "I like most people offer a unique service for a price, everyone is a whore is you think about it, just selling different parts of themselves."
"And what service do you provide?" A ginger haired boy a bit down the table asks.
"Finn."
"No its alright Mr. Shelby," She assured. "Well, Finn to put it simply. I kill people."
"Are you serious?" Finn asked looking around the table with a nervous chuckle.
"Deadly." She smiles. "Which is why I was wondering why Mr. Shelby called me here, its no secret that the Shelby family tends to handle grudges on their own."
"So you've heard of us?" A man sitting next to Finn asked with a smirk.
"I prefer to know who I'm working for." She replied. "I asked around about you 'Tommy Shelby the man who could make an enemy out of god himself', So Mr. Shelby who is it that now even the all powerful Tomas Shelby can kill?" She smiles excitement shining in her eyes.
"I'm afraid you may be quite disappointed," Tommy says looking away from the young girl and over to the woman sitting next to her. "I haven't asked you here to have anyone killed."
Slowly the smile slips from her face as she turns her attention to the head of the table, leaning forward with a glare on her face.
"So you've wasted my time?" She asks staring down the blue eyed man.
"I've called you here to offer you some...information you may find interesting." Tommy corrected.
"If I wanted interesting information, Thomas." She started leaning forward some more. "I would have went to a fucking library."
"Not this information love." The older brunette sitting to he left states.
"I don't know how to say this so I'll just come out with it." Tommy started.
"Please do."
"about sixteen years ago, before I went off to war, I was involved with a woman by the name of Greta Jurossi." He explains. "She died while I was still in France, but before that she had a child. My child."
"Is this what coming out with it means to you?"
"A few months ago, her sister came to me to let me know of the child." Taking a moment to clear his throat Tommy finally 'came out with it.' "That child is you."
All eyes were now on Irina as she looked down at the table cloth in front of her. Tommy took her silence as a sign to continue speaking and began introducing the various members of the Shelby family to the newest member.
Having gone down the table Tommy finishes looking back over to his daughter, after a few moments of silence a small chuckle was heard as her shoulder began to move more and more as her laughter became louder.
"I'm sorry," She apologizes as she looks around to see no one else laughing. "I just find this whole story a bit ridiculous."
"You think we’re lying." The younger brunette with a short hair cut asked seemingly offended.
"Yes...No...well, weather I believe it or not doesn't really matter." Irina said waving her had dismissing the topic. "But you were right Mr. Shelby this wasn't a waste of time after all. Because I have some 'interesting' information for you as well."
reaching down in a small pocket in her skirt pulling out a bullet setting it upright on the table. On the bullet a name, crudely etched into the side.
‘Thomas.’
"I'm sure you are familiar with a name by the name of Sabini?" She asked rhetorically. "Well it seems you have offended him in someway seeing as he contacted me sometime ago with the request that I end your life."
"Imagine my surprise when I not only spot you in London, alone, unprotected, but then you invite me to your home." She laughed in disbelief. "So I guess the question now Mr. Shelby is, Mr. Sabini paid a lot of money to have you killed, How much are you willing to pay to stay alive?"
Warning: descriptions of violence, mentions of infertility
Summary: Chess not checkers. One | Two
You hear the shouts and gasps around you, as stumble backwards attempting to steady yourself as you carried your child in your arms. You feel your child being taken from your arms as you finally loos balance falling to the ground, you place your hand over your midsection. Pulling your hand away. you see the red dripping down your palm.
"Guards! Guards!" Someone called out, looking up to the person standing above you, you lock eyes with Alys Strong.
"How dare you?" Lucerys sneered at the older women as he pulled his sword, before it could touch her neck it was knocked away. pushing Alys behind him Aemond steps up to Luce.
"Someone call for the Maesters!" Rhaenerya called out. "And have this women taken to the dungeons." She said dropping down to attend to the princess bleeding on the ground before her eyes close.
***
You wince once as the needle once again while the maester closes your wound, your hisses of pain are the only thing filling the deafening silence that surrounds you, your husband and the maester.
"I will have milk of the poppy delivered for the pain princess." Mellos informed.
"Thank you maester." You replied with a strained smile.
Collecting his materials, he quietly exit the room leaving you and Aemond alone.
After a few moment of silence Aemond feeling your glare on the side of his face as he attempts to avoid your gaze.
"I couldn't-." Aemond started. "I couldn't imagine what you must be going through right now."
"Did you bring her here?" You asked narrowing you eyes for any sign dishonesty. "Did you bring that woman here, to court?"
"of course not."
"Of course not." You scoffed. "Because its not like you have a history with her, of putting her before your family, and now she has arrived at court to take the lives of me and my children and I'm to believe it's not under your influence."
"How could you ask thi-."
"How could you defend her!" You shouted. "Before you me, before your son! You defended that whore in front of the entire court, now the women who tried to take the lives of our children still lives because you care more to have a place to put your cock then your own sons." You screamed, looking towards the door you see Lucerys accompanied by his family.
"Luce." You whimpered out as he rushed to your side taking a seat on the bed he wraps his arms around your shaking figure. "I was so scared."
***
Aemond departed soon after the arrival of Luce and his family, most of whom also left at your please to make sure that your children were safe.
"What will happen when he takes her for a mistress? What if she tries to harm me? what if she tries to harm my children? I care not for my life, but please don't let anything happen to my children." You pleaded to him as you gripped his shirt.
"I care for you." Luce said firmly leaning closer to you. "And I care for the boys just as much and I won't let anything happen to any of you."
Staring into his eyes its silent between you both before you lean in and attach your lips to his. Reaching your hand out you push your fingers through his dark curls as you pull him closer, without thinking Lucerys runs his hand down your waist causing you to gasp in pain.
"I'm sorry," He says as he attempts to catch his breath. "I should not have."
"Please don't apologize...not for this." You plead bringing your hand down to rest on his cheek. "I often wonder what it would be to have married you, how happy we might be."
Leaning his head down to touch yours Luce closed his eyes and let put a breath. "As do I."
Pulling him closer to you, you press your forehead against him. "I must ask a favor from you." You sighed out. "I know that Alys is being held in the dungeons...and I wish to speak with her."
"I will call for the maesters."
"Luce-."
"No! Clearly you have gone mad." He rebuttals pulling away. "Why on earth would you wish you speak to that woman after all she has done to you?"
"Because I need answers, Luce." You replied. "I need to know why she- I don't know. Why she- and Aemond will not give me answers and I feel like if I don't know I will live in fear and confusion and I can-."
"okay okay okay." Luce relents pulling you into a his arms. "If this is what you need."
Wrapping your arms around him before resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you Luce." a smile creeping onto your face.
***
Walking down to the dungeon on the late hours of the night you cling to Luce as you descend the stair. "Just down there." The guard instructed taking the bag of coins Lucerys offered for his discretion.
Walking along the hall of cells occupied by thieves and the like you come to the very last and see the woman in question sitting on the cold stone floor two cuffs adorned her hands attached to a long chain nailed to the wall.
"We've come to ask questions." Luce states stepping forward. "You will answer them if you know what's good for you."
Alys sat silent on the ground simply glaring at the two royals in front of her. "Why have you come?" You asked quietly clutching onto Luce's arm,. "Was I the only target of your rage? Do you plan to harm my children?" Still nothing was said before she scoffed and turned to face the puddle on the ground that was being fed by a steady drip of water from an unknown location.
Taking a deep breath you squeezed Luce's arm before speaking. "Perhaps, if you were to leave us alone for a few moments." You suggested. "Please Lucerys, it's not as if she could hurt me from in there, if this is the only way she will talk..." You say before he can protest.
"I won't be far." Lucerys said as not only an assurance to you, but as a warning to Alys before turning around and walking back down the hall.
Once Lucerys was far enough away Alys sat and waited for you to speak, she knew this would happen, that if she had failed in her attempt that you would come for her. She took shuddering breaths waiting for what torture you would see fit to subject her to this time, when something pulled her from her thoughts.
No....Nothing pulled her from her thoughts. the dungeon that was filled with the echos of groans, coughs, wails and whines of the captured criminals had all ceased. Glancing up Alys' breath hitched as she stared at the drop of water frozen in mid air.
"You know for all your faults." You spoke. "I thought you were smarter than this."
Snapping her head in your direction she sees that there is no longer a wall of metal bars between you, there is nothing stopping you from killing her.
"Don't worry Alys, I'm not here to hurt you." You assured.
"How can you be sure I won't hurt you?" Alys asked shuffling back, attempting to put on a brave face. lifting her chin and stoning her face. "Again."
"Do you really think if I didn't want you to stab me I would have let it happen?" You smirked at the women as she held a look of shock on her face. "Now your probably asking yourself, 'why would she do this?'," you mocked with a nasally voice.
"In truth I thought I could forgive Aemond for what he did but, the more I thought about it the more I found myself thinking of ways I could kill him without being caught, Training accident, poison, assassination, suffocating him in his sleep, hell most days I thought to just slit his throat and get it over with." You explained. "But then after three long months...you showed up and publicly attack me! and what does my 'loving' and 'loyal' husband do? he defends you." You let out a joyous laugh.
"After all Aemond is a not only a second son of a second wife but he's also what....three....four seventh in line for the throne and before Jacerys produces an heir, he stands to inherit nothing meaning and the only thing he could give my children is their titles and perhaps a bastard brother if that graveyard you call a womb ever proves fruitful, meanwhile the maesters fear I may never bare children again." You said letting a tear escape you eye before the smile returned. "But I will and that child will be Lucerys', it will be seen as a miracle and yet another strife I have overcome despite my unfaithful husband and his bastard witch mistress.
"Lucerys is heir to Driftmark and second in line for the throne, he could be King someday if Jacerys were to meet an unfortunate end, after I have my marriage to Aemond annulled Luce and I will request for the Queen to allow us to marry and he will take my children as his own, Armon could one day sit the throne as Aemon would on Driftmark."
"Why? Why go through all this trouble for a man you have no feelings for?" Alys asked.
"Oh I have a great many feelings for my dear husband." You sneered. "Disgust. Shame. Disappointment, but overall...Fury. How dare he humiliate me? Taking me for a fool? To push me aside for the like of the same blood her claimed to despise so much. A lesson needed to be taught, I made the mistake of excluding him from the first but this is one you two will learn together. You may stay in Kingslanding as is Aemond's right, but you will never know a moment of peace, you will always be looked at as the evil, vile, bastard, whore that attacked the princess with her child in her arms. You will be shunned, hated and looked down on as will any children you produce. Aemond has no claim to the throne in Kingslanding, Dragonstone is reserved for the heir and you no claim to Harrenheilm. No Lord or Lady would welcome you to their lands. You wanted Aemond more than anything as he wanted you and now you both will have nothing and no one besides each other." You explained as Alys stares blankly at a wall as your words pierce her mind with the new reality.
"Plus but just between us girls." You leaned in with a wide grin. "Luce is a far better kisser."
Alys lunged at you as your body glides through the bars, you back against the wall in an attempt to create distance between the two of you, Luce rushed towards to hearing the commotion only to find you cowering against the wall as Alys screamed curses at you.
Wrapping you in his arms Luce made sure to check that she had not harmed you as the guards finally arrived. "Its fine." Luce assured them before glaring at Alys. "Just an animal getting use to her chains." He spat before leading you away and out of the dungeons.
