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4pfsukuna · 5 months

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Prof. Nanami puts his two smartest students together for a research project and you just can’t help teasing him…until he teases back.

Black coded reader, cause black af.mdni.

Tapping my long red french tips on the library table i let out another long sigh irritated with my (not chosen by me) partner.

We had been sitting here in silence a dimly lit corner in the back of the library our only exchange was “hey” so what could he possibly be typing.

“So i was thinking we could do our project on—“ i begin to speak taking my hand out of my leather jacket pocket only to be cut off by the dark eyed assailant.

“No. I’ve already decided” he mutters out not moving his attention from the screen. Resting my chair forward so im no longer leaning i scrunch my nose.

“Theres no way you decided because i didn’t agree” and from the slight view i have of his face i can tell hes rolling his eyes.

This was exactly why i didn’t want to work with him… or anyone. He was quiet, closed off, known as a loner and had these deep dark eyes that felt like he was stairing into the pits of your soul.

“Are you going to do all the work?” I ask with a raised brow before noticing not once has he even looked at me. Pushing even more forward to see what he was typing im unaware of our proximity until i notice the slight red blush covering his cheeks right under the mark on his nose.

Ive completely invaded his space my boobs nearly pouring out of the top of my black crop top and im pressed completely onto his arm.

“Am i making you uncomfortable” i tease and i couldn't help it when you grow up with step brothers like Sukuna and Yuji (our dad wanting to step out of his marriage and explore with an american woman actually explore his kink for black women which in all actuality he had a poor taste in women their mothers who decided it was time for her to live her dreams so she just up and left and mine who shipped me off as soon as she had the birds and bees talk which is all irrelevant since choso is storming out of the library laptop in tow and the last thing i need is to fail this final paper.

Grabbing my oversized purse and slinging it over my shoulder i chase after him and catch him in the hall.

“Wait wait wait” i huff out of breath because these heels were not made for running and he turns around facing me with a bored expression, you wouldn’t even think i offended him.

“Alright that was completely inappropriate and i shouldn’t have joked like that, but i also don’t want to fail or push all the work on you. I want to work on this project together” i breathe out standing infront of him blocking his path but as large as he was compared to me im sure he could step over me if he seen fit.

“What makes you think i want to work with you” he bites out and i let out the arrogant smile that solidified i was Sakunas half sister.

“Do you actually think professor Namami would place the smartest person in the class with a idiot and have them do all the work? Come on now its Nanami he would put his two smartest pupils together to challenge another and write a final paper hes actually happy to read” i say as if its common sense cause it is.

Its NANAMI.

I watch the debate in his eyes as he thinks over what i just said before his shoulders drop in defeat. I grin widely sticking my hand out as a form of truce which he painfully takes.

I force myself to bite back the smirk at his clamy hands knowing it was all my doing and use the grip to yank him closer.

“And i would love if you could send me what you have so far so i can begin doing research” i utter lowly licking my lips watching his glare never falter almost as if he's painfully keeping his eyes avoiding my mouth before bidding him goodbye a devious plan forming in my head.

The next afternoon when we meet in the library i offer sweets from a local bakery as an official truce which i can hardly read his expression at.

“Im sorry now that i think about it you dont seem much of a sweets guy” i feel foolish of course he didnt like sweets— my train of thought is interupted by him picking up a creme filled chocolate pastry.

“Shouldnt judge a book by a cover, every smart person knows that” he quipps quickly and my lips twitch in a smile. Ah so he does bite back.

“Did you call me dumb?” I scoff playfully dropping bait which he quickly takes.

“Does the shoe fit?” He bites back and when i dont respond only send a playful glare i watch as the corners of his lips twitch up feeling proud i could get a smile. “Come on show me your work”

And we spend the next two hours talking theories and sharing ideas conspiring every concept as his long fingers type away my thoughts later to be put into essay format.

Its not long before he lets out a yawn breaking our silence and i look up at him noticing the bags forming under his eyes slowly being covered by his bangs.

He was actually begining to look disheveled. Two signature buns drooping from running his hands through them bangs more full from the pueces of his buns and the bored expression— actually that was very on brand for him.

“Come on let’s wrap up your tired” i say softly twirling a stand off his bangs around my finger and i knew it was when he was too tired to cover his blush he was exhausted.

Yup, still got it.

He swats at my hand sending me a pointed look to which i innocently bat my eyes up at him from the seat next to him.

And thats how it goes for the next few weeks smart remarks met by his even more quick witted remarks sometimes followed by a half smirk, my harmless flirting/ teasing which i may have taken too far the day i rested my palm on his inner thigh and he flew out of his seat claiming he needed to use the bathroom only returning 10 minutes later saying he had to leave.

Or the day he asked me to proof read a page leaning away from his computer so i could take it instead i lean forward hand resting on his shoulder unaware just how close his face was to my—

Both occasions i had to bring apology pastries.

And the more time we spent together the more i learned about Choso. How smart he is, what makes him tick, his favorite foods, what makes him blush the way i thought he was a boob man but ive caught his gaze on my thighs several times and i may purpousely wear shorter skirts on days i know were going to be together.

Today was no exception.

The only thing i hadn’t planned on was the air conditioner being on full blast. Probably my karma from the universe wearing the tiniest of clothes to tease him.

“Oh no were going to have to finish another day its freezing in here” i shiver crossing my arms over another trying to huddle into myself for warmth. The black (extreme) mini skirt with short sleeve white shirt that had bows tying the back together with Sukunas red varsity jacket was such a cute look until he realized i was wearing his jacket and took it . He was now my least favorite brother and yuuji was in the lead, which he typically always was given his competition.

“What?!” Choso nearly begins to foam at the mouth. “Its our last day and were so close to being done we can actually submit it now and im sure we would get an A still” he quickly rambles out dropping our stuff on the table we usually took up. The library was nearly empty so him being loud was no bother at all to anyone probably because most students didnt know where the library was.

“So submit it, I dont do the cold” i shrug ready to grab my bag when he begins taking off his jacket placing it on my shoulders pulling my hair from put under the collar and going to his work.

“Probelm solved, now sit” he bites put and id never seen this side of him but it was kind of a turn on and probably karma rearing her head into me again because through all the teasing i developed a tiny crush on Choso. Like tiny though.

Super tiny.

Extremely tiny.

So tiny i couldnt help but flirt with him every chance i had and notice all his favorite things and Damn did his jacket smell good.

So tiny i knew every detail of the scar on his face and how it swerves slight over the bridge of his nose not just cause it curves but—

Damn his jacket smelled… good wasnt a strong enough word. I was feeling intoxicated from how sensational his jacket smelled.

My crush was so tiny i made sure to bring his favorite pastries every tuesday and thursday because the way he smiled could brighten up my whole day.

My crush was so tiny i wasnt thinking about using my rose tonight to the smell of his jacket and the way he demanded me to sit down.

Imagine hearing that in the be—

Feeling a tight grip on my thigh my head snaps over to him and his eyes give me that bored yet slightly annoyed expression.

“Stop fidgeting, its driving me insane and just let me finish typing the rest of what you wrote” he says like he cant wait to be done and i pout knowing this would be the last time we’d get to spend together. My crush would stay just that.

My eyes trail down noticing his buff arms veins sticking out something id never notice before. Has he always worked out. Going down even further i notice the silver rings spread across his fingers and almost choke.

I was going to need 10 minutes in the bathroom if he didnt move his iron grip. I just had one question.

“Have you ever fingered a girl with all your rings on?” I blurt… and this time it was a genuine mistake. Of all the shit ive said this was the one i completely wish i didnt. I was actually okay with us never speaking again, Sukuna says we should never have shame but i bet he would never do something like that.

Ok yes he would.

“Do you want to be the first?” I hear and nearly fall off the table if it wasnt for his iron grip on my thigh. I thank God for my brown complexion because my cheeks feel hot and I’m lost for words completely. Its when he begins to chuckle that i realize he was just giving me a taste of my own medicine. The weeks of comments and sexual innuendos id thrown at him and couldn’t handle one.

I feel the proud smile grow on my face and unknowingly squeeze my thighs together slightly squirming the idea still playing in my mind.

“What if i said yes” i retort watching as he becomes flustered and that adorable blush comes back to his cheeks.

“Would it make you stop… moving your thighs so much” he struggles his hand moving to my other thigh squeezing and i grin knowing he had a thing for them and he can no longer hold back. His eyes meet mine until i lean forward placing a few soft kisses on his lips.

“Promise”

Ok that was a lie. It was all a lie.

Sitting on his right leg, my back pressed up against his chest and 2 of his fingers buried inside me the squirming absolutely hasn't stopped but it doesn't seem to affect him one bit as he edits the last bits of parts i wrote for our project.

“This is so good sweetheart, how about a third finger?” He ask rhetorically lips brushing against my ear and i'm so close to cumming at Dom!Choso cause whewwwww what a turn on. He curls his two fingers up as if he’s trying to pull the orgasm from inside of me and my legs clench together trying not to make too much of a mess.

He chuckles right against my ear and I'm losing myself at the stimulation, Biting my lip as he uses a third finger on my clit. My vision begins to blur and I feel myself about to cum for a second time.

“Look at you trying so hard to hold back those gorgeous moans after you spent the past month teasing me, fucking with me… mmm so wet” he groans in my ear spreading my lips causing the squelching sound to be louder. His fingers brush a particular spot deep in my core making me fall apart as I bite my lip harder cherry lip gloss mixing with the iron taste of blood.

“I love every little sound you make Why try and hide it from me, would you really deny me?” He kisses up my neck using his other hand to pull my bottom lip from my mouth releasing a string of curses, his fingers never stopping their exploration of my walls.

He did show mercy, slowing down other hand snaking up my shirt cupping a boob until his fingers found my nipple.

“You're so wet for me… just me” he groans his teeth leaving marks down my neck to my shoulder and the idea of him being slightly possessive wanting to mark me so everyone knew i was his? My insides clench and he hums at the feeling.

His fingers pick up the pace once more and I have to close my eyes to hold on to every drop of restraint I have left between the way his fingers are moving expertly inside of me, the contrast of his warm hands to the cold rings on his fingers. I could stay here forever, one hand clutching his bicep the other on his thigh.

“Ch-choso i—mmmmm” i try to get out feeling my hips have a mind of their own grinding down on his fingers needily unaware of how he had me completely wrapped around them. He bites onto my neck and my release follows earning a groan from him as im left panting in his lap. What i dont expect to hear is the wet sound of him licking each of his fingers and the sight has me wet all over again my heart racing.

He chuckles pulling my chin toward him as he places his lips on mine i instantly kiss back gently sucking on his bottom lip earning a groan from him. He doesnt hesitate as his hands rub my thighs gripping and squeezing our tongues dancing together until he slowly pulls away lips and cheeks both red.

“Lets go” i murmur placing another soft kiss on his lips only to receive a confused look.

“Yuji and Sukuna both are going to a party so they wont be back until 7am… i have a free house where i dont have to worry about being quiet”

#choso x black!reader #jjk x black!reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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bluelikebruises · 1 year

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blue bird cries pt.2 || aegon ii targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader summary: months after aegon's drunken outburt, rhaenyra comes with a question that is bound to change your life. <the hearing and dinner scene> wc: 8.7k tw: aegon targaryen, incest (cause yknow targaryen's) reader is aegon's half sister, unhealthy relationship, angst, bittersweet ending, implied smut, a bit unrealistic because i’m delusional, canon divergence, slight ooc helaena, idk how land inheritance works. part one here!

a/n: there was supposed to be two versions of this but i kept re-writing & re-writing, i wrote about four different versions & hated all of them. except this one of course :) isn't proofread because if i stared at my laptop screen any longer my eyes would melt . enjoy. also! finishing some oneshots for tlous & hotd, so stick around for that taglist: @bibli0thecary

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

Two seasons had nearly passed, and though you and Aegon disappeared from each other's lives, Aemond and Helaena had become ever more present in yours. A kinship which you hadn’t accounted for, never imagining you would become close to Helaena. Not after all those years of almost ignoring one another—of feeling guilty for being in love with her husband.

But when one day you were studying in the gardens and she asked to join you, how could you say no? It became a ritual after that, moving from the gardens, to your chambers, to hers, and eventually Aemond’s. You all huddled over your laps, tables, chairs—there was never a surface you found difficult to balance your books upon.

There were times when you would convince both of them to stop studying, Aemond would always argue but Helaena would eagerly agree to whatever you proposed. Aemond outnumbered could do nothing but adhere to you both. Nights were spent eating chocolates, dancing, and gossiping about the Lords and Ladies at court. Helaena at first did not see the fun in gossip but after Aemond let out a curse word her eyes widened and she giggled and joined in. Her gossip included the horrible embroidery and fashion she saw that day, which you could talk about for hours. While Aemonds was a bit more on the politics of those in court, one subject he hated the most was the Lanisters.

“Ser Tyland seems to have taken a liking to you”

You scrunch your face in disgust, “Does he not have a lady wife in Casterly Rock?” you asked already knowing the answer.

Helaena let out a fake gasp, “Oh the treachery”

You laughed, “No Ser Tyland please do not cast your lady wife aside for little me” dramatically you placed your hand on your head for a pleading effect. Helaena laughed, Aemond smiled and let out a chuckle.

Other nights you would practice braiding each other's hair, while Aemond sat in the corner of whatever room you were in reading. Once you had convinced him to let you braid his hair without arguing he agreed, sharpening a dagger as you and Helaena braided away.

You grew to love spending time with Helaena, she always found the most simple things intricate and fascinating. Always timid when someone new arrived at court, always in her own world which now you consider yourself lucky to be able to be a part of. Sometimes you would even look after Helaena’s twins—your nephew and niece, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Though it troubled you to watch them alone, they resembled Aegon more when Helaena wasn’t present. They were living breathing proof of Aegon’s commitment, of his marriage to Helaena. A cruel joke by life, if you were not to love Aegon you would love the pieces of him.

━━☆━━

The night before Rhaenyra’s arrival the three—five counting the twins—of you were in your chambers. You had pushed all the furniture towards the walls and adorned the floor with pillows, furs, and quilts.

Aemond sat upon your fur covered floor with his back pressed against the couch you had not moved. Helaena leaned against him as she embroidered, occasionally glancing up to see the twins. Your head lay leisurely on her lap enjoying the quiet fuss of the children.

Months ago the mere thought of Helaena and everything she stood for was enough to bring you to tears but as you laid your head on her lap none of that seemed to matter. The afflictions of a young girl in love shattered to pieces when presented with sisterhood.

Your bubble of peace burst when your chamber doors opened, Ser Criston stepped in announcing the presence of the Queen and none other than Prince Aegon.

At the mention of his name you freeze, with a heavy heart you refuse to look at him. Your heart filled with regret and guilt at the words you had spat at him. Instead you focus solely on the Queen whose presence still after many years caused you to stiffen. You stood and bowed as your siblings didn’t even blink.

“Mother,” Aemond greeted her.

“Your highness” you politely greeted as she smiled at you. Regardless of how many times she tried to convince you to plainly call her step-mother or simply mother, you always insisted she was Queen before she could ever be your mother. But of course to your siblings she was their mother first, any royal title always came second or even last.

“Good, you're all here,” she spoke. From behind her two servants emerged taking the children with them.

You rose from the floor to sit on the couch, refusing to acknowledge the Prince.

“There will be a hearing on the morrow, Vaemond Velaryon has called into question the validity of Lucerys Velaryon position as heir to Driftmark”

Puzzled, you almost asked what exactly there was to question. But Helaena rested her head on your lap and Aemond placed a hand on your knee which shook you from your thoughts. A move they had done many times before when they did not want you to be upset.

You think of asking regardless of your siblings' strategic move but your eyes betray you, shifting to steal a glance at Aegon. Your thoughts stop as your eyes meet his, heat rises in your throat and for a brief moment you longed for the feel of his hands around you again.

Following his line of sight you find him staring at both Helaena’s head and Aemond’s hand. Touches so insignificant yet they were a display of affection you would never be able to share with him.

The Queen spoke, “I expect you all present,” she directed towards her children, “As always Princess you are more than welcomed to join us” she said to you.

Respectfully you nod, thinking about your sister's homecoming. Her return after six years and she was returning under the most distressing circumstances.

“Good, good” she comments looking over at the three of you. She smiled, and took her leave. As she left the room you assumed Aegon would follow but he stood still as the doors closed. You looked towards Aemond who seemed unfazed by his brother’s presence.

For a moment you allow yourself to set your eyes on Aegon again, a smirk lined his lips. And though you knew he hated you, you couldn’t help but admire him. Taken by his eyes a sorrow hid beneath them, his lips that were always tainted by the wine he sipped, his perfectly disheveled hair that framed his face. In a blink you look away trying your best to portray your annoyance with his presence, because though you regretted your words nothing good would come from looking the least bit remorseful.

You tried to occupy yourself by running your fingers through Helaena’s hair, every strand you stroked felt softer than the last. Feeling Aemond lean towards you, your petting stops looking to see him raising his book to you. He had done this many times, indicating he wanted to share something he read with you. Sometimes they were poems, philosophical passages, or historical facts regardless you always happily read them.

The chance to read the passage was stolen by Aegon’s words, “Perhaps you three should try to not so accusingly look like a harem”

All the beauty that you admired moments earlier had dissipated as you rolled your eyes.

Aemond placed the book down and looked at his brother, “Perhaps you should try to not so accusingly look like you're in need of a bath. Or do you not know how to bathe? In that case simply ask the servants for help”

Helaena giggled as she buried her head into your lap trying her best to stifle her laugh. It was a childish jab and yet you laughed silently covering your mouth with your hand. You could see Aegon’s eyes drop unamused, leaving your chambers without a fuss.

“Do you suppose he’ll go bathe?” you jokingly ask.

━━☆━━

The day of Rhaenyra’s arrival you had tried to round the royal family to meet her, but your search was to no avail; none of them appeared to be on the grounds of the castle. Though truthfully you hadn’t looked for Aegon.

As you waited for Rhaenyra your annoyance with the Hightowers grew. Your siblings, following suit of their mother, did not care for the arrival of their eldest sister. How could the Queen so deliberately ignore your sister's arrival? It was an act of irreverence towards the future Queen that neither you or Rhaenyra would soon forget.

Your annoyance was interrupted by the sound of hooves and the entrance gate rising. Her arrival was met with you standing by the entrance gate alone; your only companions were the King’s Guard stationed outside.

Watching the carriage stop before you caused excitement to bubbled in your stomach, Rhaenyra was finally here. As she stepped out of the carriage, you shared hugs and kisses.

More were shared with her small clan, filled with nephews, niece, and your uncle.

After greetings you tried explaining the lackluster arrival party, but she simply grabbed your hands reassuringly. Your nephews and niece departed to explore the Red Keep and you led Rhaenyra and Daemon to your fathers room.

“‘Tis only been some years and you have grown so beautifully” Rhaenyra said.

“You flatter me sister,” you smile, “But if you think I’ve grown, you should see my dragon” you smile thinking fondly of the winged creature.

Your uncle laughs, “And what is the formidable beast’s name again?”

“Red Wing” you smiled, “But the Dragon Keepers sometimes refer to him as—”

“The Crimson Terror” he finishes. Truthfully your dragon was no terror, he was simply spoiled and moody. But you would never admit that preferring to have everyone believe he was frightening monstrosity.

Still you nodded and there was a pause in the conversation as the three of you turned the hallway. You suppose neither of them knew how to speak to you—or you to them—years of separation had left you feeling like strangers. Perhaps under better circumstances you could have grown to know them once again. You had very few memories with your uncle, but you remember fondly all the times spent with Rhaenyra before she married and had children.

“Have they been kind to you?” she asked.

They in question being the Hightowers, the Queen and the Hand

You nodded, “Her highness has always been gracious towards me, the Hand pays me no mind”

“That cunt” Daemon says. You try your best to hide the laugh that threatened to spill out.

“He’s occupied with the good of the realm” you say sneeringly.

Daemon catches on, “Always so courteous, even when mocking someone” he smiles at you.

“Father says discretion is key”

“Does he?” Rhaenyra asked.

“He used to, after you left”. You had never once brought up her departure even in the short time you corresponded through ravens. Up until your twelve name day it was a sore subject. You had been inconsolable the first year, always being on the verge of tears whenever someone brought up Rhaenyra. Begging your father to allow you to visit her and yet he never did. It wasn’t until years later that you learned why, you suppose it was the milk of the poppy that got it out of him. But regardless he confessed that he feared you would go mad with grief upon your return. A part of you sympathized with his decision, another was filled with anger. Years of separation from your sister simply because of the fears of madness.

“Ah” she acknowledges her departure, “It was with a heavy heart that I left” a frown is on her face.

“I know. I hold no resentment towards you” you smile.

At your words she returns your smile, reaching to grab your hand, “Your presence is longed for in Dragonstone,” she squeezes, “You do remember that it is to be yours once I am Queen. It would do you good for you to familiarize yourself with it”

The thought of visiting Dragonstone sounded exciting, considering how you used to sob for it. And the only time you had left King’s Landing was for Laena Velaryon’s funeral, which wasn’t the fondest memory.

“Are you suggesting a visit?” you ask excitedly.

She smiled—a full smile, “More of a permanent residency”

Oh, her words caught you by surprise, you never imagined or thought of leaving the Red Keep. You knew Dragonstone was to be yours one day, but never gave a second thought to the reality that you would in fact one day reside there. You assumed Rhaenyra would become Queen and you would simply stay in the Red Keep, for what business did you have in Dragonstone? A whole sea away from your father and siblings.

“A generous offer but—”

She interrupted, “Give it some thought”

On the arrival to the King’s quarters you excused yourself, kissing them both goodbye. Retreating to your chambers you thought of perhaps looking for your siblings but you knew you would not find them, Aemond and Helaena resembled ghosts in that way. Moving through walls without a sound and only showing themselves when they wanted to be seen.

In your chambers you thought of your Rhaenyra’s offer, of how drastically your life would change if you accepted. Of the distance that would keep you from your siblings, you had just grown close to Helaena how would you be able to leave her? Or Aemond who you had a soft spot ever since you were children.

You wish you could say Aegon was not a part of your decision making, but thoughts of him crept into your head—for a brief moment you wished to stay solely to be able to lay your eyes on him. Even if his eyes stared back filled with hate and disdain.

Thoughts of your father began to flood your mind. How devastating it would be were he to die and neither of his eldest daughters were by his side.

His voice rang in your head, remembering one of his many lectures. Where he would boast of the Targaryen legacy and the weight of the crown.

“You have a duty to the Realm, a duty to your house”

What is duty if not serving the ones you love? And your love for family cut deeply, a love so sharp no sword in the Seven Kingdom could compare. You knew regardless of your decision you were going to bleed.

“A Targaryen must always reside in Dragonstone”

━━☆━━

The night was spent thinking, you had all but made up your mind as you entered the Great Hall.

The hearing was to start in a matter of moments, you walked greeting the Lord’s and Ladies of court. Who were here for no other reason than for a show, to watch your family momentarily stumble or if they got lucky, fall and become ordinary like the rest of them.

In a matter of moments you stood at the front of the hall next to your sister and uncle, your nephews and niece standing behind you.

“Let us get this over with” Daemon huffed in annoyance.

Standing next to Rhaenyra you spoke in hushed voices, she was insistent this was a ruse. By stripping Lucerys’ claim as heir to Driftmark they were questioning the legitimacy of her own claim. She was sure Vaemond and the Hand had aligned themselves and created this plan. And though you tried hard to pay attention to her words, the only thing you could think about was whether you had made the right choice or not. Selfish thoughts on a day that was detrimental to your sister and your house.

Though you were deep into the conversation with Rhaenyra the arrival of your siblings had not gone unnoticed by you. Thoughts of uncertainness were briefly paused as the same annoyance from yesterday crawled up your skin. You spotted Aegon trailing behind Aemond and Helaena.

You wanted to walk over and question why they had not been present upon Rhaenyra’s arrival.

But couldn’t talk to them in good conscience knowing you were teetering with the possibility of leaving. And a hearing that called into question the legitimacy of your nephew was no place to inform them.

Besides there was a part of you that knew why none of the Hightowers had shown up. The rivalry between Alicent and Rhaenyra was one that had grown roots and solidified itself over the years. A rivalry you knew was encouraged by Otto and had been passed down to their children and because you were neither of their children you did not participate in their hostility and aversion.

When a silence washed over the throne room you braced yourself for what was to come. The thick doors of the hall opened revealing Vaemond and his banner men. Vaemond walked into the Great Hall with an aura of unbotheredness and ease, almost as if he knew he would come out victorious.

When he began his petition you watched your sister and uncle, both of their brows pressed tightly on their faces. Jace and Lucerys stood behind them, little Lucerys doing his best to keep his head held high. The longer you looked at them, the easier the decision seemed.

You wish you could say you were attentively listening to the concession before you but you would be lying. Your attention was stolen by Aegon, who did nothing but stand besides Aemond looking bored, tired, and unimpressed. You stared at the intricacies that were the features on his face wondering what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all.

As your eyes raked over him his eyes stared back, in a blink your eyes were at the front of the room. Refusing to meet his gaze pretending you were not just gawking at him during one of the most important meetings of your sister's life.

To make sure neither your gaze or thoughts slipped towards Aegon you slid next to Lucerys. Who you were sure was nervous about the current proceeding, alleviating some of his nervousness would do you both some good.

Just as Rhaenyra began her petition the doors of the throne room opened, guards announced the arrival of your father.

Any thoughts you had before were pushed to the side as your benevolent father who by some miracle or sheer will made his way into the room. In slow strides he approached the Iron Throne.His arrival had taken the room by surprise but no one looked more surprised than Vaemond, who looked between Otto and the approaching King.

The King had some trouble walking up to the throne, dismissing the guards who tried to help him and as your uncle helped him up the petition continued. At the wishes of Rhaenys the King reaffirmed Lucerys claim as heir to Driftmark. You smiled at your nephew reaching for his hand and squeezing it reassuringly.

Vaemond of course was displeased and didn’t bother hiding it, his words were filled with venom and hatred. Daemon was staring daggers at the man, fire burned in his veins, you were sure of it. Then you caught his eyes landing on Rhaenyra, they glanced at one another in a blink she gave him a small nod. If you did not know her as well as you do, you would have thought nothing of it. Was it a nod of approval? of permission? Of agreement? There was no time to wonder as Vaemond angrily spun and pointed at Lucerys.

”That is no true Velaryon”

You moved in front of Luce, shielding him from Vaemond.

“And certainly no nephew of mine”

Rhaenyra ordered the boys return to their chambers but neither of them moved.

“You have said enough” she directed at Vaemond.

“Lucerys is my true born grandson, and you no more then the second son of Driftmark”

“You may run your house as you see fit but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides” he turned towards Lucerys but when his eyes did not land on him he looked at you. His eyes bore into yours as you refused to stand down, refused to give him access to view your nephew.

“And gods be damned I will not see it ended on the account of this—“

There was a pause in not just his words but the room as well. Then the words boomed out of Vaemond’s mouth. Bastards, a whore. Your eyes widened, the room was stunned. Lucerys hand became an anchor, for if not you would have pounced on Vaemond and tore him to bits.

“I will have your tongue”

Then in one swift movement Daemon was behind Vaemond, his sword in his hand. In a blink you saw red and half of the man's head on the floor.

Finally able to pull your eyes away from the corpse you made sure your nephews and niece were okay. They looked shocked, a bit shaken but good nonetheless. Your eyes made their way to the other side of the room where your siblings stood. Helaena looked frightened, Aemond intrigued his eye following Daemon, Aegon looked shocked, his eyes on the body then for a second time during the hearing caught yours.

“He can keep his tongue” Daemon wiped the blood off Dark Sister, quickly guards surrounded him.

“No need” he nonchalantly wiped the blood of Dark Sister returning to Rhaenyra’s side.

You had heard stories of your uncle’s rash behavior from your father before, but hearing about it and witnessing were different things.

━━☆━━

Dinner came in the short hours after the sun had set. Candles and torches lit the dining room, light chatter was being swapped by all as everyone anticipated the arrival of the King.

You stood with your nephews and their soon to be brides, chatting about how their travels had fared them, how life was in Dragonstone and King’s Landing, and how they wished they could see you more.

Though you had enjoyed your life in the Red Keep you missed your nephews. Their little faces and big eyes, all but nearly convinced you to take permanent residency in Dragonstone.

Looking forward you spot Rhaenyra in her seat, she looked rigid and uncomfortable looking straight ahead. Coincidentally the Queen was seated in the same manner, they both looked awkward and stiff. You knew words went unsaid between them, how could they not since the last time they saw one another was the night Aemond lost his eye and the Queen cut Rhaenyra.

The doors of the hall opened, guards stepped in carrying your father on top of his chair. Everyone stood with their hands clasped in respect for the King.

As everyone sat the tension in the hall could be cut with a butcher's knife. You wished to sit beside Rhaenyra but knew you couldn’t due to her husband. It seemed every couple in the room was sitting side by side. The only exception to this couplet seating arrangement were you and Aemond. You had assumed you would be sitting next to one another since neither of you were wed, but there was no chair beside Aemond. The last empty chair sat right in front of your father, of all seats in between Jace and Aegon.

Rasp coated your fathers voice as he spoke, “How good it is,” he inhaled, “to see you all tonight, together” he looked at everyone around the table. You smiled as his eye landed on yours. His sight of the table ended as he longfully stared at Rhaenyra. Who held his gaze until the Queen looked at her, her eyes shifted to the intricate spread that was on the table before her.

“Prayer before we begin?” asked the Queen. Leaning into her your father agreed

You had grown accustomed to the overcompensation of the Queen ever since the night of the incident. To lessen the rumors that she was mad she began to worship The Seven, heavily. Their symbols began to become increasingly prevalent all throughout the Red Keep. You simply went along with it considering your father did not care, perhaps due to his old age. But if it didn’t bother him, it didn’t bother you.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena,” your nephews and their bride smiled gleefully, “Further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes . . . and their betrothed”

You lifted your cup smiling at the couples.

“Hear, Hear!” your uncle Daemon says.

Placing your cup on the table Aegon leaned towards you, your body tensed at his closeness. Unsure of what to expect, you didn’t move. So when he acted as if you weren’t there and pestered Jace you nearly pushed him away.

Nearly, pushing Aegon would require your hand to touch his chest. An act so miniscule, that wouldn’t mean anything to most, a shove, a push, it was an ordinary action. Yet touching him felt like an illicit affair.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman”

You roll your eyes at his words thinking about how unbelievable he was. Baela looked at Aegon disapprovingly, as if to ask him what his nerve was. Quite aggressively Jace set his wine cup down, ready to retaliate but your father spoke.

A toast was called in honor of Lucerys, forgetting about Aegon’s crude words you picked your cup enthusiastically towards Luce.

Watching your nephew you thought if he could accept his role as heir to Driftmark at his young age, surely you could accept your own fate.

Your thoughts of your fate were cut short as again Aegon leaned over, you swallowed every fiber in your body telling you to push him away. Inciting violence was not what you wanted to do on this night. You looked around the table to see if anyone noticed, no one batted an eye except Aemond.

“You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that”

Aegon never did know when his jokes were in bad taste. Always poking and prodding until he got an explosive reaction from the other person.

“Let it be cousin”

“You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed and my aunt”

You smiled at Jace’s act of protection, the gentleman that he was.

“Hm. Your aunt” Aegon said as if contemplating the concept of the word.

You shot him a glare annoyed at his stupidity and his little verbal stunt, “Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your dinner little brother”, you forced a polite smile. His eyes looked up at yours before he turned his attention to his cup of wine.

Your father’s cane hit the floor, and you saw him struggling to stand, his breaths heavy and strained.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table, the faces most dear to me in all the world . . . yet grown so distant from each other in years past” he looked down trying to remove his mask, struggling. A look of unease painted the Queen’s face as if bugs were crawling up her skin. The mask dropped onto the table with a ‘clunk’.

You had only once seen him without the mask once, the night you had sat at his bedside reading. You thought he could not hear you, but as you mispronounced a word he laughed. Asking if you had always pronounced it that way, sheepishly you admit you had. He laughed in a way you hadn’t heard in years. In all his movement the mask slid down his face onto the bed, barely holding onto his face. He asked you to not be frightened by his appearance, you told him you never would.

Free of the mask he turned to look towards Rhaenyra’s side of the room; they all started silently. If they were alarmed or frightened they didn’t show. Turning to your step mother’s side you saw Aegon’s head dip, not daring to look at your father, you almost laughed. Helaena kept her eyes on her fingers, Aemond stared eagerly; he always was captivated by the macabre.

“My own face . . . is no longer a handsome one . . . if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king but your father, your brother” he turned towards Daemon, “Your husband . . . and your grandsire. Who may not it seems walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all, so dearly”, he sat back down practically falling onto his seat.

The room stilled until Rhaenyra stood with her cup raised.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen” she looked towards her, “I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife” she paused, “She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that she has my gratitude and my apology”

Her words took you by surprise, it had been years since the Queen and Princess spoke to one another, least of all kindly.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow” she stood, “I raise my cup to you and to your house” and as if the words were hard to say she paused, “You will make a fine Queen”

Happily surprised you smiled at Rhaenyra, you hoped their cups were a step in the right direction, perhaps a hopeful future lay in front of them.

“To the Queen and the Princess” you raised your cup drinking from it as did everyone. Aegon practically downed his cup, then he glanced over to you, you pretended not to notice. Even when he stood and walked in between Jace and Baela, Aemond’s eye followed him.

With every brief look at Aemond or Helaena, you wondered when it was best to tell them about the decision that laid at your feet. To involve them in your decision would alleviate your guilt, but it would also mean they would try to convince you to stay.

Your thought came to a sudden stop as Jace stood slamming his fist against the table. You hadn’t heard what Aegon had said but you knew it was unrefined. When Jace cleared his throat Aemond stood, the table quieted, all eyes looking at them both.

Inhaling Jace grabbed his cup, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen eachother in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles”

“To you as well,” Aegon said annoyed, sinking back into his seat.

Turning to Jace you laugh, “Nicely done” you made sure to say it loud enough that Aegon would hear you.

Then Helaena stood, it seemed everyone was raising their cups tonight. Aegon sat forward with his hands clasped as his head rested on them, clearly embarrassed by Helaena. Gods if you could strangle him you would.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you” Aegon vexed, didn’t bothering to look at her, “except sometimes when he’s drunk”

You heard the laugh of your uncle clear as day, which caused you to laugh.

“Let us have some music”

Jace stood asking Helaena to dance, she looked up to Jace who had his hand out then to you almost as if asking if she should. You smiled in response then she smiled and took Jace’s hand.

As Helaena stood you caught Aegon rolling his eyes, his jaw tightening as if upset.

His own upsetness almost made you roll your eyes. The hypocrisy of Aegon to claim all Helaena was good for was bearing his children and yet be upset by a simple dance.

Feeling brave and in the mood to serve Aegon a taste of his own medicine you tease him, “Come now little brother cheer up, ‘tis not like you would ever dance with your lady-wife”

He didn’t look at you, his eyes looked everywhere but you.

“Yes but she is mine. Perhaps you’ve forgotten with the whispering you three get up too” he sipped from his cup as he looked at Aemond.

“Jealous little brother? That we have stolen our sister from you” he didn’t respond. You smiled leaning back into the wooden chair.

His lack of response solidified that you had gotten under his skin.

Your fathers painful moans echoed through the hall, guards quickly came and took him away, Out of respect for the King you stood along with Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“Please, sit” the Queen begged.

You didn’t listen as you saw Lucerys from the corner of your eye snickering. Following his eyesight you saw Aemond with a roasted pig in front of him, immediately you understood.

Aemond slammed his fist against the table as he stood, Jace and Helaena stopped their dance.

“Aemond”, you shook your head. He looked at you but his stubbornness never allowed him to listen.

“Final tribute” his cup raised everyone's eyes on him, “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise,” he paused and you could feel it, his next words would be no good, “Strong”

“Aemond,” the Queen pleaded.

The room had gone momentarily still.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three . . .” enthusiastically Aegon raised his cup in the air, “Strong boys”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace threatened.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment”

Angrily they both approached each other. You almost laughed thinking about how you did not want to cause a scene during dinner and there Aemond was; causing a scene. In a blink Jace hit Aemond square in the jaw, beside you Lucerys rose, Aegon followed towards him they were both out for blood. Immediately you follow Aegon, seeing him grab Lucerys and throw him against the table towering over him.

“Aegon that is enough!” you heard the Queen say.

You grabbed Aegon pulling him off your nephew, digging your nails into his skin.

“Don’t touch him,” you snapped. You stood in front of Lucery's protectively as Aegon retreated with a smirk and his hands held up.

“Looks like the princess has come to your rescue. Again, first Vaemond and now I” he snickered, “Is the princess going to hold your hand again? Can’t fight your own battles, nephew?”

“Pay him no mind Lucerys, he’s a drunk and now it appears also a coward”

His hands came first and you almost think there will be a repetition of what occurred in his chambers. But instead his hand grabs your face, his index and thumb squishing your lips together as his fingers pressed against your cheek. His hands were made of an iron grip, you could feel his middle finger under your chin.

“Watch your tongue, sister,” he warned. His eyes filled with a different rage than you remember, grief was woven into his anger. His lips stained red from the wine, gods did you want to taste it.

“Perhaps you should release the princess, lest you do not care to keep your hands”, Daemon said, looming behind you. Aegon kept his eyes on you, they quickly trailed to your lips as his hand dropped. With a final look he turned and retreated to the opposite side of the room.

Baela and Rhaena stood ready to lunge at Aegon, luckily for him two guards held them back. Lucerys moved towards his brother both ready to fight their uncle’s, guards also restrained them

Checking on both your nieces you hadn’t heard what Aemond had begun to say.

“Though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs” he stalked towards Jace who had freed himself from the guards' grasp and stalked towards Aemond.

“Wait, wait!” called Daemon, stepping in front of a charging Jace. With no other option Jace retreated back.

“Go to your quarters. All of you, now”, Rhaenyra commanded before looking at you, “Pack your belongings we leave at sunrise” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. The decision had been made for you and you understood why, there was too much animosity between your opposing families. Rhaenyra would no longer allow you to be caught in the center, you had been in the Red Keep without her for far too long.

You nodded and with a heavy heart retreated to your chambers, unable to meet anyone's gaze. The walk to your chambers was sullen and with your head hung low you pushed open your doors.

Afraid of the sadness that would engulf you at the thoughts of leaving both Aemond and Helaena you began to pack quickly. Tossing clothing onto your bed, emptying drawers by shaking them, piling your favorite books by your feet.

The hour was quite late when you had finally gotten about half of your items packed. A sigh left your lips looking at the pile you still needed to sort through.

But before you could even begin the doors to your chambers burst open. Rushing in was Aemond and Helaena both looking angry and distraught.

“You’re leaving?” Helaena spoke first looking at the mess of dresses, riding outfits, books and trinkets that laid on your bed.

“What is the meaning of this?” he looked at you, “You planned to leave? And with no intention of telling us?”

“I was—I was. But then dinner turned into—I wasn’t even sure whether my departure was permanent or not” you alluded and his eye momentarily looked to the floor, “I just forgot”

“How long have you known?” Aemond asked.

You take a breath, “Rhaenyra proposed the thought on the morning of her arrival” you say twiddling with your fingers

He scoffs, his mouth agape in disbelief, “Since when has she cared about your position as heir? When was the last time you received ravens from her? Or gifts for your name day? She abandoned and forgot all about you”

“Aemond,’tis my duty as heir of Dragonstone” you try to reason, not wanting them to be upset with you.

He shakes his head, ��No, I will not stand for this”

Helaena neared, your name gently falling from her mouth as she took your hands. She smiled at you, “If you want Aegon, have him. Please just stay”

Your once beating heart stopped, your blood ran cold, shocked, your eyes widened at her words. Never once did you dare think anyone least of all Helaena knew of your transgressions with Aegon. How foolish of you to think Helaena was blind to it all. To your sudden cold shoulder and avoidance of Aegon. Of course she knew, still you wonder if she knew of the kiss—of the love confession—of Aegon’s hands wrapped around your throat.

“You think I have not noticed the longing looks that wash over your faces. He's my oldest brother I will always love him, but as a husband I hold no love for him”

There was no time to process her words because as if on cue the doors to your chambers opened, revealing Aegon. A laugh almost escaped your lips, surely the gods were playing a gag on you.

His eyes raked through your chambers searching for answers, “So it is true then, you are to leave?” he asked

“Yes” you simply say

“So our eldest sister can just show up and pluck you from us”

Us. Since when was there an us?

“She is not plucking me” you retorted defensively.

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “She has convinced you to leave under the guise of heritage”

“A heritage that is also yours”

“Hardly”

Your eyes shifted but their’s never did, all eyes were on you and it made you want to crawl into a hole and never return. Desperation, hurt, and betrayal painted their faces.Unable to handle it you plead, “This is my duty. Why can’t any of you see that, we all have a duty, this is mine”

“You think your duty is to live in that desolate hellscape?” Aegon snapped.

“That desolate hellscape is our ancestral home and I have been chosen to maintain the tradition, it was bound to be one of us”

He scoffs, “She’s using you and you are too blind to see it. You’re nothing but a pawn in her game. A means to an end”

Your eyes narrow ready to unleash another berate of words at him, but Aemond cuts in.

“He’s right”

For a third time in the night your eyes widen. Disbelief at the word that came from Aemond’s mouth. Aemond who would roll his eyes whenever Aegon entered a room, who never took anything he said seriously and who certainly never agreed with him.

“Rhaenyra only beacons you to Dragonstone to show strength in her claim as heir”

“There is strength in the claim it is the King’s proclamation”

Aegon rolled his eyes and Aemond huffed turning away from you. Your eyes caught Helaena’s, she looked worriedly at you.

“Do you believe I am a means to an end?”

“There is a reason for everything” she plainly stated

You were not blind to politics, you knew how her invitation would look to all those who whispered about Rhaenyra in the halls. It would appear to be a strategic ploy since having you by her side showed that you supported her right to rule. You didn’t ponder if there was any truth in the thought. You had thought about it all night before the hearing but a part of you desperately wanted to believe the invitation was genuine, that Rhaenyra had your best interest in mind. That she was not just beckoning you because it would benefit her.

To hear your siblings so openly agreeing that they thought you were being used both angered and saddened you. They had never been kind to Rhaenyra, never gave her a second thought yet they stood in your chambers declaring she was using you for her own means.

“Out. All of you” they didn’t move, “Get out!”

Helaena was the first to react, she visibly recoiled at your shout, her eyebrows raised as she looked at Aemond who looked at you once more before leading Helaena out.

Aegon followed but instead of exiting he closed the doors, turning towards you, “I have left you alone to gallivant with our brother and my wife and yet you still punish me”

“My departure is not your punishment, there is no punishment”

“And still you injure me” he enunciates every word, his hands pointing inward at himself.

You sigh, like his drunken stupor Aegon was no better sober–no more understanding or thoughtful.

“Injure you?” you laugh, “You wrapped your hands around my throat, you cut off my breathing and yet you speak of injury”

Guilt washed over you knowing you were in no position to chastise him, but his belief that his hurt out weighed yours angered you.

His eyes shifted to the rings on his fingers twiddling them,“T’was a regretful incident”, his eyes slowly came back to yours. There was glint in them, regret perhaps the facing of a truth he was denying.

You don’t respond, continuing to sort through your items. A moment passed before either of you spoke.

“Are you to leave and never return? Is this the last night I will lay my eyes on you?”

“Of course not, I’ll return for Rhaenyra’s coronation, for name day celebrations, festivities, hearings”

His eyes harden, “And who’s to live with you in Dragonstone after our sister and her clan return to King's Landing?”

You freeze, his question had caught you by surprise, you hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

“Will you reside alone with nothing but servants to keep you company?” He takes a step towards you standing on the opposite side of your bed.

“Alone or not I will be fulfilling my duty”

He laughs, “You speak of duty yet if you truly cared about your self-proclaimed duty you would be wed by now”

Your patience was running thin and emotions high, “And who am I supposed to wed Aegon? Some Lord who sees me as an opportunity to be close to the crown. Marriage may mean nothing to you but I will wed someone I love”

His head drops towards the floor before it raises again, “Did you not confess to me in my chambers?”

You scoff, “I confessed because your hands were around my throat, because I could not breathe”

“You have never been a good liar”

Of course you knew that, but to stand before Aegon and confess your love again would add to your betrayal and how could you do that to Helaena again when she knew. Your treachery would stop at allowing Aegon’s lips to fall on yours, you would not make the same mistake twice.

“If you are to continue pestering me–I ask that you leave”

He didn’t respond and you didn’t bother looking up, continuing packing your trinkets.

“Did you mean it?”

You look up, taken aback unsure if you had correctly heard him. His eyes stared back at yours searching for answers, they looked almost pleading, pathetic in a divine way.

Opening your mouth to speak felt near impossible while he looked at you, “Aegon . . . “ you pleaded rather roughly.

“I want to hear it from you,” he paused.

“Was once not enough? Must I rip my heart out and show it to you? We are not children anymore this game you are playing has to stop”

“This is not a game to me”

“You treat it as such”, he walks around the bed stepping towards you. His messy hair framed his face like it always did, loose strands falling over his left eye.

When he was close enough that you could reach towards him you thought he would stop but he did not. He kept walking in slow strides, you nearly trip over your own books stepping backwards.

You should have ran, placed some distance between Aegon but you couldn’t move, stuck in a trance that was Aegon’s eyes. A trance that was momentarily broken as your back hit the cold stone wall.

“Don’t go”, his eyes are imploring, so close you could feel his breath on your lips when he spoke. You wanted nothing more than for him to leave, to make your departure easy because the longer he stood before you the faster the self restraint you had held for months began to slip.

His hand came to your face, a finger gently traced your cheek. You turn from him defensively refusing to let him win, to let him see how desperately you longed for his touch.

“Look at me” his fingers came under your chin attempting to move your head. But you protested lifting your head away from his grasp. Again he repeated his action and again you moved pushing his fingers away, moving frantically trying to get away from his touch.

“Look at me,” there’s a sternness in his voice you had never heard before. His eyes were filled with fire, his grip like steel and you are left with no choice but to face him.

With his free hand he brushed hair that had fallen on your face during your struggle. Your eyes locked with his, looking at him felt like being lit by a thousand suns–by the fire that lived within the dragons. With every passing second your resolve was deteriorating, and you did not want to know what would happen when it did.

“Do not leave” he gently brought his second hand to hold your face only this time you didn’t fight him.

The Aegon before you was vastly different then the one you had seen the past couple months. There were no snarky remarks or annoyed looks, there were only distressed words and pleading touches.

“I must”, it was a sullen response.

He shakes his head, “No you do not. Stay”, he's begging.

In return you shake your head.

His hands squeezed your face, “I’ll stay true to Helaena, I will not disturb you” there was a frantic urgency in his voice.

You laugh, “We both know that’s not true”

Perhaps under different circumstances Aegon could change, perhaps if he respected his marriage things would have been different. But there was no changing the man he had grown into.

You place your hands on his in an effort to pull them off but he did not yield. A part of you was glad his touch did not leave, basking in the warmth you would not feel again. There was a pull in your chest the same one you had felt the night of his drunken stupor. You tried to push it down, to swallow it whole but it was far too overwhelming.

He said your name softly, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. And as his body pressed against yours–you were again teetering dangerously close to falling under his trance. Time seemed to stop as both of you inhaled each other's breaths. Aegon’s head slowly comes closer to yours, his lips a word away.

He paused and all you could think about was how close he was. How far apart the two of you had been up until this moment.

There's a hot slash in your chest and you know immediately what it meant, your string of self restraint was cut. And there was no point in trying to regain hold of it, for it would slip right through your fingers. Any trace of respect and honor for the sanctities of marriage or yourself were gone. You could feel the vines of guilt beginning to climb your body but before they could wrap themselves around, you acted. If you were to scarcely see Aegon for the rest of your life you would take advantage of your last night in the Red Keep.

Pushing every thought and feeling down you press your lips to Aegon’s. He’s taken aback you know because he does not react right away. But quickly he returns your actions without hesitation or pause. His lips moved with yours they tasted of; fruits, meats, and of your failure to stay away.

You should not want this–want him. Not after his actions in the dining hall, not after he so easily strangled you. But as his hands left your face and began to roam over your body you did not care about his previous arrogant behavior.

When your lips parted Aegon wasted no time in tangling his hands in the lace of your dress, his fingers working expertly. His eyes bore down on you, the sadness behind them was gone, replaced with a hunger you had never seen. It should have made you feel small or weak, like a sheep who has been caught in the mouth of a wolf.

But you felt neither small nor weak, not as your fingers found themselves under his shirt. Your cold limbs pressed against his hot skin. You were two hungry dragons waiting to draw blood to sink their teeth into flesh and fill the hungering ache in the pit of your stomachs.

As your lips met again desperately your teeth and tongues clashed. A battle of hands and lips took place, a tugging of lace, cotton, and skin.

While Aegon’s fingers traced down your back and his lips nipped at your skin you paid no mind to the regret that would eat you alive tomorrow. The shame that would haunt you every time you close your eyes as the image of Helaena was conjured up by your mind. Your little sisters pleading eyes as she handed her husband over to you on a silver platter all so you would stay.

Tomorrow you will not be able to face Helaena, tomorrow you will sneak off before she’s able to say goodbye.

#targaryen reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen/reader #aegon ii fic #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen x reader fic

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morganwrites12672 · 1 year

Note

Steve harrington x Henderson!reader where they tell dustin that theyre dating at skull rock and dustins like "OMG WHEN YALL GET MARRIED IM GONNA BE STEVES BROTHER AAAAA"

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: Dustin is more then happy when he realizes you're dating Steve.

Warnings/Tags: Steve x reader (dating), Dustin x reader (siblings),

A/N: I changed it ever so slightly.

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Dustin looked between you and steve before walking towards you two. It was a Friday night and he had just finished up D&D.

He sees you and Steve whispering about something and gets suspicious. He thought you two hates each other.

He approaches with a smile and wave, which is reciprocated by you and Steve.

"Dustin, we need to tell you something." Why did you say 'we'? Dustin couldn't think of a logical explanation.

"We are dating," Steve finished. Dustin's jaw almost hit the pavement.

He realized what that meant, "WHEN YOU TWO GET MARRIED I WILL BE STEVE'S BROTHER!?!" he screamed in excitement

"Married?" You and Steve both choked out at the same time. You had only been dating for a few months. Marriage had been joked about, but never discussed.

"Can you name your first kid after me?" He asked next.

"Dustin-," Steve attempted to cut in but was interrupted.

"Can I be your best man?" He asks steve. You and Steve gave up. There was no getting the idea out of Dustin's head.

"We haven't even been dating for a year, Dusty," you mention and he scoffs.

"Is that a yes or a no on naming the first kid after me?" He asks again.

Dustin then goes through the five stages of grief when he realizes something.

"You have kissed my sister. You have probably slept with my sister. How could you Steve?" Dustin half yelled the last sentence.

"The only way I will accept an apology is if the first baby's name is Dustin junior," Dustin states like it's the most logical thing ever.

"Fine," Steve says. He was just glad Dustin wasn't mad. He would hate to upset the kid. Who was now technically a teenager.

"Yes," Dustin says with excitement before climbing into your car.

"It could of been worse,"

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requests are open! Reblogs and feedback are always appreciated

#steve harrington angst #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic rec #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x fem

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yourghostwrotethis · 6 months

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Fic Recs #4

Hello and welcome back to the fourth instalment of my fic rec posts! Check out #1 here, #2 here, and #3 here. All of these can also be found in my #fic rec tag!

This post (well, these fics) are brought to you thanks to the work of the wondrous mods over at @aziraphales-library! Check them out if you haven’t already, and give them a big thank you :)

Please do recommend stuff to me! (See at the end for what I like, and of course, I wouldn’t rec these if I hadn’t liked them, so they’re also an indicator of my tastes!)

This post has four long fics and two short fics, with varying tropes and styles!

The Ghost of Husbands Past (E)

by A_N_D (@madenthusiasms)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it!

But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner.

Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either.

Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas.

It’s a time of hope, love, and family.

It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

Words: 94042 (Complete)

If you like fics that don’t hesitate before punching you in the gut, this is one of them. From the very first chapter, one is intrigued by the mystery of the whole story, and the events are so unpredictable that I can guarantee you’re in for an eventful ride.

Talk about the weather (M)

by nightbloomingcereus (@moondawntreader)

Television meteorologist Aziraphale Fell and Youtube storm chaser A. J. Crowley have nothing in common aside from a purely professional interest in the weather and a mutually beneficial arrangement to lend a hand when needed. So what if they bicker and flirt more than your typical professional acquaintances, or if their arrangement inevitably veers into more personal territory? It's not as if they're in love or anything. Absolutely not.

Words: 81582 (Complete)

I binged this fic in one evening and it was wonderful. It’s very fluffy, and the whole thing feels like it falls into place naturally. The banter is wonderful, and I’d associate this fic with the word “happy” because that’s what I felt when I was reading it. It’s so nice, and I love human AUs and social media ones - this is a great mix of the two!

The Plantom Menace (G)

by theinkwell33 (@splitting-infinities)

There is an urban legend well known in this area regarding The Plant Man. Footage exists, blurry and ill-lit, of the trespassing fiend, but it never provides a good look at his face. He exists only as a rumor; a giggled whisper in someone’s ear at the pub, an inside joke at uni, and a viral sensation. None of these things mean he is not real. That being said, the only person who can corroborate the truth about the Plant Man is the man himself. And unfortunately, Anthony J. Crowley has no idea that it’s him.

Words: 3608 (Complete)

Short, sweet, and hilariously funny, this fic is a lovely outsider POV one shot featuring mundane events in the ineffable pair’s lives. I’d already read this a long time ago and it cracked me up as much now as it did back then. Filled with funny meta jokes and real humour, this is golden.

An Educator’s Guide to Latin and Lobsters (G)

by theinkwell33 (tagged above)

Aziraphale's been saddled with chaperone duty on a school field trip to the aquarium, even though he's a Latin professor who knows absolutely nothing about fish. One would think it'd be his downfall, but it turns out the only one it slays is one Anthony Crowley, marine biologist and harried aquarium employee.

Words: 3729 (Complete)

Another short story by the same author, with a delightfully harried Mr. Fell and just-socially-awkward-enough Crowley. If you know nothing about fish, like mermaids, or want to read a short and sweet meeting fic, this is for you (no one needs to know which).

Across the Line (T)

by hope_in_the_dark (@hope-inthedark)

Ezra is a student in his final year at University College London, and he’s in love with a man he’s never spoken to. For months, Ezra has been tipping (and pining after) a musician named Crowley every time he sees him. He thinks that Crowley hasn’t noticed him, but Crowley has. A love story that begins with, of all things, the saving and handing over of a book. (Written for the Good Omens Mini Bang. Multi-chapter human AU - updates every week until completion!)

Words: 31006 (Complete)

This story is just… fluff. Pure fluff. Tooth-rotting fluff. No conflicts. It’s great! It’s a very cute story featuring a beautiful tale of falling in love, but with some stuff that makes it extra special. It feels real, in a way, unlike many of the stories told in fan fiction (this isn’t a problem, just a statement of fact), and there are small things that make it mean the world to me. Gender non-conforming Crowley, neurodivergent Aziraphale, plus some extra bonus tropes, AND it’s ace… this is sweet and lovely :)

And to finish off this list…

Thieves of Mercy (T)

by Fyre (@amuseoffyre)

The Serpent has a reputation in the art world. A master thief who can wriggle into the tightest spots and extract the most well-protected paintings from the richest people in the world. He’s never even come close to being caught. Except just now. For a crime he didn’t commit. In a museum where he was scoping out his next job. Crowley’s not one to be petty but he’s not about to let anyone frame him, even if the person in question seems to be nothing more than an innocent, wide-eyed art restorer who works in the museum… _________________________________

When Good Omens meets art thievery and heist shenanigans

Words: 64168 (Complete)

HEIST FIC! HEIST FIC!

This story is seriously amazing, and I love it to bits. It has art history, found family, snarky jokes, mistaken identity, and everything that comes with the pair being (thick as) thieves! I could rant about this for ages. Don’t test me. (Or please do.) It’s just amazing and unexpected and a nice breath of fresh air after reading so many tropes! (And I like those! But after staying cosy in bed for the whole day, you do have to let some fresh air in, and that’s exactly what this is!) There are twists and turns and plot turnarounds that will leave you dumbfounded, and things don’t necessarily turn out how you’d expect.

This also reminds me of wasteland, baby which I previously recced - it has the same basic atmosphere, but a very different structure!

Please recommend fics! I’ll admit I haven’t had time to read many in a few months, but here are my tastes:

I am a VERY BIG FAN of AUs (usually human ones). Give me them!! Coffee shop, fake relationships, social media, soulmates, anything! Of course I like other stuff - and I do have some particular soft spots, notably for the Bentley - so please do recommend anything that you liked, it doesn’t matter whether it’s short and complete, or long and ongoing, or any combination! I’m always on the lookout for recommendations of any sort, so I’ll take most anything (and if you have a doubt, rec it anyway!)

You can also check out my Good Omens bookmarks here on AO3 :)

#Me #fic rec #fic #fr4 #it’s complete this time!

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thelightsandtheroses · 1 year

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Call It What You Want: Chapter 2 - let me put my lips to something

Pairing: Frankie Morales x female reader (she’s Tom Davis’ half-sister, however there are no physical descriptions)

Summary: Tom Davis’ younger half-sister never expected to move back to Florida, but eight months after her brother’s untimely death and in the wake of her, in hindsight, ill-advised marriage ending, here she is. Frankie Morales is trying to get it together after his relapse on returning to Florida led to the breakdown of his relationship. His priorities now are finding his own place so he doesn’t need to sleep on Pope’s couch, maintaining sobriety, spending more time with his daughter and getting his pilot’s licence back. So when the two of them end up sharing an apartment, it seems like the ideal solution. However, things are never that simple, are they?

Chapter Warnings: Minors DNI (18+ only), language, discussions of drug abuse and addiction, allusions to a previously abusive relationship (not detailed or specified), discussions of death, PTSD.

Notes – thanks for your patience with this one. The chapter title is from Eat Your Young by Hozier.

Word Count: 4.8 k

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Frankie

Frankie curls his hands around the paper cup, his feet tapping the floor. He’s been thinking about flying again.

It’s been more than nine months since he flew last and he’s not even sure if he should count Colombia. If the helicopter crashes and everything turns to shit, are those miles you want to log?

If he’d just been firmer, if he’d realised Tom was lost in dollar bills and they were all heading the same way. He was the one who’d been to flight school, he knew the weight was a problem.

He could have stopped it.

He could have been slower to the trigger; he could have done it all differently.

No.

No, this was spiralling. This isn’t healthy. Frankie straightens in his chair, takes a deep breath.

If he was more like Will, he’d probably know exactly what number NA meeting this was now. Whatever number it is, it’s too many.

The meeting finally draws to a close. Finally!

Frankie is not sharing today. He has, in the past, but it’s been carefully selected. Frankie offers a creative reimagining of his relapse that removes all criminal liability from the events of the past year, to protect the people he has left. Besides, how would he even start to explain what had happened to anyone who wasn’t there?

It’s frustrating sometimes. He hears people share about terrible childhoods and difficult upbringings and all these things that somehow don’t legitimatise addiction but explain it.

Frankie Morales grew up with loving, if a little stifling, parents and no deep dark childhood trauma. He supposes the army is where it all started to change.

What a fucking cliche.

Maybe you can never really come back from who they make you. He thinks of Will’s paid speeches, of the way he just owns the fact they’ve been trained to manipulate, assess, take your emotions out of the equation. They don’t die though; they just get locked away and weigh heavier and heavier.

Frankie understands how the meetings help him overall, why they’re important but sometimes they don’t work. Sometimes all they do is make him feel like he shouldn’t be there, or they pull his weaknesses out in front of him like teeth with pliers. It’s bloody, painful, unnecessary. Every one of his ghosts will sit in the room with him on those days, silently judging.

Frankie takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and tries to pay attention to the rest of the meeting.

Frankie pushes Gaby on the swing further, waving at Santiago as he approaches.

The meeting this morning was rough, but Frankie’s already feeling better. He has his daughter with him gleefully smiling and laughing in the playground. He has one of his best friends back, things are starting to look up. He’s making it through this.

Santiago walks over, slaps his hand on Frankie’s back. “Oh, I see how it is,” he jokes, casting his eye around the playground which is filled with the usual crowd of mothers and possibly nannies. Like Frankie can tell the difference. “Hey princesa,” he adds, smiling at Gabby who beams up at him.

“She chose the park,“ Frankie says.

Santi smirks before asking, ”How’s the apartment working out?”

“It’s good. Glad to have my own bed again, fuck I’m too old to crash on sofas.”

“Tell me about it. Are you getting on okay with Tom’s sister?”

“She has a name.”

“Hey, I like her! Look, Frankie, Molly says she asked questions about what went down with Tom, before she moved out of there so just - be aware of that, okay?”

Rain and storms and too much fucking weight on the helicopter flash through Frankie’s mind. He shouldn’t have listened to Tom; he should have been assertive. That’s always been his problem though, that’s what his dad says, he goes along with the crowd. At school, in the army, with Santi and Tom?

Frankie digs his hands into his pockets. “She hasn’t mentioned shi - anything about it to me, barely mentions Tom actually. I get the sense they weren’t close.”

“Sounds about right. You ever hear Tom talk about her?” Santi scoffs. “Families.”

Frankie looks at his daughter. He thinks of Melissa, how they prioritise Gaby. It hurts, the life he could have had with them and the ideas that died with his relationship. They’re still close to friends though, they look after Gaby. Frankie let both of them down but neither of them have given up on him.

He thinks about what Santi’s just said. Tom barely ever mentioned his sister, barely ever seemed to even talk to you. It’s weird.

He pushes Gabby on the swing, listens to her happy squeals.

“Can we grab a coffee?” Santi asks, “I’m fu - freaking exhausted.”

“Sure,” Frankie says. He seems to remember the bookstore and coffee shop you work in is a short walk from the park and without thinking about why, he suggests that particular coffee shop rather than the Starbucks down the road. It’s better to support small businesses anyway, right?

It’s different watching you to work to seeing how you are at home. You’re wearing a loose black t-shirt, with a band logo Frankie vaguely recognises but can’t quite place.

When you see the three of them, you smile widely. Frankie’s introduced Gabby to you once when Melissa dropped her off at the apartment. Frankie thinks that she wanted to just verify the apartment was as she hoped, and that she could see Frankie was making the right moves.

He’s trying.

The day after that visit she had texted Frankie to say he could have Gabby overnight there next week if he wanted. He’d spent the rest of his shift beaming and wouldn’t tell anyone why.

You smile at Frankie and Santiago when they walk up to the counter.

Frankie lifts Gabby out of her stroller, balances her on his hip so she can see the counter. Her tiny hands clutch around Frankie’s shoulder and she reaches for Frankie’s cheek.

“Hey guys, and good morning, Gabby,” you say as Gabby giggles and then buries herself in Frankie’s shoulder.

“How’s the bookstore and coffee world?” Santi asks, that wry smile Frankie recognises all too well on his face. His voice is honeyed, his whole face has lit up in a way that Frankie’s watched so many girls fall into blushing giggles over. Frankie’s never quite been able to do that; it’s not that he’s necessarily had issues attracting women, and God that feels arrogant to think, it’s more that of his group of friends, well it’s hard to compete with them sometimes.

“Same as ever,” you say breezily, “Where’d you end up then, the park or the zoo?”

“Gabby chose the park.”

“Atta girl. So, what can I get you?”

“An Americano and then another Americano with one extra shot of coffee, right Frankie, and a-” Santi looks over at Gabby and then Frankie expectantly.

“She’s not even two, Santi, she’s not drinking coffee.”

“Hey, I’ve seen how much coffee you drink, I’m surprised that’s not genetically built into her.“

Frankie laughs, but his hairs stand up on his neck. He’s thought about it a lot already - what if his daughter inherits his addictive personality, how can he do that to her.

“Babycino?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie, “I’m guessing she’s too young for hot chocolate?“

“Yeah, yeah, that would be great, thanks.”

“No problem, give me two minutes.”

You turn away and start making the drinks as Santi reaches for Gabby’s hand, smiling at her widely.

“You settling in okay?” Santi asks you as Frankie tries to distract Gabby from the cakes in the display.

“Yeah, things have been good,” you say cheerfully, handing the first coffee to Frankie. “I’m taking it you’re the extra shot, Frankie?”

Frankie nods.

“How much do I owe you?” Frankie asks, placing his cup down so he can reach for his wallet cautiously as Gaby squeezes around his neck. He doesn’t want to disturb her too much, doesn’t want to show how awkward this position is for him.

“It’s fine.”

“No, no, I can -” He can’t take advantage of his roommate like this.

“Eh, roommate and friend discount,” you say casually, handing Santiago his takeaway cup of coffee and Frankie a small cup of steamed milk for Gabby; this must be the babycino, Frankie thinks.

“What about her?” Santiago asks, pointing at Gabby who grins widely from Frankie’s arms.

“Oh, like I could charge her anything,” you reply, smiling back at Gabby and then meeting Frankie’s eyes. “You’ve got a special kid there, Frankie.”

“Don’t I know it,” he replies, kissing Gabby’s forehead. “Say thank you for your - I can’t call this a babycino, seriously. Drink, can you say thank you for your drink, honey?”

His daughter giggles and says her version of thank you. Frankie watches how it makes you smile, how he’s noticed when you it’s genuine, you scrunch your nose.

“We’ve got some new books in that she might enjoy,” you say, “If you want to get any of them, let me know and I can use my staff discount.”

“You’re not offering me a book discount?” Santiago asks.

“I just gave you a free coffee! You can afford to pay full price so I can keep my job. Gabby is too young to have an income.”

“That’s not fair,“ Santiago says.

“Life isn’t,” you say lightly, winking at Frankie and then moving on the next customer.

There’s something about you. It draws him in, makes him want to ask more, know more about you. You seem so light around him, Benny and the others and Frankie knows there’s more to you than that. He can see it.

That’s the thing - you can always see it in others, those matching scars and insecurities. It’s a honing beacon, it’s as visible in a stranger’s eyes sometimes as if you are wearing the same football team shirts. We’re the same, it says.

You’re not though. He knows who he is. Frankie is failure and disappointment and regret, all handily tied together in faded t-shirts and too long hair.

Frankie is why your brother is dead.

Frankie is why the mission failed. Santi needed a pilot, one who would stand up and see if the helicopter was too heavy and not back down, who wouldn’t shoot first.

He can be your friend though, surely?

Santi doesn’t say anything to Frankie until the three of them have left the shop, Gabby clutching a brand new book in her stroller while Frankie pushes her with one hand and drinks coffee with the other.

“You’re in trouble, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Frankie asks, suddenly panicked.

“You like her.”

“I live with her, Pope, it helps to like her.”

“Nah, you know what I mean.” Santi stops and touches Frankie’s arm. “Be careful, hermano, please.”

You

Work has been quieter than usual. You spend your days, idly rearranging book displays and experimenting with the coffee grind and tamping, try and perfect your latte art. Making a good cup of coffee is an art; you must get the grind right, then tamp it with just enough pressure. Steaming milk’s the same; it needs to be the right quality, the right amount of air let in, the right swirling vacuum as the process goes on.

You like the routine now. You like talking to customers and reminding yourself of why you loved books in the first place. Academia taught you a lot, skills you use every day and you’re proud of but overanalysing texts sometimes can make you forget why you loved books in the first place. And yes, perhaps you wish more people were actually buying books in the store, but you’re spending your day surrounded by things you love and that’s a luxury.

And oh, you used to love reading. It was the escape from your parents arguing, from a childhood where you felt like an only lonely child because Tom was older and resented you and didn’t want a sister. At least that’s what you’d assumed over the years.

This new life you’re building in Florida; a new job, new and old friends? It feels right, comfortable even.

So, you don’t even notice when Ella starts trying to set you up with the coffee guy.

And when he asks you out one day, you’re so surprised that he would ask you out, that you find yourself saying yes without even thinking about it.

On paper, he’s everything you would look for surely. He’s passionate about coffee, he’s mentioned books he’s reading idly in conversation, he has a good smile and amazing biceps. So, why not say yes? This is part of building your new life, right?

That’s how you find yourself now, walking back into your apartment after what can only be described as an utter disaster, or at least a complete disappointment.

If this is what dating makes you feel like after a divorce, you don’t want any of it. Your anxiety has run rampant over the last few hours, along with a deepening and worrying sense that the problem is you.

You’re the one who hadn’t felt the connection after all. You’re the one who held back, who just couldn’t bring up the right feelings like a defective clock.

“Hey,” Frankie says, looking up from the sofa as you walk in. You hadn’t anticipated this - you remembered Benny saying that him and Frankie were hanging out tonight which is why you thought you could get away with just sneaking in and had even scheduled this date for tonight. Crap. This makes it even more humiliating.

“How was Benny?” you ask mildly, shrugging your jacket off and hanging it up.

“Yeah, it was uh-” Frankie pauses, “it was good. He’s training for Friday’s fight, are you coming to that?”

“Yeah, think so.” You walk over closer to the sofa.

Frankie’s staring at you. “Oh god, do I - I look stupid, don’t I?” You self-consciously pull the edge of your dress down, wishing that you’d worn something else instead.

“Not at all,” he says, voice low.

“Thanks,” you say as you walk into the kitchen, “drink?”

“Please. So, how’d it go?” Frankie asks. “I take it you didn’t get dressed up like that just to go hang out with your friends.”

“Hey, I could have.”

Frankie holds his hands up. “No judgement here, sweetheart.”

“It was a date,” you confess finally, “I don’t know. It’s weird. I haven’t had to do small talk for years, I don’t know if I like it.”

“I get that.”

It’s easy with your friends; Danny has known you for a long time, Ella is Ella, Benny and Will just get you and there’s no pressure with either of them, you haven’t known Santiago as well but he’s always consistent. As for Frankie, living with him has been surprisingly easy. He’s calm and even and kind - you like living with him now. It feels more natural than living with your ex-husband ever did.

It strikes you that now you count all four of your brother’s former team as your friends - they were your brother’s first, but now, now you wonder if they might be a little bit yours too.

“So other than the small talk, how’d it go?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, “Hey, how long were you and Melissa together again? I kind of remember her vaguely from Tom’s birthdays and barbecues when I was here.” You hope Frankie will take your oh so subtle subject change without argument.

“Five and a half years. What about you?”

“Me and Melissa?” you joke, causing him to roll his eyes dramatically.

“Ha-ha, you know what I mean. I seem to remember he was always around - it was a long time, right?”

“Ten years, married for nine of them.”

“What?” Frankie looks at you almost in surprise. “That’s longer than I thought.”

You shrug and take a sip of your drink. “My date sucked,” you say after a moment.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I think there might be something wrong with me?”

“What did that asshole say? What was his name again? Want me to go beat him up?” Frankie asks, a crooked smile on his lips that really shouldn’t be so attractive.

“He didn’t do anything, Frankie, it’s me. I - I should have felt something, right, I mean he was literally gorgeous, right? I should have wanted him.”

When Frankie doesn’t reply, you glare at him and jab his shoulder until he shrugs.

“What are you saying?”

“That I should have wanted to rip his clothes off, but I didn’t though.” This is humiliating. “I mean, shouldn’t there have been butterflies, or even just good old-fashioned lust, or something? Right, there should have been something there? I just felt like we were going through the motions. There was no - I didn’t feel any chemistry.”

Frankie doesn’t reply for a moment and you take the time to really look at him instead. Sometimes when you look at Frankie, you wonder how he’s still single because he’s a good-looking man. In the time you’ve lived the apartment, he’s never been on a date. He hangs out with Santiago, Benny and Will and he does go out to other places, but you’ve never seen him go on a date or bring anyone back. Thankfully. You’re not entirely sure how you would feel about that.

“Look, maybe he just wasn’t your type,” Frankie says after a moment. “You’re being hard on yourself.”

“He was into coffee and he had perfect arms. We liked the same bands. How the hell was he not my type? What is my type but that?”

“Everyone likes Fleetwood Mac.”

“No, they don’t.”

“It was the wrong guy, that’s all. You’ve been single for a while and is this your first date since the break-up, right?”

You nod. “I couldn’t really date at Molly’s and I thought I should wait a while anyway.”

“Exactly so maybe you’ve just got to, I don’t know, see what works, let things flow a bit? When you know, you know. Did you even like him before the date?“

You think about it for a moment and shrug. Ella had encouraged you and if you were honest, you’d just wanted to prove that you were over Nate, over the trauma of that marriage, that this was the new you. Maybe Frankie’s on to something. You should have fancied the guy, but you hadn’t.

Reassurance flushes through your body. You’re not broken, you’re not.

“I don’t think I did fancy him. I thought I should, but no.”

“Yeah, so it would be a shit date. Next time, date a guy you really like, or something. Oh man, look I am really bad at this sort of talk.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Can we pretend I am?” he asks, nudging your arm as you both laugh. “Can we pretend so we never have to discuss this again because I am so out of many comfort zones right now.”

“It’s practice for when Gabby dates.”

“No, because that’s not happening. I’m going to do the whole cliched, polishing my gun on a porch thing, and she’s not gonna date until she’s at least thirty. Plus, if you think I could be intimidating, you should see Mel. Like, no-one has a chance in hell.”

“Uh-huh, sure, Frankie.”

“Dammit.”

You laugh and Frankie shakes his head. ”Hey, I’ve got an episode of our show saved if you want to watch it?”

“Absolutely.”

He presses buttons on the TV remote, sets up the streaming platform and you lean back against the sofa, exhale and finally feel relaxed.

Frankie has an arm over the side of the sofa you’re sitting and before he presses play, he looks over at you.

“I’m glad we did this,” he says, “that we got this apartment. I like living here.”

You feel it then, the slight tightness in your stomach, the unsettled butterflies flitting around.

Oh.

This is going to be a disaster.

After your realisation about Frankie, everything feels different. It’s like the world has just shifted slightly off axis but only you know. Frankie is thankfully oblivious and so the next morning, things continue in the steady routine you’ve both formed.

You drop the milk back from your spoon into your cereal bowl as you notice Frankie join you in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“My hero,” you reply, pushing your empty mug towards him for a refill.

He laughs. It’s almost self-deprecating; the way he looks away when you compliment him.

You notice the way his T-shirt rises as he grabs a mug from the top cabinet, you notice the line of hair on his stomach right down to the grey sweatpants he’s wearing.

You can’t do this. You quickly try and remind yourself of all of his annoying habits; he never remembers to leave the toilet seat down, he smokes which is a horrible habit.

He hands you a cup of coffee, made just how you like it. He is not helping you at all.

“Are you working today?”

“Yep, hopefully people will actually come in and want to buy some books today. I had like three people yesterday who asked for recommendations, so I spent time with them, I curated a list.”

“Curated?”

“I curated, Frankie, I curated a perfect list. You know what they did?”

Frankie winces. “I have a nasty feeling.”

“They said they’d order online, Frankie, online!”

“Heathens, monsters, the lot of them.”

“I thought academia was evil when I was in grad school, but this is just sick.”

“So, what happens with that?” Frankie asks, “Weren’t you partway through when you left?”

“I was,” you sigh, looking away from Frankie and taking a large gulp of your coffee. “It’s difficult. I burned a few bridges by leaving like I did, without notice and in the middle of the semester. I mean I was TAing and - I can reapply here, try and find a suitable supervisor, but I don’t know. If I’m honest, I have no idea what to do right now, I like where I’m working at the moment. I’m not even sure who I was doing the PHD for by the time I left. I love literature, but I don’t know if I was still in love with it when I left - am I even making sense, Frankie?”

Frankie nods. “Perfect sense.” For a moment he looks haunted. You get the sense that there are a thousand things in his mind at that mind, swirling behind those deep brown eyes. He looks haunted sometimes, there’s more to him then you know. It doesn’t surprise you because you remember seeing the same thing in Tom over the years.

He checks his phone and curses. “Sorry, hon, I gotta go to work, see you later?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

You watch him make his way to the bathroom. Oh, you’re screwed.

Apart from the quiet hum of traffic in the distance, all you can hear is the evening birdsong and the start of crickets chirping. You’re sitting on the small balcony of your apartment, a half-drunk glass of wine on the table next to your book.

In New York, there was always so much noise, so much activity. When you moved there it felt overwhelming at first, then comforting somehow.

You prefer this though.

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Frankie behind you, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Hey, you mind?” He indicates to the empty metal chair opposite you and you shake your head.

He sighs loudly as he exhales, stretches his legs out.

“Long day?”

“The longest,” he says, “Work was flat out and oh- I need this weekend.”

“Hey, some of us have to still work tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, an apologetic smile on his face as he scrunches up his shoulders. He’s wearing a beaten old t-shirt with a faded logo you can’t quite make out and grey sweats. Frankie removes his hat for a moment, revealing unruly curls that he sweeps back before replacing his hat.

“What’s the story with the hat?” you ask, your curiosity finally getting the best of you.

“Why’s there gotta be a story?”

“There’s always a story, like -” you pull at the familiar necklace around your neck. “This was a graduation present from my Mom and I wear it every day.”

“Cute. I don’t know. I guess I got used to wearing a hat after I joined the army. You have the buzz cut and it gets cold, and then I don’t know - I guess it just feels like me now.”

“I get that.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s cute. I mean, your hair is cute without it -”

“You think my hair’s cute?” Frankie looks up at you, his expression almost childlike with wonder but all you can think is how you’ve definitely ruined everything now.

You stand up and immediately grab your wine glass before moving back inside to the safety of the kitchen.

You down the wine and rest both your hands against the edge of the counter, try and take deep breaths.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

“Hey, hey,” Frankie says from behind you. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything, I should say sorry.”

“Why the hell would you say sorry?”

“I don’t make things awkward.”

“’S not awkward,” Frankie says in a low voice, gently turning you around to face him. “We’re good, right?”

You nod tentatively.

“So you think my hair’s cute, huh?” he teases.

You shake your head and look down, mumbling his name as you place your hand on his shoulder. You notice Frankie’s hand is still on your waist.

“Don’t tease me,” you say.

“I’m not teasing,” Frankie murmurs, “I’m surprised.”

“Why? You’re a good-looking guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t quite sound like he believes it.

“You are.”

He leans in closer to you, his other hand framing your waist now. “You’re beautiful, you know? And smart. I’ve gotta wonder what the hell would you want with me?”

“Frankie,” you say gently, running your hands down in his arms in an effort to reassure him. Is this happening? Is this actually happening?

You can feel the butterflies, feel that warmth of desire and want in your body. You haven’t felt this in years, hadn’t remembered how intoxicating it was to long for someone. Frankie was right, when you know, you know.

Without thinking, you close your eyes and lean in.

“Mmm, this - this is a bad idea, right?” he asks, lips dangerously close to your neck.

“The worst,” you mumble.

He smells like sandalwood shower gel, there’s a hint of tobacco on his clothes and the sharp smell of mint trying to cut through as he moves, his lips just inches from your own.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Nope.”

“It’ll make things complicated.” His fingers lightly trace your collarbone to your shoulder and he leans in closer. You swear you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m used to complicated,” you say gently before you meet his lips.

It’s bold, for you, you never initiate, never make the first move normally. It’s only he’s there and you need him.

It’s been months since you were last kissed.

He gently pushes you against the counter, lifts you so you’re sitting on it while never breaking the kiss, deepening it as you open your mouths.

He tastes like hope and promises and new beginnings.

You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting him closer.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck to your throat.

“You’re - oh, fuck,” you groan.

“Yeah?” his voice is teasing, lighter than you’ve heard it since you’ve moved in.

“What do we do now?”

Frankie smiles at you, his smile lighter than you’ve ever seen it. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

“I can think of some things.”

“Oh yeah?” He kisses you again, skims his hands down your arm and moves even closer against you. He’s so warm, so solid against you. “Well, we better get started, huh?”

#frankie morales x female reader #Frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #frankie morales #*call it what you want

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heeverseblog · 1 year

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this time- bonus chapter pt. 2

synopsis: today is jake’s birthday and you wanted to bring him and your family to a place for all of you. what you didn’t plan is that a new member of the family will be welcomed.

pairing: husband!jake x wife!reader

genre: established relationship, marriage, family, pure fluff

GOT MOTIVATED TO WRITE IT AFTER SEEING JAKE KISS THAT DOG ON THEIR FANSIGN CUZ IT’S SO CUTE!

-----read below-----

your alarm rang and you woke up to turn it off. jake groaned at the sound and you slowly hugged him from behind.

“happy birthday, baby,” you gave him a light kisses on his shoulder.

jake smiles with his eyes still closed. then he turns around before caging you in his arms.

“baby, i have to make breakfast.”

“sleep in for a while,” jake says with his groggy voice.

“no.” jake says, before hugging you like he’s a baby.

“sim jaeyun.”

jake chuckles but doesn’t budge.

“jake, come on.” you whine and jake finally lets you go. you kissed his head before telling him to sleep some more.

you cooked bacon-pancakes and made another stack of pancakes for his special breakfast. for jake, you’ll be making him a special one by putting it whipped cream and strawberries then drizzle it with chocolate syrup.

“mom, need some help?” aera calls you from the living room.

“could you wake your siblings for me, sweetie?” you say as you finish cooking the scrambled eggs.

“okay, mom.”

“and don’t let your brother and sister barge in to your dad!” you follow-up when aera starts going upstairs.

“can’t promise that!”

and just like aera said, you heard them screaming and running to jake’s room, waking him to greet happy birthday.

“kids, let’s have breakfast now. we’re going out today!”

you call from the stairs. jake was walking down the stairs with haeun on his back while hajoon and aera were walking together.

“daddy, daddy, where are we going?”

“i have no idea, princess. looks like your mom is going to surprise us.”

“if the four of you will sit down then i’ll tell you.”

the kids [including jake acting like one] immediately ran to their seats.

when you brought out the pancakes with a candle, you all sang jake a happy birthday before he blows out the candles. jake asks for a kiss on his cheek and you gave him one.

your and your family enjoyed breakfast. jake especially. he knew your adventure time inside joke but he really liked how you prepared him pancakes. he each gave your kids a bite and the twins immediately became hyper.

jake carries hajoon and does this superman thing to him which he likes. haeun wanted one too so she got it. and aera, as much as she was embarrassed, jake immediately carried her and she enjoyed it.

mornings weren’t quiet in your home but you didn’t mind it at the least.

“alright, everybody. come on let’s wash up so you can get dressed.”

your kids followed your orders ran up to the stairs and you were going to follow when jake hugs you from behind.

“does the birthday boy need something?”

jake kisses your cheek, “thank you.”

“your birthday’s not done yet,” you lightly pat jake's arms on your waist, “come on, we have friends waiting for us.”

“are the jay and sunghoon coming? yujin and gaeul?”

“no and no. you’ll see.”

you wanted to drive today because your family didn’t have a clue where you’ll be going. while you were driving, all the kids were talking about is how you’ll be taking them to a carnival but aera tells them that jake isn’t into those. then maybe you’re taking them to a boat ride but you gave them a hint that it’s not even close.

your ride became an hour and a half. jake kept asking if you wanted to switch seats but you kept telling him that you were close to your destination. even though the ride lasted for two hours.

“we’re here!”

the kids looked at the window in awe. you turn to jake aho also had the same expression that you held in your laugh.

“oh my god!”

“we’re going to see dogs!”

“mommy, mommy, let’s go!”

“alright, alright. we’re coming to get you.”

you and jake carried each of the twins. jake helps aera get down by holding her hand.

jake had a dog once. he missed having one but couldn’t adopt due to parenting duties. so the closest thing you can give it to him is by visiting a place full of dogs.

“woooow!”

haeun lets a golden retriever dog sniff her hand before letting her pat its head. hajoon and aera were petting a dalmatian dog.

jake finds a dog that seems to be a collie. you went to him and he was baby-talking the dog.

“hi, girl! what’s your name?” jake says as he rubs the dog’s back. he looks at the dog’s tag and reads the name, “layla.”

“hey, layla. aren’t you a good girl? who’s a good girl?”

you couldn’t help but smile at your husband’s cuteness. you took out your phone and took a picture without him knowing. suddenly a golden retriever goes under your arm and you flinched before having it lie down on the floor as you scratch its belly.

you went to your kids at the small dogs. there were shih tzus, maltese, and pomeranians. you went to their direction and the dogs jumped on your legs and you giggled.

“mommy, can we get a dog?” haeun gives you her puppy eyes, something she got from jake.

“sweetie, we’ve talked about that. dogs are big responsibilities. it’s like being a mommy.”

“but i want to be a good mommy like you.”

“what am i missing?” jake walks over to you with layla following him from behind.

“daddy, can we get a dog?”

“haeun, your mom is right. taking care of dogs…it’s like taking care of kids. you need to raise them, feed them, play with them, and always be there for them.”

“like you and mommy?”

“that’s right, angel.”

“but…don’t you want to have a dog?”

“i already have you, your sister, and your brother. i'm happy taking care of you.”

“and mommy?”

jake looks at you, “and mommy,” and that gaze just melted your heart. you broke your gaze when layla got in between you and jake sniffing.

“this one is a kisser,” you say while giggling. jake rubs layla’s head and asks the kids to pet her.

as you were watching your family, this scene before you was exactly what you envisioned your family would be.

you asked the staff to take a picture with the dogs and with layla by the middle. when you saw the picture, you laughed, thinking how layla blends well with your family.

“you know, she seems like a good member of our family.” jake jokes but you know deep down that jake wanted to have a dog. you remember him having a dog when you were in high school. of course, it was because the whole school buzzed about it.

“jake, do you really want a dog?”

“baby, it’s fine. i have you and the kids,” he holds your cheek, “couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“i know but, i just can’t help but think that—"

“y/n,” jake rubs your shoulders, “i’m happy with my family. we can talk about having a dog next time. hm?”

you nod, “okay.”

then jake grabs a toy and he tells layla to sit before he throws it and says, “fetch!”

layla walks to the toy and she gives it to jake.

“good girl!”

jake rubs layla’s head and tells the kids that dogs also like being scratched at the belly. the four of them were laughing and enjoying themselves. all you could do was stare at your beautiful family and then you took another picture.

you got out of the bathroom and saw the twins sleeping at jake’s shoulder. jake was typing at his phone, probably talking to jay and sunghoon. aera was petting layla and you couldn’t help but notice how she shares her love with dogs like jake.

minutes later, layla was walking towards you and she was wagging her tail. she sat down beside you and leans her head on your leg.

“hey there, girl.” you pat her head and she closes her eyes, feeling relaxed from your touch.

“i can see you make my family happy.” you look at jake playing with your kids, “my husband, especially.”

jake was peacefully sleeping. dreaming, actually. it was the day you got married and the day you kissed as a married couple.

but what he didn’t remember was getting…licked?

“y/n, wait.” jake says, groaning as he can feel fur on his fingers.

wait, fur?

“what the—”

“morning, sleepyhead.”

only then did jake realize that a furry, four-legged animal was sitting on his bed.

“layla?” jake says and he swears he can see the dog’s eyes flutter and shine when he called her name.

“what are you…” jake scratches layla’s head and you couldn’t help but melt at the sight.

“what are you doing here, huh, girl?” jake giggles as layla licks his face.

“i adopted her.”

jake’s face grew wide, “what?”

“she’s ours.”

“ours?” this time, jake’s voice became softer and like a kid asking for assurance.

“but are you sure? what about the kids?”

“come on, they love layla. and I know you do too.” you say as you scratch layla’s head then sticks her tongue out and lays her head on your leg.

“and i want you to be happy.”

you look back at jake as he touches your face, “i love you, you know that?”

“but you’re going to have to help me in bathing the dog.”

jake chuckles, “yes, ma’am.”

you give him a peck then layla jumps out of the bed and you hear your kids call her name.

“see, they love her—jake!”

jake grabs you by your waist and lays you flat on the bed. he leans closer to your face and your breath stops. you’ve been in a relationship for two years, married for four years and jake can still take your breath away.

“are you happy?”

“of course, i am. i have three wonderful children playing with a cute dog downstairs that my lovely,” jake leans closer, “beautiful wife adopted to be part of our beautiful family.”

and with that, jake gives you a kiss and you pull him by his nape to deepen it.

“mommy, daddy, layla pooped on the couch!”

haeun screams from downstairs and you pull away from your kiss.

“you’re so cleaning that up.”

you say not before jake tackles you again but nag him to go downstairs and clean layla’s mess.

#heeverseblog #heeversewrites #jake sim au #jake sim scenarios #jake sim fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #this time #enhypen this time au

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chelastuff · 8 months

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The Big Alchael Meta Post

So, I'm obsessed with Alchael. I think it started as joke, but like my relationship with YIIK, it progressed to a point where I could no longer pretend it was ironic.

I’ve made Alchael related metas before, but none of them really cover everything I wanna say about them. Because of that, I figured it would be easier to just make one giant Alchael meta analysis that goes over everything in one place.

Sometimes, I’ll half-jokingly say things like “Alchael is canon and the most important relationship in YIIK”. While it’s true that it’s a joke and hyperbolic, I do think that there is some real strong evidence that Alex is into Michael in a way that goes beyond platonic affection, and that Alex’s obsession with Michael is massively important to the plot. If you’re totally new here, you’re probably wondering where I’m even getting this from, especially since a lot of people’s impression of Michael is that he’s there for comic relief early in the story, but he becomes irrelevant after a certain point only to come back when Proto-Michael happens. But in this post, I’m gonna lay out my reasoning and begin to unravel some of the Alchael related layers in the story. Also, it’s solely going to be focused on 1.25 - so no I.V stuff (I will probably have more to say on them after it comes out, but that will be its own post).

I. Background

I’m gonna start by hitting you with some general background knowledge in case you aren’t super deep into the meta-conversation and theorizing surrounding YIIK, so here it goes:

Alex, being an unreliable narrator, changes aspects of the narrative to suit his own delusions and wants. Alex presents the story as taking place in 1999, but it actually takes place in 2016. Similarly, Alex claims that he is 26 and Michael is 19, when Michael is actually older than Alex.

The biggest evidence of this comes in the form of the ONISM post “Weird game a QT’s brother made”, where Michael describes “seeing this girl” and playing a game made by her kid brother. Allison is Alex’s older sister, so if the girl in the story is Allison, it would mean Michael is around Allison’s age, making Michael the older one. The post would also indicate that Michael’s primary relationship was with Allison, not Alex.

Of course, all of this is very different from what we actually see in the game, and I think once we figure out what changes were made and why, it can be very revealing. Michael, instead of being Allison’s friend, is now recast as Alex’s best friend. Instead of being his actual age, he’s permanently stuck at 19, studying for the SATs forever. And importantly - Allison is completely gone from the picture, totally erased from the narrative aside from a few references to her. The fact that she was the one who Michael’s primary relationship was with is gone completely. Alex effectively erased Allison from the story in order to take her place - and this place was Michael’s romantic interest.

II. Nubile

So, given that Michael in YIIK is effectively fulfilling a fantasy/delusion of Alex, I think it’s worth pointing out some lines that are kind of… strange, and in my opinion, are further evidence that Alex’s obsession with Michael goes beyond simply wanting to be his friend. Mainly, I want to point out this exchange:

(footage source)

For those who don’t know, the definition of nubile is “(of a young woman) sexually attractive” or “(of a young woman) sexually mature; old enough for marriage”. Haha, funny joke right? Michael is using a word to describe an attractive woman, but he’s not a woman! How unexpected!

I’ll circle back to the nubile thing in a bit, but for now I actually wanted to point out something else about these lines. If we assume that the relationship that we see between them in YIIK actually represents what Alex wishes it could be, it’s strange that Michael still delivers lines that are mocking Alex in this way, isn't it? It’s also interesting that Michael’s go-to insult is often calling attention to Alex’s body, and that in this case, he uses this to point out just how attractive he is in comparison. The comparison isn’t even solely about fat shaming Alex here - the use of the word “nubile” is pretty explicitly making it about being more sexually attractive than Alex.

The game calls back to the “nubile” joke in the next scene:

I almost feel like I’m being redundant with my analysis at this point, but, like, come on. Now Alex is the one pointing out Michael’s relative attractiveness, and Michael just straight up nonchalantly agrees with him! Sure, this is the kind of joke flirting that wouldn’t be out of the ordinary between friends, but once again keep in mind that all of this is being presented to you through Alex’s filtered lens, which is why I believe that it highlights the specific belief of Alex's that Michael is more attractive than him. With the use of the word "nubile", it makes it specifically about Michael’s sexual desirability and compares him to a woman! It’s stuff like this that really makes me doubt that Alex just innocently wants to be Michael’s friend, and makes me think there’s some other stuff going on here.

III. ONISM / Obsession

Now, I want to jump all the way to the near end of the game to highlight a monologue that happens right before the New Years Eve segment, wherein Alex reflects on his past with Michael, how they fell apart, and the inconsistencies within his own story. I highly encourage you to watch this scene and the monologue yourself, especially since I see a lot of people glaze over it in let’s plays, due to the sheer amount of (seemingly irrelevant) detail that it has. Here is a link.

The first thing I want to point out is just how much about his meeting with Michael that Alex remembers and is able to recite in excruciating detail. With how much Alex is able to go on and on, we are shown how many details he remembers about the summer Michael moved in and the house he lived in. I don’t think anything in the game is described in as much detail as Alex describes Michael’s house. Yet, when it comes to remembering how old Michael was when he moved in or moved away, and what year he moved away, Alex contradicts himself multiple times. I believe that the reason why he’s stumbling over himself when it comes to the timeline is because Alex’s timeline is wrong. I think It might even be an instance where he knows he’s lying, and he’s scrambling to cover his lie.

Then, Panda reminds Alex that he and Michael had “a falling out”. The details of this are fuzzy, but it seems to involve Alex traveling to Canada to meet Michael and ultimately being stood up. Although, I think it’s very possible that the actual reason they “fell out” happened before this, and Alex is omitting those details. I find it pretty wild how obsessed Alex must be in order to fly to another country just to try and fail to rekindle his relationship with Michael.

However, it seems even after this “falling out” happened, Alex never actually got over Michael. Not only does Alex wish for a world where Michael is 19 forever and thus never leaves him, he also remains a regular visitor of his website, ONISM. In fact, it’s Alex’s obsession with Michael’s creation that sets the stage for the entire plot. It’s how Alex discovers Semi’s disappearance, and where he gets the basis for the version of her (Sammy) that he creates in his head. This is one of the main reasons why I say that Alchael is the most important relationship in YIIK.

I.V. Losing My Religion

Throughout the game, you receive phone calls from someone who calls himself “your best childhood friend” and who is very heavily implied to be Michael. In one of these calls, he describes listening to “Losing My Religion” with Alex.

The song is also brought up in the monologue before New Years Eve that I mentioned already:

So, it seems like Losing My Religion is a song associated with Alex and Michael’s relationship. Given this, is it possible that we can learn about them from the meaning of the song? Michael Stipe, who wrote the lyrics of the song, has consistently said in interviews that the song is not literally about religion, but rather about a narrator who has unrequited love for someone else, and loses his composure in front of them. He even referred to it as a “classic obsession song” in two separate interviews.

Now, it’s worth noting that the timeline that is being presented in those screencaps actually makes zero sense. Losing My Religion became a hit in 1991, but if the game takes place in 2016, Alex should have been born around 1990. For this to make sense, Alex would have to have been listening to Losing My Religion with Michael when he was one year old, and with how vividly Alex remembers the summer that Michael moved in, I just don’t find that very likely. In my personal opinion, I think what’s more likely is that this is an extension of Alex’s main character syndrome. If you’re the main character of reality, a song is a hit when you listen to it the most. If this is true, it means that Alex was repeatedly listening to a song about unrequited love and losing your cool around a person you’re obsessed with right around the time that he met Michael. Very interesting! On a related note, when I was researching the meaning of Losing My Religion for this meta, I came across a Michael Stipe quote where he said “I've always felt the best kinds of songs are the ones where anybody can listen to it, put themselves in it and say, 'Yeah, that's me.’”, which kind of blew me away because this is exactly what Alex does with all media, so it would make perfect sense if he did it with Losing My Religion as well.

With that, I'm going to end the analysis here. Although this covers pretty much everything I wanted to say about the Alchael implications in the base game, I get the feeling I'm probably going to have more to say about them when I.V comes out. I also may write some more YIIK metas on other topics, so let me know if you'd like to see that. Until then, thanks for reading!

#yiik #yiik meta #alchael

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scribbleseas · 1 year

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The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XVIII: The Eternal Promise

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, kissing

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is the last chapter of The Indignant Pawn! Thank you so much for reading and following along on this story! It means the world to me and I’m so happy that I was able to complete this for you, and so soon. I ended up having more time than I thought, and I was so inspired. I couldn’t start to study for finals without completing this, unfortunately. Please let me know how you feel about the ending. It’s been years in the making.

One more thing, I opened commissions! If you're remotely interested, please check out this post!

Happy Reading!

- Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

. . .

MAY 12TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

It was early noon and you were already exhausted.

Last night, the Glücksburg Castle staff separated you and Ciel the moment your steamship docked at the port. They pulled you apart before you could share much of a goodbye; taking you to the castle in different carriages and in separate routes before showing you to separate quarters. In accordance with common wedding superstition, you weren’t to see Ciel until the wedding ceremony, the next day.

Instead, your company was the bridal party, handpicked by Queen Victoria. The Hesse sisters occupied the full length of the brunch table’s left side, talking amongst themselves.

Despite being married across the continent, they still came in a set of four, the beautiful and elegant daughters of your late Aunt Alice. The eldest, Victoria, was about ten years your senior, married to Louis of Battenberg, the adventurous one. She was engaged in some emphatic discussion with her sister, Elisabeth, one of the most beautiful women in Europe, the papers liked to say.

Elisabeth turned down numerous dukes and princes before Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich captured her heart.

The other two sisters were Irene and Alix, both were shy and withdrawn, at least by comparison to their siblings. Irene was content to let her elder sisters engage the European press, enjoying her serene marriage with Prussian Prince Henry. Meanwhile, Alix was still engaged to Nicholas II of Russia. She was unpopular with the Russian public, but a noted beauty.

“I believe our gowns are soft blue or some shade of periwinkle, are they not?” Victoria of Hesse said ponderously, adding a half-spoonful of sugar into her tea. She had your deceased aunt’s pleasant smile and joking eyes-- at least from what you remembered of Aunt Alice.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Elisabeth replied, “Gangan had our modiste send over my measurements and that was all. Do you know, Marie?” she asked, turning the table’s attention back to you.

“No; Gangan handled all of the wedding planning,” you hoped your tone was light enough to portray amusement. “I haven’t so much as seen my gown, much less yours.” It was true. Nina merely sent your measurements to your Matron of Honor, Aunt Beatrice, and that was all. You were even unsure if the wedding was going to take place at the castle or a traditional church.

“We should hope it is a more vibrant color than blue, no?” Grand Duchess Maria chimed in, seated at the right of the table by Lizzie. You managed to convince your grandmother to allow the Midfords to attend the wedding, so long as you strictly referred to their familial relationship, rather than past engagement. Not to mention, Ciel needed stand-ins in the wedding procession for his parents.

She seemed well-suited to the royal table, easily carrying conversations with the Hesse sisters, and winning over the Grand Duchess. Maria was advertising her and your Uncle Alfred’s son, Alfred II, for Lizzie to consider marrying. They were the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, and they were looking for a bride for their second son. Lizzie would make a better duchess than you did a princess.

“If it’s a baby blue, I think it could look quite elegant,” Irene said. “Especially if the gentlemen wear deep navy and with chartreuse accents.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Lizzie smiled. “That color scheme is perfect for the spring.” Her word of agreement seemed to encourage shy Irene. Lizzie navigated these situations flawlessly, engaging the outspoken, and encouraging the quiet. You respected her ability to infuse cheerful care into every conversation she was a part of, even if it was these sort of superfluous topics.

After all, this was the sort of aimless conversation you had been entertaining all morning. It was endless torture with a side of tea and miniature pastries and finger sandwiches that the other women hardly touched. You would’ve taken the pain that came after Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet over entertaining this group of frivolous women.

“Good morning, everyone!” Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom entered, carrying a wooden box with both hands. By the tension in her shoulders, it seemed heavy.

Beatrice was your youngest aunt; Queen Victoria’s youngest child. She was Victoria’s known confidante; living with her for years as her secretary. Beatrice and her husband, Henry of Battenberg, made home with Victoria since their early marriage.

And for the next several days, she was to serve as your Matron of Honor.

You were satisfied with that choice, as well. Out of all your grandmother’s daughters, Aunt Beatrice was the most motherly. Marie was fond of her — she was a bridesmaid at her wedding in 1885. You were always most partial to your Aunt Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, but much to your silent chagrin, she was not a part of the wedding party.

The table rose, everyone dropping into a shallow curtsey, though Duchess Maria’s was too quick to be genuinely respectful. Your aunt was too humble to comment on it and make an unnecessary scene. Instead, Beatrice took measured strides towards you, exchanging knowing smiles with the rest of the table.

“Good morning, Aunt Beatrice,” you greeted, swiftly kissing one another on the cheek. “Thank you for being here,” you said, though you doubted the queen gave her the option.

“Of course,” she smiled fondly, setting the heavy box on the table.

“Marie, Aunt Beatrice had to secure your ‘something borrowed’ as it were,,” Victoria of Hesse explained. She gestured to the guard behind Beatrice with the slightest chin tilt. Of course, all traveling jewels from the royal vault needed to be accompanied by a guard and a gun.

“Go on, Marie,” your aunt encouraged, setting the thick wooden box down. “We all spent ages in the vault picking the right one for you.”

You smiled. You hoped it looked more grateful than nauseous as you unclasped the box. Crimson velvet insulated the box’s interior, cushioning the imposing tiara that sat inside. The diamonds sparkled, cut into long, pointed off spikes. Small circle-cut diamonds lined each spike.

This tiara was a piece your grandmother obtained as a gift at the beginning of her reign in 1837, originally commissioned by her uncle, King William IV for his wife.

“Queen Adelaide’s Diamond Fringe,” Aunt Beatrice said, though you knew the name. It was one of the oldest installments in the Royal Collection. Likely sensing your surprise, your aunt chuckled, “it did not take much convincing on the Queen’s part. Not after I insisted it would look best with your wedding gown.”

Reluctantly, you used the cloth included in the box to pick up the tiara, inspecting it more closely. The diamonds sat on the heads of two generations of royal women: Queen Adelaide, Queen Victoria…and now, you. An imposter. Royalty by blood, but of course, not by private association.

“It’s lovely—” you began to say, until your cousin interrupted you.

Elisabeth of Hesse gasped, “Aunt Bea! You’ve seen her dress!” The rest of the table expressed their overlapping speculations, was it lace or tulle? Was the neckline straight across or Queen Anne?

“Elisabeth, Victoria, she would never hint at such a secret, there’s no point in accosting the woman,” Grand Duchess Maria scoffed, taking a cavalier sip out of her tea. She was jealous.

“You will see it tomorrow!” Beatrice replied, laughing. The reminder of tomorrow forced another jolt of anxiety down your spine, but you used the energy to laugh as well. “In the meantime, I was also tasked with escorting you to your fitting, Marie. I do apologize for cutting your breakfast short, ladies.”

“That’s all right,” you smiled, carefully putting the priceless tiara back into its box. The moment you clasped the box, Beatrice’s guard took hold of it. After a reverent bow to the room, he took his leave, likely going to put the tiara into Glücksburg vault.

At least you could escape this useless chatter.

. . .

Given that your day was nothing short of exhausting, you should have had an easier time falling asleep. Yet, you paced Marie’s quarters, restless. It was unsettling to be around all of her recent belongings; letters, left behind clothing, books, her violin. It was as if she was truly on a short vacation in England.

A new lump of guilt rose in your throat.

But more importantly, you wanted to see Ciel. Strangely, after only a day of separation, you missed him.

Having lived together for the past several months, you were accustomed to being around him. Even if some of the time you spent together was quiet, and you only felt his presence at your side.

“I was sent to escort you to my Lord’s room, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian’s voice came from behind you.

Instinctively, you turned on your heel and reached for the closest weapon possible, a small pair of scissors off your vanity. They were hardly big enough to cut thread with. You brandished the scissors in Sebastian’s general direction, but failed to find the voice’s source at first glance. The butler blended with the shadows, wearing nearly all black. He chuckled mirthlessly.

His red eyes were certainly glowing in the dark.

“Yes, Sebastian?” You asked impatiently, putting the scissors back on the table. They wouldn’t be of much help to you, anyway. Nothing would be— not against some… being… that caught bullets.

“My Lord requests your presence in his quarters. Unfortunately, you’ve made him care for you. Considerably,” he said. You hated his smile, the light tone his voice took. You would prefer he yell, or scowl, or frown. Anything to replace the patrronizing look that you knew so well.

“Made him?” You questioned. Your eyebrows knitted together indignantly as you crossed your arms. What was he insinuating?

“Yes,” the butler said bluntly. “You’ve become an unfortunate distraction. A scourge to his soul.” His… soul?

“Thankfully, that is not for you to decide. Any opinion you have is irrelevant to us, Sebastian.” You said, turning your back to him to find flats to slip on. You never knew Sebastian to lie; he certainly wasn’t holding back at that moment.

“I simply want you to be aware that my loyalties will always fall with my master,” Sebastian replied, the undertones in his voice clear enough. If there is a life and death situation tomorrow, I will let you die, if I can.

“Well, you’ve been such an obedient servant, thus far,” you mirrored his obsequious tone, pairing it with your own reprimanding smile. “You ought to keep your Lord’s best interests in mind. Not to worry, Sebastian, I can handle myself.”

“Happy to hear it, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian replied, bowing with a hand over his heart. The gesture was as genuine as Duchess Maria’s greeting to your aunt had been.

“My Lord ordered me to escort you. There are guards in the hallway,” the butler explained. His eyes brightened, daring you to decline him.

You scoffered in disbelief, shaking your head. It was precaution from Diego’s warning, you assumed. “Fine.”

You left the room first, surprised that there was no guard fixed outside your door. Though you knew where you were going, Sebastian led you to the guest wing. Instinctively, you remembered where to step so as not to cause the wooden floor to complain.

Every few paces, Sebastian would have you pause to let a guard pass. Apparently, he sensed them much sooner than you did.

Do some reading about the supernatural after all of this is over with, you reminded yourself. The thought was ridiculous, but there was no harm in investigating. Besides, Sebastian was becoming too unmistakable to continue ignoring.

The moment you knocked on Ciel’s door, Sebastian disappeared. Your fiancé opened the door. Before he could speak, you hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his nightshirt. You breathed in his familiar scent, letting your eyes flutter closed. Your fingers grabbed fistfulls of his shirt, bunching the material around his back. Ciel hardly managed to close the door behind you, locking it to be safe.

“I waited to see you all day,” Ciel said simply, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear when you looked up at him. He pressed a greeting kiss on your cheek. “My groomsmen insisted we explore the city. It was quite a hindrance.”

“Well, I was stuck in a flock of blushing bridesmaids,” you laughed humorlessly. “If I so much as started saying your name, they would throw some fit— something about bad luck.”

“If simply saying my name is bad luck, seeing me must be absolutely damning,” Ciel quipped smugly. He guided you to sit on the edge of his bed, shamelessly regarding you. You returned the favor, your gaze catching on the way his collar bones protruded under his loose nightshirt.

You thought about the last time he sat on the edge of his bed with you present, climbing into his lap, pleasuring yourself against the hardness in his trousers. Technically, you wore more that evening than in this current moment. All you wore was a white nightgown. Nothing under it, nothing over it. It was made of satin, as sheer as a curtain.

Ciel made a respectable effort to look at your face only.

“Tomorrow night, we will be wed,” you said meaningfully, feeling your face flush.

“Yes,” Ciel’s response was impatient, “we will be.” He hated to wait, but he was never one to do something so significant haphazardly. If you were to consummate, you had to be married. But this time tomorrow, you would be.

An amused smile tugged at your lips, “my Aunt Beatrice was giving me…anecdotes about her wedding night.” The interaction had been excruciating during your gown fitting, but now you thought it was rather humorous. Beatrice was a few years past 30— she had three children, another on the way, so it was rumored.

Ciel cringed at the thought of your relative telling you about what takes place behind a couple’s locked door. As if he had no clue, and didn’t want to know. You knew he knew. “And I thought nothing could be worse than my own cousin.”

While your eyebrows knit, initially figuring he was referring to Lizzie, but you took a sigh of relief upon realizing that he was speaking of Edward Midford, her brother. He was Ciel’s best man.

“Better than Sebastian,” you quipped. However, your smile faltered at the thought of the butler. Marrying Ciel meant you were resigning yourself to a life with a powerful, supernatural servant who wanted you dead. If given the chance, he would kill you.

“Y/n?” Ciel frowned, mirroring your disheartened expression.

“It’s nothing. I just…I suppose I’m tired,” you said unconvincingly.

You rested your head on the side of his arm. “Being here…seeing my aunt and cousins. Living in my sister’s room....” It wasn’t the full truth, but certainly wasn’t a lie. There was an unwavering pit in your stomach. A premonition that something was about to go terribly amiss.

“We’re taking the first steamship tomorrow night,” Ciel replied, running his thumb over your knuckles. It was a habit he picked up from you, the way you liked to ground yourself through small, repetitive motions. “I assumed being here would be difficult for you.”

“Where are we going?” The destination of your honeymoon was supposed to be a surprise, one left to Ciel’s careful planning. However, you were never one for surprises, and you would be away for about a month. You deserved to know where you were going to be for such a long span of time.

Ciel replied in French, “Quelque part où il y a du vin, des champs de lavande et une grande tour, ma chère.” He rarely used his second language, considering you couldn’t understand it and he was in the midst of perfecting his German, but it was attractive. You flushed at his graceful accent, the way the complex language suited his voice.

“Ciel…” you started, chuckling fondly.

“Et quand nous y serons, nous ferons des choses innommables les uns avec les autres,” Ciel continued, gauging your reaction. He kissed your cheek and slightly below your jaw before moving your hair out of the way to press a peck on the nape of your neck. The more you were intimate, the more you noticed his fixation with your neck.

As Ciel turned to face you completely, his hand released yours to settle on your bare thigh. You moved further up the bed to make space.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “nous avons tous deux attendu si longtemps.” Your arms erupted with goosebumps as you pulled him closer, his lips centimeters from your own.

For all you knew, he could be stringing nonsense into sentences, but it didn’t matter. It sounded perfect, his tender touch giving way for a new warmth to spread in your stomach.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him down against the bedspread with you. The kiss was breathless and all-consuming. It ignited every nerve— down to your toes. You could feel Ciel’s warmth through his shirt, and you were consciously aware of everywhere your skin touched his. His legs bracketed yours.

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he kissed the center of your throat, your drumming pulse point. He paused, an amused grin playing at his lips.

“What is it?” You managed.

“Do you recall the last time we were in a position like this?”

After a beat of silence, you laughed. “Our dispute! When I nearly broke your nose and ran away.” Even when you hated Ciel, you couldn’t bring yourself to meaningfully injure him.

Ciel hummed in confirmation, though his dubious look suggested he thought your recollection of the altercation was self-serving. “And you still looked like you wanted to kiss me. Even when I held a knife right here,” his fingers grazed over the scar on your throat— a superficial wound above your left carotid.

“Yes… just like this,” you smarted, pulling him close to steal an innocent peck from his lips.

“Yes, I suppose just like that,” Ciel conceded, rolling his eye.

“What’s more, you couldn’t bring yourself to press harder,” you added teasingly, pulling him back in for a long kiss, treating this opportunity to be intimate with your fiancé as if it was your last.

. . .

MAY 13TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror.

Mey-Rin and Nina made elegant work with your makeup; darkening your eyebrows, painting on a blush that made your cheeks look flushed, a lipstick that made your lips appear bitten. After all, obvious makeup was considered fraudulent and deceptive; the work of women who worked street corners, Queen Victoria would say.

Nina twisted your hair into a French twist updo, leaving curled strands out in the front. Queen Adelaide’s Fringe Tiara felt heavy on your head, fastened to your hair with pins. It dug into your scalp, the pain made it impossible for you to forget that it sat there.

Your gown was surprisingly simplistic; it was whiter than snow, free of any lace or bead detailing. Instead of was a sheen of satin, the lustrous fabric beautiful without being flamboyant. Your sleeves, controversially, were off the shoulder, meeting in a seam in the middle of your chest.

To hide the gruesome scar on your arm, you wore matching white gloves that reached your elbows. They were out of season, but there was no way for you to hide the old wound otherwise.

Under such a heavy dress and tiara, you were ready to collapse. Your preparation team had you awake before the sun rose, giving you a small breakfast before stuffing you into a carriage and taking you to the church to get dressed. It was a prayer room made into a makeshift dressing areafor your purposes; security did not want to risk the wedding party arriving at the ceremony in carriages, per tradition. Instead, everyone in the wedding had to get to the church at inane hours to let the guards watch every doorway and window for intruders, once again taking separate carriages in different routes.

You took a deep breath in, trying to settle your nerves. You were marrying the man you loved, someone who understood you in a way that no one since Baxter did. Only…now your life was to belong to the monarchy once more. This wedding ceremony was more symbolic and full of circumstance than romance. It wasn’t yours and Ciel’s. It was Europe’s.

Not to mention, Diego warned you that Mariana had a plan. Mariana…it was still strange to have a real name for the woman. A reason why she was determined to kill you both, but more importantly, Ciel. You couldn’t allow that, even if he did kill her husband.

No matter how security prepared, she was still a threat. She would try to kill the both of you until either she succeeded, or you killed her first. Still, you knew that every possible measure was made. Sebastian would protect Ciel to the bitter end, regardless. That was what mattered.

There was nothing more for you to do besides having the wedding. You laughed at your reflection. You looked like a princess, but what raced through your mind — murder, death threats, the leader of a foreign drug empire — were not regal bride concerns in the least.

And you looked much more calm than you felt. At least you could contain your inner turmoil; stuff it down, sort your worries into neat categories. Impending doom, a death threat, a potentially supernatural butler. Hide it all behind the image of a jubilant princess who balanced the weight of a diamond tiara and a dagger all the same.

Besides, there was no other option. Ciel had an earldom to run, a business to support, an Underworld to terrorize. He was too proud to live in middle class America. He would detest waking up every morning, and that would soon become a hatred for waking up with you. All you could do was marry, and support each other in your new royal family role. Dispel evil together. Dispel Mariana if she attempted to challenge you. Maybe even have a child or two.

You squeezed your eyes closed, thinking about last night. All you needed to do was complete the day, and you would be together. In every way a couple could be together.

There was a stiff knock at the door, forcing you to open your eyes and paint a pleasant expression on your face. “Come in.”

“Marie,” Christian, your eldest brother, entered. You figured he would be walking you down the aisle — giving you away — instead of your father. No one told you, but you had the good sense to expect it. It was well-known that Queen Victoria disliked your father. She didn’t care for Prince Christian I, matching your mother, Princess Helena, with him because she couldn’t find a proper European house to marry her middle child into.

Meanwhile, it was no secret that Victoria favored your brother. The Queen adored him for studying at Wellington College as she wanted, and she found nothing more befitting of a prince than serving in the military. Christian recently returned from an expedition in Isazi as an officer in the British Army. His skin was still lightly tanned from being in South Africa for so long. He wore his uniform and full officer decorations. Other men in the service were likely doing the same; Edward Midford and his father, Lord Scotany.

“Christian,” you were unsure how Marie greeted him, and your hesitance showed. There was a beat of silence as he regarded you.

Christian raised his eyebrow, “why did you do away with Christle?” He was referring to that puerile nickname you both used for him as children.

Marie still referred to him as Christle at this age? He was a military official!

“You’ve been acting differently lately, Marie. Are you sure you love Phantomhive? Is this what you want to do?” Christian asked, worry furrowing his eyebrows. He looked like you when you were apprehensive, the same level stare, pursed lips.

“How am I different?” You asked. It was easy to act around Queen Victoria and your mother— anyone who spent more time worrying about themselves or their positions to really understand the difference between you and your sister. But Christian was more complicated. He was your authority figure while your mother was opening hospitals abroad and your father worked. Christian spent plenty of time playing with Marie, admonishing you for being lax in your duties as a child. As the eldest, he was 16 the second time you ran away, 15 the first.

You felt like you were nine years old again, getting admonished for refusing to ride a horse side saddle, or for getting mud all over your dress before the family portrait.

“You’re…acting quite like Thora,” Christian said, his militant eyes practically staring into your soul. You tried not to grimace at your old nickname.

He wasn’t accusing you; his voice was thoughtful or concerned, if anything. “Aunt Beatrice was worried, too. I only…” he paused. “I only want to ensure that this marriage is what you want. You will always be my younger sister, even if I’m supposed to be giving you away.”

The honorable Prince Christian never changed.

“If I’ve been somber…I don’t mean to be,” you replied. “I…the past few months of my life have been terrifying. I know you were away in Africa but there was a death threat sent to court. On my life. The Phantomhive manor was even attacked, months ago,” you rolled down your glove to show him the injury. If you could persuade your brother, no one would question you.

Christian sighed, his face unchanging. The military seemed to desensitize him to these sorts of wounds. He inspected the healed scar, and nodded once. “It healed well. Phantomhive’s medic is rather talented,” he admitted gruffly. The irony being, that the medic was Sebastian, a monster who wanted you dead.

You pulled the glove back over your forearm. Christian didn’t argue with you, but you knew he was unconvinced. Before he could speak, the quick notes of Mendelsson’s Wedding March reverberated throughout the church, preceded by soul-shattering chords. That was your cue to join the procession.

Christian glanced at the clock to confirm the time was right. “We have to join the others,” he offered his arm. You laced yours with his, and two servants you didn’t know picked up your gown’s long train.

When you joined the procession from behind, the first of the wedding party was already walking down the aisle. First was Queen Victoria, accompanied by her secretary and two guards; the Officiant; Lord and Lady Scotany as they filled in for Ciel’s deceased parents; your parents; Ciel and his groomsmen. You and Christian joined from the hall behind the doors to the Sanctuary, so you didn’t see any of them before they walked.

Instead, you saw the middle of the procession: your bridesmaids, the Hesse sisters, Cornelia, and Aunt Beatrice. Cornelia was one of your bridesmaids because her husband, Edward, was Ciel’s best man. It was more of a formality, than a show of closeness between you.

After them was the ring bearer and the flower girl, respectively. While you expected Victoria to insist the roles be fulfilled by your younger cousins, she allowed Ciel to fill those positions from his own friends and family. He asked little Beatrice Moore and her betrothed, Theodore Ambrose, the next Earl of Granard. Beatrice was still giggling at the fact that she shared a name with a real princess, your Aunt Beatrice.

You settled behind the children. Little Beatrice nearly missed her cue because her eyes were locked on your tiara and seemingly endless gown. Beatrice waved at you vigorously, causing you to smile. “Marie! You look so beautiful!” She exclaimed, shooting Theodore an irritated look when he tapped her shoulder and reminded her to walk with him.

One of the servants handed you a bouquet of flowers, alstroemerias with white roses, and baby's breath incorporated. It was your turn to walk down the aisle with your brother, but you couldn’t help but wish it was Baxter at your side. That this wedding had less people, a tiara that didn’t weigh more than your brain…

Smile. You urged yourself not to buckle under the weight of everyone’s states. Everyone stood for the entire wedding procession, given that Queen Victoria was standing as well. No one sat while the highest-ranking royal stood.

First, you passed the servants and guards in the furthest pews from the altar. Mey-Rin dabbed at her tears from under her glasses, Finny waved, Baldroy nodded once. Nina smiled at you, gesturing for you to keep walking in time with the music. You had paused for a half second, attempting to find Sebastian. The awkward timing forced Christian to stop his stride to let you catch up.

You didn’t see Sebastian, and you were unsure if that caused you more anxiety, or alleviated it.

Strictly-screened journalists and press members were in the pews in front of the servants. Their cameras clicked, lenses immortalizing the moment. You smiled for them, struggling to find a place to look.

The music echoed throughout the Sanctuary, overly cheerful. It was the same chords repeating on the grand organ behind the altar.

Closer to the altar were the aristocratic and the royal guests. Several faces stuck out to you— your Aunt Victoria, the Queen’s eldest child; brother, Albert; Aunt Louise; Mateo and Valentina Bianchi ; the heirs to the English throne, Uncle Edward and Alexandra of Denmark.

You caught Lizzie’s emerald gaze; she was in the front row, to the side. She looked at you before pointedly looking ahead of her. Look at the man you love. The rest of the world will simply fall away. She was too empathetic for her own good, sometimes.

As you took your concluding steps towards the altar, you finally looked at Ciel. She was right. Your heart flipped immediately, taking in his deep navy suit. He had a white rose tucked pinned over his chest, his signature flower. The tie tucked into his jacket was a soft pink; pale enough that you thought it was white at first glance. The rest of the wedding party coordinated with him, the bridesmaids wearing the same pink, and the groomsmen the same blue.

Ciel didn’t smile broadly, but you knew better than to fixate on that. Instead, the corners of his lips turned upwards. He took in your appearance slowly, as if he were fixating on a painting. Inspecting every detail with the intensity of someone trying to commit each brush stroke to memory.

At the altar, you took your place across from Ciel. Christian stood behind you, to the officiant’s side. Aunt Beatrice took your bouquet for you.

All you needed to do was finish the ceremony, and you would have the man across from you all to yourself for the next month. Just you, him, Carl, and the servants abroad in some beautiful place. There was no royal tour— all you needed to do was attend Alix of Hesse and Nicholas II’s wedding in Russia as guests.

The thought of such solitude was elating. It helped your smile widen naturally, though your cheeks were beginning to sting.

The music quieted into a small, soothing tune that the officiant could speak over.

“Welcome, everyone,” the officiant said. He was an agind man with kind blue eyes and a thoughtful smile. There was a gold wedding band on his left ring finger, matching his red and gold robes. “Please be seated. Thank you all for joining us on this joyous day and cloudless afternoon.”

“Every one of you today has been invited today because you, in one way or another, shaped the lives of these lovely individuals standing before me, Her Highness Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein and Lord Ciel Phantomhive.”

Not hearing your name hurt you more than you thought it would have.

“For those of you I have not had the chance to meet, my name is Reverend Arthur Green. I have officiated the past…six… royal weddings,” he said with a flourish, making a show of counting. There were scattered laughs in the audience in response. Green was close with the Queen, who sat in a distinguished throne to the side of the author with her Munshi, Abdul Karim. Notably, not all of her children were present— likely for security reasons.

Reverend Green continued, “we were all taken by surprise by this sweeping love connection, but seeing the way these two beautiful souls regard one another, their love is strong and true.”

You felt your face redden, matching the new flush over Ciel’s cheeks.

“I have vows prepared for both the bride and groom,” Green announced. Neither of you expressed a desire to write your own vows, and you doubted the Queen would have let you. She was reluctant with royalty expressing such passionate feelings in public, preferring to preserve the dignified appearance her Royal Mob upheld.

“Please repeat my words, Your Highness,” he requested, forcing you to refocus.

You repeated. “I, Marie, take thee, Ciel Phantomhive, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.”

Ciel repeated the same vow, having the same reluctance with saying your name. No, Marie’s name.

This is just the beginning, Y/n.

Ciel broke into a broader smile, yours matching his. His blue eye seemed even darker in the sunset. When you looked at him, you saw your honeymoon, your future, your husband. Your closest friend and confidante. Your heart fluttered, your mouth was dry. More than anything, you wanted to kiss him.

When you looked at him, you forgot about the weight of the tiara on your head.

“Your Highness, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Lord Phantomhive, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forever?” Reverend Green asked.

“Yes!” You said more enthusiastically than you meant to. The guests laughed, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Lizzie’s amused grin. You cleared your throat, “yes, I do.”

“And Lord Phantomhive, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Her Highness, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forever?”

“Indeed, I do,” Ciel’s reply was much calmer than yours, but his face was full of love. It made your eyes sting, as if you could cry. You tried to blink the forming tears away. You thought about what his lips feel like, how his arms feel when they wrapped around you to combat your surfacing feelings.

The both of you already loved, honored, cherished, and protected each other. You’d do it forever, if that’s what the Fates had in store for you.

Reverend Green nodded at Theodore, preparing the child to get ready for his cue to bring your wedding rings up to the altar.

Theodore nodded aggressively in response, tightening his grip on the small cushion with your rings. The audience laughed, but you couldn’t make yourself look away from Ciel to survey their responses any longer.

Green grinned, his eyes brimming with tears as well. At least you weren’t alone in your tragically sentimental feelings. “Now, if there is anyone present, who can show just cause why these two persons may not be joined in matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace,” he declared, naturally assuming that no one in the audience would protest.

The gasps and screams forced you to look away from Ciel and into the audience as it rippled, devolving into chaos. They dove away from a singular woman who stood, aiming a small purse gun at the altar.

Guards sprang into action, their guns unlocking, but they couldn’t shoot with terrified guests fleeing and hiding. Mey-Rin argued with a soldier, likely in an effort to take his weapon and fire. She was the best shot there, but you assumed the guards refused to let her bring a weapon in.

You didn’t need to look longer to know what was about to happen. You refused to let it.

Before you knew what you were doing, you moved. You pulled yourself out of Christian’s restrictive grip, and pushed Ciel to the ground, just as the woman shot. The shot sounded throughout the Sanctuary, amongst the course of screaming guests, shouting guards and crying guests.

You remained standing, merely feeling a searing warmth rip through your left chest. It was nothing like Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet. In fact, it hurt less. It was hot like nothing you’ve ever touched, but it didn’t hurt. Not even the hot stove you touched by accident as a child compared to the sensation in your chest.

Ciel managed to pull himself off the ground, startled by your hard shove. He’d tripped down the short steps and hit his head, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed. You would have been relieved, had he not been staring at you in panic.

“Y/n,” he managed, horrified.

But you name was lost amid the chaos. Before you dared look down, you took a quick survey of the rest of the Sanctuary. Queen Victoria and most of the guests fled or hid, guards shielding their escape. Edward sprung in front of Cornelia, the Reverend, Theodore, and Beatrice. The children cried for their parents, who were likely forced to leave with the guards.

Reverend Green trembled behind the altar, bear hugging young Beatrice and Theodore, the Hesse sisters and Aunt Beatrice fell to the floor, covering their heads. Your brother stood before them, gun drawn. Royalty received crisis training for situations like this.

Mariana was gone, having used the chaos to make her escape.

“Edward, take the kids!” Cornelia demanded, “get them to their parents.”

“I will not leave you,” Edward Midford insisted, his voice trained to be steady in the face of danger. He was a soldier, like Christian.

“I-I can,” Reverend Green said, trembling. “Come on, children. We must— we must, go.” He tried to let go of them, but Beatrice held on, hiding her face in the man’s robes.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to them,” Green assured Cornelia, but neither child seemed interested in leaving.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, his face red as if he’s been trying to capture your attention. He put his hand on your shoulder, but he was trembling. His gaze alternated between your chest and your face, and you made the mistake of looking down at your fresh wound. At the fresh crimson blood that blossomed on the left side of your dress’s bodice. It was in the middle of your left breast— the third or fourth rib you assumed.

“Oh,” you managed. Your legs buckled, but Ciel caught you and carefully helped you to the floor. He tore his jacket off and pressed it against the wound, hard enough for you to cry out in pain. The ease that he pressed indicated that the bullet fractured your ribs. Ciel sensed that the wound gave way too easily and paled.

You took a difficult breath in, shivering despite the warm bullet in your chest. Your teeth chattered.

Pain, tenderness, difficulty breathing, you told yourself. Baxter always said that self-assessment came first. It was a small gun. The best you could hope for was a fractured rib, but the way your chest gave way to Ciel’s pressure suggested it was shattered.

“Why can a shattered rib be dangerous, Y/n?” Baxter asked.

Massive bleeding from ruptured blood vessels, bone fragments from the rib can puncture a lung… or my heart.

Air could build around the lung and cause a tension pneumothorax… assuming the bullet didn’t puncture the lung and do that already.

“Ciel, keep the pressure steady,” Cornelia said. You forgot she was a nurse. Maybe you had a chance, if it wasn't a tension pneumothorax. But you never had that kind of luck. “Help me check for an exit wound,” she said to someone on your right side. The three of them lifted your torso up, and confirmed that you were also bleeding out from the back. They ripped the satin from your gown and used another man’s jacket to slow that bleeding while Ciel held pressure on your front.

“We need a carriage to get her to a hospital,” Cornelia declared, checking your pulse.

“I-I think the guests took them all,” Lady Scotany said, “Alexis— go check. For a guard, a doctor, a commoner with a carriage, anyone.” With a grim nod, Alexis Midford ran with Baldroy and Mey-Rin.

“Marie, I know it hurts but I need you to do your best to breathe. And wiggle your fingers,” Cornelia said, but you were more concerned with Ciel. His hands were soaked with your blood, despite Aunt Beatrice continuously giving him new material to help stop the bleeding with.

“Marie!” Cornelia repeated. When you didn’t respond, she turned to Ciel. “Ciel, you need to tell her to breathe,” she said, “she will listen to you.”

You were Marie, even when you had a bullet in your chest. It was a cruel joke.

Were you not breathing? Was that why your lungs were aflame? Was that why your throat was constricting? Was that why your vision coated in white, and your ears rang like church bells?

Ciel trembled, but he nodded. “Look at me,” he ordered, “breathe. You need to breathe.” Breathing hurt. It hurt more than any pain you ever experienced in your life. It hurt more than your arm. Inhaling hurt more than the bullet itself hurt.

“T-trying…” you managed.

“You’re doing well, Marie, it’s okay,” Lizzie said, sniffling. Your head was in her lap, though you were unsure when she showed up. “J-just focus on breathing.”

My ribs are broken. I probably have a tension pneumothorax, you wanted to cry out. But your voice wasn’t cooperating. You could feel your rationality slipping out with the same urgency blood bubbled from your wound.

Cornelia cut your bodice open, cutting through the dress and corset. Finny gave his jacket to Lady Scotany to drape over the right side of your chest, for your modesty. As if that was the most concerning part of the situation.

“Take a deep breath in,” Ciel said, repeating Cornelia’s words. You shivered, struggling to do as told. Your lungs were already full— as if you took an inhale prior, held it, and tried to inhale again, all without exhaling.

“Abnormal lung sounds,” Cornelia drew back to watch your chest as you struggled to breathe. “Asymmetrical expansion of the chest,” she mumbled gravely.

The problem with being right all the time, meant that you had also diagnosed yourself correctly. And this diagnosis was fatal without near-immediate treatment.

“What does that mean?” Ciel insisted. “Cornelia!” He shouted, but the nurse didn’t meet his gaze.

“It probably means it’s a…tension pneumothorax,” Cornelia admitted.

“She got away,” you heard Baldroy say from a distance, returning with Lord Scotany. He shouldered his coat off to let Lady Scotany put it beneath the exit wound on your back. “Guards were too concerned with gettin’ the royals to safety. Took all the carriages, too.”

“What does that mean, Cornelia?” Ciel shouted.

“Where is Sebastian?” Lizzie asked, trying to keep her voice level. She removed the heavy tiara from your head and gently smoothed her fingers over your hair.

“Sebastian?” Lady Scotany asked. “He’s getting another carriage. We need to get her to the hospital.”

You wanted to laugh. With Sebastian getting the carriage, you were surely going to bleed out— or die of hypoxia— whichever came first. You were going to die in front of an altar. In a church. At your own wedding.

“Cornelia!” Ciel yelled.

“Ciel, shut up and let me work!” Cornelia put her ear to your chest again.

“Air is building around the outside of her lungs, rather than inside because the bullet— or a bone fragment punctured it,” Christian said, pitying your…husband? Fiancé?

“The air puts pressure around the punctured lung, and that strains that lung and her heart. Since the lung is punctured, air keeps getting stuck when she inhales, so there is no room for it to expand when she breathes,” your brother explained.

Your lung definitely collapsed. The well-meaning pressure Ciel put on the wound couldn’t be helping, either.

“Hyperresonant chest percussion,” Cornelia noted under her breath. Her concerned frown deepened.

“Cornelia, her neck,” Christian added calmly. He kneeled at your other side, across from Ciel, light fingers touching your throat, feeling for your trachea. “Tracheal deviation to the right and distended neck veins.”

“Tension pneumothorax,” they said in synchrony, sharing a look.

“So what can we do?” Lizzie cried out.

“Dying,” you mumbled, fully believing that these were your final moments. The procedure you needed was impossible on the floor of the church. If Sebastian was tasked with the carriage, you weren’t going to get there in time. And he was why you were shot, in the first place.

He caught bullets. He wanted you dead…it was simple. Bloody demon.

That’s what he was, wasn't he?

“We need a large bore needle!” Christian exclaimed.

“A needle? Whatever for?” Lizzie cried out.

“To evacuate the air,” Cornelia said, “but we don’t have the right kind here.”

“So what do we do?”

“You are not dying, you utter imbecile,” Ciel insisted, steady tears streaming down his face. You weren’t sure if he noticed that his forehead was bleeding, much less the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. “She was bloody aiming at me.”

You wanted to reach out and wipe the tears off of his face, but your arm was limp at your side, refusing to obey. You could wiggle your fingers, but you couldn’t quite muster the strength to lift the limb. You tried again, but your arm fell to your side uselessly.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding in your brain. It was a welcome change from the terrible ringing.

“I’m s-..sorry,” you managed, but it was a lie. If you hadn’t pushed Ciel, it might have hit him. If the man you loved died from your inaction, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself for it.

You felt there was a constrictive corset around your brain, tightening and tightening. Your breathing was rapid, in out, in out, in out. You could feel your head throb in time with your heart. With every inhale you managed, you got less air.

But even so, you would do it again.

“They’re not going to have the right needle here, we have to burp the wound.” Cornelia said. “Otherwise, she’ll suffocate before the carriage gets here.”

“Burp the wound?” Ciel asked incredulously.

“The air caught in the pleural space won’t come out safely and she’ll suffocate if we don’t let air escape the opening that’s already there. Ciel, you need to step aside for a moment,” Cornelia explained.

“But— but, she’s still bleeding! I’m…stopping the bleeding! She will bleed out if I stop!” Ciel argued, looking from his bloody hands on the wound to your paling face. Back and forth once more.

“She’s going to die of hypoxia if you don’t let the air out of the lung cavity, Ciel.” Christian said. “You need to move, or I will move you.” Christian was much taller than Ciel. It would’ve been as simple as moving a chess piece.

Ciel moved reluctantly, and switched spots at your side with Christian.

Cornelia moved the blood-soaked dressing from the wound, and you caught a quiet rush of air before she put fresh dress fabric over it once more. It was only a little easier for you to breathe before it grew difficult again. However, she quickly removed the dressing when she noticed you beginning to strain. The nurse repeated the process in tandem with your discomfort.

You shivered, watching the world above you— Ciel’s face, Lizzie’s, your brother’s. The world was brighter, it was blurry. And then it was refined. It was vibrant, and then it wasn’t. Vibrant, clear, blurry, bright…

Was this what Baxter saw? you wondered.

“No, Y/n. It’s not your time, yet.” Baxter said. “You need to wait. You need to try to live. The doc’s comin’ in a carriage with his supplies. He will be there. Just hold on. We’re all here for you every step of the way. You will not die.”

Earnest Baxter.

You refocused on Ciel. His face was clear, and vibrant. And then it was blurry. It was bright. He was still bleeding. He was still handsome.

You put all of your focus into your next words. “I love you,” you managed. Your eyes fluttered closed, it was getting too hard to concentrate and keep them open.

“No, don’t you dare say that!” Ciel demanded. “You will not die. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” his fingers felt warm on your face, they smelled like blood. Your eyes fluttered open again. You smiled weakly.

You weren’t sure what you would do without Ciel, either.

“It’s…not my intent to but…” that might be out of my hands.

This was supposed to be the day you eternally promised yourselves to one another, but apparently, plans sometimes went awry. Sometimes, the determined widow got her happy ending.

But you won too. All because the last face you were going to see was the face of the man you loved.

“Surgeon’s here! He’s got supplies!”

Hold on, Y/n.

. . .

Acknowledgements:

First of all, I want to thank everyone on Amino (who I unfortunately, didn’t keep in contact with) for telling me that the first 2 chapters of this fic were worthwhile. Without motivation from them, I never would have felt inspired enough to keep developing this idea.

I also want to thank my best friend for listening to me rant about this piece. About the hours and hours of research about historical figures, laundry in the 1890s, makeup in the 1890s, speech, Victorian slang terms, hair, names, German breakfast food, types of tea, Victorian wedding traditions, serial killers, post-traumatic stress disorder, bilingualism, travel, everything. Even anatomy, dangerous chemicals, ages of me studying self-defense, waltz, and harp tutorials on YouTube. I even did the math-- Cornelia really is an 8th-generation New Yorker! I sat down and put a half hour into making a very preliminary family tree for her. Don’t even get me started on how many times I watched the anime and took notes on the cast’s speech and mannerisms. I even scoured Pinterest for reference pictures, outfit inspiration…everything you could ever want. It all amounted to 300+ pins to my TIP board, and exactly 127,411 words.

I digress. My best friend is so motivating, and without her telling me not to force myself to write when I don’t feel it, you guys wouldn’t have gotten anything close to this quality of work. In fact, she’s also a bit responsible for a scene in this chapter.

I also want to thank Sweet Anon, mylostleftfootsock, katherine101, for consistently reaching out to me in asks, DMs, and commenting. You all motivate me so much, and there’s nothing quite like knowing that the story I write touches you. Without knowing people were really engaging with what I put out, writing would have taken a lot longer, if it happened at all.

Thank you all, so much. I’m so grateful for every single read.

I can't wait to share my next projects with you. I'll even give you a few hints to make up for this ending: Ciel Phantomhive, ballerina!reader, fake courtship, serial killer. Do with this what you will <3

Love, Dan

#the indignant pawn #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel phantomhive #ciel phantomhive x y/n #ciel phantomhive x you #black butler fanfic #anime fanfiction #historical fiction #historical romance

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