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celtigxr · 7 days ago

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𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 is with your 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 18+, MDNI PAIRING: Fem!Aegon x Aemond, established relationship, targcest

Story summary: In an alternative timeline, set during the events of 1.08 (Lord of the Tides). What would the story look like had Aegon been born a woman, and Aemond was Alicent's heir? Well, as it turns out, Aegon is very much the same lecherous fool, but the difference is that the consequences are far more devastating, and Aemond is determined to remind his sister of her place in his life. Word count: 13,963 (not sorry) Cross Posted on Ao3

Credits: Title inspired by: Cry Little Sister by Gerard McMann (Lost Boys Theme), cover art and fem!aegon edits made by me. Dividers not by me, I can't seem to find the original poster anymore. Story tags: Slow Burn (suffer for your smut), enemies to lovers, hate that I love you, established relationship, targcest (siblings, uncle/niece), angst, unrequited feelings, toxic relationships, yearning, jealousy, mxf, fxf, brother x sister, uncle x niece, master x servant.

Content warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, gender bent canon character, brief canon violence, angst, misogyny, slut shaming, targcest (brother/sister, uncle/niece), Aemond frequently calls her his sister, infidelity (everyone?), breastfeeding, creepy uncle behaviour, mention of underage 'fooling around', mentions of sex work and brothels, pregnancy mention, unwanted pregnancy, allusions to abortion (via moon tea!), post partum depression, withholding child from parent, labour pains and blood, abusive parent, verbal abuse, physical abuse (a slap), dubcon (power imbalance, and alcohol), toxic relationships, alcoholism, typical canon tw's. There are no good people here.

MOOD SPOILERS BELOW

P+V, sexual tension, breeding kink, cream pie, lactation kink, ass worship, breast worship, targcest, fingering, pussy grabbing, hickeys, degradation, allusions to anal, rough sex, hair grabbing/pulling, bending her around like a pretzel, oral (f receiving), over stimulation, orgasm repression, bit of spanking, edging, man handling, rimming with finger, clothes ripping, mirror sex, various positions.

“Get up,” Alicent’s sharp voice cut through her eldest child’s peaceful slumber like an executioner’s axe. Though her daughter did not move, did not show a moment of acknowledgement of her presence. “Aenys!”

Again, no response. This, of course, successfully pushed Alicent to the point of frustration. The Queen ripped off the sheets that covered her daughter, displaying her nude form to the room. That was when Aenys finally stirred, her eyes covered by a curtain of dishevelled white-gold hair.

Aenys sighed, grabbing her sheets back to cover her body, then promptly rolled over, “Mother.... What is it?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep as she turned to snuggle back into her pillow.

“‘What is it? What is it, what is it?’ Is that all you can say for yourself?” Alicent leaned over the bed like a vulture ready to pick at a corpse.

“Has something happened?” Aenys’ voice was muffled by her pillow, though her tone still successfully conveyed her disinterest. Her eyes were closed as she tried to chase back the dream she was having; she was naked on Sunfyre, flying while someone was pressed against her back, their hand cupping her mound and rubbing her pearl deliciously.

Alicent looked upon her incredulously and with barely contained fury. How could Alicent produce such a creature? Her own daughter, her first born, with beautiful violet eyes, bright white-blonde hair and the sweetest face. She was everything Alicent was not, and the Queen had absolutely no idea where she went wrong with her.

“Ser Willis Fell,” The knight’s name was stressed through Alicent’s teeth.

“Hm?”

“Ser Willis Fell, one of your father’s sworn guards,” Alicent stared at Aenys in disbelief. The Princess remained buried in her pillows. “Oh, for gods’ sake. Aenys, the Kingsguard that you coerced into breaking his vows.”

Aenys groaned in frustration, arching her back as she stretched out across her bed like a cat, “Oh, it was just harmless fun. He didn’t need much coercing either, he was very willing.” Aenys rubbed the butts of her palms into her eyes as she rolled onto her back, her shoulder length hair fanned around her in messy tendrils.

Alicent gaped down at Aenys’ audacity, “Think of the shame you brought me. Think of the shame you bring to your husband, Aenys. Do you not realize how dangerous it is for you to fraternize with other men? You not only cuckold your husband, but you risk getting pregnant with a bastard!”

Aenys scoffed as she cracked open her eyes to blurrily glare up at her mother, her frustration growing with every passing second that she wasn’t allowed to sleep. “I am not some unseasoned mare, mother, I know how to prevent such accidents,” Aenys swung her legs over the side of the bed, the sheets bunching up around her waist while her breasts hung broadly displayed, littered with love marks from last night’s tryst. “Besides, what me and Ser Willis did, there was definitely no way we could have conceive—”

Alicent slapped her hard across the face. The clap echoed in the bedchamber, shocking them both into a silence that deafened them. Aenys’ face was sharply turned away from her, her cheek stinging with her mother’s love, her eyes bleeding fresh salty tears. Alicent breathed heavily through her nose, staring daggers into her daughter’s profile. Only a flicker of regret passed by her brown doe eyes before it was quickly replaced with contempt. She bent down so she was at Aenys’ eye level.

“You are no daughter of mine.”

“I’m sorry, my Princess, but he refused to latch. He’s been crying all morning,” Joy was bouncing the screaming baby up and down in her arms, trying to calm him down. Her large breast was exposed, showing that she had just recently tried another attempt at getting the babe to latch onto her.

Aenys rubbed her furrowed brow as she approached the two of them, and then mutely picked up her son from the wetnurse’s arms. “That’s because he is the blood of the dragon,” she holds her son to her bosom as she walks over to an armchair and sits down, “And therefore has a refiner pallet. Isn’t that right, Aerys? My boy is an Arbor Red man.”

Aenys cooed at her youngest son while she unlaced her bodice with her free hand and pulled her arm out of her dress so she could release her breast with ease. It did not take much for the babe to latch on, successfully silencing him. Aenys hummed contently at the sight, her hands moving along the crown of his silver-haired head, and then relaxed into her seat.

Joy seemed utterly relieved as she tucked herself back into her dress. Her fingers went to massage her temples where her headache had taken root due to the hours of Aerys’ unrelenting screaming. “He misses you, my Princess,” the wetnurse said with a tender voice. “They both do.”

Aenys swallowed thickly as she stared down at Aerys, her second child, the spare to her husband’s heir. He had only been born two months ago, yet it felt like years. Much like when she had given birth to her first, when the sex was identified as a boy, her son was swiftly taken away from her and into the breast of the wetnurse, Joy. When her first was born, Aenys had cried throughout the first night.On the second she marched through the corridors demanding to see her son; a trail of blood from her healing cervix following her angry strides. They only complied because she was making a scene, but she was never alone with him. Either her grandsire, mother, wetnurse or his father was present.

She wasn’t stupid. Nor was she deaf. Aenys could hear their whispers when they think she isn’t listening, or too drunk to pay attention. They do not see her as a fit mother, they think she’ll accidentally kill her children in some drunken escapade, or just from negligence or ignorance. When her eldest got older, when he started talking, she saw less and less of him. His father didn’t want Aenys to influence him. He needed his heir to be perfect; groomed to be the epitome of Targaryen excellence, something that Aenys was very much not.

As Joy went about the room to clean up, to change the sheets in Aerys’ crib, Aenys spent the entire time in silence. She just watched her son latching on her nipple, the sounds of his sighs and suckles sending a wave of calm throughout her body that felt inherently natural. His large purple eyes were starting to flutter close, exhausted after hours of being denied his right to his mother’s breast. Aenys’ finger grazed the apple of her son’s cheek, feeling the dampness of the tears he had shed. She couldn’t help but feel the sting of resentment towards her family; it was their fault that her babe was famished to the point of screaming. If they had simply let her be with him, to let him nurse off of her in the first place, it never would have happened.

The sound of the door handle turning snatched her attention. There was no knock, no announcement from a Kingsguard, it was just him walking in as if he were already king.

Aemond’s eye landed on her instantly– Well, more specifically on her tit in their son’s mouth. Her milky white mound was decorated with fading bruises of love marks from her previous lover, evidence of her infidelity that he was well aware of anyway. The fact that she was having their son nurse from the same breast that another man was nursing from surely twenty-four hours ago made his gut churn with disgust.

And yet… The sight of her nursing made his black heart thump uncomfortably.

He sharply turned away from the sight, displaying the profile of his taut jaw where she could see the muscle of his cheek twitch from the strain.

“Where is Aegon?” He questioned sharply, his hand still on the door handle, conveying that he had no intention of lingering.

“I thought he was with you?” She raised an eyebrow at him, her hands holding onto Aerys a little more tightly as if he was going to snatch him away from her.

“He is with Maester Orwyle, my Prince,” Joy is quick to answer before the two parents could fret over the whereabouts of their child. “He is learning his numbers today.”

Aemond hums and is about to leave, but Aenys is quick to ask him what he needed him for.

“It is time for him to learn how to use a sword,” Aemond’s answer doesn’t surprise Aenys in the least bit, but it does make her give him a look of incredulity.

“Use a swor–? Aemond, he just turned six,” She shook her head at him.

“And? Six is a fine age to begin sparring,” he turned back to her, his eye trained to her face deliberately. “The earlier he begins, the more skilled of a warrior he will become when he is older.”

Aenys rolled her eyes with a scoff, “Aemond, he is too small to lift up a training sword–.”

“How would you know what my son is capable of?” His words cut her deeply. It was a well placed shot straight to her chest that snapped her lips shut, but only for a moment.

The creases between her brows deepened, “I am his mother.”

Aemond nearly laughed at that, “You were his mother for nine months. A wetnurse for two weeks, and then a stranger for the rest. Do not presume to know what is best for my heir, Aenys. Not when you do not even know what is best for yourself.”

Her husband and brother left absolutely no room for her to respond. Aemond dismissed himself with a flourish of his pin straight hair and a bang of the door.

Aenys pulled Aerys tighter against her bosom, her head bowed over the crest of his warm scalp, and her eyes tightly shut. Fresh tears fall on the babe’s face, but they do not belong to him.

The arrival of Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and their brood came with much noise. It was no friendly family reunion, but a necessary arrival to preserve their bastard sons’ inheritance. Vaemond Velaryon would be arriving soon to petition the line of succession to the Heir of Driftmark in the anticipation of Lord Corlys’ possible death. With King Viserys still abed, mind addled with milk of the poppy, and decomposing with every passing day, the petition would be presided by the Lord Hand and the Queen Regent.

Aenys couldn’t care about anything less. She knew the weight of the petition; if Lucerys loses his inheritance, it would be due to his legitimacy, which would in turn put Jacaerys’ legitimacy into question. Which is ultimately what Alicent and Otto want, but that would not change Viserys’ line of succession. The crown will go to Rhaenyra upon the King’s death, and when Rhaenyra is Queen she could just simply legitimize her sons, or make her eldest son with Daemon her heir. It changed nothing, no matter how much Alicent, Otto, and Aemond delusion themselves into thinking that this petition would.

She was three cups of wine in when her uncle found her laying on a lounger beneath the domed roof of a stone gazebo, nestled in the heart of the royal gardens. Aenys was watching in mild amusement as a plain pigeon attempted to do his courtship dance to a much fancier female. Her feathers were mostly white, not quite a dove, given the grey feathers around her neck and the beautiful iridescent sheen they held. She was not at all impressed by the male.

“Well, if it isn’t little Aenys,” Daemon’s monotonous drawl was enough to pull her attention away from her pigeons. Her uncle’s tall willowy figure blocked the sun that was peaking through the shrubs and trees, making him look like a shadow. She could still see him tilt his head at her, “Bit early to be that well into your cups, don’t you think? Particularly for a princess.”

The smirk on his lip conveyed he cared less than what his statement implied.

“Are you going to tattle on me, uncle?” She slurped her wine noisily, which made his smirk widen.

He didn’t answer her, instead he descended into an armchair situated at the feet of her lounger. His long legs sprawled out in front of him, his large hands resting on the arms, and his plum purple eyes roamed the length of her legs like a predator sizing up its potential prey.

“You’ve grown up since I last saw you.”

“That’s because I was three the last time you saw me.”

His smirk transformed into a wolfish grin. Daemon paused to look around at their setting, to the empty parepets that loomed overhead, to the loggia on the second floor that faced the garden’s direction, to the pigeon who was still trying fruitlessly with his courting dance. When he was satisfied with what he saw, or rather what he didn’t see, he leaned on his knees towards her.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Aenys raised her eyebrows for a moment before narrowing her eyes at him. However, there was an expression of ease and intrigue upon her features, “Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking somewhere less polished. Less green.”

A knowing and curly smirk dimpled her cheek, “Ah, the Lord of Flea Bottom wishes to return to his people. Fee ling sentimental for your own stomping grounds, uncle?”

That lecherous smirk barely wavered; if anything it amplified when his tongue flicked out to run along his bottom lip, “From what I’ve heard you have inherited and elevated the title in my absence. The Queen of Whores. Quite a step up from a lord.”

At the mention of the title Aenys’ smirk flattened a bit and her eyes drifted away, “Hm, or a step down, some might say. Alas, I have not done my queenly duties these past few years.”

“Because you are married?” He asked this as if it isn’t a sufficient enough excuse. “From the rumours I hear, niece, that still does not deter you. I’ve noticed that my brother has one less White Cloak guarding him.”

“He broke his vows.”

“So did you.”

Aenys tapped her wine glass as she assessed Daemon, wondering what he was trying to achieve with this conversation. Taking a thoughtful sip, she tilted her head at him.

“Are you suffering from bed death already, uncle?” Her question managed to enlist a bodily reaction from him. Daemon leaned back in his chair, his smirk flattening for a moment before returning the moment she continued. “Got bored with one niece and now trying to pursue the other?”

He chuckled at that, his hand running over his chin before resting it on his palm, his elbow placed on his knee. “Am I wrong to assume that you suffer the same affliction with your beloved husband?”

It was now his turn to pull a bodily reaction from Aenys. Her lips fell into a pout, and she shifted uncomfortably in her lounger; her left leg moved up as she shifted her bottom on the seat so she was sitting straighter, but in doing so her gown lifted just enough to expose her pale ankle. Daemon’s dark gaze found it in an instant.

“I doubt my nephew meets your needs sufficiently, sweet niece,” his voice is a pur that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “I would have suspected a woman with your…appetites would have more children by now. But I’ve noticed the age gap between your sons. Is that by design, I wonder? A well placed lemon top, or a convenient cup of moon tea? I imagine you’ve learned all sorts of tricks from the brothels you frequented.”

Aenys had been pregnant in between her sons, yes, but the father was not Aemond, and was swiftly taken care of by moon tea and several excruciating hours of heavy bleeding and a pain that rivalled active labour. It took years after Aegon’s birth to even convince Aemond to try for a spare– and as soon as Aerys was conceived, her brother stopped acknowledging her.

When she didn’t answer, Daemon was undeterred as he continued, “Mayhaps we can help each other.” His hand reached out the short distance to her ankle, using one long finger to draw lines on her exposed joint before trailing up her calf, moving along the hem of her dress. “And…should there be any consequence from it… None would be the wiser.”

Aenys’ eyes observe his ministrations, not even denying to herself that it was causing her loins to stir with longing. Her sex hungered for attention, even if it was not that long ago that she had a courtier’s head nestled between her thighs. However, there was nothing like a good cock rutting in and out of her like she was a mare in heat. Even more so when it is so forbidden and taboo. Not that he being her uncle was– no, bizarrely in their world that was normal, if not expected. She was, afterall, married to her younger brother and sired two children with him. What made it taboo was that they were both married, and their spouses were silently competing for a seat on the throne.

But something whispered in the back of Aenys’ mind, which sounded a lot like a conscience. It was enough to make her feel a bit queasy at the prospect of stepping over the line between her and Daemon. Maybe it was because she was a mother now, maybe it was the berating she suffered from her mother last morning, maybe it was because she hadn’t enough wine to shut off that little voice in her head. Or maybe it was because she felt the looming presence of a foreboding character lurking in the shadows, his blazing eye burning a hole into the back of her head.

Aenys was getting out of the bath when Aemond barged into her living quarters. The sound of the door shuddering at the force of his body caused her poor maidservant to startle, effectively dropping the towel she was trying to wrap around her mistress.

“Seven Hells, Aemond,” Aenys quickly snatched up her towel and wrapped up her nudity before she could even clocked the look he was giving her. That one lingering look with his one haunted eye that drank up the sight of her rear like a famished beggar. But that look was quickly wiped away and replaced with his ever present facade of antipathy. “Knock, for Mother’s sake.”

“Why?” He bit the question as he strode further into the room. The maidservant immediately knew that she wasn’t wanted, and swiftly curtsied before sprinting out of the room and hastily closing the door behind her. “I am your lord and your husband, I am entitled to this room and everything in it, including you. Or have you forgotten that after all these years?”

The last time Aemond felt ‘entitled’ to her rooms was nearly a year ago when they conceived Aerys, and even then he approached her door like it was the gates to the hells. The hypocrisy of his statement made her blink rapidly around the room in disbelief.

Clutching the knot of the towel at her chest, she widened her stance in preparation for a verbal altercation. “No less than you have forgotten, husband. You haven’t darkened my doorstep for elven moons.”

He strode closer to her until all that remained between them was the cooling copper tub and the milky water that remained swirling around. It smelt like vanilla and lemon, with just a hint of mint leaves. An aroma that was very distinctively Aenys; one that he had come to loathe and crave like a bad habit that he was actively trying to detox from.

“And that gives you a right to do as you please? Your debauchery when we were younger was bad enough, Aenys, but now your lecherous behaviour has gotten out of hand.”

“Now? Now it’s gotten out of hand?” With one hand clutching the towel, the other waved around in exaggerated movements. “I was worse before we wed, Aemond. I have been trying to be good… But it’s never good enough, is it? Nothing I do is ever good enough.”

His hands braced the edge of the tub as he peered at her like she was speaking maddening nonsense, “This is you trying?”

“I have not set foot in Flea Bottom in years, have I not?”

“That changes absolutely nothing! You’ve just changed your hunting grounds, setting your sights on honourable guards, servants, and weak-willed courtiers like the succubus that you are.”

Aenys scoffed dismissively at this, “Oh, do not look down upon me as if you are any better, Aemond. At least I do not skulk in the dark when I commit my sins.”

“What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?”

“I am aware of your little visits to Madam Sylvi’s, Aemond,” Aenys crossed her arms over her chest, pressing the towel firmly against her aching breasts. “I would have found it sweet that you still lie with your first – might’ve even been flattered that it is the same whore that I bought for you as a name day present after all these years, but your shocking display of hypocrisy is offensive. I am not the only adulterer in this marriage, Aemond.”

Aemond stared at her with the full capacity of his fury. His shame for his indulgences in the arms of Madam Sylvi was enough of a burden for him to bear, but the fact that Aenys knew about it was something he could not accept. It would be one thing if it was his mother that had learned of it, but with Aenys, it was a different story. She led the entourage of his childhood tormentors, taking pleasure in emphasizing how little, dragonless and weak he was at the time. And now… Sylvi was his only weakness he allowed himself, and Aenys fucking knew about her.

He rigidly straightened up and strode purposely around the tub, each step calculated and predatory. “I am your husband, Aenys, and therefore you are my property by law, not the other way around. What I do to seek out my pleasures is none of your fucking business.” He is towering over her now, crowding her space, making her step back until her thighs meet the edge of an accent table flushed against the wall. “But what you do, wife, is my business. You made vows to me, Aenys, in holy matrimony, to serve only me, your lord and husband!”

Having Aemond this close was making her knees weak, but Aenys wasn’t a simpering lap dog that rolled over in the presence of a larger one.

“I did not ask for this, Aemond!” She shouted, her chin lifted in defiance. “I did not ask to be your wife! If there is anyone to blame for your predicament, it is mother, not me!”

“Believe me, sister,” He seethed through clenched teeth, his eye turned black by the vast void of his widened pupil. Aemond stretched his neck forward, leaning so was nose to nose with her. “I rue the day mother told me that you would be my wife. I would have never chosen such an unworthy woman for the title. It should have been Helaena. It should have always been Helaena.”

Aenys’ nostrils flared at his words; each one was like a dagger sinking another inch deeper into her chest. The mention of Helaena sent a wave of insecurity through her gut, making her eyes sting and her nose to twitch. Helaena was the daughter that Alicent always wanted; delicate, kind, soft-hearted, beautiful in such an effortless way that she did not even need to wear extravagant gowns and bold jewelry for people to notice it. Alas the greatest sin Helaena had was being born second to Aenys. With her fragile mind, she was moved to Oldtown to live with Daeron, until a suitable betrothal is made for her. A decision that Alicent freely admits was a mistake, particularly to Aenys, when she reminds her eldest of how undeserving she was of the things freely given to her. Undeserving and unworthy.

Unworthy. She was unworthy.

Unworthy of being a wife.

Unworthy of being a mother.

Unworthy of being a daughter.

Unworthy of love.

“If you hate me so much Aemond, then just leave me be,” Her lips twitched as she said this through clattering teeth and a taut jaw.

“I wish I could,” his voice came out a little softer than the tone he had used seconds before. But the softness quickly dissipated when he reached out and grabbed her face, his fingers sinking into her cheek possessively. “But your infidelity has shamed me enough, Aenys. The Realm already laughs in my fucking face over you cuckolding me at every turn. Thank the Seven that our sons look like me, because if there was even a whisper about their legitimacy, Aenys, my claim to the Throne would be just as weak as Rhaenyra’s. And it would be entirely your fault.”

Despite the grip he had on her face, she scoffed at him, a derisive little smirk split her cheek, “Do you still believe that you will be king, Aemond?” The question effectively made his eye flash fiercely. “Father had twenty-one years to name you heir, and he didn’t. He still steadfastly declares Rhaenyra his heir–”

“Shut your whore mouth,” He pinched her face viciously, pulling it closer to him, making her body press against the lithe structure of his form. Aenys immediately reached up and clung to his elbows, but not entirely understanding if she did to push him off or pull him closer.

“I am no whore, brother,” She twisted her face out of his grasp. “Whores get paid–”

Suddenly his other hand was on her again, but this time it was nestled between her thighs, cupping her mound harshly. Tendrils of electricity crawled along the surface of her skin, blooming from that centered point. The touch of his warm palm, pressing against her labia just above her pearl made her thighs quiver. The feel of the pad of his finger on her slit made her hips involuntarily buck into him. Her sex ached for his penetration, as evidenced by her slick essence dampening her curls.

“No, you’re a curse. My curse,” his nostrils flared as his eye seared into her face, devouring every tremble of muscle he caused. He seeked to dig the knife deeper, to make her feel his hatred for her. To remind her of her place, to break her spirit. It was what she deserved for all that she did to him. He plunged and curled his fingers into her, causing her to gasp and arch her back into him. Aemond did not move his digit, just kept her there like a fish on a hook.

“Aemond–” She put her hands on his shoulders, not pushing him away, but anchoring herself to him. In doing so, the towel around her body loosened, her breasts were painfully pressed against him, likely leaking with milk. She breathed hard, her heady desires rising rapidly at his rare touch.

Even during the whopping two times they coupled, Aemond was not nearly this lascivious with her. At most, he had rubbed her clit and fingered her for a minute or two just so it made his descent inside her easier for both of them. He always took her from behind, always kept her face pressed against the mattress so he wouldn’t look at her.

But he was looking at her now, with knuckles deep in her cunt, showing his claim to his property. The heat that bloomed in her chest and core blotted out her anger towards him, and Aenys eagerly showed him how much she wanted him by rolling her hips into his hand, encouraging him to pleasure her. “Aemond– please, I need–”

Aemond had nearly broken and bent like a weak-willed man. The crotch of his breeches were already tight, and now the laces strained against the thickening of his cock underneath. But something snapped awake in him, reminding him of who he was lusting for. Aenys, the bane of his existence, the great Whore of King’s Landing. He pulled away from her in an instant like she had just burned him with an iron poker. The hand that was buried inside stretched and curled at his side as if he had just touched something vile.

The towel crumpled on the floor, her vanity exposed, making it look like the trembling body of a wounded doe, waiting to be killed. The hurt of rejection was clear upon her face, with wide eyes and quivering lips.

He still had the knife, he still wanted to drive it home into her heart. Aemond wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt him over the span of their marriage, over the span of their childhood.

“You are merely a duty, Aenys. One that was thrusted upon me against my will, and being the loyal son that I am, I accepted this fate without complaint,” He turned away from her, keeping her on his blind side as if the very image of her naked form repulsed him… Or weakened him. “That is all this marriage is. The gods were merciful enough to grant me two heirs from you, and I see that as a fulfillment of my duty. I need nothing more from you.”

With that he strode around the tub, his steps quicker than his usual gait. His fingers still flexed at his side before he reached for the door to see himself out, but before he did, he paused. Aemond looked down, slowly reached for something in his pocket, then turned back to her.

Aenys stood there, crestfallen, her head bowed, making her damp hair a curtain around her face like limp strands of white seaweed. She had her arms folded around her chest, her knees were slightly caved in the middle as she tried to hide her pelvic region. His jaw slacked at the sight of her, and a flicker of regret passed his features like dust in the wind. The hickies were still on her chest, splotches of yellowed skin with purple hues at the center, reminding him why she did not deserve his pity.

“Here,” Aemond growled. With his thumb, he flicked something in her direction. It sang in the air before landing with a noisy clank, and then rolled on the hardwood floor before it clattered to a stop. When Aenys’ eyes flickered to it, her brow furrowed. It was a single copper star coin.

“That’s all you’re worth.”

Then, he was gone with the slamming of the door. The singing of the coin still rang in her ears, along with the chanting of voices saying over, and over again:

Unworthy.

Unfit.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Whore. Whore. Whore. Whore.

It happened so incredibly fast that Aenys was tugged violently back into sobriety.

Two days passed since the argument with Aemond, and she had not seen him at all since. It was not like she was seeking him out, but his avoidance felt more like a conscious effort rather than a coincidence. Even when Aenys visited Aegon in the library while he was learning the geography of Westeros, Aemond was vacant for the entire lesson. Which was strange, since Aemond liked to be a part of Aegon’s lessons, often shadowing the Maester or replacing him altogether to ensure that his son was getting a proper education.

When Aenys did see Aemond, it was during Vaemond’s petition.

The petition started off dull and boring, at least to Aenys, even when she was already four cups of Arbour Gold in. She stood there with her hands laced in front of her, rocking on the balls of her feet, wishing she was in the Dragon Pit with Sunflyre, the only living soul that seemed to care about her. She wasn’t paying a lick of attention to what Vaemond was saying – he gave a long speech about Velaryon blood and yada yada yada. At one point Rhaenyra cut him off to defend her son’s blood status, which was quickly shut down by the Queen.

It didn’t really get that interesting until the doors opened and the broken and hollow footsteps of King Viserys forced everyone into a stunned silence. Aenys and Aemond watched with baited breath as the ailing King hobbled over to the dais of the Iron Throne unaided. His crown fell from his head, which was quickly scooped by his rogue brother. Daemon helped his brother into his throne and then gently placed the gold crown back upon his head with such tenderness, it was easy for Aenys to forget her uncle's reputation. Easy to forget the proposition he offered her days ago.

It was easy to believe that deep down, he might have actually been a good man. And Aenys’ heart ached in envy over her half-sister’s luck to have such a husband at her side. Infidelity aside, Daemon had not once displayed disinterest to his wife since they arrived. They reared their children together, they walked together, shoulder to shoulder, they conversed normally without argument. It begged the question as to why he propositioned Aenys in the first place…

But when he turned away from Viserys to join his family, Daemon caught her eye. Then Aenys fundamentally realized something: She reminded him of not only himself, but of the girl Rhaenyra used to be.

Then something utterly bizarre happened in that same exact moment when Daemon strode past her. She felt Aemond shift closer to her side; the heat of his body near unbearable, given the cold shoulder he had been giving her their entire marriage. Then she felt his arm slither around her waist, his fingers digging into the meat of her hip. Aenys’ brow furrowed, then she slowly turned to Aemond with a budding snarl on her lip. However, Aemond wasn’t looking at her; he was too busy glaring at their uncle’s retreating back.

After that moment, all hell broke loose; Rhaenys spoke for her husband and Viserys declared the matter being settled. Lucerys would keep his inheritance, even though anyone with eyes knew it was unjustly deserved. However Vaemond was not fixed to roll over that easily.

The words “Bastard” and “Whore” echoed in the Throne Room, and Aenys felt herself flinch as if they were directed at her. Though it wasn’t, they were directed at her half-sister, Rhaenyra. Who arguably out of the two sisters was the least whore-ish of all, and yet the consequences of her affair with a single man were regarded far more viciously than the lecherous reputation Aenys harboured.

But would that be her fate if she gave birth to bastards? If her current sons weren’t Aemond’s, or even just failed to look like him at all? Would she be standing there in Rhaenyra’s place, pleading for everyone to believe that her sons were legitimate?

Vaemond’s head was chopped in half. His body slumped, the top half of his skull slipped off with a squelch of blood and flesh as his tongue flopped out of his bottom half.

“He can keep his tongue.”

In the chorus of screams and gasps, Aenys’ reaction was no different to any other gently bred lady of the court. Her hands went flying to the sides of her face and she rushed to turn away. In her horror she didn’t even completely register Aemond’s arms wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest to shield her from the gruesome display.

“Are you alright?” Aemond’s question was almost as queer as the tone he chose to speak it in.

“I’m fine,” her eyes narrowed at him, her goblet of wine was cradled to her chest as if he was about to snatch it away from her. “Why?” Her voice was gritty and filled with suspicion and seven cups of wine.

“I went to your quarters earlier; your guard told me you were adamant on not being disturbed,” he said it so cooly, Aenys was almost convinced that he actually cared. Even though she knew better to assume otherwise, the fact he had gone to her quarters at all (and to concede in her need to not be disturbed) felt incredibly out of character to him.

“That’s because my maid was busy distracting me with her tongue in my cunt,” she sipped her wine casually, ignoring the flash of annoyance in Aemond’s eye.

“Aenys–”

She scoffed at him before he continued. Their argument the other day was still fresh on her mind; his words echoed in her nightmares and branded itself to her insides. “Do not start, Aemond,” she rolled her eyes and waved her cup-bearing hand at him dismissively. “It is about time that you come to peace with my nature, just like I have come to peace with the fact that my name sounds a lot like ‘anus’. So in peace, in fact, that anal has become a speciality of mine–”

Aenys could sense his rise in outrage, but they weren’t alone in the small hall, so there was no room to react. Their entire family gathered around the table in anticipation of the King’s arrival so they could be seated for their family dinner. The first of its kind in many, many years.

Before Aemond could grip her arm and pull her into some dark alcove to berate her, the doors opened and four guards came in carrying their ailing father on a litter. Slowly and one by one, people took their spots at the table, not sitting until the King was situated at the center.

The small hall was painfully quiet, even when King Viserys spoke, declaring that it brought him joy to see all of them at the table as one. Alicent led the dinner with a prayer, and everyone in the table complied by clasping their hands, some bowing their heads, some closing their eyes. Aemond had done both, making Aenys roll her eyes instead of closing them. She didn’t even bother clasping her hands; there was no point. The gods hated her, she was a sinner most foul. There was little dignity in pretending otherwise.

After that, Viserys explained how the night was one of celebration, and went on to congratulate the betrothal of Jacaerys and Lucerys to their cousins and step siblings, Baela and Rheana.

As everyone raised their goblets for a toast, Aenys couldn’t help herself but lean into Jacaerys’ side, her features mockingly soft and considerate.

“Well done, Jace, you can finally put those skills I taught you to good use,” Aenys managed to keep her face straight when Baela sent her a sharp look. Jacaerys didn’t bother acknowledging her with a glance, instead he drank a generous helping of his wine, puckering his lips as he staved off the urge to make a sharp remark.

As Viserys congratulated Lucerys for his preservation of his title, (The Lord of the Tides! Here, here!) Aenys caught Aemond’s eye. He was heatedly staring at her over the rim of his goblet, his jaw taut with agitation. The knowledge that Aenys and Jacaerys had done little experiments with each other in their mid teens was an open secret, at least between the four of them. It was a fact that Aemond was openly not fond of, though Aenys didn’t entirely understand why. She and him weren’t betrothed at the time, and as far as she was aware, her brother resented both her and Jacaerys equally during that era in their life. What with them and Luke being the primary villains in his childhood.

Aenys turned back to Jacaerys, leaning against his chair by draping her arm on the back of it, crowding his space.

“You do remember how the act is done, right? At least in principle, seeing as we never got around to sticking your cock in–”

“Enough, cousin,” Baela whispered harshly from the other side of Jacaerys, who was already losing his temper.

“You can play the harlot if you wish, aunt, but hold your tongue before my betrothed,” Jace whispered, his words were more of a hiss as he braced himself on the edge of the table.

Aenys blinked at him and nodded, “Mhm. Whatever you say, my dear nephew.”

As she settled back into her chair, she felt fingers snake onto her knee and grip tightly. This brought her attention back to her husband, whose lips were pursed and his eye blazed with warning. Aenys merely smiled at him as if they were in wedded bliss, her hand reaching down to her knee to grab his, then pulling it up on the table, where she laced her fingers with his. The action earned her a little rumble from deep in his chest, and she half expected him to tear his hand out of her grip, but he didn’t.

He just looked away from her, eye trained on something (or someone) at the other end of the table. There was a twitch in the muscle under his injured eye, and in that moment she felt his fingers tighten around her own.

The sound of Viserys’ cane hitting the floor silenced the whispers around the table and garnered the attention of everyone in the room. The frail King rose from his seat, and everyone watched with bated breath and concern, as if he would topple over at his attempt.

“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 the years past,” Viserys paused as he slowly reached for the bronzed mask that hid half his face. Unbuckling the fastens, he let it fall onto the table. His right side exposed, the empty socket, the decayed flesh that lay underneath.

He was already half a corpse, half dead. It made Aenys’ breath hitch and her mind sober at the sight. She had never seen her father like this before; frail, weak, dying, his wounds displayed to them and yet stood above them all. Aenys only ever saw Viserys as a crippled man with no backbone, and eyes full of hate and disappointment when he looked in her direction. His most distasteful daughter.

“My own face… is no longer a handsome one… If it indeed ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just as the king, but your father, your brother, 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. 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.”

There was a palpable taste of shame, guilt, remorse, and heartbreak in the room. One that Aenys had to chase down with a drink from her cup. Unbeknownst to her own mind, her fingers had curled slightly around Aemond’s hand, which still remained in hers. Her eyes were settled on the table, but Aemond’s focus was their intertwined fingers, a deep, pensive look in his eye.

Soon after the King was back in his seat did Rhaenyra stand up with her goblet, declaring she was raising it for the Queen. She spoke of her loyalty to her father, and her devotion and love. Sentiments that Aenys found illinformed, knowing what she knew about her mother, knowing that she was no different than her estranged eldest daughter. If only Rhaenyra knew about Ser Criston…

But then Alicent spoke in kind, looking directly at the Crown Princess with soft eyes; eyes that Aenys had never seen when her mother ever looked in her direction.

“We are both mothers, and we love our children,” the statement stung like a band of hornets. Aenys pursed her lips and tore her attention off of the center of the table, feeling bile eat up her throat. She washed it down with more wine, making her cup empty.

As everyone toasted and silently resumed to their plates and idle chatter, Aenys turned towards the pitcher that sat between Baela and Jacaerys. Her mouth was parched and that bile wouldn’t go away. She found herself standing and unlatching her hand from Aemond’s as she strode around Jacaerys’ chair, making her way towards the pitcher. She could feel Aemond’s eye on her every move.

Clearing her throat, she gently squeezed between the two chairs so she could reach for the pitcher of wine. Once she got it in her grasp, she stood up and innocently began to pour it into her cup with her back facing the direction of their parents.

“I, um,” she started, tongue moving along her teeth as she addressed Baela directly. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But, if you two ever need a couple extra helping hands, all you have to do is ask–”

Jace’s fists slammed against the table as he stood, eyes piercing Aenys as she walked casually around him, innocent as ever as she returned to her seat. The Strong Prince’s heated onyx gaze watched her with pure hatred, his body vibrating with the need to yell, or worse. When all eyes were on him, looks of surprise or mute apprehension, Aemond slowly stood up, towering over him at his end of the table. Aenys simply looked around the table innocently, only briefly catching the knowing look from her grandsire.

Her husband’s eye was trained on Jacaerys, his stoic demeanor emanating an underlying threat; daring Jace to say something or do something. To give Aemond a reason.

Instead, Jace sucked in his lips and quickly swiped up his goblet. With a slight turn of his shoulders, he faced Aenys, a painfully forced smile on his plush lips as he gave her a little pat on her head.

With a deep inhale, he raised his cup, “To Prince Aemond and Princess Aenys… We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth.”

“Mmmhm,” Aenys hummed in her seat, her smirk tugging at the end of her lip. Aemond remained standing, but he took a split second to send her a withering look.

“And as men and women, I hope we may yet be friends and allies,” he raised his cup in their direction. “To the health of your young family, my dear uncle, and my sweet aunt.”

Jace sat back down, giving her a pat on the shoulder as he did. Not long after, Aemond finally settled back in his seat, looking a tad disappointed that he wasn’t given a reason to throw hands. As everyone raised their goblets to Jace’s toast, Aenys sighed and rolled her eyes. Her tongue was moving around in her mouth, the desperate need to say something in turn. It really didn’t take much time before she let the pettiness win, and soon it was now her time to rise from the table, full goblet in hand.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” she began, a disingenuous smile stretched across her face that was instantly read by her family. Aside from her father, who looked like he was having trouble keeping his head up at that point. “You will be married soon, and I feel it is my duty as a member of the league of blissfully wedded women to impart some of my sage wisdom…” She trailed off, actively ignoring the glare from her mother, brother, and grandsire. “The key to a good marriage is communication and patience. And when you’re angry with each… lemons, loads of lemons,” Aenys ended her toast with a cheeky grin before she felt her sleeve get yanked by Aemond, forcing her to sit back down.

Daemon was the only person who chuckled at the table, catching her jest immediately. Everyone else either looked confused or conflicted on what to make of Aenys’ little toast.

With the tensions still thick, Viserys requested music to fill the void. Aenys felt Jacaerys shift in his seat, pushing back his chair to stand up. With a pompous air of superiority, he offered his hand to his soon-to-be bride, who looked up at him with equal levels of fondness and delight. Before Jace and Baela left the table, Aenys caught her nephew’s smugness as he shared a look with Aemond. When the couple walked around the table towards the open space to dance, Aemond’s eye found Aenys’ in turn, a silent dual recognition of Jace's intentions.

Despite her little toast, it was common knowledge that her marriage with Aemond was not the blissful one she had claimed. It was not a secret either that he rarely touches her, nor was it unknown that Aenys had a long string of lovers to compensate for the lack of physical affection. Jace asking Baela for a dance seemed innocent, but it very much wasn’t. What it was, was a statement: “We are better than you in every way.”

Aenys crossed her legs under the table as she nursed her wine. She was practically slumped against the chair as she watched the couple with poorly concealed contempt and jealousy. As time went on in a haze of music, soft laughter and chatter, the tension eased from all seated except for the young married couple at the far right end of the table. Neither of them touched their food the entire time.

From the corner of Aenys’ eye, she could see Daemon shift in his seat, as if he was going to get up. However, the anguished sigh of the King stopped him, as well as everyone else in the room. The tired and ailing King was carried out of the small hall on his litter, everyone stood and paused as they gave him their regard and respect. Not long after his departure, however, did the atmosphere shift.

Servants came through the doors a minute after, holding a large platter that was the bed of a roasted, sizzling pig. The large plate was carefully slid in front of both Aemond and Aenys. The former had been impassively staring at Jace and Baela still dancing, but the moment he heard giggling from the other end of the table, his head slowly turned towards the smirking boy, the one who made him half blind.

Aenys’ cup was halfway towards her lips when she noticed her husband’s look, and she immediately clocked the twitch in his cheek and the tightness of his jaw. She slowly placed her cup down back on the table, now that a real show was about to begin.

When Aemond’s fist landed in the wooden table, Aenys felt a spike of adrenaline shoot down her spine, straight down to her cunt.

“Final tribute.”

“Aemond, are you listening to me?!” Alicent shouted, her chest heaving as she stared at her son with wide disapproving eyes, marbled by the glossiness of her embarrassment over her son’s uncharacteristic and unprovoked confrontation at supper.

Aemond wasn’t listening to her, of course. It went in one ear and out the other. After Daemon had wedged himself between him and his nephews, with that smug-ass look on his face, Aemond strode out of the room and went straight to his quarters. His mind was reeling and his muscles were tense with adrenalin at what transpired that evening. Of course, he felt an immense amount of satisfaction for putting his nephews in their place, of reminding them who their competition was. But that wasn’t what plagued his mind, oh no.

It was Aenys.

She had been a pain in his ass the entire eve, from the moment she walked in, already well into her cups. Despite the tense argument they had the other day, Aenys still had no qualms flaunting her sexual deviances around like a badge of honour, in front of him no less. However, her taunting Jacaerys the way she did, making him and Baela squirm with just her words stirred something in him that evening. Of course, he abhorred the knowledge that Jace and his wife fooled around as young teens (back when Aenys was closer to him than she ever was with Aemond), it was simply the act of her using that as a weapon that Aemond couldn’t help but respect. Begrudgingly.

But it wasn’t just that. When Aemond’s final tribute took a violent turn, Aenys wasted no time in joining him. When Jace approached Aemond and raised his fist, Luke had approached to do the same thing.

It was very reminiscent of the night that Aemond lost his eye; they all gained up on him, and at the time he was alone. Aenys was somewhere with that male servant she had been flirting with at the funeral, likely getting her holes fingered. At the time, Aemond resented her for not being there with him. She was his older sister after all, and the closest blood he had aside from Helaena and Daeron who were both in Oldtown. Though he knew logically that Aenys couldn’t have possibly known that Aemond was even outside in the first place, claiming Vhagar. But still, it was the budding reason as to why he had pointed his finger at her when their father asked where he had heard the ‘lie’ about Rhaenyra’s children being bastards.

However at supper, when Luke strode to join Jacaerys’ assault, much like he had done that fateful night, Aenys was on him in an instant. With a strength he had absolutely no idea she possessed, she had grabbed onto Luke’s arm and pinned him on the table, hovering over him with a self-satisfied expression on her face. She enjoyed putting the Strong boys in their place as much as Aemond did, reminding them that they were the true Targaryens, the rightful heirs.

When Rhaena went to grab Aenys, she had no choice but to pull herself away from Luke in order to fend her cousin off. In doing so Luke twirled off the table, and raised his hand to grab Aenys by the back of her haid. Aemond’s heart spiked. Though, just as he was about to bound over there in quick strides, Aenys twirled around and landed a swift punch of her own to Luke’s left eye.

“Be lucky I wasn’t holding a dagger, you bastard,” Aenys spat in her nephew’s face and stepped over him, leaving him sprawled on the floor, clutching his bruised eye.

Aemond was staring at his wife with a wide eye and a hardening cock/ But before he could even grab her, Daemon had stepped between them all as guards scrambled to pull Rhaenyra’s brood away. The sight of his uncle immediately infuriated him, particularly the smug way he was looking back.

“Aemond,” Alicent’s word sliced through his reverie, and brought him back to the present. He turned to look at her, his face completely impassive. She was berating him for the past ten minutes or so, and he sat there in quiet, not bothering to respond.

He wasn’t listening, he didn’t care. He would have done it again and again and again, if it meant he could watch Aenys punch Luke over and over again.

“I cannot believe you, of all people, Aemond, would have said such things in front of everyone. After we had just established peace!”

“Peace?” Aemond repeats the word like it is the most vile thing he’s ever tasted. He stood up from his arm chair and sauntered over to his mother. “You lost the right to peace long ago when you told me that I was Rhaenyra’s challenge. When you and grandsire groomed me to be the future king, despite father’s steadfast decision of keeping Rhaenyra as his heir. You lost the right to peace when you married him in the first place, effectively creating a war when you gave him more children. And Rhaenyra lost the right to it when she opened her legs and sired bastards.”

“Aemond–” Alicent took a step forward, her face slowly cracking as she pleaded with him, but he put his hand up to stop her. His face was twisted in disgust.

“You said to her… That she would make a fine Queen. You said that to her, in front of me, mother,” Aemond pursed his lips and gritted his jaw as he turned away from Alicent. “After all you’ve told me… After years of preparing me for the throne, telling me how I would make my ancestors proud. Did you believe any of it, or were you just stroking your own ambition?”

Alicent gaped at him, her brown eyes wide and glossy. The truth of his words bit her like the chill of a winter breeze, causing her to freeze over in the consequences of her sins.

When Aemond saw that she was not going to answer, his nostrils flared and he sharply turned away from her. His long, heavy steps ate up the floor within seconds until he’s reaching for the door.

“Wher-where are you going?” She questioned, turning to him with a flash of fear crossing her features, as if she suspects him of doing something heinous.

Aemond hesitated, his fingers flexing around the handle of the door, his shoulders taut and the muscles in his cheek twitching under the strength of his gritted jaw.

“To my wife.”

When Aemond barged into Aenys’ quarters for the second time that week, she was sitting on a settee with her maidservant straddling her lap. Aenys was sucking on the girl’s perky nipple while her hand was buried under her skirts, knuckles deep in the servant’s cunt.

When the maid turned to see who had entered, her eyes widened to saucers and she immediately pulled herself off of the Princess’s lap (much to Aenys’ chagrin), releasing her nipple from her mouth with an obscene popping sound.

“What the hells, Aemond,” the Princess growled.

Aemond ignored her statement. As the maid scrambled to fix her bodice, he jutted his thumb towards the exit, “Out.” With barely a nod and a curtsy, the maid scrambled out, still lacing up her bodice.

Aenys glared up at him as she slumped in her seat, her face was flushed (from drink or from the activities that were interrupted), and the laces of her bodice were loosened, threatening to release her breasts.

“Way to be a cock block, husband,” Aenys huffed when the door slammed shut. She stood up then, her hands thrown in the air in exasperation. “What do you even– Aemond!”

He had grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease as he tossed her over his shoulder. Aemond took wide strides towards her bedchamber and once there, he tossed Aenys onto the bed, kicking the door behind him closed.

Aenys stared up at him, wide eyed, gobsmacked, and utterly confused. Her plush, swollen lips were parted, her hair was in a disarray around her face as she sat propped on her elbows.

“Wh-what are you–” Her eyes traveled to his hands, where he was unbuckling his belt and scabbard, his one lilac eye trained on her like she was a rabbit and he the fox.

“Reminding you that you’re my wife,” He said the last word with a growl as he jerked off his belt in one swing. Aenys’ eyes flashed with excitement and alarm at his words, his hands, and the hungry look upon him.

“I-I thought… I was merely a duty,” she swallowed thickly as she moved further into the cushions, crawling backwards on her elbows as he slowly approached the edge of the bed. Aemond put his knee into the mattress, his large hands bracing themselves on either side of her knees as he crawled over her body. “A duty you already fulfilled.”

Aemond hummed, his expression nearly unreadable. His eye was dark with the blackness of his wide pupil as he carefully examined her body and her face.

“I was mistaken,” he finally said, his voice low but dangerous. “My duty won’t be fulfilled until this castle is teaming with our progeny.”

A shock of arousal goes down her spine, punctuated by how he grabs the laces of her bodice at the front and yanks so violently that the seams rip off her dress. She gasped, looking down in both horror and fascination as Aemond proceeded to rip her dress in half from the neckline down, leaving her in nothing but the shift underneath.

Aemond drank the image of her body, just visible underneath the thin muslin material of her shift. The image of her punching Luke replayed in his mind’s eye over and over again. The way she stood there with her chest heaving, the turn of her little waistline, the shape of her pear shaped hips and thighs. Her ass. Fuck, her ass.

His hands gripped her hips and tossed her on her stomach, withdrawing a gasp and yelp at the rough and sudden movement. Aemond was quick to tear off the rest of the torn dress from her, snaking her arms out of it and tossing it aside. Then he pulled her hips up towards him, and Aenys was quick to assume the position.

This was how they always coupled; with her face buried in the pillows, her ass up for him as he bred her like a bitch in heat. He told himself that the reason he chose that position was because he did not want to see her face when he released his spend in her. That their coupling was solely for the purposes of procreation, and seeing her face would simply soften his cock. But, no, that wasn’t it at all… The truth of it was that Aemond absolutely loved Aenys’ ass. And what’s more, it even seemed to get bigger when she became a mother.

Aenys’ eyes fluttered closed when she felt his fingers slowly run up her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her shift, exposing her rear to him. She was so fucking wet, so needy, she could feel her walls clenching around nothing in eager anticipation. It originated, of course, during her budding tryst with her maid, but it was amplified the moment Aemond grabbed her.

Gods, how she hungered for his touch. He cruelly deprived her of it for years and years, forcing her to seek it in others, only to find shallow fulfillment. Aenys had no idea what got into him that evening, but she wasn’t complaining. Mayhaps it was the supper, the adrenalin rush of what conspired. Even she would concede watching Aemond dominate a room with a simple toast had riled her up. Had she known her husband had similar sentiments, she would have fucked him right then and there, in front of their entire fucking family.

Aenys let out a whimper of anticipation, waiting for the sounds of his laces to be undone so he could sink into her impatient core. It wasn’t coming. All she could feel was the heat of his body, the gentle brush of his breath on her exposed skin, and the searing brand of his stare. Aenys moved her hips closer to him, coaxing him to take her, to fuck another son into her.

“Aemond,” She sounded so pathetic, so needy.

Aemond hummed, a little bit amused by her reaction to him. The end of his lip curled in a devious little smirk. “Tell me, wife, are you always this impatient with your lovers?” He punctuated his question as he leaned over her and grounded his clothed hips against her rear, his hardened length painfully evident.

A small gasp escaped her parted lips, “N-no–”

“No?” His voice was a quiet rumble, one hand gripping her hip as he grinded against her ass, and the other was planted on the mattress to keep himself steady. “An wanton whore like you? I am surprised, Aenys.”

“They’re… They’re not–” She softly moaned when his fingers slid down the slope of her spine.

“They’re not what?” Aemond’s voice was low and rough and so close to her that it sent vibrations down her ear canal.

“Not you.”

Aemond paused his grinding when she said that, his eye watching her closely as if he was processing this confession. Finally, he hummed, his smirk returning, “No, they are not.”

He pulled away from her, both hands finding the globes of her ass and pulling them apart so he could see her puckered hole and the sheen of her wet core. “How many men have been inside these, I wonder…” His thumb inches deftly close to her hole, recalling the comment she made earlier that evening about how anal had become her ‘speciality’. Aemond decided he would have her prove that statement, but not right now.

“Hells, Aemond, please, just fucking touch– Ah!” She yelped sharply and jerked forward when he slapped her ass. He was then quick to rub the area he had struck; she could have sworn she heard him chuckle softly as he did.

“Whores do not make demands,” Aemond gripped her hips again and pulled her flush against his thighs, then he reached over and gripped the scruff of her hair at the back of her head. His fingers curled at the roots as he pulled her back, arching her painfully. “You want me to touch you, sweet sister? You want me inside of you again, hm?”

Aenys’ face was twisted in pain and pleasure. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were shut as she endured the uncomfortable position he was bending her in.

“Yes, yes, fuckin’ hells, Aemond,” her plea was laced with budding frustration. She could feel her thighs tremble from not only the position, but from the sheer eagerness for him.

“Then you will renew your vows right here, right now,” his grip tightened on her hair, making her whimper again. “You belong to me, and only me. Say it, Aenys.”

“I-I,” she struggled to speak as her neck craned back. “I belong t-to you, Aemond.”

“You will take no other lovers.”

“I will take no other lovers,” she echoed his words without hesitation.

“Your body will belong to me, and only me.”

“Only you, Aemond, my body belongs to you, please–please– Ee-ah!” Her mouth widened as she let out a loud whimper when he bucked his hips into her behind.

“And why is that, sister? Why do you belong to me?” His nose hovered next to her ear, the waft of his hot breath making her eyes flutter.

“Because—Because I’m–I’m your wife. ‘Nd- And I’m your-your property,” her tongue darted to wet her drying lips.

Aemond’s eye shut, his head leaned back as a rumbly moan reverberated in his chest. Hearing Aenys say those words gave him the same feeling he had when he claimed Vhagar. A lightness bloomed in his belly, warm like the sun as it pooled into the veins of his cock, making him harder than he already was.

He claimed the unclaimable mount; Aenys, the wild dragon of King’s Landing.

Incapable of waiting any longer, Aemond lets go of Aenys’ hair, making her collapse back on the bed with a strangled sigh. Soon after his hands were around her waist, sharply flipping her over again, and gripping the front of her shift and tearing the fabric open much like the dress before it. The shift was shredded in seconds, exposing her completely before him, looking like a gods damn feast, and it was all for him.

Aemond’s eye settled on her core, the tufts of ivory curls glistening with her essence. He felt his mouth water at the sight.

Aenys was breathing hard, her back aching from being bent in half a moment ago. But that didn’t matter, her mind was reeling with desire and her limbs felt like they were worming around slowly, involuntarily, like a coiling snake. Despite her needy state, she couldn’t help but comment about her shredded attire.

“Are you going to make it a habit to rip up all my clothing, Aemond?”

Aemond’s heated gaze shifted from her core up to her face, “If it keeps you like this for me, yes.”

Before she could respond, his arms are wrapping around her thighs and he’s dropping on his stomach, pulling her sex towards his face. Aenys’ eyes bulge open as he buries his face into her nest of curls. Aemond did not gift her a second to compute what was happening, because he was immediately devouring her with relentless vigor.

“OOooh, fucking hells, AEMOND!”

His tongue was lapping up her pearl like he was trying to slurp it up from an oyster. Then brought up his fingers to join, delving into her folds, curling into that spongy spot hidden within her. Aemond was relentless in his speed and force, putting his wife into a frenzy of torturous pleasure. Aenys’ thighs were jerking and trembling uncontrollably, forcing Aemond to hold them down so he could continue his assault on her cunt unimpeded. But the stimulation was virtually agonizing, making Aenys writhe and kick her legs, her pleas for him to slow down were almost incomprehensible.

“A-a-a-aemon-mon– fuck-f-fufufuck, s-sto-p—” But his lips wrapped around her pearl and he started to suckle on it. Her hips sharply buckled into him, as a long guttural moan vibrated her lungs.

“F-f-f-f-fuck, ‘m gonna-’m gonna—”

And just when she was going to reach that blinding peak, the fucker pulls away. Aenys falls into a heap on the mattress, her muscles release its tension, but her loins are tightly wound up and flushed pink from Aemond’s last meal.

When Aenys looks up with bleary eyes, a furrowed brow, and panting breaths, she sees Aemond put his fingers into his mouth, sucking off her juices from his digits. He’s still looking at her like he hasn’t eaten a damn thing all day.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” She questioned through her rapid breathing, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest.

“Do you really want me to stop just to answer that question?”

There was no deliberation, “No.”

“Good.”

Aemond stands at the foot of the bed, starting to unbuckle his jerkin. Aenys is quick to scoot to the edge of the bed to help him unlace his breeches. Within several seconds, Aemond was just as bare as her, all except for his eyepatch. Though that wouldn’t last for long.

Aenys got on her knees on top of the bed, making her almost eye level with him. Aemond watched her unblinkingly as she raised her fingers to touch the side of his face, following the scar until her nail hit the eyepatch. She took it off with a surprising amount of tenderness, being that it was the first time he had ever let her near his injured eye.

Aenys' eyes started to gloss over as she really took in the sight. To finally see the carnage up close, the gnarled skin, the scar slicing down the middle, pink at the ridges. His damaged eyelids fluttered at the feeling of her fingers ghosting around it. Suddenly the weight of the past came flooding back to her; the guilt clawing up her throat. She should have been there for him when it happened, she should have been there to protect her little brother. Aenys opened her mouth to say something, but before she could let out a noise, Aemond took the hand that was on his cheek and placed a kiss on the palm, a gesture of forgiveness.

“We will make them pay, Aemond,” her tone was soft, but the threat was laced in a venomous promise.

Something flashed in Aemond’s eye. A spark of fire that reflected the one in Aenys’ violet orbs. With a low growl, Aemond grasped the front of her neck like she was a goblet of fine Arbor Red and pulled her into a devouring kiss, as possessive as it was searing. This was the first time the two of them kissed since their wedding.

In a flurry of limbs and a ballad of moans and groans, Aenys and Aemond grasped, grabbed and fought each other as they both tried to fill the dominant role, all the while keeping their lips glued together. Aenys' legs wrapped around his middle, Aemond’s were holding her thighs from underneath as they rolled and bumped around the room, hitting every surface they could find, colliding into things and causing stuff to crash and break on the floor.

Aemond’s cock was pressed against her cunt, twitching and leaking and eager to be inside of her. The blunt tip would brush against her pearl every once in a while in their clumsy wrestling, making her whine and then growl in frustration. Before too long, their bodies were entangled on the bed again, as Aenys tried to fight for her position to be on top. However, in the process of that, the two of them went tumbling onto the floor, with Aemond hovering over her body and Aenys laying flat on her belly.

Groaning, Aenys pushed herself on her knees, giving Aemond ample opportunity to grab onto her hips and pull her against him. With his cock nestled between her thighs, he stood on his knees, gripping the hair at the back of her head and pulling her flush against his torso. In front of them stood her floor length mirror, the display presented to them was lewd, humiliating and insanely arousing.

Aemond stared at her reflection, his eye blackened by his pupil. He peered over her shoulder as one arm wrapped around her waist and the other pulled her hair back, craning her neck. Aenys had no choice but to balance on the balls of her feet, her legs straddling his as he sat on his knees. Aemond’s curved cock pressing against the slit of her mound, brushing against her pearl when it twitched.

The arm that was wrapped around her middle slowly moved down until his palm reached her mons. A long finger dipped through her curls until he found her abused nub, instantly sending her thighs into a tremble. Unlike earlier, his ministrations were slower, building her high back up at a steadfast pace. Aenys' hips rotated against his hand, her whines gentle, but the sweat on the back of her neck and brow showed her desperation for release.

“Look at yourself, sweet sister,” Aemond purred into her ear, the vocal fry of his tone sending a shiver down her spine. “So desperate for me and only me. I always wondered, Aenys: is it my cock you imagine when you fuck your lovers? Do you close your eyes and imagine it is my body pressed against yours?”

Aenys was panting desperately, a soft mewl on her lips when she nodded.

“Use your words, darling, or I’ll stop.”

She groaned in annoyance, knowing she had no choice but to comply. With his cock hot against her slit, she couldn’t take the waiting any longer.

“Y-yes,” she finally admitted begrudgingly through her clenched teeth. Both of her hands were grasping his forearm, the one wrapped around her, the one whose hand was massaging her pearl. “Yes, Aemond, I– I crave you so fucking much, it drives me insane. Aemond, please–please–”

Aemond chuckled into her ear, his grin of self-satisfaction looking like a wolf about to devour the doe he had been trying to chase down for days.

“Oh, Aenys,” he nuzzles his nose into her hair, next to the shell of her ear, “I’m going to make sure the whole damn Kingdom knows who you belong to. There won’t be a year in your life where you won't be carrying my child.”

Aenys' eyelids fluttered at his statement, the heat pooling down to her cunt like a rush of lava. Aemond uses both his hands to grip her thighs, forcing her to squat above him, letting the blunt tip of his cock align with her sex. With one of his hands, he moves it along the sopping wet folds, brushing against her sore pearl before finding the entrance below. His mouth pops open as he slowly pushes her hips down, spearing his cock into her until he reaches the hilt.

Aenys threw her head back into his shoulder and Aemond buried his face into the crook of her neck, a guttural groan emitting from his throat. Her warmth enveloped him like nothing else he’s ever found before. Not Sylvi, not the random whores he endured when Sylvi was not available. Aenys' cunt fit him perfectly, like she was made for him, and yet still hugged around his girth in a velvety vice. And when her walls fluttered around him, Aemond nearly collapsed into her back, a grumbly sigh of satisfaction filtering through his lips.

He feels his wife grinding her hips against his, her mewls of pleasure tickling the inside of his ears tantalizingly. Regaining his composure, Aemond straightened up and wrapped his arm around her, gripping her hip with one hand, and using the other to grasp onto her left breast. With his calloused fingers, he pinched and pulled at her over sensitive nipples while he made sharp and short thrusts into her, effectively having her bounce on his cock.

Aenys softly mewled and squirmed in his grasp, trying to match his thrusts with the backing up of her hips. Her hair pooled over her left shoulder, while Aemond hovered over her right. They were watching each other through the mirror, mouths hanging open as they devoured each other with their gazes. Panting, gasps, and gentle moans filled the room, making the air sticky and hot. Aenys suddenly gave a loud whine when he tugged on her nipple, causing Aemond to nearly pause his thrusts when he felt a lukewarm liquid on his fingertips.

Aemond blinked in surprise when he looked down and saw the milk leaking from her nipple. He only had to process it for a few short seconds before he turned absolutely feral. In a flash of movements, Aenys was suddenly hoisted up and turned around, and Aemond was perched on the edge of the bed now. In a quick motion, he wasted no time in slotting back into her like a sword swiftly sheathing into a scabbard. Her head snapped backward as her mouth gaped widely open to let out a loud grunt of pain and pleasure, thanks to Aemond’s cock punching against her cervix.

Her husband gripped the curve of her rear in both hands, fingers digging into the meat as he spread open her cheeks, his middle finger rubbing against the puckered entrance there. His head dipped to her chest and quickly captured her nipple between his lips, and immediately Aenys could feel the sensation of milk leaving her. The tension of her sore breast was immediately relieved as Aemond nursed her; a feeling that was elevated as he pistoned into her still, his grip on her ass making her hips grind against his length, and the curve of his cock to rub against her the sensitive spot inside of her over and over again.

“Oh, gods, Aemond–” Her head tilted back, her spine rigid with the steady stream of pleasurable sensations he was gifting her.

He moaned in response against her tit, his fingers tightening into the flesh of her plush rear. The taste of her mother’s milk on his palette was absolutely heavenly; she tasted so sweet, so warm, and the texture felt like liquid silk. Coupled with the fluttering of her walls around his cock, Aemond could already feel his balls tighten and the base of his spine tingle. His release was near, and based on the increase of her whines as she bounced on him, so was she.

Reluctantly, Aemond pulled away from her breast and looked up at her, his sister, his wife, his Aenys. She looked down at him with parted lips, swollen and flushed with desire, her pupils blown wide and tears forming at the corners. Her hands moved from his shoulders to cup the arch of his jawline, bringing him close to her until their noses bumped and they were breathing each other’s oxygen through their panting parted lips. “Aenys,” her name fell from his lips like a plea, a stark contrast to the dominant commands he had given her the past hour or so.

“Aemond,” she replied, her voice light as she felt the rise of her impending orgasm, punctuated by the flutter of her cunt. Aemond’s curved cock was relentless in his thrusts, bullying the spongy part inside of her that sent electric thrills throughout her core. It wouldn’t be too long before she is sent hurtling through all seven heavens.

His grip on her ass tightened, his thrusts became more erratic and the creases in his brow deepened. Aemond gritted his teeth and shut his eye as his growls and groans built up higher and higher. He was reaching such heights he had never experienced before. Though it was like his body knew to wait, until the precise perfect moment, because he didn’t reach his peak until his wife did. Aenys' walls clenched around his girth like a python’s grip, her hands curled into his hair as she sharply gasped and moaned, long and primal. Aemond watched with wide-eyed fascination as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

With a few more erratic thrusts up into her, Aemond’s hips stuttered and he gripped tightly onto her. His nose was buried into her neck as he pulled her flushed into him, stilling her movements so he would not get overstimulated. Her name was a gospel of sin and love and longing, sounding guttural and animalistic coming out through his teeth. Ropes of his seed filled her, painting her walls over and over again, filling her awaiting womb.

Their combined orgasms sent spasms through their limbs, prolonging the pleasure for a few more moments before their muscles loosened and they were left panting on the edge of the bed. Aenys could already feel their combined releases trail down her canal, collecting around the base of his cock and dampening her thighs.

Feeling utterly spent, Aemond collapsed backwards, bringing her down with him. His softening cock remained inside of her, not willing to release it from the hot velvety embrace. He instead kept his hand splayed on her back while she rested her ear on his heart, both of them panting and silent in the afterglow of their love making.

Slowly their breathing eased. When they were able to breathe through their noses, Aemond broke the silence, his voice was rough and coarse, yet uncharacteristically tentative.

“Aenys–” He cleared his throat, his large hand caressing her spine in small circles. “I-I–”

“Shh,” she gently hushed him. Lifting her heavy head, she looked up at him with soft and sober eyes. “I know, brother. I know…”

The words known, but unspoken hung in the air between them. As she and Aemond stared at each other, Aenys couldn't help but feel whole for the first time in her life.

She felt worthy.

She felt loved.

Notes: Criticisms are always welcome, but if your only criticism is that dared to make a gender bent character, I'm going to respectfully delete/ignore it. This story came out more tragic than I intended, but eh. I realized while I was writing it that Fem!Aegon would have been in a worse position as a woman, and I decided to explore how she would've been treated had she retained the same personality as canon Aegon. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait, and the long read. The smut itself was over 4k words, lol. Go big or go home, ammirite?

Important: The characters in this one shot do not belong to me, but to GRRM and HBO. Everything written in this short story is written by me, with out the aid of an AI. This is a fanfiction, and therefore free content. Please do not re-post, re-distribute, or translate without my permission. Doing so will be an act of plagiarism, even if you credit me. The only other place this story is posted on, is on my Ao3, under the same username.

Tag List: @aramiv , @aegonisdrunk, @helaegonlover, @startledmonster

*if tumblr doesn't properly tag you, I'll try to send you a message

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call-sign-shark · 10 months ago

Text

Loose Cannon|| Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: The heatwave continues and you have an excellent --and illegal -- idea to refresh yourself... To Arthur's greatest despair. But let's be honest, your antics only make him fall harder for you || . Modern!Peaky AU Loose Cannon

Words: 4.2k

TW: language, mutual pinning, unresolved sexual tension, idiots in love, physical description of the MC, quick allusion to child abuse, no proofreading we die like John.

Notes: Each part is individual and can be read as one-shots in no particular order.

“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” A painful moan escaped from your quivering lips, your voice rendered croaky by all the effort. If your heart could break free from your ribcage it would have done it already but yet he was, drumming and agonizing in a prison of bones.

“Shut up and take it.” A low growl underlined by a light tremor of fatigue replied to you, its owner wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand as he kept on moving increasingly faster. The cacophony of his pulse hammering in his temples almost covered your complaints but, unfortunately for him, it wasn’t enough, and still heard you scream at him. Arthur should have known that you wouldn’t be docile.

“You’re torturing me!! I’ll sue you, Arthur Shelby!” Forced to pause between each word, you tried your best not to faint well aware that the soldier had no pity for you. He would continue what he was doing whether minding your consciousness. Why would he while you were the one who asked for it? All you wanted was for him to stop and yet he remained criminally deaf to all your supplications, “I can’t… I can’t anymore.” Your voice cracked.

“You wanted to do this with me so now yer going to assume your choice. Faster ey.” He ordered through gritted teeth, and the gravel in his voice made you crumble from inside.

“ It— It hurts. My legs are fucking shaking! Please stop! St—” You were about to keep whining when all came to a quite brutal halt. Indeed, this confusing chaos ended up with your face suddenly bumping against the soldier's chest. “Aouch!” You exclaimed, pushing yourself from him and ready to excoriate the fucker. “Couldn't you fucking warn me, bastard” You brought your hand to your nose and rubbed the pain away, your furious eyes shooting him a murderous look.

“And can’t ye stop fookin’ complaining? I told you that each afternoon I go for a run with Hannibal. You’ve spent all the morning begging to come with me and now that you’re here, ye do nothing but whine like a fookin' kid.” As Arthur lashed out his frustration on you, his chest rose and fell quickly for his lungs had troubled to understand he wasn’t running anymore. And despite his erratic breathing he still found enough air to scold you. Usually, you wouldn’t have minded his explosive anger but a particularly harsh night of nightmares and insomnia had turned you a bit overemotional today. While holding a bit of truth, his words still vexed you which resulted in you fleeing his eyes and crossing your arms on your tight chest.

“You don’t understand.” You mumbled, nervously chewing the inside of your cheek as your brain processed with forming a kind of explanation to offer him.

“And now she's sulking!” Arthur roared and rolled his eyes, losing the remnant of patience he had left. “Yer a fookin’ pain in the ass, that’s what you are ay. Go home if ye too tired to keep running, but I ain’t gonna change me habits for you.” An arrow through the heart would have been less painful. Your lips parted, willing to speak, but not a single coherent thing came out. You stuttered a very brief while before definitely giving up and the only thing you knew: being insolent.

“That’s not what I asked for!” You exclaimed, fists closed tights and blood boiling in your veins. Obviously, the corrosive effects of anger didn’t help. “You’re a bloody idiot, that’s all you are ay!” If there was one thing positive about this whole scene it was your perfect imitation of him.

“So what the fook d’ya want?!” His hoarse voice resounded so loud in the park that a few passersby couldn’t help but glance at you with curiosity. Lacking proper words, you ended up stomping your feet and screaming with frustration, hands pulling your own hair. The noises, the images, the smells in your head… They were all too much. Caught in a whirlwind of panic and anger, you would have given everything to be able to calmly explain that all you wanted was to be with him and not alone with your twisted thoughts, bad memories, and the faint voices in your head. Then, you would have proceeded to tell him that the only moment your mind was quiet was when he was by your side, as hard as it was to admit it. If it had been the case, everything would have been easier but no, and you hated yourself even more for all of this. Come on Rat, say it, you thought.

I just want to be with you, Arthur. Because it feels good when I'm with you. I might want to murder you sometimes but your presence is comforting to me. Please, let me stay by your side and protect me from myself.

But words remained stuck in your throat and all of it was because of a deep-rooted and still open wound you carried with you every day of your life. From the day Uncle Jack entered and destroyed it the only way you could express yourself was with violent emotional outbursts and tantrums, your body and mind still not recovering from the pain he had inflicted on you. And here was the reason why you were in the middle of the park sulking at Arthur Shelby after he had scolded you like an unruly kid.

Woof. Between the two of you sat the soldier's huge malinois, wondering why his master had stopped running and why everyone looked so angry. Curious, Hannibal stared at him with his dark beady eyes reflecting the sunlight. Then, his focus shifted to you before letting out a louder bark. In the end, what caught his attention the most was the girl's utter sadness he could sense. That was why he walked to her and gently bumped her legs with his head.

“What?!” The soldier barked back, his steel-blue eyes diving into the dog’s chocolate-brown irises, quite not believing that his own K9 had turned against him. Hannibal finally sat by your side and barked at Arthur again, and his antics brought a pause in all this senseless chaos.

“Listen...” You started, your free hand nervously spinning one of your long blue braids, “I’m sorry,” You finally mumbled, losing your slim fingers — which were wrapped with multicolor bandaids — in the beast's fur. The softness of his hair under your flesh sends you a wave of comfort. “Fucker." You added, for you couldn't address him without at least calling him names.

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he wanted to stop his dawning headache — which was the case. At least you apologized and that was already a win. "Alright." He finally said with his thick Brummie accent, his muscles finally relaxing and the handsome features of his face softening, “Alright.” He repeated, running a hand in his scruffy beard as he looked for an idea to maybe make amend for how he had yelled at you in public. "I wasn’t feeling it today anyway. It's too bloody hot out 'here. Wanna get an ice cream instead?" He suggested, one brow raised. For once, you didn't need words to be understood for the way your eyes enlightened at the mention of the frozen treat had been more than enough for him to understand. Just like the sun coming after the storm, your lips curled in a faint smile.. A smile that made Arthur's anger vanish and his heart melt more than he was willing to admit.

Did you, two independent and tough adults, fight over ice cream's flavors? Absolutely yes.

"Pistachio and chocolate is THE banger."

"Suck my dick you unoriginal dumbass, lemon and raspberry is the best combo."

"No one fookin' likes lemon sorbet, dumb bitch. You're just being a weirdo."

"If I were you I would shut the fuck up right now because I'm about to smash my ice cream on your ugly face!"

"Oh yeah? Go ahead and I'll beat your fucking ass -- don't care if people see me, you bloody brat!"

It was the kind of heated conversation you had during the whole way home, to Hannibal's greatest despair. At one point, you even swore you had heard the dog sigh loudly, probably bored of your stupid fights. The beast had found hope when you almost tripped on your own feet and Arthur, with his sharp reflexes, had managed to grab you by the hand right before you hit the ground. With that little unfortunate event, he assessed that you were far too clumsy for your own good and that keeping your hands in his was the best way to avoid injury. The more minutes flew by, the more your fingers intertwined together. You finally reached home, reluctantly letting the soldier's large and calloused hand go. As he searched for his key, you simply stretched your body with your hands high and your body weight momentarily resting on your tiptoes, the intense temperatures of the heat waves had exhausted both of you.

"Arthur." You called him, something catching your attention nearby.

The soldier replied with an uninterested "hm" as he opened the door to let Hannibal rush inside before he finally looked at you from above a freckled shoulder. For a split second, he completely forgot that you were talking to him, far too hypnotized by the way sweat made your silky skin glow and how your bright blue braids danced in your back at each of your movements. Arthur couldn't lie to himself -- You were an otherworldly and unusual combination of beauty and chaos.

"Did you know that your neighbor owned such a big-ass pool?!" You exclaimed, your little fists on your hips and your broken-doll face adorned with an outraged pout.

"Hm, yes I did." He absentmindedly replied, too busy carefully observing your lean frame, which exuded a sense of boundless energy that perfectly matched with your vibrant and expressive powder-blue eyes, filled with a mischievous spark. From your grunge makeup and your colorful hair to your attractive body and the blue clouds tattooed along a whole arm, everything of you enticed him.

"Fucking cunt. It's a shame to have such a big swimming pool and not use it." You shook your head and pout, shifting your body weight on one leg more than on the other, hence making your seductive hips tilt. Arthur forced himself to look away -- it wouldn't be that hard if you weren't wearing the shortest shorts he had ever seen.

"Well, he's on vacation." He shrugged, "C'm'here Rat. I ain't your bloody door holder."

"Do you ever stop being grumpy?" You kicked a pebble with your combat boot in his direction.

"Do you ever stop being an annoying little shit?" His lips stretched in a carnivorous and teasing smile at your childish antics.

"Fuck you, Arthur." You retorted, laying a kiss on his jaw before disappearing inside the house.

Please do, he thought.

Just one night.

There was the exact wording he had used when you forced your presence in his bed two weeks ago, arguing that the only fan in the whole house was in this room. While your excuse could be believable, it didn’t explain why you ended up in his arms. So when you came back the night after and slipped under the thin sheet to snuggle up with him without uttering a single thing, Arthur told himself “Just another one”. But the heart was a strange creature and when it fell, it fell hard. Your surprising demonstration of affection was all it took for Arthur's mind to quickly forget about chasing you away, the idea gradually becoming unthinkable until he genuinely wondered how he managed to sleep without your presence next to him. From then an odd game of pretend settled between you and him: During the day you were fighting about the most ridiculous details, never missing a moment to get under the other’s skin, and yet, when the night came and the world turned silent, you found yourselves melting against each other, your lips brushing his neck to make him shiver and his nose buried in your vibrant hair to lured the demons of war away.

As Arthur woke up, his eyelids still heavy and his mind still foggy, he growled in dissatisfaction at the realization that you weren’t in his arms anymore. Maybe the heat had finally won, and his body temperature really kept you from sleeping? It was with this in mind that he stretched one arm, his hand patting the mattress. Not only he want to make sure you were still next to him, but he also already missed your touch. His fingers were met with empty sheets as they collided with the soft fabric. Blood immediately rushed through his entire body, adrenaline rattling against his every nerve just like it used to when his squad had to wake up to gunshots and bombs. For one second, Arthur couldn’t tell if he was in Birmingham or back to Iraq and somehow, he didn’t mind. Jumping from the bed and trying not to drown in his PTSD-induced paranoia, the soldier looked around him with haste, “Love?!” He called, rummaging through the room until the sight of the wide-open bedroom window made him freeze. After a few microseconds of complete panic, Arthur leaned over the window sill in a desperate attempt to see you and fortunately did. You were here, safe and sound in Small Heath. Far from death, maimed bodies, and agonizing soldiers. His shoulders dropped as he relaxed, watching you swimming in the neighbor’s pool. The information soon reached his brain: the neighbor’s pool? “Fuck me.” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes at the thought of you trespassing the garden to take a midnight bath in his pool.

Unbelievable.

Wasting no more time, the soldier left the house without minding the fact he was wearing nothing more than his sweatpants. It wasn’t difficult for him to climb the fence and jump on the other side of it, right into the neighbor’s garden, considering how he had learned much more during his military training with the SAS. With both hands on his head, he roared “Are you fookin’ crazy?!” His steel blue eyes, whose color shone brighter under the glow of the pool’s lights, also noticed a familiar bottle in your hand, “Is it me or you’ve stolen me whisky? Jesus Christ, I’m going to drown you, you fucking disaster of a girl!” He looked so dramatic that you couldn’t help but giggle, his screams not impeding your little bathe. “LAUGHING AT ME FACE SHE IS!” This time Arthur, breathless with rage, was yelling so loud that the pale skin of his face had turned bright red.

"Sheeesh, calm down, you gonna pop an artery.” You swam closer to the edge of the pool, slightly lifting your body to cross your arms on the warm tiles. The way your two long blue braids danced behind you, waving like two water snakes, captivated his attention for a very short while. The soldier was about to retort something murderous when you cut him for a second time, “Why don’t you join me instead of making a fool of yourself eh? The house’s empty anyway.”

“You wish,” He exhaled slowly through the nose, his nostrils flaring as he tried to contain his boiling anger and not wake all the neighborhood up, “This ain’t fun, Rat. Get the fuck out of the pool right now.”

“Come and get me then.” You challenged him with a finger gun gesture.

“I don’t think you understand you stupid brat. Do you realize that what you’re doing is illegal?”

“Yeah.” You giggled.

“And that you could be in fookin’ trouble for it?”

“Yeaaaah!” You exclaimed, pale eyes shimmering with excitement and recklessness so childish it baffled the poor soldier. Taken aback by your behavior, Arthur blinked several time as he looked at you — Somehow he should have known that you weren’t going to obey him. After all, he could tell from your chapped lips and always bloody knees that you were everything but a nice little girl. No, you were an unhinged little shit and he liked it despite everything, “so? Do you really wanna catch me ‘cause I’m getting bored.”

“Okay, I’m done.” The soldier quickly took off his sweatpants to be in underwear and, with a nimbleness you didn’t suspect, dived into the pool. Engulfed by the water, Arthur had disappeared amidst the bluish light and the rippling tiles at the bottom of the pools. All you could see was a quick silhouette coming at you with what seemed to be the speed of a torpedo.

“Oh no, no, no!” Before you could do something, two large and calloused hands grabbed you by the hips and pulled you under the water, leaving you just the time time to take a deep inhale before getting swallowed by a chlorine tide. All your vision turned into a blur for a brief but intense second, chaos taking the form of confusing bubbles and foam until everything stopped. Reopening your eyes under the water, you found yourself transported in a parallel world in which a tranquil hush enveloped your senses. With each graceful stroke, you embraced the weightless sanctuary, finding solace in the quiet depths of the pool, where worries dissolved, and the rhythmic pulse of water echoed a soothing lullaby powerful enough to shut the insufferable screeching of both sickening memories and psychotic thoughts. Surprisingly enough, Arthur wasn’t there — or at least he wasn’t in sight. All you could see was an odd combination of bluish tiles and underwater spotlights that created a surprisingly serene and liminal landscape. It seemed like the cool water had the same calming effects upon the soldier, for when you turned around at the feeling of fingers gently brushing your ribs you were met with a playful smirk. Raising an eyebrow, you gently shove him before trying to escape several times but he inevitably caught you. A small bubble escaped from your lips as you tried not to laugh, amused by how Arthur made both of you slowly spin under the water, as a jolly sailor waltzing with her mermaid lover. With your bodies moving elegantly together, halfway between dancing and gently fighting, your fingers cupped his face. Despite the underwater hush, Arthur’s interrogation is visible through the way one of his eyebrows arched when he saw your face getting dangerously closer to his. Closer. Closer. Until your mouth finally crashed against his. Arthur’s eyes widened in shock, pupils suddenly dilating under the effect of adrenaline when the warmth of your mouth found his. The peck was brief, so brief he wondered if he hadn’t hallucinated it but it was enough for him to lose control of everything. His body softened, letting you a short moment to break free from his playful embrace. Offering a last wink, you trashed your legs to come back to the surface and took a deep inhale. As the warm air of the night filled your lungs, a strange state of calmness possessed you a with it followed a genuinely amused giggle at the remembering of Arthur’s surprised expression. The man broke from underwater a few seconds after you, quickly sliding his hair back with his hands before swimming to you, eyebrows knitted together and lips sewn tight in a thin line.

“What did ya do?” He rasped, his steady breathing rendered irregular for his heart raced in his chest. The taste of your sweet yet damaged lips was still tingling on his skin.

“What are you talking about?” You pouted even though you didn’t make a peculiar effort to hide your amusement. “Hey!” The complaint fell from your mouth when his strong arms wrapped around your waist to press your body against his. A wave of fire spread through your being.

“Do it again.” Arthur could barely believe he just said that and yet he did and now that it was too late, he decided to go for it and see what would happen. Taking advantage of your surprise, he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing the soft skin sprinkled with tiny droplets of water similar to translucent pearls engraved in your flesh. A delightful thrill crossed through your body as his beard scratched your skin -- A thrill that soon turned into a wave of heat that made you feel feverish.

“Do what?” Your fierce and loud voice was merely a whisper as your cheeks flushed red, as red as the blood simmering in your veins. You might have been slightly confused by the situation but your bandaged fingers seemed to know what to do when they lost themselves in his wet hair to slick it back with a tenderness you never knew you possessed.

“Kiss me.” The low rumble made your own soul quake. Punctuating his sentence with actions, the soldier's face left your neck to lean his forehead against yours. In this whirlwind of emotions and arousal, you batted your eyelashes while drowning in the dark blue of his eyes and wondered if they had always been this charming. What happened next none of you could tell for any thoughts left disappeared. Mouths grazed each other, the two of them timidly discovering the shape and details without daring to break the few inches remaining. Soft lips against chapped ones, and against all expectations the rougher pair was yours. How could such an unsufferable and brutal little minx like you feel so fragile in his scarred hands? A frail moan escaped from your mouth at the blissful sensation of the soldier's hips moving with yours at the water’s discretion and, for once, you weren't ashamed of it. With your underwear fabric sticking to your skin and bodies closely interlocked, you could both feel every intimate detail and shape, gently and sensually grinding against each other due to the flow... Or maybe the flow wasn't the cause and you were both actively asking for more, who knew? Arthur growled again, for even in the cold water of the pool the warmth between your legs made him weak and far too aware that you yearned for him.

"No, you kiss me first you coward." You tried to sound mean but your voice could produce nothing but an enamored tone.

"Ah, shut up Rat." Arthur softly bit your lower lip, trapping the juicy flesh between his teeth and pulling it a little bit. The taste of anticipation lingered in the air, mingling with the heady scent of perfume, chlorine, and the warmth of intertwined breaths.

"Go on then, shut me up..." And your wish became his command. His warm tongue gave a faint lick on your lower lips just to taste the water, almost too shyly for the man he was. Then a second one and a third, and as he did he kept his hands busy by slipping them under your panties. His large palms conquered your buttcheeks and then pressed on your flesh to bring your core closer to his until you could clearly feel how enthusiastic he was to have you so close. In reply, your fingers hung at the hem of his boxer, slightly pulling them down to disclose his V-line. In the secluded haven of the dimly lit swimming pool, the water's gentle caress enveloped both of you as you shared this moment suspended in time. Arthur's patience finally reached its limits and pressed his lips against yours for another chlorine kiss you were both eager to deepen. A kiss that felt like a car crash and still sounded like water lapping and the rhythmic beat of hearts. It could have been perfect if Arthur hadn't back up suddenly, eyes wide open at the sight of a car's headlight in the house's alley.

“Out of the pool, now!” He exclaimed, hauling himself from the water quickly to grab the bottle of whisky, then his pants before seizing your wrist to lift you from the pool.

"HOLY SHIT!" Adrenaline rushed through your body, momentarily shutting down everything except your flight instinct. That was how you both ended up dashing across the garden half-naked and completely soaked up. Fortunately enough, you both managed to climb the fence and lock yourselves into the house, banging the door so close that poor Hannibal jumped from the sofa and barked. Time stopped for a while, the two of you with your back leaning against the door and trying to catch your erratic breath, bodies dripping with water. A heavy silence floated in the corridor, only broken by the sound of your own heart drumming in your ears. And then, you heard it... It started with a little nervous giggle and then it became a loud and gravelly laughter. Despite the whole panic, you were soon infected by a fit of hilarity too, your aching heart drowning in a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time: joy in its purest and most innocent form.

♠️ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

♠️ Tag list: @cljordan-imperium @1nterstellarcha0s @raincoffeeandfandoms @babaohhhriley @zablife

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders #Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur Shelby imagine #Arthur Shelby x you #arthur shelby x y/n #Paul Anderson #peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby x oc

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willowworkswithwords · 2 years ago

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Eddie and Wayne have a heart-to-heart. Part 4 of “Eddie hates his hair but he won’t always”!

part 1, part 2, and part 3

tw: brief allusion to past child abuse

---

Three days pass. They drive up to Indianapolis for the funeral. It’s just him, Wayne, the priest, and two friends of his mom’s that Eddie had never met. The priest says the usual, looking at Eddie with a soft sort of pity throughout the graveside service. Wayne whispers something to the coffin as he throws a handful of dirt down, but Eddie can’t make himself say anything. They drive back to Hawkins in pouring rain, and Eddie stays in his room until the next day.

Wayne is at work. It’s still raining outside. Eddie feels empty and tired and tries not to just stare at the rain all day, but the day drags. Mostly, Eddie putters around the trailer, looking at the odd assortment of knick-knacks that Wayne has all around. There’s a wall with about thirty different hats, and in one of the cupboards there’s a bunch of mugs and a single glass. The mugs all look like Wayne bought them at a gas station or those funky roadside stores Eddie would sometimes see when they had moved around.

After he digs up stuff for a sandwich, Eddie goes into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s tired, it’s plain as day all over his face. The little bit of his hair that Annie had been able to detangle is starting to get knotted, and as he runs his fingers through it, they catch. Eddie yanks and cries out when it pulls at his scalp. It’s tender and Eddie—

Eddie wishes Annie were here so bad, it hurts worse than his throbbing head.

That’s where Wayne finds him hours later, shut up in the bathroom crying. He knocks on the door and Eddie jolts against the wall where he had slid down.

“Eddie?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

“Kid—Ed, I’m gonna come in, ok?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

Wayne slowly creaks open the door, peering around the corner before he opens it all the way. He sighs, that look from Sherry’s car back again, and squats down with a groan in front of Eddie.

“It sure is a lot, ain’t it?”

Against all of Eddie’s years of learning, against every fiber of himself that’s screaming at him to stop, to get a hold of himself, to stay where he is, Eddie finds himself rocking up onto his knees and right into Wayne’s chest.

Wayne sighs again, but both of his arms wrap around Eddie and Eddie can’t keep it in anymore.

Words and screams and the worst of him come spilling out, saturating Wayne’s flannel with his tears. Wayne takes it all in, squeezing Eddie against his chest and whispering quiet, quiet encouragements to keep crying, if that’s what he needs—and Eddie does, until Wayne’s hand lands in his hair.

“Don’t.”

Eddie catches his breath just long enough to spit the word out, jerking in Wayne’s strong grip, sounding broken.

Wayne’s hand is off him immediately.

Eddie smashes his face back into Wayne’s shoulder, suddenly drained. Wayne’s hand slowly comes back to Eddie’s back, rubbing circles in time with his own breath.

“Head off limit, Ed?”

“Just…” Eddie doesn’t want to say it, but Wayne is asking, really wants to know, and that’s more than Eddie’s ever let himself expect. “Not my hair. ‘s gross—I’m disgusting.”

Wayne goes perfectly, dangerously, still.

“Disgusting?”

His voice is clear and strong, and Eddie tenses without meaning to. The circles start back up.

“Disgusting, Eddie?” Wayne is quiet again, soft now.

“My fu—my stupid hair. It’s all a mess and Annie only fixed it a little before…”

“Ah.”

Eddie’s all run out of tears, and he feels himself sinking further into Wayne. Wayne seems to feel it too, because he shifts suddenly, pulling Eddie into his arms as he levels himself and stands. It says a lot that Eddie just shuffles a little in his hold, doesn’t say he’s too old—he’s just so tired.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Eddie, you listening?”

“Mhm.”

“We’re gonna go get some water, and some dinner?”

He waits until Eddie hums in agreement again before he goes on.

“And then, we’re gonna have a little talk, and then I think it’s best to head to bed,” Wayne says, walking slowly into the kitchen. “I just wanna ask you a couple questions, and nothin’ you say is gonna be wrong, ok?”

Eddie takes a minute to answer this time.

“Okay.”

Dinner isn’t silent. Wayne sets a record on the player that’s just loud enough to let Eddie focus on the music instead of the throbbing in his head and Wayne sets about scrambling some eggs. Eddie isn’t paying attention to how he’d doing the, just looks up after a while from where Wayne had set him down on the couch to a plate of fresh scrambled eggs and a slice of toast with grape jelly. Eddie sniffs but doesn’t start crying this time, and Wayne sits down beside him, his own scrambled eggs with cheese and his toast with peanut butter. They each have a mug of water.

It takes all of side one of the record for them to both get done. Wayne flips it over and grabs their dishes. He settles back down against the cushions, enough space between them for Eddie to turn and face him if he wants to.

He faces front, just like Wayne.

Now that he’s had all of dinner to calm down, embarrassment and dread start to seep back in, but Eddie pushes them back back back. He wants to stop feeling like he has to run, to fight, to think and feel everything all at once just in case. So he pushes it back for now and glances at Wayne before looking back down at his hands.

“What are your questions?”

“Who’s Annie?”

“My friend from school. We ate lunch together.”

“And she helped you with your hair?”

Eddie takes a deep breath.

“Yeah. She knows how to do hair and uh, we didn’t have money or, or really know what to do with it. So, she helped me.”

“That was real nice of her.”

Eddie sighs shakily but smiles, small but true.

“Yeah, it was. She gets it.”

Wayne hums. He understands what Eddie means, and ain’t that something. Eddie doesn’t have to say what it is, just has to say it, and Wayne believes him.

It gives him just enough courage.

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

The record plays on. The crunch of gravel and baying of dogs peters in the through the window from all across the trailer park night.

“Well,” Wayne says. “The best way to do something you don’t know is with someone else. Makes you both feel better for not knowing.”

Eddie sniffs and leans against Wayne.

“There’s a woman cross the park, Jenny. She does a lot of the kids hair ‘round here. What d’ya think?”

Eddie sniffs again.

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll call her in the morning before I head off to work. I’ll be home round five again. If you get bored, just go outside. Plenty of kids and dogs you can be with.”

Eddie isn’t sure how he feels about that, but he nods anyways.

“Did your daddy ever hit you?”

Eddie nods. Wayne blows a long breath out, brings a hand up to rub at his eyes.

“Your momma?”

“She never hit me.” Eddie surprises himself with how vehemently he says it.

“I didn’t mean that,” Wayne squeezes Eddie’s hand once. “I was askin’ if you daddy ever hit her.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Ok. What’s your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?”

Eddie looks at him in confusion, the shift in tone making him blink.

“Um, I’ll eat anything?”

“Wasn’t what I asked, kiddo.”

And it goes on like that, back and forth until Eddie’s head starts to bob against the back of the couch and Wayne stops.The silence is the good kind again, and Eddie drifts to sleep. He wakes up the next morning with his bedside lamp on, and he rolls out of bed with a quiet anticipation growing.

Five o’clock just can’t come fast enough.

---

@manda-panda-monium

#please reblog if you're enjoying this series!#I'd love to hear feedback too!!#eddie munson #wayne munson #wayne munson is a good uncle #wayne munson just wants to help his kid #eddie is slowly letting himself believe wayne is kind #emotional hurt/comfort #stranger things #my fic #willow writes #willow talks #an abundance of italics

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gayofthefae · 2 years ago

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TW: brief allusion to Childhood Sexual Abuse (CSA)

Thinking about the patterns of trunks, bathtubs, the phrase “it’ll all be over soon”, and leaning over people like that that the mind flayer has and how there was a theory about Will’s triggers but that was before we knew the Mind Flayer was a person with his own trauma.

Thinking about how in Nancy’s vision, Henry literally played Papa and told Nancy “it’ll all be over soon”, which wasn’t in the original scene he was replaying.

Thinking about how vague the descriptions of his childhood are.

Thinking about how vague even “I know what he did to you; he hurt you” is. Electrocution is one thing in many years of being there.

Thinking about El’s drawing on the wall of her room in the lab where Papa has “three legs”. Thinking about El’s initial lack of understanding of dressing in private. Thinking about CSA and child psychology and drawings.

Thinking about drawings being a theme - El drawing right before Henry’s escape attempt with her, El’s drawing of her with the cat and Papa, Will’s drawings and escapism through them like his drawing of Castle Byers, Henry’s drawings and escapism through them like his design of the mind flayer.

Thinking about spiders in the bathtub for his mother and how every other attack was a personal attack on an act they had committed.

Thinking about how spiders ‘paralyze the weak’. Thinking about “frozen” “frozen like cold” “no. like when you’re so scared you can’t move.” Thinking about how Will was paralyzed by Henry in fear both as the mind flayer and as the Demogorgon in the shed in the first episode.

Henry is replaying his own trauma on others and it’s visible through consistent repetition of triggers.

#stranger thing #henry creel #jane hopper

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early20sfailingplenty · 3 years ago

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An ocean of hurt in those deep blue eyes // vulnerable!soft!Bo Sinclair x comforting!Reader

Summary: You've been with Bo for a long, long time. So long now, that you both know you'll never be without one another. One night, Bo has one of the worst night terrors you've ever seen him endure, and you reveal one of your deepest and most tender truths - the urge to love on him so completely that he doesn't know what to do with himself. What Bo consents to you doing to him surprises the both of you, but, oh, neither of you will ever forget it.

Here it is, the much advertised soft!Bo fic I've been promising all week!!! Just a quick thing I've been thinking of so much in the last few weeks that even looking at Bo puts a lump in my throat. @imbleedin-out told me that this wasn't too soft for Bo (which was why I haven't written this before), so I'm gonna go ahead with this Number One Thing I Want Bo To Experience (comfort-specific, not the other stuff)🥺💖 When I say I nearly cried with yearning writing this... I just wanna gather the Sinclairs all together and smother them all in kisses and compliments (just once before they murder me pls and thanks)🙏💕.

Also, a huge thank you to @houseofheelshire for reading this over for me while it was in the later stages of being written and for making suggestions to improve the fic!!!!! Every time I reached out with a "I'm stuck💀", you were there with help and your galaxy brain oml I appreciate you so much omg thank you!!🥰💖Your opinions are invaluable and I can't thank you enough for taking the time to help me with this!!!💜🌸

AS ALWAYS, GENDER NEUTRAL READER, NO CODED LANGUAGE, Y/N AND "YOU" USED!

TW; comfort, fluff, allusions to what Bo went through as a child (physical abuse; canon compliant), canon typical darkness, swearing, crying (Bo! You've finally taught him to let go of all that toxic masculinity!!!!), Bo has a nightmare (unspecified but canon compliant), READER IS JUST AS BAD AS THE SINCLAIRS AND COMMITS MURDER (discussed in detail; MENTIONS OF BLOOD, INJURIES AND READER'S GOT SHARP AS FUCK TEETH), possessive language from reader ("your Sinclairs" etc.), brief mention of marriage (within the narrative), could be read as a bit Stockholm Syndrome-y in places but that was unintentional. I just wanted to include it in case this may negatively affect someone.

It's quite emotional but it's something I know the majority of us want to do to and with Bo so I hope everyone's well fed with this piece!

Word count: 3, 956.

(Please I wrote this many words just because I want Bo to experience wrist kisses I🥺)

"Shush, Bo, shush," You leaned up on your elbow so that you could look down at your love, "You're all right, darling." You shifted on the bed as slowly and as gently as you could, not wanting to wake Bo up suddenly. If this dream kept up as it was, you were sure that he would be almost throwing himself from the bed, his mind desperate to escape the dream it had conjured up. Your hand slid into his dark locks, which slipped through your fingers like ink in water, as you tried to soothe him. You didn't want to wake him up, but you didn't want him to go through his pain alone, either. Through the good and the bad and everything which Bo kept inside, you wanted to be there with him, to help in any way that you could. "It's just a dream." You kept talking to him, trying to reach him through his unconsciousness. "Wake up, honey, it's okay, you're okay."

So attuned to Bo were you, so focused were you on him and his every small noise which told more than anything about what he was going through, what he had gone through and what continued to haunt him every day, that you picked up on the exact second his breathing pattern changed. He was starting to wake up. You shifted back down the bed so that you were lying beside him, your head on his pillow. You didn't want to crowd him and you didn't want to wake him up - those things could be dangerous when someone was having a nightmare - but you did want to be there when he woke up so that you were the first thing he saw, as best as he could in the low light of the room, when he opened those beautiful, tortured eyes. Your heart ached for him, because of him. "You're safe with me, Bo, I promise," You continued to murmur to him, hoping that your voice would soothe him even in his threshold consciousness. Your fingers gently scratched at his scalp, entirely skirting over the huge scar which was far too sensitive to be touched for much of the time (and you knew how even the water pressure in the shower could hurt him sometimes). "I'd never let anyone hurt you. Rips throats out with my teeth if they tried."

You knew you weren't lying. You'd done it before - several months ago, when you and Bo were still discovering your newfound romantic dynamic, there had been a really close call with a ballsy set of twins. Bo had taken an arrow to the arm and one to the chest. The arrows had just barely avoided anything vital; it had been so close a call that Vincent's hands had had a sight tremor to them as he had surgically removed the arrow heads from his brother's body. You hadn't only killed the both of them for daring to lay a hand on one of your Sinclairs, but you had ripped them to shreds, going for the male twin's throat with your literal teeth for lack of a proper weapon. You had a blade in your hand, too, though you had been too enraged to fully take stock of what you were doing. Your rage had made you blind, your attack on the twin had been feral, animalistic, and something which hadn't caught up to you until after the fact, your limbs and chin soaked in their blood. That night had made you realise so many things, one of which was that you were more than slightly protective of Bo. It was no secret at that point to anyone that you loved the Sinclairs, but even you hadn't realised just what lengths you would go to in order to protect your home and the beautifully tragic people who lived in it.

Until that day, you had been the permanent outsider in Ambrose.

From that moment on, though, from when you had straightened up, blood dripping down your neck, a blade in one bloodied hand and what was left of the male twin at your feet, you had become family. You hadn't seen Vincent come in, but so in touch was he with Bo that he had sensed his twin's distress and he had come running, getting there in time to see you go feral on the visitors. A part of Vincent had wanted to film you, to immortalise you fully becoming a Sinclair - and, oh, how beautiful were you - but he had been rightfully and painfully focused on his brother's time critical condition, so instead had Vincent simply reproduced the moment in his art at a much later date so that he could show his twin just what you had done for them. In that moment, a fresh murderer and an unofficial Sinclair, you had fully earned Vincent's trust and respect, his remaining inhibitions gone as he watched you defend Bo and by extension, Vincent and Lester themselves, the town and their momma's legacy.

In that moment, you had become theirs.

But more than that, oh, more than that... you were Bo's. You may as well have slipped a wedding ring on your finger for all the commitments you had made by taking out the male twin (and you were sure that Vincent had taken care of the other twin; he wouldn't have left anything for his art or for the town in his blind rage) and the previous life you had officially abandoned all hope of ever returning to (not that you would, even given the chance - Ambrose was everything you had never known you had wanted or needed until you hadn't been allowed to leave).

You were ripped from your silent reverie by a sharp inhale of air as Bo's body ejected from the bed. He was sat up, panting and gasping, a hand on his chest and the other one white knuckling the duvet as he fought to come back to reality. You sat up slowly, not wanting to further startle the poor man. Your heart was bleeding for him, but he didn't want sympathy. Bo had never taken kindly to that, and even when he was at his lowest and most desperate for a gentle hand did you have to be careful with how you said or did things; his mood could switch from one thing to another; screaming one second and then on his knees sobbing the next. Bo didn't want anything more than you, for all that you were and all that you would ever be, and so that was what you would give him. Your heart was bleeding but you wanted to cup your hands around his own and use your blood to fill the holes in his; there was nothing romantic in falling apart but your heart was a bottomless cup of love and you always had more to give Bo. Always. If his heart was a trashed vase, then your love was the golden threads to hold those jagged ceramic pieces together, not stronger for your love was he, but something beautiful even in all the pain.

This was one of the worst night terrors you had ever seen Bo go through, and you were almost at a loss for what to do. But you knew that Bo just wanted you, whether he was going to admit it to you or not, and who were you to deny him anything, when the things you had to offer him, including yourself, were things he had been denied his entire fucking life? You decided to remain lying down for ease of transition. "Bo, honey, it's all right. I'm here." Your voice was only just above a whisper, a concerted effort were you making to soothe Bo. You knew not if he wanted to be touched; it was difficult for you to read Bo sometimes. You knew him well but he was unpredictable, like a wild animal cornered even when the area around him was open did he behave.

You watched with a giddy mix of curiosity and nerves as he slowly, oh so slowly, moved so that his wrists were in his lap. His head bowed and you sat up to join him, already resigning yourself to the knowledge that you weren’t going to be getting any more sleep tonight. You had had a few hours before Bo’s thrashing around in the sheets had woken you up, and that would have to do. You could never go back to sleep knowing that your love was suffering. Without thinking, so eager to comfort him were you, your hand touched his shoulder before you could stop yourself, and Bo practically jumped away from you. He was still rather shaken from the nightmare, the events of which you had made a pretty good educated guess just from the way he was cradling his wrists in his lap. You let your hand fall, a soft thump as it hit the duvet beside you, and you waited for Bo while he took several slow, measured breaths. He was preparing himself to let you comfort him, so traumatised was he and so hurt was he by the world. His parents had taught him from an extremely young age that love - at least their sick and twisted brand of it - hurt. That someone who loved you could hurt you, and though he knew in his heart of hearts that you, his darlin' Y/N, would never do that to him, hesitation borne from such trauma would always remain. It was a fact of life with Bo. You loved him all the more for who he was, for who he really was, and that was yet another fact of your lives together which never failed to render him speechless.

Still, you couldn't, wouldn't, let him deal with himself alone. He had faced himself alone for so many years but he had you now, and you would always help him as best as you could, love him as fiercely and as unapologetically as you could, just as he did for you. Gruff was he by nature, but his level of brutality matched his capacity for passion perfectly. "Bo." You kept your tone soft as you scooted closer to him. The material rustled under his body and Bo came back into himself with a sharp inhale. The noise had you cooing in empathy for the tortured man and the familiarity of your love for him had Bo coming home to himself, and to you.

Slowly, carefully, did you apply pressure with your hand once again until it was lightly rested on Bo’s shoulder. You gave him time to pull away, but he didn't. He drew in a shuddering breath as he turned to look at you. He couldn’t see much at all in the dim light of the room but he knew you. Bo knew his Y/N, he knew how you felt, the weight of you on the mattress or beside him on the sofa or in his truck, he knew your scent and your voice, your very being. He knew you. Your hand dragged down his back and then came up, rubbing fluid, solid motions down his clothed back. You knew not if it was a night during which Bo would talk about his nightmare, but the way he was cradling his wrists told you everything he wasn’t brave enough to, even in the middle of the night when no one and nothing existed apart from the two of you.

"All I ever got from my momma and daddy were scars." A shaky hand moved to touch his chin before he lowered his arm back into his lap. "S'pose they jus' didn't know what ta' do wit' me." Bo chuckled, but it was an ugly sound devoid of anything light. No humour, even that born from self-deprecation. It pulled at your heart strings, rendered you speechless, but that didn't matter. Bo didn't need words, necessarily. He needed your touch, your affection and your love so much more than he needed anything else. Oh, but he was always in so much pain, though his rage hid a great deal of the first from the world, a secondary emotion was anger.

You waited for Bo to continue speaking, but when he didn't, you tried to give him some control over the situation by giving him a choice. "Bo, honey, can you look at me?" You wanted him to, you needed to see his face, but you wouldn't push him. You wanted Bo to know that all of him was safe with you, the good, the bad, and everything in between. He sniffled and ducked his head so that he could swipe a hand across his face. It was a deft movement, clearly practised was he in pulling himself together in a single moment, and it only made your poor heart break all the more as he sniffled again and sighed. The sound was heavy with unshed tears but Bo looked at you, he looked at you, and though you could only see his silhouette and the barest of his features in the darkened room, you could feel the devastation and fear, the rage and the pain in his body. It was coming off of him in waves but you wouldn't let him drown. No. You already had your hand outstretched, literally and metaphorically, to pull Bo out of the murky waters of his own tormented mind and into your arms. He went with you gladly this time, clinging to you the way he used to cling to his twin when his parents finally, roughly, removed him from his restraints in the highchair - the sight of which in the house of wax never failed to turn your blood to fucking lava - and practically threw him into his shared bedroom with Vincent.

You, Vincent and Lester were all Bo had, and he loved each of you so fiercely that it scared him to death so much of the time, though he was loathe to show it without what he perceived to be a good enough reason to do so. You had yet to teach him, try though you might, that love was a brilliant reason all on its own. Love didn't need a reason... it just was. You were surprised by how Bo went so willingly with you, his fingers clutching at your shirt like he didn't want to let go of you. You were his grounding in reality, his weapon in coping with his reality, and he'd be damned if he ever let some fucker take you away. Including himself. You were his light, the only thing other than the town he'd ever gotten right, and in the best way did his chest ache when he was with you.

You maneuvered your body down, down, as best as you could with Bo clinging to you like you were his lifeline until the both of you laid side by side. His arms were drawn up towards his chest, his wrists protected by the way his shoulders were slightly curved inward. It was as though Bo could still feel those tight belts, the duct tape, the red raw skin forever a part of him from all the times he had been restrained as a child. You moved carefully, almost exaggerating your movements so that Bo could tell, even in the low light, what you were planning to do as your fingers moved towards his wrists. To soothe him, to tell him that he was okay, that he was safe with you, you nosed at Bo’s forehead and he hummed quietly in sleepy appreciation. Oh, how he hungered for you and for your affection, just as much as you ached for his. Bo tipped his head back to give you fuller access. Both of you operated on muscle memory to navigate in the moment as you pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering as you took a moment to breathe him in.

You're here with me, you're safe, no one's going to hurt you. It's okay.

All these thoughts and more were in your mind and you hoped that Bo could hear them in your actions. When you pulled your lips away from his skin, Bo repeated your actions back to you, his mouth pressed so tightly to your skin that you could feel the outline of his teeth against your forehead. It was his way of saying, thank you. I love you. I trust you. I know I'm safe with you. You couldn't wholly see Bo's eyes, but you could feel his sharp gaze on you. It reminded you of a camera lens as it focused, and you wondered if every blink he took was a physical manifestation of his want to take a picture of you and this moment. Memory was nature's camera and for once, for once, Bo wanted to remember everything that happened to him.

Your fingers grazed the permanently reddened, tough skin on one of Bo's wrists and he instinctively wrenched it away from you in a flash of white hot panic. You froze in place, with your hand hovering in the space where Bo's wrist had just been, and Bo had stopped breathing too as the both of you weighed each other up. You knew not what to do, other than the fact that reaching for him again without getting any kind of go ahead would be the stupidest thing to do in this moment. So you did what you always did when you didn't know what to do. You spoke your mind. "You didn't deserve that, Bo. You weren't a monster, you were just a kid. You needed help, you needed love, not... not what they did to you. It wasn't your fault. Please, I - " I want to take it away from you. I want to make it better.

But you couldn't. You couldn't. Bo hid his past every day just as much as he wore it like armour so that never again could it be used to hurt him. Your words, so gentle, so tender yet so heartbreaking, served as the reminder Bo needed that he was safe with you, so entirely safe that hell itself could come knocking on the bedroom door, and you would put yourself between the door and Bo to keep him protected. He relaxed somewhat when you touched his hand, your fingers sliding along his in a soothing motion to comfort him. All you wanted was to comfort him, to love him and to be there for him even and especially during his darkest nights, and your patience and compassion was making Bo suspiciously misty eyed. He was grateful for the dark light level in the room. He had nothing to hide, nothing to fear... he was safe with you.

Softly did you move your fingers up Bo's hand, stopping when you felt the texture of his skin change. Your fingers almost hovered over Bo's wrists and you felt him nod. His shoulders were still curved inwards, one of his wrists protected still, but the other one was being entrusted to you. It broke and healed you all at once and you expressed such to Bo by kissing his cheek, your lips feathered to his skin as your fingers began to lightly stroke along the extensive scarring of his wrists. There was so much nerve damage that he could only just feel what you were doing to him, or maybe you were just being that light with your touch. Bo didn't know and he didn't feel all that brave in finding out, either. You continued to press kisses to Bo's face, trying to help him to relax, your fingers stilled on his wrist. Every kiss you bestowed upon him was an 'I love you' and every smile you felt curve his cheeks was an 'I love you too'. So much of your relationship, especially during nights like these, was unspoken and yet you heard each other loud and clear.

You kept it up until you felt Bo melt into the mattress, sincerely wanting nothing more than for him to relax and to feel safe and loved and warm, and then you did what you had been wanting to do ever since you had noticed Bo cradling his wrists, his chest heaving and mind racing. You ducked your head and pressed a feather light kiss to the toughened skin. Oh, but he had never let you so close to them before, and you were so scared of hurting him, of angering him, of offending him somehow... but it was all you wanted to do. You wanted to love Bo for all of him and not just the parts he chose to show you, and that included his scars. "They never should have done this to you, Bo," You deliberately used his name in the hopes that it would ground him as much as it would comfort him to be humanised in the face of everything he went through. "You weren't and you aren't a monster. It wasn't your fault." It was an almost intense, itchy urge that Bo knew how much you loved him in that moment, how much you needed him, and it was only the fact that you could feel his eyes, as sharp as the blades his twin adored, on you even in the darkness which prevented you from feeling like you had done something hugely wrong.

Every now and then did Bo tense up, his body rigid against yours, but then you would murmur his name against his wrist, still pressing tender reverence against his skin, and he would exhale with a shudder and relax anew. You longed to replace those permanent marks of repeated and systematic abuse and violence with invisible marks of your love and though you knew your kisses couldn't literally sink into his skin and heal him from the inside out - for love cannot fix, it can only ease the way even by the tiniest of amounts - that didn't stop you from wanting to make that a reality. Bo deserved better and you loved him so much that it hurt you when you stopped to think about it.

The way his body shuddered against yours and the way he kept pressing himself tighter and tighter into your body until it felt like he wanted to sink into you altogether and never resurface told you that Bo needed this as much as you did, though when you began to taste salt dashed across his skin did you stop completely. Your hands moved to cup Bo's face (as best as you could given the way you were both lying down) and you wiped his tears away carefully. Oh, but you loved him. It seemed to be almost a redundant turn of phrase at this point but still did you seize every available opportunity to speak it. Again and again and again would you remind Bo of your love for him, and though some aspects of his love language was different to your own, he did his best to make sure that you knew how much he loved you, too.

"It's all right, Bo. I've got you." You whispered sweet nothings (though you meant every word you spoke, they flowed out of you smoothly in your need to be everything he needed) until Bo's body relaxed for the final time, his breathing evened out, and the wrist in your grasp became a dead weight. Safe and secured was Bo once more, and you quickly followed him into sleep, for nowhere could he go where you would not follow.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair imagine #slasher x reader #slasher fic #slasher community #house of wax #house of wax imagine #house of wax x reader #bo sinclair comfort #bo sinclair fluff

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aftgficrec · 4 years ago

Note

Okay I've see the headcanon that when Neil switches identities he sometimes switches genders too and that'll lead to present day mishaps like responding to 'girl' names and the foxes being like ???. Do you have any fics that follow that idea?

I thought for sure we would have a bunch of things to fit this, only to find that I was quite mistaken. (I do know that one blog which had some bullet fics that fit this well has been deleted.) So I did my best to find some material that at least touches on this aspect of a genderfluid, enby, or trans Neil on the run, even if it’s just a brief mention/allusion. If any of our followers have any other recs, please add into the notes! -F

Nonbinary Neil HC by @girlboss-agatha-harkness [Tumblr, 2021]

as a nonbinary person, i’m so done with nonbinary neil headcanons that are like “neil is nby because on the run mary made him appear as other genders so nathan couldn’t track them and beat him if he slipped up so eventually he was like uh oh i’m not a boy because i was forced into different gender roles as a kid” because it always feels like it’s implying there’s something wrong with being nonbinary, that his trauma led to being nonbinary, and honestly feels similar to “well you can’t tell kids about gay people because then they will turn out to be gay!”

(tw: implied/referenced child abuse)

genderfluid neil by @wholesomeromy [Tumblr, 2020]

Genderfluid Neil! Because I love this hc and don't see enough of it >:(. Also I'm keeping Neil as "Neil" when presenting as both he/him AND she/her because it just makes my life a little easier :).

(tw: misgendering (accidental))

Maybe It Was Worth It by monster_without_a_name [Not Rated, 610 words, Complete 2016]

A short drabble re-imagining parts of the book with trans!Neil.

(tw: surgery, tw: scars, tw: deadnaming)

and you tap and you cut by minycrds [Rated G, 790 words, Complete 2017]

tumblr prompt: anything with trans neil

Neil Josten + his scars.

(tw: scars)

trans Neil HC by @spanglebangle [Tumblr, 2017]

Confession time: The first time I read tfc I legit thought Neil was trans for like the first 3 chapters? He kept ranting about his binder (I'm not a native speaker and I had never really seen the word binder out of the trans context) and added with his reluctance to take his shirt off. It took so long for me to realize he was talking about a binder for papers and stuff, i felt so dumb haha. That being said, do you know any good trans neil hcs or do hou have some yourself?

(tw: implied/referenced transphobia)

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phantasticworks · 4 years ago

Text

If You Don’t Love Me, Pretend - Chapter Twenty-Two

guess who's back! Back again! I am back! With a new chapter friends! *please check the tags for an important new tw about this chapter*

read on ao3

Words: 10.3k

Summary: Dan and Phil get closer to their truth.

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, allusions to past abuse/neglect, mild (very mild) smut at the end

After hours of testing and far too many people poking and prodding at their son, the hospital finally releases Jaiden, with a prescription to be filled for a brand new inhaler. Dan’s beyond nervous about this new development, but he saves his breakdown until they get home, where he hopes he can cry in the shower in peace.

Everyone is exhausted and starved by the time they finally make it inside the flat, Phil carrying Jaiden’s tired self inside and taking him straight to the lounge. Luckily, Phil had the foresight to order burgers on the way home, and Dan takes a moment to be relieved that he won’t have to cook. Still, the only thing keeping him from going straight to bed, besides the fact that it’s only about six in the evening, is the nervous energy thrumming in his veins. He tries not to hover around Jaiden too much, knowing it makes him nervous as well, but he almost can’t help it.

This results in Phil all but dragging him into the kitchen, asking the kids to pick out a film while they talk. As soon as they’re in the kitchen, and safe from wandering eyes and little ears, Dan allows a shallow sob to escape him. “Oh, bear,” Phil whispers, his voice dripping in something soft and affectionate. He doesn’t hesitate before pulling Dan into a hug, wrapping his arms around his waist and squeezing, his hands bunching up Dan’s sweater at his hips.

Dan loops his arms around Phil’s shoulders, hiding his face against the pale neck, just a breath away. He tries to control his crying to something quieter, but his body is shaking with it, as Phil tries desperately to quiet him, stroking a hand over his hair in long sweeps. “I was so scared,” Dan gasps through the tears.

“I know,” Phil whispers, his lips brushing against Dan’s ear. Dan can’t repress the shiver the feeling causes. “But Jaiden’s fine. He’s okay, Dan. You did so well, getting him to A&E and everything. I’m so proud of you.” Somewhere in the words of encouragement and comfort, Phil starts pressing kisses to Dan’s jaw, and Dan feels the tingling heat left behind from every brush of his lips. He hates himself for how affected he is by something so stupid.

“If something had happened to him...” Dan starts, shivering at the thought as his stomach lurches with nausea.

Phil tugs his hair gently, pulling Dan’s face away to force steely eye contact. “It didn’t,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “You got him there in time, and now we know what to do if it happens again. Don’t try to blame yourself for this, Dan.”

“But if-“

Phil shakes his head, cutting him off immediately. “No. You- you’re such a good dad, Dan. Seriously. The way you take care of them, the way you’d do anything for them...” he shakes his head again, something like mystified admiration swirling in the flecks of green in his eyes. “It’s one of the many things I love about you, okay? So just... don’t. You did the best thing for him, and you saved his life.”

Dan’s quiet for a long moment, slowly moving to rest his head back on Phil’s shoulder, pressing his damp face against Phil’s throat. “Okay,” he finally whispers. He presses a fleeting kiss to Phil’s neck, leaving his lips there to feel the way Phil swallows hard.

He’s just about to say something else, his stomach swirling with anxiety about the conversation he knows they need to have, but he’s interrupted by the melodic sound of the doorbell going.

Phil slowly extracts himself from Dan’s arms. “I’ll get it,” he offers, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of Dan’s mouth. “How about you go back to the lounge and make sure the kids picked a good film? I’ll bring the food and drinks up.”

Dan shakes his head, gesturing to the refrigerator. “I’ll get the drinks. I need a moment to... you know, not look like a crying mess,” he says through a wet laugh.

There’s something briefly sad that flickers in Phil’s gaze, and then he’s nodding, brushing a curl out of Dan’s face. “Alright. See you upstairs?”

Dan nods, giving him a small half-smile. Phil gives him a searching look before he finally leaves, headed to retrieve their food from the delivery man. After taking a moment to wipe his eyes and collect himself, Dan heads to the cupboard and grabs five cups, deciding it’s easier to carry them up empty and pour the drinks in when they get settled. Phil beats him to the lounge, and upon climbing the last step, Dan finds him distributing food to each of the kids. Dan pauses to watch the way Phil crouches down to cut Mia’s burger into pieces like she likes it, without her even asking. It warms Dan’s heart to see the way Phil acts with them, and he doesn’t know if that feeling will ever truly fade.

“Ribena okay with everyone?” Dan asks, finally stepping into the room. He’s got the stack of cups tucked into the crook of his elbow, the bottle of Ribena in one hand and the water pitcher in the other.

The kids chorus their agreements, and Dan quirks an eyebrow at Phil as he steps closer to the sofa. “Can you-“ he says, nodding at the glasses in his arm.

“Oh-“ Phil says, jumping to action. He takes the cups, and then the water pitcher, unstacking the cups so Dan can begin pouring.

“What’re we watching, guys?” Dan asks, glancing across the coffee table at the twins, who are sat in the floor, devouring their dinner.

“Kung Fu Panda,” Amelia answers around a bite of hamburger.

Dan’s nose crinkles but he doesn’t correct this behavior, just this once. Phil shoots him a knowing grin, and Dan pretends he doesn’t catch it. They finish pouring the right ratio of Ribena to water, and luckily Dan remembered to grab a long spoon to give them a quick stir. The children are mostly quiet as they eat, already focused on the film, so Dan and Phil quietly retreat to their sofa with their food, falling into a comfortable place beside each other as they eat.

They watch the film with little to no conversation, which Dan easily attributes to the long, exhausting day they’ve had. He can’t even consider staying up past the end of the film, and by the time everyone’s finished eating, there’s more than half an hour left. Dan stacks all the takeaway boxes for an easier disposal, then shifts to sit back on the sofa to wait out the rest of the film. Phil holds his arm out invitingly beside him, and Dan barely sends him a thankful glance before he leans into that comforting warmth.

Phil’s hand rests on his shoulder, his fingers scratching at the material of his jumper absently. Dan sighs. “Okay?” Phil breathes.

“Mhm. Exhausted,” Dan replies.

Phil makes a sympathetic little noise, much like he would to an animal, and Dan feels a fuzzy warmth flood his chest. “Nap for a bit, love. Everything’s fine. I’ll wake you when the film’s over.”

Dan nearly groans with relief at the very idea. “God, you’re actually my favorite human on earth, you know that?” He mumbles, getting comfortable, burrowing in against Phil’s chest, which does a little earthquake against Dan’s cheek.

“I’ll remind you that the next time I borrow some of your cereal,” Phil says, his voice full of quiet amusement.

Dan blinks an eye open at him. “It’s not borrowing if you can’t give it back,” he grouches. He’s not actually ill about it. He never could be, really.

Phil’s lip twitches. “I could regurgitate it to you like a baby bird.” Dan gags, and Phil laughs again.

Before Dan can even begin unpacking that, they’re interrupted by a tiny voice approaching them. It’s probably comical how they both look up at the same time, smiling at their child, who mirrors the expression.

“Can I come cuddle with you guys?” Jaiden asks, holding his latest stuffed dinosaur under his arm.

Dan nods, tugging on the blanket he and Phil’d draped over their laps earlier. “Of course, bubby. Come here.”

Jaiden crawls under the blanket, ending up pressed sort of half-between them, sitting mostly atop Dan’s thighs, with his back leaned against Phil’s chest. Dan bites his tongue on a laugh, sharing a look with Phil, who rolls his eyes. “You comfy, Jai?” Phil asks, rubbing a hand over his frizzy hair.

Nodding, Jaiden snuggles against his chest, digging his feet into one of Dan’s thighs to get situated. Dan winces, his leg twitching automatically. Of course this doesn’t go unnoticed to Phil, who gives him a little smile before gently adjusting Jaiden’s little body on his lap. “Here, bub, move your legs, you’re hurting Daddy.”

“Sorry,” Jaiden mumbles to Dan, half-heartedly paying attention to him. He allows himself to be maneuvered until his legs are hanging over Dan’s lap, Phil’s arm holding him up against his chest. Dan looks at the two of them for a minute, his eyes flickering up to meet Phil’s, something warm fizzing in his chest. Phil meets that gaze with a soft wink, and Dan forces himself to look away.

~~~

When the movie finally ends, Dan offers to carry Jaiden to bed while Phil and Levi clean up the mess from dinner. Amelia, surprisingly energetic for what time it is, offers to help clean. Dan’s glad to have a minute alone, carefully taking the stairs to get to the twins’ room. Jaiden is all but dead to the world, limp and heavier than usual in Dan’s arms. Dan wants to laugh or maybe cry with relief that he’s still here, that this was a minor thing that they now have a solution for. His heart aches at the idea that the day could’ve ended very differently.

Somehow he manages to get Jaiden settled into bed, dinosaur plushy tucked against his side, without so much as a stir. Dan probably takes longer than he should tucking him in, taking a moment to just hover his hand above his mouth to feel the warm puffs of breath, ensuring without a doubt that he’s okay.

That how Amelia and Phil find him a few minutes later, and Dan doesn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed about it. He catches Phil’s gaze for a second, watching the flicker of fondness before looking away. “C’mon, Mia, into bed,” Dan says quietly, moving over to her bed to tuck her in.

She’s quiet as she settles down, allowing Dan to smooth the blankets over her. When he asks which plushy she wants, she points to her lion, and Dan can’t help but glance over at Phil with a smirk. Rolling his eyes, Phil steps close to him, looping an arm around his shoulders and kissing his head. “Do you need anything else, Mia?”

Amelia shakes her head, but immediately holds her arms out for a hug. Of course Dan obliges at once before scooting away to allow Phil to do the same. “Is Jaiden going to be okay?” She whispers, looking over at her brother with something sad in her eyes.

Dan brushes her hair back gently, offering her a smile. “He’ll be okay, yeah. He’s got an inhaler, and now Dad and I know what to do if it happens again.”

She nods, petting the lion’s fur absently. “Can I get a new toy tomorrow? Since Jai got one?”

Dan tries his best to stifle a laugh, looking pointedly at her bed, almost entirely covered with stuffed animals of various shapes and sizes. “Um...” he trails off, looking to Phil for an answer.

The older man chews his lip in thought before giving him a sheepish shrug. “I mean... personally, I’d want a toy too, if I were her.”

Amelia cheers quietly and Dan rolls his eyes at the absolutely ridiculousness of it all. “You’re both spoiled, I think that’s what I’m hearing.”

Phil kisses Dan’s cheek so softly that Dan barely has time to register it before he’s already pulling away. “Maybe,” he agrees with a quiet smile. “But that’s just as much your fault as mine.”

Dan sighs, helpless. “I can’t even argue with you there.”

There’s a squeeze to his shoulder as Phil giggles, and then that hand slides down to pat his shoulder blade. “C’mon, Dan. It’s past our bedtime.”

Amelia makes a thoughtful face. “Aren’t you adults?” When Dan nods, she sighs, staring up at the ceiling. “When I’m an adult, I won’t have a bedtime.” She sounds wistful.

Dan snorts a quiet laugh before patting her arm gently. “Alright, lovebug. Sweet dreams.” With another kiss to her forehead, he stands, making sure that the night lights are switched on before he leads the way out of their room. He feels Phil’s hand slip into his own as they go, and he squeezes it almost unconsciously.

They’re quiet as they dress in their pajamas and go through their regular nightly routine. Dan’s head is buzzing with thoughts that feel too loud in the silence. He’s honestly not sure how Phil can’t hear them with how they scream, even from where he’s at in the bathroom. Dan tugs on a t-shirt, opting out of pajama bottoms in favor of just his usual pants. Phil comes back into their room and plugs his phone up, settling in his side of bed with a little sigh. When he catches Dan looking at him, he smiles. “Are you tired?”

Dan shrugs, then nods. “Yeah.”

Phil nods knowingly. “I want to talk before we go to sleep,” he says, voice apologetic.

Forcing a nod, Dan steps into the bathroom without a word, brushing his teeth methodically and taking his medicine when he’s finished. He feels anxious and fidgety, his fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm against his thigh as he stalls. He doesn’t want to go to bed, where he knows he’ll have to talk to Phil and explain the events of the day, away from little ears. But he can’t just loiter in the bathroom, so finally he forces himself back into the bedroom and straight into bed.

Phil’s sat up, watching Dan climb into bed. It’s not as if they never look at each other but something about Phil’s unwavering gaze crawls under his skin, making him feel hot and something like embarrassed.

Phil doesn’t let him feel it for long.

“Come here,” he whispers, holding his arms out for Dan to snuggle into. Dan goes willingly, his eyes already leaking with tears that he didn’t even know he had left to cry. “Shh, shh. You’re okay. Everything’s fine, love.”

“I...” he hesitates. But he wants to say this, for both of them. “I want to tell you what happened at the park.”

Phil makes a weak noise. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he assures Dan quietly. “I know... I know that was hard for you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Dan shakes his head, leaning away from Phil. He can’t help but feel trapped in his arms, at least for now. “Not just the asthma attack. I, um...” he’s not sure why but he briefly considers sharing the phone call with his mum. That’s absolutely, one hundred percent off limits. At least for now. “I had a conversation with Jaiden, before, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Okay...” Phil says slowly. He seems to realize that this means a lot to Dan, even without knowing what it is. He hesitates before dropping his hand to Dan’s thigh, his thumb stroking gently over the bare skin. “I’m listening,” he says softly.

Dan takes a deep breath, then begins to speak.

~~~

Dan tells him everything. He tells him how his heart hurt when Jaiden said he wished that he was biologically theirs. He tells him his fear of losing these children, of having to give them up to someone else, even if it is a better life. He talks about how his heart stopped when Amelia told him what happened to Jaiden, how fast it started beating when he found Jaiden on the ground, gasping for breath. He tells him how it felt to hear Jaiden cry the entire drive to A&E.

Phil listens intently, and doesn’t interrupt a single time. He strokes a hand over Dan’s thigh, eventually moving on to stroke his hair after gathering Dan up in his arms. When Dan cries, Phil makes soft, comforting noises in the back of his throat, wiping at the wetness pooled beneath Dan’s eyes with gentle fingertips. When Dan is finished speaking, he tucks his face into Phil’s neck, sniffling. Phil is quiet for a long time.

When he speaks, it’s not what Dan’s expecting to hear. “What would you do if they weren’t with us?” Dan makes a confused noise, and Phil clears his throat. “I... like, if they leave. How... how is that going to change our... situation?”

Dan always tries, really tries, not to let the idea of losing their little family get to him. He keeps it as far from the front of his mind as possible, and Phil has to know that by now. But even Dan has the sense to know that things can’t just stay this way forever, not really. So he forces himself to actually think about a life without the kids.

A life where they don’t have three children to feed, to read bedtime stories to, or watch movies with. A life without the sound of little feet thundering upstairs, and without the nightly cuddles Dan has become so very attached to. A life with empty bedrooms, an empty dining table, an empty flat.

A life that Phil will likely no longer feel the need to be a permanent part of, now that he’s experienced it and realizes just how hard it is to be a parent. A life where Phil sleeps in the guest room, and eventually moves out-because of course he actually does want a real family, and a real partner, rather than this game of house Dan’s given him.

A life where Dan has to cope with the idea, alone, that this- this life they have now, is the happiest he’s ever been in his whole life, because he’s sharing it with the man he’s never really fallen out of love with.

And that life mocks him from afar, a creeping spectator from the shadows in the corner, because he’s weak. He’s weak and will probably never have the guts to tell Phil the truth, not really.

So instead of saying any of that, Dan clears his throat, shifting out of Phil’s embrace. “I don’t know,” he whispers hoarsely.

Phil has something devastating in his eyes, something Dan can’t name, but he nods slowly. “Well... maybe we need to start thinking about that.”

Dan’s breath catches and it takes him a moment to speak but when he does, it’s to the sheets, unable to meet Phil’s eyes. “They’re my kids, Phil. In every way that matters, this- you guys are my whole world now. I don’t... I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they ever get taken away.” The “I don’t know how to live without this, without you,” is unspoken.

Phil kisses his hair. He’s quiet for a while, and finally he sighs. “I know, bear. I feel the same way.”

Dan chews on his lip, thoughtful. “What did you think about what Hazel said earlier?” His heart pounds as he waits for Phil to say something, anything that might make his heart hurt less.

“I think... that we need to think about that some more.” His words are slow, careful. Dan nearly cringes away. Phil continues, unaware. “That’s a very permanent decision, Daniel. And...” Phil’s voice trails off, and Dan swallows a sob.

“I guess we’re not really permanent, are we?” Dan asks, almost bitterly. Not even almost- he’s actually very bitter about it- about all of this. He rolls until he’s laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, gripping at his chest and begging for his heart to stop hurting.

“That’s not what I said,” Phil says softly, something like hurt in his voice. The mattress dips and suddenly a weight is on Dan’s chest and soft black hair is tickling his chin. Phil’s arms wrap around Dan’s waist and Dan takes a deep, steadying breath to calm his emotions. “You’re always going to be my best friend, Dan.” Phil whispers.

Dan can feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but he tries desperately to blink them away as his arms come up to wrap around Phil’s waist. It’s one of the more compromising positions they’ve found themselves in, and as they settle into it, Phil’s thigh slips between Dan’s legs. When they’ve finally settled, Dan’s got a leg wrapped around one of Phil’s, and they’ve somehow both gotten their hands underneath each other’s shirts. It’s nice, Dan decides. “You’re mine too,” Dan says softly, his voice breaking.

Phil kisses his chest, a lingering, gentle thing. “You know why that’s important to me, right?” When Dan makes a humming noise in response, Phil nuzzles into his neck. He places one soft kiss to Dan’s jaw and then sighs. “You’re my favorite person, Dan. And that won’t ever change. But... doing this... adopting the kids, that’s big. That’s, you know...”

“More than you bargained for?” Dan interrupts, his voice irritated.

Phil makes a disagreeing noise. “No, Dan. This could never be anything less than exactly what I want. But we need to be on the same page about what we want. And right now... I don’t know if we are. And I think you should think about that more before we make a decision like this.”

Dan forces himself to steady his breathing. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice small.

The silence in the bedroom presses down on them, and Dan can’t find the words to dig their way out from under it. So instead he lies there, cheek pressed to Phil’s temple, struggling to breathe under the weight of what feels like the end of everything.

~~~

Sunday morning dawns cloudy and grey, like the weather decided to mirror Dan’s mood in whatever way it could. He stares at the ceiling, his heart heavy in his chest as he wonders whether or not today is going to be a bad day. He doesn’t hear steady breathing next to him like he does most mornings, and when his hand makes the journey across the sheets, they’re already chilled. Dan closes his eyes, picturing Phil getting their coffee ready for the morning. The thought very nearly makes him cry.

Determined to be a good parent and a good partner for the day, Dan forces himself out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t process the sound of the shower turning off, or the fact that the door is almost shut. His brain wakes up a little when he walks into a room full of steam.

He hears a squeak of surprise and his attention is jerked to the side, where Phil is stepping out of the shower. Naked. “Jesus, Dan!” He says with a breathy laugh. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Dan’s sure his whole face is flushed red. He tries to look elsewhere, but when he sees Phil turn and reach for a towel, his eyes wander. It’s not the first time he’s seen him naked, but it’s the first time he’s seen him naked knowing what he knows about himself now. “I- you weren’t- I didn’t mean to-“ Dan stutters, trying to tear his eyes away from Phil’s perfect ass.

“It’s okay,” Phil says warmly. He finally wraps a towel around his waist, but his lip twitches with something like a smirk. The butterflies in Dan’s stomach are having a riot. “Did you need something?”

Something about the question, the reminder that Dan is intruding on Phil’s personal space, sets Dan’s head back into orbit. “No, um- sorry, I’ll go.”

Just as he’s turning around to do just that, he hears Phil make a small noise. “I don’t mind,” he says quietly.

Dan freezes. “What?” He asks, turning to face him.

Phil avoids his eyes, turning to the mirror to apply his face moisturizer. “I said I don’t mind. Like, it doesn’t bother me for you to be in here with me.”

“While you’re- you were-“ Dan has no idea what words he needs. He’s barely processed the fact that he saw his best friend’s dick, knowing that said best friend is also the person he’s in love with.

Phil looks straight into his eyes and nods. “I know.” He pauses, turning away to pat his hands dry. “You can stay in here, if you want.” It’s almost conversational, how he says it, gesturing for Dan to get on with his morning routine if he wants.

Dan feels like his brain is short-circuiting just a little bit. “I...”

Before he can finish whatever dim-witted sentence he had in store, Phil reaches down, untucking the towel from around his waist. He meets Dan’s gaze in the mirror, for just a second, before he reaches for the clothes that Dan is just noticing sat on the counter.

Dan can’t do it. He’s borderline hyperventilating, and his skin feels so hot he thinks it might melt right off his skeleton. And he can’t do this. It’s an open invitation, one with so many implications, but he can’t. He just can’t.

“I’ll go... um, make coffee,” he stutters out uselessly before scurrying out of the room. He doesn’t wait to see or hear Phil’s reaction.

~~~

Dan’s stirring milk and sugar into a Hello Kitty mug, going through the motions with little awareness of them. He’s completely on autopilot, preparing two cups of coffee like he does most mornings, leaving Phil’s on the table as he goes to stand out on the balcony. He just needs a moment of fresh- well, fresh enough- air to try and process what almost happened in the bathroom.

He’s known for years how attractive Phil is, and realizing he’s been in love with him this whole time has only exacerbated how attracted Dan is to him. Seeing him freshly showered and naked less than five minutes after waking up sent Dan’s brain into very dangerous territory, and just reliving the encounter now is causing his trousers to tighten. He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the way he can see his own breath in the November cold rather than focusing on the fact that he’s got a very embarrassing problem going on in his pants.

Whatever chance he had at calming down is ripped away with the sound of the balcony door being pushed open. Dan startles, but sips his coffee and continues looking over the balcony rather than turn around. Just to be safe.

“Dan, why’re you out here without a coat? It’s freezing,” Phil chastises, his voice holding absolutely none of the turmoil Dan is feeling at the moment. Either Phil really was unaffected or he’s just very good at hiding it. Either way, it’s quite inconvenient.

“‘M not cold,” Dan mumbles, holding his coffee mug close to his chest.

“Sure,” Phil says after a beat, clearly disbelieving. There’s the sound of the door opening again, and Dan assumes Phil’s decided not to entertain his bullshit this morning. Dan’s not sure whether he should feel relieved or not.

Suddenly the door opens again and a moment later, Dan feels something soft and heavy being draped over his shoulders. “Here,” Phil says softly, running his hands up and down Dan’s arms to warm him. “I don’t want you catching a cold out here.” He presses a kiss to the back of Dan’s head, his hand ruffling through the curls for a moment before he steps beside him.

Dan nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles. He’s still reeling, mind flooded with images of droplets sliding down pale skin, fogged up mirrors-

“Are you okay? You’re breathing funny.” Phil is saying, his voice barely reaching Dan through the haze. Dan feels the way Phil’s hand wraps around his arm, but everything is still fuzzy. “Dan?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, gently pulling away from Phil’s grip. “I need to get dressed.”

Phil gives him an odd look, his hand hovering in the air between them like he’s attached to Dan by some invisible string. “Oh... okay?”

Dan doesn’t look back at him before he disappears back into the flat.

~~~

When Dan finally re-emerges from their bedroom, Phil is standing in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. Dan’s clearly coming in on the tail-end of the conversation, and he pretends to busy himself with making toast so he doesn’t look like he’s eavesdropping.

“Right, sure. I can meet you in, like, half an hour?” Phil is saying, pulling his phone away briefly to glance at the time. Whoever he’s speaking to must agree, because then he’s saying his goodbyes and hanging up. He taps on his phone briefly before sliding it into his pocket and looking over at Dan. Dan avoids his eyes. “I was going to make some pancakes,” Phil says mildly.

Dan shrugs one shoulder, staring at the toaster as he waits for the bread to pop up. “‘S fine. Who was that?” He asks, nodding in Phil’s general direction.

“Martyn, he wants to meet up. Evan is sick and I think Cornelia is sick of Mar hovering,” Phil says, snorting a laugh.

Dan tries to force himself to act like he isn’t bothered. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to hang out with Martyn? If Evan is sick and contagious, we could end up with a houseful of sick kids ourselves, and we don’t really need that right now.” His voice has an edge to it that he really wishes he could get rid of.

Phil is giving him an odd look when Dan risks a glance at him. “I think it’ll be fine. Evan just barely has a fever, if anything I think Cornelia just wanted to have an excuse to get Martyn out of the house for the day.”

The toast finally pops out of the toaster, giving Dan something to focus on that isn’t the building emotion in his chest. He shrugs, mumbling, “whatever,” and plating up his toast. He spares another glance over at Phil, who’s watching him closely. “If you’re meeting him so soon you should probably go.”

“Right,” Phil says, searching Dan’s face. Dan turns away, petulant. Phil huffs a noise somewhere between a snort and a sigh before leaving the kitchen.

Dan busies himself with smoothing his almond butter on one slice of the toast, and finds he’s spread Phil’s favorite strawberry jam over the other, just out of habit. He huffs a breath out of his nose, beyond annoyed at himself and forcing away the little bubble of warmth that’s trying to remind him that he’s not actually upset with Phil. It’s hard to remember that, though, when Phil comes in a few minutes later, wearing his denim button-up and glasses, looking the picture of ease while Dan is still feeling raw on the inside from the events of the day before.

“Here,” Dan mumbles, shoving the Nutella toast over to him and turning away to nibble on his own. He pretends to watch the pigeons, only to realize after a moment of staring that the balcony is empty.

“You made me toast too?” Phil asks, sounding soft and surprised.

Dan shrugs. He glances over at Phil, who already has a big corner bite taken out of the bread, cheeks puffed out as he chews. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“Thanks,” Phil says once he’s swallowed. He licks a bit of Nutella off his thumb and Dan forces himself to look away, feeling his face heat up. They’re quiet while they finish eating their toast, but then they’re both done and Phil is clearing his throat. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

The reminder that Phil is leaving sours Dan’s mood all over again. He turns away, turning the tap on just to hear something other than his own bitter thoughts. He shrugs, then shakes his head, silent. Phil sighs, and Dan tenses a little when he feels him press close to his side.

“Are you upset with me?” Phil asks, voice quiet but undeniably hurt.

Dan is, of course. He doesn’t even know why, really. His emotions are frazzled and fried and he doesn’t know what to do or say, so he shakes his head again, denying it.

There’s a brief pause and then Phil lets out another sigh, this time more impatient. “Okay,” he says, his voice tight. He leans in, and his lips barely brush Dan’s forehead before Dan turns away, the kiss falling where his hair meets his temple. Phil makes a wounded noise, and Dan closes his eyes, gripping the counter as he waits for the reprimand, or the fight, that he knows is coming. “I’ll see you later,” Phil murmurs to him, pressing his lips to Dan’s hair gently before turning to leave.

Dan listens to the tell-tale sound of Phil’s feet clomping down the hall and then the sound of him struggling to get his shoes on. Finally there’s the sound of keys jostling, and then the door closing gently, probably out of respect for the sleeping members of the house and not Dan. Still, he pretends they’re not in a fight, pretends that they’d had a nice breakfast together and had their usual affectionate goodbyes.

Somehow, this pretend doesn’t make up for the reality.

~~~

A day filled with spending quality time with his children is a remedy like no other. Dan still feels the ache somewhere in his chest, and the Phil-shaped absence in his day does hurt when he lets himself think too much about it. Still, spending most of the morning snuggling with Jaiden and watching movies heals him a little. Levi even sticks around, lounging at the other end of the sofa with Amelia tucked against his side. The soft family vibes of it all nearly brings Dan to tears, but he manages to keep himself under control.

At some point he gets a text from Phil saying that he’d be spending more of the day with Martyn than he realized. Dan frowns down at his screen, tilting it away from any curious little eyes.

Phil: Hey, Mar wants to do some early Christmas shopping for mum and dad while we’re out. Won’t be home until later.

Dan: it’s literally November?

Phil: Yeah, well. We don’t hang out as often anymore. It’ll be good to get it out of the way now.

Dan: fine, whatever

Phil: Kids okay?

Dan: yes.

Phil: Need anything?

Dan: guess not.

Phil: Okay. Love you guys.

Dan reads over this several times before locking his phone and sliding it under his thigh and out of view. That word shouldn’t send his heart racing the way it does, certainly not within the context. He knows what Phil meant. There’s no reason for him to have other feelings about it. No reason for him to mouth the words to himself, allowing his body to feel like they’re just for him.

“Daddy can we play Mario Kart?” A sweet voice calls from the other end of the sofa.

Dan turns a smile towards Amelia, shrugging. “That’s fine with me. Need help setting it up?”

Amelia shakes her head and pats Levi’s arm repeatedly, gesturing for him to do it. The teenager rolls his eyes but complies, sending Dan a smile when their eyes meet. “Will you play with us?” Amelia asks, scooting to sit in Levi’s spot against the corner of the sofa.

“Mm, I dunno,” Dan says warily. He does get a bit competitive with the game, and he can’t afford to keep swearing around them, not with the new swear jar.

“Please?” Jaiden asks, tilting his head to give Dan the most illegal pair of puppy dog eyes that he’s ever seen.

Dan sucks his teeth, contemplating. “Okay, how about this? You guys play a few rounds, and whoever the winner is has to play me. Deal?”

Amelia claps, nodding eagerly. “Yes!”

Levi brings over the controllers, handing one to each of the twins. Dan realizes then that he’s only retrieved two of them from the gaming cabinet. When Dan gives him a puzzled look, he shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have some homework to get done, so...”

“Oh,” Dan says, a little disappointed that their family bonding time will be cut short. “Of course, yeah, that’s fine.”

Levi hesitates, scratching his collarbones, a nervous tic Dan’s noticed. “I could do it in here?” He suggests, sounding more like a question than anything else.

“You wouldn’t be too distracted?” Dan asks, glancing at where the twins have already started arguing about something.

“No,” Levi says, shaking his head fondly at his siblings. “I’ve got earbuds anyway, so it won’t be too distracting.”

Dan nods then, smiling. “Great! I’ll try to keep them quiet.”

Levi’s mouth quirks into a smile and he disappears to his room to retrieve his laptop and books. Dan leans back into the corner of the sofa and watches the twins, a blanket of calm settling over him. This is exactly the sort of day he wanted after the trauma of yesterday, although he still feels the tugging in his chest at Phil’s absence. He doesn’t see that going away anytime soon, so instead of dwelling on it, he immerses himself in enjoying this day with his kids.

~~~

By the time Dan hears the front door opening, he’s putting dinner away and listening for any sounds of distress coming from the bathroom where Jaiden is supposed to be taking a bath. It’s only because he’s listening so hard that he even hears the quiet click of the door being re-locked, and his hands fumble with the Tupperware bowl. He forces himself not to look up towards the sound of approaching footsteps, a hard feat since he’s been desperate to see Phil since the minute he’d walked out the door this morning. Another part of him, however, is more concerned with the fact that their conversation from earlier is still very much unresolved. Just thinking about how they’d parted ways this morning sours his mood, and he drops the stir-fry pan into the sink a little too harshly.

“Hey,” Phil says as he walks into the kitchen, shrugging his jacket off. He drapes it over a chair at the table before coming around the counter to join Dan. “I take it I missed dinner?” He asks, cautious.

“The kids were tired. I thought an early night was best,” Dan mutters, washing his hands and reaching for the towel without looking at Phil. “I put some away in a box for you. It’s in the fridge,” Dan gestures mildly with the hand towel before turning around, intending on going to check on the kids.

“Oh... thanks.” Phil drums his fingers on the counter. “Dan?”

Dan sighs, but drags his feet to a stop, closing his eyes briefly to prepare himself for whatever argument they’re about to have. He turns around, dragging his eyes over Phil’s face. “Yeah?” His voice is strained, even to his ears.

“I, um...” Phil starts, stumbling to a stop. “Are the kids in bed already?”

Something about his voice doesn’t sound right, like that’s not the question he’d wanted to ask, but Dan doesn’t mention it. “Mia is. Jai’s in the bath, and I think Levi is FaceTiming with Charlotte.”

Phil nods, glancing out at the balcony before looking over at Dan. “Okay. I’ll just, uh... eat dinner and um...”

“I’ll get Jaiden out of the bath. You can tell them goodnight when you’re done.” Everything they say to each other feels scripted. Dan hates it.

“Right. Okay.” Phil looks down, the silence in the room suddenly overwhelming.

Dan feels incredibly awkward standing there, so he does what he does best. He leaves.

~~~

After tucking Jaiden into bed and giving another round of hugs and kisses and ‘goodnight, I love you’s to the twins, Dan heads to his own bedroom. He can hear the sound of Phil watching something on his phone while he eats, and Dan closes the bedroom door behind himself for some privacy. He sends Levi a text reminding him not to stay up too late since it’s a school night, and when he’s finally alone and free of parental responsibility, he allows himself to fall apart.

Dan really doesn’t even realize he’s in need of a good cry until tears are streaking down his face, his breaths coming out shallow and quick. He wipes furiously at his eyes, pressing his fingers against his tear ducts until it hurts. He’s weak, he’s so weak, if he falls apart so easily just when he has a row with his partner. His co-parenting partner, his mind reminds him traitorously. There’s no other context that word fits into within their current dynamic, and he needs to remind himself of that before he loses it entirely.

The sound of the bedroom door opening jolts him out of his bubble of self-loathing. He turns away from Phil, swiping at his cheeks and trying to stifle his sniffles. He clears his throat twice, begging his body to get a grip and suck it up.

“Dan?” Phil’s voice calls softly, the mattress dipping on the other side of the bed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Dan flinches at the feeling of fingers tracing gently down his arm. “Nothing,” he croaks, swiping his phone off the bed and connecting it to the plug. It’s something to keep his hands busy, but it doesn’t last forever, obviously, and then he’s left sat there, dreading the moment when he has to turn and face Phil.

“Bullshit,” Phil snorts, not unkindly. “I’ve known you for ten years, Dan. I can tell when you’re crying.”

“‘M not,” Dan protests, uselessly.

The bed shifts as Phil moves, and Dan’s breath catches when Phil’s knees bracket his hips, his arms wrapping around Dan’s shoulders in a warm embrace as he presses his chest to Dan’s back. “Babe, talk to me.”

A sob escapes Dan’s throat at the pet name. He can’t do this anymore. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“Dan?” Phil sounds panicked.

“I want it to be real,” Dan confesses, squeezing Phil’s arms so tightly he’s sure that he’ll leave bruises.

“What?” Phil asks, his voice colored in confusion. “Want what to be real?”

“All of it,” Dan whispers. “This, the family, all of it.”

He feels Phil gulp behind him, his Adam’s apple brushing against Dan’s shoulder. “It is real, Dan.” He sounds uncertain.

“Not like I want it to be,” Dan says, scornful.

Phil’s quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he admits. His voice sounds high and different though, making Dan wonder if he does.

And fuck, that’s really not something he can handle right now. Maybe not ever. “Nevermind,” he mumbles, gently prying Phil’s arms away from him.

“Wait, Dan,” Phil says, gripping Dan’s wrist.

Dan shrugs out of his grip. “Just stop,” he says. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, giving Phil half a glance. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He leaves Phil staring after him as he goes into the bathroom, stripping down to his pants and turning on the tap. He’s waiting for the water to warm up, taking deep breaths to calm himself, when the door opens. He’s so sick of jumping every time a door opens, honestly.

“Dan-“ Phil starts, reaching for him as soon as he’s in reaching distance.

It’s then that Dan realizes he’s just stood there, nothing covering him other than his black Calvins, worn out with time and wear. “Why are you in here?” He demands, trying to decide between crossing his arms to cover his hardening nipples, or clasping his hands to cover the bulge in his pants.

Phil shrugs carelessly. Dan doesn’t think he imagines the way Phil’s eyes flick up and down, checking him out. “It’s my bathroom too,” Phil says flippantly.

“Well yeah, but I was about to shower,” Dan snaps, the defensive tone coloring his voice.

Phil definitely checks him out this time, his eyes dragging a slow trail down Dan’s mostly naked body. “Go ahead,” Phil says, gesturing. “I’ll wait.”

Dan definitely can’t do that. He shivers at the implication and hopes that he can pass it off as a reaction to the chill in the air. He thinks Phil might be joking, but when he just crosses his arms and leans back against the sink, Dan knows he’s being serious. “You’re being a dick,” Dan snaps, grabbing his shirt and tugging it back over his head. He’s not going to be forced into this conversation, not when he feels so vulnerable, literally only a scrap of fabric away from being naked under Phil’s gaze.

“Dan, wait,” Phil says, grabbing his arm when Dan brushes past him to leave.

“Fuck off,” Dan spits, angry when he realizes that he’s crying again.

Phil gently strokes a hand down Dan’s side, his other hand coming up to cup Dan’s neck. “Hey. I’m sorry.” His voice is soft, and that just makes Dan cry harder. “I’m not trying to be a dick. But you won’t talk to me.”

“Yeah? Well being a twat isn’t winning you any favors,” Dan says, avoiding Phil’s eyes as he wipes at his own.

Phil sighs. “Why are you so cross with me today?”

“I’m not.”

“Dan.”

There’s a beat of silence, and when Dan squirms, Phil tightens his grip. Dan hates that he likes it. “Fine,” he says in a quick breath. He raises his gaze, staring Phil square in the face. “You left today.”

Phil looks caught off guard. “I... yeah, Martyn wanted to see me.”

“Yeah,” Dan snorts. “And yesterday our son almost died.” He levels Phil with a look, begging him to get the hint.

“I...” Phil starts, clearly at a loss for what to say. “I’m sorry.” He tugs Dan to his chest, hugging him tightly.

And for some reason, that does it. Dan’s attempts at drying his stupid over-productive tear ducts are futile, and the flood gates open again. Phil shushes him gently, stroking the back of Dan’s head in soft, gentle sweeps. Dan just keeps crying, his body shaking against Phil’s.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Phil is mumbling, pressing kisses to his hair.

“I really needed you here today,” Dan says, wiping his nose unashamedly against Phil’s t-shirt. “It sucked, being here alone with them, thinking that any minute something might happen and you wouldn’t even be here.”

Phil squeezes his hip harder. “I know. I’m sorry, Dan, really. I wasn’t thinking. Or I guess I just thought...” he trails off, but Dan doesn’t offer him an out. He wants to know what Phil thought. “I thought that, you know, after this morning... you wanted some space.”

It takes Dan a moment to place what he means. He flushes as soon as he remembers, as images of Phil, naked and dripping from a shower, flood his brain immediately. He shifts his hips away from Phil’s just a bit, hoping he’s subtle about it. It’s actually a good point, as far as Phil’s stupid anxiety-ridden logic is usually concerned, but that doesn’t mean it was right. “I needed you here. The kids needed you here.”

“I know, I just-“

Dan pulls away enough to look at him. “No, obviously you didn’t. Because you left.”

Phil’s shoulders sag, and Dan can tell he’s disappointed in himself. “You’re right. Of course you are.”

He gives it a moment, and then Dan leans his head back on Phil’s shoulder. “Please don’t run away like that again,” he whispers.

Phil tightens his grip on Dan’s hips. “I won’t. I want to be there for you, and for them.”

Dan doesn’t think Phil realizes what he actually meant, and he’s too emotionally raw to correct him. He tilts his chin, pressing a kiss to Phil’s throat. Phil shivers, and fuck, Dan should probably keep his distance. They’re clearly just touch-starved and desperate for some sort of sexual release, something that Dan knows they don’t share with each other, even as much as he wants to. He’s thinking this, and regretting all the times he’s not said what he felt, when Phil cups his cheek, nudging his face just so and-

And kisses him. Phil kisses him so softly, like Dan’s never been kissed before. Dan can’t help but gasp a little, his hand coming up to hold Phil’s wrist. His eyes slip closed as Phil strokes across his cheekbone, kissing Dan again and again, each time their lips meet better than the last. He loves this. He loves the way Phil’s mouth tastes, something sugary mixed with a hint of the coffee he drinks every evening, despite Dan’s warnings of sleep deprivation. He loves the way Phil’s hands are so gentle as they touch him, the hand on his hip currently traveling towards his bum, touching lightly, reverently. He loves the way he can feel Phil’s heart beating against his own chest from where they’re pressed so tightly together, and Dan can’t help but wish they were wearing less clothes. And he especially loves the way it sounds, the quiet smacking of their lips echoing in the room, louder even than the water Dan left running.

This must be what drags Dan out of this incredible moment, the reminder that he’s left the water running and has a shower to take. He pulls away, blood thrumming and heart leaping when Phil chases his lips. He surveys him, staring at Phil’s cherry red, spit-slick mouth and Dan decides that he wants to devour him. But first, he really does need that shower. “I need to take a shower,” he says dumbly.

Phil looks scandalized. “Er, right. Okay.” He clears his throat, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth. His cheeks are flushed, and Dan can’t decide if it’s from the heat of the bathroom or the kissing.

They stare at each other for a second and Phil quirks an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?” He says, wiping nervously at nothing.

Dan can’t help it. He leans forward, pressing kisses all over Phil’s cute little face. “Nope,” he mumbles.

Phil giggles uncontrollably, and Dan shivers as he feels Phil’s hands pushing underneath his shirt. He’s grinning too, enough that he’s really not even kissing Phil’s face anymore, just dragging his lips across his jaw before forcing himself to pull away. Phil’s laughter dies out and he’s stood staring at Dan with something too warm, too intimate, in his eyes. Dan leans in and kisses him again, amazed at the fact that Phil seems to want this, at least for now. He grabs Phil’s wrist under his shirt and guides his hand over to a nipple, encouraging Phil to touch him. He’s over pretending like this isn’t exactly what he wants.

“You know,” Phil says conversationally as he trails kisses down Dan’s neck. “You’re even better at this than I thought you’d be.”

Dan can’t help but preen at the compliment. “Yeah?” He asks shyly.

“Yeah,” Phil says, blowing a breath against Dan’s neck before sucking gently. Dan shivers. “Can I...” Phil trails off, his fingertips dipping into the waistband of Dan’s pants.

“What?” Dan asks, eager to hear the end of that question.

Phil pulls away and looks at him with something vulnerable in his eyes. “Can I touch you?”

Dan closes his eyes and nods quickly. He’s afraid if he doesn’t give his consent immediately, Phil might change his mind. “Fuck yeah. Yes.”

“Okay,” Phil says, smiling at him, a little nervous twitch to his lips. “I haven’t done this in a while, so you might have to give me a second to get it right,” he says. Dan’s about to ask what exactly he hasn’t done in a while when Phil drops to his knees.

Dan stops breathing. “Fuck,” he whimpers, heart racing. He never, in a million years, thought he’d ever see this. Phil kneeling in front of him, rubbing Dan gently through his briefs, looking up at Dan for reassurance. “Yeah,” Dan says uselessly. He’s shaking a little, he realizes when he reaches forward to push Phil’s hair out of his face. Doing something he does all the time, but in this context, makes it so incredibly hot that Dan can hardly stand it.

“Hey,” Phil says softly, reaching up and grabbing Dan’s hand. “We don’t have to, I can-“

“No!” Dan says, too quickly. Phil smirks at him. “I mean,” Dan says, clearing his throat. “I want you to, I’m just...” He flaps his hand in some awkward non-explanation of how he’s feeling. “Nervous,” he supplies when Phil just tilts his head at him.

Phil smiles, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Dan’s stomach, right below his navel. “It’s just me. I’m not scary, am I?” He looks up at Dan through his eyelashes as he kisses down, his final kiss pressed against the base of Dan’s cock through the fabric.

Dan takes a deep breath. “Fucking terrifying,” he says.

Phil presses his giggles against Dan’s tummy and Dan’s muscles tighten nervously. It’s been so long since someone’s touched him like this, he’s a little terrified among all the exhilaration of it. But Phil knows him better than any other person on earth, and he knows exactly what Dan needs. He reaches up and tangles their fingers together, bringing Dan’s hands to rest in his hair. Phil watches him as he gently guides Dan’s hands to stroke his hair, his face melting into something soft when Dan relaxes.

“There we go,” Phil says quietly. “Are you alright?”

Dan nods, his hands still petting Phil’s hair even when Phil’s hands drop to rest on Dan’s hips. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Phil smiles at him. “Good.” He ducks his head and begins sucking lightly at Dan’s cock through the fabric, and Dan stifles a groan and his thighs shake. He’s so hard already, and Phil’s barely touched him. He genuinely doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to stand it when Phil takes his cock out to properly blow him, which is where Dan’s pretty sure this is going. Phil pulls away and tugs lightly at Dan’s pants. “Ready?” He says.

Dan loves him for triple-checking. He opens his mouth to tell Phil to do it already, he consents, he wants this so bad-

He hears a voice in the other room.

“Daddy?”

Both of them freeze, staring at each other with matching looks of terror. They wait, as if to see if their child is going to leave. It barely takes a minute before they hear a knock at the bathroom door. “Dad?” Jaiden calls again.

“Shit,” Dan hisses, pushing at Phil’s head, yanking at his t-shirt to get him to stand. “Fuck, god fucking dammit,” he mutters, heart racing for entirely all the wrong reasons.

“Shh,” Phil shushes him, turning to check his hair in the mirror, his hands trembling. “Just a sec, Jai!”

“Phil!” Dan protests, covering himself. “I don’t- I can’t go out there like this!” He whisper-shouts.

“Relax, I’ll go take care of him,” Phil says, turning around to face Dan. He smirks as he glances down at Dan’s little problem, and Dan wants to throttle him. “You should probably take care of that,” he says, gesturing to Dan’s crotch.

Dan’s face feels like it’s on fire. “God. Yeah, okay. I’ll uh... take a shower.”

Phil nods, biting his lip, no doubt hiding a laugh. “Right,” he says.

“Hello?” Jaiden calls outside the bathroom door, sounding exasperated. “Dan? Phil? Somebody?”

Dan has to giggle at this, and Phil bursts into laughter. “Go, go,” Dan says, pushing Phil towards the door. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

Phil stops at the door and twists around just enough that he can press a kiss to Dan’s forehead. “Okay,” he says, letting out a breath, his eyes looking a little wild. Their son has started knocking at the door now, so Phil rolls his eyes before gripping the doorknob. “Right, I’m going,” he says, still casting one last glance over at Dan before opening the door and slipping out.

Before the door closes, Dan hears Jaiden questioning him. “What took so long? Where’s daddy?”

Dan doesn’t hear all of Phil’s response before he shuts the door, and half of Dan is relieved that their child won’t be traumatized by seeing him like this. The other half of him is hysterical that Phil is the one who has to deal with lying to their child who almost caught them in a very compromising position.

Now that he’s alone, Dan gives himself a moment to reflect on everything that just happened. He made out with his best friend. That’s fine. They’ve kissed before, although Dan was obviously still in denial about what that meant to both of them. Even bigger than that, in so many ways, is the fact that Phil was about to suck his dick. He literally felt Phil’s mouth against his cock, and if they hadn’t been interrupted, he would have felt Phil’s mouth in a place he’s never felt it. He almost can’t wrap his head around it, but he’s still hard as he steps into the stream of the shower, and he can wrap his head, or his hand, around that problem.

He jerks himself off fast and hard, his mind flooded with images of Phil, Phil, Phil. He’s breathing hard and nearly choking on the steam of the water and then it’s over all too soon, all the evidence washed down the drain. Relief washes over him in waves, and for the first time in a long time, it’s not accompanied by guilt. He wasn’t a perfect man, and of course over the last few weeks he’s wanked to the thought of Phil, and every time he’s been encompassed in such guilt that he’d swear he would never do it again.

It’s impossibly relieving to not have that guilt accompany what he thinks is his best wank in months.

He washes his hair and body quickly after that, desperate to crawl into bed with Phil and talk about all of this. This day has been an absolute whirlwind of emotions but now his heart is set on clearing things up and putting his truth out there on the table. It’s terrifying to think about, absolutely nerve wracking to rehearse the words in his head as he towels himself dry and slips on some pajamas.

“I’m in love with you,” he mouths to himself in the mirror. His lips keep quirking up, making his words look almost fake as he repeats the sentiment again and again. He feels giddy, borderline deranged with excitement, as he brushes his teeth and forces down his nightly pill.

Dan’s so excited and nervous that he somehow forgets that they were very much interrupted by one of their children earlier, and it doesn’t cross his mind until he steps out of the bathroom that there might have been something wrong.

“Uh, hi,” he says dumbly, surveying the scene in front of him.

Phil and Jaiden both glance up from where they’re laying snuggled together in the bed, a book propped open in Phil’s lap as he reads quietly. Jaiden looks sleepy and adorable as he waves his little hand at Dan, and Phil looks only a little apologetic. “Hi,” Phil says with a smile.

“What’s going on here?” Dan asks, propping his hands on his hips.

Jaiden flushes, burrowing down and tugging the duvet up to his chin. “I had a bad dream. Dad said I could stay in here tonight.”

Dan glances up and Phil shrugs. He mouths, “I’m sorry,” but Dan waves him off.

“Of course, buddy. Do you need a plushy or anything from your room?” Dan asks, going to turn on Phil’s lamp and then turn off the overhead light.

Jaiden holds up a familiar stuffed lion, and Dan’s heart clenches. “Dad said I could borrow his for tonight.”

“Just for tonight,” Phil reminds him softly.

Jaiden nods obediently. “I know.”

Dan crawls into bed on the other side of Jaiden, scooting in to join in on the cuddle. Phil adjusts accordingly, reaching the arm behind Jaiden’s head so that he can rest his hand at the base of Dan’s neck, stroking gently at where his hair is getting long. Their eyes meet and Dan knows that their talk will have to wait until tomorrow. That doesn’t fill him with dread, or anxiety like it used to. Instead, he feels calm, even settled, although a little impatient. It’s a good feeling.

“What’re we reading, Dad?” Dan asks, brushing Jaiden’s unruly hair back and kissing his forehead.

Phil tugs lightly at a curl at the back of Dan’s head. “We’re reading The Hobbit, Daddy,” Phil teases, his tongue poking out between his teeth in that adorable way that Dan finds so endearing.

Dan cringes at the use of the name; hearing it coming from Phil rather than their children just makes it weird and wrong. Phil knows it, of course. They both do. They both stick their tongues out at each other and giggle like schoolchildren, completely endeared with each other. And even though they can’t talk about it right now, with Jaiden complaining about them being weird and begging Phil to let Dan read all of Gandalf’s parts, Dan knows they’re going to be okay.

#phan #phanfiction #parent!au #parent!phan #foster parent #foster parent au #bbc producer!phil #school counselor!dan #fake relationship #friends to lovers #best friends #if you don't love me pretend #iydlmp #chapter 22 #iydlmp chapter 22 #mild smut at the end #blink and you'll miss it

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scarfacemarston · 4 years ago

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WIP 2: John and Jack fight and try to fix their broken bond.

Exert somewhere in the first half - Jack is fifteen here. In RDR 1, he is far more like a typical teenager- disobeying / challenging their parents, dreaming of a better life, etc. However, in RDR 1, his teasing can get quite mean spirited. Essentially, here Jack has pushed John too far and John calls him out on his behavior. In the finished product, the fight, they talk it out and bond. Takes place a year before his death. TW for child abuse talk and very brief non explicit allusion to child predators. Blink and miss it type of thing. ~~~~

Jack snorted,

“ Yeah, You wouldn’t get it. It’s too complicated for you.” he said, smirking. Uncle laughed as he took another bite. The two were talking about some sort of nonsensical story. “Anyway, I hate that Ma is gone. Hope she don’t leave us like we left Pa. I can’t say I’d blame her though if she did.” Jack said pushing his food around.

John breathed through his nose, grasping his fork white knuckled. John had never been particularly close to Jack. No doubt, he had royally screwed up not being there for him as a toddler, but he has spent every day trying to make up for it - but no matter what he did - he was always the bad guy. Always. Jack didn’t even remember those days. But Abigail did - and she wouldn’t hesitate to bring it up to Jack. That sort of thing was damaging Jack and John’s relationship further. If it wasn’t brought up constantly, maybe their relationship would have been better by now. Abigail leaving town for the weekend filled John with pure anxiety - like a pit in his stomach. She had said maybe the two could bond, but he wasn’t optimistic. John loved Abigail, but sometimes, she made things worse. He couldn’t help but recall the events of Pronghorn ranch how Jack scowled at him. He didn’t even understand, but because Abigail was mad, Jack was, too. Nowadays, Jack was a teenager and John knew it was normal for teenagers to act like assholes. God knows he did, but he wasn’t this hurtful as a teenager. Every day, it was snide comments from Jack insulting his intelligence, his personality, his past. John had enough. He would, of course, never in a million years harm the boy, but he would get a talking to he’d never forget.

“That’s enough, Jack!” John roared banging his fist on the table. Uncle and Jack stopped laughing immediately. He seethed. “I am sick and tired of the jokes and the disrespect. Fucking tired of it.” he didn’t normally curse, especially in front of Jack, but he was done with it. John’s eyes grew hard.

“You have no idea how lucky you have it , boy. No god damn idea. I have done everything I can think of to make up for it. I listen to you ramble about your stories. I buy you your damn books. Make sure you never go hungry. Sometimes I do your chores for you so you can go read. Every time I go out, I offer to take you with me. You say no and then whine later that I never do anything with you. You’re lucky. You wanna know what my Pa did? Beat me. He beat me so badly with whatever he could find, I still have scars. Everywhere! He didn’t even have a reason! He would leave me for days on drunken gamblin’ binges. Never knew when he’d come back. You know how many days I had to go hungry? Every day I never knew if he was gonna come back,” John seethed.

Jack’s eyes grew wide in fear, but that only annoyed him more. “Why you lookin’ at me like that? I have never laid a hand on you and never will. You know that. You know what it’s like to live on the street? I do. Found my Pa dead in an alley. Me livin on the streets really started before then pick pocketin’ so I could eat.

You know what it’s like to wear rags that try to fall off of you? Being sent to an orphanage where you think you’re safe only to be beaten again and have people leer at you?”

:No. You don’t. You never have and you never will. Yeah, I know. You don’t think nothin’ of me. I know I’m a dumbass. Well aware of it. You all tell me it everyday, but I’m tryin’, damn it. There ain’t nothin I wouldn’t do for this family! I’ve nearly died for it over and over again. You know that!” John continued furious. He paused to take a deep breath. His eyes began to resume it’s stoic gaze. “ You have the life I didn’t. The life your Ma didn’t. You never had to go thiefin’ or shootin’, or killin’. I did. I killed my first man at 12 because he tried to creep on me. Somethin else you gotta worry about when you ain’t got no one to watch your back. Can never sleep too deeply..” “You have the chances I never had. You have a warm bed, food in your belly and we give you whatever you ask for. Your Ma and I do everything, yet you disrespect her, too. She could have given you up, but she didn’t. She loves you. I didn’t know my Ma. Don’t even know her name.” John sighed feeling defeated.

“I know you hate me. Think I’m heartless. Probably can’t wait til I die. Could happen anytime. ‘M sure you’ll have a party when that happens, but until then, I’m here.” John said softly, looking down at his lap. John let out a shuttering breath. “You don’t know how good you have it.

Jack’s tried to stutter an apology, but no words came out. His father.........(TBC)

#rdr 2 #rdr 1 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 1 #john marston #jack marston #abigail marston

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transrevolutions · 4 years ago

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do you have any book recommendations?

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins. A really dark, haunting look at the values that make up society, with allusions to philosophers and ancient Roman culture in a dystopian, imperial society. TWs for graphic violence, grooming, abuse, harm to minors, and disturbing content.

Divergent by Veronica Roth. Don’t compare it to the Hunger Games, as many often do. It’s very different. A really interesting look at humanity and nature vs nurture. Well-drawn, complex characters. TWs for semi-graphic violence, child abuse, and psychological torture.

Magnus Chase by Rick Riordan. Riordan wrote Percy Jackson, but also this lesser-known series, which is quirky, funny fantasy, and touches on a variety of issues. Is very diverse, with the main characters being LGBTQ+, POC, disabled, and/or homeless. TWs for child abuse and violent transphobia by an antagonist.

The Maze Runner by James Dashner. A futuristic sci-fi/horror series with a strong psycho-thriller influence. Raises suprisingly deep questions on what it means to be human. Shows boys that are able to be emotional and vulnerable and capable of forming strong friendships and girls that are tough and strong-willed. TWs for graphic violence, suicide, harm to minors by an antagonist, and mentions of a disease pandemic.

The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. Collins’s most famous work, and a sharp-edge look at society as a whole. Shows strong characters both male and female, and raises many good thinking points. TWs for graphic violence, suicidal thoughts, drug use, child-on-child violence, and psychological torture.

Ender’s Game. The author is a literal piece of trash, but the book itself is amazing. Deep look at a child-soldier, ethics of war, and the impact of violence on the mind, all in a classic sci-fi context. TWs for grooming/manipulation of minors and semi-graphic violence.

A few others: Life As We Knew it- Pfeffer (TWs for suicide and non-graphic violence), Matched- Condie (TWs for manipulation of minors and semi-graphic violence), The Fault In Our Stars- Green (TWs for cancer, death, and a brief sex scene), and, of course, the famous Brick by Thiccy Viccy.

Hope you enjoyed!!!!!!

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theartoflazy · 6 years ago

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All I Need is Six

So I haven’t written anything for a fic in.. well, ever, pretty much. But this fandom is wonderful, and after reading all the fantastic stuff that’s been written, I had to try my hand at it. It’s a little sloppy, and the characterization might be a little wonky, but here we go. Thanks!

tw for allusions to sexual abuse/assault (not explicit), victim blaming, and death (fairly explicit?)

________________________________________________________________

Katherine Howard dies in front of thousands.

Almost five hundred years pass, and still she remembers those months with a terrifying accuracy. She doesn’t remember the time in between her death and now. Doesn’t know if she was happy, or at peace, or terrified. Doesn’t even know where she was buried. But she can recall every moment of her life, maybe even better than before.

There is a clarity in this after-death that seems more a curse than anything else.

She knows the others must feel it too, must remember it as clearly as she does. But no one talks about it, and she refuses to be the first to bring it up. She wasn’t the only one to die, and they already act as if she’s a barely more than a child. She won’t give them more reason to dislike her, to treat her differently.

She tries not to flinch at the flash of metal, or cower in dark rooms. Sometimes she wakes up in tears, gasping and sobbing, and it’s as if she’s back in that cell. Sometimes her neck burns and her body aches, and she can barely stand to wear her necklace. Sometimes the others notice it. Sometimes they don’t.

It hasn’t been very long since they’ve been together, and they’re still all just warming up to each other. She has to admit they’re growing on her faster than before, and she already feels a warmth bloom in her chest when she thinks of Jane’s kind eyes, Anne’s bright smile. If she’s being honest, that terrifies her a bit. She knows exactly where those kind of feelings- family, friendship, love- get people. Knows exactly where they lead.

This time, she’ll be smarter.

It works, for the most part. She puts on a show of being loud and bright and happy, and they’re satisfied enough to let it be. Sometimes she slips, leans into Jane’s hug and squeezes Anne’s hand a little too tightly, but she always finds her footing. Always steps back.

Then it’s early February, and the queens are invited to stop by London Tower.

The crew encourage the meeting- it will do loads for the show’s press, and get people talking, and so of course Katherine agrees to it. It doesn’t seem to bad, and everyone else already agreed to go. She walks beside Anne and Jane, and though the former looks slightly sickly, and the latter seems weighed down with an impossible weight, they hold themselves up with the grace of their status.

The meeting is quick, and the tour brief. All of the queens seem on edge, and not even Anne makes quips. It passes by in a blur, and Katherine doesn’t remember much at all. The place is so different, so new, and yet so familiar. She remembers walking these halls, remembers living here, remembers the courtyard and the throne room and the tower. Oh, she remembers the tower.

Jane wraps an arm around Katherine as they leave, pulls her in tight. “Are you alright, love?” She asks, her voice warm and kind.

Katherine nods, but can’t quite manage a smile. She feels so small here. So incredibly young. Jane softens, and Katherine can’t stop herself from leaning into her embrace. She doesn’t let go until they reach home.

Their visit to the castle ruins everyone’s day. There’s no talking, no arguing, no sounds. They stay in their rooms, and they distract themselves as best they can, hoping the fog will pass eventually, that they’ll all be fine in the morning. Katherine puts on headphones, listens to music so loud it reverberates through her skull, until all she can think of are the pounding bass notes. And then she falls asleep.

She falls asleep, and dreams.

____

The day before her execution, she practices her death.

Her body is weak with exhaustion and terror, but now she is numb. There are no more tears left inside her, no more sorrow to spare. Everything has been stripped away, and she’s nothing more than a shadow, an empty husk. She has one day of rest before she is killed, and so she practices. Her jailer brings the execution block to her room, so she can choose the best position.

She stares at it for a lifetime before she can even touch it. It’s dark and stained, and everything is so incredibly real. Her heart stutters, cracks open. This is it.

She rests her head on the block, tries to look calm and elegant, tries to strangle the terror pulsing through her veins. She imagines the axe rising above her, glinting in the sun. Imagines the winter’s breeze against her face. The crowds waiting beyond the tower, to celebrate her death. The heavy thud as the axe bites into her neck. How many blows would it take? How long would she lay on this block, bleeding and screaming, before her head rolled onto the ground?

Is this what Anne felt?

The thoughts sink into her bones. She pulls herself away from the block., dry heaves until her stomach aches. Her cheeks burn with shame, and when she looks up her ladies don’t meet her eyes.

They take the block away eventually, and she spends the rest of the night staring blankly at the walls. There is nothing left for her to say, nothing left for her to do. She’s a ghost in her own body. The feeling is eerily familiar.

She does not pray.

The sun rises too soon, and Katherine is shaken into focus by guards at the door. She follows them out without fuss. They bring her through the castle grounds, march her to the Tower. There are thousands of people crowded around to see her death, to see the execution of the royal whore. They will have brought their children to watch the show.

Maybe she deserves it, after all.

There are no decorations, nothing to signify the death of a queen. Nothing but a bare wooden scaffold, and the wooden block. The guards guide her up the stairs. She had thought there would be peace, now. Peace, acceptance, love. There’s only brutal, ugly fear. Her bones are hollow with it, her heart pounds with it.

As she faces the crowd, she’s reminded of her marriage. They had come then, too, and she had been no less scared. She wasn’t prepared to be queen, to marry Henry, to live in the court. She had been thrown to the wolves then, and she has been thrown to them now. They had whispered behind her back, had laughed as she tried to learn. No one had helped her. No one had heard her.

She had learned to be queen well enough on her own. She could learn to die as one too.

So she holds her head high, as the crowd looks on. She looks at the sky- can’t bring herself to look down at the block, or into their eyes. She grants the executioner forgiveness- it’s hardly his fault she’s here, and she doesn’t want to die a slow death- and addresses the crowd.

She already knows what she has to say. She will die, but her family might live, and her words will hang over their heads. So she praises the king. Acid rises in her stomach, her throat burns, but she praises him for his kindness, his generosity. His goodness.

She does not mention his anger. His hunger. Her pain.

She stands in front of them, in front of the block, and tells them she’s guilty. Deserving of death. Begs them to learn from her mistakes.

She does not tell them she had no choice. Does not say she was a child. Does not say they took what was never offered.

She can only hope that Henry is pleased with her performance, does not take it out on her own cousins and siblings. Anne had done it for her.

Call it family tradition.

She strips off her gown, and her knees almost buckle as she kneels down on the block in only her petticoat and chemise. The straw underneath her is stiff and scratches her legs.

She is terrified.

The man stands beside her, waiting for the signal.

Maybe if she keeps her hands at her side, nothing will happen. They’ll all get bored and leave, and Henry will forgive her, and- and…

No.

There was nothing to save her, today. Nothing to save her, ever. She was alone with Mannox, with Dereham, with Henry and Thomas.

And now, she is alone with thousands.

She had let them have her, hadn’t she? That’s what everyone said, after all. If she hadn’t wanted it- if she hadn’t truly wanted it- it wouldn’t have been able to happen. Otherwise, none of this would be happening.

She must have done something wrong.

There was only one option.

She’s trembling like a leaf, and she feels so small on this massive platform, in front of so many people. But this is what Henry wants, what the people want. This is what everyone wants. Because they always want something.

She thrusts her arms out in front of her, gives the signal for the executioner. She’s crying, now. Hadn’t even realized the tears pouring down her face. She thought there was nothing left to give, thought they’d taken all her tears, all her pain, all her feelings. But there’s always more.

She keeps her eyes open, trained on the crowd. She hopes they see her face, hopes they understand what they’re doing. Hopes and hopes and hopes.

And then it falls. Time stretches out, and all she can do is wait for it to hit her. Hope it kills her quickly.

She feels the axe cut into her neck, slice through muscle and bone. Can feel her neck snapping, her body giving out. Fire burns through her body, and for one all consuming moment she’s blinded by a pain that rips her very head from her shoulders.

And then, Katherine Howard is dead.

_________

She wakes up screaming. Her neck burns and her body aches and it still feels like the axe is embedded in her body. She manages to grab a pillow and muffles her desperate sobs as best she can, her chest heaving with the effort.

For months she had managed to hide the pain and memories, to control them, to shove them down and ignore them. But she could never escape them, not fully. Not before her death, and certainly not after.

She doesn’t know how long she sits on her bed like this, doubled over and wracked with body-shaking sobs. She’s so consumed in the pain that she doesn’t notice the quiet knocking at her door, or the muffled questions.

It doesn’t matter, because soon enough the door is opening anyways, and Jane is rushing towards her. Jane kneels in front of her, eyes wide with concern.

“Katherine, love- what’s wrong?” she tries. Katherine can’t answer between sobs, but she remembers Jane’s hugs, her steadfast kindness, her warmth. Katherine feels as if she’s been alone her whole life. She isn’t strong enough to do it now.

So she reaches towards Jane, and it only takes a moment before Jane reaches up and hugs her tight.

“I- it.. ‘urts.” Katherine manages. Jane pulls back, searching for an injury, terrified she’s done something, but Katherine only gestures towards her neck. Understanding tears at Jane’s heart, and she nods, before pulling the younger girl back into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. Katherine clings to her, burying her head in Jane’s neck, until her sobbing fades to tired hiccups and tears.

Jane gently traces patterns on the nape of the girls neck, trying her best to ease the invisible pains of the past. Behind her she hears a soft knock on the door.

Turning, Jane sees Anne standing at the doorway, tired eyes open wide. She’s got a small bear in one hand, and blanket in the other. Katherine doesn’t move from her spot.

Jane offers Anne a small smile, and the girl takes it as her invitation, awkwardly coming to stand beside the bed.

“I, uh- I couldn’t sleep. And since you guys are up, I figured I’d stop by?” she says, more a question than anything. “I- I brought this little guy, Katherine. He’s great for hugs, and stuff.”

Anne thrusts the bear towards Katherine. It’s bright pink and glittery, and has the softest fur she’s ever seen. Katherine looks up cautiously, and takes the bear with hesitant hands.

“Thank… thank you,” she whispers, voice hoarse.

“You wouldn’t mind if I stuck around, would you?” Anne asks. Katherine doesn’t answer, just shakes her head slightly. Jane looks up at her and smiles.

“Of course not, love.”

Anne snuggles in beside her and Jane, wraps and arm around her cousin and the blanket around all three. Katherine just burrows in deeper. Her panic is dimming, but it’s still all too visceral.

They fall into an easy rhythm, Jane tracing patterns on Katherine’s neck, Anne humming soft lullabies she’d learned in France, Katherine’s stilted breathing.

The next to join them is Parr, armed with a book and soft eyes. She offers no explanation, only comments that she’d wondered if they’d mind if she’d keep them company. Reading alone was dreadfully boring, after all.

No one complains, and she settles down beside Jane. Soon enough, she’s offering to read the book aloud, and Katherine jumps at the opportunity. So Parr starts at the beginning, and soon all three queens listen in rapt attention to Parr’s soft voice. It’s like none of the books Jane’s ever seen Parr reading before- a storybook about family and love and adventure.

Parr’s on the third chapter when Cleves and Aragon appear. Cleves is carrying an armful of snacks, and Aragon has so many pillows and blankets piled on her that not even her face is visible.

“We got lonely,” is the only explanation they offer. They arrange the pillows and blankets as best they can, until Katherine’s bed looks like some sort of nest.

Aragon looks at it for a second, and shakes her head. “There’s no way we can all fit.”

“Not with that attitude,” Cleves grins. “Would you rather sleep on the floor?”

And with that, all six women find their way onto the bed. It’s a tight squeeze, with legs hanging off of edges, and bodies curled up together, but it works. Cleves passes around the snacks, Jane keeps holding Katherine, and Parr keeps reading.

They make it through three-quarters of the book before Parr notices Katherine is snoring softly in Jane’s arms, and Anne has totally passed out. She closes the book, curls in beside Jane, and a small smile tugs at her lips. This isn’t so bad.

None of them get much sleep, but they wake up feeling lighter than they have in.. well, in quite a long time.

Katherine wakes up, and for the first time she can remember, she isn’t alone. It’s a little terrifying, a little embarrassing, a little strange. But it’s good, good in a way she can’t quite describe.

There are things they’ll need to talk about, things Jane and Parr are already planning on looking into. Traumas they have to address. But that will be for another time. For now, Jane cooks breakfast for all the queens, and Aragon braids Katherine's hair. For now, Cleves and Anne swap jokes at the foot of the couch. For now, they let themselves forget.

They let themselves enjoy this second chance.

It isn’t perfect, and it isn’t finished. But it’s... it’s something.

#i adore k.howard #also these women are so wonderful #bless this musical #six the musical #six musical #katherine howard #jane seymour #anne boleyn #anna of cleves #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #six the musical fanfic

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ao3feed-esperboys · 4 years ago

Text

Out of Hand

Out of Hand by beefstatic

Dread overcomes Ritsu. Reigen's in even more danger than he thought… and if Mob is the one to find him… The dread transforms in utter fear, stomach turning sick. His brother would not take this well. He's stressed enough as it is. He turns to the woman quickly. “We need to leave. Now.”

Words: 4690, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: モブサイコ100 | Mob Psycho 100

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Kageyama "Mob" Shigeo, Kageyama Ritsu, Reigen Arataka, Koyama Megumu, Miyagawa, Terada, Mukai, minor OCs

Additional Tags: brief references to claw characters, ageswap, Gang AU, Sort Of, Kidnapping, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Explosion, Blood, u remember those awakening chambers, yeah - Freeform, allusion to torture, nothing too graphic i dont think, child abuse tw, D:, this is a sad fic pls dont read if u dont wanna be sad, it does have a happy ending tho, pls let me know if there are other tags i should include too, reigen is a good kid

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738453

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Mob #♢#Shigeo Kageyama #Ritsu Kageyama #Reigen Arataka #💜#💙#R:T #A:Beefstatic #Hurt Comfort #Angst

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vexedtonightmares · 5 years ago

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last dance (elu ballet au) chapter quatorze

Lucas is in his final year at the Paris Opera Ballet School and he’ll be damned if he lets his former friend-turned-rival Eliott steal the lead role in their production of Swan Lake.

aka- lucas and eliott are rivals who are forced to room together for their final year of ballet school before they try to enter the company. we can all see where this is going.

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. xi. xii. xiii. xiv.

ao3

**tw: mentions of eating disorder, bipolar disorder, ableism, panic attack, very brief allusions to past child abuse**

Samedi 11:07

If Caroline Demaury didn’t know that Eliott and Lucas were dating when she’d texted him the night before, she probably did now. That was the thing about living away from family, they usually didn’t have to worry about getting woken up while their bodies were still tangled together as one and the consequences that might arise from that.

Luckily, in this case, Eliott’s mom was so happy to see Eliott waking with a light smile on his face that she didn’t raise any sort of fuss about the two of them waking in each other’s arms. Lucas was stunned when he looked at the clock on Eliott’s bedside table and saw that it was just past eleven. He didn’t know the exact time they both fell asleep the night prior, but that was the best sleep he’d had in quite a while, since before he fell back into his unhealthy eating patterns.

Eliott’s hair was a scrunched up sleepy mess, and his eyes were still squinted shut, blocking out the light from the open window, and he was beautiful. Lucas knew that the process to get him back into a healthier mindset would be a slow one, but he was ready to do everything he could to be there for him.

“You’re still here?” Eliott asked quietly, timidly.

Lucas settled onto his side and ran a finger down the length of Eliott’s face. “Of course I am.”

Eliott’s lips twitched into the semblance of a small smile, and he opened his eyes, meeting Lucas’ gaze. “Thank you,” he said.

“No need,” Lucas said in return, “But you’re welcome.”

Eliott sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “My mom never used to come in and wake me up in the mornings, you know.”

Lucas didn’t know how to respond, what Eliott was trying to say. “She keeps looking at me,” he added, “They both do, like if they glance away I’ll disappear completely. There was a point earlier in the week where I thought I might too.”

Lucas’ heart clenched painfully in his chest, but he stayed silent, not wanting to interject before Eliott had said all he wanted to say.

“They’re in mourning. Of everything I could have been but can never be now,” Eliott said.

Lucas couldn’t help but cut in at that. “They aren’t. It might feel like that, but I promise you that’s not true. Your parents aren’t in mourning, they’re just trying to love you in new ways that work for you. And don’t talk like that, you can do anything you want to do, Eliott Demaury, never forget it.”

Eliott stayed silent a moment, and Lucas wondered if he’d spoken out of turn. “I thought of you, you know,” Eliott said, glancing over at Lucas. “I stayed for you, even though I was sure you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

The fissures in Lucas’ chest began to leak again.

“I’ll always want you,” Lucas said.

Eliott reached his hand out and Lucas grabbed a hold of it, feeling the roughness of both of Eliott’s palms, probably callused from his writings and drawings while he was manic. “Yeah?” Eliott asked softly.

“Yeah,” he promised, “But I don’t want you to just want to be here for me. I can’t live without you, but I want you to want to be here, want to live this life for yourself. I know that it’s easier said than done, and I’m still trying to work that out as well, but promise me you’ll try?”

It was really important to him that Eliott didn’t just seek out happiness through Lucas. Obviously, he wanted to be one of the main sources of Eliott’s happiness, but not the only one or the most important one. He said it because he knew how it felt to be trapped in the euphoric sensation of loving someone more than you’ve ever loved yourself.

“I promise,” Eliott said, “I promise I’ll try.”

He scooted infinitesimally closer to Lucas, millimeter by millimeter, until they were close enough to kiss one another. Lucas looked him in the eyes to make sure he wasn’t reading things wrong, then leaned in for a small, almost chaste kiss. It was the first time they’d kissed in nearly a week, and it felt like coming home.

“We should go to the kitchen and eat before my mom gets too impatient,” Eliott said, still looking directly into Lucas’ soul.

“I’m sure she’ll understand if you need more time,” Lucas reassured him, pressing their foreheads together.

Eliott shook his head gently. “Don’t even try, Lu. We’re eating, you and me.”

The funny thing was that Lucas hadn’t even thought about not eating that morning. Sure, there was a tug in the back of his mind that said stay here with Eliott all day, don’t eat a thing, but for once he’d blocked it out. He’d only suggested they stay in bed to make sure Eliott was okay, that he had the time he needed. Lucas smiled to himself. “Ok, let’s eat.”

He hopped out of bed much faster than Eliott did, but that was no issue. As Eliott slowly rose, Lucas’ heart gave a contented little sigh.

“I love you, by the way,” Lucas said, because he could, because he hadn’t yet that morning. Eliott looked a bit caught off guard, expression melting from confusion to surprise to tentative happiness.

“I love you too,” Eliott said sincerely, taking the hand Lucas extended to help him off the bed. “Sorry I’ve been such a shitty boyfriend lately.”

“Are you kidding?” Lucas scoffed, “Everyone has their days. I haven’t quite been a model boyfriend either, you know.”

Eliott didn’t argue further, which Lucas was grateful for. He hadn’t said it so Eliott would reassure him, let him know that he was the best boyfriend ever. He knew he wasn’t, but neither of them ever would be, so they had to stop trying to expect it from themselves. Their imperfections were what made them perfect for each other.

Caroline Demaury blinked when she saw the two of them in the doorway. “Eliott! Honey, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, we came out for breakfast,” Eliott said, sinking down into a chair beside his father. Lucas sat down next to him, avoiding Harold Demaury’s raised eyebrow in his direction. Lucas averted his eyes furtively, cheeks growing red. What was the etiquette for eating breakfast with your boyfriend’s parents who used to be like your parents until you hated their son for years?

Caroline still looked surprised, glancing at Harold out of the corner of her eye. Lucas realized that this might have been the first time Eliott had left his room since he fell into a depressive episode. She came back into herself quickly, fussing around the kitchen for something to eat, a small smile on her face.

“Lucas, long time no see,” Harold said, staring him dead in the eye. Lucas figured when Harold had picked him up the night before that Eliott hadn’t told his parents about the two of them, but it seemed now Caroline must have passed on her suspicions.

“Yeah…” Lucas trailed off, not quite knowing how to respond. Sorry I hated your son for a good five years, I swear I love him now. Would that suffice?

“How are your parents?” he asked, clearly trying to make conversation without bringing up the obvious. Lucas stiffened, and Eliott did too. The truth of the matter was that he had no idea. He didn’t even know the institution his father had placed his mother in. He really should know, but he also didn’t ever want to talk to his dad again. Maybe once he turned eighteen there would be a way for him to find out more. He missed her, especially now. He wanted an annoying parent to talk to about his beautiful boyfriend, even if he would respond by rolling his eyes. That was part of being a teenager.

“Um, fine, I suppose,” Lucas said, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t live with them anymore, I live with my friend from school Manon, and her cousin Lisa and their other friend Mika.”

“Oh? Getting a head start out on your own?” Harold asked with a grin and Eliott cut him off before he could speak further.

“Dad. Can we talk about something else?” he asked a bit harshly, harshly enough that Harold narrowed his eyes, but did as Eliott asked.

He folded his hands on the table as if saying you asked for it. “Alright, then. You two, huh? How long has this been going on?”

Lucas choked on the water he’d been attempting to drink to have something to do with his hands to keep them from sweating nervously. Eliott dropped his face into his hands and Lucas caught the end of a stern look from Caroline.

Inexplicably, Lucas felt a bubble of laughter build in his chest. Maybe it was being away from the school, or being in a normal family setting for the first time in as long as he could remember, but he felt good. He’d take a possible shovel talk from his boyfriend’s dad over the director yelling at him about how he wasn’t good enough any day.

“Since a little bit earlier this year,” Lucas answered, and Eliott lifted his head long enough to look at Lucas with an incredulous expression. Lucas shrugged in response, the worst Eliott’s dad could do had nothing on the worst Lucas’ dad had done many times before.

“You’re… you make each other happy?” Harold asked, and Lucas smiled involuntarily, glancing at Eliott. He opened his mouth but it was Eliott who answered.

“Even at my lowest.”

Harold looked between the two of them, then shrugged, lifting his mug of coffee to his mouth. “Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

“Harold!” Caroline interjected from the stove, pointing her spatula at him menacingly.

“I’m serious!” Harold said, raising his hands in surrender. “Come on, Caro, Eli-belly has been waxing poetic about this boy since the dawn of time.”

“Eli-belly,” Lucas whispered to Eliott with a laser sharp smirk.

“Don’t even think about it,” Eliott whispered back, some color returning to his face. “Lulu,” he added, with a half a smile.

Lucas scoffed in mock outrage, but he couldn’t really even pretend to be mad. As long as Eliott was smiling, he could call him whatever he wanted to. He then registered what Eliott’s dad had just said. “Wait a minute,” he faced Eliott seriously, “Waxing poetic about me?”

“He would go on and on and on about your hair, your eyes, your laugh, oh god, it was so annoying,” Harold added, and Lucas couldn’t help but bite his lip and look to Eliott with both his eyebrows raised.

Eliott crossed his arms defensively. “I never claimed not to have a crush on you, you were the oblivious one.”

Lucas opened his mouth to argue, but found he really didn’t have a counter-argument. He had been quite oblivious for quite some time. “Ok, fair.”

Eliott smiled a quick smile, cheeks still bright red as he exchanged a glare with his father. Lucas was hit again in that moment with how beautiful it was to be a part of this, of what a home could actually look like. He’d been without one for so long it was like a shock to his system.

The whole breakfast passed by in somewhat of a blur after that moment of realization. Eliott looked at him curiously a few times, but thankfully didn’t say anything. Even so, he had a smile glued to his face almost the entire time, whether from how delicious the food was, and how much he actually wanted to be there eating it, or from Harold teasing the three of them in a way that showed how much he actually cared, or from the way Eliott smiled the entire time too, not even looking like he realized he was smiling at all.

It was distracting, and it was beautiful, until Caroline looked at Eliott with hesitation in her eyes and Lucas felt the hairs stand up on his arms, dreading what she was about to say.

“Eliott, the school called.”

There it was. Eliott’s smile dropped, Harold’s eyes were trained on his plate, and Lucas was caught in the middle of it all.

“Oh?” Eliott said, voice light in a strained sort of way.

“Before I say anything, I need to know if you want to go back or not. You don’t have to, and no one will think any less of you, but I need to know,” she said gently.

Eliott blinked, then looked at Lucas. “Of course I’m going back.”

Caroline nodded, as if that was what she expected. “You need to meet with the director when you return. You’ve missed enough classes that they can’t continue to give you leeway, even with notice of your diagnosis.”

Eliott’s face paled in an instant. “How do they know about my diagnosis?”

“I told you earlier this week, honey, they called to ascertain your whereabouts and the reason for your absence. The doctors provided your diagnostic report as well as the medications you’ll need at school, and the school was very understanding, but you’ll need to meet with the director.” Caroline’s expression was pained, like she knew exactly what Eliott was feeling and could feel it herself.

Lucas felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t be. Eliott clenched his jaw, voice flat and cold. “When?”

“Tomorrow, if you’re up to going back,” Caroline said, and Eliott nodded, standing up from the table without a word and leaving the room.

Lucas pushed his chair back a moment later, gesturing vaguely. “I’m gonna— I mean, he—”

Caroline waved him on, understanding what he was unable to articulate. He hopped up from the table, rushing to Eliott’s room, then halting at the door. What if Eliott didn’t want to see him? Fuck it, he decided. Even if Eliott didn’t want to see him, he wanted to make sure he was ok.

Eliott was sitting with his back to the door on the edge of his bed, body shaking with silent sobs. Lucas made sure his footsteps were audible as he approached, so Eliott would have a chance to turn him away if he needed to. He didn’t, so Lucas got closer still until he was able to sit beside Eliott on the bed, placing an arm around his shoulders.

Eliott collapsed into him, sobs coming in gasping breaths. Lucas wrapped both his arms around Eliott tightly, protecting him from the world and from himself. At least, he hoped he was. They could talk about it later, but for the time being, Lucas just had to be there for him.

Eliott had been trying to save him all this time, so now it was time for Lucas to save him right back.

Dimanche 12:00

Lucas had been ready to fight tooth and nail to meet with the director with Eliott, but it turned out he didn’t have to. Apparently his unauthorized visit to Eliott’s house hadn’t gone unnoticed, so he was being spoken to as well. It was bullshit, people came and went all the time without express permission, especially on the weekends, but apparently it was an issue because he’d been gone over twenty-four hours and no one knew where he went.

No matter the circumstance, Lucas was waiting with Eliott in the director’s office, empty desk in front of them ominously striking. The director had to step out for a call, and Lucas could tell both of them were restless with nervous energy.

Lucas slipped his hand over to Eliott’s chair, lacing their fingers together and giving Eliott’s hand a small squeeze. It was all he could give at the moment, and he hoped it was enough.

The door banged open and Eliott let go, startling in his seat. Lucas retracted his hand back, trying to steady himself so as to not get riled up by the director, even though he could only assume the worst.

“M. Demaury, M. Lallemant, what a pleasure to be graced by your presence,” the director began, and Lucas stiffened. Deep breaths, he had to stay calm and collected for Eliott.

“M. Demaury, you’re aware you’ve missed ten rehearsals. We’ve made an exception to the attendance rules for you, due to circumstances outside your control, but we can no longer turn a blind eye. We need our lead to be reliable and mentally stable, so for this reason we think it would be best if M. Lallemant here took over the role of Prince Siegfried in the winter production. I need to discuss further with the other instructors, but there needs to be a serious conversation about whether you should continue in this school at all.”

Fuck, that was not what Lucas had been expecting at all, and he was sure it showed on his face. Eliott hadn’t reacted at all, which Lucas figured was a bad sign. It was ironic, that this was what Lucas had wanted from the beginning, but now that he was faced with it maybe the director was right about him, and he wasn’t cutthroat enough for the ballet world.

The way the director said it too… mentally stable, as if Eliott was a lesser human for having a mental illness. It was something Lucas’ dad would have said, and that thought hit do deeply that it activated his fight or flight response. Normally he would have chosen flight, but this was Eliott, and Lucas would always fight for him.

“That’s really fucking ableist,” Lucas said, brain barely processing the words before they were out. Eliott’s head snapped as he turned to look at Lucas with wide eyes and the director even seemed a bit taken aback.

Lucas sat back into his chair. “What would you do if your lead dancer had an eating disorder?”

The director steeled himself, sitting up straighter. “Eating disorders are just a fictionalized disorder people self diagnose themselves with to have an excuse for their misgivings. Real eating disorders don’t exist, it’s just a matter of weakness and strength.”

“So I don’t eat for days on end as an excuse for my terrible dancing, just to clarify?” Lucas asked.

“Please, M. Lallemant, if your dancing was terrible, you never would have made it this far. If you aren’t eating, you’re not special. Ask any other dancer, they’ll just give you a congratulations or a complete dismissal. Technically, your dancing is excellent, but it’s that heart of yours that gets in the way. It’s why you’re the understudy, why you always will be, because you’re here arguing for him when you could be accepting the opportunity I’ve presented you gratefully,” the director sneered.

Lucas shrugged. “Maybe I won’t make it then, if that’s what it takes to get to the top. I don’t want to be a part of something that requires the belittlement of others for personal gain.”

“That’s life, M. Lallemant,” the director laughed mirthlessly.

“Maybe yours, but it doesn’t have to be mine. I want to succeed because I succeeded, not because the director of whatever company I’m a part of is an ableist asshole who sees neurodivergence as means for persecution and thinks that having real problems are just an excuse for someone to feel special.”

The director looked incredulous, and Eliott was still staring at Lucas intensely, not saying a word. “I don’t know what he’s told you, M. Lallemant, but M. Demaury has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. We can’t trust him with the responsibility of a lead role, he’s too unreliable, which has been proven over the course of the semester already.”

“Then have him train for extra hours to make up for the time he’s missed. As far as I’m aware, when he’s in class, he’s the model student, so why are you judging based on experiences you’ve never witnessed or experienced yourself? Only Eliott can feel what he feels but you’re not even giving him a chance to do so, to explain how he feels or what that might mean for his career.” Lucas briefly wondered what his life would be like if he had any self preservation instincts at all.

“I don’t suppose M. Demaury has anything to add?” the director looked at Eliott pointedly yet disinterestedly, as if he couldn’t care less what Eliott had to say. Lucas could tell this was the first time he’d ever seen this look from the director, because he shrank into himself further, finally looking away from Lucas.

He folded his hands in his lap, gripping them so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I’m not going to sit here and argue my mental stability with you, because I know you’re not going to hear it, but I need you to know that this is my life. Ballet is everything to me, well…” He cast a short glance to Lucas. “Maybe not everything, but I would be lost without it. Prince Siegfried is the role of a lifetime, a role I’ve dreamed to play as long as I can remember, but if you truly believe Lucas would be better suited to the role, then I accept that. But please, please, don’t kick me out of the program. I won’t survive without it, I really won’t.”

Lucas was fuming, listening to the broken quality of Eliott’s voice. Eliott was a fighter, a believer, a dreamer. He didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Neither of them did, Lucas realized with a jolt. Yes, the dance world was intense, and strictness was to be expected, but no one should have to go through all this bullshit when they were seventeen.

The director looked at Eliott with intensity burning through his gaze. “This will need to be further discussed, as I said.” He looked to Lucas. “With some minor accommodations, regarding your… comments.”

By fighting for Eliott, Lucas might have made a bit of an enemy of the director, but what else was new. All he had to do was get through the year, then he would be free from this tyranny. Sure, other company directors were probably just as harsh, if not more so, but at least he had ample experience in dealing with it. He would probably regret everything he said later, was already starting to regret it a little bit, but he couldn’t let that show. He had to act like he didn’t care what happened, because he knew that he was right, and the director would have to grow up himself and stop using his position of power as an excuse to be a complete asshole.

“Thank you,” Lucas said, standing from his chair. Eliott stood as well, looking at the floor, saying nothing.

The director leaned back in his chair as they began to walk out, calling out to them before they closed the door. “You’ll have until Friday, then I and the other instructors will make a decision about both of your futures here.”

Wait… both?

“Excuse me, sir?” Lucas clarified, sure he’d misheard. The last thing the director had said was that he was the Prince in the show from now on.

The director grinned a cocky, fully chilling smile. He was powerful and he knew it, which was the worst thing about it. “You think the disrespect you’ve just shown me is tolerated at this school? No matter how important you think you are, you are just a student here, and I am the director. I call the shots, and I say who has a future in this program and who doesn’t. I very much appreciate your concerns for M. Demaury, truly, but your attitude is grounds for expulsion as well. Did you not think of that before you got snippy with me, M. Lallemant?”

“But sir—”

“You’re dismissed.” He waved a lazy hand, turning his back to the two of them. Lucas stood aghast, unable to move or speak. He felt when Eliott’s hand slipped into his and tugged him gently towards the door, and only then was he able to regain control over his body.

“Yes, sir,” Lucas said, closing the door and feeling every emotion rushing through him at once. He could feel his breathing increasing rapidly but was defenseless to stop it. Why had he done that, said those things? The walls were closing in on him and he had no escape. It was a wonder he’d even made it out the door without collapsing into a lifeless heap.

He was going to get kicked out. Where would he go? He didn’t have a home, a family, he had no one, he was alone, he had nothing—

There were hands on his face, and his vision that he didn’t realize had blurred cleared a bit. Stormy blue eyes stared into his, and he remembered. He had Eliott. He didn’t have anything else, but he had Eliott. He wasn’t alone.

“Lu.” A soft and beautiful melody, muddled by the racing thoughts in his mind.

“Lu.” A repeated gesture, a show of love.

“Lu.” A promise.

“Eli,” he said, and the world came back into focus. “I’m drowning.”

He felt Eliott’s hands grip his face tighter. “No you’re not, I’m here, I’m with you.”

“I’m drowning.”

A press of lips to his forehead, hands still cupping his chin. “I’m here.”

But what if I fall too far under, what if the water gets to high, what if you’re not there anymore.

He must have said it aloud without realizing it, because Eliott shook his head, pressing their foreheads together and looking at Lucas with what could only be described as love in its simplest, most beautiful form.

“Hell or high water, I’ll swim to you every time,” he said, and Lucas believed him.

Lundi 10:13

The atmosphere had been strange all day so far. Everyone knew that Eliott’s absences were a cause for controversy, even if they didn’t know the exact details. He hadn’t stood at the front of the barre in Rigaux’s class, something that immediately put everyone on edge.

Even though he’d been strong for Lucas after the meeting with the director, Lucas could tell Eliott still wasn’t quite himself. He seemed to be out of the deepest darkest part of his depressive episode, but now he just seemed resigned, accepting a fate not yet given.

It was silly, really, that everyone still thought they hated each other, but Lucas wasn’t about to correct anyone, not when Eliott wasn’t feeling his best and when their futures were so precarious as it was. Imane knew, obviously, and kept looking back and forth between the two of them, surely arranging puzzle pieces in her mind to fit the situation. Hopefully she didn’t still think Eliott was on drugs.

Their rehearsals were broken up that day to go visit the stage they would be performing on, now that dress rehearsals were looming in the not so distant future. Lucas had been so excited for this day, but now all those emotions were taking a backseat to his fear that he’d never get to perform on that stage.

Arthur and Yann sat beside him on the bus ride to the venue, but it was clear Lucas and Arthur’s minds were elsewhere. Yann eventually gave up on trying to make conversation, but did so with a look that said We’re all talking later.

Even with his mood soured, it was hard not to be in awe as they stepped into the auditorium for the first time. There were audible gasps from the group as everyone ran to the stage except for Eliott, hands trailing along the plush velvet seats. Lucas looked back briefly and saw Eliott standing still at the back of the theatre, eyes trained on the stage far ahead of him. He did nothing, because what could he do, really, and joined everyone else on the stage.

The director didn’t accompany them today, which was a surprise, so they were chaperoned by M. Caron, who preferred that they call him Tomas, their hip hop instructor. He obviously didn’t totally understand the significance of the space, but he was very enthusiastic regardless.

The cygnets performed their little swans piece haphazardly, Manon playing instrumental rap music as they did so, all of them laughing all the while. Julian, the student from the year below chosen to be in the show, was simply staring out into all the seats in the theatre, eyes wide, which Lucas thought was a justifiable reaction. Eliott sat in one of the seats, watching everyone onstage but not participating, and Lucas was grateful when Sofiane stopped what he was doing to go join him.

Lucas walked directly to center stage, letting the massive— and very hot— lights bathe him in their fluorescent rays as he wondered what his life might have been like if he wasn’t so messed up inside. Because really, it was his own fault that he might never be able to dance on this stage in front of an audience, even as part of the corps de ballet.

He must have looked stunned or something, because soon Yann was in front of him, looking into his eyes with his brows furrowed. “Are you ok, Lucas?”

He just shook his head, because it was all hitting him again like it had the day before, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. Yann took his hand and led him off into the wings, looking at something over Lucas’ shoulder as he went, Lucas following along dazedly. They sat down away from everyone and Lucas saw a moment later that Arthur had joined them, a confused expression on his face.

“Bro meeting,” Yann said when they were all seated.

“But Tomas—” Arthur began to argue, gesturing to their instructor, cut off by an eyeroll from Yann.

“Tomas couldn’t care less about what we’re all doing, and we’re here until break at noon, so we’re having a bro meeting before the two of you can slip away,” Yann said definitively.

Surprisingly, Lucas wasn’t mad about it. Sure, he couldn’t tell them about Eliott, but he realized he hadn’t actually shared much about his own issues recently. The last conversation he’d had with Arthur hadn’t even been about either of the two of them, not really, and the last conversation he’d had with Yann had just been fluff. It had been needed at the time, but now he needed something more. They all probably did.

“I’ll start,” Yann continued, looking to both of them in turn, “I may or may not be hooking up with Chloé on the dl.”

Lucas coughed, shooting Arthur a wide eyed look. “My ex-girlfriend Chloé?”

“Did that even count?” Yann asked, and, true, but Lucas still had to take a minute to think it all over.

“That’s three girls in our year, dude,” Arthur said, looking more like himself, which meant that he looked somewhat impressed.

“Ingrid and Emma were so long ago, did you expect me to be celibate forever?” Yann scoffed.

Lucas snorted, laughing more easily than he thought he’d be able to. “I don’t think any of us were worried about you being celibate forever.”

“Ah, right, that’s you, our resident pure child,” Yann teased, taking Lucas’ face in his hands and squishing his cheeks. Lucas pushed him away with a laugh, thinking to himself about how that wasn’t necessarily true anymore… though he supposed he was still innocent in some of the few bigger ways that counted, but that was a conversation for another time. “Well?” Yann continued, “Who’s next?”

“Next? You barely said anything other than that you’re banging Chloé,” Arthur said, raising his eyebrows.

Yann rolled his eyes. “I would have said that, bro meeting or not. I just needed something to say first to get you guys to open up to me and to each other. Come on! We’re the gang! We’ve gotta be more open with each other if we want our friendship to actually mean something.”

“Basile’s not here,” Lucas pointed out, but Yann waved him off.

“Basile doesn’t count, because Basile overshares at any given opportunity. Haven’t you been reading his texts in the group chat?” Lucas had been, and he wished desperately some things could be erased from his brain.

“That’s fair,” Lucas admitted, then admitted further, “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately, I’ve been dealing with a lot, I guess.”

“Like what?” Yann asked, not prying, but curious.

“I, um, have an eating disorder,” he said quietly, wishing he could take it back the second the words left his mouth. It was like coming out, in a way, all the nervous energy pent up waiting for reactions from people.

Yann and Arthur were both looking at him, shock apparent on their faces. He didn’t know if he felt like shit for telling them or for not telling them. To his surprise, no words were spoken as he was engulfed in a giant hug that knocked him over onto his back.

“What the fuck Lucas?” Yann said when he released Lucas from his grasp. “How could you go through something like that without telling us?”

Lucas shrugged. “Because it’s embarrassing. And because I didn’t even admit it to myself until like a week ago. Nothing’s been properly diagnosed or anything, but I suppose an eating disorder is what you call it when you don’t eat for days on end.”

“Does Manon know?” Arthur asked, and Lucas shook his head.

“Does anyone know?” Yann asked, and Lucas shook his head again, then reconsidered. He didn’t want them to know that Eliott knew yet, but he supposed he could tell them about the situation he was in with the director in the meantime.

“Well… sort of,” he admitted. “The director… he knows about it, amongst a combination of things, and, um, long story short, but they might expel me.” That was the gist of it, after all. He had to believe that there was more reason for the director to want to expel him than having a little attitude once in ten years.

“What?” Arthur and Yann hissed in unison, looking at him incredulously.

Lucas shrugged. “No, no, they can’t do that to you,” Arthur said, fuming. “That’s such bullshit. This is why I fucking hate this place. It sucks everything good out of dancing. If you’re gone, I’m gone too, Lucas, I’m serious.”

Lucas knew he was, could tell by the set of his jaw. “Arthur… come on, stop it. There are other things out there for me. Maybe ballet just isn’t my thing.”

“Bullshit,” Yann chimed in, “You love it more than any of us, even though you have quite a few reasons not to.”

“Wait a minute,” Arthur began, looking out at the rest of their class, frowning. “So you might get kicked out, but Demaury just gets to waltz back in after another week missing and pick up his lead role from where he left off?”

Lucas didn’t know how much he should reveal that he knew. Did Yann and Arthur even know he was gone most of the weekend? He assumed not, because they hadn’t asked. “He’s on the director’s shit list too,” he revealed, deciding he could pretend Eliott had said something upon his return to school.

“I don’t know why, exactly, but the director is deciding both of our fates on Friday,” he continued. Perfect. Vague enough that he wouldn’t reveal himself, but specific enough they wouldn’t question him further.

Arthur let out a deep exhale. “Fuck.”

Lucas nodded. “Fuck indeed.”

“What would we do without the two best male dancers? And right before the show?” Arthur continued, gesticulating wildly.

Lucas leveled him with a look and rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. I mean, I guess it would make the most sense for you to stand in for Eliott or to take over Sofiane’s role and for him to stand in for Eliott.”

“I’m serious dude, no one can do what you guys do,” Arthur said, neglecting to respond to anything else he said.

Lucas looked to Yann for backup, but he just nodded along with Arthur. “What?” he said defensively, “He’s right.”

“Ugh.” Lucas put his face in his hands. “Why are you guys so nice and supportive? It’s annoying.”

It wasn’t annoying, but they knew what he meant. Yann sighed dramatically. “That’s what bro meetings are for.”

“Fair enough,” Lucas conceded with a small laugh. “But that’s enough about me, this is a three person bro meeting, M. Broussard.”

Arthur sat back on his elbows and sighed, glancing down at the floor. “I was kind of hoping you’d all forget about me.”

“As if we could ever,” Yann scoffed, hand to his chest. Arthur rolled his eyes, kicking Yann with one of his feet.

“Listen, there’s nothing dramatic going on with me, ok? Perfectly dandy,” he said.

“Coming from the master of bullshit, I don’t believe that for one second.” Lucas raised his eyebrows at Arthur, who looked away once their eyes met.

It was funny, Lucas didn’t really realize until that moment how little Arthur actually shared about himself. Sure he’d talk about superficial things, mention his late night escapades away from the school, but he never once talked about his family, anyone he liked, or even ballet. The closest they’d come to having a conversation about any of those things was the last time they’d spoken, but Arthur had left in such a rush that Lucas didn’t know what he was supposed to have gathered from the conversation.

“Fine,” Arthur relented after Lucas and Yann stared at him long enough. “It’s not a huge deal, so please don’t make it one, but I’ve been in the process of legal emancipation from my parents.”

Lucas blinked, half wondering how he didn’t know this and half wondering why he’d never considered doing that himself. Yann piped up, “Aren’t you almost eighteen anyway?”

Arthur shook his head. “I have a late birthday, like Lulu. Besides, this isn’t the beginning of the process. I’ve been doing this for a little over a year, it’s only just now coming to a head.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yann asked the question Lucas was thinking, heartbroken. Were they really all so lost in their own shit that Arthur felt he couldn’t come to them with things so prevalent in his life?

“How do you say something like that? Yann, your family is perfect, and Lucas yours must be all right if they let you move in with Manon last summer.” Arthur sounded strained, a bit like he was pleading. Yann shot Lucas a look, as he knew more about Lucas’ home life than Arthur did, and Lucas realized he couldn’t really be upset with Arthur for not saying anything if he hadn’t either.

“I moved in with Manon because my mom was committed to an institution when I was ten and my dad was quite the disciplinarian, if you understand what I mean,” Lucas said softly, urging Arthur with his eyes to comprehend what he was saying without saying.

He did, Lucas could see it in his eyes. “Lucas, I’m— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, how were you supposed to know if I never told you?” Lucas said seriously, because he didn’t want Arthur to feel bad, he just wanted to show that he related more than Arthur had originally thought. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Arthur softened. “You don’t have to be sorry. I guess we’re both a little private with our issues, huh?”

“You could say that,” Lucas acknowledged with a small grin that Arthur returned after a moment. He met Yann’s eyes, then Arthur’s. “I really love you guys, you know that, right?”

“That’s gay Lucas,” Yann said, then, “But me too. No homo.”

“No homo,” Lucas agreed, pulling them both into another hug.

“I love you guys too,” Arthur said, once they were all in one big pile. Then, as an afterthought. “No homo.”

The three of them broke down into giggles, only to be interrupted by Tomas, peering at them curiously. “You boys all right?” he asked, and they fell into another fit of laughter.

“Peachy,” Yann answered for the three of them, avoiding Tomas’ suspicious stare. Then, under his breath, “Bro meeting was a success then, yeah? I’m calling it a success.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night Yann.” Arthur patted Yann’s back and Yann returned the gesture by nudging him again, nearly knocking their no homo bro hug over again.

“Are we missing out on a company group hug?” Emma asked, sidling up beside Tomas, Imane, Manon, and Daphné by her side.

The three boys looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Lucas said, laughing to himself.

Sure enough, a hug for three became a hug for many as everyone piled on one by one, even the people Lucas didn’t talk to that much. He caught Yann’s eye as Chloé joined the hug, earning a fond eye roll.

He waited, hoping one last person would join their dogpile, and he finally did, a bit tentatively. He was across from Lucas, engulfed by Sofiane and Imane, but he was there, and, when he met Lucas’ eye, Eliott smiled.

Jeudi 20:44

Lucas wondered if it was even worth it to do his work at this point. Technically, he still had to graduate, but would he have to repeat the whole year if he was kicked out or would he just continue where he left off? He didn’t know what Eliott had decided to do about the matter, partially because he hadn’t asked and partially because Eliott was out to dinner with his parents at the moment. He’d offered to have Lucas come with, but Lucas didn’t want to intrude more than he had over the weekend, so he stayed, promising he’d eat on his own.

Surprisingly, he kept that promise. It wasn’t anything special, but he’d made himself some spaghetti, eating it plain because he couldn’t stomach anything else at the moment, but at least it was progress.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he finished washing his dishes, pulling it out with curiosity.

MY BOYFRIEND 💘✨😍🦝💯🤪: want to meet?

Lucas: Meet where?

MY BOYFRIEND 💘✨😍🦝💯🤪: at the theatre?

Lucas: Like… the one we’re supposed to perform at?

MY BOYFRIEND 💘✨😍🦝💯🤪: yes

MY BOYFRIEND 💘✨😍🦝💯🤪: i’m not manic, my parents only agreed to drop me off here if you came too

Lucas: I didn’t think you were I guess I’m just confused

MY BOYFRIEND 💘✨😍🦝💯🤪: please?

Lucas: You know I can’t say no to you <3

Lucas: On my way

MY BOYFRIEND 💘✨😍🦝💯🤪: love you, see you soon

Lucas: Love you too

Well, it looked like he was going to the theatre. Would it even be open? Whatever, that didn’t matter; all that mattered was Eliott right now, and admittedly Lucas did want to go back again, especially if it was the last time ever.

He snuck out, telling Imane where he’d gone so she’d be able to cover for him if by odd chance the director sought out him or Eliott. Apparently Eliott had told Sofiane and Idriss some things about what was going on in his life, but not all of it, so Imane didn’t fight him about going to meet Eliott thankfully.

The bus ride felt longer than it had on Monday, probably because Yann wasn’t sitting there talking his ear off and his mind wasn’t rattling with unwanted thoughts. The thoughts were still there, lurking, but all he had on his mind was Eliott at that moment, whether Eliott had asked him to come because things were good or bad.

He tried the door once when he got there, and to his surprise it was open, so he figured Eliott must be waiting inside. Sure enough, once he got to the auditorium, Eliott was lying on his back in the middle of the stage. Lucas made his footsteps apparent and Eliott looked up, wide eyes going soft when he saw who it was.

“Hello my love,” Eliott said, and Lucas ran the rest of the way up to the stage. It had been so long since Eliott had called him that. So long, and it still filled Lucas with butterflies all the way up to his ears. He didn’t want to be called babe, baby, honey, darling, or any of those other pet names, he’d always found them sort of superficial and cringey, but when Eliott called him my love or Lu his heart filled with the light of a million stars.

He didn’t, however, have a special name to call Eliott, other than Eli, which would have to suffice for now. “Hey, Eli,” he said as Eliott stood up and melted right into his arms. He looked like he’d been crying, and Lucas didn’t really blame him.

“Why are we here?” he asked once they released one another enough to look into each other’s eyes.

Eliott pressed their foreheads together gently, closing his eyes briefly before opening them back up, not trying to hide any of his pain or emotion or love. “If this is my last dance, I want it to be with you.”

“Eli don’t say that,” Lucas said, shaking his head slightly and placing his hands on either side of Eliott’s face.

“Lu, neither of us know what’s going to happen. I just want one perfect night in case this all ends tomorrow. Will you give me that? One perfect night?” Eliott pleaded, and while it broke Lucas’ heart, he agreed. They could discuss the downfalls of their current situation all they wanted, but if they were really one step from leaving ballet forever, they might as well make the most of what they had at that moment.

Lucas wanted to say I’ll give you as many perfect nights as I’m physically capable of, but instead he said, “Of course I will.”

“Then let’s dance.” Eliott removed himself, picking his phone up off the stage and tapping on it until he chose whatever song he wanted. He set it down at the front of the stage and turned the volume all the way up.

The first few beats filled the silence as Eliott grabbed Lucas by the hand. “I found this song the other day, and I thought of you, of us. Maybe it can be the song we play for our first wedding dance.”

Lucas blushed and hid his head in Eliott’s chest as they swayed together, not really dance the way they’d been trained to, but the way they needed to in that moment. The song really was beautiful, as Lucas listened to the lyrics more. It fit them perfectly, actually.

“What’s it called?” he asked.

“Work.”

Lucas nodded his head, still lying his head on Eliott’s chest like they were at some basic high school dance instead of spending the night on a stage they might never be able to perform on. “I think I’d like that,” he said softly, and Eliott freed one of his hands to tip Lucas’ head up to his.

“I love you so much,” he said.

“I love you too,” Lucas responded, because how could he not. He stood up on his toes to kiss Eliott slowly and deeply, letting the music wrap around them and carry them into oblivion.

Even as that song ended, the music continued to play, a random mix of songs that had Eliott blushing and Lucas laughing as they leaped and pirouetted around the stage, combining a bunch of old variations they’d learned and trying to match them to whatever music was playing, from rap, to dubstep, to pop, and everything in between.

Lucas was laughing so hard his cheeks hurt, and Eliott’s eyes were alive with a light Lucas didn’t know if he’d ever see again. It was so nice to just be Lu and Eli again; sure they had their problems, but they were working through them as one, just as their first song had said. It would take work, but it was their work, and they wanted nothing more than to tackle it together.

“I LOVE YOU ELIOTT DEMAURY!” Lucas yelled, letting his voice echo around the theatre as Eliott picked him up from behind and spun him around the room.

“I LOVE YOU LUCAS LALLEMANT!” Eliott yelled in response, giggling through his words, still carrying Lucas around.

They somehow both ended up on the floor, log rolling across the length of the stage, then crab walking, because how often would they get a chance to do that on a professional stage? Maybe his life hadn’t led up to performing as Prince Siegfried on a stage in front of a full audience, maybe it had led up to him doing as many cartwheels as he could around the stage until he either got too dizzy or fell off, boyfriend counting from one of the velvet seats in the audience. It wasn’t the life he’d dreamed for himself, and he was still having trouble reconciling the life he’d always wanted with the one he was likely to get, but it was times like this that made the possible transition a bit easier.

As Eliott hopped back up on the stage, lights basking him in a golden glow, smile so bright on his face it was hard to believe it would ever dim again, and Lucas took it all in. He sat down, looking up at everything Eliott was, and smiled in return.

“Eliott Demaury you are the sun in its purest form.”

Vendredi 1:02

“Hey Eliott?” Lucas said breathlessly, turning his head to the boy flopped down beside him.

“Yeah?”

“Your dick? Pretty big. Ten out of ten.”

He was immediately accosted by a pillow to the face followed by a short laugh, but he really couldn’t find the energy to care. He’d just about spent it all already. Slowly, their laughter subsided and Lucas thought maybe Eliott had fallen asleep. But then he spoke, voice lighting up the darkness with another small laugh.

“You have a pretty big dick too.”

Vendredi 17:00

Lucas was still riding the high of the night before, and it was good that he was because otherwise he’d probably be dying inside. He and Eliott hadn’t gotten back to school until nearly midnight, but they were able to sneak back in without any trouble, and once they were back they’d explored each other in ways they never had before, hungry with the desire to have their perfect night the way they deserved to.

It should have been a rude awakening when their alarms went off at a quarter to six in the morning, but it wasn’t. Lucas woke with Eliott’s arm around his waist, both of their hair an utter mess, and neither of them would have had it any other way.

They’d danced their hearts out at rehearsals, and judging by the looks students and instructors alike were giving them, their dancing was noteworthy to a new extreme. If it was their last day, may as well go out with a bang, they’d decided. Eliott had giggled to himself at the wording, and Lucas had to resist the urge to return his gesture from the night before and hit him with a pillow.

Now, sitting back in the director’s office, the unease was starting to creep in again, but Lucas did all he could to keep it at bay, scooting his chair closer to Eliott’s so they could hold hands covertly.

The director stormed into the room like he had before, but this time he was followed by all of their instructors, each one of them looking quite grim. It didn’t give Lucas a good feeling. Even Tomas, happy go lucky Tomas, was looking at them sympathetically. Lucas felt Eliott clench his hand, and he squeezed right back.

“I’ll have the both of you know that this decision was not unanimous,” the director began, glaring at one of their instructors but averting his eyes before Lucas could follow his line of sight. “It was actually quite the close call, and I must say I’m not entirely pleased with the outcome… but the majority has voted, and the majority decided that the both of you be allowed to complete your final year here at the Paris Opera Ballet School.”

An incredulous laugh burst its way out of Lucas before he could stop it, and when he turned he was met with a face full of disbelief from Eliott. They were staying, they weren’t getting kicked out. It was hard to believe, actually. Who had been the majority?

“There are some conditions,” the director continued, frowning disdainfully at their reactions. The two of them nodded soberly, paying rapt attention.

“M. Demaury, as long as you are here you are required to attend two therapy sessions a week, where your medication will be monitored to make sure you’re on track with your mental health.” He said it like it was the most disgusting thing in the world, but Eliott’s expression didn’t change. “The same will go for you, M. Lallemant, and you will meet with a nutrition specialist to get your physical health back on track as well as a few preliminary sessions with a clinical psychologist in order to properly diagnose your… issues.”

As much as the idea terrified him, he would do whatever was asked of him so long as he got to stay. The way the director was speaking, with so much clear disgust, still set off a reaction in the pit of Lucas’ stomach, but he held back, not wanting to do or say anything that might make him change his mind.

“As far as the show goes, we realize it’s too far into the semester, too close to opening night for us to ask anyone else to fill in for the lead, as that would be unfair to them, so we’ve decided that the two of you will alternate shows, performing as both the lead and the understudy on opposing nights. I really don’t think either of you are suited for the lead, but this was the best we could come up with, given all the circumstances,” the director finished, and Lucas almost jumped out of his seat.

The lead. He was going to play the lead. Maybe not every night, but he wasn’t just going to be relegated to the background when he’d been doing so much work to learn everything that went into the role of Prince Siegfried all this time. And this way Eliott also wasn’t going to lose everything he’d been working for. Eliott would probably be disappointed by this, the sharing of roles, so Lucas didn’t look at him quite yet, wanting to allow himself to bask in what really was the best case scenario. He didn’t know which of their instructors had stuck their necks out for him, but he would have to give them each an extravagant gift, just in case. Except for the director. Fuck him.

“Well?” the director prompted, and Lucas realized they’d both just been staring at him silently.

Lucas was the first to speak. “Thank you, sir, so much. I promise, I will do everything in my power so you don’t regret this decision. Not everyone is given a second chance, especially not in ballet, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure this one isn’t wasted.”

The director merely nodded, uncaring, as he looked at Eliott, clearly expecting a thank you. Lucas finally looked at him too, and what he saw shocked him. Eliott didn’t look meek or upset at all, he looked equal parts proud and relieved.

“I thank you as well, sir, I really do, but I want you to remember this,” Eliott said, “I want you to remember this when Lucas and I are the principal dancers in our respective companies, I want you to remember that you voted against us, and that we proved you wrong. I want you to remember that my bipolar disorder, Lucas’ eating disorder, those weren’t weaknesses. Sure, they may have caused some struggle, but I want you to remember that we rose to the top despite obstacles in our paths, and that you were one of them. Even more so than anything going on in my head, or his. Leading by fear can only get you so far in this world, and if I have any impact on the dance world at all, I want it to be taking down assholes like you who think discrimination is a healthy and functional way to run a school. Understood?”

He stood up on his final word, shooting a sarcastic smile in the director’s direction, who looked completely dumbfounded. Lucas almost laughed at the somewhat impressed expressions on the faces of their other instructors as he stood up as well, taking Eliott’s hand not even caring if it caused any indignation. Just before he walked out he threw one last glance over his shoulder, seeing the director staring right back at him, face a mix of shock and confusion. Lucas laughed to himself, making sure the director could see and raised one eyebrow in challenge before closing the door behind him.

Once they were out of the long hallway that separated the administration from the students, Eliott swept Lucas up into his arms. “It’s not over for us!” he exclaimed breathlessly, and Lucas started crying tears of utter shock and joy.

“We’re— they—” Lucas tried, but he couldn’t even articulate all he was feeling. Eliott nodded regardless, knowing what he meant without him even having to say it. “I can’t believe it,” he added, heart pounding faster and faster.

“I can,” Eliott said, “You know why? Because we’re born for this, and even if they kicked us out, we’d still find our way, make them regret they’d ever doubted us. We’re stars, you and I, and we should never ever let anyone try to extinguish our light again. Deal?”

“Deal,” Lucas agreed, though he thought Eliott was still much more a star than he was. There was something on his mind still, though. “You aren’t mad, though?”

“Mad? What do I have to be mad about?”

“Your role… you earned it, and now I’m swooping in to steal half your time in the spotlight.”

Eliott pulled him in close. “Lucas. I don’t care about that. All I care about is getting to dance again, and you. Lucky me, I get both, and I don’t care if I don’t get to be the lead in every performance. You deserve it as much as I do, if not more. I’m going to be so proud seeing you out there dancing the role you’ve always dreamed of.”

“Really?” Lucas found it hard to believe.

“Really.” Then again, Eliott was the perfect boyfriend. Well, not perfect, but perfect for him. God, what was Eliott doing to him? He was getting so sappy, so in love. Lucas from a year ago would never, but Lucas from a year ago also wasn’t someone Lucas from the present ever wanted to see again. It was getting harder and harder for him to pretend soulmates didn’t exist. How could they not, when Eliott Demaury existed, and he existed, and Lucas had this sense that they were made to find each other in every universe? “Now come on,” Eliott added, “Let’s go celebrate.”

Lucas raised one eyebrow. “Celebrate? What do you have in mind?”

“Oh… I have a few ideas.” He looked at Lucas pointedly, and Lucas couldn’t follow him to their room fast enough, smiling from the inside out.

Minute by minute was what they’d promised each other, and in that minute, Lucas had reached for the stars and found them closer in his grasp than he’d ever thought they could be. So he touched one, and now his whole world was shining with the light it brought with it.

#skam france #elu fic #elu ballet au #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu #she's back!!

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