#I still haven’t written the email

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

People who say just don’t allow yourself to use your phone/do fun stuff until you finish the difficult task! severely underestimate my ability to sit in the same place unmoving and do literally nothing for hours to end just so I don’t have to face the difficult task

[crimson--freak]

I need to just not go to school tomorrow

[filet-o-feelings]

Personally I think it would make a great fanfiction, if only somebody would finish writing it

[exopelagic]

ice hokcey

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter V: Silver Springs 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: You think back to the tumultuous end of your marriage.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, fighting, possessive Aemond, toxic relationship dynamic, dysfunctional family dynamic, physical violence, blood, anger issues

Word count: 5700

A/N: As always, I’d like to acknowledge my love, Justine @theoneeyedprince 🩵 She’s writing a new series called Careless Whisper and it is a gem! ILY!

“You excited for the big show tonight?”

Jace’s cheery voice greets you as you enter the backstage area of Winterfell Arena. You look up from your phone and acknowledge your bandmate with a smile, 

“Excited and more nauseous than I’ve ever been”, you joke, sliding your phone in your pocket. 

It looks like most backstage rooms have looked so far on the tour; sparsely decorated with fold up tables and chairs. There’s an array of snacks and drinks offered, and you make your way to the refreshments next to Jace to grab some coffee. 

He appears to already be wearing his stage clothes; a tight, purple silk button-down shirt that  shows just enough skin to get his fans excited. Despite the curse of being the overlooked bassist, Jace has a small yet rowdy fanbase, who tend to go absolutely mental whenever he winks at them from stage. He loves the attention, and you guess today’s extra slutty outfit choice is his gift to them. 

He moves to lean against the table, plastic coffee cup in hand,

“So, will you treat us to a new song tonight? I hadn’t heard ‘Dreams’ all put together before we performed it but damn, it sounded great”

You meet his eyes as you pick up the plastic cup by the small ear on the side, 

“I think I’ll do ‘Dreams’, it’s the only one I feel is really finished”, you reply and take a sip. 

There is another song you’ve been working tirelessly on, but you’re not sure if you feel ready to perform it. 

It is one of the reasons why your album is delayed. The members have all recorded their instruments and finished the back-up, yet you haven’t submitted a final version of your vocals. 

As a musician, you’re used to pouring your heart out when writing lyrics, not afraid of getting personal. And still, for some reason, this one almost feels too revealing; too intimate to sing out loud. 

You have the lyrics written down, and you’ve sung them to yourself at home. But singing them on stage, with him there, feels too exposing.

Too vulnerable.  

You haven’t seen Aemond since your regrettable tryst in his hotel room. 

After reading through the divorce papers, you called Alysanne back up, needing help to wrap your head around the entire situation. 

After a few hours of talking, she convinced you that this was for the best. 

You’d gotten what you wanted. 

And the mishap in Aemond’s room was, according to your best friend, nothing more than a chance to “bang one out” one last time. 

“Got it”, Jace replies in his typical cheerful manner. He reaches for a small biscuit on the table and pops it into his mouth, “I’m sure your song will sound great. They always do” 

His warm, brown eyes shine as he assures you of your abilities. It feels nice; how uncomplicated his praise is, and you smile back at him again, thankful to have at least one easy-going person in your band. 

You continue to chat light-heartedly as you wait for the other band members to arrive.  

When Jace heads outside for a smoke, you spot a familiar notebook on one of the chairs nearby. 

It’s open.

Curious and foolish, you head over to see what’s written. 

You glance at the paper, lyrics written by hand in impeccable handwriting. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help yourself. 

‘I don’t wanna stand ‘tween you and love, honey’‘I just want you to feel fine’

Again with the self-pitying? Fucking hell, he’s relentless. 

Did he want you to “feel fine” when he forbade you from attending events without him? Or when he went through your email without your permission?  

‘Oh, you say you love me but you don’t know’

You put the paper back down, already feeling your mood souring. 

Prick.

When you first started dating, you quickly learned that Aemond was the rock of his family. 

If his brother had been arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour, he was there. 

If his mum needed someone to help organise a charity event, he was there. 

If his grandfather needed him to go over a case at 3 am, he was there. 

Seeing the stress of such immense pressure weigh him down, you, in turn, tried to be his rock; supporting him in any way you could. 

You managed quite well. Like those times he came home late after spending 12 hours at the office, and you greeted him with a smile and a home-cooked meal, kissing his cheek. 

He’d sit down and grab you by the waist as you placed the plates on the table, keeping you on his lap while you ate and discussed your days together. 

When you finished eating, you’d stay like that. He’d lean into you, resting his face in the crook of your neck while he held you close, thanking you for the delicious meal. 

You knew that he was thankful for what you did for him; gratitude evident in his voice and how he complimented your cooking skills. Still, there was always this sadness inside of him, a pitiful tint to his tone. 

It was tough seeing how drained he got from being everything for everyone. 

Aemond’s older sibling never felt the crushing pressure of being Otto Hightower’s protégée. While he worked tirelessly at Oldtown Solicitors after finishing his degree, they chose to pursue the band full-time. A privileged career choice made optional by their generous trust funds. 

You took a part-time position after graduating so that you could stay in the band and write music. Aemond nearly convinced you to focus on the band full-time as well, arguing that he could provide for you if you ever needed anything. Despite the generous offer, you decided that he already had enough to deal with, and potentially adding further to his endless list of responsibilities didn’t sit right with you. 

You wanted to ease his troubles, not add to them. 

Consequently, when you recorded your first album, it was mostly at night, after Aemond had finished working with his grandfather. His natural talent and precision as a guitarist and singer meant that it usually only took him two or three attempts before he was satisfied with a piece. 

You, on the other hand, did not find the recording process as easy. 

You feel tears of frustration sting your eyes as you step out of the sound booth. Helaena, Aegon and Jace had already gone home, drained from a full day of recording. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?”, Aemond asks when he sees the way the corners of your lips pull downward. 

You let out a shaky breath to gather yourself, swallowing in an attempt to make the lump in your throat disappear, 

“I can’t do it, it just-, it sounds like shit no matter how many times I-”, you mumble, cutting yourself off as you try to take another deep breath, determined not to cry. 

You feel silly, getting so upset over something so nonsensical. Still, being unable to deliver in the way you’d like has left you feeling powerless over your own voice, like you can’t control it. 

Aemond stands up from his seat by the mixing table and slowly makes his way towards you. He moves one of his hands to cup your cheek and looks down to make eye contact with you, 

“Don’t say that”

His voice is soft as his thumb gently strokes your cheek, “It’s late and you’re tired, it’s okay to need a break. But never doubt yourself, love”. 

He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead and you crave his touch like nothing else, pushing yourself against his body as your arms hug his waist. He hugs you back, one hand stroking your hair, and you instantly feel the lump in your throat melt away. 

The tears that had threatened to spill, never do. 

He makes it all go away.

The blood, sweat and tears you’d put into creating your first ever album as Dragon Dreamers proved to be worth it. Suddenly, your songs play on the radio and are featured on major playlists, where thousands of people can listen to them. 

The success instigated both you and Aemond quitting your jobs and focusing on the band full time together with Helaena, Aegon and Jace. You were certain that leaving Oldtown Solicitors and creating some distance with his grandfather would be good for Aemond, maybe even pushing him to open up to you more. 

He had a tendency of shutting you out, particularly when he was clearly distressed by something. He refused to even acknowledge some things, like he wanted to spare you from it. Yet all his secrecy did was make you feel lonely; like a stranger your beloved did not trust enough to let in. Every time he dismissed your concerns and refused to speak about what was upsetting him, another crack appeared on your weary heart. 

During the first year of your relationship you’d been under the impression that you and Aemond shared a connection so innate and deep, you didn’t need to discuss things like other couples did. 

You were able to understand each other wordlessly. 

And though there was truth in that assumption, time made you realise that Aemond’s inability to open up slowly tore a cavernous rift between the two of you. 

Music blasts out of the speakers in the crowded bar, making it hard for you to hear Tyland as he introduces you to one of his colleagues. 

It’s a man around 30, with a slightly crooked smile and long, dark hair pulled back in a bun. 

You move closer to hear what he’s saying, nodding along to his explanation of what next for your band. 

“We’d like to make a music video for one of your songs, maybe featuring a live performance?”, he asks and you feel yourself light up at the thought. A bright smile breaks out over your face, revealing your approval of his proposal. 

“That would be amazing!” 

You nearly have to shout for him to hear you over the ruckus in the bar, and you lean in a little closer. 

“Have you ever considered doing some solo stuff? On the side, of course”, he asks, grey eyes locked with yours. 

You open your mouth to answer, but before you have a chance you feel a warm hand on your shoulder, stopping you, 

“She wouldn’t have time for that”

Aemond’s firm voice answers right behind you. You didn’t see him come up, and you can hear the irritation in his voice. A quiet sigh leaves your lips, dreading what’s to come. 

The man Tyland had introduced you to appears a bit stunned by the sudden shift in atmosphere, and offers you both an awkward smile and stiff nod before heading to the bar counter. 

You turn to face Aemond, whose face is set in a frown,

“What was that about?”, he asks and you feel irate frustration bubble up inside your chest. 

This is not the first time he’s taken the liberty of answering for you, or scaring away anyone who dared approach you. 

“Nothing”, you reply before walking around Aemond, moving towards the door. 

You need air, your husband’s presence suffocating you. 

You step outside and spot Jace, leaning against the wall with a cigarette hanging from his lips. 

“You don’t happen to have one more?” 

He pulls out the pack together with his lighter and opens it for you in an invitation to steal one. 

You place the cigarette between your lips, mumble out “thanks”, and light it up. 

You take a drag, let the smoke fill your lungs, and you close your eyes. 

The nicotine gives you a slight high and your fingertips tingle pleasantly. 

“Give us a minute, Jace”

Aemond’s voice interrupts your serenity, and your companion leaves without a word of protest.  

You open your eyes to look at Aemond. You know he’s upset about what had just happened, but there is something else that he’s not telling you. 

Behind the angry facade, he seems sad. 

Or insecure? 

It is hard to decipher when he so persistently tries to push those feelings down. 

He doesn’t say anything. His hand seeks out yours to grab the cigarette and he takes a long drag before handing it back to you. You wish he’d just talk to you. Tell you what makes him act so hostile towards those around you. 

Towards you.

It makes you anxious; the uncertainty. Not knowing what’s going on inside. 

Aemond breaks the silence.,

“So, you really want to leave the band?”

You click your tongue in frustration and throw the cigarette on the ground, stomping on it until the bud stops glowing,

“When have I ever said that?”

“You sure seemed happy when that scumbag wanted to steal you away”, he says and moves to lean against the wall next to you. 

“Aemond”, you sigh, looking up to meet his eyes. He is so hard to read it infuriates you. 

You know there is no point in fighting. It’s like his mind is set on distrusting you; of thinking the worst of you. 

“Every time you act like this, you break my heart. It's like you don’t trust me in the slightest”, you say in a helplessly defeated voice,

“That hurts, you know”

As Aemond got more and more possessive over you, he also kept you further and further away from himself. 

Sometimes you wondered if he actually hated you. 

Why else would you cause his ire to light up so fiercely? 

Whenever someone approached you, he was there, looming over you. 

Guarding you. 

Like you were his, and no one else was allowed near. 

No matter how many times you asked him to stop, he wouldn’t listen. 

Instead, after you found yourselves in a fight, something that had become a weekly occurrence, he’d head out without a word, leaving you alone in your shared home. 

He could be gone for hours, leaving his phone behind so you couldn’t contact him. It felt like torture, waiting for him to come back without any knowledge of what he was up to, or if he was okay. 

When he eventually came back and you confronted him about his behaviour, he dismissed your concerns, telling you that he just needed to “clear his head”. 

Everything about the situation felt unfair. 

Not just the fact that he opted for running away instead of talking to you, but also because you knew he’d be livid if you decided to suddenly leave in the middle of the night. 

After a year of meaningless fights, petty arguments and baseless accusations, you came to the realisation that you couldn’t be his rock anymore. And he’d stopped being yours long ago. 

Before the success of the band, you could provide him with reassurance and love. 

Now, it seemed like he’d made you the enemy, suspicious of everything you did, set on distrusting you. 

Staying with him, loving him, felt like too great of a challenge. 

And maybe it was. 

Taking one last look in the mirror, you put on just a little more lipstick before tossing it in your handbag and walking out of the bathroom. You’d ordered a taxi for six o’clock, and it should arrive any minute now. 

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

Aemond’s harsh voice echoes in the quiet room. 

He’s leaning against the kitchen island in the middle of your open-plan flat. You feel the all too familiar pit of anxiety form in your stomach at his tone. 

He’s irritated again. 

He holds your phone up so that you can see the screen, an email from Tyland.

He’d contacted you earlier today about an opportunity for you to do a photoshoot and interview at Casterly Rock to promote the band's biggest hit yet, Landslide. 

Your eyes narrow as you look at Aemond, 

“Don’t go through my emails”

“Tyland wrote that he’s already booked you a ticket. You have to run that by me first”, he continues in a stern voice. 

As if he’s lecturing a child on bad behaviour. 

You stay silent, move to the sink to pick up a glass and fill it with water. You try to distract yourself enough to breathe, anger already making you feel hot all over. 

“It was a last minute decision, it’s only 2 nights next week”, you explain through clenched teeth. 

You really don’t want to get into a fight right before a show, and had already decided to tell Aemond after instead. Somewhere inside, you knew he wouldn’t be happy. 

“Were you not going to give me the courtesy of letting me know that you’re leaving?”

“I was going to tell you after the show”

Your body is still facing the sink so you won’t have to face him. 

You can’t decide if you’re more angry with him for trying to control you, or saddened by the fact that he doesn’t trust you. 

“You should’ve told me imm-”

“Aemond, you don’t own me. Stop acting like I’m your possession!”

Your irksome voice cuts him off. His still trying to keep his cool, tone refusing to match your intensity as he answers, 

“But I am your husband”

“It’s just two nights away. I’ll be with Tyland the entire time”, you say, softening your tone to not trigger him further. 

“Out of the question. You’re not going”, he replies stoicly and places your phone back on the kitchen island before standing up. 

“That’s not for you to decide!”

Your previous attempt to remain calm fails. You almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all; being denied a business trip by your husband like he’s your guardian. 

“Yes, because we’re a team! I’d never fucking run away without you”, Aemond spits, clearly as incapable of keeping a level head as you are. 

“It’s two nights away to promote the band. I’m not “running away”, you clarify and turn to face him. 

You can see how exasperated he is by his stiff posture and the hard look in his seeing eye. He tries so hard to hide it, and yet you always manage to see through the facade. 

“It’s good publicity”, you say. 

“I said no”, is all he replies before he moves to the sideboard by the door, picking up the keys placed in a small dish resting on the polished surface. 

You feel your face heat up in anger at his dismissal of your words; of your agency. 

How dare he think he can dictate your life? 

“Well, I don’t need your fucking permission!”, you shout back at him, 

“If I want to fly to Casterly Rock, or any other fucking place, I will! You can’t stop me from doing anything, Aemond. I’ll fly to fucking Yi Ti if I so wish! You can’t-”

Your rant is cut off by a sudden loud crash by the wall next to you. 

The remnants of the dish where you kept your house keys lies in shambles on the floor next to you. Your wide eyes look down at the plate's remainders in disbelief before travelling towards Aemond. 

It’s like both of you are frozen in shock from his actions. His recovery seems to be quicker than yours, regret clear on his face and in his voice, 

“Shit. Fuck! Sorry, I’m so sorry”

He rambles apologies in panic, clearly stunned by his own action. He tries to shuffle closer to you, but you recoil as soon as he comes near.  

The shock of his action and the loud sound that accompanied it triggers something inside you, and you immediately feel tears well up in your eyes. 

You feel like a child; startled and scared. 

“Fuck. Sorry for scaring you, love”

His voice is much softer than mere seconds ago. Pleading. 

Aemond brings his hands up slightly, a sign of surrender, and moves closer to comfort you. 

You wince and back away from him, eyes still widened in disbelief. 

“I’d never hurt you”, he tries to assure you. 

You still can’t fully comprehend what had just happened, 

“How the fuck am I supposed to believe that?”

Aemond opens his mouth to answer just as the intercom rings, signalling that the taxi is waiting downstairs. 

You try to gather yourself somewhat and take a deep breath before moving to grab your bag and jacket from the hallway. 

Aemond’s pitiful expression observes you, and you tell him, “When we get back, we need to talk about this. About us. I can’t take this any more”

The taxi ride to the venue is excruciating. 

Aemond hasn’t said a word, but his fingers are tapping restlessly against his thigh, something you’d learned to be one of his most prominent nervous habits. 

In the corner of your eye, you can see how his gaze repeatedly seeks out yours, but you refuse to look at him. 

He reaches out to lightly touch your fingers, but you move away from his touch,

“I-, I don’t know what came over me, love. I am so sorry for scaring you, I promise it will never happen again”

You’re too tired to respond, and stubbornly continue to watch the city pass by through the car window. 

When the cab pulls up to the live house, you can still feel the tears of shock drying on your cheeks. You thank the driver and step out of the car, before entering the backstage area. 

The small room you’d been assigned to prepare in smells musky and the lights are toned down. 

Helaena is nowhere to be found, but you immediately notice Jace’s brown locks in the corner of the room, seated in an armchair with his base in his lap. 

On the large, brown leather sofa placed in the middle of the room sits a slouching young man with ruffled, silvery hair and purple bags under his eyes. He lights up when he sees you enter, voice slightly slurred, 

“There she is! King’s Landing’s new little, uh-, fucking-, romantic, sexy sweetheart!”, Aegon drunkenly declares, smiling from ear to ear, 

“Charming everyone with her sad songs”

“Hi Aegon, are you okay?”, you ask gently.

You try as hard as you can to hide the fact that you’re disappointed in seeing him so clearly intoxicated. 

You know he has problems with alcohol, and despite a recent trip to rehab, he hasn’t gotten much better. 

“I am, now that you’re here”, he replies with a sloppy wink. 

You move towards the small fridge by the wall of the cramped room, pulling out a water bottle and handing it to him without saying a word. 

He brings the bottle up in a mock cheer before opening it and taking a large sip, possibly to show you, and Aemond, that he isn’t as drunk as you assume he is. 

“Always so fucking sweet to me”, he smiles at you, “Mondo, you’re a lucky guy, you know”, he addresses his brother, who’s leaning against the door, clearly displeased with the fact that Aegon hadn’t been capable of waiting until after the show before he got shit-faced. 

The hostility between the brothers is clearly one-sided as the older Targaryen continues,

“I just saw the most unhinged shit online man! Some fans were discussing what her favourite position is”, he laughs out as he addresses his brother. Aemond’s face is stoic, but you can see the tension in his jaw as he fixes his eye on Aegon. 

“Is it true, baby? Is it really doggy?”, he asks as his eyes shift from Aemond to you. 

You’d gotten more or less used to how lewd your brother-in-law could get when he’s drunk. But being asked something so crass after the day you’d had only leaves you feeling disgusted. 

“Knock it off”, Aemond’s stern voice cuts through the cramped space. 

You notice Jace shifting uncomfortably in his seat, picking up the pack of cigarettes in front of him on the coffee table before standing up and heading out of the door. 

You wish you could run away as well, but the tension radiating from Aemond tells you to stay put.

“Oh, come on, it’s all in good fun! I’d die to have a girlfriend with tits like that”

Whatever game Aegon thinks he’s playing with his brother is clearly one-sided. Aemond quickly jerks his head to the side to look at his brother, seeing eye darting at a speed that his blind eye’s incapable of. 

“Uh oh! Eyes going two different directions!”, Aegon says with a laugh, crossing his eyes to mock Aemond, 

“Can Lazy Eye look you in the face when he’s fucking you?”, he asks and he turns to you, eyes still meeting over the bridge of his nose. 

“Seriously, Aegon, knock it off”, you plea. 

He can turn so fucking mean when he’s drunk, hiding his own displeasure with life behind jabs at his brother. 

He continues to laugh when he adds,

“One eye on your face and one on your tits? A pity he can’t see through it”.

Before you have a chance to reply, Aemond lunges forward, fist held high as he smashes it against his brother's face. Aegon keeps laughing even as blood spills from his nose, staining Aemond’s hand going in for blow after blow. 

You’re frozen for a millisecond before you start to yell at him to stop, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you.  

Neither does he hear his older brother’s laughs turn to grunts of pain as he begins to sober up under Aemond’s assault. 

You see Aegon’s face turn slack, eyes fluttering shut like he’s going out of consciousness. Aemond continues to land punch after punch on his brother’s face and you feel panic rush inside of you. 

You throw yourself on Aemonds back in an attempt to pull him away. He’s inaccessible, not listening to your desperate pleas for him to stop.

Drops of blood are flying in front of you, landing on the worn leather sofa underneath Aegon. Your arms encircle Aemond’s shoulders as you try to pull him off of his brother with all your might. 

He tries to shrug you off, but as he goes in for the next hit, his elbow accidentally retracts against the side of your body, making harsh contact with your ribs. 

You wail out in pain and Aemond immediately stops his assault on his brother to turn around and look at you in panicked worry. 

Your body’s folded over the coffee table next to the sofa, hand placed over the spot that's hurting on the side of your stomach. 

He moves away from Aegon to make his way towards you, but you back away from him by reflex, suddenly too aware of how dangerous his temperament can be. 

You hurry up on your feet to quickly leave the backstage area, Aemond’s strained voice calling out your name behind you. 

He’s fucking lost it.

Thinking back to everything that led up to your divorce leaves you feeling a mix of emotions, misery being the most prominent one. 

This is supposed to be the highlight of your career; the band’s biggest show yet. 

You don’t want to feel like this; a constant state of being filled with sorrow. 

You want to enjoy performing again. 

You can hear the crowd call for you to come out on stage, and you feel nerves ebbing through your veins in anxious waves. 

“Aemond wanted to perform ‘Never Going Back Again’ as the first part of the encore later on”, Helaena says and looks at you. You feel even more restless. 

“And I thought maybe you have another new song to sing? Maybe the one you sent me a recording of?”

Her hand comes up to rest reassuringly on your upper arm. You know which one she means, even if she doesn’t say anything else. The song. 

“I told the guys it’s called ‘Silver Springs’, they’ll know which one it is from recording. I know we haven’t practised it together but Dreams was such a hit with the fans, I’m sure they’ll love this one too”, she says and smiles gently in that way only she’s capable of. 

The thought of Aemond performing ‘Never Going Back Again’, on top of singing ‘The Chain’ and ‘Go Your Own Way’, lights a fuse inside of you. 

You look over at him, 

“Okay”

This is it. 

The stage, vast and intimidating, seems to close in as the intro to ‘Silver Springs’ starts to play. 

You have no idea if Aemond had listened to the voice recordings for the song.

You asked Helaena to do backup vocals instead of him on the track, hoping that would make the song feel less of a testament to your heartbreak. 

‘You could be my silver spring’

‘Blue-green, colours flashing’

‘I would be your only dream’

‘Your shining autumn, ocean crashing’ 

What if he had read the lyrics? 

Had he pondered them weeks after, dreading to hear you sing them on stage? 

‘And don’t say that she’s pretty’

‘And did you say that she loved you?’

‘Baby I don’t wanna know’

Had he even cared?

Your longing gets the best of you, and you glance over at Aemond. 

‘So I begin not to love you’

‘Turn around, see me runnin’’

‘I say “I loved you years ago”’

‘Tell myself you’d never loved me’ 

His face is stoic; good eye already observing you.  

He might look calm to the audience, but you can see the tension in his jaw. You see how he’s breathing heavily out of his nose. 

His grip on the guitar seems bruising, fingers moving skillfully; never making a mistake. 

You quickly look away. 

Why do you suddenly find him so intimidating? 

‘And don’t say that she’s pretty’

‘And did you say that she loves you?’

‘Baby, I don’t wanna know’

‘And can you tell me, was it worth it?’

‘Baby, I don’t wanna know’ 

Your own lyrics prickle your heart. 

Do you tell yourself he never loved you because that’d be easier? 

What if it was true, that he never really loved you? 

He’d been possessive over you. And he’d been controlling. But that’s not love. 

Loving someone means you care for their well-being and happiness, over anything else. 

You know he loves Alicent and Helaena. He treats them differently from how he’s been with you; he was so much gentler with them. 

Picking fights with you over nothing, controlling your life and not letting you be happy, that's not love. 

Worst of all, he doesn’t act like that with Alys. 

Does he love her?

‘Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me’

‘I know I could have loved you, but you would not let me’

You think back to how your relationship once was. 

When he was your biggest supporter, erasing any doubts you had about your own talent. Always reassuring you that you were worthy. 

That man is not the one sharing a stage with you now. 

The sorrow over losing your beloved husband turns to anger, and you need him to know. 

He needs to see how much he hurt you. 

‘Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me’ 

You can’t look away, not even when tears start forming in the corners of your eyes. 

Aemond’s seeing eye looks so dead; completely void of emotion. His knuckles are white from the force in which he’s holding his guitar. 

‘I know I could have loved you, but you would not let me’

Every emotion you’ve tried to suppress comes crashing over you; 

Anger.

Hurt.

Betrayal.

Grief. 

But you won’t let him win. You can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. 

You feel a tear escape down your cheek, but you refuse to look away from his face as you keep singing, 

‘I’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice can haunt you’

‘Oh, give it just a chance’

‘You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you’

Despite standing in front of thousands of people, despite what happened in his hotel room, this feels like the most intimate exchange you’ve had in months. You want him to see how much he hurt you. 

You want him to feel bad. 

To hurt too.

‘Was I such a fool?’ 

‘I’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice can haunt you’

Your voice almost breaks from the sheer force of the emotions pouring out of you, but you manage, singing with nothing but raw emotion and sorrow-fuelled rage. More tears slide down your cheeks. 

‘Oh, give it just a chance’

‘You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you’

‘Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me’

‘I know I could have loved you, but you would not let me’ 

You finish up the concert on auto-pilot, not really present anymore. As soon as you finish playing The Chain, you make your way back to the hotel. 

You throw the door to your room open, kick off your shoes, and dive into the back of the closet where you store your clothes. 

You pull out Aemond’s university hoodie from the black bin bag you’d tossed it in, anger consuming you just by the sight of it. 

Fuck him. 

You look around the hotel room for something sharp; a pair of scissors, a wine opener, a fork, anything. You spot the small pair of scissors you use to trim your nails with on the nightstand and grab them before stabbing one of the tiny blades into the soft material of the hoodie. 

Fuck him. 

Your vision turns blurry as tears well up in your eyes for the second time this evening, but the tiny bit of relief you feel from ruining something of Aemond’s is intoxicating. 

You put your fingers through the small holes you’d made in the fabric and pull with all your strength, ripping the shirt over and over until it’s nothing but a pile of scraps of fabric. 

Fuck him.

A/N: Thank you for readig! 🫶

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Outta left field.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The brick facade stares back at you. You have to keep from gaping in awe. You're not a sightseer, you're there to work. A job. Your first ever. A bit late, but better than never.

You stop at the gate and hike up your kit as you shove your hand in your pocket in a cramped search. You slide out the flip phone and pop the top, clicking through for the email. The cheap burner is all you could afford and you needed a cell to get any sort of employment. Even just to live, it seems.

You click on the agency's email. A concise list of instructions for your first day. Alone. Last week, you shadowed a woman named Florence as she took you through an east-side home, but this week, you're on your own and uptown. The property is much nicer than any you've been in before. The sort you gaze at longingly in passing. A true urban palace.

You follow the first point on the list, keying in the code awkwardly with spaced-out punches. The last beep triggers a buzz as the mechanism releases and you turn the haandle to let yourself through the iron gate. You close it, pushing it to make sure it catches. You look around at the greenery; expertly trimmed hedges and a stone bench, flowerbeds clustered artfully in all shades. A mini Versailles in the heart of the city. The owners must be very well-off.

You gulp as you follow the stonework of the winding path along the curved driveway. Your shoulder aches from the weight of your kit and your spine is still rigid from the tense bus ride. You approach the front door and stagger to an awkward halt as you check the screen again. In all caps; DO NOT USE THE FRONT DOOR. You peer up over the stone steps and give a nod. Of course the help should go through the back.

You circle around to the rear of the house, the scent of pollen and the freshly groomed hedges clouding around you. You find the door nestled beneath a net of ivy and key in the next code. The very modern security contrasts the antique veneer of the house. You step into the silence of the grand home and listen. You're not sure if you're alone. What do you do if you aren't? It might be awkward to wash someone's floor without an introduction.

You move to the next directive; cover shoes. You squint and suck your lower lip in. You see the small box on the corner table tucked beside the door. You stay on the mat as you pull on the plastic shoe covers. It makes sense. You don't want to track in another mess to clean.

Again, your breath flies away from you. Even just the back hallway is divine, or maybe you're just brutish. You're not very hard to impress with what you're used to. A job won't cure it, but it'll make it bearable.

The next point; gloves. Okay. At least it's straightforward. The owners must be very particular. Or germaphobic. You let your assumptions write a story as you advance into the house. The email directs you to a closet where you are permitted to hang your things and where a mop, broom, and vacuum await you amid other supplies too big for your bag. Next point…

You proceed inside, slowly. The instructions are written almost to guide your every step. You move down the hallway with duster, broom, vacuum, and finally the mop. You're sweating by the time you get to the first doorway. The kitchen. Despite your employ, the place is already near immaculate. The only sign of life is a single black mug beside the sink.

It's eerie as you cross the tile, investigating with your eyes, almost too afraid to touch. You're going to have to if you mean to do good work. You continue down the list, doing your best to be thorough. When you return to the hall you're caught in place by a thought. There are no family pictures. It adds to the emptiness of it all. There are portraits of famous landmarks and imitations of reknowned artworks, though you wouldn't be surprised if they were genuine. But no family.

Next point. A bathroom just diagonal from the kitchen, spacious with dark wood and shining gold. You leave it smelling with the sterile scent of the cleaner. Back in the hall, you pause to drink from the water bottle in your bag. You head back down the hall intent on your next task. An hour already.

Another large room; a dining room that opens into a sitting room with a large fireplace. It really is amazing. Your father won't believe how nice it is here. You don't have time to worry about convincing him as you dive into your work. It isn't difficult work but you want to do a good job. You get this knot in your stomach just think of your boss, Clara, telling you otherwise or going home with bad news.

You finish the sitting room and go back to get your water. You nearly finish it. You check the time again, then the list. You can refill before you continue. You go back to the kitchen and cross to the fridge, pressing your bottle to the lever beneath the filter. It'd be nice to have something like that at home. You listen the hum of the fridge as you fill your bottle.

"Ahem," the clearing of a throat startles you and you jump, splashing yourself with cold water as you spin to face a tall man. He stares at you imperiously from the doorway, his figure lithe as he holds his chin up in dissatisfaction. "And who said you could do that?"

"Um," you swallow and look at your water bottle, fingers numbed by the water, "sorry, sir, I ran out--"

"Clean up your mess and get back to work," his lilted accent slices into you.

"Sorry, sir--"

"Bullet number one, A," he says tersely.

You frown as you struggle to understand. You replace the cap on your bottle and fish in the pocket of your black pants. You take out the phone and check the email. 'Do not speak unless permitted.' Well, he spoke to you first. It's the only reason you said anything. You're not very chatty yourself.

You keep from repeating sorry again and dip your head down. You take the cloth tucked into your pocket and bend to sop up the water from the floor. You don't look at him as he looms and you exit the room, sidling past him in shame. Oh no, you hope he doesn't tell Clara.

You replace your bottle in your bag. You'll go without. You look at your phone again. You can do this. No more mistakes.

You march back down the hall and dare a glance into the kitchen as you pass. He's already gone. That must be Mr. Laufeyson, the owner noted in the job description. Is it just him? He doesn't seem very fond of others. Or just you. You're just a maid, after all.

🧹

Your father's apartment is in the south. The fence is crooked and missing slats and the grass is patchy and yellowed. The porch groans as you climb the steps and let yourself into his side of the duplex. Cigarette smoke greets you with a cough in your throat. You open the window he shut in your absence as the TV blares in the next room. He's on the couch, puffing tobacco into the air in gray swirls. The place is even grimmer after a day amid your client's spotless halls.

"Hey dad," you say as you stand just beside the couch, "how was your day?"

He grunts and offers nothing else. That's about what you get from him. The effort of just that noise sends him to hack and his wrist tangles in his oxygen tube as brings his hand up. He knocks ash from the end of his cigarette onto the floor.

"First day alone went well," you say as he settles, breathing loudly as he tries to steady his breaths. "Think I did pretty good."

"Oh, big whoop, got a job, at last," he sneers, "about time. What're you? Thirty-three?"

"Thirty," you correct him, but don't add that your birthday is coming up.

"Same difference," he croaks and sucks on the smoke until he's coughing once more.

You try not to let him defeat you. It's just the way he is. You brought home A's from school and he wondered why they weren't A+'s. And when you got accepted to college, he asked you who was gonna pay for it. And when you filled out an application at the drive-thru window, he asked you if you were going to be another deadbeat flipping burgers.

"What, they got you scrubbing floors?" He spits, "you don't do it for free or something?"

He looks around venomously. You do clean but you can't get the yellow stains out of the wall or the stench out of the carpet. You won't say so.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Can't be near the stove with this thing," he taps the top of the tank on the other side of the armrest. He's also not supposed to smoke near it. Or at all.

"I'll heat up the hamburger helper from last night."

"Fucking dog food," he barks.

You wince. You love your father but he's a very picky man. Things must be his way or no way at all.

"Might have a frozen pizza," you suggest.

"Cardboard," he mutters.

You stand, silent and helpless. There isn't much else left in the fridge.

"Could afford better if you'd got your ass up ten years ago," he buts out his smoke and just as quickly, opens the pack to slide out another.

"I tried..."

"Not hard enough, eh," He takes off the oxygen tube and leans away from the tank to light the next cigarette, "not hungry. All your talkin' spoiled my appetite."

You apologise and leave before you can annoy him further. You're not very hungry either. Just sore and tired. Your feet hurt from being on them all day and your eyelids droop lower with each blink. You climb the stairs and drag your feet into your bedroom and shut the door gently. Your father hates when you slam. You don't like it much yourself.

You fall into bed as the musty air clings in your nose. You close your eyes and roll onto your side. You sigh. You figure if you can handle your father, you can handle Mr. Laufeyson and his list.

🧹

Your next job is in the eastside. It's not as precise or overbearing. The instructions are standard; a list of the rooms that need cleaning and a tip left on the counter. The email says the family is out of town. How nice it must be to come home to a nice, clean house. You pad out the three-day week with two more home in the northwest suburbs. The money would be better if you could work a full week but so long on you're in your probation period, you only get part-time hours.

Your second week starts again in the north, outside the Laufeyson property. The codes are different but the list is the same. You begin your work diligently. This time, you ration your water, and pay special attention to each step. Once you're through this week, you get your first check. Dad should be happy about that.

As you get to the front room, a living room or what some might call den, you set first to dusting the ornaments on the high mantel. You find the more you do it, the work is almost soothing. It's simple and mindless. You admire the silver candlestick, careful not to loosen the tall candle placed in it.

"Shiny," the slither frightens you. You quickly replace the candlestick at the corner of the mantle and face that man; the presumed Mr. Laufeyson. "Somehow, I feel it wouldn't belong in wherever you call home."

You lower your eyes. Florence says most clients are friends but she warned you about these ones. Those who deride you and the work they don't want to do themselves.

"The previous one did think they were lovely," he muses as he struts forward, his long steps like a cat's, "too bad they were too big for her bag."

You flick your gaze back up and blanch. "Sir, I wouldn't--"

He tilts his head as his eyes flash dangerously. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic frown. You press a finger to your lips to say, I'll be quiet.

"She was chatty too. You girls always are."

You nod and listen. Your throat constricts as you wring the cloth in your hands. You think you might not be very forgiving if someone tried to steal from you either.

"But..." he looks at his watch, "you are quick."

The comment drips from his mouth as if it tastes bitter to him. It isn't quite praise, only a fact, but it isn't a reproach. He smirks and snickers.

"And you do look rather terrified. We're understood then."

You give another nod. You think you understand. You wouldn't think to steal but you can't blame him for putting down rules. You squint and your brow twitches as your ears tinge.

"Point one C," you whisper to yourself; 'Do not steal.'

He pauses as he goes to pivot on his heel. He lifts his chin and shifts as if he might look at you. He doesn't as he carries on to the door.

"You may refill your bottle once per shift," he pauses by the door, tapping the frame before he leaves you.

You stay stuck to the floor, wavering as you watch him go. He wasn't nice, but he didn't dismiss you either. You can stomach his disapproval if it means you still have work.

[goldenroutledge]

next to you

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x reader

word count ⤜ 1.1k

summary ⤜ mornings with your husband, rafe.

warning(s) ⤜ this work contains a MAJOR season three spoiler! but other than that just fluff? might be on the hurt/comfort side just a smidge

a/n ⤜ he looks so BOYFRIEND in this outfit! i’ve been having so much writer’s block i haven’t written in a year at least, but my babygirl mila @msgorillagripcoochie inspired me with this idea <3 this isn’t canon rafe btw literally none of my work is canon compliant

rafe cameron masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

Steam fogged the mirrors of the en-suite bathroom, slowly dissipating with the cooler air being let in from the bedroom. White towel hanging around his hips, Rafe sat at the edge of the bed you shared, staring down the vast space of the walk-in closet.

Fidgeting with the ring on his finger, nerves coursed through his body, and it was in times like these that he remembered the days of drinking scotch before 11am. But that was a thing of the past, he reminded himself just as quickly as the thought popped into his mind.

Today he was meeting with an old teacher from his alma mater, who grew to be one of his favorites. Probably his only favorite.

Rafe was never a scholar or anything, something Ward didn’t allow him to forget. He just learned differently, from someone like Sarah who could barely show up to school three times a week and still pass every exam.

It wasn’t until Rafe found himself with a 67% in his social studies class and less than a month left in the semester to turn his grade around that he was forced to attend office hours.

The first day was embarrassing. He felt like an idiot in the first place, seeing as his horrible grades pretty much spoke for themselves. But even more so now that he had to stay longer at school because he was an idiot.

Rafe stayed silent for the most part. Letting the professor do most of the talking, letting him know which assignments and topics he needed to perform well on to end the class with a passing grade.

It wasn’t until that Friday, his professor knocked some sense into him.

« “You know you’ll never learn anything if you don’t ask questions, right?”

Rafe rolled his eyes, tired of sitting prisoner in the chair of his teacher’s office. “What do you want me to ask?”

“Anything.”

“I don’t have questions.” He lied unconvincingly.

“Every time I teach you, Rafe, I can see the gears turning in your head. You’re a smart kid. But I can’t help you excel if you don’t engage. I get it, alright. I felt stupid asking a bunch of questions in front of everyone in school too but I need you to be receptive. Help me help you, Mr. Cameron.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Okay. We can start with assigning you a peer tutor.”

Rafe wanted to laugh. Or cry, he wasn’t sure. The whole thing was just ridiculous to him at this point.

“She’ll be someone you can talk with about the material, ask questions to, someone you can trust to help you get back on track. Are you familiar with Y/n Y/ln?” »

Little did he know, Mr. Murphy would be getting the boot by the school board. Something about budget cuts, as if the kook parents of the island didn’t give enough donations to the school to keep the water fountains at a perfectly cold temperature.

Not because their books were falling apart or because their desks were chipping. Because people are selfish, and the new headmistress of the academy felt like the money could be better spent remodeling her office. It was laughable, really.

Today, that professor was back on the island, and reached out to Rafe to meet with him following the news of Ward’s death. Not that he mentioned that specifically in his email, though it was mostly implied that he’d wanted to check up on Rafe after everything.

And with all the questions he’d probably be asked today during this lunch with his old mentor, all he could ponder over was what he was going to wear. Perhaps it was a method of procrastination, to get his mind off of everything else.

Rafe sighed. “Y/n?”

At hearing his voice echoing through the house, you slid your bookmark in between the pages and followed his voice upstairs into your shared bedroom.

“You called?”

“I need your help.”

Your eyebrows raised involuntarily at the sight before you; no matter how many times you’d seen Rafe almost naked (and actually naked), he never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Help getting dressed?”

He nods, confirming that you’re always good at reading his mind. “Dress me, please?”

You chuckled, pulling some articles of clothing from the hangers and drawers. It was just lunch, so it wasn’t like he needed anything too business-y. His striped blue and orange shirt had always been one of your favorites, though he seemed to look good in almost anything.

You threw a pair of boxers over to him, keeping your back turned as you still rummaged through the closet. No matter how irresistible he was, there wasn’t any time for funny business this morning.

“There’s no need to be nervous, y’know. Mr. Murphy has always liked you.”

How do you always know what he’s thinking, damnit. “Yeah. I guess.”

He pulled the striped shirt over his head while you found pants for him to wear.

“Just don’t want him to think I’m still the same loser I was back then.”

“You’ve never been a loser, Rafe.”

“Maybe not in your eyes.” His lips stretched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He put on the pants you picked for him, sitting back down to look up at you.

“Definitely not in my eyes.”

His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer so his head rested on your stomach. The tips of your fingernails lightly scratched the back of his neck as you embraced.

“Do you remember the science fair? Freshman year?”

Rafe hummed in response. “Ward thought it was stupid. I asked him to come and he didn’t. Said he would be too embarrassed when I lost.”

“And then what happened? You won the whole damn thing.”

“I won the whole damn thing.” He smiled against your skin, repeating your words softly.

“You’ve never been a loser.”

Kneeling down, you placed your hands on his thighs, and gave him a sweet kiss.

“You’ve already accomplished so much.” You affirmed, reminding him of the businesses he had taken over since Ward died. Still, Rafe was unsure if he could rise to the occasion.

You took the ends of his jeans and cuffed them, knowing he’s terrible at doing it himself. They always come out uneven. And conveniently enough, he likes spending these quiet moments together. Neither of you would trade them for anything.

“I married you.” He cooed, taking your left hand in his and letting his thumb glide across the ring on your finger. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

“That it was.” You cheesed, letting him pull you up to straddle him. “Next time you think you’re not accomplished, Rafey…” You peppered soft kisses to his jawline. “Remember that you’ve got me.”

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @babeyglo @reawritesthings @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneylaneylaney @jjpouggues @pogueslandia @mildkleptomaniac @whcclxr @mrs-cameron @it-was-never-meant-to-be-boys @alanniys @amourology @luversgirl + rafe cameron taglist: @bradleybeachbabe @chrisevansfuturewife @drewstarkeysbitchh @littlementalpolaroids @destourtereaux @kookkyra @iammirrorball

it’s been a while since i’ve posted writing so if anyone wants to be removed from/added to the taglist please don’t hesitate to let me know! 💌

[samaraannhan20]

Spencer Reid Imagine: You Have an Audience

A/N: I tried to make this timeline accurate, but after a while I realized it wasn’t and I didn’t want to change it, so just know that this does not necessarily fit the timeline of the show. In my head I was envisioning season 8 Spencer. 

“Hey hun?” I call out from the bathroom where I am standing in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Spencer is right out the door in the bedroom, and I hear him close his book and get up to come walk to where I am. When he reaches the doorway he stops.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“I don’t have work on Friday. I could bring you lunch that day,” I tell him, turning to him as I put moisturizer on.  

“You want to risk your dad finding out if you come in?” he asks, with concern written on his face.

“I swear he said something about not being at work the other day,” I say, pausing and grabbing my tooth brush while thinking back on my conversations with my dad the last few days. He kisses the top of my head and then goes back to the bed to lay down and read his book. As I stand there scrubbing my teeth I realize what he had said. 

“Mhe faid bhe las la pate hat ay!” I exclaim, rushing into the bedroom with my toothbrush hanging from my mouth. Spencer drops his book and laughs as he looks at me standing there looking like a madman. 

“What?” he asks when he stops laughing. I hold my finger up and walk into the bathroom, rinse my mouth out, shut off the light, and go lay down in the bed. I curl up next to Spencer before repeating my sentence. 

“He said he has a date with Krystall that day at lunch, so he shouldn’t be in the office when I bring you lunch. But I can call Penny tomorrow to double check,” I say, before closing his book and taking it from him, tossing it onto my night stand. “Let’s go to bed though. I have a full day tomorrow, after having parent-teacher conferences at the beginning of the week.”

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

I shove a bite of leftovers in my mouth as I pick up the phone and call Penny

“Hey Pen!” I say as Penny picks up the call. 

“Hey little Rossi! What’s up?” 

“Do you know if my dad is going to be at the BAU during lunch tomorrow? I was wanting to bring Spence lunch because I don’t have school, but I want to make sure my dad won’t be there.”

“Y/N! You guys still haven’t told him?” she questions. 

“No. We decided the other day that we were going to tell him after our six months next week. We never doubted that we would stay together, but we wanted to be able to show it was serious before we told him. Because if we had just gotten together when we told him… well,.”

“He’d lose his cool and make you break up. Right,” she replies with a small chuckle. 

“Yeah. So, he told me he would be on a date at lunch tomorrow, but before I commit to bringing Spence lunch I want to make sure he will actually be gone. And not only do you know everything, but I know he has to fill out a thing saying he’s going to be out. Which I still think is weird since it’s just lunch, but I guess it makes sense if there’s a chance he won’t be back before his lunch break is over.”

“Y/N you just rambled so hard. Let me look real quick sweet pea,” she says, and I hear her start typing away. “Yep,” she says after a second. “Looks like he will be gone for lunch tomorrow. You should be good to go.”

“Awesome, thanks Pen! Do you want a dessert or anything when I come in?” 

“You know I do. Just bring me something from wherever you wind up getting takeout. I’m not picky about my desserts,” she says with a small laugh. 

“Great. Thanks again Penny! I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay! I’ll send an email downstairs warning them that you are coming. Bye!” she responds, and I say thanks and bye and then hang up the phone. 

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“I overheard your dad asking Penny why you were coming in at lunch tomorrow,” Spencer says to me as we sit at my kitchen table eating dinner later that night. 

“Oh crap,” I say around my bite of crab rangoon. “What did she say?” I respond after finishing chewing. 

“She said you were bringing her lunch and hanging out for a bit. At which point he told her to keep you there until he got back from lunch with Krystall because he hasn’t seen you in a few weeks,” he says, shooting me a look that says more than his words did.

“I know. It is bad for me to not see him for so long, but I knew that if I saw him in person he would ask me why I seem so happy and I would immediately spill about our entire relationship because I have no backbone,” I tell him, standing up and taking my half full plate over to the counter and grabbing the saran wrap , wrapping my leftovers up. 

“You’re done already?” he asks from where I left him at the table, and I don’t say anything, just nodding and then walking over to the couch and sitting down, grabbing my kindle and turning it on. I sit there silently, not even reading, just staring off into space with tears slowly falling down my face. 

I hear Spencer stand up and push his chair in a few minutes later, and then I hear him walk over to me. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head. He walks around the couch, setting something down on the side table before lifting my feet up and resting them on his lap as he sits down. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking my kindle out of my hands and setting it next to whatever he had placed on the table, and then pulling me even closer to him by my legs. 

“I feel so guilty for keeping so many secrets from him. I mean he didn’t even really know my half sister, and yet they’ve formed a relationship like ours is. Or I guess used to be. When I was a kid and my mom decided she didn’t want me around anymore and sent me to live with him we built such a great relationship. And throughout high school it stayed great. And then I moved out for college and we spent less time together, and he got back together with Krystall, and I had moments where I felt her daughter and Joy were replacing me. 

“Which I told him about and we fixed it and things were great again. I graduated, got a teaching job nearby, and we were great. I would spend so many nights having dinner with him, or with him and Krystall. I would go with him to visit Joy. He knew everything there was to know about me, I told him everything,” I say, wiping a tear off my face as I finish my speech. 

“And then you got together with me,” Spencer says quietly. I nod, allowing another tear to fall down my face, wiping it off and then I reach out and grab Spencer’s hand.

“I don’t want you to think I regret you. Because that is the last thing I am thinking or feeling. However, I am having extended amounts of anxiety about him finding out before we tell him. I don’t think that he won’t approve, because he knows how amazing you are, you’ve been friends for so long. He sees you as a son already, and not just because you’re with his kid and probably going to be family one day,” I say, the last sentence slipping out of my mouth so easily. I knew the comment wouldn’t bother Spencer, because even though we have only been together for a little less than six months we have had the conversation already, and we both feel that we are it for each other. “But the reality we have to think about is the fact that we do have a sizable age difference, which he is not going to just let go. And he’s not going to be happy we kept it a secret for three months. And he probably won’t be happy about…” and before I can finish the last sentence Spencer cuts me off. 

“Okay listen. First of all, in the long run, I’m only eight years older than you. Which isn’t bad. It just seems longer because I graduated from everything so early. And because when we met I was working with your dad and you were still in college. Yes, I’m 32 to your 24, but you have more dating experience than I do, because you went to college in your late teens and early twenties, not when you were 12. And as for the keeping it a secret for three months, I think over time he will understand why we did that. I mean he kept getting back together with Krystall from you for a good amount of time. How long was it again?”

“Like almost a year,” I say with a small laugh. 

“Exactly my point. He’ll get over it,” he says, and takes my hand, pressing a small kiss to the top of it. “Now, if you’re done freaking out, I brought your food over for you. I know you weren’t actually done, that you were just anxious,” he says, reaching over to the side table, grabbing the plate and handing it to me. As I take the plate from him I lean forward pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“I love you. And I appreciate you so much. I wouldn’t want anyone else to know me so well,” I tell him, before pulling away and immediately popping a bite of food into my mouth.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“Y/N, I didn’t realize you were coming in for lunch today,” Aaron says as I carry the to-go bag full of food over to the kitchenette in the BAU. 

“Yeah, I had the day off,” I say with a small smile as I put things down. 

“Well, I’m assuming it’s for Penny, since your dad is out for lunch with Krystall today,” he says with a knowing smile on his face. 

“Oh man. You know everything don’t you,” I say with a groan, sitting down at the table in the small kitchen area. 

“Yeah. Turns out I am pretty good at my job,” he responds with a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your dad anything until you and Spencer decide to. Also, I know my opinion isn’t really the one that matters, but I think you and Spencer are a good match,” he says, patting my shoulder before walking away. I put my face in my hands and groan, before getting up and walking over to Spencer’s desk. I sit down in his chair and spin around in it, glancing around the rest of the room. Before too long I hear voices begin to drift into the room. 

“Wow it smells good in here,” I hear Derek say as he walks in the room. He spots me before Spencer does, and I watch as a mischievous smile comes over his face. “Hey baby, come to bring me lunch?” he says, walking over to me and picking me up from Spencer’s chair, spinning me around before setting me on the floor and placing a loud kiss on my cheek. 

“In your dreams Morgan,” I say with a laugh, walking around him to Spencer. I fling myself at him as soon as I get close enough. “Hey babe,” I say, stretching my face up to his for a quick kiss. He mumbles a hello, and I unwrap myself from him and take his hand, dragging him over to the table. “I got Italian. I was craving some chicken alfredo,” I tell him as I sit down next to him and start pulling the food out of the bag. He chuckles and helps me unload the bag, before sitting down next to me. 

We sit and eat our food together, making small talk, and talking to his coworkers everytime they come up to the table we’re sitting at. 

“Hey teacher lady,” Penny says to me as she sits down next to me with her lunch in her hands. 

“Hey Pen,” I say, leaning over and giving her a hug. “So you told my dad I was bringing you lunch?” I ask with a small smile.

“It seemed like the best answer. Unless you wanted me to out your relationship,” she says with a shrug and a sly smile. 

“Thanks Pen. Always thinking on the fly.” She shrugs again and digs into her lunch. I hand her the dessert I got her and she thanks me with a small smile.  “Did he tell you when he would be back?” I ask her after a minute or two of the three of us eating in silence. 

“No. Sometimes it's a longer lunch and sometimes it’s shorter. Depends on when Krystall has plans next.” I nod in understanding, and then turn my attention to Spencer. 

“Do we have plans for dinner tonight?” 

“Not any specific ones. It’s Friday though so I thought I could order some type of take-out for us and we could watch a movie,” he says and I nod.

“Ooh can we rent that new rom-com? I know they aren’t your favorite but I’m in the mood for one. We can watch that and then a foreign film for you,” I say, hoping the foreign film will get him to say yes. 

“We don’t also have to watch a foreign film,” he says with a small laugh and shake of his head. “We can watch that new movie. I don’t have a problem with it,” he says, leaning over and kissing the top of my head. I look up at him and smile, before pulling him closer and placing a kiss on his lips.

“Aww, you guys sicken me,” Penny says in a baby voice, and I laugh, flipping her the bird and then kissing Spencer again. “Um, Y/N,” she says when I pull away from Spencer again, and I turn and look at her, not even registering the nervousness on her face.  

“What Penny?” I ask with a small smile on my face, my smile growing bigger when Spencer pulls my chair closer to his and wraps his arm around me. “You have an audience,” she says in a whisper, pointing behind us. I sit up straight and glance at Spencer, grabbing his hand in mine, before hearing the tell-tale clearing of my father’s throat. 

“I am not turning around,” I whisper, my hands starting to shake as I realize who exactly is standing in the doorway of the BAU. “He can’t do anything if I don’t even turn and look at him,” I say even quieter than before. Spencer squeezes my hand, looking down at his food, and Penny’s eyes keep darting from him to me and then back again, with a dart of her eyes to my dad every few seconds. We sit there in awkward silence, me refusing to move, for what feels like a century. 

“There’s no case today, and my paperwork is all done. We could do this stand off all day long,” I hear from my father after probably a minute has passed. “Or, you could stand up and walk with me to my office.” I flinch, looking over at Spencer, and then at Penny. Penny scrambles to gather her food, and walks with her head down past my father, mumbling a small good luck to me as she leaves. Spencer squeezes my hand, and I nod my head in defeat, standing up. Spencer stands up with me, pulling me into a hug.

“Nothing he says matters,” he whispers to me as we hug. “I love you and you love me and that is what matters. Nothing else,” he says, and then places a kiss on the top of my head and lets me go. I nod again, and then turn my body and stiffly begin to walk to my father’s office. I hear him begin to follow me, but not before I hear what he says to Spencer.

“You’re next. My office in twenty minutes,” he says, and I can’t even bring myself to look over my shoulder at Spencer, instead choosing to continue walking to my father’s office. 

As I enter my father’s office I immediately sink into the couch he has sitting on one wall, covering my face with my hands. It isn’t long before he walks in, and I hear him turn one of the chairs sitting at his desk to look at me. He sits down silently, not saying a word for at least two minutes. After what feels like a century of sitting in silence, he finally speaks up. 

“I’m not mad. I know you think I am, but I’m not,” he says, and I let my hands drop from my face, looking at him. 

“What?” I ask, shock evident in my voice. 

“I mean I was mad a month ago when I figured it out, but I’m not mad anymore,” he says, a small smile coming across his face. 

“A month?” I whisper, confusion written across my face as I try to figure out how he knew a month ago.

“You aren’t as sneaky as you think. A little over a month ago I drove over to your apartment because it had been awhile since we spent any time together, so I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner together. When I pulled up to your building, I saw Spencer’s car outside. At first I thought it was a coincidence, that maybe he was seeing someone else in your building, so I parked and headed in. Your doorman let me in because he knew I was your dad,” he said, and I immediately remembered which night he was talking about, because Mark had told me he had sent my dad up, but because I never heard him knock I chalked it up to Mark getting mixed up over which tenant’s dad went up.

“So I went up to your apartment. When I got there, I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me. I stood in the hallway and waited, but I could hear you talking to someone. Being the profiler that I am, I leaned on your door and listened to the voices, trying to make sure you weren’t in trouble, because you hadn’t told me you were dating any one person, or even that you were going on dates. And then I heard him,” he says, and I immediately remember what he had heard. 

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Flashback:

“What are you going to tell your dad when you’re out of town next weekend?” Spencer asked me as I stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables. I pause my cutting, thinking I heard a knock at the door, but then determine it was just my knife hitting the cutting board and start up again.  

“That I’m going on a trip with a few of my fellow teachers at work. But I also will only have to tell him if you guys don’t get called on a case. If you do it won’t matter because I won’t be going anywhere,” I tell him with a shrug. 

“I mean you could still go,” Spencer says, and I stop what I’m doing to turn and look at him. 

“For one, I’m not going on a couples trip to a spa without you. And for two, you’re a profiler. You should know how dangerous it is for women to travel on their own,” I tell him, crossing over to him. 

“I know, but I still think you deserve a weekend away. I know the stress of not telling your dad has been weighing on you. You need a weekend at a spa.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be fun without the man I love,” I say, and stretch up to place a kiss on his lips. 

“I love you,” he says in response, and then pulls me in again. When we pull away again he smirks at me. “How hungry are you?” he asks, and I laugh and take his hand, dragging him into my bedroom. Neither of us noticed the shadow of feet under the door as we walked by it. 

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“You heard us talking about the spa trip,” I whisper looking at the ceiling as I calculate just how much he may have heard. 

“Yeah. I finally decided it was time to stop eavesdropping when I heard you walk towards your room. I went down to the lobby, waved bye to your doorman, and left. I was pretty angry so I didn’t text you or call you to let you know I had been by. I went home, and told Krystall everything that I had heard. I wanted to get right back in my car and go over to your apartment and yell at you, but she talked me out of it. She reminded me that you would tell me when you were ready. I expected it to be within the next week, but then you still didn’t, and before I knew it it was past the time where it would be acceptable for me to bring up the fact that I knew. So I decided to wait until you were ready to let me know,” he says, and the way he sits back after he finishes shows me that he’s done. 

“We were going to tell you next week. Next week is our six month anniversary, and we were waiting to tell you until after that,” I say, looking at him to see his reaction to knowing just how long we had been hiding this from him. He doesn’t show much of one, so I continue. “I wanted to be able to prove that we were serious about each other before I told you. I knew you would wind up thinking it was just a fling and it would change your work relationship with him if you knew before it had been a while.” 

“Honey, from the moment I realized something had changed about you, I knew whatever it was was either a forever kind of thing or something that was going to put you in the hospital if it ended. I never would have thought it was just a fling between the two of you,” he says, standing up and coming to sit next to me on the couch. I scoot over and wrap my arms around him. 

“I just didn’t want you to be disappointed,” I tell him, tears welling up in my eyes as he wraps his arms around me. 

“I never would be,” he whispers, placing a kiss on my forehead.  We sit together in silence for a few minutes, before a knock comes from the door, and the door pushes open less than ten seconds later. 

“Sir, I love your daughter,” Spencer says as he steps foot in the room and closes the door behind him, not looking at the two of us as he does so. I laugh a watery laugh, and my dad kisses me on the forehead once more before pulling back and standing up. 

“I know you do,” he says as he walks over to where Spencer is standing. Spencer looks at him confused, and then looks at me and sees the tears falling down my face. He moves to walk over to me, but I hold my hand up and motion towards my dad. 

“Rossi, I don’t know what she has told you so far, but I want you to know that I love her more than anything, and I plan to one day marry her,” Spencer says, looking at my dad. My dad chuckles at Spencer and holds out his hand.

“Welcome to the family then Reid.”

[billthedrake]

Note: This is a hypnosis story co-written with @josmith1718

THE PROTOCAL (CHAPTER THREE)

I woke up the next day to find the bed empty again. I don’t know what it was, but I usually woke up early with Dad and we both had breakfast before heading to our jobs. This weekend, it seemed as though I was catching up on the sleep I had not been having because of the increased workload from the promotion. I was also sleeping like a baby because of dad’s increased libido and his breakthrough, finally let me go there... have a taste of that beautiful furry ass. I was already sporting morning wood, feeling like a teenager again when I realized I should get up and see what was on today’s docket.

I roused up and slipped on some shorts and a T-shirt. The dildo was there on the nightstand but cleaned and standing up, like Dad had set it ready for future use.

I padded down the hall and saw the door to my office was closed. I realized Dad must have been doing another session with the Company when I heard him talking with the Tech Bro. I didn’t know he’d scheduled anything, but I figured he’d fill me in later. Meanwhile I went to fix some coffee for us, hopefully he would not be in there too long.

I checked my phone and saw the email from the Company:

"Hello Kyle,

I hope the Protocol is going well for you! Just checking in to see if everything has been going well with you and Brian. Let me know if you’d like to have a virtual follow up. We like to make sure our customers are finding success in their lives after using our service.

The Company"

They were definitely getting a five-star rating!

Dad finally came out, a relaxed smile on his face.

"Morning son," he greeted me. I was surprised he had done his consultation shirtless, but it was the weekend, no need to be so formal.

"Hey Dad. You talked to the Company?" I asked as I got our mugs out and ready for the coffee. He looked at me, smiling before nodding, "Yep. It was a debriefing consultation to make sure everything was going well."

I leaned on the counter, eyes heavy on him, smiling, "And...?"

A part of me was still worried Dad might think it was not working or it was a hoax. Every time I put him under, I always ensured he was unaware that he went under, so how could he even know if he was actually being hypnotized?

He grinned. "And... I’m getting some incredible sex. Having you eat me out was incredible. I guess I had too many hang ups to realize how good it could be. Not sure if it’s like the placebo effect because I haven’t done anything except for listening to those audio files. A month ago, I would not have let you near my backdoor and last night you ate me out and shoved a dildo in me and it wasn’t bad. I actually enjoyed it.” He grinned, blushing a bit. He was adorable.

"It was amazing for me, too, Dad."

Dad had a knowing smirk as he walked towards me. He gave me a kiss and then lowered his shorts and turned around, bracing himself on the island.

"I, um, cleaned myself out again, son... you think you could rim me?” He blushed.

My first thought was uh oh, I created a horny monster. My second thought was fuck it, Dad’s ass is meaty as hell, and I wanted nothing more than to bury my face in there and munch away.

I crouched down and grabbed those meaty cheeks, slapping them a bit. Dad let out a small grunt.

“You have such an amazing ass, dad. Beautiful, muscled, hairy... a real man’s ass.” It was like tawdry newlywed sex, fucking around with Dad in every room of the house.

The man reached back and parted his buns. Dad’s trench was hairy and I loved that Irish Spring smell and the way his hairs there were almost fluffy soft. I licked the crevice. Dad liked that, but he LOVED it when my tongue made contact with his pucker.

"Oh God, son. Rim me, buddy.... Aw yeah, just like that."

Like the night before, he hiked his ass back and rode my face. But unlike the night before I had a good position to grip his ass to hold him steady when I wanted to power drill that hole with my tongue.

I probably alternated my rim approach and ate him out for ten solid minutes before I pulled back. I pressed a finger against his ring and watched it sink in. Deeper than that dildo last night. I wondered if Dad played with that toy while I was asleep, practicing as I slept next to him, unaware that my old man was fucking himself in preparation for my cock. Fuck, that turned me on, and I tried inserting two fingers with some extra spit. It was too much but Dad loved the combo of one finger inside and one finger along the outside of the ring.

"Come on buddy, stand up," he finally said. Not angry or scared about my exploration of his ass. He sounded out of breath, "Your turn stud, let me take care of you."

I pulled back and did what he asked as I pulled down my shorts. I had a pretty good idea I was going to be getting serviced by Dad.

“I think you may be obsessed with my ass just like I’m with your cock, huh.”

He was such a great cocksucker, something I would never say aloud to him. I don’t think we were there yet, but the man gave the best head. He knew exactly what I liked, and my favorite was how he would be on his knees with his eyes on me, looking up at my reaction to gauge how fast or slow he should go.

Of course, Dad did not disappoint with his performance. The big beefy guy got on his haunches and just went to town on my dong. I still remember the first time he blew me and surprised me at how amazing it was to have my father’s lips and tongue and throat on my cock. It just got better with the longer he and I fooled around. Steady bobs as he gave the base of my shaft a slight twist with his hand. The man was a milking machine and every time he sucked me off, it made me feel like the only man in the world.

"Oh SHIT!" I cried when dad deepthroated me out of nowhere. I was already horned up and had my eyes closed with my hands on his shoulders, rubbing them as he did his thing. The deepthroating was unexpected and that tripped my wire and got me firing my morning load.

Dad gulped it down expertly and stayed with my cock in his mouth while I rode the orgasm, which went on longer than usual. I had to pat his hair, urging him to slow down and finally pull off. He had a big grin when he did.

"That going to last ya, buddy?" He asked as he got up, his cock obscenely stretching the fabric of his shorts.

"How long does it have to...?” I nervously asked. I was already thinking of an afternoon quickie. If my dad’s ex thought he had a crazy libido, I must’ve inherited it as well and then some. I was ready to jump him again as he scratched his pec and with his thumb cleaned a bit of cum on his chin before putting it in his mouth and sucking it off.

"At least till tonight," he laughed at my reaction watching him suck off his thumb with remnants of my cum. He gave me a pat on the shoulder, "Go ahead and shower up son. I’ll fix some breakfast."

“Don’t you want to come and shower with me instead?” I asked as I tried to grab his cock.

He laughed and slapped my hand away before he spun me around and held me in his arms, “We’ll run out of the hot water if I go in with you, bud.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and then slapped my ass, “Get in the shower, son, that’s a fatherly order.”

“Yes sir.” I did a half ass salute and left.

****

Later that morning, I set up in my office and met the Tech Bro for a consultation. Their customer service was exceptional. I replied to his email and within minutes, we had set up this meeting for the same day.

It was a great conversation. I was a little embarrassed to talk about all the sex stuff, but I figured that’s why we went with these guys. So, I told him about the progress with rimming and toy play.

Tech Bro gave me an "attaboy" smirk. "Glad to hear, Kyle. Is that what you wanted to get out of this?"

He knew there was more both sexually and otherwise, but I was hesitant to admit it.

"A lot of it, yeah," I replied, "I don’t wanna push D—uh, Brian to do something he doesn’t wanna do." I almost referred to him as Dad but had to stop myself.

"Like I mentioned before, Kyle, this just taps into Brian’s deeper desires, not run against them. Keep reminding yourself that if he doesn’t want to do something, he will not do them."

As he explained, I noticed Tech Bro was wearing a slim-cut navy suit without a tie. But my attention was drawn to his pocket square. I don’t know why I was so focused on that. Maybe because it looked old fashioned. Or something my CEO would wear or something. Or maybe it was just the pattern.

"Good," Tech Bro said. "You feel confident with the Protocol going forward." More of a statement rather than a question.

"Yeah," I responded confidently, "It took me a while to get the hang of it, but Brian seems really receptive and that helps."

Tech Bro smiled and nodded, "I’ve not met a more receptive subject in a long time Kyle."

I was strangely proud of that comment and a bit horny. I would definitely need Dad to help me out if he wasn’t tired or busy. I absentmindedly rubbed my crotch until we finished.

"Well, you guys are the best," I gushed.

He laughed, "Always glad to hear a customer is happy."

We wrapped up and signed off. I felt a little lazy that afternoon and though my cock was straining my shorts, my tiredness won out and I took a nap while Dad watched golf.

***

I hated Sunday evenings, since it meant the end of the week, but it had been an amazing, relaxing and unforgettable weekend with Dad. I sometimes worried if I’d ever get sick of this domestic life with my father. I smiled and decided no, I would never get sick of being with Dad. Only wish I could openly show him off as my husband rather than just my father...

I did the dishes after dinner, and he put them away. As he was finished with the last one, I dropped the trigger word. No need to have the theatrics of waiting it out or planning. After the conversation with the tech bro, I owned it, using the trigger that made dad into this beautiful zonked out hunk wherever we were.

"Power down."

Dad entered that relaxing state easily and readily.

Before, I’d been focused on specifics, but now, it was like a switch in mind shifted and now, I just wanted to get him under.

"You are in that white room, Brian." I said with confidence.

I was getting hard in my shorts as I stood a couple feet in front of him, matching his vacant stare with my own.

"Yes, it’s bright in here." He replied. It seemed like dad was beginning to be more confident in this state as well. He sounded as though he were awake and not under. I had to check and grabbed his hand, raising it and letting go. His arm fell and hit his side, but he did not register anything. My cock was beginning to hurt from straining my shorts.

"Yes it is... It is blindingly white. Soon, though, you are beginning to feel a faint breeze. Do you know where it is coming from?”

“No, I’m alone in here.”

“That’s not completely true, Brian. Kyle is always with you.” I grabbed his hand and he looked at me and smiled, “Kyle is here.”

“He is and he is going to be with you always, making sure you are safe and happy. Even now, you and Kyle realize that there is water coming into the room. It’s slowly filling the room until your feet are under the water.”

“Son, we have to leave. The water could rise.” I felt him tighten his grip and try to pull me in.

“As long as you are in the room with Kyle, nothing will happen to you, Brian.”

“But my son... I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“As long as you are with Kyle in the room, nothing will happen to him. Both of you are protecting each other. Why is that?”

“We love each other.”

I smiled and caressed his hand. He lightened his grip, and his thumb began to caress my hand.

“Now Brian, the water is up to your ankles, the water is a beautiful blue, it is relaxing to be in the cool water flowing beneath you."

"I’m feeling relaxed." Dad said.

"You are safe in this white room. With the cool water, Kyle and his voice."

Dad was smiling, “My beautiful son... a real stud.”

I was breathing hard, this was really hot, dad’s innermost thoughts verbally expressed and, in his mind, I was ‘beautiful’ and a ‘stud,’ "You are safe with him." I said in a raspy voice.

Dad nodded.

"When the time is right, Kyle will guide you." I reached out with my free hand and touched his arm. As soon as I had made him feel safe and he felt my touch again, I could see dad get fully erect. He was chubbing a bit when I held his hand, but he lost it when he went into protection mode. Now that we were ‘safe’ he began to get hard again, sporting an equally angry boner like mine.

"With his body and his voice, he will lead you through this water safely."

"My son is such a good boy.” His breathing was getting heavy now.

If dad kept whispering sweet nothings to me, I would cum hands free.

"On the count of three you will return to your kitchen, once again following all instructions and suggestions and being unaware that you were under.” I let go of him and kept my close proximity with him.

"One... the water is drawing away.... Two.... the white is darkening, the water receding fully now.... Wake up...Three."

He blinked and smirked, mistaking my proximity with wanting to initiate something.

"Someone horny?" He asked.

Maybe he wasn’t so mistaken. "A little," I admitted.

Dad grinned, “Duty calls.” Dad crouched down in front of me and fished out my cock. I placed my hands on his shoulders and let him take care of me.

***

The work week hit in the worst way. My promotion meant I had more responsibility at work, which was translating into longer hours. Dad had dinner ready for me when I got home, but I was tired and stressed. I even begged off one of his blowjobs one night. He was sad but bounced back by giving me a foot rub as we watched T.V. and then another massage before bed.

I did make sure to put Dad under a couple of times, to reinforce the Protocol. Maybe it wasn't quite the rush of a turn on to do so now, almost a routine. But I didn't want to lose our progress. The novelty was wearing off, but I can’t deny it was working wonders.

I noticed the dildo had moved a couple times during the week. I guessed Dad was using the dildo on his own for his “bottoming exercises,” and I made a mental note to ask him about it later. Now, each time I came home, I would play “Where’s Waldo” with the dildo see if the dildo had traveled between rooms while I was away.

By the time Friday rolled around, I was ready for a special date night. Dad was in a giddy mood too, his eyes almost twinkling in excitement when he asked if I had anything I wanted to do that evening.

"Why don't you get cleaned out, Dad?" I asked. "That is, if you can wait a little for dinner."

The man undid the buttons on his plaid shirt. Damn he had a hell of a lot of muscle, more defined than before. He had been hitting the gym with more frequency now. He wasn’t jacked but was getting some real definition. Honestly, I loved my dad’s body before, but if he was hitting the gym harder AFTER we initiated the Protocol, well, that’s a nice bonus I thought.

"You got it, buddy," he said. Chipper as hell. This from a man who wouldn't even let me touch his ass a month ago. "Any chance I could get a taste of ya first? You know, as a preview?"

I grinned and unzipped my suit. Friday was business casual, but I was still trying to dress for success in my new role. I sat on the couch and let Dad scarf down my dong, slobbering on it, and working my length, before he pulled off.

"You're gonna cum soon, aren't ya?"

"Probably, yeah."

Dad gave another quick suck then pulled off. "Let's hold that thought, buddy."

As Dad got up, he walked away but stopped and looked back before saying, “I love when you wear your suits, son. Turns me on like no other seeing my executive stud in his tailored suits.” I bit my lip and grabbed hold of the cushions and concentrated on my breathing. This man was about to make me cum. God, I was the one that needed to get in a quick cold shower if I was going to survive without cumming.

While he showered and cleaned himself out with the new douche, I went to the bedroom and stripped down. I hadn't gotten off the day before and was hard as a rock and dad’s comment and oral service didn’t help at all. It felt like I had taken several Viagra pills for lunch.

I reclined on the bed naked except for a tie around my neck that dad had given me. It was funny, I never gifted dad with ties or socks for Father’s Day, but he would give me ties almost always on special occasions. I didn’t mind, especially since I wear a tie daily at work. Thinking of the ties helped me take a breather and get my erection under control until I started thinking about dad in a different light. I thought of when I would put dad under and what new suggestions I’d plant in his mind.

Finally my old man strutted in. All of his hot, blue collar muscle and his graying hair made him look incredible. Coyly, he had a towel wrapped around his waist, but he took it off and tossed it on the back of a chair.

"All ready for ya, son," he said as he got up on the bed, “Damn, buddy, you are pushing my buttons tonight, alright.” Just him saying that made me leak some pre.

"Could I eat a proper meal from that ass, dad?" I asked in a whispered voice. I was trying really hard not to shoot prematurely but dad was so fucking hot in that moment. His eyes ate me up, his hand was hot on my skin, and his fresh smell was intoxicating.

He straddled my waist, facing away, before backing his body towards me, "I think you could, son. I washed really well, bud, squeaky clean just for my boy."

"Let me show you my appreciation for cleaning yourself out..." I said as I kissed his left ass cheek, then his right. Dad leaned over some and reached back to pull his own buns apart.

Dad's hole was beautiful. Tight, puckered ring, just the right amount of fine hair around it. I leaned up and started licking.

"Buddy..." He pressed back into my munching mouth. I couldn't believe my father had gotten so into being eaten out. I think I surprised myself too by how much I loved to rim him. I was eating him, finally something to get my mind off my own leaking erection. I was in fucking heaven in that moment, munching on dad’s beautiful hole.

But as I worked his sensitive hole fast and slow, deep and shallow, I wanted to try more. I pulled back and teased the rim with my finger. The spit lubed the way and I watched Dad's hole open up enough to swallow my digit to the knuckle. Still tight as fuck but accepting. I prodded the entrance more. What surprised me more was that dad didn’t object in the least, letting me finger him. I needed to kiss him, show him how much I loved him.

"I wanna kiss you, Dad," I hissed.

"Yeah," he grunted and as he pulled away and turned around, I saw he was not only very erect, he was dripping mad. Like father like son, both men leaking like faulty faucets. He repositioned his body and I met him halfway, our mouths crashing together for a deep, wet kiss.

"Love ya, buddy," he growled into my lips.

"Love you too Dad. So much."

We kind of wrestled on the bed. Dad was bigger and stronger but he let me take the top position, my younger body positioned above his. Once I was there, Dad's eyes widened and he let out a choked groan. And like that, I felt his legs wrap around my waist and his hands clutch at my arms.

This was the hypnosis kicking in, I guess. I gave a sexy smirk to him as I reached over for the lube. Then I wedged my hand beneath our bodies to find that magic spot beneath Dad's legs.

"Damn!" he hissed the second I touched his pucker.

"Feel good, Dad?" I asked. I probed deeper. My fingers were extra lubed and soon Dad's hole would be too.

He nodded, urgent and vulnerable. "You have no idea, buddy."

I slathered the rest of the lube onto my cock and scooted in place.

"You're big," he hissed as I smeared the greasy liquid around his entrance, stimulating him in the process.

His eyes rolled back as his head hit the pillow under him. "God..." He grunted euphorically.

It was an awakening, the point of no return, he was getting that promised ‘pleasure tenfold’ I suggested to him before. He was being bombarded by pleasure from everything; my touch, my weight on his, my cock entering him, his ‘secret spot’ in his ass, amplified by his need to make me happy and deliver me pleasure with his body. Everything was perfectly aligned for dad to have an unforgettable date night.

I took in his momentary, out of body experience at the chance to power my hips forward. And like that, my dick was pushing into the tightest most wonderful sleeve. Wet and hot. I was wedged about four inches inside my father's cherry. Me, his son, I was breaching his cherry for real.

"Fuck!" I growled, overcome by the feeling and the knowledge I was taking Dad's virginity.

The man's eyes opened up and looked at me in a silent plea. His hands were gripping my arms too tightly and his tree trunk legs were crushing my sides, but I didn’t care. I saw fear on his face. Not pain, not discomfort, but something more primally psychological. I was going to help him through it, even if I had to endure this moment of discomfort too.

"Listen to my voice, Dad," I urged. My dick held dead still inside his guts as I looked down on him. "You're making me feel good, Dad. Feeling really great, thanks to you... I want to continue... I need to fuck."

I started sawing in and out with gentle, micro thrusts.

"God, son," Dad grunted. He was feeling a range of intense feelings. My cock, his stretched hole, the novel sensations of having his guts opened up. His eyes focused more intently on me, trying to follow the hypnotic suggestions that had been planted.

"This feels right, Brian," I grunted. This was the first time I'd called Dad by his first name outside of the hypnosis sessions. I was thrusting in and out of Dad now. Getting deeper. The man was still tight as fuck. I was getting a hell of a first ride. "Tell me this feels right."

Dad's voice was soft and deep. "It feels right, Kyle."

I fucked him faster, deeper. "I'm gonna try to hit your spot, Brian.... you gonna let your son all the way in?"

"I want you to, Kyle," Dad said. Eyes still trained laser focused on my face, his attention still craving my voice.

I slowed the in and out motion and jabbed at that deepest cherry spot with shallow thrusts. "Right there, Brian... Dad... feel it?"

He tried to keep his eyes on me, but his body was going into overdrive. He was sweating a lot. His legs were still pressing me tightly but with the sensation of my cock in his ass, I didn’t care. Dad soon screamed, "YES!"

His fingers tightened even more around my biceps, it actually hurt how with powerful his grip was.

"Oh, Kyle... son!"

"Feel it, Dad," I urged. I graduated from shallow jabs to full deep strokes into Dad. Giving him the full fuck his first time out. His face turned red and his body grew rigid. And hands free, his cock fired off. Heavy jets of Dad's seed shot out, all over his body, reaching his cheek and forehead even, his cum was that strong.

I couldn't hold off either. I was orgasming the hottest orgasm of my life. The load flooding Dad's no longer virgin guts matched the size of the one he was shooting. The whole time, his hand gripped me and his legs wrapped around my ass greedily.

We both broke into a smile as we came down from our mutually timed high. I didn't want to pull out yet, and Dad didn't want to unclench his legs just yet.

"That... buddy... was fucking amazing," Dad said.

"Dad... I didn't even dream it could be so good," I said.

We kissed and embraced. His legs and hands let up finally, letting our make out session be a comfortable experience for me. But, after a minute of this romantic kissing, we were both getting horned up again, wanting to experience what had just happened for a second or third time. We looked at one another and knew, we were going to fuck again.

[venacoeurva]

Commission of a more 🔞adult persuasion 🔞 are available again! Some very important rules before you IM me (ignore mentions of the slots being experimental, the rules were from my recent run of these testing the waters but still apply other than that) and the process:

Under the cut to save your dashes

Process:

Read the rules (below) and figure out what you would like if it's something I'll do (if shading, poses, overall scene, etc.). Also please acknowledge the price is something you can/are willing to pay.

IM me including an email you can use to discuss such content, if you're someone I recognize and am comfortable taking such a comm from you (unlikely chance I WON'T, but y'know) I'll email you. DO NOT INCLUDE THE ACTUAL COMMISSION DESCRIPTION/ANY IMAGES OF THAT NATURE HERE. Don't accidentally get yourself flagged.

I will give you a randomized codeword in the IM so I know who is who, especially if email and username don't match. Also, so I can verify it's not some rando who saw us interact/saw that you commed me before and is trying to sneak around. (in my and others' experiences, people do weird, cringeworthy desperate things to get these types of commissions, man...)

When I email you, respond with the following info: -The codeword and who you are on Tumblr -Paypal email to invoice - What you would like drawn as well as parameters (if cropped specifically, what type? If you want shading, if a comic then how many panels or pages, etc.) -Any visual references such as for OCs/Player characters or AU versions of characters. I will not draw characters that only have a written description unless I have done a commission with that for you before and I know you do written descriptions very well and are responsive wrt changes.

We continue from there. If I accept your commission, I will then invoice you and once paid and started, send you a sketch to be approved, and finish it once that sketch is approved. Until you approve a sketch or give feedback asking for any changes necessary and then approve the modified sketch/want any more changes, it will be counted as inactive and will not be worked on further. A lack of response from the client when it's required to move forward for 3 months will result in your slot being forfeit, and if I have gotten past the sketch phase, you forfeit a refund as well; this doesn’t come into effect if I haven’t started your comm yet due to backlogs.

Some examples of the type of lineart texture and how I do the black lineart shading in my style, including an actual comm I COULD censor enough. I can also add the weathered and halftone effects, just ask for it!

[adonis-koo]

sweet nothing • 3

(in which he's coddled for coming home late and wet)

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word Count: 3k

Previous | Next

Note: yet another chapter not proof read but honestly ?? I like to think it gives it character

Rain poured against the window seal in a never ending drip, thunder roaring out once more causing you to jump in your spot, clenching your book harder than before.

You always had anxiety when it came to loud noises, let alone monstrous storms that blew through, you had been a good distance away from the windows in the parlor, snuggled up against the couch, one hand on your tummy and the other resting on top of it with a book.

Cautiously you peered out the windows into the darkness of the night before back to the grandfather clock against the wall, it was almost eleven.

“Will he be okay?” You couldn’t help but ask, turning to Yeonjun who had been typing away on his laptop, sat at an oak desk off in the corner.

His fingers paused as his feline gaze drew up at you, a small smile tugging on his lips, “It’s not uncommon for Jungkook to stay out late, he out doing business so he won’t get in until three the earliest.”

Business.

That’s all you could get out of anyone, anytime you tried to pry just about every guard was mums the word, you knew Jungkook dealt in narcotics due to your brother being one of his lower level dealers.

But you knew Jungkook had to be involved in more than that, there was no way someone as rich and prestigious as him only involved in one branch of the underworld. You supposed it didn’t matter, but the idea of him being out in this weather was still making you anxious.

You didn’t see him yesterday either, he was also out doing business and you had ended up falling asleep before he got back, you didn’t see him at breakfast either, as he had apparently already gotten up and with on his way to an emergency company meeting at his exports firm.

There was no way this was healthy for him to be running so ragged, not only this but it was cold outside too! He could catch a cold if he wasn’t careful.

“I doubt this will make a difference but…” Yeonjun trailed off for a moment before he spoke, “Jungkook said to not wait up for him today.”

You crossed your arms at this, “I haven’t seen him in nearly two days. Will he be here in the morning?”

Yeonjun didn’t reply immediately which made you huff.

He sighed, “He’s a busy man, I’m sure you’ll see him soon,” Yeonjun frowned, “He may be soft on you but he isn’t on me, I’ll never hear the end of it if you stop sleeping because of him.”

“Then maybe that will motivate him to not work so hard.” You pouted, “Yeonjun, are you not able to assist him at all in these…affairs…” You hesitated uncertain of how to word it, you knew Yeonjun was an underling but you didn’t know much more than that, other than he was the one in the driver's seat when you were shoved into the car when you were first abducted.

Yeonjun laughed, “Uh that’s exactly what I’m doing right now,” He glanced at his screen before huffing, “It’s not all action and illegal deals. I’ve written like seven emails impersonating him today. When it comes to broader scaled stuff Jungkook usually prefers to handle it himself, makes it less stressful on everyone that way.”

You perked up at this, “So…he’s doing something that's a pretty big deal then?”

Yeonjun nodded but glance away, you could sense his hesitation to elaborate on it, “Yeah, like I said, Jungkook is very hands on, which is nice because once a lot of mobsters hits this point they usually just have an established hierarchy to handle just about everything.”

You leaned back against the couch with a frown, “But he’s hardly slept at all the last week, surely he could have somebody else to help him as well.”

Yeonjun snorted, “It could be worse, he’s got Yoongi to split his duties with, it’s just a big role to fill…” He paused as if realizing what he just said.

“Who’s Yoongi?” You tilted your head.

Yeonjun animatedly shook his head, “I’ve said way too much.”

“Yeonjun!” You pouted, “Why am I not allowed to know anything? I feel like I should at least have the right to know what my brother did!”

He only shook his head once more, “That’s a call for Jungkook to make, I’m not looking to have my frontal lobe painted against the fireplace.”

“Jungkook wouldn’t-”

“Oh he would,” Yeonjun cut you off, playful at first before his face grew more serious, “I have a lot of respect for Jungkook, but I’m not stupid enough to buy into a bond that we don’t have. All it takes is one big fuck up to be dead in this game, i’m not an exception.”

Something about his words made a pit form in your stomach as you pulled your blanket back over your lap, “Why chose this lifestyle then…?”

You didn’t understand.

“Cause’ my dad’s a piece of shit that drowned my family in debt before dying,” Yeonjun went back to typing on his laptop as he continued, “He left us to deal with all of that because he was a selfish cunt, I have three little brothers and my mom is hospitalized so there wasn’t much else to do. I started out street dealing and hijacking narcs from other vendors- horrible idea by the way, anyways they just so happened to be Jungkook’s supply, once he caught wind of it they caught me almost instantly.”

“How did you live?” You cocked your head to the side, engrossed once more.

“Jungkook was impressed that I managed to steal from their supply and make twice the amount they were on their own goods. He basically told me I could either work for him or I could get fucked. Not much of a choice there.” Yeonjun shrugged, “It’s been about three years now and I’ve worked my way up to this position. Like I said, I have a lot of respect for him and I’ll forever be grateful, he’s the one forking out my mom’s hospital bills, but I know better than to cross those lines.”

“Seems like he has a big heart for such a short temper.” You commented, you had only gotten a taste of his temper but it was becoming apparent that the Jungkook you knew before you had been kidnapped was an entirely different person.

It made you wonder just what side of him was real.

“There has to be a balance for everything.” Yeonjun shrugged.

The rain continued to pound against the windows as you yawned, a peaceful silence taking over once more aside from the rain and clicking of a keyboard. You resumed your book though after an hour your eyes finally won out their sleepiness.

Laying your head against the pillow you dozed off.

The next time you awoke it due to a roar of thunder, jumping up before the lights flickered, you briefly glanced at the clock seeing it was almost four in the morning before the room went dark.

“Goddammit,” Yeonjun complained from his desk, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you Y/n.”

“I woke from the thunder.” You glanced in his direction as he turned on his phone light, sighing as he stood up with a stretch, “I need to go tell the guards to turn on the generator, i’ll be back in a moment.”

He excused himself before quietly exiting out of the room as you wrapped yourself in a blanket once more, glancing around in uncertainty, the door opened once more as Yeonjun walked back in.

“Alright, the generator should be on in a half an hour, let's go ahead and make use of the fireplace.” He set up his phone light as he got to work on putting kindle into the fireplace.

The door opened once more with a loud thud of boots on the ground causing you to jump as you turned around to the door, looking over the couch.

Soaking wet hair and a familiar, tired face appearing, “Generator has some fried wiring, go down and help them, I can take it from here.”

Yeonjun nodded, “Welcome back Sir.”

“You’re soaked…” Your lips quivered into a frown as Yeonjun exited the room and Jungkook took his place kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“Yeah,” Jungkook sighed, “And you should be in bed.”

He said it with such disdain, a look on his face equivalent to that of scolding a child it made your lips twist into a pout.

“I haven’t seen you in nearly two days,” You replied, straightening yourself upright as you stared into his back, watching the water droplets patter against the floor as he fiddled with a few thin pieces of bark, “You can’t begrudge me that.”

“That I can’t,” He agreed, “But you can’t tell me that’s a comfortable spot to fall asleep, your back is already in pain as it is.”

“I was perfectly comfortable.” You retorted, “...Did you finish your deal…?”

You glanced away from him in uncertainty, it would soon be coming up on a month that you had been living in Jungkook’s estate, and while you had gotten to know Jungkook decently well, there was one thing you never dared bring up.

Anything that was relevant to his life in the underworld.

It just felt like something that shouldn’t be spoken about though Jungkook had never made any references to make you feel as such before.

Jungkook shrugged, “It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good, about as usual as it goes.” He lit a match before tossing it in, the tweed like wood immediately setting ablaze as he stood up, groaning at the sight of how wet he was.

You could hardly stand to watch it as you tutted, standing up as you grabbed the blanket that had been in your lap, “You’re going to catch a cold!”

Jungkook sighed in exasperation as the deep maroon blanket suddenly draped over his shoulders as you wrapped it around him as you spoke, “Don’t look at me like that, It’s not that cold when you’re dry, here, come here.”

Jungkook said nothing as he clacked his lips, letting your shorter figure shuffle him over to the couch as you grabbed the other blanket, a much bigger one that had been folded, laying on top of the upper cushion.

Pulling the second one over his shoulders, you paused at the sight, dripping wet hair covering his eyes making him look deathly serious, but it was difficult to take him serious when he was buried in two fuzzy blankets.

“Are you done yet?” He asked with a dry tone, “Or do you wanna swaddle me in a third layer?”

You didn’t mean to let out a snort of amusement, but it was hard not too at how drastic his face was from the situation, “Depends on whether you consider yourself warm yet.”

“I’ll be warm once the fire is going.” Jungkook replied, purposely not answering the question, partly because he would never admit he was freezing to you.

Bit also because it made a fuzzy feeling tingle all over his skin at being fussed over and coddled at, Jungkook couldn’t recall the last time someone had been so worried and attentive over him, it was difficult to not cease the moment.

“Okay, let me see if we have more blankets-” You were stopped short when he reached out, grabbing your wrist with a stern expression that made you giggle, “Fine, fine, have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t try when you end up with a cold.”

“I don’t get colds.” Jungkook replied, far too serious for a man buried in two blankets.

“Everyone gets cold.” You sat down next to him with a huff, putting a hand on your stomach as you stretched, your back admittedly aching though you’d rather die than admit he was right.

“I don’t.” Jungkook shrugged, “When you run two businesses you don’t have time to get sick.”

You frowned as you placed your lips, “I think that’s just called self-negligence.”

Jungkook rubbed his face tiredly, “Is this seriously what you’ve been missing the last two days?”

You only grinned sheepishly as you rubbed your arms, feeling the chilled air prick at your skin as the wood crackled and the rain continued to pour.

“Will you be busy tomorrow?” You asked, finally glancing towards him, he was close enough too you, leaned back against the couch and you took notice in how he seemed to curl up against his blankets, making a brief smile tug on your lips.

“Depends on what your follow up sentence will be,” Jungkook shrugged.

You shook your head, “No follow up sentence, I’m just curious…Does it have to do with Wonho…?”

Jungkook’s nose wrinkled in disdain, a familiar look, anytime you asked about Wonho you were usually met with the same sentence.

“I wish,” He huffed, looking somewhat frustrated, “I have eyes over half of Seoul and nothing, I mean he’s one man and it’s like all of a sudden he’s a ghost. Only people with powerful connections can make that happen.”

You frowned at his words and when he didn’t speak he continued, “I didn’t want to have to ask but, given we're coming up on a month of you staying here, I feel like it’s worth a shot; was Wonho dealing for anyone else?”

Your frown stayed as you thought back to the times you had come with Wonho to the club, partly because he wanted someone else around with him, it was always safer in pairs.

Slowly shook your head, “Not that I can recall…I mean he knew lots of people. But I wouldn’t consider him close enough to any of them to be willing to cover his tracks.”

Jungkook sighed, as if anticipating this as he slowly shook his head, “We squeezed that apartment clean of anything that might relate to where he’s at, we’ve already talked to his other partners, bought out his clients, I mean fuck, Yeonjun even nosed around at the Red Light to see if his whores knew anything.”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, pushing it from his eyes as he tiredly closed them while rubbing his face, “How do you catch a ghost?”

It was rhetorical question you wished you had the answer for, your brother was a lot of things, but one of the traits he had since a child was his cunning ability to mislead people, it was harmless as a child.

He used to always convince the street vendor to give you an extra rice cake or when the school bullies would stop him on your walks home, he’d somehow convince them to go bother someone else.

Wonho had a silver tongue, he never used his fists for confrontations.

Memories of your shared childhood made a certain type of sadness flood you, Jungkook may known the Wonho now, who would easily sell you off if it meant a free case of fentanyl, but you still vividly remembered the Wonho who gave you piggyback rides when you were sad, when he would make you ramen for dinner and give you his portion because you were still hungry.

Wonho wasn’t always such a greedy person.

There was a time when he easily sacrificed himself if it meant keeping you safe and happy, you just weren’t sure where things went wrong and he would now turn and do the very opposite if it meant his self preservation continued on.

Your hands rubbed your arms for warmeth as you stared into the fire with a tired yawn, Jungkook had noticed your quiet figure before he let out a small sigh, uncurling once side of his outer blanket, the great big one.

Your body was suddenly engulfed by the blanket, now sharing it with Jungkook as you glanced at him.

“There’s no reason I should have this all to myself,” He huffed, “We could probably fit Yeonjun in here too if we wanted.”

You raised your brows, “Should I go get him?”

“No.”

“But-”

“Y/n, just because I said we could doesn’t mean I want to,” Jungkook replied flatly, “What part of my face says I want him in this room?”

You pouted, “Has anyone ever told you how grumpy you are late at night?”

Jungkook scoffed as he rolled his eyes, leaning back, now slumping against the cushion,

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“What?”

“I’m always grumpy.”

You only smiled at this as you shook your head, yawning once more as your eyes tiredly began to close. For once you didn’t mind the thunder rumbling loud or the rain that somehow began to pound even harder against the glass windows, a comforting crackle of the fire.

Your head eventually slumped down, finding the nice soft fuzzy blanket on above Jungkook’s shoulder, he had yawned out as well, trying to not overthink about the deal today. He glanced down at you and then the blanket as he shook his head.

The door opening to Yeonjun having good news about the generation, “We still have to hot wire a few things but it should be up and running…” He paused as his eyes landed on Jungkook.

“Not a word,” Jungkook’s expression looked deathly, “A single fuckin’ word Yeonjun. Forget about the generator.”

“What?” Yeonjun’s eyebrows shot up, “But don’t you want hot water?”

“Did you not just fuckin’ hear me?” Jungkook’s brows pinched together, “Leave the lights off, fix it in the morning, go do whatever you want I don’t care. Just put another piece on the fire before you go.”

Yeonjun huffed, glancing between his boss because his eyes dropped on you, leaning against himself, asleep once more. Yeonjun shook his head before he threw up his hands, going to the fireplace as he tossed a few more thicker pieces on as he glanced over his shoulder.

Jungkook’s eyes had closed, his head laying on top of yours and as you both shared a blanket. Yeonjun let a brief smile tug on his face, if he didn’t know any better he’d assume his boss was wanting to milk this moment with you, but then again, what did he know, right?

Taglist as per requested:

@btseverafter7 @scuzmunkie @zae007live @cynicalbitch666 @somehowukook @bartisedrew @princess-sunshyn @jung-shook-iieee @chickpea-jimin @hoseokteardroprop @guk97butterfly

[rosellacwrites]

oh, my dreams

(part 1: it’s never quite as it seems)

summary: Your name’s put you in some strange situations before, but this one might win the prize.

pairings: Steven Grant x fem-presenting!Reader**

rating: general audiences

warnings: strangers to…?, administrative fuckups, descriptions of anxiety/anxiety attacks. **I wrote this with a masculine-named AFAB reader in mind, for reasons I’ll explain below, but it could also be read as a transfem reader being deadnamed, so please read with caution if that’s a sensitive issue for you.

word count: 2650

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #5 for “One Bed.” And thanks to @silvernight-m for the encouragement to finish this. 😘

Happy reading! ❤️

dividers by @firefly-graphics

You tap your keycard against the lock, half your mind on the lecture you’d just attended and the other half laser-focused on turning your brain off and some trash TV on. It’s the best way you’ve found to decompress, after a day of the sheer chaotic overwhelm that is more usually known as the academic conference.

Opening the door, you vaguely register someone else’s presence; it’s always irritating, the university’s insistence on saving money by forcing the grad students to share hotel rooms, but there’s nothing to be done for it. Dues must be paid, and someday, you’ll have tenure and you’ll never have to share a room again. But when you emerge from that pleasant daydream, you realize that something’s gone very wrong.

There’s a man in your room, lounging on the bed, tilting his head at you. “Hello,” he says, rather tentatively. “I — I think you might have got the wrong room.”

“Oh God — “ You fumble for the tiny envelope your keycard had come in, and can’t find it. “I’m so sorry — you must be right, let me just… but I swear it said 303, it’s got to be here somewhere…” After what feels like a year, you manage to unearth it, and it’s right there in black and white. You glance back to the still-open door, and those numbers haven’t changed either. Belatedly, it dawns on you: it’s happened again.

“Oh, shit,” you wail, dropping your bag on the floor. “Shit shit shit.”

“Are you all right?” He gets up and pads over to you, peering curiously at your stricken face. He’s British, clearly, from the accent; tousle-haired and dark-eyed and cute in the gentle, nerdy sort of way you like. Far too cute to be tainted by the swirling vortex of bullshit that always seems to follow you around.

“Fuck.” You scrub at your forehead, trying to ease the sudden headache that’s developed, and laugh bitterly. “It’s not personal, I promise — I don’t even know you…”

“Well, I’m Steven. With a V. Steven Grant.” He smiles at you, radiating a careful sort of friendliness, as though you’re a stray dog of uncertain temperament. “So now you know me a little bit, yeah? D’you want to come in and see if we can sort this out?”

You’re too flustered to object, and you step into the room and flop down into the desk chair, because your legs don’t seem to want to hold you up anymore. “Okay. It’s okay,” you repeat softly, trying to calm yourself. “He seems nice. He’s probably not a serial killer...”

“I’m definitely not a serial killer, if that helps.” His eyes are kind, concerned, and you feel oddly safe with him, despite your embarrassment at realizing you’d just said that out loud. “I’m just Steven, perpetually exhausted student. So what’s happened here? Is it something I can help with?”

“It’s my stupid name,” you growl. It happens all the time, no matter what you do to prevent it, and every time it does, it feels like sandpaper on your skin. You’ve put your pronouns in your email signature, you’ve written Ms. before your name, and none of it ever matters because people don’t fucking read. “They see it on the registration forms and just assume I’m a guy, and then something like this always goes wrong.”

“They did tell me I’d have a roommate,” he thinks out loud. “I saw your name on the list and I thought you were this bloke I know from my college, so I didn’t think anything of it…” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, facing you, and that’s when it hits you.

The bed.

The single, solitary, admittedly large and very comfortable looking, but still only, bed.

“There’s only one bed,” you sigh. “Of fucking course there’s only one bed.” Tipping your head back, you study the ceiling as though it has an answer for you.

“Well, that’s it then,” Steven says. “We’ll have to talk to the organizers — I’m absolutely sure it wouldn’t be a problem for them to move one of us to another room. I’ll go with you and talk with them, if you like.”

“I can’t,” you interrupt. You feel it rising, that itchy, frantic, skin-too-tight feeling, the certain knowledge that when one more thing goes wrong you won’t be able to hold the screaming in. You’re frantically trying to gather up the cracking pieces of your carefully constructed shell, and the tigers in the tall grass will be upon you before you know it. “I can’t, because then I have to admit they’ve put me in the wrong room, and they’ll have to shuffle everyone around and it’ll make a big fuss and I’ll have Pain In The Ass stamped on my forehead when I go to network and I’ll never find a PhD advisor and — “

I don’t need you anymore, you’ve tried to tell it so many times. There aren’t any tigers here — you don’t need to protect me like this. But it doesn’t work that way, and you know it. It’s a bit like a wild animal itself, the anxiety, the way you’ve tried your best to tame it with meds and therapy and other, less doctor-sanctioned remedies, and sometimes it feels like you’re finally learning how to be friends.

And then it turns on you again, vicious claws and teeth sinking deep, and you remember you haven’t learned anything at all.

“I just can’t,” you whisper.

Steven’s hand lands on your shoulder, and you flinch; you hadn’t noticed him getting up to approach you again. “Breathe, love,” he says gently. “Just — take a minute, yeah?” You try, but your brain and heart and lungs don’t want to get with the program, and he sees the panic in every line of you. He half-sits down on the table, never taking his hand off your shoulder, and the other hand finds yours and curls around it comfortingly. “The only good thing about having anxiety attacks,” he says quietly, “is that you know what to do when someone else is having one.”

He breathes, deep and slow, leading by example, and gradually your heart settles into a slower rhythm as though his own is pacing it. His hands are big, and warm, and they ground you, bringing you back to yourself. Tigers in the area, the anxiety whispers, fading, but not here, not right now.

“The way I see it, we’ve got two options,” he says softly, letting go of you and ticking them off on his fingers. “Option one, we go and talk to the organizers and let them sort things out.” You shake your head quickly; he must see the panic rising again, because he switches tracks immediately. “Option two, we, er — don’t do that, and just leave things as they are.”

Your eyes fly wide. You’d been half-ready to just leave, throw your opportunities away and run back to the airport with your tail between your legs, but... “You mean…”

“This isn’t some kind of a — a come-on, or anything!” he assures you quickly, brows furrowed. “I don’t want to be the conference creeper, you know? But it is rather late, and if you’re really sure you don’t want to talk to anyone about it, I don’t mind at all if you stay.”

“Even though there’s only one bed? Doesn’t that bother you?”

He shrugs. “It’s only two nights — I think we can manage to be grown-ups about it for that long, yeah?”

The faceless Many, the Here Be Dragons on the map, versus the gentle sweet-faced One, familiar only by a technicality: it’s an easy choice, after all. It’s probably not your smartest, and even as you make it, your rational brain is pressing you to reconsider. But the anxiety, for once, is silent.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

*

You stay, and it’s — well, it’s nice. He’s nice.

He’s nothing but cheerful all evening, going out of his way to help you feel more comfortable with him and with this whole clusterfuck of a situation. And he’s funny, with a sassy wit that offers a glimpse of the brain below the messy curls. (You have a momentary thought of gratitude for the opportunity to see Steven Grant with bedhead tomorrow morning. It’s going to be epic.)

“I’m at Cambridge,” he tells you at one point. “About halfway through my PhD in Egyptology. On the linguistics end, mainly, not digging up tombs and things. But I have been on a dig or two.”

“Wow, Ancient Egypt. That’s like — the gateway drug. The thing that makes kids want to be archaeologists in the first place, and here you are doing it.” You smile at him, and he flushes.

“I suppose you’re right — always had a thing about it, as long as I can remember. Probably watched too many old movies as a kid.” He grins back at you, and it’s endearing as hell, warm and a little shy but somehow cheeky, too. “How about you? What’s your field?”

“I’m on the tech side. Mapping, satellite photography, ground-penetrating radar, all the fancy-ass things that tell you folks where to dig.”

“Oh, that’s fascinating!” he exclaims. “I could never — I’m hopeless with technology. Utter disaster.”

“Most of you are,” you retort before you can think better of it. “That’s why you have us.”

He laughs for the first time, and you immediately want to make him do it again. “That’s why we have you,” he acknowledges with a tilt of his head.

You’ve always been prone to crushes. They tend to creep up on you, more subtle than the anxiety, but no less consuming. The first tendrils always wind delicately around your ankles, and by the time you’ve registered their presence you’re already bound up to the knees. No no no no no, you tell yourself, you cannot do this right now. This is Not Allowed. This whole thing is more than weird enough already, without bringing his kindness and his intelligence and his big brown eyes into it.

Oh, no.

It’s already too late, isn’t it? the anxiety taunts.

Sure fuckin’ is, the crush responds.

You shove it down, ruthlessly, burying it as deep as you can. You keep it light, trading fieldwork tales, always the preferred currency at these things but more important than ever now. I’m for real, they say, trustworthy and honest and normal about things. I’m safe to talk to.

Steven ventures out for snacks to give you a chance to get ready for bed in privacy (god, how is he so nice), and when he comes back he nibbles on dark chocolate while he regales you with stories of Egypt. “Most people don’t know this,” he says, “but Cairo’s literally right up next to the pyramids. There’s a bloody Pizza Hut across the street.”

You stare, skeptical. “No. No way. That can’t be true.”

“Have a look at your maps,” he insists, pointing at you with the chocolate bar. “It’s absolutely true. Fastest way to spot the Egyptologist in the room is to show ‘em a movie where someone visits the pyramids and gets ‘lost in the desert.’”

You trade a few more stories, and then you can’t put it off any longer; your commitments tomorrow make a reasonable bedtime imperative. When there’s a lull in the conversation, you stand up and stretch. “I’m just gonna — “ you say awkwardly, gesturing toward the bathroom, and disappear to brush your teeth again (since he’d given you half the chocolate).

When you come out again, he’s rummaging for his own toothbrush, which means you have at least two minutes alone to decide how you want to navigate the inherent absurdity of getting into bed with a stranger. Don’t make it weird, the anxiety cautions. “By the way, do you have any, uh — bad habits I should know about?”

He looks up, startled. “Pardon?”

“I mean, like — do you hog the covers? Or snore?” You shrug as though it’s a perfectly normal question to ask someone you met a couple hours ago, and try to ignore the heat rising in your face.

“My, er, brothers — Marc and Jake — they say I talk in my sleep, sometimes. So I’m sorry in advance if I say anything bonkers.” Steven laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Still don’t know if I really do, or if they’re just having me on.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” I promise. “And if — if I can’t sleep, I’ll try not to keep you up.”

He smiles at that. “Likewise.”

And once he’s brushed his teeth, there’s really no putting it off any longer, and it doesn’t end up being as weird as you’d thought. Just two people climbing into opposite sides of a bed and settling down for the night, nothing weird about that at all. It feels rude to turn your back, somehow, so you curl on your side, facing him, and he clicks off the light and does the same.

You’ve tried to talk yourself out of it, but the apology spills out anyway. “I’m sorry — this is probably the last thing you needed tonight…” Your voice is small in the quiet room. “But — but thank you. For helping me.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble at all! This is good!” Steven protests. “I mean, not that you’ve got anxiety, but this — whole thing.” He waves his hand in a vague circle around the room. “It’s a good distraction. Means I’m not getting in my own head about my lecture tomorrow.”

Okay. That makes a certain amount of sense, and you begin to feel slightly better. “Do these conferences bother you too?”

He pauses for a moment. “Maybe… not quite in the same way as you? I don’t mind talking to people one-on-one and that, but presenting to a crowd always gives me a few fits, beforehand.”

“Do you — “ You swallow hard before continuing; it’s going to sound silly, maybe, but he’s looking at you so gently and like he understands, and you blurt it out. “Do you want to know a trick I have? It might help, if you want it…”

“Yeah?” He’s waiting as calmly as if you’re having this discussion over coffee, in broad daylight, not inches from each other in bed in a darkened hotel room, and it emboldens you.

“If I’m nervous about meeting someone, or — or giving a talk, or whatever, sometimes it helps me to, um — get there first.”

“Get there first,” he repeats, considering.

“Yeah. Get there first. Then it’s like — they’re coming into your territory, and you’re in charge.”

“That’s quite clever, actually.” He begins to smile, a broad grin creeping up like sunrise, and nods happily. “‘Get there first.’ I’ll remember that.”

A tiny glow of satisfaction burns in your chest, and you lie in silence together for a time. It’s a comfortable one, strangely intimate; you could talk, if you wanted, but for once you don’t feel like you need to. It’s enough just to be here, next to him, somehow knowing it’s enough for him, too.

It’s just — nice.

And then he stretches and turns, and for half a second your brain shorts out. “G’night,” he says, his voice already blurred with sleep. “Sweet dreams.” And he’s out like a light before you can even return the wish.

Even as your eyelids grow heavy, you’re convinced you’ll never sleep; how could you, when you’re literally in bed with a complete stranger, kind as he is? But the soft rise and fall of his breath is better than your white-noise machine, and the last thing you remember seeing before drifting off is his strong profile, silhouetted by the moonlight seeping through the space where the curtains don’t quite meet.

If you dream, you don’t remember it.

But it’s the first time you’ve ever been to one of these things and slept through the night.

part 2 coming soon…

@juneknight @spacecowboyhotch

author’s note, again: I got the idea for this fic from something that did, actually, happen to me as a teenager. Only in my case it was a summer music camp, not a conference, and my mother threw an unholy fit and made them change my room immediately.

(Sorry, Andrew. I guess we’ll never know what could have been.)

If your own name doesn’t match your gender presentation, for whatever reason, please know that I am fist-bumping you in solidarity and I love you.

[biconickyoshi]

Currently in a long ass line for early voting (PLEASE VOTE IF YOU LIVE IN THE USA BTW, so many of our rights are at stake!!!) and I got a kudos email from ao3 for The Avatar and the Fire Prince… so I went to check and I now have 3,002 kudos??? 🤯😭

I just wanna say thank you so so SO much to everyone who has taken the time to read this fic - I never in my wildest dreams could have imagined that it would ever get this much attention when I first started posting it way back in January 2022. I even gave up posting for several months after the first couple chapters because I wasn’t confident in my ability to write, and was overcritical of myself. But since December 2022, I’ve done my best to keep up with updating TAatFP at least once a month, and I’m proud to say that I’ve been able to keep up with that fairly well for the most part.

TAatFP is a labor of love and truly one of the only things I’ve ever managed to maintain a vested interest in almost 3 years after starting it. I still literally think about this fic every day (even if I don’t always write for it every day, and I’m so glad I do lol.

It’s really funny to me that despite being a superfan of AtLA since 2007, I was not even a Zukaang shipper until late 2021 when I had my epiphany about the ship, and now it has become my top ship above anything else in any other fandom despite not even being canon! I’m SO happy that TAatFP has opened so many people’s eyes to the potential of the ship!

Anywayyyyy I hope you all have a great Halloween! I’m going to be spending the next week playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard (I took off work for it lmao), so I apologize if the next TAatFP chapter is posted later than usual - though I’ve already managed to get a large chunk of it written thankfully, so hopefully it won’t be too much later than usual.

(Also, I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten to responding to comments for the last two chapters for those who have taken the time to leave them - it’s been a busy couple of months, and I really need to just sit down and answer them all in a chunk 😅)

I appreciate all of you so much! ❤️❤️❤️

- KJ

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

I can’t get you off my mind

I knew Mrs. Hudson was wrong when she told me marriage changes people. 

Not my John, I thought.

How wrong I was.  

Seen in hindsight; has it been three months already, she was right. I should have known that. After all, she was more of an expert on relationships than me. What did I have to show for? My only relationship, if you didn’t count family, had been with John. He was the only one who could fit that term. 

I told Mrs. Hudson that Mary would be reasonable when I needed John on a case. Her response baffled me. 

“Don’t ever use that word and her name in the same sentence, Sherlock. They don’t match. At all.”

Then she huffed and clenched her jaw tight, unwilling to explain herself. So, I’d turned to Mycroft. If anyone knew what was going on, it was him.

“Brother mine,” he said quietly when I came forth with my request about John’s wife. 

“Don’t patronise me, Mycroft,” I snapped. “Just tell me what’s going on. Is John safe?”

“Why would you ask…” Mycroft began, but something about my appearance stopped him from whatever nonsense he was going to utter. 

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Neither were good signs. 

“She’s an assassin with a prize on her head. We have her under surveillance. I suspect she’ll attempt to flee any day to escape,” Mycroft told me. 

My brain buzzed, analysed, and calculated in quick succession, but in vain. All I could think of was John, unknowing, unsafe, and the baby.

“Mary isn’t pregnant, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. 

“Excuse me?” Were you ever going to tell me any of this?” I asked furiously.

*** 

It’s over now. John’s personal Armageddon. His wife gone when he woke. A letter explaining nothing. The fake pregnancy belly was the final nail in the coffin. I tried to reach out to him, but he was so angry. Thought I’d known all along. He didn’t want to listen to reason. I didn’t blame him. I still don’t. 

Again, it’s Mrs. Hudson’s words putting things in motion.

“Are you just going to let it slide? He needs you, Sherlock! You are his best friend, his entire world. Save him, dear, and yourself. Ask him to come home.”

“He is home,” I protest. 

The look she gives me, makes me feel like a five-year old again. She doesn’t pester me further, but it’s enough. I fetch my laptop and start to write an email. The most important one I’ve ever written.

Dear, John

Believe me when I say I didn’t know anything about Mary or the baby until the day before she left. I would’ve told you if I knew. I was terrified when Mycroft told me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you being unsafe and unknowing. My plan was to tell you the day you woke up without her, but by then it was too late. 

I don’t blame you for not believing me, John. After all, I’ve lied to you about severe things in the past. If you want to talk, we can. Whenever you want. I’m just a text away. And if you can’t bear the thought of staying where you live; know that you’re always welcome at Baker Street. It was your home, and it’s empty without you. 

We’re not good with words, John. Not these kinds, anyway, but don’t let our friendship end like this. I want you in my life, in my home, our home. I can’t get you off my mind, John. I never could. Please, consider coming back. 

If you don’t answer this email, text, phone or come to Baker Street, I’ll understand, but I hope you’ll do at least one of those things. To let me know where we stand. 

SH

***

I’m mentally exhausted after I’ve sent the email, and go to bed, sleeping like the dead for almost ten hours. When I’ve showered and had some tea and toast, I take out my violin and play all of John’s favourites. 

This can’t be how it ends; I think when I lower the violin and bow. After I’ve placed the instrument back in its case, I hear a sound. I’d been so lost in my own head and haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings. And why would I? I’ve lived alone for months, but now I sense a presence. 

I turn, slowly, alert, and there he is, in his chair, looking at me with eyes filled with unshed tears. Any second now they will trickle down his cheeks. In an instant I’m kneeling in front of him, letting my hands rest on his knees. 

“John, is everything okay? Are you…”

“I’m okay, Sherlock. Just…”

His voice his hoarse. I can tell this isn’t the first time he’s been crying today. Something catches my eye just inside the door. John’s duffle bag. I jerk my head back to look at him.

“John?”

“I’m coming home, Sherlock. For good,” he says and manages to smile while he’s crying. 

***

So, this is how it ends. With a pair of broken hearts that are going to be mended. We only have to give it some time, and we will get there. Together.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @sabsi221b @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @raina-at @helloliriels @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely

[fishnets-fingers]

blossoms, big changes & blanket forts

a/n - @harry-on-broadway's short 'n sweet fic challenge inspired me to write a burb from the six months universe. this takes place in the future and hints at storyline(s) for future parts. it's been a while since i'd written anything, so i hope this turned out okay. word count: 2.5k (not proofread) happy reading :)

…

Every Saturday Harry’s alarm blares at five in the morning and every single Saturday he swiftly silences it before it disturbs the other occupant snoozing next to him. This morning was no different. He quietly slips out the bed and heads to the bathroom to change into his running gear. 

A dopey smile blooms across his face at the sight in front of him. A foot peeking out the sheet, a hand haphazardly dangling over the side of the bed, and a shock of dark hair obstructing her face. 

He smooths the raven locks away from her face and leans down to kiss her sleep warm cheek. A quiet grunt makes him chuckle. 

“What ungodly hour is it?” Layla asks, eyes still closed. 

“It’s the AM,” he answers diplomatically. 

She mumbles something incoherently, turning over on her stomach, face burying into the pillow. He knows better than to ask her to clarify and jolt her from the pull of slumber. He kisses the crown of her head, pulling the bed sheet in place. 

And off he goes, running down the same circuit he takes every Saturday. He enjoys this time where their neighbourhood is slowly setting up for the day - the scratches of produce filled pallets being hauled into the restaurants, the beeps of trucks pulling into the warehouses of the supermarkets, the hum of baristas as they begin to ready their spaces, and the soft grunts of runners they start with their stretches. 

He relishes this routine; the calm after five days of scrambling around with this Masters thesis, hours in the lab, typing away on his computer into the night. Saturday mornings were his reset. The hour and a half he spends running with no distractions is just what he needs to set the tone for his weekend. The same sights, smells, and sounds.  This Saturday however he spots a moving truck along with a couple carrying boxes into the lobby of a highrise apartment and is immediately transported to a wintery evening five months ago. He was lugging bags of groceries from the car when his phone chimed. Once. Twice. Thrice. Followed by a call from Layla all the way from Chennai.

“Hi bab-” He starts before getting interrupted. 

“You are speaking to the new assistant professor of San Diego State! Well not really. I still haven’t signed but I just got the email.”

“No fucking way! Really?”

“Really! I read the email three times to make sure my brain wasn’t playing tricks on me. I did just wake up, so there’s a big possibility that I’m dreaming.”

“Congratulations, Layla.”

“Aww, thanks,” she blew out a breath. “You know what this means, right?”

“No more long distance,” he smiled into the microphone.

“Can’t wait. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lails.” 

“Say it again,” she said, and he can picture her lips pulling up at the corners.

“I bloody love you, sweet girl.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that,” she added quietly.

He felt her conflicting feelings of anger and longing miles away. She did not want to go to India after what happened during their last visit. After weeks of trying, her cousins convinced her that she was long overdue for a sleepover, pointing out that a full time job would only make flying over more complicated. “Chennai will make me feel at home, my house is just a building,” she’d insisted but Harry had seen the hurt etched on her face on their video call from she hotel she checked into. She had forgone the invite from her relatives to stay at theirs, not wanting cause any conflicts between them and her parents. He’d wanted to go with her but his schedule wouldn’t allow him and which was convenient for her with wanting him far away from her mother. “Have you told your folks? Do you want to?” He’d asked after a pregnant pause.

She sighed. “Not my parents. I called my grandparents. They were overjoyed, obviously. They wanted to meet me for lunch but I told them I’m not coming home. So, I’m meeting them at the restaurant. I explicitly told them that I would leave if Amma and Appa (Mum and Dad) showed up.

“Anyway," she said after a while, "I think my grandparents are going to give me a fat stack of cash, like they did when I got into the PhD program.” She forced a chuckle, signaling that she was done talking about it.

So he changed the topic, “when do you have to get back to them?”

“They haven’t specified anything but sooner the better right. I’ll respond by tomorrow evening” she yawned. “I'm heading over to Chitti's (aunt - mother’s younger sister) for dinner. All the cousins are attending Carom night. I’ll ask her to help me go through the contract before I sign. I’ll have to tell them that I’ll only be coming to the US next week. I think I want to negotiate my salary a little or get more PTOs. I don't want to pass it up though. They are willing to sponsor my visa and I don't have any more offers to be in the same city, so…” She prattled on. 

He’s giddy at the thought of not having to resort to scheduling visits when their calendars permit them to. To not have their coursework making them unavailable during important moments. To not have to fit their belongings into a small cabin bag and rush to the gate to catch a flight to each other a few states away. To not have to tiptoe around Layla’s housemates, who barely tolerated each other. To not have to resort to FaceTimes when they wanted to see each other. To not be next to each other - when all they wanted was to wrap the their arms around the other - to help them wind down from an exhausting day. 

“Har,” her voice snapped him out of his reverie. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yeah yeah, contracts.”

“Not even close. I was talking about apartment hunting.”

“Why would you look for apartments?” His brows knitted together. 

“I’ll need a place to live in, won’t I?” 

“You already have a place to live in.”

“No, I don’t. What are you-,” her voice cuts off as she drew in a sharp breath in realisation. “Are you- Would you like for me to- Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’m almost twenty six. You’re twenty seven. We’ve been together for two years now. I’m so in love with you, Layla Sathish. Never stopped for a second since I first laid eyes on you in your Uncle’s house in Apex. Never stopped in the two years we were apart. And I don’t want to waste another second. I want us together. I want to go to bed with you next to me. Kiss you goodbye when we both leave for university. I want to complain about your makeup and skincare taking up all the space in the bathroom cabinet. I want to buy you flowers when I come back home after a run. I want your paints and brushes scattered on the dining table. I want to make space in my closet for your clothes. I want your fingerprints smeared on my laptop screen. Move in with me.” 

It didn’t skip past her that he wasn’t asking her but telling her. “I mean I do have the spare key to your loft. Might as well put it to good use,” she teased. 

He laughed. “Exactly! You can be the breadwinner of the house and I can rest easy as a kept man and work on my thesis.”

She giggled. “I love it!”

Three weeks later, they were moving her belongings into the loft. He had to pinch himself every few hours to remind himself that he had unfettered access to the woman he loved. But living together posed a few adjustments, like the time she used his coffee grinder to make gunpowder from scratch and he was about ready to rip all his hair off telling her about cross-contamination of the flavour. Living together spotlighted their different cleaning ethos - he lets the mess accumulate and then do a deep clean but soon found out that Layla could not function when things piled up. The different towels and rags of Layla’s system he needed to keep track of: the ‘nice one’ for drying the dishes, the ‘yucky one’ for cleaning the kitchen countertops, the ‘microfiber’ for dusting that needed to be dampened, and the ‘soft one’ for electronic screens. They’d argued about finances and after weeks - much to Layla’s chagrin -  they’d settled on a compromise: Layla would take care of the utilities and date nights and Harry would pay for rent, and groceries. She put her foot down about being able to pay for the two of them on their future trips to India and he agreed with the condition that all other trips would be taken care of by him. Their grocery trips were different now, Layla was so focused on giving herself a spending limit since she wasn’t paying for it. This meant standing in the middle of the aisle and calculating down to the gram to figure out what brand gave her the best bang for her buck - whereas Harry just pulled things off the shelf that caught his eye. But all of their spats and differences melt away when he sees her smile up at him, from whatever she was doing, as he walked through the door after the end of the day. 

In the home stretch he slows down and walks into the florist. It was early in the day to have the pick of the freshest of flowers straight from the delivery truck. Every single week he would pick out random bunches - today it was different coloured sweet peas and tulips. He’d wake her up with the flowers held behind his back where she’d blink up at him with sleep laden eyes and gasp when he’d present them to her. She gasped every Saturday morning, even if it had become a ritual by now - watching her put together an impressive floral arrangement while he’d make breakfast for them.

He’s surprised when he keys into the loft, usually he’s met with the quiet hum of appliances, today peals of laughter bounce off the walls of the entryway. He smiles toeing off his shoes as he spots two sets of feet - one tiny and one large - sticking out. Their couch pushed back towards the wall and the four dining chairs stood in its place acting as pillars on either side with a fuzzy throw draped over the backs of the chair, cocooning the two. 

He tiptoes slowly towards their makeshift fort to find the two sprawled on a quilt on their tummies. Layla in her power rangers pyjamas, hair haphazardly thrown in a bun, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, her head propped on her elbows, and a curly headed girl in a wrinkled nightgown giggling with her as she points at the book that’s propped against the a cushion. Vasanth and Abi had dropped Laya off with them for the fourth of July weekend and had driven up to Temecula Valley for their long overdue wedding anniversary getaway. She was a deadly combination of her parents, self-willed and mischievous.

“Your Tamil teacher has her work cut out for her,” Layla howls.

“Miss. Muga,” the four year old replies. 

“Who?”

“Miss. Muga. She’s my Tamil teacher.”

“You're going to be a pain in Miss. Muga’s bum,” Layla breaks into giggles.

Her little body twists around, eyes widening in alarm, hands coming to cover her open mouth. “You said bum!” She sputters into laughter. 

“Excuse me, ladies, where was my invite?” Harry asks, crouching down and sticking his head into the opening, making sure the flowers were concealed behind his back.

“Harry!” The girl screams in delight, crawling haphazardly towards him. 

“Someone decided to wake up at the crack of dawn with a determination to build a fort and finish her Tamil homework in it,” Layla sighs.

Harry gives their guest a sympathetic smile. “You did promise her a blanket fort last night, baby. It’s a miracle that she slept this long, reckon she might be in Eastern time.”

“What do you have?” Laya asks, pointing at the tulip sprig that peeked out from the side.

“It’s a gift,” he tells her, shuffling into their cosy cocoon. “Can you cover Akka’s (older sister) eyes and close eyes?” He whispers loudly.

With a nod she clambers onto Layla’s back, using her hands to shield Layla’s view while she scrunches her eyes shut. A collective gasp echoes when he tells them to open their eyes, presenting them with his colourful selection of the day. Harry's body permeates with warmth from the radiant smiles coming from the two; the type of light that could rival the sun’s. The warmth makes him smile, feeling content at the sight in front of him, chuffed at the approval of his floral pick, and the singe of tranquillity from being inside the fort.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Layla asks, bringing the bouquet to her nose. “Mmm…Smells good too.”

“Mmmm,” Laya copies her cousin, burying her nose and nodding in agreement. “For me?” She looks up at Harry. 

“For the two of you,” he replies, inching closer to them. He twists a purple bloom and tucks it behind Laya’s ear. “A sweet pea for my sweet pea.” He declares, chuckling at the way Laya cheeks tinge with pink and the way she blinks up at him with a shy smile.

“Manners, Laya. What do you say?” Layla prompts.

“Thank you,” she says in a singsong voice, reaching over Layla's head to kiss his cheek.

“You’re welcome, love.” He dramatically clears his throat before picking up a yellow tulip and swishes it around before tapping his girlfriend's nose with the bulb. “And a tulip for my tulip.”

“Thanks. Laya, do you want to help me arrange them in the vase? We can do that while Harry makes us pancakes, okay?”

The little girl nods, clambering off her sister and barrels in the direction of the kitchen, remembering the empty vase she’d seen on the kitchen counter. “I guess homework’s not a priority anymore,” Layla mumbles.

She sits up to follow her cousin before she wreaks havoc but Harry firmly holds her in place with a pointed look. “What?”

“Manners, Layla,” he echoes her statement from earlier. 

“I thanked you.”

“Not properly.”

“Huh?”

“Guess you could learn a thing or two from Laya. No thank you is complete without a kiss.”

“Since when?” She smirks.

“Did you not get the memo from the blanket fort etiquette committee?” He teases with a toothy grin.

She rolls her eyes, rocking up on her knees to kiss his cheek. “Happy?”

“Very.” He sears his mouth on her, tongue languidly sweeping her bottom lip, teasing her with a promise of what’s to come. When they pull away, she’s breathless, looking up at him with her tired eyes. And he cannot resist pulling her back in for another, this time his fingers curl around the back of her head, pulling her closer than before. It’s hurried - teeth clanging, noses knocking, tongues caressing, breaths stuttering - never faltering in passion. 

“Layla Akka!”

“I’ve been summoned," Layla murmurs against his swollen lips. “Thank you for this,” she picks up the bouquet from her lap and brings it close to her chest. “And all the others.” She presses a quick peck on his lips and they make their out the fort and towards the kitchen.

.....

MASTERPOST (if you wanna read more of Layla and Harry)

[invisiblewille]

Maybe it’s because I’ve only written for young royals so I just never noticed, but I like really don’t remember other fandoms I’ve been in having such an issue with people constantly commenting asking writers to update faster.

Like there’s literally nothing worse than being insanely busy and stressed about irl stuff and then you get an email that you got a comment and get excited only for it to be someone commenting that you’re not uploading fast enough.

And I feel like at this point so many of us have like tweeted about it or posted on other sites like this saying how it makes us feel that it’s just crazy to me that it’s still happening.

Like are we just slower than other fandoms or why do people in this fandom keep expecting us to write things in three seconds and not have jobs/lives 😭 and I know we all mostly assume that they have good intentions but it’s still ridiculous how much it’s an issue. I don’t know any of my writer friends atp who haven’t gotten those comments no matter how fast they’re uploading.

I sometimes go like a month in between bc of how long my editing process takes / the fact I often work 70+ hours a week so like I guess whatever for me maybe I am slow, but I know people who update literally every week or sometimes more frequently and still get those which is crazy

Anyways… I’ll get to my fics some time in late September / early October if you are someone who’s waiting on me but is nice enough not to tell me. Currently juggling more work and exam prep hours than there are in the day so until I have more than 4 hours a day to sleep fanfic isn’t gonna be on my list of things to do lol

But the third chapter of there is no hurry and the 7th(?) chapter of thou wilt whisper (or religion fic if you’re fun) are both like mostly ready and I’ll get to them when I have time again :)

(And thank you to those of you who do leave actual comments on fics. They do make me smile in the midst of trying to not drown in accounting work/textbooks)

Okay rant over sorry