#i want to be able to look at the most horrible parts of myself and still be able to say so what

[autism-disco]

sometimes i am just filled with so much love for people and the world around me and everything and it is inexpressible

[be-good-to-bugs]

hmm

[nicksolemnlyswears]

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

[lemotmo]

I don't often do this, because I try to avoid discourse in fandom and sometimes you just don't vibe with a character. It happens.

But I keep seeing these horrible and, quite frankly, very wrong and disrespectful takes on Eddie Diaz' character. And I can't just sit here and ignore them anymore.

I cannot and will never understand why people don't like Eddie.

I've read some posts and comments earlier about people disliking Eddie and... really? Eddie is boring? He doesn't get interesting storylines? He's just a prop for Buck and his storylines?

Are we watching the same show here?

Eddie is, by far, one of the most interesting characters on 911. The man has had one trauma after the other piled up on him, but still he keeps going. Why? Because of the one thing that matters more to him than life itself: Christopher.

As a single mother myself, I can relate. The struggle to want to give your child everything, to do everything for them, even if it comes at the cost of your own mental and emotional well-being? It is very real. I cannot tell you how many times I end up crying to myself at night, blaming myself because I wasn't able to stop the outside world from hurting my son. And you have to do it all by yourself as well. There is no one there to share the burden with, to share the heartache with. It's tough and it's real.

Eddie's storylines are intricate and nuanced and based in reality. They aren't necessarily the biggest and loudest storylines, but they still matter to people who can relate to him. People like me.

Now, 911 is guilty of showing a lot of important Eddie moments from someone else's point of view. That is true. Especially Buck's POV. The shooting comes to mind, even a part of his breakdown and more recently Eddie's friendship with Tommy. He made a bro-friend and seemed so happy and carefree, but since we saw it from Buck's POV, we can't fully trust this image.

So, I think that is why some people see him as just a prop in Buck's story. But it's much more complex than that. Buck stepped inside Eddie's world without complaint. He helped him out from day one by introducing Eddie to Carla. For the first time, Eddie is no longer alone in life. There is someone there who understands him and his love for Chris. He can safely rest and trust that Buck will be there to step in if necessary. He actually went ahead and put it in his will. Eddie loves the way that Buck loves his son. And the show is still using that bond to date. We saw Buck and Eddie in conversation about Chris, Buck talking to Chris, Buck being jealous of Chris thinking Tommy was cool...

I don't know what the future will bring for Eddie, but I desperately want and need him to be happy. And yes, I do think the narrative will eventually lead him to Buck. His happiness has always been intricatelly linked to Christopher. The way they keep weaving in Christopher in Buck's storyline? The way Eddie keeps being inserted in Buck's bisexuality storyline? These are some of the many reasons that give me absolute certainty that Buddie is in the works.

In conclusion? Just stop hating on Eddie Diaz folks. It's not a good look on you.

[saintjosie]

Hey, sorry for setting a bit of a depressing tone with this ask but im a struggling baby trans girl

Do you have any advice for coping with the thoughts of "i will never manage to mold my body into a woman's body"?

Right now i am unable to start transitioning due to multiple reasons - both social (especially family) and hrt accessibility related - and my biggest issue with my body is that it's just.. annoyingly masculine. Ever since i was 14 my legs had more and longer hair than my 30-something old cousin's husband. Ever since i was 12 i started feeling too ashamed of my body to wear short pants and it was only this year that i started feeling a bit more ok about it (I will not disclose my age publicly, but i am in university).

And it's like. It's so exhausting to look in the mirror and not only not recognise the face as my own, but often actively hate it. To look at my body and to barely tolerate it anymore

There are some things that i've tried. I've trimmed my leg hair (to a fourth of its original size), and the instant my parents noticed they mocked me. I'm trying to let my hair grow but not only am i getting bombarded with questions of "when are you gonna get a haircut/let me give you a haircut" from all members of my family, it's also in that incredibly awkwards state which i know i will have to push through, but it still makes it even harder for me to look into the mirror

Once again, sorry for the tone of this ask, but do you have any words of hope or advice?

im sorry youre going through all of that. its incredibly difficult and i feel for you. i think that one thing that i frequently see from people in the earliest stages in transition is the struggle of feeling like they will never see themselves in the mirror. and i get it. i was 29 by the time i started hormones and a big part of why i was scared to do it was because i also thought that i was never going to look the way i wanted to. and whether or not we like it, there is safety in being able to say, oh if i dont look the way i want to, then its better for me not to try at all. its a horrible feeling but its one that you've lived with for years and there is safety in the familiarity.

but that's the thing - no one ever looks 100% the way they want to. i dont know a single person who hasnt had the struggle of looking in the mirror and wishing they could change something. and yes, we as trans people face that much more than most other people but it is a human experience to want to change and better ourselves.

after four years of being on hormones, i still look in the mirror and see things i want to change but also that feeling is much much less now. and its not just the hormones either. i like the way i dress because i wear what i want to. i like my hair because i decided i wanted to grow it out and change the color. i stopped molding my appearance to fit other people's expectations. and in doing so, i found that liking something about myself mattered far more than if other peopled like it. so shave your legs! grow out your hair! when people ask you questions, dont answer or tell them to fuck off! you dont need to make excuses for yourself because you dont need an excuse to be who you want to be.

im gonna be completely honest with you - it will not be easy. and youre not going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly find that your entire perspective has changed. in fact it is very likely, and very human, to continue to question the decisions you make. but always remember, you know who you are. and if you dont know, then only you are capable of finding out. and so i say with all the love in the world, i hope you find yourself and learn to love yourself in the process <3

[pit-and-the-pen]

I'll Crawl Home to Her- Chapter 1

A/ N:I’m horrible at exposition so bare with me through this one. It feels a little clunky to me but this sets up a lot for the rest of the series. This is also the longest thing I’ve written outside of my senior thesis so… I have this series fully planned out and now that I’m back from vacation I should be able to work on it a lot more. 

Anyways, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for it! 

Warnings: Spring court slander (implied trauma), nightmares. Drinking. I think that’s all but feel free to let me know if I should add anything! 

Wc- ~10k

Previous part: here

Next chapter: Here

We’re coming home. 

I ran up to my brother. Desperately pulling on Rhys’ arm and I felt him stumble back into me. He remained frozen, eyes locked on the female in front of him. Her and Rhys were clearly in the middle of a very intense conversation. But I wanted to go home. When I shouted Rhys’ name, his head flickered to me before looking back at Feyre. I saw his body tense, eyes going wide and it was instinct that had me grabbing his arm and winnowing us to Velaris.

The smell instantly calms me in a way I haven't felt in fifty years. Once my vision had fully focused, 

“She’s my mate”, nothing above a whisper. My head snapped over to him. Mate. That explained his reaction. I felt the guilt in my stomach at pulling him away from Feyre. My arms are already reaching to pull Rhys towards me into a hug. As my arms wrapped around him, he sobbed into my shoulder.

This wasn’t the Rhys I had come to know under the mountain. Sob after sob left his mouth and his precious wings dropped to the ground. I knew this was more than the reaction of a male who had his mate taken from him. This was my brother who had to watch his mate be in love with someone else after years of suffering. The cauldron had finally granted him a mate only to have her ripped away from him.

“I’m sorry” was all I could think to say. So many reasons for being sorry. Sorry for all he went through. Sorry for not being strong enough to stop it. Sorry that the female the mother had chosen for him was in love with the High Lord of Spring, and had willingly died for him. Sorry that I stole away what little time he had spent with her. 

Rhys let out another sob against my shoulder and it shook me to my core. I have heard him cry over Amarantha many times but seeing him break over Feyre was enough for me to want to march to spring and drag her to Velaris. But she wouldn’t want that. I know Rhys would have my head on a spike if I even offered. 

We both turned around at the sound of the door opening. Mor stood in silence, eyes scanning over us. Noticing our embrace. She stepped up to us and a soft smile crossed her face. 

“Tell me about your mate, Rhys.”

That was all it took for the flood gates to open. We did more than recall the details about the last few months. Rhys and I cherry picking only the most vital and important details. We kept a few things close to our chests. Those would stay our nightmares alone, Mor didn’t need to be haunted with our ghosts as well. 

Mor sat patiently before she finally interrupted. “She’s really dead?” Rhy freezed at the mention of Amarantha. I lightly placed a hand on his shoulder and answered for him. “Yes. But I don’t think this is over.” Mor just nodded sharply, looking at I both before she launched herself at both of I, arms coming up to wrap around my brother and myself. 

“If either of you ever do something that stupid again, I’ll kill you myself.” Her voice didn’t hold any malice, instead it shook with tears. My heart jumped as I left the weight of her emotions wash over me. The pain in my chest tightened as I realized how much our absence has truly shaken our family. I knew, of course, but seeing it was entirely different. 

The three of us began to settle and I finally had time to get my bearings in the house. As I let the glow of the house wrap around I. A familiar scent caught my attention, and my whole body sang. My head whipped around, looking for the source of that pine and night air, looking for Azriel.  Cas too of course but Azriel was on the front of my mind.  

Mor’s smile tilted slightly. “They should be back soon.” She sighed “They just went to the camps to check on all of them” She paused, stumbling over words  “ when we got that message from you, someone thought the most important thing was letting the camp leaders know that they had a high lord to answer to again.” This didn’t surprise me at all. Of course they would want, need, to fill in the Illyrian warriors that were now back under Rhys command with his return, Cassian having to take over that helm by nature of his position. It would be a fight, but one for a different day. 

         I wanted nothing more than to see the rest of my family and responsibilities be damned. I wanted to see them now. It had already been almost 50 years and in theory another day wouldn’t hurt but the house felt empty without the loudness of Cassian’s voice booming. It felt cold without Azriel’s shadows stirring around. 

As if Mor could sense my unease, she lightly grabbed my wrist and started pulling me deeper into the house. “I have so many books I need to show you.” That was all it took for me to laugh. Mind reeling as I tried to remember the last time I had truly laughed. 

The library was just as I had remembered it. The smell of old parchment and leather filled the space. Fires kept the room warm and light and I wanted that feeling to sink down into my bones. 

Mor gave me the space to just absorb my favorite room in the house. Rhys had given me full reign over how it was decorated. Comfy chairs that could accommodate wings and backless chairs tufted with fabric that looked like they were made of stardust were spread over the large room. The heavy wooden desk I had put in was covered in stacks of books. 

“I put all the ones I knew you would like over there.” Mor spoke up when she saw my eyes lock on the countless books. I felt my throat tighten up with tears at the thought she must have put behind the seemingly small action. It wasn’t uncommon for Mor and I to swap books as we finished them. Mostly so we could sit and talk about them for hours together. Mor and I spent many nights on the couches I had put in, falling asleep with our respective books still clutched in our hands. 

Looking at the stacks, a rough count told me there had to be over a hundred books, easily. 

“Looks like I have some serious reading to do.” I laughed. She beamed a smile at me. 

“Those are just the ones I knew you would like,” She walked over to one of the bookcases in front of the desk. “These are all the others that I need you to read so I can scream about them.”

Three whole shelves in total. It would take me gods know how long to get through them. I voiced that much. Mor waved me off. 

“You have all the time in the world to read them. It doesn’t have to happen all at once, but I’m not letting anything happen to you again. You’ll have time to read them all.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. I turned to look at her and I saw the pink speckling her cheeks and right above her lips, the tell-tale signs that she was trying not to cry. I placed the book I had just picked up and threw my arms around her, squeezing her as tight as I possibly could. She nuzzled her head against my shoulder and all I could do was try to hold her tighter. 

By the time we pulled away from the hug, we were both a crying, giggling mess. I forgot how much I loved spending time with Mor. Regardless of how much I cared for my brothers, Mor and I were two sides of the same coin. Plus the boys wouldn’t sit and discuss the pure filth that tended to grace the pages of the books I devoured. 

“So, what one should I start with?” 

She all but squealed as she started flipping through the piles with me. We organized as we went. Placing them in piles of order that I should read them in. A few of the series I had been following had new installments that would most likely require a reread so those got placed on the back burner for the, now older, favorites she was dying to talk about. From there we were able to pick out one of her more recent favorites that had me itching to crack open immediately. She picked out one from her own pile across the room and the both of us settled into silence, the only sound was the fireplace cracking and pages turning. 

I don’t know how late it was when Rhys softly opened the door to sneak into the room. My eyes were starting to get dry from how little I was blinking, desperate to get through one more chapter before I called it a night. Something I had voiced to Mor about ten chapters ago. Mor who now was asleep on her own couch, her hair pooling over the edge almost touching the floor from the uncomfortable angel her head had fallen into. 

“The books will still be here after you’ve gotten some sleep,” Rhys said in a gentle mocking tone. Mor stirred slightly at his voice but remained sleeping. “Come on, I’d be an awful High Lord, and an even worse brother, if I let you fall asleep in the library on your first night home.” I nodded at his words. Truthfully, I couldn’t care less where I slept but for some reason, I could tell it mattered to Rhys. It would honestly be more normal for me to fall asleep anywhere but my room. Whether it be in the library or the large sectional in the living room or the comfy chairs on the rooftop, I rarely ever slept in my own bed. Rhys had ensured that every surface of the house was as comfortable as possible to account for this but I didn’t push or argue with him as I untucked my legs from underneath me and stood up. I debated leaving Mor to sleep but didn’t want her to wake up all alone. Reaching out a hand, I placed it on her shoulder and gave her a small shake. She groaned but opened her eyes anyway. 

“We’re being banished to our rooms.” I joked and pointed over the Rhys. She let out an even louder groan. 

“Overprotective bat.” Even Rhys laughed at her words. 

“Come on, before he carries us himself.” I held out a hand and I could see Mor contemplating just rolling back over and going back to sleep but she grabbed my hand. Pulling slightly, I helped her to her feet and she rolled her neck slowly. No doubt trying to work out whatever kink was starting to develop due to half of her head hanging off the thin couch. The three of us walked down the hallway to our rooms. Sleepily stumbling to doors. We reached Mor’s first and before she slipped in, she gave me another tiny hug and another to Rhys. 

“I love you guys,” Sleep was evident in the way she almost drunkenly stumbled over her words. I returned the sentiment and she was slipping into her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her. 

Rhys and I stood outside her bedroom for a little longer, until we saw the light from under the door flicker out. Eventually, we continued walking until we got to my door. There was a slight pause as I turned the handle. Rhys and I would normally be curled up in my bed under the mountain by now. I vaguely thought about asking him to stay the night. Not that I think either of us were truly going to be able to sleep. As tired as I felt, I was afraid that if I closed my eyes for too long I was going to wake up and this was all going  to be a cruel dream.    

Rhys seemed to pick up on my hesitancy. “I can walk in with you. If you’re…”:

“Please.” I interrupted him. He gave me a soft smile and gestured for me to open the door. 

Nothing was out of place. The room smelt like my favorite perfume and when I looked around, there was no dust to be found. Someone had spent the time still cleaning the room while I was gone. I don’t know why that touched me as much as it did but as I looked around I felt all the unshed tears finally starting to take its toll. A sob ripped its way from my chest and Rhys’ arms were around me in an instant. 

He shushed me softly, rocking me slightly. “We made it. We’re free. We’re back home.” He repeated over and over until I had cried myself out. I pulled out of his embrace and wiped away the stray tears. Shaking my head at my outburst I muttered a thank you to my brother. 

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll be just across the hall if you need anything,” He says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I nodded and he gave me a sad smile as he walked out of the room. 

I wandered over to my dresser, fished around until I pulled out the first pair of pajamas I came across. I hastily pulled my clothes off and as I went to pull the nightgown over my head, I realized the layer of grim that was clinging to my skin. A bath was definitely needed before I climbed into my warm bed.        

The tub was already full and scalding hot by the time I had finished pouring in an obscene amount of oils and bath salts. Sinking in, I sighed out in relief as the heat enveloped me. Muscles in my neck and back released as I leaned my head against the edge of the tub. I picked up the sponge on the edge and started to wash myself off. After countless minutes of scrubbing, despite my raw skin I still didn’t feel clean. Huffing, I threw the sponge across the bathroom and pulled my knees up to my chest. I just sat curled up around myself until the water started to cool down. And it was still another handful of minutes before I could manage to pull myself upright and step out of the bath. I shivered at the temperature difference. Hugging my towel closer to my body, I quickly ran bacon into my room and threw the nightgown over my head. I burrowed underneath my comforter and tried to close my eyes. 

I tossed and turned until I started pleading with the mother, the cauldron, anyone that would listen to let me go to sleep. I was bone tired but everytime I closed my eyes something made me snap them open a few moments later. Every creek of the house had my ears prickling. Has the house always been this loud? I wondered how I never noticed it before. How I ever slept with all the noise. It was then I remembered that, if my room truly haven't been messed with since I had left, that I still had a sleeping tonic from when I had cracked a few ribs. Fae healing or not, ribs always were a pain to heal. Majda had given me a tonic to make me sleep so I could actually heal without Cassian making me laugh them out of place. I flung myself out of bed and padded over to my vanity. The small bottle of purple liquid still sat , half drank/ Uncorking it, I prayed that sleeping potions didn’t go bad and took a tentative sip. Fighting back a gag at the foul taste, I put the cork back on the top and walked back to my bed. The medicine had its desired effect. Not a minute later I felt my eyelids flutter close and  this time they stayed closed until I could sense the sun high in the air signaling the next day had come. 

Knocking on my door made me finally crawl out of bed. Goraning at having to leave the warmth, I flung open the door and was staring a slightly startled Rhys in the face. He held a small tray in front of him, stacked high with various foods. 

“I didn’t want to wake you up. You slept through breakfast and lunch and I  didn’t know what you would want so I brought a little of everything.” He spoke the words so fast that in my half awake state I struggled to keep up with them. I gestured for him to come in so he could place the tray on my bed. 

“Have you eaten?” I raised an eyebrow at him as I picked up a large strawberry.. His look told me that he had, in fact, not eaten. I pointed to my bed. “Sit and eat.” I barked, mouth full of strawberries. He laughed at some silent joke and picked up a piece of toast covered in some fruit jam. We were quiet as we ate, picking apart the platter he had brought in. Truly too much for one person to eat. Once we were both full, I wiped off my hands on my comforter and finished swallowing my last bite before I asked Rhys. “What do you have on the agenda for today?” He stilled and picked at a piece of lint on his sweater. 

“Not a lot. I’m trying to organize a meeting with the High Lords of the other courts to just debrief after everything.” He shrugged like that wasn’t going to be the hardest meeting to organize. “There are some young high lords and with all the aftermath of this…We just need to all talk this out.” I nodded along with him. The courts would need some time to bounce back after this but from the way things had seemed under the mountain, we didn’t have that time. As much as I prayed to be wrong about this, war was on the horizon and we would need to have the courts functioning as much as possible if we were going to stand a chance against Hyberns forces. Amarantha was just a taste of the power that he had, an experiment of sorts. 

Mor knocked on the open door before she walked in and plopped down next to Rhys. She took note of our stern faces but didn’t say anything. Instead, she swiped one of the sandwiches off of the tray and shoved half of it in her mouth in one bite. “You, me, library.” Was all she said before she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. 

“Well I know what you’re doing for the rest of the day.” Rhys laughed as I started to scramble to get dressed. I was about to start changing when I noticed he hadn't moved from his perch on my bed. “Get out!” I scratched at him and all but pushed him out of the door, slamming it shut behind him. His laugh echoed off the empty halls outside my door. 

In record time, I was running down the halls to the library. Mor was already sitting, her book curled against her chest. She didn’t look up from  her book as she pointed to the one I had abandoned last night. “Butt in chair, book in hand.” She said and I laughed at her tone. I walked over to my couch and picked up the book,  the spine slightly cracked from laying face down most of the day. 

I must have finally gotten to the juicy part of the book because I felt Mor Peering over the edge of her own book. My poker face was completely gone as I sunk in every word. “No. Absolutely not!” I screamed, rereading the last few pages to make sure I was seeing it correctly. 

“Did you finally get to..” I held up my hand to shush her. She laughed and threw one of the throw pillows at my head. I only put my book down long enough to catch the pillow, using it to now prop up my arms. Once I had confirmed I had not actually gone crazy, Mor and I started discussing the plot twist that had been the source of my outburst. She accidentally let a detail slip that had me scrambling back for the book, desperate to catch up to the point she had been talking about. This went on for hours until I saw her perk up. She turned to face me.

.

“They’re back.” Was all Mor said, still flipping through the book perched on her knees. I didn’t say anything else before I put my own book to the side and all but ran from the room. Her laugh bouncing off the walls behind me. 

I could smell him before I saw him. That deep cedar and cold rain smell that I could wrap myself in. Rhys tried to say something to him but stopped when he realized he no longer held his audience's full attention. Azriel’s shadows ripping across the room and curling around my feet like a small cat. I could have purred at the feeling, tears started to peek along the corners of my eyes at the familiar feeling. 

When I felt movement next to me, I felt momentary disappointment at the fact that Azriel was not standing in front of me. Strong arms wrapped around my middle and started to swing me in a circle, I felt joy so strong it almost hurt. Cassian sat me back down on my feet and when he went to speak, I wrapped my arms around him in return. We stood embracing each other, slowly rocking from foot to foot. 

“Missed you, Princess.” He muttered into my head. I just nodded, my cheek too squished against his chest to say anything. “I think Mor was going to kill us if she had to be the only girl living in the house. Amren can only handle so much damage control and the coward spent most nights at her apartment.” He nudged my shoulder as he spoke, pulling a laugh from me. It felt good to laugh again. My cheeks hurt in the perfect way at the smile that stretched over my face. 

A throat being cleared from across the room pulled my attention from Cassian. I could have melted into a puddle right then and there. Azriel stood in front of me, a true smile gracing his face. I squealed and rushed over into his arms. He didn’t swing me around like Cassian did, but he held me just as tight. It would have felt so right to crash my lips against his and he released me from his arms, but that wasn’t my relationship with Azriel. Those thoughts were nothing more than what I needed to make it through the events of the last fifty years. Azriel looked at me like I was a sister, nothing more. Rhys’ little sister on top of that. His high lord's little sister. He was the one who had coined my nickname centuries ago. When the trio first formed their own little band of brothers. I had gotten pulled in by proximity, Azriel said it one day and it had stuck ever since. “Hi Princess.” He said, tone polite but I could hear the joy behind them. I tried not to blush as I heard his voice. Shaking the things I had imagined that voice saying to me out of my head out, I mustered up a pathetic, “Hi, Az.” 

It had never felt this awkward around him. Cursing myself mentally for thinking of all the things I would say to him when I finally saw him again. None of those words made their way out of me as the two of us stared at each other. “I’m glad you’re home.” Was all he said his words short but I felt the sincerity leaking from them. Biting down the flutter in my heart,  I gave a short nod and wrapped my arms around myself. His eyes tracked the movement but didn’t say anything. 

Cass clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder, breaking the tension that I felt take over the room. “We’ll see you at training tomorrow,” I raised an eyebrow to him. “Don’t give me that look, I’m guessing you didn’t have time to… while you were gone. I can’t have my sister not able to defend herself. We would be the laughing stock of Pyrthian.” He smiled as I made a big show of rolling my eyes . 

So I joined them for training the next morning. And the next. Cassian slowly ran through the basics until I was nothing more than a mile of sore bones and sweat by the end of our sessions. I would shower and hang out with Mor. Rhys was suddenly very busy as he tried to catch up on all the events he missed in his court over the last fifty years. He made more and more trips to Hewn City, leaving Mor free to run around with me. Before I knew it a month had passed and all of us were sitting around the table for one of our family dinners. 

Jokes were flung around the table and no one noticed  the way Rhys and I sat back, sinking it all in. More than once I caught his eyes from across the table and all we could do was smile at each other. Is it bad to say that I missed this? I spoke into his head as Mor and Cassian had started raising their voices at each other, getting into a slight argument over some random events of the day. I did too. Even when we both flinched at the volume Cassian’s voice had risen too. Even Azriel had started to chime in before Mor shot him down with a withering look. I laughed despite myself at his expression. I shut up when that look was turned to me. 

The conversation fell into a natural lull and everyone was happily eating. Rhys hissed at something, shaking his arm that bore the bargain mark. Something must have prickled down the weird connection. 

“I still can’t believe you let her go with Tamlin.” Cassian said, stabbing something on his plate with a little more force than necessary. Rhys bared his teeth at his brother. 

“I didn't have much of a choice, now did I?” He slumped back into his chair, still rubbing his hand. “She already hated me because of this stupid bargain but if I had stolen away from the male she was willing to die for…”

“But Rhys. It’s Tamlin. No one would have slighted you, not after…” Cassian’s gaze flickered to me. As hard as I was trying to tune out the conversation, I still felt my chest tighten at their words. Rhys would have never taken Feyre without her permission, well at least outside of the bargain but we both knew that was simply a means to an end. Regardless of how much it must hurt to have another person he cared about over in spring, Rhys wouldn’t take that choice away from her, no matter how concerned he might be for  her safety. 

“How  was it seeing the brute again?” Amren asked and the table silenced. I froze and kept my gaze locked down at my plate. Suddenly losing my appetite completely.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I itched at my wrist, tugging at the fabric that felt too tight around my wrist. Azriel placed a comforting hand over mine. I flashed him a thankful smile.

“You haven’t wanted to talk about it for over a century.” She prodded. 

“And she shouldn’t have to if she doesn’t want to,” She took a breath like she was about to press the issue. “Why does it matter to you anyways?” Azriel hissed at her. Amren had the decency to take a hint and held up her hands in surrender, a smirk plastered on her face. 

We all sat in silence for the rest of dinner. Even Cassian knew better than to make any comments due to the tension in the air. Everytime he would go to say something, Rhys would shoot daggers at him. Eventually I got sick of it and threw my napkin down. 

“Fine. You want to know what it felt like?” I shouted at Amren. Everyone flinched. “I am terrified for that girl. Because I know what loving Tamlin does to someone. Seeing him felt just like you whenever someone mentions the prison.” She paled at my words and I didn’t spare her another look as I pushed away from the table, storming out. I know I would regret my words later but sometimes Amren needed a taste of her own medicine. She just loved to push everyone buttons because we were all too scared to really piss her off. 

I flung myself into my bed, still fully dressed. I groaned into my pillow. Apologies could wait until tomorrow. A knock from the door had me fighting back swears. Stomping over to the door, I ripped it open and a very startled Rhys was standing in the hallway, hand raised like he was about to knock again. 

“I wanted to check on you.” The high lord said.

“I’m fine” I gritted out and he raised an eyebrow at me. I let out a heavy sigh. 

“I know I shouldn’t have taken the bait but I don’t want to talk about him, right now or ever, if I can avoid it.” Rhys’ eyes held sympathy and he just contuined standing in the hallway, letting me rant. “I mean it’s been so long. I didn’t want to talk about it then. No one’s asking how you feel about Tamlin.” I paused and Rhys just shrugged. 

“If she’s happy with him, then it’s not my place to try to save her. If she wants to come here, then I’ll happily let her do that too.” 

I stared at him like he had gone crazy. “What about the bargain?” He shrugged again

“It was necessary at the time. I don’t actually plan on cashing in on it. She’d only hate me. More.” I could feel his despair. The self loathing held behind those words. 

“Rhys.” He shook his head.

“I’ll never take away her choice in this. Just because she’s my mate doesn’t mean I have a claim to her. Regardless of every nerve in my body screaming otherwise. It’s her life. She’s given more than enough to deserve whatever, whoever, makes her happy.” I went to hug him and he stepped out of my reach. “As much as I appreciate it, I don’t need your sympathy for making the right decision.” He tried to play it off as a joke but I knew he truly meant it. 

“Well if you ever want to talk about it…”

“Like how you want to talk about Tamlin.” He cut me off. My mouth set into a thin line and I took that as a dismissal of the conversation. Fine. I just wanted to crawl into bed anyway. 

“Well now that we’ve established that. Anything else you want to say, oh mighty High Lord.” 

“No.” 

“Good. Good night.” I said and swiftly shut the door in his face. I love my brother but he really knows how to get under my skin sometimes. I know deep down I’m mad because he called me out. I can’t expect him to pour his heart out to me when I won’t do the same thing. 

I threw the covered back and crawled in, still fully dressed. Mind reeling. I wouldn’t even know where to start with talking to anyone about Tamlin. And what good would it do? All of that was in the past and talking about it would only piss everyone off all over again. We had just barely avoided attacking the spring court when I came home. I don’t want to drag Feyre into this now that she’s there. 

I managed to finally fall asleep, tossing and turning. Dreams filled with deep swirling greens and the sound of growls. 

When I woke up in the morning I could tell it was later than normal. The sun is slightly higher in the air. Snapping out of my sleepy haze I cursed as I jumped out of bed. I was late for training and Cassian wasn’t going to let me forget that. 

Throwing on my clothes, mentally screaming at all the buckles on my training leathers. I knew not eating was going to come back to bite me in the ass but I simply didn’t have time as I sprinted through the house. In my haste, I passed a grinning Rhys. The events from last night seemingly forgiven as he taunted me. 

“Maybe he’ll consider this your warm up today.” I held up a crude gesture and he only laughed harder.  

I made it to the training rink in record time. My hands were on my knees as I panted. The stitch in my side was already screaming at me but I forced myself to stand up straight as Cassian sauntered over to me. The split in his lip told me Him and Azriel had gotten started without me. 

“You’re late, princess.” I flinched at his tone. He surveyed me. “I think double drills should be enough to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I cursed, I couldn’t get through the routine once without limping back to the house. Two would kill me and he knew it. 

“What are you waiting for? An invitation?” He held out his hand “Consider this it.” He stepped away from me, going back over to Azriel. I know Cassian wasn’t actually mad at me. He also knew that if he went easy on me, I wouldn’t take training seriously. I appreciated the routine of it all and I really did need it. So sighing I got started. 

I was halfway through my second set when Cas called me over. 

“Lesson learned?” He simply asked. I nodded. Still trying to take in breath. My muscles are screaming at me for still being vertical. 

“Good because Cas and I decided it’s finally time to step this up a notch. You’re almost the same as you were before. Now it’s time to get your powers involved. Relearn how to fight with those.” Azriel spoke. My stomach sank. This was something I hadn't considered. It was a stupid oversight on my part and I didn’t know how to get myself out of this so I responded with the truth. 

“I don’t have my powers.” 

“Okay, nice joke” Cassian cut in.

“I’m not joking. I can’t use them anymore.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” 

“I can’t use my powers” I grumble. “They’re still in there but it’s like I’m fighting against a wall.” Azriel raised an eyebrow at that revelation. 

“How do you know?” 

“I don’t know but all I know is I tried to use them… you know… And they wouldn’t come. Everyone had theirs back so I know it wasn’t the curse. So for whatever reason I couldn’t make them work.” It was embarrassing to admit. My powers had been the only truly useful thing I could rely on in the training ring. 

“Have you tried since then?” I nodded. Not so much of a glimmer of them since I came home. I told Cassian that much and he swore under his breath. 

“We could always take you to see Helion.” I shook my head at his words. 

“I don’t want to burden him with more problems. He has enough to do in his own court. I’ll figure it out, but for now I’ll just have to fight the old fashioned way.” 

Neither of the males in front of me seemed to be happy with my response but Cassian jumped right back in.

“Fine. But that means that you have a lot more training to do. If you had your powers you would be fine. But in just plain hand to hand combat, you’d get your ass kicked by anyone with any skill.” 

I glared at him but I knew he was telling the truth. Grabbing his arm, I pulled him into the center of the ring and tossed him one of the training swords. Heavy but they wouldn’t do nearly as much damage when he hit me. 

“Do your worst then.” Was all I said before he charged at me. 

“You’re sloppy.” Cassian barked as he knocked the sword out of hand again, again. I held my wrist as it twisted at a weird angel. My cheeks heated with anger and I went to wipe the sweat that had formed on my brow with my other, only to find it just as damp. I recoiled in disgust and Cassian laughed again. 

“You try getting your shit kicked in for fifty years and see how you bounce back.” I spoke and I saw his face pale. Shit. “Joking Cas, it’s okay.” 

I shook my head. “I am sloppy. And that’s why I’m still training with your annoying ass. You’ll have me back in tip top shape.” He relaxed slightly, but his shoulders still wouldn’t lower. 

I sighed and did the only thing I could think of as he turned away from me. I jumped onto his back, being mindful of his wings and pulled him down to the ground. The air left his lungs in a whoosh as I took us both onto our sides, I quickly bounded to my feet, ignoring the sting in my side from the impact. 

“Come on you big Illyrian baby.” I raised my arms slightly in front of me and a flicker of something crossed Cassian's face and I saw him make the decision to play along. To pretend that this was just a normal day of training. He leapt to his feet with a surprising amount of grace. 

“If you want a fight, you got it princess” He said with a smirk. We both stood in the middle of the training ring, circling each other, waiting  for the other to make the first move. Swords forgotten off to the side. I saw the slight twitch of his left side and I made the choice to ignore the fake out, and went to block my right side. It was the right choice, the blow aimed toward my right side bounded off my forearm, it still stung but at least it didn’t put me on my ass like it would have had it made contact. I grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm back, pulling him closer towards me and pushing on his back. He only stumbled for a second before he regained his footing. That kick had put me off balance more than I anticipated and it was easy for Cassian to grab the leg that lowered too slowly, grabbing my ankle and yanking me to my stomach. I yelped at the contact. He laughed loudly as I held my hand up in surrender. I rolled over onto my back with a groan. 

“Give me a few days back in training and I’ll have you on your ass, General.” He laughed even harder.

“In case you forgot, princess, you could barely do that even on your best days. Give yourself more time.” 

“A week.” I responded with my own laugh. Whatever I had done, it worked. Cassian’s shoulders had fully relaxed and I noticed the smile gracing his face finally reached his eyes. I noticed Azriel starting a few feet away. I sat back on my elbows, propping myself up. “Want a round, Az?” I teased and was rewarded by him rolling those big hazel eyes. 

“I think you’ve hurt yourself enough for today.” Was all he said before he turned to stalk away  from the ring. I laid back down in the dirt of the ring at his retreating figure, sighing heavily. Cas comes to stand over me, offering me a hand up. I grab it, pulling myself up. 

“Give him some more time to come around. This was harder for him than the rest of us.” He was suddenly serious. “He’ll get there, but you know him. Broody as they come.” He nudged me with his wing and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the gesture. I nodded in understanding and the pair of us walked back up to the house. 

This was harder for him than the rest of us. The words bounced around my head for the rest of the day. It makes sense. Azriel would have seen this as him failing. Not only failing me but his High Lord. Regardless of how hard everyone must have tried to comfort him, he would always blame himself, and only himself, for Rhys and I going under the mountain.  

It also explained why Azriel seemed to be avoiding me. Besides that first awkward meeting, he always managed to find an excuse to not be in the same room as me if he could avoid it. I’ve been home for almost a month now and I had hardly seen him. The few times I ran into him in the hall, he would quickly and politely brush me. Not saying anymore than a few words in greeting or response to a question I might have asked him. Be patient. I could do that. But it was hard to ignore the sting in my chest every time he brushed me off. We were practically joined at the hip before I left. I fit seamlessly into the fold of the trio but now Azriel felt like a stranger again. 

My mind was too full of thoughts to begin to try to settle down, so after I bathed the dirt and sweat off, I changed into a loose nightgown that almost went to the ground and padded off for the library. When I got to the door, it was slightly cracked, light from the fireplace filling even the hallway with its warmth. It was like the room itself was calling to me and as I stepped in. Above the crackle of the fire, I made out the sound of pages turning, of fabric rustling as someone shifted on one of the couches in the room. I searched for the source of the sound and found none other than Azriel lounging with a book propped open on his lap. He didn’t seem to notice me until one of his shadows snuck off his lap and slithered over to my feet, wrapping around them like they always did. 

He closed his book and glanced over to where I stood in the doorway. Something flashed across his eyes that I couldn’t decipher before it faded away. He cleared his throat and said a generic greeting. My heart sank as I saw him mark the page he was on in his book, and place it on the end table to his right. I tried not to pout as I said. “Don’t leave on my account.” I said, keeping my tone light to hide the oily feeling pooling in my stomach. The shadow at my feet seemed to curl in tighter to me as Azriel went to stand. 

“I was just finishing up anyways.” He couldn’t seem to meet my eyes. “The rooms all yours.” 

“Azriel…” I don’t know what I was going to stay. Maybe beg him to stay with me, maybe start shouting at him but I know none of that would help, would only make both of us feel worse. Be patient with him. So I bit back all the words I wanted to say to him and simply said. “Good night.” He called to me as he headed out of the room, his shoulder just barely brushing mine as he passed by me. The room suddenly felt too cold so I willed the house to put the fire out and walked out, heading back to my own room suddenly feeling very tired. 

I crawled under my covers and tried to push the thought of Azriel’s eyes out of my mind as I drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

 I sensed it. I was back under the mountain. Nonono. This can’t be happening but I saw it all out in front of me. Rhys was in front of me, standing on the dais with Amarantha standing next to him. I almost broke down, knees buckling, when I saw that all-too-familiar mask of indifference grace my brother's face. I tried to call out but my voice wouldn’t come out, feet locked in place as I stood and helplessly watched as the red haired female reached a finger under Rhys chin. Bile raised in my throat as I saw her whisper something to him, something I couldn’t make out. When I tried to reach out for his mind, I was met with nothing more than those iron thick walls he built up. Amarantha’s eyes locked on mine and it was like she set me on fire. My skin burned, the string of her breaking my bones, of the attors smacking me down everytime I said something out of place. Finally I seemed to find my voice, but only a scream ripped from my throat at the phantom pain. Her red lips curled into a cold smile. “Welcome back pet.” another scream made its way from my throat. 

I flung myself into a sitting position, jolting awake from the nightmare. My lungs ached as I gulped down air. My skin still burned and I threw off my blanket, pulling my knees to my chest. I almost screamed again as I realized the presence of something, someone, in my room. 

Azriel’s soft voice said my name. “I heard you scream, I thought…” My eyes finally adjusted and I could make out his frame. “I’m sorry. I'll go.” 

“No.” I rasped, throat raw. I must have actually been screaming. That explains his presence in my room, kind of. My hand went up to my neck attempting to rub away the pain in my chest. The pain didn't stop the request that bubbled over my lips. “Please. Stay.” I saw him go still, turning back around to me. Even in the dark, I was able to find his eyes, wide open as they locked on mine. Tears welled up in my eyes and I tried not to sniffle. 

He whispered my name again. “Just go back to sleep.” He was starting to turn around again. My body reacted faster than my mind, I reached over the large bed, reached for his arm. “Please.” It was all I could get out. Please stay. Please talk to me. Please can we pretend that all of this didn’t happen and please be my best friend again. So many things tied into that one word. It’s almost like he sensed it and he sighed, relaxing into my touch. 

“Only until you fall back asleep.” He sounded exhausted and his tone made me feel heavy all over again. He still shuffled in behind me. I tried not to think about the fact that when I went to tuck myself into his chest that I was met with bare skin. Resisted the urge to trail my hand down along those perfect abs, to the deep vee that I knew laid beneath them. I just buried myself deeper into his side and I felt his wings wrap around me, shielding me from the world around us as I drifted back to sleep. The smell of cedar lulling me into a dreamless sleep. 

I woke up feeling more rested than I had since I’ve been back home. I knew he wouldn’t still be here but my hand still reached out to the side of the bed he’d been in, still warm. He had stayed. That explains why I slept so well. His scent lingered in the room and not caring how desperate it might have seemed, I buried my face into the pillow he had been laying on. I let his scent surround me and calm me down. A knock on the door had me groaning but sitting up anyways. 

‘You didn’t come to breakfast so I wanted to check on you…” More said as she opened the door, she looked around as she spoke and her face fell slightly before continuing. “I had Nuala make you a tray in case you were hungry when you woke up.” She held a small wooden tray in her hand and I beamed at her, touched by the small gesture from my cousin. 

“Thank you.” Was all I could get out, tears threatening to fall at the kindness in her action. 

“I heard you last night.” She spoke quietly as she walked to the edge of my bed, sitting down at my feet. “I know I wasn’t there, but if you ever need to talk, or just someone to listen to. I’ll always be here.”

“You don’t need that stuff in your head too. It’s bad enough it's mine.” 

She said my name in a concerned tone and I waved her off. “Don’t we have some books you need me to finish?” I said, deflect. She sighed sensing she wouldn’t win this one.

“Maybe we should take a break from the library today.” My face dropped as I thought of what I could possibly do with my day if it wasn’t reading with Mor. “I need to go shopping for some stuff, start looking around for Solstice presents and I haven't had a proper shopping buddy…” She trailed off, giving me a full megawatt smile. 

“Alright let's go, before you start batting your eyelashes at me.” I playfully rutted her in the ribs and she threw her arm over my shoulder.

I haven't gone out to the shops in Velaris since I’d been back home. A part of me had forgotten how beautiful my home truly was. I tried not to stare in awe at the new vendors, the smell of food lingering in the air. People walked to and fro, running errands for the day. Mor and I had found one of my favorite dress shops and all but pulled me into the shop. 

The designer was known for her slightly scandalous fashion. Floor length gowns with cut outs that left little to the imagination but were still heartbreakingly gorgeous. By the time Mor and I left, our arms were full of bags and I still had a few more dresses to pick up that needed to be altered. 

We flitted in and out of more stores until the sun was starting to sink behind the horizon. When I noticed where we were I almost suggested we stopped by Rita’s but my shoulders were starting to hurt from the weight of the bags and Mor wouldn’t be able to winnow us into the house if we did have a few drinks nor did I even want to think of carrying them back. 

So when we finally checked out from the last store, Mor having purchased a honestly hideous printed shirt for Cassian, we joined arms and started the walk back to the townhouse. 

After dropping off all of my new things in my room, I knew I had to go apologize to Rhys. Armen could wait, if I ever bothered to say sorry to her. She wouldn’t hold it against me either way. Our relationship was more antagonist than anything else anyways. So I put the clothes into my closet and padded off to find Rhys.

Eventually I found him in his study. He didn’t look up as I closed the door behind me. I called his name. Still nothing. So I walked over to his desk. I noticed he was clutching a letter in his hand, holding it so tightly that it was starting to crinkle. I went beside him and soothed the letter out of his hand. My face paled as I read carefully over the words.

Feyre was marrying Tamlin. 

The letter wasn’t an invitation. Just a simple announcement that would be extended to all high lords when one of them married. I dropped the piece of paper like it had burned me. I grasped for the right words to say to my brother, but when he looked up at me they all faded away. Agony I had never quite seen in them before knocked the breath from my lungs. 

“I know I have no reason to be upset. I should just be happy that she’s  happy. But I can’t find it in me.” He stared at the tattoo on his hand. “I’ll never see her again. Not after she marries him. I might get glimpses at balls but I’ll never really be able to see her.” Never be able to see her because we both know how Tamlin treats the people he loves. The gilded cage Feyre will be locked in the moment she says “I do”. I gave myself a moment to mourn for the girl. But I know there was nothing either of us could do in this situation. So I did the only thing I could think of. I strolled over to the bar cart in the corner of the room and poured both of us a few fingers of whiskey. He eyed it carefully as I passed him the glass. He took it out of my hands and knocked it back in one fluid motion. I did the same with mine. Holding out the glass for more, I poured him another. We just sat drinking until the familiar flush started to creep onto my face. Rhys hasn't said much, neither of us have. Content with drinking away the pit in both of our stomachs. 

“I love her.” He said after he finished his third glass. He didn’t sound. In fact this was  the most sober I think I had ever heard him

“I think I’ve loved her since I first saw her in the spring court. But I know I loved her when she offered herself in place of Tamlin. This brave human offering to save our entire world, who before that moment would have let her tear her to shreds.” He grimaced, as if the very thought disgusted him. 

“So tell her.” I said with a shrug. He glared at me. 

“You know it’s not that easy.” I did know. But I wanted him to be happy. I didn’t want him to have to sit here and drown out his sorrow while Tamlin got to play hero. Tamlin, who sat around while my brother risked his neck time and time again to save Feyre. He slumped down into his chair and laughed at the ceiling. 

“The mother can be a real bitch sometimes. I don’t know what I did to deserve all this good fortune.” His voice was bitter and truly didn’t know how to respond. I went to pour him another glass but he put a hand over his glass. 

“As much as I appreciate what you’re doing. I think I need to go to sleep before I march into the Spring Court and drag her out. Regardless of if she’ll hate me or not.”  His eyes soften as he looks at me. “You should head to bed soon too. I don’t need to look into your mind to know you’re going a million miles a minute right now.” 

He wasn’t wrong. My thoughts had been roaring around in my head since I read that letter. It wasn’t hard to put myself back into Feyre’s shoes. My heart panged for this selfless girl. How long until the cracks in the foundation started show and she would be pulled into the storm that is Tamlin. I nodded in acknowledgement of his words. Putting the cork back onto the glass bottle. I rose from my chair, rolling my stiff shoulders. Rhys and I both returned to our respective rooms. 

Hard as I tried, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned but couldn’t get comfortable. I had run out of the sleeping tonic a few nights before so I just accepted that sleep wasn’t going to come. I made no move to get out of bed though. I just curled my covers tighter over me. When the sun peeked through my curtain. I didn’t get up. I didn’t go to training. I didn’t even get up from my bed until mid afternoon, just going far enough to use the bathroom. Immediately crawling back into the warmth of my bed. 

Someone had knocked on the door and I pretended to be asleep when I heard the door click open. I ignored the smell of cedar until I felt a shadow sweep across my bed, settling by my face. If it knew I was asleep, it didn’t respond to its master. But it also didn’t leave when my door softly shut. I just turned to face away from the ripple of blackness. Not wanting to deal with the comfort the small action granted me. 

When I finally left my bedroom the next day, I learned Rhys had behaved similarly yesterday. The two of us floating around the house. We were bad enough that the others cleared out of whatever room we were in. I couldn’t find it in myself to really care enough to knock it off. 

This continued for the remainder of the week leading up to the date of the wedding. I expected the same behavior as I woke up the morning of the big day. But when I walked into the kitchen, Rhys was sitting around the table with Cassian and Azriel, head thrown back in laughter. He turned his head to me as I walked in and smiled at me.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” I grunted at him. Walking to the fridge I pulled out a bowl of fruit and swiped a couple pieces of sliced strawberry. He hummed in response and Cassian spoke up.

“We’re going to the cabin later, if you want to come with us. We’ll need someone to help us finish all this booze.” He gestured to three large boxes that were occupying the floor of the kitchen. I raised an eyebrow to Rhys and he shook his head. Drop it. He spoke in my head. I shoved him out and when I looked back at him, he looked hurt. 

“Boys, can I speak to my brother alone?” The two looked confused but stood up from the table regardless. 

“You don’t approve?” Rhy asked plainly. I scoffed.

“They might not know what today is, but I do,” I snatched the unopened bottle from his hand. “If you want to drink yourself stupid, I won’t stop you but that doesn’t prevent all of this from happening.” He made a lunge for the bottle and I was somehow able to keep it out of his grasp. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. 

“What do you want me to say? That I would rather her marry anyone else than him? That I wish I was the one that she was happy to see. That I wished she would change her mind…” He trailed off. Eyes seemingly far away.  Horror washed over his face. 

“Rhys?” I spoke softly, wondering if I pushed him too hard. 

“I have to go.” Was all he said and before I could catch him, he had winnowed away. 

I had been on edge since Rhys disappeared with no sign of where he was going to. It hasn't been more than an hour but I was about to wear a hole through the rugs in the hallway with my pacing. Suddenly, I heard Rhys in my head. Grab Mor and meet me at the big house. I didn’t respond. Just went to find Mor, she must have received a similar message because when I got to her room she was already waiting for me. She didn;t ask any questions, merely grabbing my arm and winnowing us to the house we rarely ever used. When we arrived to the house I nearly gasped as I saw why Rhys had disappeared so suddenly. I just had time to make out a satin slipper as it was chucked with deadly precision right at Rhys’ head. She had barely launched the other one at him before she stormed off up the stairs. Rhys was all but growling as he stalked over to us. “That went well.” Mor snorted at him and this time Rhys actually growled at her before stalking over to his own room. 

We didn't see or hear from Feyre for the rest of the night, the three of us eating in silence. I felt the tension rolling off of Rhys when Nuala and Cerridwen informed us that Feyre hadn't eaten the dinner they had left for her. My stomach sank and I avoided the stare from my brother. He had asked me to go check on her. Saying that I could offer her some company. I didn’t have it in me to talk to her yet. Didn’t want to make this day, this decision, about me. And I know going into that room I would see a younger version of myself I wasn’t ready to face. 

The next day, Rhys had insisted on her joining us for breakfast. She came stomping down the stairs. “I’m not a dog.” She sneered at him before taking a tentative seat at the table. 

She looked around and her eyes locked onto mine, recognition sparkling in them,

“I remember you. You were under the mountain. What are you doing here?” Her tone was surprisingly pleasant, a stark contrast from every word she had said to my brother. 

I introduced myself. “I’m his sister.” She laughed at that. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” It was hard to bite back my comment while I looked at her. It was like looking into an old memory, the dark circle around her eyes, the way the light had completely vanished behind them. She didn’t even look like this under the mountain. Tamlin had broken her completely. I’m sorry for you. I didn’t say that though, instead just responding with a simple. 

“You get used to it.” 

“I doubt that.” She snorted and started picking at the food in front of her.

[kikyoupdates]

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

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“...pardon me. I think I must be hearing things,” Alistair frowns. “For a moment, it almost sounded like you said you wanted to break off our engagement. But that can’t have possibly been it, so if you wouldn’t mind repeating yourself—” 

“No, you didn’t mishear me.” 

“What?” 

“I’m saying you heard correctly. I don’t want to get married to you. The engagement is over.” 

You watch as Alistair’s jaw drops open yet again, and meanwhile, your mother lets out the single most offended gasp you’ve ever heard in your entire life. With the way she’s reacting right now, you would think that she’s the one being broken up with. 

Anyways, it doesn’t matter. Everyone is free to be as outraged as they want. Your decision is final.

“[N-Name],” your mother splutters weakly. She somehow looks like she’s aged a whole decade, simply by being part of this conversation. “Don’t… don’t be ridiculous. If this is supposed to be some kind of joke, it’s not funny, young lady. Apologize to your fiancé for your rudeness.”

“But he’s not my fiancé anymore,” you say simply. “I just broke up with him.” 

“[Name]!” 

She presses a palm to her forehead and proceeds to fall rather ungraciously onto the nearest chair. She grips the arms of the chair and gasps for breath, as if she’s holding on for dear life. Really, the whole thing is needlessly overdramatic. She’s acting like she just got diagnosed with an incurable disease or something. 

Alistair approaches her hesitantly. “Countess [Last Name], are you quite alright? Should I send for help?” 

“N-No, I’m fine,” she replies, visibly gaunt. “I just… need a moment to collect myself. I’m still convinced my foolish daughter must be playing a trick on the both of us. Truly, I don’t know what came over her. She’s never done anything like this before.”

You wish you could say you feel guilty about scaring your own mother half to death, but does she really need to overreact to this extent? It’s not like Alistair’s the only fish in the sea. You can just marry someone else, for crying out loud. 

“Come on, then,” your mother urges. She looks up at you in desperation. “Take back what you said, [Name]. If you apologize profusely, I’m sure Alistair will forgive you. He’s a patient, charitable man, and you’re extremely fortunate to have him.”

You turn back towards Alistair. It’s true that he’s a good guy. You know as much from playing his route and having seen how kindly he treated the heroine. That’s exactly why this decision is the best one for the both of you. He’ll get to enjoy his fated romance without a villainess fiancée complicating things. He may not realize it right now, but you’re doing him a big favor. 

Still. I guess being broken up with all of a sudden can’t feel good. I should try and soften the blow.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and your mother audibly exhales. Her reaction is premature, however, because you have no intention of saying what she wants you to.

Instead, you double down. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you,” you continue. “And it’s really nothing personal. I thought about it, and I’m not physically attracted to you at all. You seem like a very nice guy, and I respect you on a personal level. But your face just isn’t doing anything for me, and I can’t keep pretending. It just won’t ever work out between us. Sorry about this.” 

Alistair’s jaw drops open for the third time, and your mother lets out a horrified scream before openly wailing into the palms of her hands. 

“What?” you gape. “What did I say that was so wrong?” 

Needless to say, you were lying just then. Alistair is extremely attractive, but you wanted to spare his feelings and not make him feel like you dislike him as a person. It’s not like you could ever tell him the actual reason. He’ll never understand why you’re so desperate to get away from him. But once he meets the heroine and falls for her, it won’t even matter.

Alistair blinks, looking more exhausted by the second. “So… the reason you want to end our engagement… is because you don’t like how I look?” 

“Pretty much,” you nod. “See? Now you’re getting it.” 

Your mother keeps on wailing, and it only seems to be getting louder by the second. Jeez, this family is home to so many drama queens. No wonder the villainess turned out to be such a massive pain. 

“I see.” Alistair presses his lips together. He’s clearly trying to remain civil, but it must be difficult, considering you’ve all but spat in his face. “I didn’t realize you had such specific demands when it came to your future husband. I apologize for not meeting your standards. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to change your mind?” 

“It’s an insurmountable issue, I’m afraid. Let’s just agree to cut our losses here and move on.” 

Alistair scrunches up his nose, struggling to hide his irritation. You don’t really blame him for it. Odds are he won’t want to speak to you ever again after this, but that’s exactly what you’re after. The more distance he keeps from you, the better your chances of survival. Having this hottie loathe your guts is a small price to pay for not dying.

“Very well, then. I should return home and tell my parents the news. They won’t be too pleased to hear it, but if you’re not willing to proceed with the engagement, I must respect your wishes. Good day, [Name].” 

Alistair bows, and even though your mother tries begging him to stay in between every choked-out sob, soon enough, he’s gone. 

Just like that, you’ve successfully avoided your very first death flag.

You’ve got to admit, it feels pretty good. 

“[Name]!” your mother screams. She’s apparently recovered enough of her strength to stand up from the chair, and is now glaring daggers at you. In fact, she looks like she might even be out for blood. “What in the world… is the meaning of this? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

You slowly back away from her. “Um. I just ended a relationship that was doomed to fail?” 

“[Name]!” 

“Eek! Don’t hurt me!” 

You rip off your heels and start running down the hallway. Since she doesn’t have the nerve to abandon decorum and sprint after you, she opts to stand by the doorway and yell out her feelings. 

“Just wait until your father finds out about this!” she cries out. “Do you hear me? You’re in big trouble, young lady! You can’t even begin to fathom the storm that’s headed your way!” 

She keeps screaming and screaming, but the further you run, the more her voice fades into the distance. There are countless servants and other household staff that are watching the whole spectacle unfold, no doubt wondering what the hell is going on. It’s only your first day as a villainess, and you’ve already managed to become the center of attention.

Still. You successfully broke off your engagement and saved yourself from certain death. All things considered, you’d say you’re doing pretty well so far.

“[Name]!” 

…you might end up being killed by your mother instead, though.

It doesn’t take long for word of your antics to spread throughout the manor. 

Not that it really surprises you, after all the havoc you wreaked. You figured that breaking off your engagement with Alistair wouldn’t be without its fair share of trouble, but you didn’t expect your mother to react so viscerally. It was like an episode straight out of a reality TV show.

Anyways, you’re still trying to come to terms with this new body and new life of yours, but one thing you’ve quickly realized is that the servants here are super chatty. The second there’s any hot new gossip, they dive right into it. They’re rather careless about their surroundings, considering they work for a mean villainess who could easily punish them for their insolence. It’s a good thing you’re not the real [Name]. She would have probably put them through hell by now.

But you digress. The main topic today is, of course, the fact that you broke off your engagement and nearly gave your mother a heart attack. 

“Can you believe what Lady [Name] did? I heard the countess’ soul just about left her body!” 

“It was so sudden, too. Completely without warning.” 

“Wasn’t she always gushing about how much she liked him up until now? What could have possibly changed?”

“Our lady is a fickle sort, after all. Still, it is surprising. I’ve been hearing talks that she hasn’t quite been herself since this morning. Perhaps it’s true that some strange malady has taken up residence in her body…” 

Well, now that’s a little rude. You would hardly call yourself a malady. Although you most certainly have taken up residence in this body. The villainess that they loved to hate is now a thing of the past, but you’re willing to bet that they’ll appreciate this change.  

For one thing, you’re perfectly happy to overlook their gossip. It’s actually kind of fun to know that so many people are talking about you. This surge in popularity is somewhat exhilarating. 

Well, either way, you aren’t too concerned about it. You’ve already decided to take the steps towards restoring your reputation and prove to everyone that you’re a good person. You refuse to allow yourself to be labeled as the villainess, because you already know how that story goes. 

You’ve been locked in your room reading for the past little while. You were expecting your mother to storm in earlier and yell at you some more, but based on all the gossip you’ve heard from the servants, she has apparently fallen ill from shock and is lying in her bed. Seriously, such a drama queen.

Just as you’re about to turn a page and start a new chapter in the ridiculously cheesy romance novel you’re reading, someone knocks on the door.

“...Lady [Name]? May I enter?” 

“Hm? Oh, sure. Go ahead,” you beckon. 

The door opens, and you are once again faced with the nervous little maid from before. She seems to be just as apprehensive as always, the poor thing. The real [Name] must have been awful to her, if she’s close to bursting into tears every time she lays eyes on you. 

“Hey,” you greet, setting your book aside and smiling pleasantly. “How can I help you?” 

“P-Pardon the interruption, but I thought… you might want to know that your father has just returned to the estate,” she stammers. “I realize this isn’t my place, but given how your mother reacted earlier, I… I just thought I should tell you.” 

Aww. She came all this way to speak to you—something that clearly terrifies her—just to give you a heads-up? Even though the real villainess clearly didn’t treat her well, she’s still acting in your best interests and looking out for you. You’re technically not even the head of the household. Officially, she should answer to your father, first and foremost. But she still went out of her way to let you know, even if she could get in trouble for it. 

You’ve officially made up your mind. This cute little maid deserves the entire world, and you’re going to make sure she knows it. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you smile. 

She meets your gaze, only for a moment, then nods skittishly before looking away again.

“What’s your name again?” you ask. “I’m sorry if you’ve told me before, but I’ve forgotten. I think I should do a better job of remembering from now on. I’m hoping it will help people feel more comfortable around me.” 

“You want… to know my name?” 

She’s visibly taken aback, no doubt because the previous owner of this body never expressed any interest in treating the people that worked for her, like, well… like actual people.

But you’re not the same crappy villainess she’s used to. You’re determined to change your fate in every possible way, and to that end, acting like a decent human being sounds like a pretty good place to start. 

You nod encouragingly. “Yes, your name. I’d like to know, so that I remember what to call you from now on. It would really help me out. I’m going to try to remember everyone else’s names too. It might take a little while, but I’ll certainly do my best.” 

She can’t stop herself from gaping at you, which again, you can’t really blame her for. But despite her visibly wariness, she still musters up the courage to respond. 

“F-Fiona,” she replies. “My name is Fiona. But I-I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, so it's okay if you forget!” 

She’s the very first person whose name you’ve gotten to know since waking up in this world, so it’s safe to say that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

You clasp your hands together and grin. “Perfect! Thank you for sharing that with me, Fiona. I hope this will help us feel closer from now on. And don’t hesitate to tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable. I’ve resolved to make a change recently, and part of that involves ensuring that the people who work for me feel at ease.” 

Fiona keeps on gaping at you. She must be struggling to wrap her head around all this. You can practically see the gears turning inside her head.

Well, you feel much better now. It’ll obviously take a while for Fiona to start trusting you, and that goes for the rest of the household staff as well, but you’re willing to put in the effort and make a change. 

“Anyways, Fiona,” you carry on, lifting up the book you were just reading, “have you read this, by any chance? If so, I was wondering what your thoughts on it were. To me, it just seems way too clichéd—” 

“[Name]!” 

Ah. That must be your father. Well, then. This is as good a time as any, you suppose. 

You set the book down and smile. “I guess that discussion will have to wait until later. Sorry for troubling you right off the bat, but do you think you could help me make a rope out of all those blankets so I can climb out of the window and run away?” 

Fiona blinks several times in quick succession, but unfortunately, she isn’t able to react in time. 

Your father bursts into the room moments later. 

Is there any chance he’s going to be chill about this?  

“[Name]!” he cries out again. “What’s this nonsense I hear about you breaking off your engagement while I was out?!” 

Hm. Honestly, it’s still too early to tell. He might not even be that mad. 

“I’m extremely mad right now!” 

Fuck. 

Your father’s arrival immediately signals for Fiona to leave. Even though she was nice enough to warn you ahead of time, there’s nothing she can do to help you at this point. Hopefully she’ll keep you in her prayers, at least. 

Fiona closes the door behind her, and you slowly stand up from the bed, taking the time to gauge your father’s expression. His nostrils are flaring as he yells at you—definitely not a good sign. You also don’t know exactly what kind of relationship the villainess had with her parents. You know that she was spoiled, but it’s clear that this engagement between you and Alistair is something they consider very important. Batting your eyelashes probably won’t get you off the hook.

But you may as well try it, just to be sure. 

“I’m sorry, father,” you say, mustering up your most convincing puppy eyes. “I just… I just didn’t want to be with him. I realized it and had to put an end to that engagement. The thought of having to marry him was too much to bear.” 

Your father narrows his eyes. “Really? Alistair Calderwood? The very same man that you were absolutely thrilled about when I first announced that our families were discussing a potential engagement?”

…huh. Right. Now that you think about it, the villainess did like Alistair quite a good deal, which is why she completely lost her shit when he fell for the heroine instead. 

Your case isn’t looking too strong. 

“Th-That was then, this is now,” you stubbornly deny. “I’ve learned a lot about myself in this time, and I now understand that we’re simply incompatible. I want to marry someone that I’m truly passionate about. I just can’t force myself to go along with this anymore.” 

“But you were speaking highly of him just the other day,” your father insists, clearly exasperated. “Last night, when I told you that he would be visiting today, I recall that you said, ‘Oh, how fun! I’ll be sure to pick out one of my finest dresses tonight!’’’

Balls. He’s really not making this easy for you, huh? 

“I was really struggling,” you nod somberly. “I kept pretending that I was happy to be with him, even though I had already decided long ago that my heart was closed off. I’m afraid he’s fallen out of favor with me, father. There’s nothing he can do to win me back anymore.” 

Your father proceeds to just stare at you for a while. You’re not sure whether he’s buying it or not. Hopefully your parents are as gullible as you’d like them to be.

“...I’ve had enough of this farce.” 

Okay, so maybe not that gullible. Duly noted. 

“We’ve always let you do as you pleased,” he grits out, clenching his fists in frustration. “I don’t concern myself with what you get up to in your personal time, so long as you do the bare minimum of what’s expected of you. And we had already agreed that you would marry someone we deemed acceptable. Alistair Calderwood is the most promising candidate you’ve ever had. And you want to squander this opportunity purely on a whim?” 

“It’s not like I’ll go unwed,” you protest. “I’ll happily marry someone else. I’m sure I can find another man that’s equally as respectable and impressive. I just don’t want it to be Alistair—” 

“Silence. Do not speak unless I tell you to speak.” 

He glares at you with an intensity you didn’t even know was possible. You involuntarily gulp and take several steps back. You’ve been so caught up in the excitement of a new life that you’d briefly forgotten what kind of setting this is. Here, young women such as yourself are basically treated like property by their own families. You live in luxury, but only under the condition that you marry into a reputable family and further elevate your parents’ status. 

Part of you had been hoping that the villainess could get away with this sort of behavior, but it seems as though she too is just a pawn in a much bigger game. 

“You’ve made a royal mess of things,” your father scowls. “And now it falls on me to fix it. I’m not sure if the Calderwood family will forgive this transgression, but you had better hope they will. Otherwise, you’re going to regret it.” 

He doesn’t elaborate on how you’ll be regretting it, and before you can ask what exactly he has in mind, he storms out of the room. 

You purse your lips. “Okay, so that probably could have gone better.”

While you were being yelled at and lowkey threatened by your father, Alistair was facing his fair share of discomfort as well.

“She did what?” 

“She called off the engagement,” Alistair repeats. His parents are every bit as incredulous as he was expecting. Well, he couldn’t quite believe the news when he heard it either. It was completely out of nowhere.

Alistair’s father, Duke Calderwood, lets out a sigh and massages his temples. “Are you quite certain that’s what she meant? Remember, I told you before. [Name] can be rather frivolous at times. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was yet another one of her mood swings.” 

“Considering she repeated it over and over again, I’d say there’s no doubt she was serious about it,” Alistair grimaces. “She… insulted my appearance. She said she wasn’t attracted to me and couldn’t imagine us being together.” 

“Why, that’s nonsense!” his mother gasps. “You’re such a handsome young man!” 

“All due respect, mother, that’s not the issue here. I had no idea how to handle such a sudden rejection, and I must admit that I’m at a complete loss.” 

Duke Calderwood shakes his head. “Like I said, she’s frivolous. But it doesn’t change the fact that she utterly disrespected you. I can’t believe her family would allow such behavior. It calls their legitimacy into question.” 

“Does it even matter anymore? She clearly has no intention of being with me. Her mother desperately tried to convince her otherwise, but she refused to even consider it. I don’t expect that she’ll have yet another change of heart. Besides, I would be humiliated to have to take her back after how she spoke to me.” 

“Right. It’s a frustrating turn of events, but we can’t forgive such an oversight. Perhaps, with the right token of apology…” 

“Father,” Alistair glares. “I don’t want to be with her anymore either. She treated me like dirt.” 

“Yes, yes. But, well, the arrangement we had made with [Name]’s family was quite favorable to us. It’s just a shame things had to end this way,” the duke sighs.

Alistair turns away from him. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to be alone for a little while. Regardless of how [Name]’s family chooses to handle this, I have no intention of taking her back. I hope you can understand.” 

He walks off before waiting to hear how his parents respond. It doesn’t concern him anymore. Frankly speaking, he didn’t want to get married to you in the first place. He’s heard the rumors. He knows that you have a rather infamous reputation, and that you act selfishly with no regard to those around you. He never wanted someone like that as his bride-to-be, but he went along with it to be a good son and make his family proud. In a way, this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. He’s no longer bound to you. 

Which is why it’s so strange. His chest should feel ten times lighter now that he doesn’t have to deal with you anymore. Whoever his next fiancée is will surely be a much better option. 

Perhaps it’s the sting of rejection. The bitterness that comes with being scorned so readily. The way you looked at him back there… it was like you couldn’t wait to be done with him. He’s never experienced such utter disinterest before. 

“What a waste of time,” Alistair mutters under his breath. No, it’s better this way. Some temporary frustration is nothing compared to how much he would have suffered if he was stuck having to marry you. 

He didn’t care about you to begin with, so there’s no reason he should care about you now. 

Lost in thought, Alistair bumps into someone as he turns the corner. 

“...ah. My bad, my bad. I should have been more careful.” 

Alistair scowls, already irritable because of the way his day started off. The person he’s just run into certainly doesn’t help. It’s a familiar face, but not one he’s particularly fond of.

“Hello, Rowan,” Alistair greets half-heartedly, adjusting the collar of his jacket in place. “I didn’t realize you were visiting today.” 

Rowan offers a languid smile. “Yes, well, my father had business in the area, so I thought I’d stop by.” 

“Is uncle doing well?” 

“As well as he can be. No different than usual, I suppose.”

“I see. That’s good to hear.” Alistair awkwardly clears his throat. “Anyways. I’m not feeling too well at the moment, so you’ll have to excuse me for not sticking around. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

He pushes past Rowan as quickly as he can, making no effort to hide his discomfort. Rowan knows it all too well. He’s used to his interactions with his cousin being brief, superficial, and painfully tense. Not that he minds. And besides, there’s something of far greater concern right now.

“Did I hear that right?” Rowan blinks. “Alistair’s fiancée… broke up with him?”

He happened to overhear while he was walking down the hallway, and he could hardly believe his own ears. To think that the engagement Alistair’s parents were so looking forward to would be completely destroyed, in the blink of an eye. It’s just so… so…

Hilarious.

“Pfft—!” 

Rowan covers his mouth with the palm of his hand, struggling to keep from laughing aloud. It’s just too good to be true. It’s the best news he’s gotten in a long time. 

“Ah, incredible,” Rowan chuckles. He wipes a hand across his eyes, which have already begun to tear up from amusement. “That woman, [Name]. She sounds like a fucking riot. Perhaps I ought to meet her for myself.” 

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[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee and Caretaker(s) visit Whumper’s grave, and while Caretaker(s) might not understand why Whumpee processes grief (and trauma) the way they do, they are there to support Whumpee through whatever they need, despite their own complicated feelings towards Whumper

@3-2-whump

Caretaker took a quick glance at Whumpee while they drove into the cemetery.

Whumpee cuddles a small bouquet of flowers closer and watches out the window.

Caretaker took in the visible scars that covered Whumpee's arms. They had just gotten a little more comfortable with showing their scars. Caretaker was so proud of them.

Caretaker sighed as they parked near the grave sight of the bastard who placed those scars on their Whumpee.

If it was up to Caretaker, Whumper would have been burnt to ashes and flushed down the toilet for what they had done. Unfortunately, Whumper's family made the funeral and burial arrangements. How they were able to live with the fact that the bastard had done horrible things to others and still give a proper burial was beyond Caretaker.

"Alright", Caretaker turned to Whumpee, "and you're sure you want to do this again? We can go get ice cream, or do something else even. We don't have to be here."

"I-I know, but I want to", Whumpee looked back at Caretaker, "i-is that okay?"

"Yes that is perfectly fine", Caretaker reassured, "I fully support anything you need to do for your recovery. Even if I fully do not like it, and will be honest on that. Your recovery is very important to me. If this helps you, then I will support you."

Whumpee smiles, "thankyou", they whisper.

Caretaker made their way to a nearby bench. It was close enough to watch over Whumpee, but they could stay out of the way.

Whumpee slowly walks to the grave. Caretaker always took in how cautious Whumpee was. Almost as though someone may jump out and startle them.

Whumpee stood at the foot of the grave for a few moments before kneeling down.

Caretaker wasn't close enough to hear what Whumpee said next. This is how it played out every time, like clock work.

After several moments, Whumpee would hold up the flowers as though they were offering them or showing them to someone. They would whisper one more thing before standing and placing the flowers at the head of the grave.

After a few more minutes, Whumpee would then walk back toward Caretaker.

Caretaker would then mumble something like, "Bastard", under their breath, then smile at Whumpee.

"Could we by chance get ice cream?", Whumpee smirked, "you said it, and now it sounds really good."

"We can get ice cream", Caretaker chuckled as they stood.

Whumpee enjoys their ice cream sundae on the park bench while Caretaker drinks a coffee.

"This tastes so good", Whumpee smiles.

"Yes the coffee is good as well", Caretaker agrees.

Caretaker studied Whumpee for a few moments before sighing.

"Are you okay?", Whumpee gives them a questioning look.

"I always tell myself what you do at the grave sight is up to you. It's none of my business, but I'm just curious why you want to go monthly to visit. Then also what you say", Caretaker paused, "you don't have to tell me, of course. Like I said, it's personal to you."

"Oh uh", Whumpee looked at Caretaker and smiled.

Caretaker frowned, "you don't have to tell me."

"No, it's fine. Just part of it is probably a little silly to most. Whumper was always afraid of death. It was their biggest fear. Though they were not nice to me, they deserve to have some sort of visitors. Plus, I can make sure the grave is still there. I can know for sure they haven't somehow came back to life. I know it's dumb, but it's a comfort to know they're dead and have proof of it. I always tell them that I brought flowers, then as I leave I beg them to stay there. For them to stay dead."

Caretaker smiled comfortingly, "I see, you use that as a reassurance that they are truly gone."

"Ymhmm", Whumpee nodded, "stupid, isn't it?"

"No, not at all", Caretaker chuckled lightly, "like I said. I fully support anything you need for your recovery. I fully assure you though. That bastard is dead."

"I know, and I might believe that....once they are gone from my nightmares at least."

Caretaker looked at Whumpee sadly, "I'm sorry you still dream about them."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou so much. Also, thankyou for helping me. Your support for me has been so helpful."

"You're welcome", Caretaker smiled,"I'll always be here for you."

Caretaker watched as Whumpee took a few steps away to look at some baby ducklings swimming past. Their mind replayed those first few days after Whumpee's rescue. How traumatic it all was. The thing that kept them moving forward was the fact that their Whumpee survived it... all by themself.

Caretaker knew they would never experience what Whumpee had experienced, and they would work hard to make sure it never happened again.

That's why it hurt when they still had to visit that graveside.

Caretaker knew the bastard was dead. Caretaker killed Whumper themself. Unfortunately, the bastard still lived on and Caretaker had no way to quickly dispose of Whumpee's nightmares.

Caretaker just had to wait until the therapy started to work.

Caretaker whispered to themself, "only a matter of time. Everything will hopefully be back to normal. In a matter of time."

I am really sorry about the wait, I had a lot of requests come at me at once, and I got a little overwhelmed, so I needed a little creativity break. I know I'm apologizing a lot lately. So yeah. I really hope you enjoyed this story though. I will attempt to get the next two requests out for everyone. -MJ

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown

[raspberryfingers]

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 12)

A/N: this chapter is probably my favorite addition of the rewrite :)

WARNINGS: NSFW

Word Count: 5.6k

—————

I sighed as I watched the last of my luggage be loaded into the wagon. I had packed light, because hopefully this excursion would only take two weeks at most. Both Sansa and Loras had packed a bit more, however, for if all went well they would not be returning to King’s Landing.

It was so early in the morning that the sun had not yet risen, and the only people at the entrance courtyard of the Red Keep were the nightguards and the men accompanying us. I regretted that we had to leave so damned early, as I’d wanted to say goodbye to Tywin. 

It made me rather sad, because I hadn’t a clue if he’d even remember me helping him to the Tower of the Hand when he woke up. His last memory of me might be the feast, and he would not see me again for two weeks.

“Are you alright?”

Feeling Ser Elias’ hand at my shoulder, I turned around and looked up at him with raised eyebrows. Processing what he’d said, I instantly nodded.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just rather anxious, I suppose. Quite a lot relies on this going right,” I said with a sigh, holding my arms and trying not to think about how much could go wrong on this trip. Elias nodded with understanding, removing his hand from me. 

“I understand. However, know that if it should go wrong, it is not your fault. If you cannot wager peace, there’s not a soul on earth who would’ve been able to.”

“Yes, well, the peace agreement was also my idea.”

“And one that I consented to.”

Ser Elias and I turned our heads at the sound of another’s voice, and I was surprised to find Tywin approaching us. I instantly smiled, going over to him and meeting him halfway.

“How are you already awake? Do you feel alright?” I questioned, pressing my hand to his forehead and examining him. Even in the darkness he still looked quite miserable. There was no doubt in mind he’d already vomited at least once.

“I feel entirely awful, but I had to come see you off. I told my guards yesterday that they were to wake me early this morning with no exception,” he explained, reaching for my hand and holding it in his. The feeling sent goosebumps up my arm, and I was somewhat flattered by the fact that he was this ill and had still come all the way down here.

“Will you be alright getting back to the Tower of the Hand?” I asked, noting that he had no coat on over his shirt and pants, just a cloak. I was certain he intended to go back to sleep after this. I prayed he would, he desperately needed it.

“I will be fine. My head hurts quite terribly, that’s all. How are you feeling?” Tywin’s free hand came to my arm, and it made me oddly sentimental. I did not want to leave him.

“Nervous, but that’s to be expected. If I tell myself everything I told you, it helps me calm down. I’m rather convincing that way. I just need to focus on rationality instead of my nerves,” I told him, unable to resist the urge to crack a joke as I squeezed his hand. He smiled gently, not enough for anyone else to notice if they were looking. 

“Well, you convinced me, and I had no qualms with the messier route. You are doing a good thing, remember that.”

“But… what if… what if things go horribly wrong, Tywin? What if I give Robb Stark his sister and two war prisoners with her? Then what?” I voiced my fears, for Tywin was the only person I felt comfortable voicing them to. He instantly shook his head, an entirely serious look on his face as he did.

“That is not going to happen. You will persuade the Young Wolf and you will end this war. You are capable of that, I am certain. And, in the impossible scenario that Robb Stark is utterly stupid and decides to take you hostage, I will call every last bannerman and come for you. I will be dead and rotting before any harm is ever done to you,” Tywin assured me, raising the hand on my shoulder to my cheek and holding eye contact as he said it. Somehow, his words were more comforting than I’d even thought possible.

“Oh Tywin…”

I embraced him then, my face pressed against his chest as I shut my eyes and just let him hold me. One arm wrapped around my torso, and the other hand came to my head, fingers intertwined with my hair. I could feel his breath on my scalp, and after a moment his lips too.

“You will return to me, (Y/N), safe and victorious. And when you do, I will hold you just like this. Do you understand?” Tywin whispered, pulling back a bit so he could look at me again. I nodded, giving him a frightened, desperate smile as though I was trying my hardest to believe his words. I needed him to be right. 

He kissed my forehead then, and I wanted to sob. I had just barely admitted to being in love with him, but either way, knowing that I had to part with him for two weeks was impossible to accept. 

“I’m going to miss you, Tywin,” I muttered, looking up at him solemnly. His lips parted, and he looked entirely shattered at my statement. He nodded, closing his eyes.

“I will miss you as well, dear girl.”

We stared at each other for a moment more, but Loras calling my name from across the courtyard made both of us look over. I sighed, knowing it was time for us to leave.

“I will see you in two weeks, Tywin. I will make sure of it,” I said, giving his hand one last squeeze before turning around and going up to my horse. I quickly mounted up, trying my hardest to make the aching go away. 

The large gate to the Red Keep opened, and as our small group began to move out, I looked at Tywin one last time. He only stared, but it was reassuring all the same. The fear dissipated, and in its place came determination. Yes, I would see him in two weeks, and when I did, I would smile from ear to ear as I announced the end of a war. 

—————

It had only been a few days since you’d left, but Tywin was already utterly miserable. He’d become accustomed to your visits in the morning before either of you had anything to do. It was a pleasant way to start his day, and without it he found himself somewhat aggravated. Now he found that it was hard to get work done without thinking about you or wondering where you were.

He had no idea if you were safe, or if you’d reached Robb Stark yet. He suspected not, but it was a small group and would allow you all to move quickly. Still, it irked him to not be 100% certain of your safety and wellbeing. He was glad you weren’t traveling in a wheelhouse, for that would’ve attracted far too much attention.

Sitting at his desk now, Tywin caught himself considering all these things. It was late morning, and he’d be having lunch soon. He could picture you doing the same, sitting with your brother and his wife. He tried not to think about the fact that Ser Elias was there with you too.

There was the frustration again. Tywin groaned as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling hopelessly. It was a never ending cycle of missing you and wishing you were here, then onto thinking about whatever you might be doing, and finally remembering that Ser Elias was with you the entire time. 

He knew that you were probably right, Ser Elias surely only saw you as a sister or a daughter, but how could Tywin not feel any jealousy at all? The man was six and a half feet tall, not to mention tremendously fit and good looking. It made the Old Lion miss his youth, for once upon a time he wouldn’t have felt insecure compared to a man like that.

Tywin sighed, blinking a few times as he considered just how badly he wished to have you all to himself. Gods, what would it be like to kiss you? To hold your cheek and feel the softness of your lips? He couldn’t even fathom it.

He thought back to the day at the inn, remembering how his breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you in the tub. He hadn’t even meant to look, for he’d never wanted to make you uncomfortable, but gods, you were beautiful.

Tywin hated the way that he thought about you, because he knew that whatever had happened to you as a girl had clearly made you wary of men and their intentions. He could not blame you, and yet somehow even he desired you. It made him feel disgusting, almost as though he was no better than the two soldiers whose tongues he’d cut off.

Of course, it was different. Those men had wanted to rape you, he wished to make love to you. The vision of it was only erotic because Tywin pictured you wanting him just as much as he wanted you. And, it was not as if desire was the thing he could feel when he thought of you. The affection and love had come first, then with it the lust. 

It was odd, for he had fucked whores at various points in his life, but that was merely to relieve his lust. There had been no desire for any of those women, he had simply paid them to make him feel good. He never kissed them, either. But gods, he wanted to kiss you.

That was the difference, he guessed. When he pictured himself fucking you, it was imagining your moans that made his blood rush. Because yes, he could certainly think about how good it would feel to be inside of you, but it was not nearly as attractive as the thought of you being pleased by him. You would look so pretty that way.

Tywin sighed, lifting his head from the back of his chair and looking down to find what he already knew was there. The strain in his pants had grown uncomfortable as he’d allowed his imagination to run wild, and now he simply felt frustrated. 

It had been quite some time since he’d requested a whore from the brothel. Normally just being around you left him content enough to simply touch himself when he grew aroused, but he felt quite insatiable now. Then again, he did not want to fuck a whore, he wanted to fuck you. And thus an idea sparked into his head.

Tywin reached for a blank sheet of parchment, instantly scratching down his instructions on it. He was sending for a whore, though not just any random one. He wanted a girl with your hair color, your eyes, and your height. He pictured every feature of yours perfectly in his head, discovering that if he’d wanted to he might’ve described you in exact detail. But no, the request must be general. Even then, it already was risky enough for him to be doing this.

Before he could think twice, the Lord Hand found himself finishing and sealing the letter. He would take it through the tunnel after he had eaten lunch, and that would be that. He expected a girl would be waiting in his chambers after supper. Somewhere deep down, Tywin knew it would be the last time that tunnel would ever be put to use. It was quite the relieving thought.

—————

Tywin was grateful to be back in his chambers, for he’d just told the king of your plan. True to his word, the Lord Hand informed his grandson about something he ought to know. Unfortunately, Joffrey had not taken well to the news. Tywin hadn’t expected anything less, hence why he’d waited to tell him until after you had left with Loras and Sansa.

But gods, that boy was cumbersome. So much so that Tywin had almost entirely forgotten about the request he’d given to the brothel earlier that day. Entering his bedroom, he was surprised to find a whore there waiting for him. She was still dressed, though only in a transparent fabric, and she had draped herself across the sofa.

Tywin froze as he took in her appearance. In terms of characteristics such as hair and skin, she matched you quite well, but in terms of actual features there was hardly a resemblance. Taking a deep breath, the Lord Hand told himself it was fine. He did not need to look at her face while fucking her, even if he had looked at yours in all his fantasies. 

“My Lord,” the girl greeted, slowly sitting up and giving him a seductive smile. Tywin found that her boldness irked him. You were not timid, to be certain, but he’d found there were some respects in which you were surprisingly vulnerable, and this would certainly be one of them.

She stood from the sofa, striding toward him in a somewhat teasing manner, almost as if trying to trigger some sort of instinct. Standing before Tywin now, she began to undo his coat. He did not deny her, but he did not do anything to encourage her either. 

With her face closer now, he noted that she was similar to you in age, probably in her mid-20s. That made him feel a bit better, at least. But still, when she smiled up at him it was almost aggravating. You did not smile like that. Yours was much prettier.

Tywin began to wonder if he even really wanted to have sex with this woman. She was not you, and you were all he wanted. But then again, he was still annoyed over the conversation with his grandson, and surely it couldn't hurt to blow off some steam this way.

“Would you like to undress me, my Lord Hand?” she asked with a giggle, completely removing his coat and his shirt. Tywin looked down at her, remaining silent for a moment.

“Undress yourself and go sit on the sofa,” he commanded, not a single hint of emotion in his voice as he did. The whore smiled and nodded, making quite a display of herself as she shed the thin gown off. She moved back to her original spot with a very seductive sway of her hips. 

Tywin let himself admire her for a moment, for he couldn’t deny that she was attractive. She had spread her legs as she sat, giving him quite the view. He wished he could see you in such a position; it would be the prettiest painting he ever saw.

Slowly, Tywin removed his boots and then approached the woman. She sat a bit straighter with expectation, batting her eyelashes as she looked up at him. Again, he found himself thinking of you. What might it be like to have you gazing up at him in expectation like this? He could imagine himself brushing your cheek with his fingers and tucking your hair behind your ears. 

He would not touch this whore like that, though. Such intimacy was reserved for you alone. Instead, he merely undid the ties on his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself. Tywin wasn’t fully hard yet, for truthfully the thing arousing him most was picturing you in place of this woman.

But, either way, he welcomed her to touch him as he stood before her. The whore examined his cock with a smile, instantly reaching from him and beginning to stroke. The sensation was pleasant, but Tywin remained entirely composed until she moved forward a bit and took him in her mouth.

In response to that, he let out a deep exhale, looking down at the top of her head and nearly moaning when he realized that she looked just like you from this angle. Her hair was perhaps her largest similarity to you, and Tywin found himself reaching for it eagerly. His fingers weaved through it, and his grip was firm yet tender. 

The thought of you licking and sucking him this way fully hardened the Great Lion, and his hips involuntarily bucked into the whore’s mouth as he pretended that it was yours. He groaned rather loudly, fighting back the urge to let your name slip from his tongue. 

All sorts of ideas about you began flooding through his head. He could imagine your hands grabbing at his hips, pulling him in even farther. And to have those lips, those soft, convincing lips wrapped around his cock… gods, it sent a shiver up his spine. 

The whore swirled her tongue around his tip, but he did not feel that. Instead he felt you doing it, and he cursed out with utter delight. Of course, he could not entirely convince himself. Had it really been you he would’ve laid you across the sofa and buried his face between your legs already. For some odd reason, he also felt that you would be a woman bold enough to grab his balls while doing this. It was no particular fantasy of his, but the idea of you touching him in any way was absolutely titillating. 

Tywin felt his abdomen beginning to tighten, and he shook his head, opening the eyes that he hadn’t even remembered closing. He glanced down at the whore, removing his hand from her hair. Feeling this, she glanced up at him.

“Enough of that. Get up and bend over,” he instructed, swallowing and catching his breath as he took a step back. He watched the woman do as he’d requested, hands planted into the sofa with her ass raised toward him, and he nodded to himself. Her build was not exactly like yours, which of course served to disappoint Tywin, but it was close enough that—if he were to really put some effort into it—he could convince himself.

He approached her then, one hand grabbing at her hip and the other reaching for his erection. Tywin found his breath catching in his throat as he lined himself up at the girl’s entrance. He simply kept his eyes focused there as he pushed in, imagining how you might moan his name and arch at the feeling of him stretching you this way.

Well, that was what he had been imagining until he was interrupted by the sound of the whore’s moan. Her voice was nothing like yours, and even if he had never heard your cries of pleasure before, logic told him it would be nothing like the sound he’d just heard.

As he slowly began to thrust into her, he attempted to ignore her whines, simply shutting his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the walls around his cock, because even if she wasn’t you, it obviously still felt rather good. Whores were paid for a reason, after all.

Both of Tywin’s hands were on the woman’s hips now, and again he thought of you. He remembered what it had been like to wake up at the inn with his arm wrapped around you, how his breath had caught in his throat when he realized. 

That memory made him thrust a bit faster, and he let out a low moan as he did. The whore replied the same way, though her moans were far louder and much more exaggerated. It made Tywin increasingly annoyed, for not only did it not sound like you, but he knew it was fake. 

This kind of stimulation might warrant a few soft moans or gasps, but nothing like the lusty cries that this woman was currently making. Tywin had enjoyed plenty of late nights with Joanna, and was not ignorant to what actually made a woman feel good, which was exactly how he knew that the current moans coming from below him were entirely exaggerated. 

Attempting to ignore it, Tywin simply shut his eyes again and chased his own pleasure. He wondered if he even should’ve bothered asking for a woman that looked like you, for he was not spending very much time with his eyes open. Well, it had at least been convincing when she’d taken him in her mouth. 

Already thinking of the subject, Tywin found himself imagining how you might moan. More than that, he imagined the way you might gasp his name and shudder as you did. Well, he was trying to. It was hard to do when the whore was quite so loud.

Opening his eyes and looking down at the woman, he decided he’d had enough. Perhaps it was rude, but as he gave the command he did not particularly care. “Hush. Be silent.”

The air felt tense for a moment as the whore silenced herself; she was certainly unaccustomed to men requesting such a thing. Normally, the more she moaned the more they enjoyed it. Well, it didn’t matter. She would stay quiet for the amount that she was being given.

Now that it was quiet besides the slapping of skin, Tywin felt free to give in to his fantasies. He ran his hands over the woman, though really he was running his hands over you. He craved the warmth of your skin, the feeling of you beneath his hands. 

His thrusts became stronger now, and Tywin groaned rather loudly as he gave the whore’s ass a firm squeeze. This was pathetic of him, and he knew that, but his lust for you was so immense that he couldn’t help it. More than that, he simply wished to kiss and hold you. He certainly would not do that to a whore.

Tywin licked his lips, swallowing and breathing heavily as he exerted himself. He could feel his orgasm approaching, and so he leaned over the woman a bit to hit a deeper angle inside of her. However, upon doing so, he inhaled her scent.

He thrusted a few more times as he processed it, but for some reason Tywin could not ignore the perfume she was wearing. It was rather nice, but it smelled nothing like yours did. For some reason, he’d been able to ignore every other difference, but this was his breaking point. He could not ignore just how different from you this woman was any longer, and he sighed out with disappointment—more in himself than anything—as he pulled out of her.

The whore turned her head to look back, confused at what had just happened. Tywin was pulling his pants up, and he walked over to his nightstand to fetch the coin purse for her.

“For your time,” he said, bringing it back over to her. She was sitting on the couch now, feeling rather displaced and anxious. She’d never had a man just full on stop without finishing before.

“My lord, I apologize if I was unsatisfactory. Would you- would you like someone else?” she asked, looking up at him with a sort of embarrassment. Tywin took a deep breath as she said it, shaking his head. He suddenly felt bad.

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t that. And I’m fine, thank you,” he said, trying to reassure her without revealing anything. Had he spent a night with her a year ago, he would’ve found it rather satisfactory. But that was obviously very different now. Tywin could’ve been given the most desired whore in the world and he still wouldn’t have been content. 

“Would you like me to be someone else..?” she trailed off, seeing the look in the Lord Hand’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a man who was clearly imagining another. Usually they had little shame in moaning other girls' names. 

Tywin only stared at her, handing her the coin purse and then stepping away. She nodded at him, not wanting to push it. She rose from the couch, grabbing her discarded dress and showing herself out through the tunnel. In the morning, Tywin would have a letter sent to seal the thing off. There was no use for it now.

The Lord Hand merely sighed, going to the small table and pouring himself some wine. Surely he was disgusting for this. He didn’t even want to think about how you would react if you knew he’d fucked a whore with you in mind. Again, the guilt came back to him as he considered that perhaps he was like every other man. Gods, it was horrible to love you and want you this way when he was 100% certain you did not feel the same in any capacity. 

Tywin sighed as he set his cup down and made his way over to the bed. He still had an erection to handle, and he supposed he’d get by just fine on his own. He undid his pants completely now, going fully nude and sitting on the edge of the mattress. 

He reached toward his nightstand, pulling out a handkerchief from inside the small drawer so he wouldn’t make a mess when he finished. Though, he wiped the whore’s slick off of himself first. As he did that, however, he noticed your handkerchief still sitting on top of the stand. He had eaten the cookie the morning you’d left, but he had not moved the cloth itself at all. 

An odd urge gripped Tywin, and he set aside the white cloth in his hand and instead reached for yours. He smiled fondly as he examined it, wondering if perhaps your sister or grandmother had embroidered the red roses around the edges of it, for you had once noted to him that you’d never been quite as good at it as them. The first letter of your name was also there in the corner, big and somewhat dramatic. It was pretty, and Tywin liked it. 

He intended to put it back on his nightstand, but a sudden whiff of flowers hit his nose and he instantly stopped. Slowly, with an unparalleled amount of hope, he brought your handkerchief up to his nose and inhaled. 

Smelling your perfume on it, he instantly exhaled and shut his eyes, allowing himself to fully take in the scent. Somehow, the familiarity of it made him feel as though he was holding you in his arms, or perhaps even just sitting beside you. 

Tywin Lannister had never imagined himself being overly fond of some floral scent, but suddenly he could not get enough of it. He found himself burying his nose in this damn cloth, laying back on the bed and getting comfortable as he continually inhaled. He was so obsessed with your scent that he nearly moaned out.

Before he could even fully process what he was doing, Tywin was reaching down with his free hand, taking a hold of his cock. He was practically throbbing now, and the ache for you was so intense that even the slightest pleasure—combined with the rosy perfume filling his lungs—made him shake.

He began to rub himself, slowly at first, as he moaned out. He could picture you sitting beside him, your hair perfectly messy and a smile on your face as you touched him. You would take joy in seeing him become a mess under your hands like this, wouldn’t you? Tywin gasped, handkerchief still pressed to his face.

He forced memories of you saying his name into his mind, his hold on his erection tightening now. He began to rub a little faster, breathing catching in his throat as he looked down at himself. Compared to the warmth of his hand, the feeling of the cold valyrian steel ring made him shudder. The texture of it was almost painful, but you had given him that ring. You had held it in your hands.

Again, he moaned out, still bathing in the scent of roses. In his mind you were still there beside him, watching him moan as you squeezed and tugged. He could see you, naked and beautiful as you tortured him this way. He wanted to kiss you.

He started to rub himself even more vigorously now, a moaning mess as his hips came up to meet his hand. Tywin practically whimpered, and his legs were beginning to shake. It was never like this when he touched himself. The scent of you alone had turned him into this.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N)! Oh gods… (Y/N)…” Tywin applied extra pressure to the tip of his cock, choking out your name with absolutely ecstasy. He could feel every single muscle in his body tensing, as though he were some sort of wild animal.

He found himself rolling onto his stomach, momentarily stopping and reaching for the body pillow against his headboard. With absolute desperation, he lifted himself up for just long enough to push it under him. Once he’d done that, his hand went straight back to doing what it had been before, and he groaned again.

The handkerchief was still against his nose, and with the pillow beneath Tywin, he could imagine himself on top of you. Not only that, but he felt your stomach pressing against his as your back arched, and he saw you throwing your head back with pleasure. 

Tywin moaned as he continued to pleasure himself, not caring at all how hot the room was growing. He was sweaty and tired, but your scent urged him to keep going; he listened quite obediently. 

He was thrusting into his hand—and the pillow as well—with extreme vigor, forehead pressed to the mattress as he panted out. Even if he’d wanted to, Tywin could not keep your name from his lips, especially as he imagined how you might shake and quiver beneath him in the midst of an orgasm.

He felt like a madman envisioning all the ways that he would take you. He wanted you beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. Or perhaps he would kneel before you, thrusting with your legs over his shoulders. Then he would take you from behind, his hand on your back as your forearms collapsed beneath you out of sheer pleasure. Tywin wanted you on top of him, hips rolling against his as your breasts bounced and he sat up to kiss them. There was the scent of roses again.

Tywin shuddered, for there was too much on his mind. That was not all he wished to do to you. He saw himself inserting his fingers into you, curling and pumping as his thumb rubbed your clit. Surely that would make you sing his name, which was erotic enough as it was. Not only that, but the Great Lion imagined what it might be like to bury his face between your legs, holding them open as they shook. He would feast like a man starved.

Gods, it was a euphoric vision, and he’d found a particularly enjoyable rhythm with his hand. Tywin knew he was close, and his moans had become entirely pathetic, whiny and loud in a way they hadn’t been in years.

Suddenly, his abdomen squeezed tighter than before, his hand clenching around the handkerchief as he took another good inhale. Roses, roses and you. That was all that existed as he felt an all-consuming pleasure in his groin. 

The fresh cloth from earlier was entirely forgotten about, and Tywin did not care whatsoever as his seed spurted from his cock onto the pillow beneath him. He had surely ruined the case, but that was not even a thought to him as he cried your name out, so overwhelmed that his hand was forced to slow itself.

For a few seconds, the Great Lion was entirely frozen, moans becoming quieter and more relaxed as he came down from the peak of his orgasm. He had to swallow and catch his breath, exhaling deeply and blinking a few times to reorient himself. 

Tywin was so exhausted that he nearly fell asleep then and there, but the thirst in his throat forced him to roll over onto his back so that he’d wake up. He glanced over at the pillow, surprised at just how large his spend had been. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spilled so much.

Your handkerchief was still in his hand, and he stared at it for a few seconds before bringing it to his nose again. The scent had previously aroused him, but now it was comforting. He suddenly wished to hold you, to pet your hair and kiss your head. 

Though, the reality of what he’d just done also hit him and drove utter shame and guilt into the Hand of the King. As if he had not degraded you enough by imagining you when he was with a whore. 

Tywin sighed, sitting up slowly and reaching for the cup on his nightstand. The wine felt good in his throat, not to mention it soothed whatever nerves were gathering in his stomach. He was overthinking now. 

As he laid back in bed and cleaned himself up, Tywin also thought about how you were doing at the present moment. It was weird having no contact with you, and it would stay that way until you arrived back at the Red Keep. At least, he prayed that was what would happen.

He merely sighed as he contemplated, pushing the body pillow off the bed and onto the floor. He slipped under the covers then too, trying to get comfortable. It was extremely late now, and there was no doubt in Tywin’s mind that he’d fall asleep rather quickly.

After all, the scent of roses still hung in the air around him, and he prayed that it would never fade away. Perhaps, for once in his life, the gods would listen.

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[billthedrake]

This is a collaboration that @josmith1718 and I have been working on together for a while. It's a hypnosis themed story, so be forewarned if that's not your thing.

THE PROTOCOL

By JoSmith and Bill Drake

CHAPTER ONE

I came home from work and was ready to unwind when I realized that dad was not there yet. I found it weird because he was usually back before me. Nevertheless, I went inside and began to change out of my suit and put on some shorts before warming up some food. While I was in the kitchen, dad came in and sighed as he usually did. I felt for him, single dad, divorced with a 27-year-old son living at home couldn’t have been easy on him. I did my part to lighten his stress by providing outlets for him to let loose and not be the hardass foreman he was at work at home.

"Welcome home, Dad. How was your day?" I asked as I took out a plate and served him some of the leftover lasagna I warmed up for myself.

"It was horrible, buddy. I need to relax before I start going bald." He came towards me and hugged me. I hugged him back, feeling his hard body gained from years working construction. When we separated, I smiled at him, and he leaned down and gave me a kiss. We made out a bit before he and I separated, and he went to get a beer from the fridge.

"At least you’re home, right?"

"Yeah, with my favorite guy." He replied. He was hot, literally and, well... literally. We had been going through a heatwave and he had to be on site most of the day. I was indoors but even the short distance I had to walk to my car was unbearable with the full suit and tie getup I had to wear for work. I could only imagine him sweating through his plaid shirt, dripping as the sweat traveled down his meaty pecs, down his hairy body….

I’d loved this man ever since I graduated from undergrad. When he divorced the second time, I asked him to move in with me. Sure, the apartment I had at the time was not a mansion, but we made it work. After some years and promotions, we were able to upgrade to a nice home in the suburbs. Dad continued as a foreman, and I stayed in the corporate world until they brought up the opportunity to get my MBA in a top-shelf B-school that my company partnered with.

"How was your day, buddy?" He asked as he was taking a sip from his beer. I shook my head and smiled, "Good, I got an exam tomorrow, but it's nice to have a night off." I was doing grad school part time. It was a great deal: my company was footing the bill and there was an implicit promise of a promotion after. But the evening classes and the weekends devoted to homework were kicking my butt. Thankfully, I had a great support system in my father.

After warming up the food, I brought it to the table, and he and I ate in silence. Dad was always tired, always stressed, and it was hard for me to look at him like that. He'd always warned me not to go into a manual labor profession, and I'd taken every bit of his dreams for my own future and tried to live up to them, and more. When I graduated the first time, I said that this was our degree, not just mine. This new MBA would be just as much as his as it was mine.

When dinner was over, I got the dishes and Dad began to undress, "I’m taking a shower son. I don’t want to keep the scent of the site on me any longer."

"I don’t mind it, dad..." I smirked at him.

He shook his head and came towards me, "You like your old man smelly?" He whispered in a hushed raspy tone.

"You smell like a man, dad." I responded with confidence as I finished unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

"How did I get so lucky with you, bud?" He replied before we began to make out again. My fingers felt his hard rounded muscle, dusted with his fur. Dad was big all over, beefy and strong, but his chest was the centerpiece of it all - big and round pecs that felt like stone beneath my fingers.

We stopped making out and he got on his knees, "My shower can wait but I think my corporate son needs to relax with a nice blowjob from his old man," Dad was rubbing his hand over my bulge before looking up at me again, "let me service this cock, son."

"Aren’t you tired too?" I asked, but selfishly, yeah, I wanted this as well.

"This helps me relax," he smiled and then fished out the cock from shorts and started to blow me. He was skilled, after several years of blowing me, he had learned what I liked. I never got tired of my construction worker father - my tan, muscled, hairy, beefy, sexy construction worker dad, who was more than willing to get on his knees and suck my cock whenever I needed “relaxing.” In my mind, he justified the blowjobs he expertly gave as doing it for “my son’s pleasure, not mine.” That was a facade, since every time he shot his own load, his mouth was connected to my cock. The old man loved sucking my cock just as much as I liked getting blown.

"Dad, I’m getting close, Dad, fuck, I’m getting—"

I shot and my dad greedily sucked and sucked until every drop was in his mouth and down his throat.

"Good load, buddy,” he grinned as he leaned back, a proud smile on his gruffly handsome mug. “Now, time to take my shower." He kissed my cock and got up to head to the master bathroom.

The sex was great, incredible as always, but I still kept thinking about how stressed Dad had become. That evening, I talked to him about letting me have more of the responsibility of the house and its finances. I told him that I could pitch in more, and I'd tried to get him to talk about finances. Maybe it was putting the cart before the horse, but in my head, I'd be earning a lot more by 30 and ready to ensure dad and I were financially stable enough for him to look for something more relaxed or retire outright.

I was ready to make sure dad was not so stressed all the time.

"Buddy, it’s fine how things are. I’m fine." He said, but then I continued.

"Dad, you’re stressed, and I don’t blame you at all. I have enough money to make sure that we can live comfortably. Especially after this promotion, you could potentially retire."

"I don’t..." he started to object. Then he sat back up and took off the reading glasses he had on to read his iPad, "Son, I’m happy. Being with you, making sure you’re happy, I’m fine. No need to worry about me. I’m your dad, that’s my job."

"And my job as your son is to make sure you are happy too. I’m not happy to see you so stressed." I got closer to him and began to fondle his pecs and nipples, "This, us, I’m happy... but seeing you stress over bills, that does not make me happy."

He took in what I was saying but was stubborn ol’ Dad. "In some ways, I’m old school. I am the father so that means I oversee the finances and everything that has to do with the household. I can’t just let it go…"

"You are in charge of people at work all the time. You have a lot of responsibility; I can take some for you dad. I want to do that for you. Think about it, yeah?"

"You’re so good to me, son." He kissed me before he traveled down my body, ready to give me another blowjob, "You gonna give me something to help me have a good night sleep?" He winked at me. Then I felt my dad's wet lips and soft tongue start working my hardon again. As he slowly sucked and bobbed and then went further down on me, I tried to rack my brain to remember the last day the man hadn't gotten me off at least twice.

I couldn't remember.

I was damn lucky.

***

We didn’t talk about finances anymore and went back to the same routine. Dad was great and loving, but he was also a stubborn man. Maybe I'd inherited his stubborn streak, too.

In the spring I graduated and got my promotion at work officially. I was to get a raise and a new office. It was something I was excited for. I was already doing some of the work of the new position to get used to the new processes, but as soon as my contract was renewed and everything was official, I invited dad to see my new office. He came wearing a plaid shirt and dark jeans.

"Wow, my son, the executive." He was impressed.

"Junior executive," I corrected him. Mind you, my company handed out VP titles like candy, but I was proud and prouder that Dad was proud. I closed the door and lowered the blinds. It was late afternoon, and most people were leaving, but I wanted to show Dad that everything he and I worked for was beginning to pay off.

He turned around and damned if he didn’t tackle me to the wall. He was kissing me, groping me and pawing at my body.

"You look so fucking handsome in your suit and tie, buddy." He whispered as he felt the silk tie he had given me for one of my birthdays.

I bit my lip, "Dad..." My heart was beating fast and the anticipation of what was going to happen was beginning to make me get a hardon in my dress slacks.

"Let me show you how proud I am of you buddy." He whispered and then undid his shirt, button by button, he slowly began to reveal that beautiful hairy body and got on his knees. He undid the zipper of my slacks and fished out my cock, "Executive cock… fucking A, son... you’re making one of my fantasies come true."

Up until now, I thought his career dreams for me were about my financial success in life, but I was starting to get the feeling my father was into professional dudes. The fact I was his flesh and blood made his turn-on that much deeper.

The big man took his time, it was a slow session, edging me as I stayed pressed against the wall. I took off my tie and put it around his neck. We had never done something like this and since it was a first, I gave it a shot. We were pretty vanilla, more so because I could tell dad had hang ups. My old man was momentarily surprised but growled as I slipped the silk tighter around his neck. I tightened the tie and pulled him towards my cock. He got into it, doubling his efforts as I messed up his hair, "Come on, dad, suck your boy’s cock."

He nodded.

"You like that?" I growled. "Your son, the executive, is making you into his personal fleshlight."

That got a deep, heavy moan from the guy. I got rock fucking hard. In all our time together, I never got verbal like this. I never imagined my buddy-buddy blue-collar dad would be remotely into it. This was new territory for both of us. His reaction, the intensity of his blowjob, I couldn’t handle it and blew in his mouth. It felt like an eternity, but he continued to suck until every drop was taken in. When he took my cock from his mouth, some spit got on his chest. I got on my knees and rubbed the saliva all over his hairy pecs and munched on his nipples.

"Buddy..." He cradled my head, applying slight pressure to get me to bite his nipple more.

I bit and pulled; dad groaned but he never told me to stop. He pulled me up and kissed me deeply. I took off my suit jacket and rolled on the floor with him, making out, celebrating this new phase in our life.

We stopped when we heard a knock on the door telling me goodnight. I said good night, my voice hoarse but as soon as I cleared my throat, I said goodnight again and saw dad catching his breath against the wall.

I crawled and stayed next to him until I spoke, "So this was a fantasy of yours?" I asked. My white shirt was wrinkled, my suit jacket discarded on the floor, my pants dirty from the fibers of the carpet. My face flushed from a good rutting. Dad looked at me and responded with a "Yeah," with an uncharacteristic blush.

"What else do you fantasize about, dad?" I asked as he rubbed his palm. He stayed quiet but I began to get an idea when I saw the red tie near him.

"I don't know, Kyle" he began, "You gonna think less of me, son?"

"Course not," I replied. We’d been carrying on our crazy father-son affair for years, and it blew my mind that there was more to discover.

He nodded and ran his fingers along my dress shirt. "When you took control... that was very hot."

I grabbed his hand, caressing it with my fingers as he felt me up. I wasn't going soft and worried I wouldn't soon. "That turned me on, too, Dad. Maybe a little too much."

He gave me a concerned look. "We don't gotta, Kyle."

I patted his hand. "Believe me, Dad. I wanna. Just don't want you to feel less than… y’know," I laughed.

He laughed along. "Well, let's talk about more at home, OK, buddy?"

I straightened up as best as I could. I was still quite disheveled, and dad was too, but we made do with what we had and left the office smelling of sex. I left the door ajar hoping to air out some of the scent. Hopefully the cleaning people would not suspect anything. Office sex may have been risky, but I knew I'd be wanting to do that again. And from the glint in Dad's eye, I suspected he was thinking the same thing.

We picked up some takeout and a six pack on the way home. I always shuddered when we pulled up into our suburban driveway, looking like a normal son who's a temporary roommate with his father to save some money, or biding my time till I met the right girl. On the other hand, we did move to a suburb where no one knew us and could only assume who we were. No one ever asked us, and we never clarified. There was a mystery surrounding us and that made it hotter for me. Inside this home, we were father and son but so much more. Maybe even husbands someday…

After dinner, I brought up finances again. We were doing good month-by-month, but I knew we could refinance the mortgage, invest our spare cash more wisely, and start stocking away extra for our future. Dad still bristled at my bossy tendencies when it came to money. He had the experience of raising a family and being man of the house when I was growing up, but I knew more about personal finance. I just wanted him to not need to burden so much by himself.

Still, he was more open to it this time. Not saying no outright. Asking me questions. Not giving up control, but not being the normal Brian Peterson.

But even as we talked about the dullest, most boring stuff possible, his eyes shifting, looking at me with… lust. In the mood for round two or maybe he was just responding to my own lust for him. Having Dad around, living with him, supercharged my sex drive.

He finished off his beer and shot me a smirk. "Feel like hitting the bed a little earlier tonight, buddy?" he asked.

I think the office sex had amped up his libido. Me, I was just horny. "Yah," I said.

We both got up from the table and it was unmistakable, both Peterson men were horned up. My cock strained my shorts and dad had opted to go pantless, only wearing boxer briefs and an old college t-shirt of mine. Every time this man wore my clothes, it made me feel closer to him.

Something was different that night. As we headed to our room, not saying anything, there was a feeling that something had shifted. The atmosphere was supercharged, I felt warm and giddy. Dad kept looking at me and smirking that goddamn sexy smirk. Once in the room, we planted ourselves to opposite sides of the bed and did a slow strip tease for one another.

Dad had refused to go into detail about his and Mom's relationship ("too close to home, buddy"), but I gathered his second wife didn't like how much of a sex drive Dad had. She was fucking crazy, I thought, as I watched him peel off my shirt that was snug on his frame and slowly lower his underwear.

"Fuck, you have a beautiful cock, son," he hissed as I finally slipped out of my briefs. I had inherited dad's length, but had some extra girth. A lot of extra girth, to be truthful. I'm not sure where it came from, but my father seemed to enjoy it.

He kicked off his underwear and joined me naked on the bed a few seconds after I'd climbed onto the mattress. Our bodies connected and we kissed, making our way to a fully reclined position to make out. It was electric. There was never a moment in all this time we were together where the kiss lacked chemistry or passion. This man had the most talented mouth on a construction worker. His kisses were everything you read about in the hottest erotica or saw in movies.

In the midst of the make out session, I ended on top of him. My body on his, his hands on my back pulling me closer to him. His groans of pleasure as I placed my weight on him. I don't know if I took the initiative to roll on top of him, or Dad pulled me into that position. Nevertheless, my mind wandered to what he was thinking. I thought maybe he'd ask me to fuck his face. I had to go easy with that but occasionally he was in the mood for that. That was as far as ‘kinky’ our sex would get.

"You wanna fuck me, Kyle?" Dad asked. Paternal, friendly, and vulnerable all at once. I looked at him and if he wanted to know, my twitching cock on his was answer enough.

We'd tried that a couple of times. Dad at first swore that wasn't for him. Neither of my attempts was successful, it just hurt too much attempting to breach the tightness of his cherry. I didn't harp on it, or press it, but Dad knew the idea turned me on. "Yeah?" I asked, surprised.

"Go slow, OK?" He urged.

"God, yeah," I grunted. I kissed him deeply then started kissing along his neck and upper body, gradually working my way down.

Dad realized I was going to try to rim him. His hand reached out to stop me. "Don't think I'm up for that buddy. Sorry," he said.

I looked into his eyes. Those loving fatherly eyes. The man treated me right every night, and I wanted to make sure he was into every bit of this. "Sure thing, Dad," I replied. I reached for the lube I used on the rare occasions I had to stroke off on my own. Like I say, it had been a while.

I guess the stuff doesn't go bad, I thought, as I undid the cap and squirted some on my fingers. Then more.

My fingering was slow, real slow. Dad hissed some but seemed OK with it. I even got two fingers in and out easy as anything and had my father's hole stretched around a third. It was time.

I lubed up and scooted in place. Dad complied by pulling his legs back and wide, showing off his mature, furry hole that was like a hit of poppers to me. Or coke. Or heroin, or something. I just knew my dick was rock hard seeing that unviolated dad pucker and my thick dick lining up for it.

I went as gently as I could, nudging, teasing that ring before applying some real pressure.

"Oh fuck, slow!" Dad gasped. His hand reached out to touch my chest, stopping me, and his eyes looked up in a plea. I bit my lip and took a deep breath and backed off a bit.

I nodded and realized I'd have to take it slower. I leaned in and made out with him, trying to get his mind off the pain. That seemed to relax the big guy. His beefy body relaxed on the bed beneath me. I tried not to break the kiss as I tried again. Even slower.

Fuck, it didn't work. Dad let out a yelp like I'd stabbed him. "God, that fucking hurts," he cried as he broke our kiss. No more pleading in his eyes, just a lot of pain and frustration.

I rolled off him. My hardon was gone, replaced by my concern for him.

"Sorry, Kyle," he said, softly, contritely. "I know you wanted it, bad."

I sighed. "Come on, Dad. You gotta want it, too. If I wanted to fuck something not invested in it, I’d buy a blow up doll."

He turned and faced me, a hangdog look on his gruff face. "That's the thing, son. I do want it. I want to make you happy, give you that pleasure. It's just... my body doesn't seem to cooperate." He looked down at my softened dick. "I guess I kind of killed the mood, huh?"

"You didn't kill anything, Dad," I said, pulling him into a soft kiss. It was a romantic, reassuring kiss, but pretty soon we got each other worked up again. Before I knew it, I was rock hard. And Dad's fist circling around it felt amazing with the lube job I'd given myself.

"Damn," I hissed, pulling back and looking down to where Dad was giving me a hand job. We'd never done this and while it would probably never be my preferred sex act, it felt amazing just then.

"You like that buddy?" Dad growled playfully, his breath on my ear, his tongue flicking at the earlobe as his fist continued working my tool. "Fuck... I love taking care of my boy." He admitted aloud.

I turned to look at him and he held his gaze on me. I loved this man and even more because he wanted to give me his all. "You’ll take care of me, right dad?" I asked, gulping at my question. Involuntarily I thrust some into his greased fist.

"Let your old man take care of you son. That’s my job, to make sure you’re satisfied." Dad pumped me some more, looking down at my meat before looking back up at me. "Earlier, bud... when you were on top of me.... I was so fucking proud of my hot executive son.... ready to take charge."

"Oh shit," I gulped. I didn't feel like I was taking charge then. Dad was playing me like a fiddle, just like he was playing with my cock.

His lips formed a sexy leer. "You like that, huh, son? Being in charge?"

"Hell yes," I replied, gaining my voice and admitting the fantasy that had been latent. Dad was tapping into it big time that day. "I don't mean any disrespect to you, sir," I said. I hadn't called him Sir since I was like 16. But the emotions were pouring out. "But that idea.... of being man of the house... oh fuck!"

My cum was shooting. I knew I was on the edge but that orgasm hit hard and fast, by surprise.

"Shoot it, buddy!" Dad encouraged, milking me harder. "My hot fucking stud."

I felt like I had left my body how hard this orgasm had been, feeling a sudden lassitude hit me with the post-coital endorphins. My body jerked as I felt Dad kiss my belly and lick up my jets of semen. Then I felt his mouth encircle my prick, unconcerned about the lube there. Sucking me all the way down. I had a reflexive reaction to the overstimulation and almost pushed Dad off.

But the second I touched his shoulder; I had second thoughts. I knew the sensitivity would go away and that I'd enjoy another BJ. I circled my dad's delt muscle and held him to work him up and down my bone.

***

It was the weekend before Dad brought up the idea.

"Kyle... you got a minute?" he asked as I came in from mowing the lawn. We split the household duties, but given that dad worked hard in the hot sun day in and day out, I tried to tackle the major yard work.

"Yeah, Dad... what's up?"

He got me a cold soda from the fridge and pulled up a chair to our kitchen island where we had a lot of our meals. Dad had a barely concealed look of excitement on his face as he started in.

"So I've been thinking... I guess I have a lot of hang ups when it comes to sex...."

I laughed. "Dad, you're the last guy I'd say has any hang ups." I mean, the guy had blown me in the shower that morning. And then asked if I wanted seconds. "Seriously, you're incredible."

He grinned, pleased at the compliment. But he continued. "I do though. The other night, I really wanted to bottom for you. But I just have a hard time giving up control."

I grimaced. "Dad we don't gotta. If it's not fun for both of us, I don't wanna do it."

Dad was anticipating that answer. "Tell me the truth, Kyle. Would you enjoy fucking me, right?"

I didn't have to ponder the answer. "I would," I admitted. "That doesn't mean..." I started.

Dad interrupted. "Buddy, of course we don't gotta.. But I think I found a solution." He picked up his iPad and clicked on the screen then pushed it my way.

There was a webpage with big bold lettering. "HYPNOTHERAPY..., a way to take back control of your life by using our services. You too can overcome challenges and learned behaviors stopping you from being the best you."

Dad watched excitedly as I read it. "I found them through an online forum…" I raised my eyebrow and he blushed, "I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, buddy… I want to be able to give you my all and found a forum with guys with similar issues as mine, unable to bottom for their partner and well… A lot of services don't let you use it for sex therapy, but several guys had good experience with this company. Said it was worth every penny."

"You want me to undergo hypnosis?" I asked slowly. I loved my dad but sometimes he could have wacky ideas.

He chuckled and shook his head, "No buddy, I want you to hypnotize me. You know, kind of get me past my mental roadblocks."

God, he was serious. I felt a flush of heat. There was something powerfully hot about the idea, but it also felt wrong. "Dad, I don’t know that it works like that."

"Won't you even fucking give it a try?" I'd never seen Dad upset at me like this, at least not in a while. "Listen... I called them and they assured me that they could do virtual training if need be." He was giving me that hangdog look of his that was hard to say no to. "It'd be an hour consultation with me and then a three-hour mini course for you. I figure after all those econ classes you'd be a quick study," he smirked.

"I'll think about it," I said.

That seemed to cheer him up and he stood up and came over and patted my shoulder. "Love ya so much, buddy," he said. "I just want to find a way to make you happy."

"You do, Dad," I replied then felt his strong muscle get closer behind me and his hand travel down my sweaty T-shirt, feeling up my chest muscle. I thought Dad had drained me pretty good earlier but I was boning up, fast. "Dad... when was the last time you edged me?"

I heard his soft chuckle. "Beats me, buddy... beach vacation last year?" He patted my pec muscle and gave my head a soft kiss. "Why don't you go shower up? I'll put on a Sox game and we'll see if I can get you to hold off blasting till the eighth inning, OK?"

I laughed and turned around to meet his kiss.

***

The next day Dad went into my home office, shut the door and did his one-on-one consultation. I spent the afternoon online with a mild-mannered guy. Handsome dude in his early 30s, he had that tech-bro attire on, but he had a way of making me feel at ease with him. He asked me about myself and my goals in life. We hadn't told the company we were father and son of course, but I talked in general terms about my relationship with Dad.

"Would you say he was a father figure for you? In your relationship..." His tone wasn't judgmental.

"Definitely," I said, and he nodded, writing some stuff down.

Then it was twenty questions about our sex life. I hesitated at first but decided to be honest and do this, for Dad.

That was the first hour. The next hour was the man describing the process - the Protocol as he called it. Dad would be asked to listen regularly to a recording, a mix of repeated words and white noise. I was given the trigger words and told how and when to use them. Beyond that there was a general script, but Tech Bro told me I’d have to use and adapt it, almost improvise. It was a method more than anything.

“It’s easier than it sounds, Kyle,” he explained. “You’re in finance right? Think of it as a flow chart or business strategy plan. You respond to Brian’s psyche.”

The man warned me about what not to do, but also allayed my concerns. "Kyle, Brian is doing this because he wants to. You can't make him do what he doesn't want to, deep down. Just remember that."

"Yeah," I said, trying to convince myself. Part of me was convinced this was all a sham and it wouldn't work. And part of me was afraid it would work all too well.

"I believe you're going to enjoy this, too," he finally said. I kind of zoned out a little, because the next thing I remember was the Tech Bro's voice. "You feeling relaxed?"

"Yeah, I am," I replied.

"Good," he said. I've sent you the link to a recorded video that will walk you through the hypnosis you're going to perform on Brian. Watch a few times before you actually do it."

With that, he signed off.

***

I gave it a week. Each night, Dad would come home, tired from work. We'd have dinner, he'd blow me and the hour before bed, he'd listen to the recording, headphones on as he lay on the couch, eyes closed. I took the time to review the instructional video.

On Friday, I got an email from the company. "Watch this and you'll be ready."

I found myself surprisingly thrilled to click the link. It was a video conference recording, only with my dad in center frame. The familiar bookshelves and posters from my home office were in the background, and I realized it was from Dad's initial consultation. Only the video started halfway in, after the preliminaries.

The man's voice was a different man’s, deeper and more seductive and monotone. "That's it, Brian... let those eyelids get heavier and heavier.... don't need to fight it. Just let it feel good."

Dad nodded and as the voice droned on in its hypnosis chant, I saw him finally relax. At first nothing seemed to be happening but then I saw dad's shoulders lean in and then his head slumped forward.

The voice became more assertive, "Good, Brian. How do you feel?"

"Relaxed..." Dad said in a monotone voice.

"That’s good to hear. Every time you hear the phrase ‘power down’ you will revert to this state, is that clear?"

"Yes..."

I was so fucking hard watching his. Particularly because I realized Dad had given up control for my sake.

"Now, let’s begin…"

I listened to how the man guided dad and how he brought him back. I was jotting down notes. When dad came back to, it was as though he was waking up from a deep sleep.

"How do you feel?"

"Relaxed, as though I just went on vacation. Thank you." Normal Dad voice, groggy from having ‘woken up.’ It was wild seeing that happen. I don’t think my father was just playing along. We were paying good money for this and if it was not working, Dad would say so.

Then the video stopped.

I was horny all afternoon. Dad sensed something was off when I got home. Friday is normally our unofficial dad-son date night. And when Dad came into the living room, he saw I was sitting nervously.

"Something wrong, Kyle?" he asked, unbuttoning his plaid work shirt. It was unusual for Dad to call me by my name unless he was mad, worried or we were at a work event, though those were rare before my promotion.

"Just a tough day at work," I lied. I forced a smile. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go out and grab a bite."

That seemed to relax Dad as he smiled before turning to go to the room and get ready. He was looking great when he walked back to the living room wearing a clean polo shirt that hugged his beefy body and some jeans.

"Ready son? I'm starving."

I perked up over dinner but when we got home, I patted Dad's meaty shoulder once we walked into the living room. "Power down," I said, my body shaking with the nerves of what I was doing.

I honestly didn't expect this to work as easily as it did, but at hearing his trigger, Dad’s face went slack, his hands dropped to his sides and his eyes became glazed. I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"How do you feel?" I asked. Dad acknowledged the question but did not look at me nor register who I was.

Instead, he answered while concentrating at a point in the distance. "Relaxed and calm..."

I tried to remember the protocol. I was glad I'd watched the instructions multiple times since the words came to me readily; "Good... you know that every time you are in this state, you feel relaxed and calm, correct?"

"Yes... relaxed and calm." God, his voice was so sexy, deep and soft like this.

"Kyle put you in this place because he loves you very much. Repeat after me, ‘Kyle loves me.’"

"Kyle loves me."

"Again."

"Kyle loves me."

"Good. Kyle knows you have a hard time showing him you love him." I had to give the company credit; they'd come up with a hypnosis protocol specifically tailored to our needs.

"I do," Dad's reply came. "I love my boy so much."

My heart pounded. Dad was looking in my direction but not focusing on me as he spoke. He was open to everything I would be saying to him while in this state and he would answer my questions truthfully and with no hesitations.

"How do you want to show him your love, Brian?" It gave me a thrill to call my old man by his first name.

"I want Kyle to fuck me," Dad said simply, "I know that would make him happy."

Pretty much, things had gone to script so far, but the protocol was more about a set of prompts and ways to deal with the truth of the response.

"Will you do that for him?" I asked, a horny knot in my throat. "Will you make your son happy?"

Dad nodded. "I want to, but I couldn't… I can’t."

"Why is that Brian, why can’t you give your son this one thing?"

"Because I'm a man. Men don't get fucked."

Jesus. The man had some issues I wasn't prepared for. But it made sense my butch, blue-collar dad would have some issues about bottoming. I stepped up and touched his face. He didn't flinch and didn't lean into the caress, but he smiled dreamily.

"Kyle is a man, right?" I asked. I was ad adlibbing some, but this was basically following the protocol. Leaning into the resistance.

Dad nodded, "He is. My son is the sexiest man I know."

I was getting rock hard now. I walked backwards as I began to take off my clothes. I rubbed my cock to feed the pleasure and continued.

"You think your son is a sexy man and you love your boy very much… Do you think Kyle should be the one getting fucked instead?" I asked. This wasn't scripted but was part of the jiu jitsu move of taking the man's hangups and using them against him.

Dad's brow creased for a second then the calm returned. "No. Kyle does the fucking."

I was dripping now. I let go of my prick and stepped a little closer. I could smell the Irish Spring or whatever fucking soap he uses at the end of a hard day. "I want you to remember that, Brian," I said. "I want you to remember that Kyle does the fucking."

A part of me felt low for trying to get Dad to put out for me like this. But I remembered what the Tech Bro had said about Dad only doing what he'd want to do deep down.

My father's tranced response was automatic. "Kyle does the fucking."

I nodded. "I want you to think about that. A few times a day at least. Think about your sexy stud of a son. The executive, fucking you, seeing the love you have for him. Show your boy that you love him by giving him what he wants. And when you do, it will give you a sense of happiness and pleasure."

"Happiness and pleasure," he repeated.

"And when you feel him on top of you, his weight on top of you, you will feel safe and content."

"Safe and content."

I wasn't 100 perfectly sure if I was doing this right. Dad was zone out to be sure, but I worried he was just repeating whatever the fuck I said. So, I asked, "Why is that?"

Dad's answer had surprising clarity, as it was his normal voice speaking to me. "Because my son is a man. And men fuck, men don't get fucked."

Maybe it would take me a while to deprogram that nonsense from him, but a shallow side of me was getting turned on by the way Dad talked in such primitive, black-and-white terms about fucking.

"Good," I instructed. "Now..." It was time to return to the Protocol. "I want you to envision an empty room. An empty white room. Totally white. Blindingly white..."

"Yes..."

I moved back away from him, a few paces away.

"Good. I want you to concentrate on my voice. As I begin to count to five, you will be walking towards a door. Kyle will be there, walking with you, making sure you are taken care of."

Dad took a breath and nodded, his big chest rising and falling.

"You do not need to do this alone," I continued. "Kyle will be with you every step of the way. I’m going to count to five and once I get there, I want you see the door. When we get to the door, I’ll tell you what will happen next." Dad didn’t respond but nodded as he began to concentrate on what I was saying.

"One... you are walking forward..." Dad began to walk towards me, "two... you are reaching out to hold Kyle’s hands, he alone brings you comfort and relaxation..." Dad reached towards me and soon as my hands touched his, he held on to them with a firm grip... "three, we are walking to the door I mentioned. It’s getting closer... four, we are almost to the door... Five, we are here..."

"I can see it," Dad said softly. It's bright but I can see it." His voice was deep but excited.

"Open the door. What do you see?" I asked. The Protocol was about the implantation of a suggestion and the reinforcement of that before the session was over.

"Our bedroom," Dad replied. Again, his voice had a strange clarity. "I'm on it, on my back... and Kyle is fucking me."

I almost came then, but luckily my hand was nowhere near my cock.

"How does that make you feel, getting fucked by your sexy son?" I asked.

"I am relaxed and content… And happy. Kyle is making me happy."

"The same way you feel when you are sucking your son’s cock, worshiping it, making it shoot for you… that’s how it’ll feel when you let yourself get fucked by him… you’ll feel pleasure beyond what you could imagine."

"When he fucks me..." his voice was getting that soft drone like quality again.

One big no they told me was not to have Dad under hypnosis for too long. Especially for the first sessions. It was time to bring him back.

"Good, Brian. Close the door." I saw Dad do the motion of closing the imaginary door hesitantly, he wanted what he saw but until now, that was more of a dream than a reality.

"Think of that moment, Brian. Think how happy you were, how happy you made your son. All that matters now is that you show your love for your son. He deserves it as much as you do, to feel the pleasure only you two can give each other. Understood?"

Dad nodded. I wanted to kiss him, hug him, but I needed to bring him out, "Now, at the count of three, you will follow all my suggestions while you were under. Deep in your mind, you know that Kyle does the fucking and that to show him you love him, you have to let go and give him what he wants… what does he want?"

"To fuck me… fuck his dad…" Dad responded, biting his lip and his cock beginning to get hard.

"Yes, fucking you will give him happiness and bring you pleasure. That’s all you want, as a dad right? Bring happiness to your son?"

"Yes, I want my son to be happy…"

"And your boy wants to give you pleasure."

"Give me pleasure… my boy…"

"Yes. I’m going to count to three and you’ll wake up, not realizing you were under but following all instructions. You will not question why your son is naked and you’re not. Okay, let’s start… One.... you can feel your toes... Two.... your muscles can flex again.... Your breath getting back to normal... Three."

Dad's eyes flicked open with a suddenness that startled me.

"Fuck!" I gasped.

Dad shook out his muscles a little as he refocused on me. I saw him break into a huge smile. "Damn, buddy... looks like you couldn't wait to get me to bed, huh?" He stepped up to me and latched on to my naked muscle as he claimed a quick kiss then crouched down in front of me. Oblivious to the hypnosis he'd just undergone.

I was so primed and hard I had to pull Dad off my prick a couple of times when I was in danger of blowing too soon. And when I finally came, Dad coughed on the load, it was so heavy.

After he swallowed my load, we showered and he kept touchy feely with me, rubbing my shoulders, slapping my ass, and when we went to the living room to watch T.V., he grabbed my feet and rubbed them as he watched the highlights.

Once we went to the room, he asked if he could play with my cock again. I told him I didn’t think I had anything in me, "Come on buddy, one more go before I hit the hay."

I nodded and like a little boy on Christmas morning, he licked his lips and went down to play with his favorite toy. He sucked for almost an hour with breaks in between and when I finally shot, it was not much, but Dad happily drank it down, nevertheless.

[chronicbeans]

Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 3)

My brain has gone on with this idea and I love where it is going. Yippee!

TW: Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Scopophobia/Eye Imagery, Idol Worshipping

🎥 This has gone on long enough! In just a few weeks since that interview, the letters and pictures have increased tenfold! You keep finding Wally in the oddest of places, like on your desk, in the lounge, or even next to your locker. It constantly feels like eyes are watching you.

🎥 Even the contents of the letters are getting stranger. They were always odd and creepy, but at least before they had lighthearted words in them. Now they're saying things like "You're the air I breathe and all I see. You make my days better or worse. You keep me warm and keep this neighborhood bright! Please, never abandon me!" It's all written in that messy crayon writing, too, which makes an eerie contrast to the words that makes you sick. It seems so childishly unaware of how disturbing the words are when thought about for too long.

🎥 The drawings aren't much better. Nine out of ten times, they include you in some way. From the pictures just including you, including you and the characters from Welcome Home, to - worst of all, in your opinion - you in real life places. You sitting at your desk. You sleeping in the lounge. You getting a cookie at the snack stand during the interview. There's even one of you putting on your coat at the lockers. The drawings may not be the highest quality, but they are detailed enough to both be recognizable places and to alarm you.

🎥 You have an idea of who it might be. It's gotta be Wally's voice actor. They were his puppeteer before their arthritis kicked in. They just couldn't move their hands enough to properly puppet him anymore, always complaining that it hurt, despite the medications they took. But, the producer did decide to keep them as Wally's voice actor, saying that nobody could replicate his distinct laughter, tone of speech, and voice pitch. Despite this, Wally's voice actor was properly ticked and hated the fact they were replaced. They're always acting passive aggressive towards you. It must be them, probably to try to scare you away.

🎥 Today, you have decided to confront them. Marching over to their recording booth, you knock on the door. When they open it, they have that signature glare that would put even Frank's to shame. Before they can even ask what you want, you tell them all about what has been going on and how you know they have been doing it. They have to be behind it. All of these drawings and letters have Wally's signature writing and art style. The only person that knows Wally more than you is his voice actor. It HAS to be them!

🎥 They grow silent, before looking at the pictures and letters. Then, they look up at you and say, in the most matter of fact tone "I haven't been able to draw or write anything in character for a YEAR, (Y/N). What makes you think I would put myself through the pain of trying to replicate it after all this time, with my horrible joints, just to frighten YOU, of all people? You aren't worth my time, much less my comfort. You got any other evidence to accuse me of this... Whatever this is?"

🎥 You grow silent. To be honest, thinking back on it, it really is a stupid idea that they would do all of this to scare you. If they couldn't even muster up the energy to go out of their way to verbally confront you, then it would be shocking for them to put the effort to write and draw things to do so. You still have one more question, though...

🎥"What about the voice I've been hearing? It sounds just like Wally. You are his voice actor. You have gotta know something."

🎥 Their eyes grow wide. Then, they shrug "The one that has been saying things about... well, something. It's always a bit too muffled to hear exactly what it is. I thought you somehow improved your Wally impression and were practicing in order to replace me completely. Your impression may be off enough for the producers to care, but it was always the best one here. You're telling me you aren't the one making that voice?"

[fuwaprince]

👉👈 Hi friends! I have a long, serious post made just for you(!) that isn't full of spoilers, smut or mooning lawn gnomes. Please read if you can, this is a 💥 mutual aid request 💥

It has been a horribly painful and long while as most people following/keeping up with me know. and in a few days I'm going to be down $1500, which is basically all my fucking $

I can't afford Christmas for anybody, which sucks and I'm very sorry. I can't even take care of myself and haven't been, which also sucks and I'm very sorry

Landlords spontaneously raised rent on me more than halfway through this month as punishment for not getting to my house chores and not communicating, to be totally honest with you. I feel ashamed and awful about it but I didn't want to clean the place while multiple ppl living here had tested positive for COVID and kept walking around unmasked... I am not fully vaxxed because I've been too depressed to get any kind of necessary medical care done and I didn't want to catch COVID in the middle of my finals week for the semester. I woke up to being angrily and rudely bitched at first thing after the last of my finals (I passed at least). It wasn't a humanizing text. Fuck the mistreatment though. Rent is now almost doubled and it won't be lowered

There was no room for negotiation and I truly believe they've resorted to pricing me out of living here because the group of renters psychologically tormenting me wasn't effective (actually- putting a picture of my rapist on the fridge rly was super effective in getting me to isolate myself in my room all day and so was outing me as trans to the transphobic ass neighbors.... But I didn't and still don't have any place better to move out to, like the way they were hoping I would. Yes, I have looked and BEGGED btw)

I want out of here NOW, but I can't leave. I tried and had to come back because it was the best option. I can't afford to stay in a motel/hotel/BnB just to get away from them for a day or two during Christmas. I don't have any friends who I can spend the holiday with either. During the semester, I resorted to convincing classmates with keys to locked buildings to let me crash in them while they worked at night and I would leave before anybody showed up. Now that school is out, I can't do that. I don't have any family I can reach out to for support or friends who I can depend on for immediate help. I have been crying day in and day out for weeks. I have records of it posted throughout my blog. Literally crying for days on end. I'm being so fucking transparent

All that lump of text is to explain to whoever is out there, who might be listening and willing and able, to please consider helping me, if and ONLY IF able. I know times are tough and if you'd rather use your $ for other reasons or just don't have any to spare, don't sweat it and take care! 🫂

I've thought about what I could do for a long time and have helped myself how I can. It isn't enough. I've applied for so much assistance. Been approved and been sabotaged by my inhumane mom (who does not love me) via stealing my legal documents and letters and hiding them for months. My mind jumps to grim places but I'm clinging for dear life to whatever hope I have left that says things will get better. I wish I knew somebody with a business that I could work for. Part of me feels so fucking terrible for asking for help because I feel like a waste of all your resources. I feel like I shouldn't ask, like I really do not fucking deserve help, but there are friends online who care, who I know mentioned being interested in helping in whatever ways they can

So to the people who care to seriously me, I'm ready to accept it: please send me nice words to get through this and feel less alone. It feels pathetic to ask but I would love a nice letter. A nice card even. Kind words of any kind would go a long way. It means more to me than food. I have felt so broken and every day feels like a test to figure out how badly I actually want to live

I'm also leaving my cash app and paypal here in case anybody would like to do more than what I'm comfortable asking but probably very likely will inevitably need very very soon. I will be left with fucking nothing and I will have no idea what to do once rent is paid

Thank you to those of you who have sent love, offered to listen and heard me out. I really wish it wasn't so hard to survive. I'm trying to feel better knowing there are people out there who are also without help and hoping the best, but it doesn't make me feel any better or comforted tbh. I just wish the help was there for us. I wish there was a place to go for spare love, care, compassion, empathy, kindness, humanity, generosity... I need that more than I need $. Call me stupid but that's what I live for. I don't live for paying to survive in terrible conditions. I live for love and to smile with friends

I hope to write back to the friends who have already been so kind as to message me soon btw. I'm sorry for not replying sooner. Your overwhelming support is sincerely sweet and sometimes I cry because I can't believe people are so nice (to me???). It'll give me something to do that doesn't make me feel like dying! :') so thank you thank you thank you *fist bump*

Hope you're all doing as well as you can and that somehow things get better. Hope anybody else struggling like me doesn't make the mistake of isolating like a sick and dying animal. You deserve love. You deserve support. Don't be like me. Have the courage to reach out to the people who care about you for help as early on into your emergency as possible. Don't let your situation snowball because you spend so long trying to figure out if you're worth it!!! This Random Tumblr user is here to tell you that YOU ARE. Sending my infinite everlasting unconditional love. Be nice to yourselves. Be nice to each other. Fuck the hateful assholes who wish I would just kill myself already. Tell your friends you love them. Happy Holidays!!!

And here's a single picture of a mooning lawn gnome at the very end, as a treat! I told you this post wasn't full of it.... It just ended with it 👉👉

[ladyxskywalker]

lost without you, i & ii

Anakin Skywalker x F!Reader/OFC

a momentary separation between you & anakin happens while you are not feeling well. however, despite the circumstances, your hearts have only grown fonder of one another each time you speak on the phone. 💙

I wrote this a while ago & was kindly asked to repost it here on tumblr. also available to read on ao3. based on a real life situation. 🌼

i.

It's been weeks since you've been together. Something awful and truly beyond your control, forcing your current separation. A horrible flu making the rounds in your home world, where you - after attending a wedding, unfortunately, had come down with it as well.

"I confess, my love, I haven't been doing well without you." Anakin confides quietly in you, taking advantage of whispering in hushed tones over the phone.

"Anakin..."

"I know you're still recovering, but I can't help it, I'm selfish for you. I want you here...right now."

A softened sigh of your breath leaves your chest with a slight struggle, a cough escaping there, and a tear drop too.

"I will be back soon, I promise. Being without my other half has truly been unbearable."

"I just...I just want to hold you."

"You will again, soon enough. I promise."

But what you really meant to say, through the emotional heartbreak you've been facing is - yes, I know things have been difficult, I just hadn't realized that you'd been going through this just as much as I was.

"Will I, though?"

It hurts the most when his own mind leads him away from reality and the truth. Right away thinking or feeling like he'll never see you again. But the thoughts are only just intrusive ones, they have no real bearing on what lies in your heart.

"Yes."

Your head starts to feel too heavy, and your pillow is much too nice for you to even attempt getting up right now.

Sleep was inevitable. You hadn't been able to rest in days. Too nervous with worry to let your eyes close.

Too sad and unable to sleep without him all alone.

"This war...sometimes feels as though I am completely by myself, even though I know I'm not. I sense everything so strongly, it's harder than I thought."

"You need human contact. I understand that more than you know."

"Yes. I want it from you."

All while laying down, your cheeks have felt your eyes as they've already gone ahead into weeping. Another sort of instinct, telling you to finally let it all out.

"Tell me...what you miss...what you hope for most when eventually I do return."

Anakin pauses on his side of things, taking a breath before surrendering to his own heart.

"I just...I just want to be close to you."

"I want that too."

"I want to hug you for as long as I'm able to. Hold you in my arms while we sleep together in our room. Watch you smile at me from the door when you wake up. But..."

"But what, handsome?"

"The days...they're too long, too far."

After holding things in for so long, he begins to get a little bit choked up.

"I miss you, Anakin."

"I miss you too..."

So for now, all the two of you can do for one another is wait. A few more days for him to be home, and another stretch of time for you to start feeling better once more.

And then, there's a little static.

Background noise.

Another voice coming through over the phone.

"General Skywalker, there are enemy hostiles about. We should flank them on foot. Surround them."

"Good call, Commander. Lead the way, I won't be long."

You can almost picture his face in your mind then. A distance resonating in his eyes, veering off somewhere towards the setting suns, before looking back down.

Confident.

Brooding.

And, maybe even a little bit tired from it all.

"Go."

"I'll call you again tomorrow. And..."

"Hm?"

"I just want you to know, I'm not going anywhere."

Right then and there, even from across the airwaves, you sensed his light and the force of his love deep within your bones.

... 🌼

ii.

after being apart from one another for quite some time, anakin gives you a warm welcome home ❤️

this part is rated M or E for smut feel free to skip if this is not for you additional content tags: soft smut, couch time, sleepy morning intimacy, implied things happening, nothing crazy

It started with a long hug and a gentle hello. A smile for you, already gleaming with excitement as he greeted you by the door.

You were going to dinner that night. A fancy one he'd been planning for weeks for your birthday. Thoughtful gifts, wrapped with care, just needing to be opened. A release of kind breath, leaving the anxious state of your lungs then, because now - finally, all is well.

And you were home .

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?"

"Mhmm."

He pulls you closer. Your hands, finding their way up to the back of his neck to feel his still wet hair from the shower.

Anakin hums, tracing the tip of his nose along your neck - leaning into it, enjoying the touch of your skin. The smell of your perfume that he loves so much.

"Do I look stupid?" He chuckles, all while holding you tighter to him.

"No. You're perfect."

"Good. Now go, open your gifts. You've waited long enough."

But for just a minute, you'd rather just take him all in there instead. To say how much you truly missed him while you were apart. That the greatest feeling in the world right now is knowing that Anakin is the best gift of all.

The night went by so fast. Laughing with each other first, then with friends...

Sneaking off somewhere for a while in a dark corner of the bar...

The softened shadows, encasing you both in their ease of surrounding comfort. And his hands, showing you the way toward his hips in front of everyone else, without a care in the world.

Your arms wrap around him easily.

His incredible blue eyes, focus on your lips.

Then your palms cup his face, completely letting go - falling on air immediately when he begins to kiss you hard.

"Want to get out of here?"

"Mm. Yes ."

"We don't need to be here anymore."

And so, you go.

"Come here."

He reaches for you to straddle him on the couch, insistent on his keys landing somewhere on the hard surface of his table below. Making a slightly abrupt noise that he knows someone else might have complained about...

But, he doesn't care where anything is supposed to go right now, and neither do you.

Not with the way you've been eyeing him sweetly from above...

Your shoes ending up someplace with his boots as they've already fallen over...

His belt buckle, already lost underneath his messy chair on the floor.

"I missed you. I thought...I thought you were never coming back. That, maybe you were gone for good."

Anakin caresses your face, brushing your cheek with care at the tips of all his fingers.

"You're my other half, I'd never leave you. Never..."

Anakin sighs, almost afraid to speak. Always brooding, so deep in thought.

"All those weeks...I couldn't bear it. I wasn't myself."

You kiss him slowly, slotting your lips together, chests pressing, getting even closer.

"I know."

Leaning down, you trace every line of his neck with kisses. Gripping the hems of his clothes. Shifting your hips against his, silently begging for him to help take them off.

But it's you that he wants first.

Completely vulnerable and bare on top of him.

Another hand, slipping between your thighs - teasing you with his strong and capable curling. Eliciting a budding sensation there that makes you moan.

The tip of his tongue, encircling the pebbled skin of your breasts, his eyes soothed to a close as he takes each one into his mouth.

"Yes... oh , please... please ."

Then, he grins, feeling that stray shiver he seems to know so well. Shifting you just the slightest for a second to take his pants off. Guiding your hand lower against his hardest part just to arrogantly show what you do to him.

"I want you. Right here ."

And as you lower yourself down upon him, it feels as though everything is made right again.

Affectionate sighs of impassioned relief, escaping there from you both...

Foreheads dipping into an almost blind surrender to the simplest form of selfish touch...

It took some time for you to drift off. The adrenaline and excitement of seeing and truly being with him again, almost feeling like too much.

He hums when he sleeps sometimes, sensing when occasionally your eyes tend to open - watching him. Closing them softly again when you know you've been caught.

You missed his bed. The smooth sheets. His warm pillows.

The broad span of his chest, and the cool feel of his arms.

Snuggling closely to him, you check the time. Looking across the room at towards the window, judging that by now it had already been morning. Your calming hint being the comforting light of the sun.

"Mm. I haven't slept at all..."

You whisper to yourself. Unable to fathom the last time you did something like this. Or that all of it had truly been real as well.

"There you are..."

Anakin slowly opens his eyes, allowing them to adjust.

"Morning, handsome."

Looking over, you see that all this time, the sheets have grown tighter. Sliding your hand beneath the warmth of your blankets to palm what lies beneath them. Though, before you know it, both he and you are no longer guarded by your covers.

"Where do you want me?"

You whisper, pressing each word against his waiting mouth.

His kiss, feeling like the only sort of sensual welcome you ever want to know.

Then, wordlessly, he takes you by the wrist, carefully and protectively, leading you back up and over where you belong.

Reaching around the hardened length of him, the pad of your thumb grazes over the smooth tip, before guiding it towards that sensitive spot. Letting go.

He kneads at your flesh, grasping at the skin of your thighs, rolling you forward, kissing you hard. His fingers, holding tightly to the back of your head. Freeing you only when you stretch, sitting back up. Your entire being, on passionate display for him there.

"I'm a lucky man..."

He smiles, all while mumbling a string of endless thoughts. Secrets from his mind that he's been keeping. Allusions to everything he loves about you, never spoken, always bottled up. Until this overwhelming moment.

Until, right now.

"You're a goddess... so beautiful..."

You can't help it when a single tear begins to fall, when you see his pure surrender to joy slipping with dampened eyelids of his own.

A rough hand then changing the scene...

Emotions running wild when a mere gentle moment turns into something else.

Your lips, pressed into momentary capture by the welcome feeling of his palm.

All you can do is watch him, as he's watching the joining spaces between you. The quickened pace that comes from the rolling of your hips. Your fingertips, toying with your own chest there...

And then he releases you. A moan escaping, then his shuddered breaths...

Another kiss...

Then one final glide.

Your blinding wave and loving fall, following his right after...

He's so warm, so safe like this. That when he eases you off of him, carefully making space for you to sleep next to him some more, you almost can't believe that you are really here with him now.

That you've almost spent four seasons of time with this amazing man.

That either one of you no longer had to fear the thought of being alone.

No universe exists where you would ever dream of being with someone else.

And you loved him.

... ❤️

thanks so much for reading 💌 xo A

[hisonlyreid-er]

School Girl Crush Pt 4

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| A new BAU member appears and Spencer sees her as a little threat to his status of boy genius. Being unable to get comfortable with each other causes some issues within the team. Will they be able to move past it and work together?

Spencer Reid x FemBau!OC Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption

Six months in the US had flown by. My routines had been built up strong as well as my relationships with the members of the BAU. I had grown comfortable in my role in the team and allowed myself to settle in. Each case brought us closer together, letting us rattle our ideas off each other.

A break was uncommon in our line of work, we worked most days and had little time to ourselves between cases. The whole team had been given a week off after a particularly long ad grueling case. I had been dragged to a girls night with JJ, Garcia and Prentiss. We sat in a dingy bar for hours, laughing, talking and drinking. Lots and lots of drinking. Our chatter wasn't about anything, just the most random conversation that was fueled by excessive alcohol consumption. I never had been a big drinker but Garcia was determined to get to me to try all her favourite drinks, in one night. If any of them asked me about Spencer, I wouldn't have had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. I don't even know how I managed to stand up and walk out of that bar.

Sunlight hit my face, burning my eyes. I groaned at the splitting pain in my skull. Now I remember why I don't really drink. The hangover. I was sprawled haphazardly on top of my covers, in the same clothes from last night. How did I even get home last night? There was no memory of the hours I spent with the girls. That's a good sign. It was really lucky that we wouldn't have a case for a few days because it was going to take me at least a day to get over this. I had to think rationally. Water and painkillers. It took a while to get from my room and to the kitchen. The sound of my own footsteps worsened my headache.

When I left my apartment I had taken a couple Advil to try and numb the pain. My outfit wasn't every put together, a pair of baggy jeans and a hoodie with the hood up. I needed coffee but ran out before our last case. There was a coffee shop a few blocks from my place so that was my destination. The spring sun was beating down on me, stinging my corneas. I preferred it back home, always rainy, dark, miserable. That would be ideal for me right now. But alas, I was living my life with my dream job in the land of the free, what a horrible life.

The shop wasn't super busy as it was around 10 am so most people were at work. Suckers. I would laugh but I wasn't exactly in the right place to be laughing at people. The lovely barista took my order quickly and got to making it. Maybe I looked like I really needed that coffee. I didn't even have the energy to scroll through my phone while I waited, just stared off into the distance. "Lyn?" My head snapped in the direction of the voice.

Dr Reid? My face flushed red as I grew shameful of my attire. He was stood there looking very put together, cardigan buttoned up, hair neatly messy. Gosh Lyn, pull yourself together, he's just a colleague. Then, I realised that I hadn't said anything, just stared at him like a creep. "Dr Reid. Good morning." I try to mask my strangeness with a smile. In his hand was a takeaway coffee cup, his signature satchel strung over his shoulder. Why did he have to look so good? Yeah, I was definitely a creep. Before he could say anything, my coffee appeared on the counter. I thank the barista, taking a sip and turned back to Reid. My embarrassment was still strong as he subtly scanned my clothing. "How's your time off?" His voice had an edge to it that made me want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. "Good. Had a girls night last night." I couldn't quite meet his eye as I spoke. "Really?" And then, before I knew it, we were sat across from each other at a table.

"Garcia made you drink how much?" We were laughing together as I recounted my night. "Probably around 6 drinks. Each time she gave me a new one she'd say that she was lying before and that that was her favourite." Our cups were long empty but we stayed. "Aren't you hungover?" He seemed really shocked. I was pretty sure I looked as bad as I felt. "Oh extremely. I was hammered by drink 3, blackout drunk by the end of the night. I don't even remember going home but I woke up this morning in my bed and the same clothes from yesterday." Everything was so relaxed. It was strange to think about how 2 months ago I was convinced he hated me but here we were.

We refilled our drinks twice as we talked aimlessly . Reid spouted the most random information and I listened intently. It was peaceful, watching him talk about the stuff he's passionate about. I couldn't believe some people found this annoying. I never wanted him to stop as I watched him, my chin on my hand. There was a sparkle in his eye that I could not get enough of. "Hotch did what?!" I asked him incredulously. Our conversation had drifted to stories of the team that I had never heard. The stories seemed wild to hear when spoken but they were just the same as what we experienced on cases. God, our job is wild.

A small part of me was sad when we had to part ways. The hour and a half we'd spent together was the best I'd had in a long time. It was refreshing, a normal conversation away from the gore we saw everyday. Reid stood across from me on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. "I'll see you on Monday." I beamed at him. "Yeah, I'll see you on Monday." He echoed my words but neither of us moved, just stayed staring. I decided to leave first, turning on my heels. "Bye Reid." I called over my shoulder. I saw him raise a hand and give me a little wave. "Bye Colesta." I smiled the whole way home. It was ridiculous but I couldn't help it. My chest was warm and fuzzy every time I recalled the look in his eye or the way his voice got excited. I'll be over my little crush soon enough. I just had to wait it out.

Returning to work on Monday was actually enjoyable, I was starting to lose my mind with nothing to do. Not that I would ever admit it out loud, I missed my team, a lot. When you spend weeks with people you grow accustom to them being there and if they aren't, it's very noticeable. I joked with Prentiss at her desk, Morgan joining us when he arrived. Everyone had their routines. Hotch would be preparing for our next case in his office, Rossi would be in his. Garcia would be clacking away on her keyboard, gathering important information. JJ would be getting ready to deliver the case and Reid would be arriving at any moment. As if one cue, the lift dings and Reid steps out. It's just a silly little crush.

It seemed that I didn't get over it as quickly as I'd liked. Obviously I focused on the case, prioritising it over my feelings but sometimes I'd catch myself staring at him. Butterflies swelled in me when we met eyes and when he smiled at me, oh good lord. I tried my best to be professional but when he smiled at me, I wanted to giggle and kick my feet like a lovestruck teenager. Sometimes I forget that I'm a 23 year old woman and an officer of the law, I shouldn't be acting like this.

After that case, Reid and I would get coffee every few weeks when we had time. We would catch up, exchange stories and laugh together. Each time we spoke seemed like a step in the right direction. Some of the others seemed to have noticed it too. I got questions from Prentiss and Morgan about the change between us. It sounded like everyone knew about the friction between me and Reid, and now we were a little closer, it showed. It was easy enough to hide my feelings from my male coworkers but the girls, they saw straight through me. Prentiss was the first to mention it, she did it subtlety to try and gauge my reaction, forgetting that I'm a profiler too. I managed to keep it from her for a few days before Garcia caught on. Nothing could escape Garcia so I was royal screwed. They interrogated me for an hour and finally broke me. I confessed to my little crush and our coffee shop rendezvous. And they never let me live it down. Every chance they got was used to tease me, even in front of Morgan, but he wouldn't know a thing. They even teased me in front of Reid and I couldn't help the flush of my face when he looked over at us, that made it much worse.

Around a month after we first ran into each other, we went our seperate ways again. On my way home I thought about everything. It made me ecstatic as I realised that we might be friends now, no more hard feelings. I was friends with Reid. He enjoyed my company as I enjoyed his. God damnit. Now it would be even harder to get over my crush but I didn't care. I made a friend. If I was still in school, Mum would be so proud of me. She probably wouldn't care now, seeing as I'm an adult but I was still full of joy. Spencer Reid was my friend and there is no way I would risk messing this up now. I would shove my feelings deep down. Nothing would ruin this. Nothing.

Sorry this is a shorter part. Part 5 will be so much longer and is the one I'm most looking forward to writing.

[thatlovinfeelin]

He Don't Like The Lights | Bradley Bradshaw Actor AU|

Waiting tables wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t your favorite job either. Not that you hated it, because you didn’t. For the most part you liked your coworkers, your roommate Celeste being one of them. Your bosses weren’t horrible, and the pay was alright. You were able to pay your bills and stash some extra cash away for savings. Soon, or at least you hoped it would be soon, you would be able to move out of the somewhat shitty place with Celeste and get a better apartment. Maybe even leave Virginia altogether. 

“Hey, I need you to take table five.” 

“But it’s not in my section tonight,” You argue with your manager. 

“Just take it, okay? It's a single and you’re better with singles than Celeste,” He replied, shooing you away with his hands. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes as you grabbed your waitress book and headed towards the single guy sitting at the table. You never sized up tables before you started serving them, never tried to write people off before they had a chance to show their colors. 

But you could tell that this guy was hot just by the way he was sitting with a baseball cap tugged low. He at least knew how to wear a damned hat unlike some of the guys who came in with it halfway on their heads. 

“Hi, welcome in, can I get you started with anything to drink?” You asked cheerfully as you stopped in front of him. 

The bar was relatively empty, which came as a surprise since it was a weekend and the weather was fairly nice. Maybe everyone was still out at the beach and would be in before dinner ended. Maybe you would get lucky and end up having a good tip night to make up for the shitfest that was last night. 

“Uh, just a Bud on draft if you have it.”

“Bud lite?” You question. 

“No, Buswieser, the real shit,” There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice. 

“I’ve got it in a bottle, is that okay?”

“Yeah that works,” He replies, tipping his head back to look up at you. 

It takes you a second to register who’s actually looking at you. You’ve seen those dark hazel eyes on screen plenty of times, because Cele is obsessed with his movies. However, what really takes you back is how normal he looks in an old beat up t-shirt and shorts. He doesn’t look like the glamourous actor that you’ve seen.

“I’m sorry- are you,” You stop and lick your lips. 

You aren’t nervous, because you aren’t obsessed with him. His movies are okay, and you have to admit he is more attractive in person than he is on screen. But you’ve never been one to fall face first over someone who’s in the industry, not that you’ve ever had the chance to before. 

“Are you Bradley Bradshaw?” The question comes out as a whisper as you lean down, trying to be as quiet as you can. 

He pales for a moment, waiting to see if you’re going to fully freak out on him before smiling sheepishly, “Caught that easily, huh?”

“You’re lucky it’s just me and not the other girl over there,” You inform him, “She’d be on the floor, and I know that because I live with her and share a TV with her. But since it’s just me,” you smile at him before backing away a step, “A bottle of Bud coming right up.”

He smiles and relaxes into his seat before looking back down at his phone on the table. You can’t help but smile as you make your way towards the bar and the POS system to start his ticket. 

Bradley Bradshaw is eating in the bar and no one but you knows. He just happened to be lucky enough that Celeste had the one big table and was therefore too busy to take him, even though it was her section. 

“Thanks for taking that table,” She sounds out of breath as she sets a drink tray down next to you, “I’m swamped with those fuckers over there. Tourists on vacation who want everything at that very moment. Including three Virgin Strawberry Daiquiris for the kids. I want to shoot myself.”

You smile to yourself as you make your way around to the beer cooler to grab a nice cold bottle of Bud, “Oh don’t worry about it. He shouldn’t cause any trouble anyway.”

If only she knew. 

“Here you go,” You say, sitting the open bottle down on his table, “Do you need a minute to look over the menu? Or do you have any questions?”

“What do you recommend?” He asked you, looking back up. 

“Pulled Pork Mac’n’cheese, easy,” You replied almost instantly, “Hands down my favorite dish here, after our Crab Dip appetizer, but I also eat that for a full meal.”

He smiles up at you and closes the menu before handing it back to you, “I’ll try that Pork Mac then.”

“Sounds good, I’ll get that right in!” You smile triumphantly before backing away once again, “Holler if you need anything, okay? I’ll be back to check on you before the food comes out.”

Back at the bar, Celeste is finally able to stop for a minute and catch her breath. She looks miserable and it makes you want to laugh a little. Her night would be very different if she just took Table Five instead. 

She’s hunched over her phone reading an article, which normally you would call her out on being on her phone but tonight you can’t be bothered. It’s slow enough and her phone is hidden anyway. 

“Hey, Bradshaw is up for a bunch of awards,” She grins, “He so deserves them. You remember how great he was in that war movie, right! That’s what’s being nominated.”

“Hmm?” You question before your brain seems to catch up with you, “Oh, yeah. No, he was great in that movie. Whole cast was, honestly.”

“Exactly! I hope they sweep at the Oscars, they all deserve it so much.”

You have to hide your smile as you type away on the POS to put in the order. In the back, you can hear your kitchen jamming out to some sort of heavy metal meets classic rock mix which isn’t all that unusual for them. There are some days you’ve come to work and they’ve been listening to Disney music. At this point you can’t even try to say that you understand what their playlists consist of. 

It takes ten minutes before you’re walking back over to the table with another beer in hand. You noticed he was starting to run low and you know better than to let a drink ever go empty. That was one of the first things you learned when you became a waitress. 

“Brought you another one,” You announce, setting it down. 

“Thanks, appreciate it,” He replies, “And uh, thanks for not freaking out on me. Would’ve been a bitch if I got swarmed in here.”

“No worries, I’m not a rabid fan or anything,” You laugh, “But I am curious as to why you’re here of all places. I thought you lived in LA?”

“I do,” He nods, “But this was home long before LA was. I was born here in Virginia, I like to come back and visit family from time to time.”

“Oh,” You’re taken back by his honesty. He could’ve easily told you that it was none of your business, which is what you expected, “That’s really nice actually.”

Celeste calls you, saying the kitchen wants you. Reluctantly you force yourself away from the table and towards the set of double swinging doors in the middle of the bar. Something about Bradley Bradshaw is drawing you in and you aren’t sure if you want to resist it or not. Surely he wouldn’t remember your name in a few hours. He’d forget about the server from Virginia the second he got on a flight back to LA and the way of the world would take back over. 

“Here’s that pork mac,” Chef told you, nudging the dish in the window, “Get it out of my sight.”

“Sir yes sir,” You reply, grabbing the hot dish, “Thank you!”

“Yeah yeah, fuck off,” He grumbled, which only made you smile. 

You made your way back towards Bradley’s table with a smile. You could see why Celeste was so enamored with him. There was just something about him that made you want to sit down and hang on his every word. Plus, he was hot as hell. He still had the mustache from his previous role, and was trying to hide behind his ball cap. He looked normal, almost.

You wondered how other people here saw him? Were they even paying attention to the bonafide star that was hiding out in the corner? Celeste would piss herself if she knew he was here, hell, you might even piss yourself if he smiled at you again. The thought made you a little weak in the knees. 

“Your pork mac,” You said, sitting it down on the table in front of him, “Be careful, it’s actually pretty hot.”

“Mmm, looks fantastic,” He nearly groaned, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, you don’t even know if you’ll like it!” You laughed, “But I hope you enjoy, and let me know if I can get you anything else.”

You hop away from him again, taking a deep breath as you go. Maybe the night wouldn’t be as bad as you thought.

[itsyoung8]

About Preppies + IM BACK!!

Salut la team! Ça va? Non en fait je m'en fou (je rigole mdrr). More seriously, I've always told myself that to be part of the preppies, there is a certain standard that Derby has put in place and that you have to respect at the risk of being excluded. So when you see the other preppies, you might think that they respect this standard. But when you look at each of them, you realize that they are not really in this standard:

Bif Taylor:

Bif is Derby's right-hand man and his best friend without a doubt. We would be led to say that he is just like him but, in reality, not so much. We know that Bif is a Democrat. This party is based on an ideology of progressivism, unlike the Republican Party, which is based on an ideology of conservatism. The Democratic Party tends to want to protect rights or create new ones for the less powerful (precarious people, minorities, etc.). The fact that Bif is siding with a political party that is contrary to the preppie norm shows that it is not as horrible as that and that it is more of a façade. In addition, we also know that Bif likes certain things that are not up to preppy standards like hip-hop for example. and is one of the only preppies not to speak with a fake British accent. These two things show that it is not as close to preppy standards

Pinky Gauthier:

Although Pinky is Derby's cousin and therefore supposed to be like him, this is not the case. Pinky says she wants to socialize with other people who may not be of her social status. For her, people below her social class are more real than those of her class. That's why she dates Jimmy because he's natural and doesn't feel like he has to have a façade to please anyone. Also, Pinky is the one who tries to understand those who are less well-off as best she can, especially when she tells Jimmy that they need to discuss their social status. Presumably, she is trying to learn more about the lifestyle of people who are poorer than herself. Finally, like Parker, Pinky is quite generous in donating her old clothes to girls in need. All this shows us that Pinky is not in the preppie norm that Derby and her parents want to impose

Parker Ogilvie:

This attitude that Parker displays to be up to the standards of preppies makes me laugh because it's not believable. He compliments opposing teams in sports, which includes greasers if they win. In addition, he gives money to the homeless and is able to appreciate someone who is not of his social rank like Jimmy for example. It's like he's stronger than him to be nice to everyone and that's why I say he goes out of this norm.

Tad Spencer:

Tad has not been rich for a long time, unlike his friends. From this information, it can be deduced that Tad was middle-class only a short time before the main story in the game. I came to think that Tad knew what it was like to be middle class or even working class. So, when he behaves in an obnoxious way with the less well-off, I tell myself that this is just not true. You will tell me "yes but people can change because of money". I will tell you that you are right, but when we know that Tad is under pressure from his father, it is quite likely that his way of acting is a way to please his father and not suffer bad treatment from the latter. Tad reaches out to Jimmy to become friends at the beginning of Chapter 2. He could have very well not invited him to throw eggs at Hattrick's house, but he did it anyway.

Gord Vendôme:

Gord is perhaps the one who is most obsessed with the poor, as can be seen in his lines of dialogue. Most of the lines show him hyper condescending to the poor to be able to show off, like a standard preppie would. Thus, we would be able to say that it is exactly in line with the preppie Derby-style standard. However, there are a few things that make Gord not exactly in this norm: dating Lola and kissing Jimmy, who are from a lower class than his own, is already an example because the preppie norm is for Gord to date someone of his social class. What reinforces this idea is Gord's father since Gord himself says that his father would never approve of Lola or Mandy. What also shows that Gord is not exactly in this preppie standard is this thought that Gord has poor people. Certainly, he despises them to the highest degree on a certain number of aspects, but he envies them on one thing: reality. Gord says that the poor are more real than he is. Gord realizes that he is only artifice since he acts and thinks according to standards that have been instilled in him and not a freedom to be what he wishes.

Justin Vandervelde:

As for Justin, there are several points that show that he is not in the preppie standard. First of all, there is his desire to be close to the Jocks. Most Jocks are, arguably, not from a wealthy family and don't have manners and dress codes (in the sense of expensive clothes) like preppies. However, Justin wants to be friends and allies with them, but Derby disagrees, thinking they are just fools. On the other hand, in a line of dialogue, Justin says that he is afraid of not being superficial enough. This implies that Justin doesn't think he's on the same level as Derby or anyone else in terms of respecting preppies standards, otherwise he wouldn't think about it. These two points show us that Justin is not in this norm that imposes being superficial and contemptuous of the lower classes. Although he tries, Justin will never, at least, get rid of his admiration for the Jocks.

Chad Morris:

Chad also has some flaws but I must tell you that I don't really know if we can count them as arguments. First of all, there is this question of wanting and being able to date someone from a lower class. In chapter 3, Chad flirts with Lola. Even if he had managed to date her, it would not have been approved by his social class since Lola comes from a disadvantaged background. Because of this, Chad is still willing to break this standard when dating Lola. Finally, we know from Chad that his father does not pay teachers so that his son has good academic results. As a result, Chad can, at times, end up with a bad grade on an exam. However, in the preppie standard, always being on top is an essential standard. Corruption is often used among preppies and is accepted to reach this top of the social ladder. We can then say that Chad's family is not as strict about preppie standards since they don't mind that their son is not always at the top.

Bryce Montrose:

Honestly, I don't know what to say about Bryce. Bryce is not in the preppie standards as he is broke because of his father who spent all their money. As a result, Bryce is forced to work to maintain himself financially. In this case, he is not in the norm because he should not have to work at his age and even less have a job that is not worthy of preppies. However, no one in his circle of friends knows about it. Thus, in the eyes of all, it is considered to be in the norm. That's why I'm torn because it's not in the norm but it is in the eyes of others unlike the remains of the preppies who don't hide from being out of the norm.

This is the end of this post which was about my reflection on preppies and the preppie standard. I'll deal with Derby's case in a separate post to better address this relationship between him and the preppie norm, but also because I don't want to make this post too long. Thank you for reading to the end and I hope you don't blame me for this very long absence. Take care of yourself.