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live-laugh-lenney · 3 months ago

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LOCKED IN | ARTHUR FREDERICK

a whole year and it's finally with you! thank you for all your patience and all your lovely messages and comments about this new chaptered fic; i'm so incredibly excited (and incredibly nervous) to share it with you and show you the project i've been working on these last twelve months. i wanted it to be absolutely perfect before you got your hands on it. feedback is always welcomed and my inbox is always open so please, please, please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts on the story. enjoy! <33

- C H A P T E R O N E -

“I’m actually terrified.”

The black car, donned with the FootAsylum logo that had been printed on the back passenger doors, rolled up the gravel driveway and stopped before a modern-looking home hidden deep in the countryside of a place she could tell was hours from home. With her phone being taken away and with nothing to keep her occupied, except picking at her nails nervously or chewing on the inside of her mouth, she couldn’t keep track of the hours she’d been sat in the car… but given the numb bum and the sickly feeling from the rumble of the car and having nothing to eat due to her nerves, she would have guessed her travel time had been, at least, two hours. Studio lights littered around to keep the grounds lit so everyone knew where they were going, the house being illuminated and almost in a spotlight to give it a real studio vibe, and it had finally set in her mind rather quickly that this was her reality for the next two weeks. The nerves that she tried to hide, swallowing back every lump in her throat and ignoring every bad thought that crossed her mind, were slowly coming back to haunt her and her knees couldn’t stop bouncing in the footwell in the back seat.

“This is terrifying.”

Once the car came to a stop at the end of the driveway, she took a moment to herself.

The driver sat in the front, plugging in a destination into his built-in sat-nav that would either be taking him home or back to a building where the producers and the directors of the show were all huddled inside, yet she couldn’t bring herself to be nosey. And as her hand came to clasp around the handle of the backdoor, she could see her hand shuddering with uncertainty. There was no chance she was backing out of this opportunity now; it was the first day and she wanted to prove to people she could do this. That she was worthy of a place in the house. Having been on the Youtube scene for just over 12 months, she never thought her first year would end in her being part of a reality show centred around those with huge followings and a name for themselves and she wanted to show how serious she was about taking any given opportunity in her grasp and enjoying every moment life had to offer her.

Once she saw who she was going to be locked into a home with for two weeks, she did some digging on just who they were, putting a face to a name and googling them in hopes to find their social media accounts. Gaining the basic information and following their Instagrams and subscribing to their Youtube channels so she could scope out everyone as to not seem so clueless once she walked into the house.

So she knew of a few of them.

It was nerve-wrackingly brand-new for her and it was something she never imagined herself doing when she posted her very first Youtube video just a short twelve months ago; being pushed into a house with nine other Youtubers who were practically strangers to her and, in that moment and before she met then, it was something she considered to be almost as bad as a worst nightmare.

The gravel rocks and the tiny stones of the pathway crunched beneath her trainers as she neared where she assumed the front door to the house was. Her eyes scanned across the wooden panelling of the front and she truly felt like an idiot, even more so because of the cameras hidden in every nook and cranny around her that would pick up her dumbfounded moments, as she tried to find a door handle or a doorbell that would somehow get her into the warmth of the house. The black bag on her shoulder which she, and the entire cast of the second season, had been asked to advertise as they walked up the entrance, kept slipping down to her elbow and eventually she gave up adjusting it and just let it swing to and fro as she questioned everything happening before her.

“How the hell do I get in? Is this a challenge or something? I feel like I’m being punked here.”

There was a gentle change in the way the wall was built and she pushed a panel to make the front door more noticeable, revealing the entrance hallway of the place that was going to be her new home for the next fortnight. Light strips coloured with neon green lighting her way, stuck to the walls and almost guided her in the right direction of where everyone else seemed to have congregated, fitting the whole aesthetic and colour theme of how the show was advertised and promoted on the outside world. Lots of monochrome, blacks and whites, with a burst of colour that surrounded her. The heat of the inside immediately hit her as she stepped foot into the hallway and let the door close behind her with a whoosh, shutting by itself once it hit the frame of the doorway. The lights were bright, as opposed to the scenery of the sun setting upon her arrival, and she could hear the chaos of everyone already enjoying themselves and introducing themselves further to each other - and she secretly prayed that she wasn’t the last one to enter the house.

She took the chance to have a quiet glance around at where she was before she made her way into the centre of the house, cautious as she looked around to make sure no one was hiding and ready to jump out and make her jump, because that was the one thing she absolutely hated and she definitely would have held a grudge, mentally planning the next move in an unproposed prank war between herself and the housemates.

“There’s someone coming.”

“Guys, someone’s here!”

“Someone new!”

“Finally!”

“That makes ten of us. I reckon that’s all of us here.”

YN stood still on the spot, taking in the deepest intake of breath to prepare herself before she exhaled slowly through puckered lips, trying to rid herself of the nerves that were sitting low in her stomach and making her feel sick, to keep her heart from racing and thumping rapidly in her chest.

When she was first asked to be one of the housemates for that year, she thought it looked fun and she was always up for trying new things and stepping out of her comfort zone. She was the biggest advocate for telling people, through her Youtube videos, that they should try out new things because they’ll never know how they feel unless they gave it a go. She shook her limbs to rid the nerves making her shake and she rolled her neck, giving herself the quickest pep-talk in her mind, and she took the last few steps from the room she was standing in and into, what she could only guess was, their kitchen and dining area together.

“Hi!”

“Oh my god, hi!”

“Hello!”

She was overwhelmed with the greetings, dropping her plastic FootAsylum bag to the floor and feeling the warm embrace of someone instantly wrapping their arms around her, a sweet and floral smell of someone’s perfume filling her nose as she reciprocated the hug, long hair tickling at her nose. Her eyes darted from face to face, slightly overwhelmed yet the feeling had slowly felt less suffocating and she took the chance to bolden her demeanour. The males taking their time to come forward and introduce themselves yet the females wasted no time in wanting to get to know her, patiently waiting for their time to bring her into a hug and find out more about her.

“I’m Anastasia,” the girl introduced herself and YN introduced herself in response, and she gave YN one final squeeze before pulling away, stepping aside for someone else to take her place. YN had seen Anastasia on her Youtube recommendations, at a time when she started gaining inspiration on how she wanted to run her channel and a long while back when it was just a mere thought, and it was nice to be given the chance to meet her on a more personal level than just what she showed for the cameras and for her vlogs. “It’s so good to finally meet you!”

A short queue-like crowd of eight other people had formed around her and the nerves that had been sitting in her belly had almost disappeared once she realised they were all in the same boat - no one really knew anyone in this place, they were all there to get to know one another and they were all there to fight for the winning place. They were all there for the same reasons, all going through the same thing, feeling the same feelings and experiencing the experience together so it made everything feel much less intimidating.

She hugged everyone around her, introducing herself as they introduced themselves, and they seemed like a truly good bunch of people to spend the next fourteen days with and she was excited to form special friendships with the whole lot of them.

One guy hung behind from the introductions, waiting incredibly patiently, dressed in all black with the sleeves of his hoodie hiding his hands as his fingers played with the hem in a nervous manner. Brown hair upon his head, tousled and messy, and the most engaging brown eyes that didn’t seem to leave her face as he drank in everything about her. Every inch of his face was beautiful looking, sculpted perfectly, with the curve of the tip of his nose looking soft and the stretch of skin across his cheeks looking rosy and pink. She felt a connection to him, she felt easy around him without even knowing his name, and it was a feeling she couldn’t get rid of as if there was something that intrigued her about him that she was desperate to figure out.

“I’m Arthur. ArthurTV,” he grinned, almost hesitating as he went in to give her a hug, but barely resisting when she wrapped her arms around his neck and initiated the greeting between the two of them, forearms resting on his shoulders as her hands joined at the back of his neck, “it’s so lovely to meet you.”

“I’m YN,” she smiled softly to herself, reading off her Youtube name in a similar fashion to how he had introduced himself and he snickered softly as she pulled away from him and broadened the gap between their two bodies, “it’s lovely to meet you, too, Arthur.”

“Did you struggle as much as me to find the entrance to this place? Because I must have looked like a massive tit to the cameras when I walked straight past the entrance and round the corner in hopes I’d find a backdoor or something,” he admitted, a laugh following in suit as she giggled and shook her head, “honestly, I just hope everyone else did the same.”

“It took me ages to find the door. I didn’t walk past it but I just stood there, staring at it, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Thought that if I stared long enough, I’d see into a void and it would just appear,” she admitted and shook her head at how silly she was going to look in the eyes of those watching when it went live over on Youtube, “we can both look like tits together, I guess. Great first impressions to the public and all.”

“I do say that we make quite the perfect pair,” he joked, internally wanting to crawl into a hole and disappear at how corny he must have sounded, except she laughed at his attempt at humour and he swore he felt butterflies in his belly, “come and get to know everyone properly. We think you were the last person to join us now there’s ten of us standing here.”

So she was the last.

She knew it.

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It was Spuddz’s idea.

“Hot Seat! Let’s do Hot Seat.”

And YN couldn’t lie, the volume at which he suggested it had woken her up a little from her daze.

Her eyelids felt really heavy and her eyes were stinging, almost screaming at her to give in to the temptation of snoozing and go to nap, and that was probably due to the lack of sleep she’d gotten the night before her arrival into the house. Because all night, all she could think about was the worst of what was about to happen. In a situation unknown to her, with people she didn’t know well enough, all she could think about was how she’d be an outcast compared to everyone else.

She didn’t want to be the first one to announce her departure from the room, disappearing and missing out on the rest of the evening, just because she needed an hour's shuteye to feel a little more refreshed. But the warmth between the arm of the sofa and having Arthur seated beside her was enough to lull her into a state of complete peace and relaxation, almost completely at ease with everyone, listening to everything that was happening around her and chiming in with her own questions whenever she was prompted with something when they spoke about something that piqued her interest in the matter.

Arthur had been her saviour in the first few hours of being in the Locked In house.

She hadn’t been glued to his hip for the entirety of the evening… although she thought she had been. Since their first hello’s were shared just a few hours prior, she felt magnetised towards him. She wasn’t sure what it was about him but she felt like she could be herself around him… maybe it was because he had taken time to greet her and introduce himself, maybe it was because they had common traits that made them feel comfortable with each other, maybe it was because she found him attractive and wanted to get to know him more. She couldn’t put her finger on anything definite but he made her feel a sense of confidence within herself. Like she could do anything that FootAsylum threw at her.

She had taken time to pop over to the girls of the house and have a chat with them so she could understand who they were and what their personalities were like. And she had been indulged in a joke war with SomeJokeman when he broke their awkward silence by cracking out a ‘Knock Knock’ joke for her to answer. But she always found herself always gravitating back towards the brown-haired, brown-eyed man who kept himself to himself and let others involve him rather than forcing himself in conversations happening around him. He was the one who had shown her around the house, the one who let her know what bed was free and who had claimed certain spots to be theirs and he was the one who let her take in the surroundings on her own accord.

The late afternoon hours had passed by, although they had no idea on what the time was, and it felt like they’d known each other for longer than a mere few hours. Where everyone was bouncing off questions and getting to know one another in a setting that was getting quite loud and confusing, the suggestion of getting to know one another at the pace of one at a time was something they could all agree upon.

“We’re gonna put Jamie in the hot seat first,” Spuddz informed, letting the lad stand up from his place on the sofa and in front of everyone, “please, young man, state your name for the audience.”

“My name’s Jamie, otherwise known as LDN Movements,” he started off, clapping his hands and clasping them together in front of him in a nervous way, “is this how we do this? You ask me questions and I just answer them?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spuddz nodded, “like an interrogation.”

And it began from there.

Question after question came out, and she couldn’t fault him and everyone else with how they dealt with the quickfire questions being thrown at them from all areas of the lounge room. Answering with detail and speaking with gusto and enthusiasm as they all took the chance to get to know one another; finding out what they were like as a person, what their Youtube careers was based upon, what they did when they weren’t filming and what their hobbies and passions in life were.

“YN! Our last little newcomer,” Steph grinned at her from the sofa on the right, wiggling her fingers in an attempt to get her to stand to her feet and take her place before everyone, “it’s your turn, darling.”

She sighed in feigned dramatics, rolling her head back against the sofa before smirking and standing to her feet, much to Arthur’s dismay as he felt the cold air take over where her warmth had once been.

“I’m YN, as you already know,” she smiled, drawing out a long curtsey before everyone, “I don’t really do very much, to be honest. I started out on Instagram, gained myself a good following of young people who were interested in reviews of different daily products and skincare routines and such, and I went from there. I’m a lifestyle Youtuber, I guess. Moved my content into a much longer form instead of small Instagram videos and stories.”

“What is a ‘lifestyle Youtuber’?” Johnny asked, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on the palms of his hands, “I’ve never really heard of that.”

“I basically just vlog about my life? I don’t know how to explain it,” she felt her cheeks getting hot under Johnny’s gaze and she stared at the floor beneath the lightened oak coffee table in the centre of the room, “I film bits of my day, what I do, I never understand why people enjoy watching videos about my life but… they got me here. Which, of course, I’m so thankful for. So many opportunities have come my way since then and it’s all because of them.”

When she posted her first video, a ‘get to know me’ post that consisted of a compilation of frequently asked questions from her Instagram page that people wanted to know about her, she had no idea that she would be where she is now. A video where she opened up and shared more about herself and her personal life - from the quick and easy questions about her relationship status and her family life and where she grew up and what she studied in school to what she wants out of life and where she sees herself in five years time and what she thinks is the biggest issue in the world as we know it - had gotten her onto a pedestaled platform where, for the year, she had been able to share her tips and her tricks in how to get by in certain scenarios.

She vlogged her daily life, from the moment she woke up in the morning to the moment she laid her head down on her pillow at night, and people loved to see what she got up to. Her friends became constant guests in her videos, partaking in small challenges and Q and A’s that were topical to whoever she had on screen, and her fans loved to see her in her social group where she let her true enjoyment and her true self be seen.

She loved what she did.

She was lucky to be where she was.

She had a supportive following who loved her, supported her, made sure to help boost her name into the general public and she repaid them back by giving them back the amount of love that they gave to her.

And she wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

“Here, here,” Jamie cheered, “very lucky to have people watch us and support whatever we choose to do.”

“I don’t think any of us would be here,” YN pointed to the exact spot she was standing in with both of her pointer fingers, “without our subscribers and our followers. I thank my lucky stars every single day that I am where I am.”

Steph cooed softly at the words YN let slip off her tongue and she suddenly felt very open and vulnerable.

“Do you just post videos about a day in your life? Do you do challenge videos or react videos or anything like that?” Arthur asked, also following in suit of Johnny and leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees and cupping his own face with his palms and as similarly as they were sat, she could look into Arthur’s eyes and speak to him, “do you just do reviews or?”

“I just do reviews, yeah. I don’t really focus much on the internet world and celebrities but more the real world and I just have a chat with the camera as if I was talking to my followers personally. I talk about topics people are chatting about all the time, what people comment about, and what’s trending. Whenever I get asked to do advertisements and such, I review different make-up products, skin care products, I show off my bedtime routine and my make-up routine and what products I use for skincare. I get sent clothes from various brands and do mini hauls, in the summer and the winter, on what I like and what suits me and what I would wear for specific occasions,” she grinned softly, “I should get you guys on. I think I could definitely use Arthur as a dummy to test out different make-up looks.”

Arthur blushed and shook his head, cackling softly, “I think you’re the more beautiful one out of us. You don’t need me to ruin it.”

“Arthur has rizz, you know!” Jokeman bellowed from beside him, clapping him on the shoulder as he blushed in his seat, “this is like a dating show, I’m telling you. Watch this space! Locked In is the new Love Island.”

There’s a chime that brings the conversation to a halt, saving Arthur from any more embarrassment from what the others had to tease him about, with the screen lighting up on the wall with an announcement, in the form of a tweet from Twitter, appearing on the screen.

From the moment she arrived, YN had been craving a bed.

As soon as her head hit the plush cushion at the height of the bed, her slippers having been kicked off at the side and her pillows plumped up so she could sleep a little more upright, she could feel her eyes getting heavier and heavier as she got more and more comfortable. Watching as everyone else readied themselves for bed, with make-up free faces and blankets wrapped around their shoulders, dressed in the comfiest of clothing as they went about their nightly routine. Teeth being brushed, faces being washed, clambering into bed before the lights went out.

To one side of her, she had Anastasia.

To the other side, she had Arthur.

A grin on his lips as he made eye contact with her from beneath the duvet that was pulled up to his chest, hair tousled and his fringe sticking to his slightly damp forehead from where he’d washed his face, cheeks red from where he had scrubbed his skin with a cleansing wash. Her cheeks flushing red once she realised he was looking at her and she giggled softly and shook her head at him, pulling her own duvet to her chin and nestling a little further down on the mattress.

“It was good meeting you, YN.”

“You say that like we’re gonna be apart forever after we close our eyes. Like we’re just gonna die and never wake up,” she snorted, rolling onto her side to face him better, “sucks for you that you’re gonna be stuck with me in here for the next two weeks.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” he hummed, closing his eyes and pretending to fall asleep, leaving her in a slight state of shock as she took in what he had said so nonchalantly.

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thatnonameuser · 4 months ago

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The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 9.

“Ngh….”

Every cell in your body throbs. That’s the first thing your brain manages to register when you come to.

Your eyes burn as you struggle to open them, you can feel the stickiness of blot on your face and skin. It’s like tar, if it burned skin.

You groan and whimper, as you force your body into a sitting position, muscles screaming in exhaustion for rest. You feel like someone’s let you drown in tar and yanked you back out at the brink of death. You can feel blot sticking to your skin, dripping off of you like blood; stuck in your throat and burning and churning like bile in your stomach.

You forced down a shaky breath, before hacking up a mouthful of blot that you didn’t know was in your lungs. Are you dying? You’re not sure.

The last thing you remember is Riddle’s voice. Asking something to his mother? You’re not really sure.

“A-Ace…… Deuce? ……G-Grim?” You rasp, your tongue feels too big in your mouth. Your lips feel like someone super glued them together. You finally gather the strength to open your eyes, and with some pre-emptive struggles, you’re immediately blinded. Wherever you are it’s too bright here, it’s too white. Too- shit. After a few moments, the blinding light subsides for a moment. And you can make out shapes, slowly unblurring and becoming more detailed. But that’s the problem. You made out shapes, not colors.

“Am….Am I dreaming again?” The world is black and white, just like your dreams. A world bleached into a complete greyscale. But the one difference you can see is there’s no red color anywhere in the rose garden. Well, except the puddle of red-black color of the puddle of blot you’re sitting in.

Footsteps lead out from the puddle, staining the garden of gray perfectionism. Speaking of the garden, it’s not like Heartslabyul’s or the Queen of Hearts’ in your dreams. It’s different, because while it is beautiful, it’s completely clean. Like a hospital clean. No scattered petals from the roses on the grass, or stray leaves on the ground or even a speck of dirt on the stone pathway. Not a blade of grass is too long, or a stone out of place. You could even swear that the grass was so cleanly cut that the gardener probably was on their hands and knees with a pair of scissors and a ruler. Everything here is so clean….it’s discomforting.

But, you’re more concerned with the foot prints. If the blot is any indicator, Riddle is involved somewhat.

But why, what does a terrifyingly clean garden and house you’ve never seen have to do with any of what just happened. And why are you involved? All you remember is an otherworldly force pulling you to Riddle, getting struck with a wave of blot and then, you for some reason woke up here. Why are you involved?

With some struggle, you stumble to your feet. Your legs shake like a baby deer’s with every step through the garden. Your footsteps stain the grass along with the ones someone else, probably Riddle, left behind. But you’ll worry about that later. “Riddle?” You call out, but you receive no reply. There's no sound here. No birds tweeting, no bees buzzing, no people talking.

The back door is open, an inky handprint stains the otherwise polished wood.

“Riddle?” You call out, but nothing calls back in reply. In fact, Just devastating silence, and the few sounds you’re making. You feel a chill run up and down your spine. “I know you’re here.”

You push open the door, and it doesn’t even creak. More footprints stain the polished flooring.

You don’t want to go in but you have no choice but to follow the trail through the house. If this is anything like your dream then, there’s something that you’re meant to see. Besides, you don’t have a history of liking being stuck in places you can’t get out of.

“Riddle?” You try again. But no response. You take a hesitant step into the house,searching for any residents. Besides the footsteps stained into the floor , there’s no sign of life in the house. No matter where you look, there’s no movement, no sound of footsteps, nothing.

Just the stains of blot on the wall, all the decorations on the wall. Or it would be better to call it the achievements on the wall. From wall to wall in minimalist frames, are diplomas, medals, certificates, newspaper clippings. No photographs of fond memories, no whimsical or artsy decorations, adorable yet poorly made children’s art or even a visible picture of whoever lived here.

If the walls are not covered with achievements, it’s covered with shelves filled to the brim with books. Not storybooks, or fictional stories filled with entertaining adventures, or non-fictional anecdotes that tell interesting experiences. Journals. Textbooks. Encyclopedias. Any book that would bore a child to tears, or make adults beg for mercy should they read them. Some shelves are full of trophies rather than books. All in varying sizes, but only for first place. They’re not even whimsical activities or hobbyist or amateur events for just fun either, trophies for academics and academics alone.

You can’t help but feel a little inferior walking through the halls, and apparently whoever was in here with you didn’t like them either, having left stains and blotches of the ink on the awards and obscuring the recipient’s name from view, or their faces in the few photographs on the walls.

If this is Riddle’s house, you can understand why he’s a little nuts. This house is so minimally decorated, it looks like one of those sad houses all over the internet back home. Bland and boring, even in the black and white. This house doesn’t look like a home, it looks like a doctor’s office.

You wander the halls, following the footsteps to wherever they lead, looking for life, and finding more depressing decorations. The living room is spotless, except for the blotty footsteps, and horrifyingly untouched, the kitchen is as boring and empty with the most minimal of spices and cookbooks for the most bland of meals. The study you passed in the hallway looks like a mix between a library and a college classroom.

Not one thing in this house is remotely fun. No instruments to make lively music, no entertaining books to read, and no fun games to play. Just endless boredom and lifelessness.

You follow the footsteps through the house, more and more disturbed by how depressing this house is. If your instinct was right, then you can’t help but feel a little bad for…. “Whoa….”

As you enter the dining room, your earlier deduction proves right. Just not exactly as you thought it would.

Sitting at the dining table, obediently following the manners his mother probably ingrained into his head, is a child version of the Red Tyrant, a young Riddle Rosehearts.

And unlike the dim, dull world his youthful features are bright with color. He looks exactly like himself in the real world, albeit a decade younger. Crimson red hair, steel gray eyes, rosy cheeks, he’s a beacon of color in this greyscale world.

And frankly, he’s adorable, smiling softly as he sits as still as a statue, waiting for someone.

And the footprints you’d been following lead right up to him. So if Riddle of the present was here, then this was him. In the body of his child self.

“Riddle?” You ask, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. Can he not see you?

You feel someone faze through you. A woman, whose face is completely blacked out by shadow. But you can still make out the little heart-shaped bangs, just like Riddle’s. Is this his mother?

She sets down- “Wait, what is that?”

The ‘that’ in question is a brick decorated with leaves. An eight birthday candle sits on top of it. If that’s a cake, the baker should be sued.

A woman says, “Happy Eighth Birthday Riddle.” Her voice is snobbish, and sounds completely uninterested given that this is, as she says, Riddle’s Birthday. You can’t see her face, but you think it’s safe to say she isn’t smiling. “This year’s birthday cake is a low-sugar recipe made with nuts and lecithin-rich soy flour to improve cerebral function.”

“Your son’s birthday cake…. That is your son’s birthday cake?” You’re about 90% percent sure, the diet mongering supermodels of your world would just not get a birthday cake than eat whatever that is. And Ms (Mrs?) Rosehearts thought it was a suitable birthday cake for a kid, that looks mostly fine?

Also, you’re not convinced that this isn’t a birthday party. The dining room is as blandly decorated as the rest of the house, the only thing on the table are books as thick as actual bricks and names so long and boring that your eight-year old self would rather play with the wrapping paper than read them if you got them. Plus, besides Riddle and his mother, no one’s here. No friends singing happy birthday obnoxiously, no grandparents spoiling him with gifts, no one other than the woman who thought the inside of the compost bin was a cake.

This can’t be a celebration a loving well-off mother would give her only child.

You remember Trey had said Riddle’s mother was a perfectionist forcing her legacy onto Riddle. And Riddle seemed to think his mother’s word was a law he couldn’t break….so, you don’t have very high expectations for the woman.

While you ponder whatever’s happening before you, Riddle smiles, blowing out the candle and accepting a slice of the disgusting looking cake, before shyly raising a hand to ask a question. “Thank you. But, Mom…”

He waits for her acknowledgement to continue speaking, and you can’t even see the raging tyrant you did fifteen minutes ago. He even shys away under her gaze, shrinking in his seat as he finally asks his burning question. “Just once…I’d like to try one of those tarts covered with bright-red strawberries.” He gives her an adorable, hopeful smile once he finishes, as if hoping for a positive response with great anticipation.

But he doesn’t get one. Not even on the celebration for the day of his birth.

“Absolutely not! Those tarts are monstrously unhealthy. I might as well feed you poison!” The younger Riddle flinches, before shrinking back in his seat immediately. The demure behavior feels so opposite to his explosive rage from before. “Even just a single slice would exceed your recommended daily intake of sugar.”

You feel the same anger that you felt dealing with Riddle earlier. All she needed to say was no. Not lecture the kid till he shrank all the way into his chair. As SHE said, it’s his birthday, and he was polite about it. At least be nice about it in response, lady.

Regardless of whatever you’re thinking, she blatantly ignores Riddle’s clear disappointment and sadness in favor of dishing out an equally bland-looking meal. “Now, dinner tonight will be a tuna saute rich in DHA and omega-3 fatty acids.” This woman has to be an almond mom, because there’s no way any eight year old would know what those words even mean, let alone willingly eat that at age 8, let alone that over the slice of…brick.

“Now that you’re eight, your caloric intake should be 600 kilocalories per meal so don’t eat more than 100 grams of it.” It’s his birthday and Riddle’s eight, does this woman suck the joy out of life as a hobby or a living. What good mother forbids her child from eating something he clearly likes or wants because of a calorie recommendation. He’s eight and healthy, not a kid with diet issues?!

“What is wrong with you?” You say aloud, but she can’t hear you. You’re not saying that she should feed him nothing but junk food, but if she’s always strict about this stuff, give him a little wiggle room on his birthday.

No one hears you, and Riddle only bows his head, glum as he picks at the bland looking fish. “Yes, mom.”

You feel a burst of pity in your chest. Even if Riddle was a tyrant, no child deserves a birthday so boring and restricting as the one he did. But you guess all tyrants were children once, maybe- Wait. No.

No.

No. You are not feeling bad for Riddle. You are not going to feel bad for Riddle. Sure, he had a miserable birthday and probably upbringing because of a horrible mother didn't bother picking up a parenting book, but everyone has shitty people in their life. That’s no excuse to hurt others because of it. And he outed you, no forgiveness, not yet-

“I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….” The older Riddle’s comes in from the ether and makes you jump out of your skin. Was he trying to get you to pity him? Well, tough fucking-

The world warping interrupts you mid-thought. “Wh-What the hell?!”

Now you’re in a street in front of that beautiful, but actually severely depressing house. A young Riddle walks hand in hand with his mother, his eyes locked on the delicious looking strawberry tarts in a bakery’s window. You spot the name ‘Clover’ painted on the glass. Is that Trey’s family’s bakery?

“The local cake shop had them in the window. They shined at me like forbidden jewels.”

The tarts like Riddle are colorful and match his description. The sugary treats sparkle in the sunshine. And you can see the look of disappointment and longing on Riddle’s face as his mother tugs him away from the treasure that caught his eye, held just out of reach.

“Alright, Riddle.” If he’s just gonna show you this, and not provide any explanation, you’re providing your unsolicited commentary. “That sucks, but plenty of kids don’t get sugar or have depressing birthdays and don’t abuse or threaten to murder their classmates. This isn’t an excuse.”

No reply again.

The world warps again, and this time you’re in the study you walked past earlier. You were right in thinking it looked depressing, as the young Riddle is seated at a small desk, writing notes as his mother shuts a very thick textbook. “That’s enough classical magic study for today.” You roll your eyes at the sound of her voice, which is in your ears thanks to her snobbish tone. “Your homework is to read the first fifty pages of the philosophy of language book referenced in today’s magical philosophy texts.”

“....Fifty?”You’re taken aback at the assignment. “He’s eight!” You say, dumbstruck and outraged, at the mother that made Riddle into a monster.

Fifty pages? Of something as confusing and boring as Philosophy? That was a second year elective at NRC. A high school, for seven’s sake. He’s eight… he’s not even supposed to be learning about this yet.

But the bitch didn't hear you.

“You may now have one hour of independent study before your potionology lesson.” What the-

“Miss ma’am, He’s eight! He’s not supposed to be learning this till high school! How can you expect him to understand this?!” Still, no reaction to your reasonable words. “And why aren’t you letting him have a break?! He’s still just a kid!”

He’s not getting a break? But he might have been studying for hours. Kids need to play and have fun too. But considering a child lived here, and you hadn’t seen a single toy or child’s storybook. You didn’t think he was allowed that either.

“Thank you, Mother.” The young Riddle responds, in a polite monotone. He’s said this before, possibly every day of his life since he learned to talk.

“Don’t thank her! You’re not supposed to be studying all day long!”Despite your dislike for the present Riddle Rosehearts, you want to pull the child version out of the room and away from all the stacks of work his mother was giving him. He’s a child, not a trophy. He should be playing, not studying. Wait.

You slap yourself across the face, “No!” You do it again, “No! We are not feeling bad for him! Even if…. he really is suffering…”

“I need some time to prepare the lesson materials. I will see you in one hour, okay?” Riddle’s mother’s voice is as uncaring as it was when she wished him happy birthday.

“How can you be so heartless to your only child!?” You ask, but you know whatever answer you get won’t be a good one. This bitch is so self-centered that she wouldn’t be able to convince anyone with whatever reason she stitches together in her crazy mind..

She adjusts a stray hair on Riddle’s head, something imperfect on her perfect trophy, before leaving him alone. No gentle ruffling of his hair, no parental hug, no trace of affection. She reminds you of one of your super strict, no-nonsense teachers that was impossible to impress. Always expecting more despite how much effort was poured in.

You watch the young Riddle pull heavy books off the study’s shelves in the study, obediently following his mother’s orders, as the older continues his narration. “I was studying every possible subject, scheduled down to the minute. When I didn’t understand something, the lesson was extended until I did.”

“But you’re a child. Sure, you need to learn but you’re still a kid…. You should be playing, not learning high school level topics.” You say to the ether, but once again you get no reply.

“That was my ‘normal’.” It’s just saddening, really. To watch a child live a life enforced by a parent that raised him to be a trophy. To watch the young Riddle flip through pages of topics that don’t make sense, even to you, and you’re a decade older than him at this moment.

You sigh. No point in pretending now. “Okay, Riddle. I admit it, this sucks…. But why are you showing me this?” If Riddle is reminiscing on his traumatic childhood, why are you here to bear witness to what made him into a monster. Still, no reply.

A knock resounds from the study’s window. Both you and Riddle turn your heads to the window. Someone’s there.

“...Is someone knocking on the window? Maybe a bird?” Riddle steps away from his desk, curious. You follow him, just as curious. This place looks as empty and lifeless as a haunted house. Who would willingly scale the spiked, wrought iron to peak into the windows of the Madam Boring and her unfortunate prisoner/child. The ornate glass swings open, and both you and Riddle gasp for two very different reasons.

A boy managed to slip past the high gates of Riddle’s home. A boy that looks similar to- “Trey?”

No one hears you. But who cares. Like the rest of the world, he’s colored black and white. But the glasses are a dead giveaway. The younger Trey Clover, looks genuinely surprised that Riddle actually answered. “Whoa, he heard us!” Wait, who’s us-

“AHHHH!”

“WAUGH?!”

Both you and Riddle jump in surprise as a familiar, but much younger face pops out of nowhere. Without a body. A younger Chenya, your brain rapidly supplies, fuelled by adrenaline. So he always gave people heart attacks when he first met them. “Hey, hey. Come play with us!”

Good to know that he was always like that.

Anyway, Chenya practically made poor Riddle jump out of his skin in surprise. “Who..Who are you?”

Chenya reveals the rest of his body, giggling and smiling in his Cheshire way. “My name’s Chenya, and this is Trey. Let’s play Croquet!”

“C-Croquet?” Chenya proceeded to give Riddle, and you, another heart attack, as he dug into his clothes, pulled out a curled up hedgehog and tossed the poor creature directly into Riddle’s hands.

But the result of it was frankly adorable, as you watched Riddle’s eyes light up at the small creature resting peacefully in his palms. “He wants to play with you too.”

The sight of the lonely child’s face light up in wonder makes your heart warm up. You feel the urge to pick him up and set him outside, to save him from the prison of his mother’s making and let him have fun for the first time in forever.

But as you think that, Riddle’s budding excitement falters. “But I…” You watch him look back at the books on his desk, the reminder of his mother’s assigned task looming in the back of his mind. And her rules. “It’s my independent study time, and I have to focus.”

“Go. Go play. It’s okay to break rules once in a while.” You say, even if he can’t hear you. It’s not like the egg donor that is his mother would know. The door’s shut after all. “You can go and come back in time.” You may not be the number one fan of the present Riddle Rosehearts, but you can set aside your anger and hatred to the one that hasn’t done anything wrong yet. And honestly, you had enough of tyrants taking the fun out of everything. Even if this one would grow up to be one, you want him to have fun, for what might be the first time in his life.

Even if you can’t be heard to convince him, the child Chenya turns out to be quite the sweet talker. “That means you get to choose what you study, right? My gramps says that playing is basically a kinda study.”

The sudden epiphany causes Riddle’s eyes to widen, “Play..is learning?”

“Want to come down and join us for a little bit?” Trey offers with a bright and friendly smile on his face. You watch the genuine excitement cross Riddle’s face as he chooses between an hour of fun, and the boring work he’d probably spend every single day of his life doing if he rejected their offer.

“You can do it. Go.” Your words are wishful thinking. You have no say in how this is presented, but you want to actually see Riddle break his horrible mother’s rules.

After way too much contemplation, Riddle gives into the temptation much to your relief, and crawls out the window. “J-Just… Just for a bit then.”

Noticing his apparent struggles, Trey holds out his hand in offering. “Mind if I ask your name?”

Riddle hesitates for a second, and you briefly feel your heart accelerate out of fear for his refusal, but thankfully, he finally gives in, “R-Riddle. Riddle Rosehearts.”

The world warps again, changing scenes. And what comes next is beautiful.

After what has to be years of living under his mother’s strict rule, Riddle finally is free to let loose.

The garden that felt so empty beforehand breathed new life as the trio played. Smiles, laughs, cheers and excitedly uttered words broke the intense silence, as the grass was rolled in, the planters were shifted, and the bushes were crumpled.

It was everything short of perfect. And that was perfect in a way Riddle’s mother could never achieve.

You felt rejuvenated watching the three play. The breath you held was suffocating, caused by standing around in something made to be so perfect, and you finally let it go watching Riddle have fun, breaking the restrictive rules his mother forced him to obey.

The shrills of high-pitched laughter as the young Riddle was letting out suddenly mute as the elder voice continues his speech.

“I had the best time playing with Trey and Chenya. We did so many things that I have never done before. They both taught me things I didn’t know.” Riddle sounds so fond as he reminisces on these memories. It feels so sweet hearing the uptight and strict Riddle Rosehearts let go of his hold on the rules to enjoy having fun but….

“Where did it all go wrong?” You murmur as you watch the young Riddle struggle to tame a flamingo for a game of croquet. There’s no sign of malicious intent that you felt around the one a decade older. “You were so close to learning that the rules your mother made were insane, what changed to make you go back to who you are now?”

Here, Riddle had friends. He had fun, unshackled by his mother’s chains. Free to have fun whilst being the golden child that his mother craved.

But why did he completely one-eighty? Go from a rule breaker who broke a pointless rule to an enforcer of the most ridiculous rules.

This may be extremely beautiful and heart-warming, but it also serves an awful reminder that this young Riddle grew up to be the one that was just as strict and restrictive as his mother.

The world changes again, Back to the study, where a young Riddle pretends to work, subtly watching the window with all his focus. Trey and Chenya appear, and Riddle practically leaps out his chair to join them.

“After that I would slip out of my room everyday.” The child Riddle climbs out the window, his work abandoned in favor of playing with his friends. “During my one hour of independent study time without notifying my mother.”

“Good job.” you praise. You’re just happy to see him having fun.

The world changes again. To out in the garden.

“Whatttt? You’ve nyever had a strawberry tart before?” Chenya exclaims in surprise, kicking his heels on the bench next to Riddle.

Riddle twiddles his thumbs, shyly in his lap. “No…My mother says they’re bad for you.” Perfectly parroting another one of his mother’s bogus rules that she relentlessly drilled into his head.

Now incredibly awkward, Trey readjusts his glasses nervously. “I mean, you probably shouldn’t eat too much of it, but…calling it poison is just kinda…yikes.”

“Yeah, the only poisonous one here is her.”

But seriously, Trey actually speaking his mind feels alien to you. Trey keeping his honest thoughts and opinions to himself when Riddle’s present was the norm for his older self. Had whatever forced Riddle to change had caused Trey to change too? You’re starting to get a bad feeling.

Trey’s eyes light up with an idea, “You know, my family runs a cake shop. Let’s go get a tart right now!” He holds out his hand in offering, and the promise of the forbidden fruit his mother denied him makes Riddle’s eyes widen in excitement.

“Really?” Riddle says excitedly, before he hesitates, “But…I shouldn’t.”

“Just one slice. It’ll be fine.” Trey insists, taking Riddles’ hand in his own, before Chenya steps in and pulls Trey and Riddle out of the garden, in the direction of the Clover bakery.

“One slice for YOU maybe. I want a whole one!”

Whatever objections Riddle is yet to utter dies on his tongue as he enters the warm bakery. Another shift of scene. Inside the cake shop is full of warmth, the treats covering nearly every inch of shelves and the air filled with the sweetness of freshly baked pastries and warm sugar, chocolate and fragrant fruit. Like a literal kid in a candy store, Riddle’s eyes sparkle in awe. Everywhere he, and by proxy you, looks is full of sweets and pastries ready to be devoured. Whatever hesitation he has is rapidly dying.

“So is this what caused it? You didn’t really want to eat the tart because of your mom, but you got peer pressured into it and that made you break the rules?” You ask the ether. You still don’t understand. If Riddle was careful, like he’d said he was, why would this be important?

The Clover bakery, more specifically the part of it that’s Trey’s home, is the exact opposite of Riddle’s. Cluttered with decorations of family portraits, children’s drawing’s height markers on the doors as they grew older. Excluding the scent of sweet pastries, you can smell the love in this home. You can hear other voices, the voices of Trey’s siblings and his father joking scolding them for their pastry based gluttony. Riddle looks around in genuine curiosity, not used to the mess, warmth and life this house has in contrast to his own.

Still, the bad feeling churns in your gut, as time progresses. And as Trey returns with the fresh slices of a strawberry tart, it doesn’t dissolve despite the warmth of the new scene.

“A bright-red strawberry tart on a pure white plate.” Riddle stares at the slice with all the awe, excitement and wonder only a child could. Like a child holding their very first snowglobe, he inspects it with curiosity and barely contained excitement. “To me, it sparkled brighter than any jewel ever could.”

“Eat it. You want to eat it. So eat it.” Your demands actually are answered, as tiny hands raise the fork, shaking slightly in excitement. Riddle takes his first bite. And as soon as the strawberry hits his taste buds….

Color fills the world, chasing the bland gray away.

“The first bite was so sweet and delicious, like nothing I’d ever tasted before. With every bite, I became more and more entranced…”

Not one speck of this world remains in a dark, lifeless gray, filled with color and the life that comes with it.

All it took was a tart, but it was more than that. It was the taste of friendship, of fun. But most importantly, it was the taste of freedom. Freedom that he’d been denied over and over, that he was finally allowed to taste.

Along with the color comes the laughter chasing the dull world away, with its restrictions and its chains. You can’t even fight the smile forcing its way onto your face.

How could you not? This was just so-

“-And completely lost track of time.”

“Shit.” An icy chill runs up your spine as the world returns to that study, completely cold and dull in comparison to the warm and vibrant bakery.

The smile on your face vanishes with the color and warmth. “Oh no…”

“I put on some of the organic tea I ordered-” Riddle’s mother returns to the empty study. And the tea set she’s holding shatters on the carpet. Your joy follows it on the floor.

You hate every second of what comes next.

Riddle, in the middle of the fun time he was having, spies the clock on the wall. And notices the hour he was supposed to spend studying had ended twenty minutes ago.

His mother, searching for him in fury (not worry, you noted) finds him just as he's hurrying to leave the bakery. Trey and Chenya are right behind him, and she immediately spots the crumbs that, in his haste to leave, he’d forgotten to wipe off.

The realization that follows, and the shaming of Trey’s kind parents. As she screams at them in fury for feeding her, now bawling, son; Riddle grips her skirts while begging her to stop. Trey watches, stunned in either guilt or horror, not his parents but Riddle as he pleads with his hysterical mother. Chenya, probably using his magic, is hiding somewhere.

And then Riddle is dragged back to the depressing prison that he calls home….. to be punished. And the warmth and color is gone, replaced with a cold chill.

You feel your blood boil as the bitch screams and berates her son. “Unbelievable!” Completely irate and unreasonable, Riddle’s mother screams at him with all the fury she’d given Trey’s parents. “Not only did you abandon your study time, but I find you eating a mountain of sugar as well!!” Riddle takes her screeches and yells completely silent, trying to interject with apologies to spare himself from her wrath even further.

Riddle doesn’t even try to defend himself, too afraid of her wrath.

If he can’t…you will. Even if no one can hear you.

“SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU SELF-CENTERED BITCH!” You yell back, even if she can’t hear you. This isn’t parenting, this is abuse. You stand between the two to offer a small modicum of protection to the still crying Riddle, but you know that you’re not actually doing anything. Because you weren’t there when this happened all those years ago. Still, you can’t pacify your own anger. “JUST SHUT UP, YOU HEARTLESS WITCH!”

Riddle’s mother chooses this completely horrible moment, to turn to the window. And she spots Trey and Chenya beyond the fence that makes this house a prison. “Those two are what must have led you astray….”

“SHUT UP, YOU OLD BITCH!” Anger forces tears into your eyes. Even if….no, you’re angry but you don’t hate him. Not completely. “All they did was teach him something you never could!” You grind out through your teeth, infuriated.

“There will be no more playing with those terrible influences ever again!” Horror and panic flood Riddle’s face.

And you can feel the blood roar in your ears. “You evil!-”

Riddle fazes through you to apologize and plead with his mother to not take his friends away, to not take his happiness away. “I’m sorry, Mother!! It won’t happen again, so please!”

But the old windbag can’t see reason. “BE QUIET!” Riddle nearly bursts into tears again as she throws him off. “You broke the rules, and now you’re paying for it.”

“AND YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE LET HIM ANYWAY!” Every yell in his defense that you make goes unheard. But does it really matter? No, this tyrannical bitch is a horrible mother, and she ruined someone that could have been wonderful. “YOU’RE AN EVIL, HORRIBLE MOTHER WHO RAISED YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD TO BE A TROPHY! HE NEVER DESERVED THIS, YOU FUCKING!-”

“Honestly, it must have been too soon to allow you so much freedom.” She moves to shut the window. To separate him from sweet freedom forever.

“I simply must keep a much closer eye on you…” Darkness fills the room as the glass and shutters close. And soon all your senses can pick up is the Riddle of the past’s sorrowful pleas and sniffles slowly dissolving into silence. “I’m sorry, Mother! I’m sorry!...”

You’re going to have an explosive aneurysm with how hot your blood is boiling. Not because of Riddle, but because of his evil hag of a mother. No fucking wonder Riddle grew up to be a complete psychopath. Does this world base its laws on fucking nothing?!

And the one of the present, fills the void it made.

“Because I broke the rules….” A small window of light fills the dark. Riddle stands before it, looking in sorrow at his friends just beyond his home’s gates, but still painfully out of reach. “My days of fun were cut short.”

Chenya looks like he wants to come in again, but Trey stops him, his eyes downcast. They both go, leaving Riddle behind to the prison of his mother’s making. “That’s why I vowed to never again break my mother’s rules.”

“B-But it wasn’t your fault. You were a suffering kid being offered freedom. She was the one in the wrong.”

The hag appears behind him, holding the life of drudgery in the form of a textbook, and this time Riddle doesn’t have the freedom of a choice. He does his studies, at the hag’s behest. The color in him leeches out, turning into a cold gray that matches his monster mother’s.

“After all, my mother is the most accomplished in our town, therefore making her the most correct.”

She never was Riddle, she destroyed your life to make hers seem more accomplished.” You can only hope that your words reach his ears. He didn’t do anything wrong, he was brainwashed by his mother’s abusive parenting. And that led to disaster. “Deep down, I know you know that-”A hypothermic chill goes up and down your spine. “Huh?”

The entire room drops in temperature till its deathly cold. You whip your head around in panic for the source, desperate to see whatever the source was.

And halfway through that Riddle’s mother turns from a person, into a human-shaped pile of blot.

“AHH!” You back up until your back hits the wall. And the blot that you hadn’t noticed was on it. Blot is seeping out of the cracks and spaces of the darkening study.

This room is being flooded with blot.

And you and Riddle are still trapped here.

“Still…..How come, mama? How come my chest still hurts so much?”

“Riddle, I know that this is hard for you but you need to snap out of this!” The blot’s high enough to reach your calves now. You wade through the blot towards the child body of Riddle Rosehearts. If Riddle is the reason you’re here, he’s the way out too. You need to snap him out of this.

“I want to eat lots of tarts, even if it’s just for my birthday…”

“You can still do that, you just have to wake up!” The blot’s up to your knees now, and because it’s as thick and sticky as tar, you can barely wade through it. That’s not the only thing though. The boring and enormous textbooks Riddle’s mother burdened his childhood with, stack precariously high. Up to where the ceiling no longer is.

“And play outside all day long, and make lots and lots of friends.”

“It’s not too late, just wake up!”The blot’s at your thighs now. The towers of boring literature sway, threatening to fall at any moment and crush you both.

“Tell me, mama…” The body of the young Riddle, is suddenly engulfed in blot, and reveals the current form of the present Riddle, still in overblot. You can see the tears fall from his eyes onto the desk. His voice, not disguising the pain.

“What rule should I follow to end all of this pain?”

“Riddle, WAKE UP! You don’t have to live in pain forever!” You yell desperately. The blot’s at your waist now. Out of options, you throw yourself forward.

And your hands finally meet cold skin.

“Huh?.....I don’t?” Riddle turns and his eyes focus on you. The towers of books threatening to fall suddenly steady. The blot flooding the room stops pouring, stops rising. All is calmer now.

“You can hear me?” Riddle nods and you sigh in relief. He can finally see you, finally hear you. You embrace him as tightly as possible. “Thank goodness…I was worried we both would die here.”

His arms wrap around you, returning your embrace. “W…Why are you here?”

“I don’t know but I’m glad I’m here…” You withdraw and wipe the inky black tears spilling down his cheeks, away from his face. You take a deep breath before sighing again. “I’m sorry I had to see all that. It must have been hard for you to live like that your entire life.”

Riddle doesn’t respond, his eyes avoid meeting yours. Is it shame, guilt or something else? “How much did you see?”

“Enough. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that your mother was who she was, you didn’t deserve to suffer the way you did for so long. But you don’t have to live that life forever.”

“How?… The rules-”

You interrupt him, “The rules your mother gave you are ridiculous. Yes, kids need structure and rules to grow but they need to have fun too. And friends. And your mother stole that from you because she wanted you to be a trophy she could show off.”

“But mother was never-”

“She was wrong, Riddle. And a lot of the rules she gave you were wrong too. I know it’s hard to have your whole world crash down around you but there’s a part of you that never liked your mother’s rules….Right?”

Black tears pool in Riddle’s eyes. “I just wanted to eat a strawberry tart… Just once.”

You wipe them away, letting your hand rest on his inky/blot stained cheek. “And you can. You can make your own rules for your life. If you want to eat tarts till you’re sick, you can. If you want to play till you can’t move, you can. You don’t have to follow her rules or the Queen of Hearts’ rules, just your own. As long as you’re happy and not hurting yourself, or forcing them onto someone else, do whatever makes you happy.”

He cups your hand to his face before you can remove it. “Would…Would you do it with me? I wanted you to be my friend, I want to eat tarts till I’m sick with you….”

Ok, bit of a red flag, that's a bit concerning given the world you’re in. But you really can’t do anything if he traps you here. “Of course. But we need to get out of here to do that.”

A flash of light sparks up next to you both, causing you both to turn your heads to it. A door appears out of nowhere.

Small, tiny and barely there, but the light coming out of it shines brightly, it's not the light at the end of the tunnel. You hope at least.

“I think that’s the way out. Are you ready?” You hold out your hand in offering. “You have a lot of apologies to make, one to me included, but I’ll be there to help you.”

Riddle takes your hand, it’s warm and the blot falls away exposing his normal skin. “Not really, but let’s go.”

Riddle sets his other hand on the door knob. And the dark world fills with light.

“Riddle!” Trey’s voice is the last thing you hear before things go dark. Or, uh, white.

Consciousness hits you like a brick to the face.

You jerk upwards so fast you give yourself vertigo. The remnants of blot in your stomach churn threaten to come up with bile. But you manage to choke it down, despite how much it burns.

Ace, Deuce and Grim probably feel the same, because-

“...Hi guys-” You barely get those words out before they tackle you and your back hits the torn up ground of the rose garden. You choke out a weak cough as soon as they hug you so tightly that you can feel the air you just breathed in get squeezed out of your lungs.

But despite the pain, you laugh, now fuelled by adrenaline. “You guys, I’m okay. Let me up.” You say in between laughs.

Ace is angrier because of what you just said.“Okay, my ass ______! You stopped breathing!” Oh, shit. Okay, maybe you should stop by the nurse after this.

Deuce is more concerned, “We thought you were dead, Prefect!”

Grim like Ace is infuriated at your near death experience. “I seriously thought you were going to die, Henchman!”

“But I’m okay now. Just calm down.” After a few more seconds in their smothering embrace, they finally let you go and help you up. You scratch your fingers through Grim’s fur, soothing the tiny rage in your direbeast before giving your two friends a serious apology. “Sorry about that you guys.”

“You better be sorry. We were worried sick!” Ace smacks the top of your head, before finally calming down.“Just don’t freak us out like that again.”

Deuce, in turn, breathes a slow sigh of relief, “Just give us some warning before you try to do that again… I was worried I was going to lose you.” Your adrenaline fueled laughs are replaced with churning worry.

There would be no bad yandere thoughts after the shit storm today. “Sorry,” you say as sincerely as possible.

Cater seems to share your trio of friends' relief, “Well, it’s about time….We were just about losin’ our heads here -figure of speech, sorry - ‘cause we thought you might never wake up.”

You’re scooped up into a hug the next second, and for once you’ll let it slide. “Nice to see you again too, Cater.”

Trey is the only one yet to greet you now that you’re awake. More concerned with waking up the still unconscious Riddle.

Well, now you’re fucking concerned.

As soon as Cater lets you go, which he doesn't, you wiggled out of it; you run to Riddle’s side. “Is Riddle okay?” You ask, now very worried. Why did you wake up but not him? Did something go wrong? Is he going to die after all?!

Trey gives you an anxious expression that seems to worsen the longer “He hasn’t woken up yet.” Trey looks more worried the longer that Riddle stays unconscious. “Why hasn’t he-”

Thankfully because the universe has impeccable timing, The sound of a sharp inhale rings out, followed by a “Gah!” And Riddle’s eyes flutter open, and he’s awake. Thank goodness.

“He’s back!”

“What….What in the world happened..?” Riddle’s weak voice fills the air, and you sigh in relief.

“Ah, Mr. Rosehearts appears to have regained consciousness. Excellent.” Oh, Crowley’s here. Wait.

“Crowley, Riddle and I have been lying dead on the ground for god knows how long and you didn’t call for the school nurse?” The crow doesn’t say anything in response to your question. You’re growing sick of his antics, and he’s the person you’re relying on to send you home. How this school hadn’t been burnt to the ground is a growing mystery.

Trey, in light of Crowley’s uselessness, gives Riddle the check over he desperately needs, whilst calming whatever “Don’t worry, Riddle. Just try to rest.”

“Yo, that’s just the sort of coddling that led to him going nuts in the first place!”

“Ace, the man nearly died. Chill out.”

“Yeah, well now the garden is tore up from the floor up, not to mention that we could’ve died! _____ almost died!” Well, at least he’s concerned.

Deuce gives you a sorrowful look whilst agreeing with Ace, “He’s right, it was looking bad for a while there.” Well, they’re going to be stuck to you like glue for the imminent future.

“For cryin’ out loud. When you humans let that stress build up, the results ain’t pretty.” For a constantly hangry dire beast, Grim does say something occasionally that is very insightful. You gotta give him credit for that one.

“Yes, it isn’t Grim. Yes, it isn’t.”

“The truth is, I…. I really wanted to eat the chestnut tart…”

“Huh?” “And I don’t care if the roses are white or the flamingos are pink. And I prefer honey to sugar cubes in my tea, and I like milk tea better than lemon tea anyhow. And after a meal, I want to be the one sitting around talking with everyone…”

“Riddle…” “And I really wanted to play with you and Chenya more, Trey.” And then the tears start flowing.

“Riddle Rosehearts, in tears…. Hashtag #WOW.”

“Cater…now’s not the time…” You murmur.

“You think a few crocodile tears is all it’ll take for me to forgive you?”

“I’ll repeat. Ace, the man nearly died.”

“I’m sorry, Riddle. I knew you were suffering, and all I did was pretend not to notice.” Riddle keeps sobbing, finally letting all the pain that he contained within him for years flow out. You hug him, allowing him some comfort as he cries. Ace actually opens his mouth to object, but you motion for him to shut his mouth and keep his thoughts to himself for now. “So I’m gonna say what I should have said earlier. Your way of doing this was wrong, and you owe everyone an apology.”

Riddle can barely get out his apologies in between his loud sobs. “I’m sorry…..I’m really sorry.”

“I know I’ve been saying I wanted an apology from Riddle, but now that I got one, y’know what?”

“One stupid ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t even come close to making up for what he did!”

“Ace, I agree with you, but what part of ‘Riddle nearly died” is not clicking?!”

“DUDE! Way to be a capital-J Jerk!”

“And proud of it! Have you forgotten how he made a total fool outta me?!” “Have forgotten how he just threw away that chestnut tart we worked so hard on?! That ain’t something you can make go away with a few tears and a flimsy ‘I’m sorry’!”

“ACE!” Listen, you’re not team Riddle, but you’re team not kicking a man while he’s down post mental breakdown. Like chill out for ten seconds, and not throw a fit about an apology that you think was actually genuine.

“Wow, I ain’t never met anyone who was better at holdin’ grudges than I am.” Yeah, that’s genuinely surprising that Grim is less trouble than someone else.

“Then…then what do you want me to do?!”

“You know…. I don’t got a birthday party coming up anytime soon.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“So I demand a do-over for the unbirthday party! Except this time, we ain’t going to do squat. This time, YOU’RE the one who brings the tart!” Well that’s a fitting apology. Completely fair and appropriate. You’re surprised that- “And no getting Trey to make it for you! Do that, and then things are square between us.” There it is.

Well, after the whole day he sectioned out of your busy schedule, you’re not letting that one fly. “All offense Ace, you had a lot of people helping you make your tarts.”

“Quiet from the peanut gallery! What do you say, Riddle? We clear?”

“Yes… We’re clear.” Well, at least you have a potentially fun party in your incoming future. Maybe if the darling reveal doesn’t make the incoming future hell.

You kind of forgot Crowley was there, until he spoke again.“Ah, yes. Compromise is a beautiful thing. I believe that concludes this matter.”

“You didn’t do anything, Crowley.” You say for the umpteenth time.

Well know that the problem is solved, the garden’s a wreck. And you need a bath. “Welp, looks like we got some cleaning up to do. All that work making the garden Magicam-worthy and now it’s a total tire fire. Laaame.” Cater’s right, this is just a mess.

“Yeah, speaking of which.” You mutter as you detach yourself from Riddle, cringing from the stickiness of the remaining blot all over your skin. “I should probably go clean up.”

“I’ll help out.”

Cater is the one to actually the one to point out the obvious dangerous condition Riddle’s in now that the storm has passed.“No, why don’t you get Riddle to the nurse’s office. That was a full-blown case of overblot. We need to make absolutely sure he’s okay.”

Crowley in his perpetual uselessness proceeds to piggybank on Cater’s actually useful idea. This is really starting to bother you. “Mr.Diamond is correct. I will go along with you.” You bite your tongue before you say ‘To do what?’

“Understood. Thank you, sir.” Trey helps Riddle stand and limp to wherever the nurse’s station is. Crowley does nothing because he wants to be useless when a student nearly died. Just because.

Anyway, that leaves you, Ace, Deuce, Cater and Grim in the rose garden/ battlefield. Well, time to leave this mess behind to deal with tomorrow. And hopefully for the tired and non-magical you, not ever.

“Man, am I starved after usin’ so much magic!” As you prepare to leave and take the longest bath of your life and get Grim some much needed snacks, Grim spots and an odd stone lodged in one of the destroyed rose bushes. “Hmmm. Hey, check it out!”

“What is it?” You ask.

Grim digs it out of the destroyed brambles. “It’s another black magestone, just like the one we found in the Dwarf’s Mine!”

“You’re right. Wonder where it came from?”

“Just don’t put it in your mouth this time-”

Ace’s warning goes completely unheard, “No way. After how great the last one tasted, I can’t get that thing in my mouth fast enough!” Before you can stop him, he stuffs it in his mouth.

“And there he goes.”

“Oh, Grimmy… Have some self-respect, honey. That was literally trash.”

As if describing a five star meal, Grim goes off unprompted. “Ahhhh! Rich and sweet, but with a complex hint of bitterness in the aftertaste. Equally delicious, but with quite a different mouthfeel from the last one I ate.”

“You have such a way with words, Grim…. So I guess this is just a thing now, or?” You hope that he won’t get sick, if he does then you’re just fucked. But with your bad luck it wouldn’t be a surprise.

“As a monster, maybe his stomach works differently than ours?”Ace reasons, but you frankly don’t care.

“Even still, eating trash can’t be good for anyone.”

“As long as it keeps my food bill down, he could eat the grass for all I care.” Since Crowley won’t pay it, you might as well improvise given Grim’s gluttony.

As if on cue, Grim takes a hearty munch of the torn up grass. “Ooh! I just tried the grass, and the flavor was surprisingly pleasant! Crisp, even!”

“See? He’s fine, and if anything happens, I’ll just stop by the vet or something.” You hope this society has free vets. Just in case.

“Hey, that’s our lawn! Don’t eat that!”

“Uh, A-F-K while I go throw up….” As you all leave contemplating the workings of Grim’s digestive track, you can hear Cater say under his breath. “But….seriously, guys. Thanks.”

You had just barely caught that, “What did you say, Cater?” you ask.

Cater laughs, brushing off your question whilst poking you directly on the nose in his usual demeanor. “Nooope. Nothing at all.”

The raging storm is over. And with it, all the B.S. that came with dealing with Riddle and his overblot, you’re sad that it happened, and happy that it’s over. Like any rational human being.

Since you got out of this relatively unscathed, excluding some nausea from , you went straight to Ramshackle to take a very, very long hot soak to at least try to get the blot stuck to your skin and hair off. Turns out that uniform was garbage bound, because after three and half hours of scrubbing your skin and hair, six bath water changes and two full bottles of cheap shampoo being emptied, you were about 80% sure you got it all out.

So with your hair dripping with the remains of your bath water, you decided after all the bullshit you did today, you would just have a cozy night with Grim, trying to figure out how to gaslight Ace and Deuce into thinking you weren’t a darling.

What a great way to spend the rest of your day. But considering Ramshackle was empty, except for you, Grim and the ghosts (who thought it was funny to hide your slippers in the crawl space), you were completely satisfied.

“Henchmannnnn! My tuna!”

“Be patient, you glutton.” You laugh at Grim’s whining. He’d been like this after hour one of cleaning the blot off. While you told him where he could find his tuna, the Great Grim was bested by his inherent lack of thumbs to open the can. Thus, enter the whining and hissy fit.

“Henchman!”

“I’m opening it, chill.” The sound of the can opening fills the creaky silence of Ramshackle settling. The creaking is unsettling, but peaceful. And that’s how this evening was going to go. You ‘sharing’ a meal with Grim, alone. Making conversation in the silence as you try to figure out how to gaslight Ace and Deuce into oblivion about the darling thing. Finally a calm night because Ace and Deuce were staying in Heartslabyul tonight-

“Motherfucker, who is it now!?” You yell throwing the half opened can of tuna hard onto the counter (which ricochets onto the floor), completely pissed. The knocks on your door just remind you of how fucking unlucky you are. Is one night alone impossible? One single night?!

“Henchman, whyyy?!” Grim mourns the tuna scattered as you storm out of the kitchen.

Is one night impossible!? What did Ace and Deuce do in the three hours you left them alone!?

You yank the front door open with a booming slam, before yelling “WHAT!?” at whoever thought bothering you after a rough day was the move they would make today.

“...Did I come at a bad time?” Trey’s on your porch, an awkward expression on his face. Trey so far had to be the only one that was remotely normal. Ooo! and he was holding a cake box.

And you just yelled in his face. “Oh oops, uh, it’s you. Sorry.” You’re now as awkward as he is, your face turning warm with embarrassment.

Trey gives you a gentle smile, “I would have called first, but you don’t exactly have a phone.”

“Yeah…. “ You awkwardly scratch the back of your neck. “After everything I went through in the last three days, I thought I could get a few hours to myself and Grim.”

“I’m sorry I disturbed you. I just thought you might want these.” Trey holds out the box to you, which smells like the bakery from Riddle’s overblot memory thing? Either way, you can feel the nausea in your stomach finally soothe.

“Thank you.” Opening it, you find it full of sweet looking treats, topped with light frosting, sugary glazes and glittering toppings. “But, you didn’t have to save these for Grim and I.”

“It was nothing. I owe you an apology too, so I figured that this was the best start.” Well, considering your dinner today was going to be a bunch of instant noodles, you'll accept the apology.

“Uh, well do you want to come in? Might as well not do it on my porch.”Trey accepts, and now you have the normal one in your lounge, sitting on your couch. Great thinking, you.

“Grim! Trey’s here, he brought us food.” you call out.

As soon as the word ‘food’ is uttered, Grim shot out of your kitchen like lightning. “Where!?”Oh and of course, you called out to Grim the second you passed the kitchen. And then you and Grim played mouthball with a cookie in the dessert box. Turns out Grim was great at catch, but maybe it’s because you threw him food. Aw well, good to know in case of a competition for you to play or something.

“How have you been? You really had us worried for a moment there.”

“Better, the worst thing I got out of that was scrubbing all the blot off of me.”And the darling thing, but you weren’t going to bring that up. “I’m pretty sure that I scrubbed a bald spot into my scalp. How’s Riddle?”

“I checked on him on my way here. He’s fine, like nothing ever happened, but he’s on bedrest and isn’t allowed to use magic for the next few days.”

“Well, that’s both comforting and convenient.” Nice to know that the overblot mess didn’t cause brain damage or anything.

Trey “If you don’t mind me staying so, I thought you’d be more mad at me.”

“That ship sailed yesterday and crashed when you finally told Riddle off earlier, and let’s just say that I can understand why you kept your mouth shut for so long. And while I would punch you in the face, you brought me free food so you’re forgiven.” You stuff a mouthful of a tart slice into your mouth, humming as a delicacy hits your tastebuds.

Trey gives you a warm laugh, before saying. “Good to know. But there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” You say, taking another mouthful of cake.

“About what Riddle said, about you being a darling.” Shit. Fuck.

“Um…..Do you believe him?” You hope he doesn’t. Four out of five of the people you know is already too much.

The answer Trey gives you doesn’t bring you peace.“I already knew. When Riddle figured it out, he told me because he wanted me to keep an eye on the students around you. I was suspicious, but I was never sure until then.”

“....Great.” you sigh. “This just keeps getting better and better.

Trey puts a hand on your shoulder, in an attempt to soothe you. “Look, I can understand this whole darling thing is very troubling for you.”

You shrug his hand off. “How would you know? You’re not exactly the person being negatively affected by it.”

“Not exactly. Two of my siblings are darlings, one of my brothers and my little sister. I’ve seen them afraid of what their futures hold. I worry about them not being at home when I get back. I've watched them be as jumpy as you are.”

“But you see all of that and you still think it's okay to do that to the person you love.”

“It's not that, it's just the whole darling thing is seen as the lesser of two evils. I would never do anything to hurt people like you.” But you still aren't moved.

Is it worth trusting him to keep his word? Because even if you learned some things about this world, you're still a stranger. A stranger who is stumbling blind in a world you don't understand. For all you knew this could be a technique to gaslight you into thinking he's a safe bet, only to use that against you.

“You…” This is going to sound dumb, but you don’t have a lot of options right now. “You promise?”

Trey smiles at you in a way that pacifies your looming worry, “I promise.”

“Well,” you shift in your seat, “ if you won’t hurt me what about your dorm? Can you get them to forget what Riddle said?”

“Luckily,about half of them were too busy freaking out and running away to pay attention to Riddle’s speech. The other half either doesn’t believe it, or doesn’t care. Heartslabyul’s understanding of darlings is that they’re wild and unruly without us, so some of them see Riddle’s words as an insult. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Well, that’s a relief. But what about Ace, Deuce and Cater?”

“Well, Cater found out on his own. Trust me, when I say that Cater is in the know about nearly everything on campus, I mean it. But don’t worry, he doesn’t have any plans on releasing it to anyone outside of the dorm.” Phew.

“And Ace and Deuce? They were already suspicious of me…”

Trey’s gentle smile drops for a moment, an apologetic expression forming on his face. “Whether they believe it or not is up to them. I’m sorry.”

“Well, what about you? Since you know, were you ever going to…. Do anything to me?”

At that moment, Grim yawns while gorging himself on the other desserts in the box. You finish the few bites of the treat in your hands. The sweetness of the pastries fade away to the nervousness as you await in his response. And fatigue for some reason. Maybe a full belly is making you sleepy.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any plans on hurting you. I owe you one after all.” You sigh in relief. “And if things get tough, you don’t have to do anything on your own. If you need anything you can come and get me for anything. I’m always here to help.” He offers you a hug, which you gratefully accept. After the whirlwind you experienced some human contact in way that’s not fucked up feels like a welcome relief.

“Thanks Trey.” You mumble into his embrace, accidentally cut yourself off with a yawn as soon as you finish your sentence. Well, that was fast. You know that you’ve had a long day, but it was still very early so how in the world did you get tired so fast. Sure you were a little tired, but not to the point where you were starting to feel sleepy. “You should probably go…. I think I should get some sleep….”

“I should leave then, but excuse my bluntness…You should take better care of yourself.” The hell does that mean?

You’re too tired to contemplate it tonight. Maybe tomorrow.“I’ll try. Good night Trey.”

You see him out and just before you shut the door, you can hear him say, “Get some sleep, ______.” You nod in response, shutting the door. As soon as you click the lock into place, you-

“Wha-” Another wave of exhaustion hits you like a bus, to the point that you can’t stop straining your jaw with yawns. Maybe today was more exhausting than you thought.

“Still….. How did…..I-” You can’t stop yourself from yawning in between words. Your heads spinning and your visions already blurring. Your legs become so weak that you can barely keep yourself upright.

You stumble back to the lounge, Grim, his face still covered in crumbs and frosting from the box of treats Trey had brought, is snoring into the box of treats. You gingerly set him onto one of the couch cushions before plopping down on the closest possible sofa. Even if it’s safer and cleaner for you to sleep in your bed tonight, you can’t bring yourself to climb up the stairs to bed, or even carry Grim all the way there.

‘But…..’ a voice in the back of your mind says, ‘you only felt tired after you ate the treats Trey fed you. And Grim was wide awake the whole afternoon. So why?’

Your last thought before losing yourself into the dream world is….. Why am I so tired?

As you lie in a world of dreams, none of your questions are answered.

Not the one about your exhaustion.

Not the one about why you were involved with and forced to fix Riddle’s internal conflict.

And most importantly, not the one about your questions of wonderland.

Why? Because you didn’t dream of Wonderland that night. Nor of Red Kings and lost girls from Earth. You slept peacefully. Too peacefully…….

Your one hope didn’t welcome you that night. And when you eventually awoke the next morning, when you checked it out nothing had changed. Like when you were awake, the doorway it once offered was shut.

And all the information it offered was held out of reach.

And that way was how it remained for three more days.

Just dreams that you couldn’t recall, showing flashes of the odd and nonsensical things that you once did.

No dreams of containing answers, no dreams of containing new questions…

Nothing about the world through the mirror for the next three days either, all the way up to the day of the make-up unbirthday party.

To say that your mind was preoccupied nearing the make-up unbirthday would be an understatement.

But you were mentally just not there the whole way to the unbirthday party, because your mind was just preoccupied with why your nightly journeys had suddenly concluded. As far as you knew, the story had never ended there. Alice eventually got home, following a path she used to escape the Queen’s madness and wake herself up to her normal life and her normal world. If that was your way out, then you needed to figure out how to reach it.

Still, though after a stressful three days of hanging out with Ace and Deuce (three days which neither of them brought up what the darling thing, so maybe you were in the clear) while they were lumped into cleaning up the Heartslabyul garden, it was time for the unbirthday party. Yay!

“All hail our leader, the Red Sovereign himself…Housewarden Riddle!” You stifle a laugh at the goofy announcement. Guess some things won’t change, huh?

“We salute you, Dorm Leader Riddle!” On the positive side, the residents don’t sound as forced this time. Riddle must have apologized to everyone in the past few days, because they sound much happier.

“Hm. The garden roses are red, the tablecloths are white…This seems like a proper unbirthday indeed.” Riddle inspects the garden like during the first unbirthday party, but he looks significantly more relaxed. Calmer even. Ace and Deuce had told you he wasn’t enforcing the Queen of Hearts’ rules as much since he’d been discharged from the nurse’s station. Which to you is a good sign. Because it means that, a weight of the rules was lifted off his shoulders. You hope. “Is there a dormouse in the teapo-” You sure fucking hope n- “Er, well, I suppose it’s fine either way.” Phew, you can actually drink the tea this time. Also, progress! He’s started to see which rules are bullshit and which ones aren’t.

“Not everything has to change completely, you know.” Trey looks much more at peace too. With the disaster in both his and Riddle’s childhood behind them, they both look much happier. “Like maybe spread the jam on your scones, instead of on the dormouse this time?” So the dormouse wasn’t ejected from the party premises, well then you’ll stick with water.

“Let’s try to set the bar at ‘it’s great if it’s this way,’ not ‘it absolutely has to be this way.’” According to the Ace and Deuce of two hours ago, Trey’s been working on trying to get Riddle to relax his old ways and unlearn his mother’s super strictness.

“Yes, that makes sense.” Riddle had been doing well in that department. And while he’s slipped up once or twice but no one lost their heads so, once again, progress.

Ace sighs in annoyance. He and Deuce had been roped into repairing the garden along with a lot of other Heartslabyul residents. Which he, as usual, complained about, “I can’t believe we got roped into cleaning up and prepping the garden again.”

“Well, at least the dorm leader recovered from his overblot without any complications.”

“And the garden is Magi-cam worthy once again! Hashtag #no filter on this gorgeousness!” Cater in his magicam addiction snaps enough pictures to fill his phone’s gallery, but this time you don’t exactly flinch away from them. It’s a party damnit, you’re going to relax.

“Blah blah blah! Let’s just eat already!”

“Then eat we shall! I’ll get the-”

“Wait a minute!” Riddle’s voice sends the garden into terrified silence. Oh no. What’s wrong? What was messed up? Who broke a rule? Are we going to go through this mess all over again?!

“Huh?”

“There’s a white rose!” How the hell did someone miss one?! You were in this garden yesterday, and every rose was painted when you all left!

You’re not the only one panicking.

“We missed one?!”

“Ace, Deuce, I told you to make sure to paint every rose?!”

“Wait, this is our fault?!”

Even Trey’s panicking, “R-Riddle, listen…”

You jump into damage control mode. “Riddle, it was an accident!” and if Riddle freaks out again, then you’re knocking one of his teeth out. “They didn’t mean to-”

Riddle chuckles, still calm. “Well… I suppose I can overlook one or two missed roses.” Everyone in the garden nearly collapses as you let out a sigh of relief. Yay, progress…..

“Geez! Don’t give me a heart attack, Riddle!” You jokingly protest. But you’re very happy he’s not serious. Besides, practical jokes are closer to what you felt was normal.

“After all, if we work together then we should be able to get them painted in no time.”

“What? They still gotta be painted?!”

“Even so…. I’m impressed. You’ve changed, Riddle.”

“I’m starvin’ here! Let’s just get these stupid roses painted or whatever!”

“All right, is everyone ready?” After a very energizing and hunger-inducing rose painting session, you all return to the tea garden to eat and drink. And Ace, as cocky as ever, finally gets to have his cake and eat it too, or rather get his tart and-nevermind. “So what happened to that tart, Dorm Leader?”

“I made it for you, as I promised I would.” Riddle’s actually taken aback for a split second at Ace’s bluntness, but he does direct everyone’s attention to the tart set on one of the dessert tables. “Here: one strawberry tart, crafted by yours truly.” A strawberry tart that sparkles in the sunshine. It’s a little misshapen, but he tried.

“Nice! The shape’s a little off, but I can tell you put a lot of work into that glaze.”

“He’s right. It looks great, Riddle. Good job!” Riddle seems to bolster from your praise, smiling softly before Ace kills the moment.

“Oh, puh-leeze. How about we actually TRY it before you start fawning over him, _____?”

“Hold it! Don’t you start cutting that before I get my Magicam snap!-” Cater snaps a picture without anyone’s consent but who cares, the tarts ready to be cut and served “Okay, got it!”

“Tch, I see Cater hasn’t changed a bit either. All right, let’s dig in!” The tart is cut, and served for everyone. To be honest, you can’t wait to try the fruits of Riddle’s labor. He didn’t really have to make one. But he kept his word to Ace, so you’re glad to see his positive change.

And you get to eat the tart that led to this entire storm happening. You stuff the tart into your mouth and take a huge bite.

And then you choke.

It’s salty, like a mouthful of table salt salty.

“This is kinda….Salty!” You can't even join the scream of the anguished at what has to be a mountain of salt mixed into the tart makes your mouth as dry as a desert.

“What?!” Riddle’s completely taken aback by the fact all his hard work is actually the culinary equivalent of serving salt onto a plate.

“Err? This isn’t KINDA salty - it’s a full on salt lick! What did you put in this?!” You have no choice but to agree with Ace. This is not ‘accidentally added too much salt’ salty, this is ‘completely replacing all the other ingredients with just salt’ salty. How could someone who once followed rules so strictly mess up a tart recipe so badly?

After a few failed attempts, you swallow it down and wince, before dry-heaving. “Did you mistake salt for sugar?” You rasp

“No, I followed the rules exactly, and measured everything precisely! Unless…Oh!”

“What?” You rasp.

“Could it be…. from the oyster sauce?” WHAT. Trey, why?!

Deuce spits out the mouthful of salt tart into a nearby napkin. “Wait… did you actually use that Walrus-brand oyster sauce Trey jokes about?”

“But Trey said that oyster sauce is an unlisted secret ingredient in all tarts! He said all the finest bakers use it.” Damn it Trey…..

“And you actually believed him?! How could you not tell that he was joking?!”

“You fell for it too, Ace. But even then, it was only supposed to be a splash. How much did you put in?”

“It’s an unlisted ingredient! How could I measure it if he wouldn’t tell me how much to put in?!” Geez, no wonder this tart was like drinking seawater.

“Pffft..” Trey practically loses his shit laughing at the successful prank, “I can’t believe someone actually fell for the ol’ oyster sauce prank!”

Instead of flipping out, Riddle takes the realization on the chin and laughs fondly, “Yes; Quite humorous indeed. I truly am a fool.”

Even if you're sure your mouth will never be the same from taking such a big mouthful, all you can do in this situation is laugh. And everyone does.

“Ha ha! It really is so disgusting that it’s actually kind of funny!”

“Yeah, what else can we do but laugh!”

“You know, in its own weird way, I think it’s actually kinda good!”

“Well, uh, it’s an interesting flavor profile…”

In the end, you're just glad to have a taste of normalcy. After the headache the last few days have been, a break to laugh is welcomed.

The garbage tart doesn’t dampen the mood in the slightest. While it led to some discovery of Cater’s own tastes, it was actually more informative and humorous than miserable. Which in contrast to the original unbirthday party you got kicked out of, this is so much better.

What changed the mood is the new voice in the garden. “Mm mm mmm! Your baked goods are always so delightful, Trey.” Chenya appears out of nowhere, stuffing his face with the not-super salty tarts.

Both Trey and Riddle look surprised to see their childhood friend here. “Chenya?! What are you doing here?!”

Still, speaking in his carefree nonchalance, Chenya hums, “Hm? I came to celebrate my unbirthday with all of you. A very merry unbirthday to you, Riddle.”

You're not sure what caused it, but the warm atmosphere drops at least 10 degrees. “The unbirthday party is a Heartslabyul House tradition. It does not pertain to you.” Isn’t Riddle also friends with Chenya, why the hostility?

Chenya points at you and Grim, “And those two? What about them?”

“Favoritism.” You quip, because it is.

The current conversation doesn't kill Grim’s curiosity, because he asks the same question he never got answered. “Hey! You’re that weird semi-invisible cat guy from before! So you never told us- what dorm are you from?”

“Chenya isn’t even a Night Raven student.”

“I knew it!” You exclaim, and then everyone stares at you surprised by your sudden, excited outburst. They laugh slightly at your exclamation, as you flush slightly. “S-Sorry, carry on Trey.”

“He’s a student at our long-time rival school, The Royal Sword Academy.” Oh, there’s another magical school nearby? Must be if Chenya can come here and go back so quickly.

“Whaaat? You go to a different school?”

“The frickin’ Royal Sword Academy, no less?!”

“Uh, guys, why exactly is Royal Sword Academy so important?” You ask, still left out of whatever loop they’re running on.

“Did that guy just say the ‘Royal Sword Academy’?!”

“He’s one of those pompous jerk-faces?!” Hey, isn’t that guy the jerk that tried to pound your face in because of an egg? Hypocrite much?

“What?! Who’s from Royal Sword? We gotta run ‘em outta here!” You can practically feel the bloodlust emanating out of them, as the other residents try to surround him. What the hell are they-

“Well now that I’ve tasted some tart, perhaps I should see myself out.” Chenya literally vanishes, as the single minded Heartslabyul residents try to run him out after he’s already disappeared.

“Whoa, everyone turned bloodthirsty real quick.” Yeah, bloodthirst is right. They went from enjoying the party to ready to commit murder. What the hell did they have against RSA?

“Sure. Let’s not consider the possibly lethal ramifications of this.” You murmur, going thankfully unheard.

Your unspoken question is answered by Riddle. “The vast majority of Night Raven College students perceive the Royal Sword Academy as the enemy.”

“No surprise, given that they’ve kicked our butts every year for a hundred years straight…”

Oh, it’s just a school rivalry. Thank the seven. If it was something like the school having a history of stealing the darlings of the NRC students, then that was awful. “Cool. Something normal like school competition, finally.”

“Hey, stop harshin’ the vibe! This is supposed to be a day of celebration. Can’t we all just enjoy our unbirthdays?”

“Myah! Merry unbirthday or whatever! I’m gonna eat till my stomach explodes!” Grim cheers before diving into one the dessert trays.

And you do. But after a while gorging yourself on not over-salted sweets, you actually make your way to Riddle. Perhaps it's time you have your first real conversation with the no longer Crimson Tyrant. “Riddle?” Riddle almost drops his tea cup at the sound of your voice. You hadn't gotten the chance to speak with him after he'd gone to the nurse. But you weren’t expecting his surprise.

“Y-Yes, _____?”

“I’m glad you’re doing better.” You are and you aren't. Maybe it's the lingering feeling of dread that hasn't displaced itself from your mind. “Trey says you're trying to do better…”

“Yes, I have. I've been making individual apologies to everyone, and I believe that I owe you one too.”

“Well, yeah.” You shrug, you weren’t not expecting this, but you’re not surprised. “Might as well say it now.”

Riddle takes a deep breath with all the original poise he had back before his overblot. “I should not have said what I did about you and for that I am truly sorry.”

Well, if he’s truly sorry, then maybe….“And you mean it?”

“O-Of course, I should not have-”

“Then, you need to let me do something.” The itch in your palm is back. You're not as mad as you could have been then, but you still want to seek retribution.

Riddle gives you a look of confusion, “W..What is it?”

“This. Stay still.” He gives you a confused look, as you draw your fist back. His eyes widen slightly in recognition but he doesn’t make any moves to avoid it, holding still. You hit him hard enough to make him stumble a few feet back. A now inflamed bruise is painted onto his skin. “Alright, you’re partially forgiven.”

Riddle rubs the reddening bruise on his cheek, looking more surprised at your response rather than the punch. “Partially?”

“You kind of outed me to Ace and Deuce and your entire dorm, and while the former haven’t said anything that doesn’t mean they don’t believe it because they were already suspicious of me. So, partially.”

“I see.” Riddle looks disappointed, did he want you to forgive him that badly? “Then how would I earn your total forgiveness?”

You sigh, even with the day being genuinely enjoyable, your first few weeks here had been hectic. So very hectic. You just wanted to be left alone. “I just don’t want to be bothered anymore. I don’t want to be dragged into a mess because they have some stupid problem involving me.” You finish, before hastily tacking on a “No offense.”

“None taken. I deserved that. If you desire to not be bothered, I will ensure that you aren’t.” You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thanks…. I appreciate it.”

“It is no problem. And know that you are always welcome at Heartslabyul.”

“I'll…” Considering all the Heartslabyul drama you were involved in for no goddamn reason other than the fact you were existing, you needed a bit of alone time before you dropped by for sleepovers. “...Keep that in mind. But we’ve all had a hard couple of days, so let’s just enjoy the party today.”

And so you party with worry looming in the back of your mind. Sure, you’re glad that this stressful whirlwind is over, but something doesn’t feel right.

Maybe it’s your unfinished dreams? Or the reason for your sudden exhaustion? Something feels wrong, but you can’t figure out what it is.

You just hope this is the end of this.

Do stories end at the ‘the end’? Because the ending isn’t really the ending. It’s just where the narration concludes. The people in the tale continue living, facing victories and tragedies.

And this story isn’t a tale that ends with a victory for the protagonist. No, it ends with a tragedy, the bloody kind.

Shall we watch the blood on the ax dry?

#yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandereverse au

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yoursweetheartsrevenge · 16 days ago

Text

The Academic

Summary: He’s gorgeous and silent. The perfect patron. But the underlying mystery of why this mysterious silver haired stranger spends entire days seated in the library fascinates the staff. One librarian takes it upon herself to see who this mystery man is and what exactly he desires.

Read on Ao3

Written for @hotd-bigbang

Taglist: @sepherinaspoppies

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: smut (face sitting, creampie, cowgirl, public sex), MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 10.9K+

Author’s Note: Written for @hotd-bigbang.

Week 4: Free Space - Wanted to write another Modern AU. Besides, ever since Ewan answered with the library as what Aemond would love about modern society I was itching to write him in a modern library setting. This really got away from me.

The Academic

“He’s back again.”

She turned to look at her co-worker. Her dark haired co-worker was slowly sipping her coffee while tilting her head in the direction of the he in question. The librarian adjusted her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose as her light eyes fell in the direction of him.

Their silver haired frequent researcher had a decent looking spread across one of the library’s wide tables. She held a series of poor condition large print titles that were due to be recycled. She plopped them on the dark book cart hearing the hardcovers echo against the howl metal.

He remained concentrated. His long curtain of white blonde hair did not even deter him from his studies. He scribbled notes before flipping one page then two pages in another book. She could definitely see a range of atlases and maps he had somehow found within the public library walls.

“The Academic.” Her co-worker nearly chuckled in a posher than normal voice.

“A nickname just because he is doing a research project?” She said with a sigh. Her fingers tickled the edges of the cracked veiny spines. She slowly shifted the titles to be in alphabetical order.

“Yes, but you see the assortment of books he has piled up, maps, business proposals, history books, and I am pretty sure he’s found every title older than seventy years old not in a glass case.” She gave her coffee a loud sip again. They both looked toward their mystery researcher.

Still very concentrated.

“He’ll come looking for one of those titles in the historical room one of these days. I’m sure of it.” There was a soft smile on her co-worker’s face that nearly looked dreamy.

“You just think he’s attractive.” She whispered in a hiss. Her hands gripped the metal handles of the book cart.

“Oh please,” She settled the cardboard coffee cup beside her desktop at the reference desk. “I see the way you make eyes at him. I’ll turn on the fan for you.” Her fingers clicked on their small fan at the desk.

The librarian huffed pulling the cart away. One wheel spun out as she moved it across the carpet. It echoed softly hitting bumps every so often. Her french tip nails clicked against the cart. There was a slight pause in her pathway when she realized she would have to pass “the academic” to get to the back office.

The library was nearly empty on the creeping autumn mid afternoon. The trees had just started turning that crisp orange with yellow veins along the leaves. The large framed windows let in the shadows of oranges that made her feel cozy to be inside. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment.

He had his hair half up in a small ponytail. He wore a soft green sweater with two navy stripes nearly hidden beneath the fluff of the sweater. She could see white cuffs peeking through the cuffs on the sweater. He had before him an array of different colored pens and highlighters lined up in a nearly perfect line.

Her lips settled into a soft smile seeing it.

There was an appreciation there in seeing organization.

She loved seeing how he had lined them up, placing them back in order as he went.

Not as if she were looking.

Slowly she pushed her cart past the front of his table. Her soft heels settled on the hard carpet making an easy click as she moved.

He looked up.

She saw him then.

The librarian wasn’t sure why she hadn’t seen the eye patch, leather and etched with an embroidery of leaves along the edges. The design work was actually quite beautiful. His soft violet eye slowly blinked at her.

She felt caught somehow as if she were doing something wrong instead of her job.

Her throat rolled out a quiet whimper. She winced, feeling her covered big toe knock against one of the wheels. She nearly tripped. Their mystery researcher began to stand. Her hands pushed the cart further until she passed his table.

He was standing, watching her go.

She didn’t want to look back.

Her mind wandered to imagining that he was looking at her behind in the long skirt skating at her ankles.

In the window of the office she could see, he was doing just that.

He was outside before they opened almost every day now. She always thought the silver haired researcher looked dashing in every outfit he came in with. Her co-workers would swoon with curiosity at what exactly he was working on.

Librarians were always up for a good mystery.

He never spoke to a single employee. His long fingers and brilliant mind seemed to navigate the shelves with great ease as if he had been here since the building opened and had not just appeared two months before.

She noticed the things her co-workers seemed to ignore in favor of his physical traits.

They, of course, had noted the eyepatch, but she had noticed how he seemed to not touch it as if it were an old wound he was used to when the world seemed too silent around him.

She noted what kind of bags he came with. A green leather briefcase and a canvas messenger bag always accompanied him to his table. His table was nearest to the non-fiction materials. She noted he remained close to the history section. He never took too many steps from his table to what materials he needed.

While her co-workers continued to be curious what the handsome stranger was researching, seeing him devoted to taking every copy of the history section on The Conquest to his table to study and topical maps of the surrounding areas of Westeros, she had been curious how he researched.

He did not come in with a laptop, but instead a smattering of over used notebooks that were dog eared and sticking out papers at the edges. There was organization there. She could tell as he maneuvered between each notebook with ease pulling out different writing utensils with each different book.

There was no doubt he remained very concentrated about his work.

“How does he know where it all is?” Her co-worker had asked while in the break room. She was looking between the blinds at him.

There were only the two of them in the break room. While her co-worker was nearly glued to watching the handsome researcher, she continued to eat her tuna fish sandwich shrugging slightly.

“He seems intelligent enough to figure it out.” It was an obvious statement. She heard the blinds snap closed. “What?” Her co-worker stared at her rolling her eyes.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” She picked at the crust of her bread looking down.

“Pretend like you have some special bond with him. Like you know him.” Her eyes narrowed as if trying to decide if her words might be true.

“I just appreciate how self-sufficient he is. It’s rare.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation.

She had the night shift that evening. It was always quiet toward the end of the night. This was the time she could do her displays. She was pulling some titles for non-fiction ghost stories as autumn continued to linger into the spooky season. Her short list of titles was nearly finished, but she was missing one.

Her feet padded over to the section, checking the early 100s for about the fifth time. Her fingers wiped over the empty spot which should have held, Most Haunted Places of Westeros. It was a loose spot with several titles leaning into each other for support. She didn’t know why she was so keen to find the title. Perhaps it was because the records said it was checked in and it was not exactly where it was supposed to be.

It frustrated her when things were out of place.

She clicked her nails against the wooden shelf. Her eyes wandered beyond that spot to the other side. Her eyes caught the side profile of a curtain of silver hair as he stood looking over a title. Her eyes caught his eye for a sharp moment staring a bit caught in the moment. She saw the twitch of a smile on his face. Her fingernails scratched the wood watching him walk away.

Maybe . . .

Her body moved automatically putting the books on display at the end cap of the non-fiction shelving unit. She smoothed out the display sign indicating what kinds of titles were on display, a black inky paper filled with white cartoon ghosts flying out of a white lined Victorian house. There was that missing spot though. It made her lips twitch a bit. She turned the corner to look for the title thinking it may have been mishelved.

She wasn’t sure how long she was looking or when she had gotten on her hands and knees to obsessively check the bottom shelves. Her hand caught her sneeze hearing the tail end of a clearing of a throat.

“Sorry,” His voice was not familiar to her, but it was higher than she imagined it. She sniffled, turning to see the silver haired stranger holding out exactly what she was looking for. “I took one of your books for your display, didn’t I?”

Her mind blanked for a moment looking up at him from on her knees on the hard carpet. She sat back on her ankle booties. Her glasses, silver framed completely on purpose since she had to stare at his silver hair all day and every week, slid down her nose. When she adjusted them she could see he was wearing a black button up with every button fascinated tight. So tight in fact she could see that his biceps and pecs were straining.

She nibbled at the side of her lips before realizing his words.

“Oh it is no trouble I can -”

“No, please. I’m finished. Besides, you are closing soon.” He nodded his head curtly holding out the thick yellowed paged book. She could smell the age of it from here, but it was a perfect addition for her display which she desperately needed.

She shifted upwards, unable to stop herself from witnessing the way his violet eye seemed to follow her. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Gods, he was tall! Nearly a foot taller than her, but she could have imagined that by the way he was slumped over his studies.

There was more she could say, but instead she mumbled a soft thank you letting her fingers grasp the book from his hand. She pressed it to her chest letting her feet take her back to the end cap.

He watched her.

She felt that soft eye on her making sure the book returned to where it needed to be.

“You know we close in fifteen minutes. Don’t you, Sir?” She said merely so she could break his little stare. She was aware he knew this information.

“Oh yes, right. I should start packing up my things. Apologies again for the book.” He nodded awkwardly before returning to his table where he did in fact have a large spread of items.

While he packed up she looked up at the cover of the book they had both been desperately clinging to.

She wondered what a man like him could need a book about supernatural locations for.

He had finally checked out a book.

It was the gossip of the day among all the curious library workers. He had come up to the circulation desk with one paperback fiction title tucked at his hip. It was before he went on his two hour lunch break to the local coffee shop. Upon handing his library card, everyone now knew the name of the silver haired patron who graced them with delicious eye candy for months.

Aemond Targaryen.

It wasn’t long before everyone knew quite too much about the no longer stranger. She had sat back and listened as they listed his accomplishments and failures. The Targaryens were nearly celebrities, but the silver hair while hereditary wasn’t exactly an indication of a true Targaryen. Many people dyed their locks to look like the semi celebrity royals of Westeros.

It didn’t bother her much that they were searching for juicy gossip about the long haired Aemond Targaryen. That was simply human nature. People were curious when strange people came in. Aemond was an interesting fellow. She could admit that.

What bothered her most was when they discussed his eye.

It was no secret Aemond Targaryen was missing one eye.

She had never been curious about the cause of it.

What good was knowing the nature of his disability?

Her co-workers seemed obsessed over knowing how the eye was lost.

When they were discussing she had taken to leaving the room or planting herself on the large circular reference desk in the middle of the library that always faced him. Everytime she did she saw him catch her with his one good eye.

She was beginning to notice it more and more ever since the first day she spoke to him.

Aemond Targaryen was curious about HER.

Her co-workers were so wrapped up in knowing him more that they had not noticed that they had now taken to exchanging soft smiles. It was a small gesture, but one she seemed to look forward to. She had also taken to going to lunch around the same time as him. She would whisper her request for an early lunch knowing he would softly gather his things before heading to the coffee shop within walking distance. It may have been her imagination, but when she lifted herself from the squeaky wheeled chair at the desk he’d look up and begin to pack up as if on an automatic timer.

There was an unwritten rule not to scold him if he came back with his flat white latte with the lid firmly on. Now that they understood he was a Targaryen the rule was very widely known among patrons and the staff.

She had settled herself at the desk beginning her desk shift for the day. Her items were always well placed beside her. Her notebook containing her to-do list was open on her left while her cold brew with a light pink reusable straw was settled to her right on top of a tissue in an attempt not to make a stain on the ancient desk. She was typing her password in the computer when she felt his warm shadow.

“I was looking for a book.”

Aemond Targaryen liked to wear black and green. It had something to do with the heraldry of their house in Old Valyria. Not that she had scrolled on her phone late one night to discover the reason. However today he was dressed in a rather plain looking mock grey turtleneck and dark jeans. His eye patch however was a faded olive green leather bordered with little vines at the edges.

“Oh, of course,” His question caught her off guard. He never came looking for a title. Aemond Targaryen was used to navigating the library on his own. It seemed to function as a second home to him. She suspected if he could sleep here he would. “Do you know the -”

“It says it is in special collections.” He answered as if seeing the curiosity on her face. She saw his head tilt slightly. “It’s on The Conquest.” Her brain worked to guess what he was talking about. There was a small smile peaking at the corners of her lips as if he were enjoying seeing her mind sort through all the titles.

“We have many titles in our historical archives on The Conquest. Did you have a specific one in mind?” She hated to give up and not give him an answer, but -

“How many titles?”

“Twenty six.” Her eyes nearly widened at her own memory.

His lashes fluttered as he chuckled softly.

“You know the collection quite well, Miss . . .”

She spoke her name. Her voice cracked a bit at the letters.

Gods was he handsome.

She hated that.

“Perhaps you can show me the collection?” There was a softness in his voice as he asked, a politeness she rarely heard in the few times they spoke.

She simply nodded shifting to put up the sign at the desk signifying she was off desk. Her fingers shuffled for the keys to the private room and various locked cabinets in the drawer. He waited and watched her as she moved. She momentarily thought to break the silence of the soft echo of their heels by asking him of his research, but slowly thought it was none of her business.

The historical archives room was a space on the opposite end of the library. Individuals rarely went in there, but there was the occasional reporter or request that came in from across the country asking for a scan of a record. Generally civilians didn’t ask too much for the room unless they were doing family research.

“Conquest.” She muttered under her breath a few times in a sing-song tone.

She noted he was leaning against one of the shelves before she turned to give him a stern look.

“Please be careful. That is original furinture.” She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. It appeared to work though. Aemond Targaren acted as a caught child straightening up, folding his hands behind him. “Now as I said we have a number of titles on The Conquest.”

“Twenty six.” He repeated her own words.

The high ceilings seemed to echo those words.

“Yes,” She swallowed, moving to tap her fingers along the first of several glass cases that bordered the room. “Most are in these cases, if you want to -”

“I know what I am looking for.” Aemond said.

He scrolled confidently over to a small cabinet near the exit of the room. It held many titles that were distinguished as being from two hundred years ago. She hesitated before going to the cabinet to join him. She followed his line of sight to see that he was eyeing the only spine with no title.

“These are rarely looked at.” The librarian started out loud. “There is a procedure if you wish to look at them.” She started to move to the small drawer underneath the cabinet pulling out supplies. There was a small pink plastic bin she settled on the table. The brunette could feel his eyes watching her. She adjusted her glasses hoping he did not notice they were fogging.

“I’ll need your id.” She shifted the little card bin brushing off some dust from infrequent use. “You’ll need to wear these gloves to look at the item.” Her finger shifted the small pump of hand sanitizer and box of tight blue latex gloves. “Put the sanitizer on your hands before the gloves.” She lined the items out in the order he needed to use them. Her eyes fluttered up to him. Aemond slowly turned his head toward her, eyeing the items. “The item must remain in this room. Any damage -”

“I will not damage the item.” He stated coldly.

“Any damage to the item will be noted. There are cameras in this room.” That last line was one she should not have stated yet she still pointed them out to the man. He did not follow her finger, but instead remained looking at her. His focus made her cheeks hot. “Do you have any questions?”

“Will you be watching me the entire time I read?” There was a cheekiness there in his tone.

“Only if you would like me too.” She wasn’t sure where her own flirtation had come from.

“Hmmm . . .” He wondered if he wanted that. “I should not keep you. I will not be long. I simply need to make some notes.” His hand patted his jean pocket where she could see the spirals of the notepad sticking out.

The librarian shifted her keys hating how close he leaned to her, hating more how she could very much see how her fingers trembled as she opened the door. She could smell his cologne on him, something she had not noticed before. It was soft and musky like a forest after a very heavy rain when every pine was fresh and wet. She shifted to put the gloves on herself retrieving the delicate item from the cabinet.

He did as instructed. Aemond Targaryen placed his driver’s license in the bin. He wet his hands with a slow spurt of santizer rubbing it between his two hands while watching her. He slipped the gloves on with ease.

“I will come check on you in fifteen minutes.”

With that she left him to his business fully aware that his eyes trailed after her when she left.

Her mind could not focus on the tasks she had left. Her emails remained a blank white screen. Her voice trembled slightly as patrons came to the desk asking computer based questions and looking for titles. One young woman even asked if she was alright.

Gods, what was this man doing to her?

It had been exactly sixteen minutes when she had a chance to go check on him.

He was maneuvering from the table of contents to numbered passages. She was fully aware that was what he was doing as she noticed the gesture. Aemond Targaryen did that often with other books at the library.

“A minute late. Tsk, tsk.” Her heart jumped at the disappointment in his tone before she noted his little smile.

“Patrons can be quite needy.” What was she saying?

“Am I a needy one?”

“No. You are quite self sufficient. It is very much appreciated.” She shifted on her heels before deciding to approach him. “Did you need more time or . . .”

“Hmmm . . .” He looked down at his small notepad. “Perhaps another five minutes. That should give me enough time to take my final notes. Would that be sufficient?” When he looked at her she felt her heart in her throat. His hair was perfectly laid back across his toned shoulders.

“Of course. Please let me know if you need anything.”

She walked out fast knowing if she lingered too long he may say something cheeky.

The librarian settled at the desk noting the time. She wrote one email in those five minutes that she immediately erased seeing how it almost read as nonsense.

“He asked for a book?” Her co-worker wondered as their shift was beginning to change.

The librarian explained what had transpired, noting the title.

“He checked out a fictional recount of The Conquest. I saw he’s getting a dual master’s in history and philosophy.” When she inquired how her co-worker knew that she simply winked.

“I’m going to check on him then go to lunch.” The librarian shifted up the pink bin containing his id to bring back to him.

When she entered the room he was not at the table. The book was left abandoned. He was looking through the shelves at other titles, hands behind his back.

“All finished, then?”

He simply nodded. She handed him back his id. He reached for his wallet, putting it back inside. She could not help seeing the wads of large bills sticking out from there. Yes the Targaryens were quite well off, but it was one thing to have the knowledge and another to see the cash in his wallet.

“Did you find everything you needed?” She couldn’t help herself. She wanted to talk to him more.

“I did. Have a good lunch, my dear.”

With that he left, letting his dress heels echo in the room. The librarian began to put on the gloves to return the book when she found the edges of a ripped out spiral piece of paper sticking out.

Surely this didn’t belong.

She pulled it free seeing that hand writing was not only beautiful, but the message caused her cheeks to flush.

If you are able to get away please meet me for lunch today. I suspect you know the spot. - Aemond Targaryen

She rubbed the message between her fingers lingering over the thought that he knew that she watched him so closely.

Dare she answer this request?

Her heart fluttered widely at the thought of it. Her mind raced thinking that she could not get a coffee as she had already had her caffeine for that day. Why was she focused on coffee when Aemond Targaryen had asked her out to lunch?

Instead she let her mind focus on the task at hand. She put the book away. As she ripped off the gloves she felt unsettled on her feet.

How long had it been since she had been asked out?

How long would it be if she rejected this request?

Soon she found herself by her locker contemplating exactly what she should do.

“I’m going out to lunch today. Be back in an hour.” She told her co-worker at the desk before heading out the front doors into the chilled November air.

She shifted on her feet in line unsure what exactly she expected when entering the small cafe. It smelt of fresh coffee and cream with the steam of the espresso machine calling out to her. The clattering of plates settled on the counter for bussers to shift freshly pressed pannis and bowls of over grown gourmet salads to tables.

Her eyes raked over the scene spread before her. It was a small smattering of people in business suits mixed with friends chatting over wide brimmed cups of hot coffee. Despite it being a short five minute walk from her library she had never been inside. It felt cozy and warm, especially on such a chilly day.

“You came.” She barely noticed as he settled next to her in line.

The librarian only nodded.

“I’ve never been here.” She mused.

“I’m as much a regular here as the library. Let me buy you lunch.” His hand seemed to hover behind her back as if wishing to touch her.

“No, please, I couldn’t -”

“But you will. Let me. Please.” The sparkle tangled in that violet eye making her sigh aloud. She blinked letting strands of her brown hair fall into her eyes clouding her sight as they settled on her glasses.

Aemond started small talk about what he had liked and disliked so far in his several months coming to the location. He pointed out his favorites. She noted he settled on healthier menu items, turkey sandwiches or salads with fresh fruits. They were in a bit of a heated discussion on whether fruit belonged in a salad when it was their turn.

“The usual Mr. Targaryen?” The young woman with a nose piercing and big bright eyes asked him. Her eyes looked curious at his lunch companion.

“Yes, but I will also be getting lunch for my date here.”

The noise of the place roared silent in her mind, though she suspected the world continued around them.

Date?

Date?!

Date . . .

“My dear, what would you like?” He asked it as if he had asked her several times.

“Oh, um . . . caesar salad, no croutons, add avocado.”

It was her go to with any location, though avocado was not usually something many cafes could accomedate. This place seemed able to provide her with it. When asked for her drink she had ordered a tea. It seemed like the correct beverage for a location such as this.

Aemond found them a table. One that she suspected was another regular spot. It had an amazing view of a small garden outside. She tugged at her coat as she prepared her tea seeing that they had quite an assortment of flavors. She tried not to focus on how nice he looked with the sun shining in his long silver locks. She certainly wasn’t watching his lips against the cardboard cup sipping at his latte.

She settled her tea on the table before removing her coat. His eye watched her every movement as if taking in each small gesture to memory.

“I’m so glad you came.” She swallowed at the words looking at him. “I really didn’t think you would.”

“Why’s that?”

“You are . . . hmmm . . .” He hummed into his cup before taking a deep sip. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Very professional. I did not think dating a patron would be something you would consider.”

It wasn’t.

She sipped at her fruity tea without saying those words.

“Why did you come to lunch with me then?” He scratched at his cup.

“Curiosity.” She hummed with a shrug.

“Is that all?” He nearly laughed at the notion.

“I would not have come if I thought I wouldn’t enjoy myself.” It was true. Why would she waste her time on a boring person? Aemond Targaryen was intriguing. She could not deny him that.

“You are so kind to say that. Not many people would have taken the offer.”

They watched as their food was settled on the table. Another young girl seemed to let her eyes linger on him as she placed his roasted turkey sandwich with kale chips in front of him. Her salad was nearly a second thought.

“You see.” He told her motioning as the bus girl let them be.

“See?” She positioned her utensils beside her just as she liked.

“Do not play dumb with me, my dear. I know you see.” His voice was lower, harsher, filled with a feeling she could not put her finger on.

“You do not need me to tell you that you are intimidating and handsome.” Her fork stabbed at her salad as she used her knife to cut it into smaller pieces.

“Handsome?” He cooed.

“Don’t get a big head about it. I am aware you know everyone at the library is nearly falling over themselves to bask in your presence.” She was nearly bitter about it as she spoke.

“Not you.”

“No, I’m just better at hiding it.” She was. She had taken the time to hide any feelings she had, bury them deep until she could not feel them any longer. Many of her therapists called it unhealthy, but it never stopped her from doing it.

“What else are you hiding, my dear?” He hadn’t touched his food. Aemond Targaryen was looking at her with a bewitched look as if he could fall in love with her at any moment.

“Keep taking me out on dates and maybe you’ll find out.”

He did just that.

Aemond Targaryen, the more she thought about it, seemed to be enchanted by her presence. They had taken to going out to lunch twice a week. Occasionally they would hold hands on line as they ordered, but it was nothing more than that. Aemond was a true gentleman letting her guide every touch and subject they settled on.

She learned his father had recently passed on leading to a fight within the family for the wealth he left behind. Aemond wanted nothing more than to continue his education. He was in a very intense dual master’s program with a hope to someday become a professor or work in another program in his field. They discussed their favorite museums and topics they both loved.

She was surprised how easy every conversation was.

It was as if they were good friends rekindling their friendship into a romance.

She told him how much she adored every aspect of her job. Organization and learning were her favorite things in the world. His organization was something that caught her eye long before his beauty.

As December approached, he began to ask her out for dinner and cozy outings. As Christmas approached she could very much feel that Aemond Targayen was more than a friend and rather a boyfriend. It was made very apparent when they walked hand in hand in the Christmas market. He had given her a kiss, their first, before letting her drive off home.

They hid their relationship well as he still came to study in the library. He explained he could not resist being close to her, but also he still had much to study. She never truly hid the relationship from her co-workers. Right before Christmas some of her co-workers seemed to figure out her and Aemond were dating.

They didn’t say much.

They could be as coy and silent as her.

On Christmas when she visited her family she received texts from him wishing her well and wistfully waiting to see her again. After Christmas he began to come into the library less though they continued their dates after work with dinners out. He explained his absence due to the fact that he was dealing with the inner workings of his family’s estate due to the sudden inability of his elder brother, Aegon to handle manners.

On New Year’s Eve, Aemond Targaryen took his girlfriend out to a bar, Storm’s End. It wasn’t a typical location they went out to. He usually took her to historical locations buzzing to discuss the history behind the restaurant or museums with elegant restaurants attached. Storm’s End was a bit seedy with shaded lights and a smoky atmosphere.

He had picked her up after work not telling her this was where they were going.

Aemond had pulled out the bar stool and ordered for them. He knew her drink order by now. She loved a fruity martini after a long day. That night she sipped on a mango martini and watched him order a very expensive scotch that made the bartender’s eyes widen. He repeated the price several times before believing that the Targaryen man actually wanted it. Her hand traveled up Aemond’s thigh as the liquid in the glass seemed to disappear at her lips.

She could hear his breath grow a bit heavier as she squeezed his toned thigh.

Alcohol always loosened her inhibitions.

They had not done anything quite sexual as of yet, but it did not mean she didn’t want to.

The opportunity had never truly arisen.

The hottest they had gotten was making out in his car before she decided she needed to go inside and his lips were bright red with her pretty lipstick.

“You keep that up and I’ll have to take you into the bathroom.” He teased brushing his fingers along her knuckles.

“What if that’s my goal for the evening?” She leaned forward feeling tempted to tease him further. “Have you fuck me against a dirty wall in a seedy bar? Is that why you brought me here, Aemond Targaryen?” It was only a tease as she kissed under his ear.

Before anything further could settle between them, a large order of chicken wings settled between them. She was starving. Her fingers pulled apart the wings eager and hungry not caring if hot sauce coated her fingers. He couldn’t help himself watching her. He was glad when she offered her dirty fingers to him to suckle. The way his lips moved made her twitch a bit under her skirt.

It wasn’t a foreign feeling. She wasn’t a prude. Her sexual history was wrought with playful exploration and deep desires. Aemond had occasionally squeezed her thighs as they kissed. His fingers would gently stroke her sex as well. Nothing more had come of it which had been a bit of a disappointment.

She suspected tonight they could take their relationship further.

It was especially true when Aemond seemed to take her chin in his hands. He began to kiss her right there at the bar letting his tongue explore her. The martini was empty by now, giving her a pleasant buzz that allowed her arms to wrap around him to settle into the pleasure of feeling him. Her breath was hurried as her fingers pulled at his long locks. Aemond didn’t seem to mind how enthusiastic she was being. His hands anchored her hips to the stool even as she tried to lift up to crawl into his lap.

“You are so fuckin needy.” He said between kisses. “You want me so bad don’t you, beautiful?” She licked her lower lip at his words. “Come on now. Let’s get you home, my dear.”

She saw him fish out a single bill from his wallet. Her hands stroked his thigh feeling how toned he was. She would not get used to feeling the muscles on his thigh and under his shirt. He was so fuckin’ toned for a man who seemed glued to old dusty books.

“Gods,” He whimpered. Her cold hands were inching under his now untucked button up. “Relax. I’ll take care of you soon enough.”

It nearly sounded like a threat.

She didn’t mind it. It was very clear how badly she wanted him. She should have been embarrassed. There were whistles across the bar. All eyes on her as she was being quite bad feeling him up in front of every living person in this bar. It didn’t matter to her. She’d never see these people again. If she felt the need she could dry hump her boyfriend here if she thought he wouldn’t spank her later.

Though she wasn’t against spanking.

“Aemond.” She whispered against his ear.

“Fuckin’ don’t,” He cooed. Aemond Targaryen pulled her off the bar stool. “I’m glad I drove. You’re a mess and only from one drink.” She had forgotten what martinis did to her. She had gone out with Aemond having a glass of white wine, but the harder stuff made her a bit handsy.

Well maybe more than a bit.

He drove her back to her place, a small flat not far from the bar.

When he parked she nearly crawled on top of him whispering his name against his pretty lips.

“Do you want to come inside?” There was a lilt of naughtiness in her tone.

“I feel if I don’t you’ll have all kinds of fun without me.” He grabbed her chin looking her over. “Your glasses are all fogged up, silly girl.” He kissed her cheek then down her neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” She shivered as he licked and kissed her neck, teasing the fur around the collar of her coat. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Her mind at the thought of going inside became more focused. She didn’t want to feel too needy and desperate their first time having sex. She wanted to be able to feel every second of Aemond Targaryen taking control of her body or however he wanted her. She shifted taking the lead to pull him inside. Aemond surprisingly let her take control letting his hand rest eagerly in hers.

The key pushed into the lock with ease.

Her mind floated to the idea that he would be pushing his cock inside her in a similar manner later tonight.

She settled beside the door looking about for a moment. Panic rose in her thoart at the thought that her flat might be a nightmare. There were some piles of books beside the sofa in the living room, but not much else was out of place except . . .

“Samson!” She hissed seeing her lithe black cat hop on the counter in the open kitchen just as she removed her last shoe. “Psst! Get down.” The cat looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Gods!”

She started padding her feet over to the cat who immediately retreated into the living room. Aemond gave a soft chuckle watching the ordeal unfold.

“Oh you think this is funny?” Her grin softened slightly.

“Yes. You are quite adorable when you are a bit mad.” His eye watched the cat slink under the couch. Samson watched him with yellow eyes as his tail swished back and forth. “He’s a bit skittish.” She threw her coat toward the couch, though Samson was so used to the gesture he did not move from under it.

“You aren’t around cats a lot are you?” She took his hand in hers trying to pull his attention away from the suspicious feline. “Let me show you the bedroom. Kitty will be fine.” Her mind thought about saying something lewd about a different kind of pussy cat, but she was too needy for words any longer.

It seemed to work. His eye settled on her following like a lost puppy ready for a delicious treat. She’d give him anything he needed tonight while not compromising her desires. Despite her up tight demeanor she was curious to see what Aemond Targaryen desired in the bedroom. He seemed quite enamored with her thighs, squeezing and caressing them any chance he got.

When she pulled him into her bedroom she did not give him a chance to look around. Her arms pulled him down to crash into her lips. Her tongue was eager to push inside his mouth and whimper small noises against his plush lips. His hands settled on her brown checkered dress pushing her close into him.

She could feel how hard he was for her.

It was pure desperation.

Her arms pulled him down, nearly ready to jump on him.

“Mmmm. . .” He hummed against her lips. “Wait.” She let herself obey even though her body wanted to reject his words.

He pulled from her letting his gaze settle over her. Aemond licked his lips. She could see him breathing so heavily. He was struggling to gain his composure, to obey his own word of warning. He hummed again before licking his lips again. His finger pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. It was then she noticed how hard she was breathing.

“So bloody gorgeous.” He said in nearly a single breath.

“So are you.” She mused with a soft innocent smile trying her best not to touch him again.

“Don’t do that.” He warned. Aemond straightened letting his eye tease across her bright face.

“I’m not doing anything.” She shifted on her sock clad feet.

“Yes, you are.” Aemond tucked her hair behind her ear. “Just standing there with that little smile.” His fingers traced her lips as he spoke. “And your glasses framed silver as if I wouldn’t notice.” He tapped his finger at the corner of the glasses, a reflective silver frame. “You’ve wanted me for so much longer then I realized, haven’t you? I should have noticed sooner. I could have been doing these things,” He moved his other hand up her skirt passed her panties to her wetting slit. “To you so much sooner.” She gasped feeling his finger slip inside her. His palm held her face as he fingered her.

“You are so fuckin wet.” His voice was low and teasing. His nose nuzzled against her cheek. “You want me to fuck you? Hmmm . . . tell me what you want me to do to you.” She couldn’t think as he pumped his finger inside her. “Oh, my dear. Can’t tell me hmmm . . .” She shook out her hair. He tucked it back together into that little tight bun atop her head. “How about I make a request then?”

She nearly cried out when he pulled his hand away from inside her. His hand started to unbutton his black dress shirt. Aemond pulled it off tossing it to the floor. Her eyes raked over his toned chest for only a moment. He was fluid as he undressed taking his shoes, socks, pants, then boxers off until he was completely nude in front of her. He stroked his cock, from base to tip slowly watching her squirm to move under his gaze.

“I want you to sit on my face.”

He moved to her soft white comforter settling on the pillow on her bed.

She blinked for a moment taking in his request.

“Did you not here me, love?” He sat up slightly looking her over. “Come sit on my face, my dear. Let me eat that sweet cunt of yours until you are trembling.” She blinked again before letting her fingers pull off her silk panties. She reached behind her to find the zipper of her dress.

“No.” He said sharply. “Keep the dress on.”

“You don’t want to see me?” It was an automatic reaction of self doubt that bubbled at her lips.

“That’s not it, love.” She started to kneel on the bed as he spoke. He took her hands in his. “I have a bit of a fantasy.” Ah there it was.

“Librarian fetish?” She was no stranger to that sort of thing.

“Not exactly.” His soft blush told her differently though.

“No shame in expressing what you like, my dear.” She used his own words against him. “Tell me. I suppose you want me to keep my glasses on too.” She adjusted said glasses up the bridge of her nose. She watched him swallow. His cock even twitched. It was such a simple gesture and he had nearly creamed himself.

“Please.” He was nearly begging now. “Sit on my face. Let me make you feel good.”

She hiked up her skirt rolling the fabric as she moved over him. She let her pussy lips skate across his cock as she moved. The groan was so low and needy she wondered if she needed to settle on his long hardness right then and there. Instead she settled for lowering on his face.His lips suckled her loudly causing her to gasp deeply.

“Oh, so fuckin’ good. Yes.” She tried to focus on her breathing. The skirt blocked her view from his lovely face, though she could still feel how good his lips were treating her. “Let me know if I’m too heavy or you need a - ahhhhhhh!” She felt her hips moving against his mouth riding his tongue out as it found her clit to suckle.

She had never ridden a man’s face before. Yes she had gotten eaten out, but this was a very different experience all together. Her hands positioned themselves against the plush headboard of her bed. It rocked banging softly against her egg shell colored walls. His hands held her steady and close to his face. She could not help herself in leaning into his mouth that latched onto her. His nose flicked back and forth stimulating her clit that she felt was just as needy as her.

Her breath heaved in and out trying to focus on being able to breath. Her whimpering was a bit pathetic, but the more noises she made the more vigorous Aemond seemed to become. His hands were under her dress holding her hips against his mouth. She could hear the loud suckling against her cunt along with the slobbering mess he was drooling over her cunt. His moans and delicious little noises spurned her on.

“Aemond, I’m close. Aemond . . .” There were no words any longer, but she could feel him move her skirt. Her eyes closed as she felt herself unravel on his mouth.

Her hands laid flat against the headboard. Her hips rutted against his mouth riding out her little high. Her eyes finally settled downward to see he had moved her skirt to watch her face as she came undone. She licked her lips seeing how latched he still was on her cunt. It felt raw feeling her cunt in his mouth, seeing him looking up at her with blown back black eyes.

She started to move, but he anchored her there in his mouth, moaning in protest. He closed his eye, beginning to kiss and lick her cunt then slowly toward her inner thighs.

“Aemond . . . please.” She didn’t know what to say after. He was moaning and licking. She felt her face flush as she could feel her arousal leaking from her. “Let me . . .”

“You are behaving perfectly for me.” He said between kisses on her cunt. “Ride my face again. Just like before.” He moaned into her again.

“Don’t you want me to ride your cock?” She groaned so sweetly as she nibbled her bottom lip.

“Fuckin’ temptress.” He groaned, releasing her. “Go on then. Get on it.”

She pumped her hips a bit over his lips letting his nose tease her clit before maneuvering to where he wanted her. She hovered over his cock. Her hands skated over his toned abs not able to help herself in giving a tone that spoke to her admiration of his body.

“If you liked how my pussy tasted,” Slowly, ever so slowly she lowered herself despite the impatience that screamed across his features. “You’ll love how it feels.”

He cried out with her as she sank on him in one quick motion. Her cunt was used to a slow easy stretch that she wanted to test herself to see how she might react if she let his cock in with a singular motion. It felt unexpected, a bit unpleasant, and incredibly satisfying.

“Gods, you are so full of surprises.” He groaned under her. She saw tears catch at the corner of his eye. He let out a little whimper again. His hands snaked to her hips, so round and canting. “Shit, you feel . . . Gods . . .” She was moving. It was causing him to groan and lose his words. “Please don’t stop.”

One hand anchored her hip while the other moved to knead her breast. She helped him find the right rhythm of squeezing and brushing his thumb over her nipple which was rapidly hardening under her bra and dress. Her hands caressed his torso wanting so badly to feel him inside and out. Her hand occasionally raked through his long silver hair.

“So beautiful.” She mumbled. “All mine.” She loved to be a little possessive when it came to the people she loved. Her mouth pulled close to him testing to see if he would let her say those words to him without wanting to turn the tables on her, possess her fully.

“I’m . . . yours.” He breathed between her kisses.

It prompted her to ride him hard. It allowed him to curse. He let out words in a language she did not understand. The tone of it sent her out of control. His hands were against the small of her back pushing over her clothes harder against him. She kept kissing him, riding him, and calling out his name. Her body skated past an orgasm. Her hand snaked under the skirt nearly crushed by her own movement.

She stroked her clit, but he came before she had a chance.

His softening cock made her whimper.

He hummed as he let himself fall back on the pillow.

Aemond pushed her hip slightly, a gesture for her to dismount from him. She suddenly didn’t feel so in control or sexy rolling onto her back beside him.

“Good?” She wondered nuzzling her nose to his throat.

“We’ll get there.” He chuckled. His eye watched as her face grew near offensive. “I prefer to have my partner orgasm first, but first times are about learning. You are such an interesting subject. I can’t wait to study what makes you tick further.” He wrapped her in his arms, snuggling her.

She felt his lips kiss her forehead.

“Happy New Year, my dear.” He whispered against the shell of her ear. “Let me know when you are ready to go again.” His lips curved against her cheek. She could feel his silver hairs tickle her neck.

“Ready whenever you are, love. This time I want you to see all of me.”

The sex was good.

The sex got better with each passing day.

Every date ended at her place, in her bed. His appetite for her was nearly all consuming. The little brunette was able to put the Targaryen man in place if he came on too strong. It was rare though. Her hunger for him was just as dark and consuming.

She had yet to see his place, which bristled her only when her co-workers mentioned it.

“What’s he hiding over there, huh?” They asked.

Her mind often wandered of what she truly knew about Aemond Targaryen besides the surface level things she saw or read. She knew he was intelligent, but that was clear seeing him study every day or looking at his various professional profiles online. He was well mannered. He loved to touch her any chance he could get. He desired her openly when they were sitting at a bar or in a restaurant or at the theater.

She didn’t mind constantly being touched. There was a sweetness in having a needy man at her heels wanting her so badly he’d do just about anything. It felt a bit possessive at times, but when she told him to stop he was very obedient. She suspected being told what to do turned him on.

Her little dirty talk in the bedroom had kept him coming back for more. Or maybe it was her alone. He made her feel so special. He was beginning to lavish her with gifts besides fancy dinners and mind blowing sex.

Fuck he ate her out so fuckin good.

He never gave her a single piece of jewelry. Every gift was thoughtful and exclusive to her. Aemond had her favorite Jane Austen book rebound and custom made. It was etched in a solid gold cover looking like a glorious piece of art. She had nearly cried when he given it to her. Aemond gave her a small custom set of seeds with men he hired taking over her outdoor garden when he saw her reading over how to grow her own food.

She was waiting until the spring to plant them on her little porch outside her flat, but the landscaping had been a delight.

“He’s too good to be true.”

The words echoed in her head from her mother, her co-workers, and anyone else who seemed jealous of her happiness. Those little words ticked in her brain every time she felt too happy with her silver haired beau. Her heart pounded at the thought she might lose him to her own inability to take happiness at face value.

Her fingers still trailed in her overthinking.

Curiosity itched at her brain, but she refused to let it win out today.

He was taking her to Rook’s Rest, the most exclusive and expensive resturant. On Valentine’s Day no less. She had questioned how he could get in several times. He had simply told her he knew she would love their menu and he wanted nothing but the best for his woman.

Aemond had started out the day sending a delivery of a dozen perfect roses in a hand blown glass vase that appeared as the open mouth of a dragon.

He didn’t spend all day at the library instead letting her anticipate his arrival when he picked her up from her flat.

She wore a long black gown with silver collared jewelry and pearl earrings.

“The things I am going to do to you tonight . . .”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Mr. Targaryen.”

He did.

Fuck did he know how to show her a good time.

Perfect dinner.

Perfect atmosphere.

Perfect company.

When he pulled up to the high rise penthouse she was surprised. It was gorgeous, tall, and a bit overwhelming in the moonlight.

“Let me show you where I live.”

Her heart pounded as she craned her neck. He pulled her into the elevator finding her lips and hips. He grabbed her, whimpering low and needy. Her toes curled as she perched on her toes. Even though she had heels on she was still so much shorter than him.

She barely had time to truly take in Aemond’s penthouse.

She knew that when the elevator opened it was to his entire room.

Everything else blurred.

There were certain aspects of the night that stuck in her brain.

He had put a red ribbon around her throat requesting that was all she wear.

His hand squeezing and spanking her ass.

His lips eating her out like she was his dessert.

His cock so hard bending her over the bed as he fucked her from behind.

His cum flowing against her cheeks.

It happened over and over again until she wanted to beg him to stop, but didn’t because deep down she felt so incredible.

She felt his hands grip around her waist in a semi possessive, semi comforting gesture. He nuzzled his nose in the crock of her neck where the ribbon met her skin. The librarian took the opportunity to let her curiosity win out deciding to scroll through her phone.

Her mind fell down a curiosity hole going over that strange bar on New Year’s Eve. She researched the bar itself learning it had a nefarious history. Since it first opened back in the 70s there had been an insane number of bar fights and alleged murders that occurred both inside and outside of Storm’s End.

Her fingers halted on the most recent death that had lingered on Halloween night just a bloke away from the bar.

A stabbing.

Lucerys Velaryon.

Aemond Targaryen’s nephew.

Several articles indicated Aemond Targaryen as a person of interest citing a childhood rivalry and -

Her fingers clicked out of the article.

She looked over to the man cuddling beside her.

Did she really know him?

She blinked away that thought. Her eyes settled onto the room. Her mind noted details. It was dark. The walls were coated black. His bed wasn’t high, but low. It was the easiest bed to get on for her tiny frame. He had no doors in his penthouse. Everything was open including the bathroom. She peeked in from the bed, seeing that instead of a mirror above his sink there was a painting of a beautiful landscape of a dark stormy night over a looming castle on a monstrous island filled with mountains.

There were no mirrored surfaces. She could even see from here that his kitchen was so bare. She decided to slowly wander over once Aemond entered REM. She felt his little lashes twitch against her backside. Her hips slipped out of his grasp easily though she could feel his exhale of hot breath at her back.

She ventured into the kitchen, nude and feeling out the rest of the penthouse. The little brunette had suspected his place to be spotless, but she could see now Aemond Targaryen had an organized mess. His books were not on his empty shelves, but instead piled at each side of his love seat. The titles were very much him, textbooks on history, books of maps, of business proposals, and titles on real estate.

On the counter top in his beautiful kitchen were a smattering of menus. Upon entering she could feel a sense of coldness there. Aemond had never been shy about his lack of cooking skills. Now she could see how truly bare the environment was. He had a smattering of greasy take away menus on the counter, folded and unfolded as if he had looked over them too many times. Each drawer she opened showed her the studio penthouse’s kitchen had never been touched.

Every utensil had a newness and shine to it that verged on disturbing. In the refrigerator laid takeaway leftovers, a case of beer, and a bottle of overpriced lemonade. In the freezer were microwaves meals, a stockpile as if he were preparing for an apocalypse. They nearly fell atop her when she opened it.

Her body, nude and slightly vulnerable, moved to the open walk in closet between the kitchen and living room.

No door.

No secrets.

It could be the reason he waited so long to bring her here.

Aemond Targaryen was a bare mess here. Her eyes faltered to his position in bed. He pulled the expensive silk sheets to his sweaty form. Her feet felt warm on the heated floor. He had bragged about installing it letting her mind wonder what it felt like to wiggle her toes on such warmth. Her hand flicked on the light.

It wasn’t the contents of the closet that struck her first.

Those were boring and unremarkable. She had seen his entire wardrobe at this point in their relationship. What she had not seen was the newspaper clippings that pressed firmly against the wall of the closet’s entryway. The articles were of take overs of large corporations from his father. There were articles that mentioned the name Aemond Targaryen, tabloids that talked about the day he lost his eye in a simple minded childhood fight with his nephew, Lucerys. In the middle of it all was a blown up article of the night his nephew died.

Every mention of Lucerys was underlined in red ink, over and over again.

He could not forget.

He could not forgive what was done to him.

“Naughty little girl.” She felt his weight against her back. His hand played with the bow loops around her neck. “Too curious for your own good. Hmmm . . .” His kiss was sloppy at her throat. Her eyes closed on instinct.

“Don’t act surprised.” The librarian was constantly looking for more information. The academic was always looking to learn. It’s what made them good together. It’s what made her terrified and aroused as he pinned her against the looming article on the wall.

“I don’t have to explain myself like some villain. You understand, my dear. You understand what needs to be done to you.”

There were two options.

Another article to the wall for discovering what she knew.

He was responsible for his nephew’s death.

Or . . .

“You can feel my choice right?”

His hand snaked between her legs to her soaked sex.

It didn’t matter what he had done.

She was too curious to find out more.

“Sir, the library is closing.” It was a soft tease on a summer Friday.

Aemond Targaryen looked up from his reading, no more studying.

Graduation was tomorrow.

He had on an expensive gold plated eyepatch. His silver dress shirt and pressed pants showed her he was ready for their evening out. Aemond now spent his time reading books she liked. She had given him a list. He was a fast reader and was nearly done with the several titles of what she deemed as classics. He loved talking to her about them, especially the non-fiction ones though there were not enough to his liking.

Her little mouth still frowned at his short hair, but he had insisted on a shorter look for his graduation.

A new start he had teased.

“I’m aware. I just need some assistance with an item.” He let the thick romance book snap closed.

Gods she hated that he didn’t use a bookmark.

The words were a beacon for her to follow. Her confidence with him had grown enough that she didn’t sheepishly look around her anymore. She followed him with a small spring in her step. He now was used to looking behind him for her, admiring her long pleated blue skirt and button up that had resewn buttons.

Aemond Targaryen loved pulling her little buttons off.

They were in a corner of the library. She instantly aware of why.

No cameras.

He pushed a metal step stool in the corner, never moving his hands.

“Up you go.” She obeyed.

The gesture was unfamiliar, but a fantasy he had spoken so many times. He looked her over for a moment, observing her on the stool. She could nearly hear his heart pounding with desire. They were eye to eye in this position, no longer was she a little meek thing looking up at him.

“You know what I want.”

“But it’s more fun if you take it.” Her response made him started to undo his pants.

The movement was quick as he took his fantasy into reality, fucking her in the corner of the library, no camera, no condoms, just pure desire. It might have taken him a moment or two to get his cock hard, but she barely noticed. She felt his spit coated cock rut inside her perfectly.

“You know what I’m going to do to you?” It was hardly a whispered question against her ear.

“I’m going to cum so hard inside you, you’ll be leaking my cum from your pussy until we get home.” He called his house their home even though she hadn’t moved in yet. “Then I’m going to fill you up again tonight and tomorrow and every night until I get bored. But you know I’ll never get bored of you, my dear.” She held back a whimper.

“Then you’ll move in at the end of the summer. I’ll keep you as my little whore and you’ll continue to be a good little librarian here.” He started to move faster. “I’ll marry you in a year’s time so I’ll truly be yours.” He loved being hers. “Then I’ll fuck this cunt up with baby after baby. I think four would be well within your threshold.” He palmed her belly. The thought of being full of his children made her bite her lip.

“You’ll be so happy. I’ll be so happy.” He grunted as if the thought of their shared happiness got him close to his orgasm. “I’ll work as a curator at a museum, preferably one with ancient weapons and about history. You’ll remain here, my little personal librarian. A mother. My little perfect wife.”

She was so close. She whispered his name.

“You’d like that, my dear. A family, love, discovering new things about each other every day. Would that sate your curious mind?”

“Yes . . .” It was so soft and wanting of the future, the future he imagined.

“Milk my cock then. Let it be the start of our future together.” He pounded into her making lewd noises in the corner.

Her mind felt white as she unraveled around him.

He gave her what he promised.

Not only his cum, but the promise of a future of curious behavior and his utter devotion.

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