#like he wants to have this family which could almost make his feelings for marit seem symbolic

[deathgatesideblog]

Haplo/Marit has SO many rights

[eraenaa]

Loathe to Love

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Seeking forgiveness is not a thing Aemond bothers himself with, but that quickly changes when he deeply offended you.

Warnings: ¿Softer Aemond?, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 6,411

Prequel: Blessed Curse

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter, who, like her brothers, doesn't have Valyrian characteristics. A scene like at dinner, in which Aemond accuses his nephews of being strong and, consequently, his wife too." (!Not related to the past two fics that were Aemond x Reader Wife!)

A blessing or a curse? Neither of you knew how to take and label this marriage devised by your grandsire. It was a final plea to unite your estranged family, offering you as Aemond’s bride because the King’s fading mind was still set on how you and Aemond were entirely fond of each other in childhood. However, that sentiment had completely changed during the fateful night in Driftmark. Whatever fondness you and your uncle had in childhood had rolled away with the tides in your supposed father’s home. Affection turned into animosity, and animosity quickly turned into resentment.

However, with the marriage you and Aemond were succumbed to, you both tried your most ardent effort to work through past differences. And with half a year since your union, you and Aemond had almost fully buried the grievances you harbored against each other. Gone now was the reluctant prince who stood by the end of Sept waiting for his bride, who was practically dragged down the aisle. Looks of unbridled hatred had faded and turned to looks of passion and longing. Deep-rooted loathing was slowly fading into love that both of you had yet to admit to the other. 

You broke fast in the gardens with your husband, a daily tradition that you and him established since the first days of your marriage. Most of the time, it would be just the two of you, but on some days, you two would be joined by his siblings and his mother, who surprisingly did not hold such great bitterness for you when compared to other members of your kin. And on a day such as this, you were joined by the queen and her only daughter, Helaena. “I saw the maids preparing some of the guest chambers. Are we to host a lord and their house, my Queen?” You asked your mother through marriage with a tilt of your head, your hand intertwined with your husband’s under a table, hidden from anyone’s view. 

Aemond raised his eye from the book he was reading and placed it on his mother. “Not particularly guests… your mother and your brothers are set to visit,” She replied, and your brows shot up in surprise. Aemond turned to you, plush lips agape in shock. “Did you not know?” The queen asked, and you shook your head. “No… they had not written to me about such matters,” You said, your lips twitching into a smile of excitement as you had terribly missed our family. You turned to your husband; whatever reaction he had was hidden behind his ever-stoic expression. However, you did feel his hold on your hand grow tighter. Though his animosity towards you had died with every kiss shared and every hour spent in each other’s arms, you could not say that that would be the case for the other members of your family. You could practically feel the tantalizing anger within radiating off him. 

“I’m going to the tiltyard,” Aemond suddenly announced and abruptly stood up, making you sigh. His mother and sister nodded, but before his departure from breakfast, you felt him place a chaste kiss on your temple before walking off. Leaving you wide-eyed and blushing before his kin for neither of you had displayed such affections so openly. The touches and kisses and pleasures you shared were saved for the privacy of your marital chambers, and to have him do such an affectionate action in front of others was completely uncharacteristic of him. You lower your head as you feel your cheeks burn red, but if you had kept your head held up high, you would see a small smile on the queen’s lips, for she too was shocked and amused by her son’s actions. Never had she imagined for her favored son to find a wife that would bring out the warmth and tenderness in him that everyone believed to be lost the day his eye was taken by your younger brother.

For the rest of the day, you were busied with your engagements with the other ladies of the court to the point that the day had faded into the night. It was past the usual time of your supper, and you were certain your husband was preparing himself for bed, which is why it was a surprise when you entered your marital chambers with Aemond seated by the table where a meal for both of you lay, untouched. “You still have not eaten?” You asked as you stood behind your seat that was across your husband’s. “I was waiting for you,” Was all he said, as he motioned for you to sit. You blinked at him; the warm, flickering light of the fire illuminated his silver locks that were unique to your house but you had not inherited. The silhouette cast made his angular, Valyrian features more prominent, and you could not help but feel a small pang of jealousy, for you were never blessed with such acclaimed features that your house was celebrated for. 

You licked your lips and removed your gaze from your husband’s lilac eye. You took your seat and quietly watched him as he placed items of food onto your plate. “You should have eaten earlier,” you said quietly, knowing that Aemond’s last meal was the one you shared in the morning, for your husband did not eat luncheon nor any other small meal to aid him between the morning and the evening. “Like I’ve said, I was waiting for you,” He said as he poured wine into your chalice. You flashed him a small smile of gratitude, and like always, he gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. “How was your day?” You asked before taking a bit of the temped meal that had been waiting for you along with your husband. “Fine. I trained, I read, and then accompanied my grandsire with business,” he said and took a sip of wine. “And yours?” He asked, and you smiled as you began to recall your day. 

Aemond nodded along as he ate, and you went on to tell him about your day. He had no intention of telling you, but this was his second-most favorite time of each day. He quickly had gotten used to listening to you babble and tell him about the ventures you had just hours before. He had no particular care about the subjects of which you spoke of; all he cared about was hearing you speak. Watching you as you would reenact your encounters or how your expression would change when you told him about the latest gossip in court. He would always note how your voice would grow an octave higher when you spoke of an event you found most entertaining or exciting, and he loved gazing into your beguiling, brown eyes that would twinkle in the candlelight.

“Will you accompany me tomorrow?” You asked as you had finished retelling your day to your husband. “To where?” Aemond asked as he was slightly disappointed that you did not have many anecdotes to share that night; you would usually have prolonged stories that Aemond would listen attentively to until he had fished his meal. “To welcome my mother, father, and brothers by the pits when they arrive,” You say and play with the peas on your plate. Aemond was silent for a moment; you took in a deep breath and thought that perhaps your request was a bit much for him. Though you expected him to act civilly with your kin, wanting him to join you in welcoming them was perhaps a bit much. “Nevermind… I ca—“ Your husband interrupted your sentence. “I shall join you,” he said, and your lips agape in shock once more. 

Aemond bit his tongue to hinder himself from smiling widely at the expression that flashed before your pretty face. His urges announced himself as his eye caught your plump lips parted; amusement and arousal swirling within him. “You will?” You asked, making certain you had heard no false agreement. “My lady wife had made a simple request; of course, I shall oblige it,” He answered and felt his heart flutter as a beaming smile spread to your lips. Aemond felt fire in his veins as you stood from your seat and went to him to place a supposed chaste kiss on his lips, but Aemond wanted more. You gasped as you were pulled to sit on his lap, your kiss deepening with each moment and your body aching with need as Aemond’s hands were holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You feel your husband’s need through his trousers and through your dress. 

You moaned at the taste of wine on his tongue. His hand traveled toward your bosom, cupping your tit through the bodice of your dress, his fingers undoing the laces of your gown but the two of you never parted your intertwined lips. Aemond groaned as you accidentally bit his lip, but you would take it that he liked the occurrence as you felt his hips buck upwards and seek friction. Aemond reluctantly parted your lips to gasp for air; he watched you pant, eyes filled with longing and lust, lips swollen and shined with a glossy shine of him. 

You yelped as your husband punched you on the table, sweeping away the meal you two had just shared, the plates and cutlery falling onto the floor with a loud noise, but neither of you heard as you two were completely lost and dazed with want for each other. You pulled Aemond towards you as you wanted to feel his lips once more. Aemond had fully undone the laces of your gown, and you felt the sleeves of it draping off and the hem of it being risen by your husband. You hummed in question as you felt Aemond push you to lie down on the wooden table. You propped yourself by your elbows to see what he was doing. Your eyes locked with his lone one as he sank to his knees. The hem of your dress had bundled up to your waist, and Aemond placed his cold hands at each of your thighs. 

You bit harshly at your lower lip as he placed kisses on each side of your thighs, nipping the soft skin making you whimper at the stinging pain that he would immediately soothe with his tongue. “Aemond,” you called as he continued to tease you, his tongue licking strips upward to your needing heart but would abruptly stop before inching closer towards the place you need his tongue most. “Yes, wife?” He hummed, and you huffed as you sensed tease in his voice. “Please,” You pleaded in ancient tongue, and there was a long pause before he obliged your request. You breathed heavily as Aemond sucked on your delicate pearl, him humming in delight as he tasted your essence and as well to add to your pleasure. 

Your moans accompanied the crackle of the fire as Aemond inserted two of his fingers, him curling the calloused digits and spurring you quickly to your peak. You could not understand how he was so skilled in such endeavors, able to make you quickly come undone even though he confessed himself that before you, he had only laid with a woman once, on the behest of his older brother. 

Aemond smirked as he gazed at you laying on the table you two had your meals on, your pretty face that everyone tried to sell as plain still contorted in pleasure that he was the cause of. Aemond brought his fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean, his other hand undoing the laces of his trousers as his cock painfully sought to be inside you. Aemond had always believed himself to be indifferent to the acts of intimacy, but he quickly learned that that sentiment was completely false when it came to you. On the night after your marriage, he had no plan to partake in the marital act, ready to cut his palm and pretend he beaded you so the court would not have a new gossip piece in the morning. However, that plan was quickly forgotten by just the sight of you undressing behind a divider. The candlelight illuminated your form and created a silhouette of your frame undressing and caused Aemond to need greatly. And ever since that night, the pleasures of the flesh he always thought he was indifferent to quickly turned, and he now harbored the same needing patterns he saw in his brother that he used to frown upon. 

Aemond locked your lips and assisted you off the table, you had thought he would lead you towards your bed, but you frowned through your kiss as he turned you around in his arms, your back resting against his chest, his pulsating length resting against your still hiked up gown. You feel Aemond’s lips move from your lip to your neck, his cold hands forcing your gown downwards and letting it pool at your feet, leaving you exposed. You whispered as his hands made their way to cup and squeeze your breast. The sensitive buds grew taut at the coldness of touch. You hear Aemond take in a deep breath of your scent, and you let out a bubbling moan as his length is placed in the crevice of your bottom, Aemond letting it glide in between your bum. 

You gasped in shock as you felt Aemond push you down onto the table, bending you over the sturdy wood and abruptly entering you without warning. You let out a wry moan as you did not know if you should focus on the pain or pleasure he gave. Aemond bit harshly at his lip as he was incredibly pleasured by the new angle he was taking you in, as well as the sight of you bent over the wooden table. He bundled your dark hair into his hands, feeling the soft silky waves and pulling on it and earning a moan from your lips and caused a further tightening in your cunt. “It would seem that my wife likes to be fucked like a common whore,” He gritted in between thrusts. Aemond knew he pleasured you well, but with this new position, your moans had only grown louder than the past times you had laid. Your cunt grew tighter and more wet, and you were quicker to come undone once more. 

“Yes… yes, Aemond! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!” You cried as he pounded at you from behind. Aemond griped the plump flesh of your behind, watching as the skin grew red from his hold; he moved his hands to your waist as he felt the urge of release coming to him as well. Your moans rang louder in his ears, his name slipping from your lips, urging him to come quickly than past nights. He groaned out your name as he spilled his seed deep inside you, hoping that his seed would finally take as he was already zealous with the thought of you swole with his child. Your dazed mind could barely comprehend Aemond assisting you up from your bent position because all your body could focus on was the peak you had reached and his lips against yours once more. You let your husband carry you to bed, him tucking you in his arms like always, and you drifted to sleep wholly satisfied. 

Aemond placed his gaze upon you, who was practically bouncing in excitement at your spot next to him. You two stood by the pits as a welcoming party for your kin. Aemond placed great restrain upon himself to not let his animosity show when he spotted your brothers landing your little dragons. “Sister!” He heard the boy who took his eye scream, and Aemond felt you let go of his hand to run to your brother. He did not want to entertain the small pang in his heart as you readily let go of his hold to run and warmly embrace the boy who had maimed him beyond repair, but he knew that with your marriage, whatever fondness and understanding you and Aemond had and will develop will be divided with your love for your true family. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” You gushed and kissed Lucerys’ cheek; you smiled widely that even though your brother was on the cusp of adolescence, he melted of talc and your mother’s oils. “Your favoritism is showing, sister,” You hear Jacaerys tease, and you sigh in amusement, letting go of Lucerys and moving to embrace your older brother. 

Aemond watched you as you greeted your family with such open warmth and love that he and his kin were never accustomed to. Aemond shifted his gaze to your younger brother, who had a wary look in his oak eyes. Aemond bit his cheeks as he stared down the boy who cowardly shifted his gaze and went closer to you, like a little scared pup hiding behind Aemond’s wife. 

“Where are Baela and Rheana?” You asked as you let go of your embrace of Jacaerys,  looking around the pits. “They went on the ship along with Joffery and the babes. They shall reach by nightfall,” he answered, and you nodded. Your brother’s gaze shifted between you and your husband, who stood by the side, “How… how are you, sister? Is…” He trailed as Aemond challenged his gaze. You gave him a small smile, “I’m fine, Jacaerys, perfectly fine, better now that you are all here.” You said, and Jacaerys hesitantly nodded, not completely believing your sentiments. “Tala,” You hear yourself being called by your stepfather, who stands beside your mother, and you hurriedly go in their direction. “My sweet girl!” Your mother smiled and kissed your cheek as you went to embrace her. “You look more cheery since we left you. Are they treating you well? Or do I have to behead that cunt of a husband that you have?” Daemon asked, and your smile faltered at his words. “Father,” You warned, and you heard him sigh. “They are treating me perfectly well,” You said, and just like Jacaerys, Daemond gave an unconvinced nod. 

You turn to Aemond, who still stands idly by the side; you make hastened steps towards your husband as members of your family remove their riding gear. “Do you wish to return to the keep?” You asked, learning he had grown bored and impatient. He turned his body to face you, his brow raised in question. “I could ride with them in the wheelhouse; you can return to your training if you wish,” You smiled. Aemond studied your eyes; he knew that the words you uttered were for his benefit, but he could not help but think it was you driving him away as you would rather spend time with your family than him. 

“It is not that I wish for you to leave, but if you would rather return to your training or reading, I would completely understand,” You added, and Aemond froze at your words; it was as if you could read his mind. He did not know how you did it, but you had this ability to know things about him without him even saying them out loud. He was quick to learn that you could see past his hardened exterior and see the intent and thoughts he kept to himself. You were the only person who knew him with such a deep level of understanding. “It is fine. I shall wait for you, and we could ride back together to the keep,” He said, and his cold heart ran warm as you flashed him with your beaming smile. 

“What did they do to her?” Jacaerys asked as he stood near his brother and parents. “That last time we were here, she was completely ready to sail off to Essos just to escape him,” he added, and Daemon shook his head, removing himself from the conversation as he, too, was perplexed at how you completely turned your views towards this marriage. “I believe that is what love does,” Rhaenyra sighed, and Daemon scoffed in ridicule from a distance, and Jacaerys quickly shook his head. “Love? You practically had to drag her down the aisle! That is not love… that is some work by a potion slipped into her wine!” Jacaerys disagreed, and your mother breathed out a laugh. “Believe what you want, but your sister is stronger than to let a potion alter her emotions; that affection is brought by love,” She sighed as she, too, was surprised by the outcome of this marriage but was entirely pleased to learn that you found love in a person that all believed had none. 

When all of you returned to the castle, your husband went straight to the tiltyard whilst your parents set off to visit your grandsire. You, however, accompanied your brothers as they wanted to tour around the keep that was once their home. Throughout your whole tour, you could not help but grow curious at the curious and prying glances thrown at the three of you that had faded during the moons of your return to the Red Keep. “They keep staring at us,” You hear Lucerys whisper to Jacareys, who still kept his head held high despite being in the den of vipers. 

“Ignore them,” You whispered to your younger brother. You smile as Jacaeyrs pulls Lucerys towards the tiltyard, hurriedly going down the steps to explore the place they used to frequent as children. You stood by the railings, your eyes catching the flutter of silver hair, your husband training with his sword along with Ser Criston, whom he battled with. You stood steady by your spot by the balcony that overlooks the tiltyard, leaning in on the railing as you watched Aemond impressively train with his sword. It was truly a wonder to watch Aemond with his sword; he was able to command the room with each swing and movement he did. Captivating everyone as he simulated the battlefield, even your brothers stopped their reminiscing to watch him train. Far was he from the little boy he tripped over his wooden sword and struggled to even keep it upright. 

“Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys at no time,” You hear Ser Kristen compliment the prince he had molded into a warrior as the tip of Aemond’s sword placed at the knight’s neck. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” You hear your husband reply as you descended down the stairs, making your way to your brothers. “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked as you paused behind Lucerys and Jacaerys. Aemond’s challenging gaze turned to you, who announced her presence. You stared into his lilac eye and saw it somewhat softened. Aemond clenched his jaw and lowered his sword as the crowd that surrounded him began to dissolve. A clear path leading to you was made, and Aemond crossed it, forgetting about his want to challenge his nephews.

“You were most impressive with your sword,” You complimented lowly as you felt Aemond guide you to the side, and he placed his hand on your lower back. “I am glad that you found that impressive, little wife,” He hummed and wiped his sword, ignoring the stares of your brothers who stood by the side. “Perhaps I should wonder more often to the tiltyard; I would not want to miss an opportunity to watch my husband best the most acclaimed knights of the realm.” You feel your heart flutter as Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Perhaps you should,” He said, unable to control the amusement that laced his voice and shinned brightly in his eye. 

“Do you believe what Mother says? That they are in love?” Jacaerys whispered to Lucerys, who looked at you smiling upon your husband, “I… I do not know, perhaps,” he whispered as he noted that the smile on your lips was no pretense nor was it forced. And the gleam in your eyes could only be translated into love. Lucerys shifted his gaze back to his brother as you walked off and Aemond returned to training. “But how? How could our sister love someone like him?” Jacaerys asked incredulously, his voice growing a bit louder. 

Aemond clenched his jaw as he heard your brother’s words. It was a danger to all that rage was quickly bubbling inside him, and he had a weapon in his hold. The one-eyed prince took in deep breaths to calm himself, reminding himself that you were just by the side waiting and watching him. 

But a gnawing feeling in his gut had settled, and he too started to wonder as to how you could ever love someone like him. It is no secret that you and he were raised with opposing views of the world and even clashing families as well. His mother never approved of how your mother had raised you; everything about yours and your brother’s conception and upbringing had brought shame upon the Targaryen name and reputation. And the years before were nothing short of hatred. Yes, the both of you were fond of each other in childhood, but is that enough to undo the following years of animosity and contempt? Will these past moons that were filled with shared understanding and longing be enough to undo the resentment of the past? 

It was enough for him. You were enough of a reason for him to let go of the grudges and grievances harbored. By some divine, paradoxical power, your blessed touch was the only touch that could tend and stitch Aemond’s broken past created by your own kin. Even with all the traditions and honor that were desecrated by your mere birth, Aemond could not help but love you, even if he had not said it out loud. No matter your differences, no matter the truth of your illegitimacy, he loved you truly. 

However, that overflowing affection he had towards you was for you and you alone. The civility he knew that he should display was slipping out from his hold as old hatred for your brothers was starting to wake, and Aemond was not entirely certain if he could control the burning rage in his veins once more. 

You sat next to your husband for a rare family dinner; it was the first time the whole of your clan had been together since your and Aemond’s wedding. You smiled fondly as Baela and Rhaena had already arrived along with your youngest brothers, who were now fast asleep in the nursery. You kept your secret hold on Aemond’s hand as the dinner proceeded, your heart full of joy as you wanted to erase the emotions you were feeling the last time the whole of the family was together with something more pleasant. Gone now was the hatred and agony you felt in your heart as your grandsire ordered your marriage with Aemond. The only thing you now felt for your husband was love. It could be considered ridiculous that with just half a year of marriage, all the deep-rooted anger and ire from the past had completely decimated and turned into blooming love, but that was the truth of it. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” His final plea for peace was supposed to be yours and Aemond’s marriage, but that seemed to do little for the others to bury the grievances made years before. Your hold on Aemond’s hand tightened as you Grandsire removed his mask and exposed his decaying face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king… But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” the king turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to you and your siblings. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” He ended. 

You were so entrapped by the speech given by your grandsire that you had not even realized that in the midst of that heartfelt moment, your husband was having a contest of stares amongst your brothers. Not a word by the king affected nor lessened the hatred in their hearts for each other. 

You watched and listened intently as toast from both sides of your families started to circulate to the table, obliging the king’s request for civility and the possibility of unification for your house. By the end of the toasts, the intimate feast once more commenced, and your smile only grew with each passing moment of peace. However, it was quickly taken from you as a roasted pig was placed in front of you and Aemond, our gaze flying to your younger brother, who snickered as he recalled the cruel jest they made at Aemond’s expense years before. “Lucerys,” you hissed sharply in warning. Your heart skipped a beat as your husband let go of your hold and slammed his clenched fist on the table, rendering the room silent. “Final tribute,” He announced, the attention of the entire room upon him. 

“To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luc… and Joffery,” He began, and you felt your hands grow cold at his words, already knowing where this would lead. “Each of them handsome, wise…” He trailed, catching your eyes that pleaded for him to stop and not speak of offense. He, however, ignored your pleas. “Strong,” He ended, and you feel your heart painfully pit in your chest. Your gaze flew to your lap, and you softly shook your head in disappointment, for you had foolishly believed that your husband would at least grow somewhat sensitive at the matter of you and your brother’s true paternity. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys!” He announced, and you felt a painful twist in your stomach. 

The peaceful meal between your kin that you had longed for had turned ugly and violent; you shook your head as your husband and his brother, along with your brothers, waltzed back into old patterns and began to brawl and fight each other. You shook your head and stood from your seat, quietly exiting the room and leaving the fight that the other tried to break up. Aemond watched your departing figure, disappointment oozing off your frame as you exited the hall. He turned to your brothers' red and angered faces, and it only dawned upon him the severity of his offense. He was ready to go after you, but his mother pulling on his arm hindered him, the queen scolding her grown son as if he were a boy. 

Moments after, Aemond rushed to your chambers in dire need to speak with you, but you were not there. Aemond walked the darkened corridors of the keep, searching every spot you would frequent but to no avail. Aemond halted in his steps as he heard footsteps and voices approaching. “I’ve told you that they were not suited for each other,” Aemond heard your stepfather say, voice enraged. “You saw how openly he disparaged and humiliated her and her siblings— what more if they were behind closed doors?” Daemon seethed, him having half the mind to march to the king and demand an annulment of your marriage with Aemond.

Aemond clenched his fists in anger as he heard how low the opinion of your stepfather had of him, but that anger was being overpowered by guilt as he recalled your pleading face earlier as you quietly begged him not to speak offense. But Aemond could no longer control himself as being in the presence of your brothers brought back the uninhibited rage he genuinely thought he could control for your sake. Aemond took in a deep breath and stomped off, determined to find you. He scoured the entirety of the keep in search of you, with each passing moment that you were not found added to his guilt and the pang in his chest. It was nearing the hour of the wolf, and Aemond still had not found you. Aemond rarely felt fear; he refused to be in fear of anything, but just by just the mere hours of your absence had him drowning in dread and despair.

Aemond thought of retiring back to your chambers and perhaps try to find you when the sun had risen, but his body could not physically rest without your presence. Aemond found him straying towards the gardens, his feet carrying him towards the weirwood tree that you two had often frequented in childhood. He halted in his steps as he heard quiet sobs and sniffling, his knees growing weak at the sight of your body curled upon the trunk of the tree, your face in your hands as you tried to stifle your sobs. Aemond made cautious steps towards you, swallowing thickly as he had never succumbed to such guilt and pain before; it was unbearable to see you cry— more so for he knew that the reason for your tears was him. 

Aemond felt his breathing caught in his throat as you lifted your gaze, and your bloodshot eyes met his. “Why?” You managed to ask, your voice hoarse and filled with emotion. It was too much; Aemond wanted to fall to his knees and ask for your forgiveness; he could not take the way you stared up at him with such great sadness. “Why… why would you do such a thing? Why could you not l…” You could not even make yourself finish your words as a bubbling sob of angered sadness took over you. You tightly shut your eyes as Aemond fell on his knees before you, trying to take hold of your hand, but you over away from his touch. 

“I know of the resentment you have for my siblings— for me because we are bastards and because Lucerys had taken your eye. It was foolish for me to think that with our marriage, perhaps that enmity in you would lessen or at least be concealed enough that you would not seek out revenge so… so openly and as well as disparage me and my honor,” You say, your voice shaking as you try to take hold of your cries. “I did not mean to offend you; that was not aimed toward you,” Aemond said, and you shook your head. “They are my brothers, Aemond. Questioning their paternity means to question mine as well. Wounding them would be wounding me as well,” You countered and shook your head as Aemond moved to take hold of your hands. 

“I… I know it is difficult for you to be subjected to a room with my kin— especially my brothers, but could you not have let this one-night slide past peacefully? I am not seeking out your forgiveness; I was just hoping for something that resembled peace, just for one night,” You said lowly, voice trembling with your sobs and the cool night air that gusted around the gardens. Aemond sighed and rested his head against your clasped hands, still on his knees as you sat before him dejectedly. “I’m… I’m sorry, my love,” He whispered, and you froze, trying to decipher if you had heard him correctly. Never once had you heard him apologize nor use such an endearment. 

“I apologize. I was consumed by my anger, and I could not control my rage. I should have kept my composure,” He said and looked up at your face, tear-stained cheeks flushed with sadness, bloodshot eyes in question, and pink lips agape in mystification. “I’m sorry,” Aemond said once more and placed a kiss on your knuckles. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but at the same time, it rolled effortlessly as he knew it would be his saving grace not to lose you. You sat quietly, uncertain what to reply, though you had been enveloped in rage and sorrow, by Aemond’s actions, it somehow miraculously faded by his words and touch. 

“You called me ‘love’,” was all you could manage to say, the word still ringing in your ears even though you knew you should focus on the other matter. Aemond scrunched his brows as he gazed at your face, “I… I suppose I did,” He said, not even realizing the word slipped out his lips. He had been wanting to call you that endearment for weeks now, but he thought you would not take it well or that the softness and affection of it would lessen his stoic exterior. “Do you love me?” You could not help but ask, preparing yourself for the blow if it proves that your judgment was false. Aemond’s cold hands turned a degree colder as you asked the question. With each moment of silence, you feel your heart pit further, your mind scolding you for asking such a query. After another moment of prolonged silence, you sighed and were ready to stand, ready to mourn a different type of sadness. 

“Of course I do,” Aemond finally spoke, “I love you,” He added, determined for you to believe his words. You were stunned at his confession that words eluded you, and all you could do was pull him close and kiss his lips. “I do not care about your paternity. I don’t think I ever truly did… I only acted as such to appease my mother and her father. And I know I have played the part well, acting as if I harbor loathing for you ever since childhood, but I could never resent you, not truly.” Aemond sighed as your lips parted, and you smiled widely against his lips. Tears of melancholy turned into tears of glee. 

“You love me,” You mused as you cupped his cheeks, your thumb gently brushing the raised skin of his scar. “I love you.” Aemond confirmed, and he hummed as you kissed his lips once more. The events at supper were long forgotten as you and he finally shared the affection you both harbored long ago but were just too afraid to say out loud. 

[lila-lou]

✨FaceTime✨

Summary: Jensen needs to get himself off, so he calls you.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Language, smut (kinda), fluff

Word Count: 1967

A/N: No hate towards anybody. It's just fiction.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

“Hey babe… Kept me waiting quite a while”, Jensen’s voice came from the other end of the line.

You didn't even have to see his face to know he wasn't just calling. He was fucking horny, you could hear it in his voice.

You, on the other hand, didn't even have the strength to sit up anymore. It was a Friday night and instead of going out with friends, partying and socializing, you had such a tiring and shitty day at work that you left the last tiny bit of your motivation at the gym. After a hot bath, two missed calls and 7 messages as well as a picture of him lying in bed annoyed, you finally called your, well, kinda boyfriend back.

Unfortunately, since you both lived in different states, it wasn't easy to keep things in sync, although that wasn't even the biggest problem. In fact, Jensen was still married, had a family and a job that didn't exactly offer planning security.

Jensen and his wife have been having some pretty bad marital problems for several years, but to date he hasn't been able to bring himself to file for divorce. The day he found out that his wife had cheated on him, he got so drunk, that he could no longer decide between good and bad. That's when he met you. One thing led to another and the two of you ended up in your hotel room in the middle of Austin, where you had just completed a week of training for your job.

When you both woke up the next morning and started to sober up, you were sure that it was just a simple one-night stand. But fate probably had something else in mind. Within 48 hours, you met four times. In the supermarket, in the park and at the gas station.

A few weeks of texts, calls, and FaceTimes later, Jensen visited you in Montana. He stayed for a few days and told you about his family situation, his career and everything related to it. Despite your initial remorse about having something with a married man, you just couldn't stay away from him. You attracted each other like two magnets.

So 12 months later you were lying in your bed more than tired, which your eyes clearly showed.

“Sorry… crap day at work… I fell asleep in the bathtub”, you yawned, rubbing your eyes vigorously with your free hand before looking back at your phone, at Jensen. "How you doin?", you snuggled into your pillow.

“Ugh, it’s time for you to finally move your nice little ass to Austin. You would never have to work again. That’s all I can offer”, he grumbled slightly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“That's more than generous of you, but as your affair, living in an apartment on the outskirts of a city I barely know and have no friends in? That's somehow not so great. And… you know, that I want to make my own money”.

The two of you discussed things for a while, but after a about 20 minutes, the topic of moving, jobs and affairs faded more and more into the background.

“Where is Danneel?”, you murmured, realizing that he was at home.

"Out with a friend", he murmured before stretching and getting more comfortable. “But-” he started, but was quickly interrupted by you.

“But why you called…”, you finished his sentence and grinned knowingly.

“Why don’t you take off your hoodie?”. His big ass smirk beamed across your phone screen.

“Mhmmm… I don’t know", you started to tease him as you could hear him undoing his belt and zipper before pulling down his jeans.

It wasn't the first time that you helped him jerk off. It was almost a ritual now. When you both realized your feelings for each other, Jensen wanted you to stop seeing other men and at the same time promised you not to have sex with his wife anymore. But since Jensen found it really difficult to have so little sex, you had to resort to this alternative.

“Come on, sweetheart. I need this… badly”, he grunted briefly as he wrapped his hand around his cock and began moving it up and down. “Show me your nice tits”.

“Wanna see them?".

You could see the impatience in his eyes and you surrendered. Even though absolutely nothing could top what Jensen did to you every time you saw each other, you had to admit that watching him, getting himself off, was absolutely hot. Especially since his eyes were on you. Just the sight of you made him come.

You routinely leaned your phone against the bedside lamp so that you were completely in view before kneeling in front of it, low enough so that your ass touched the mattress again, before slowly pulling your hoodie over your head. You heard Jensen growl again when he saw your perfect breasts.

"Fuck… I wish I could touch those”, he muttered, unconsciously licking his lips.

"You do ? How about a little proof of your need?”, you whispered seductively, playing with the waistband of your panties. Jensen wrapped one hand tightly around his already rock hard cock and gave it a hard squeeze before starting to pump up and down again. He knew that you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you, which is why he winked at you and switched the camera mode so that you had the perfect view of his hard length. Even though it was a shame not being able to see his pretty face anymore, the sight of him, squeezing his cock, made your pussy clench aroung nothing.

“Look what you’re doin to me”, Jensen moaned deeply, tightening his grip a little. “I’m so hard just looking at your fucking tits".

“Well, that´s nothing new”, you grinned as your hands slid to your breasts, kneading them gently.

"Imagine what I would do to you if you were here right now”, he grumbled, watching your actions through the screen. You grinned knowingly, lying down on your back so that your phone's camera films you from the side, before you painfully slowly rid yourself of your last piece of clothing by lifting your hips slightly and elegantly pushing the material off your legs.

“Don’t you wanna touch yourself for me?”, he whispered, his voice heated. “Show me your nice, tight pussy Sweetheart". His voice was dripping with excitement and you knew he wouldn’t last long. Especially since it felt like it had been ages since the last time. "Tell me what you would do to me if I was in your bed right now”, you grin sideways into the camera before bending one knee and sliding a hand up your thigh.

“Fuck, (y/n)", he groaned with the effort. "I would spread your thighs", he started. "Before getting down on that sweet pussy of yours… As always, you wouldn't even last two minutes before you had a first class orgasm and squirted all over my tongue". You turned, so that your pussy was perfect in the picture, but your legs remained closed for now. Nevertheless, Jensen could see part of your wet, shiny folds, which made his cock twitch immediately.

“The way you're lying right now, I'd rub my cock between those juicy, beautiful lips until you're even wetter than you already are… Just before you´d came a second time, I would sink my cock so deep inside you that you would forget to breathe”, he grunted, speeding up his hand movement as you began to rub two fingers over your glistening pussy.

“Fuck, push your finger inside”, he groaned, almost annoyed by your teasing. “Imagine it’s my cock. I want to hear your sweet moans”.

With that, you let your thighs fall apart, giving Jensen a perfect view of your clean-shaven pussy, drenched in your juices, before sliding two fingers inside you. The throaty moan, which was a little too loud, almost made Jensen choke on his own spit. He missed you even more than he ever expected. With his Airpods in his ears, he could hear every little whimper, every breath, and most importantly, every movement of your fingers on your swollen and wet clit.

“Jay… fuck, I miss you”, you let your head fall back with another moan as you continued to play with your clit, two fingers still inside you.

For a brief moment his feelings almost overshadowed his excitement, but when you kept moaning, he had to concentrate on his violently swollen and twitching cock again. “I would fuck you so hard you wouldn't be able to do anything but trying to catch your breath.. You couldn't sit for days because I would tear your tight little pussy apart. I would remind you what it's like, to get fucked by a real man".

By now it was hard to tell which of you was panting harder, who was closer and who just wanted to simply feel the other for real again.

“After I fucked you this good and you would be trembling beneath me, I would shove my cock down your dry and tired throat until you could finally taste me. And like a good girl you´d swallow all", he grunted, running his thumb slowly over the wet and swollen head of his cock.

“Jensen… shit”, you came, soaking your fingers and your entire palm. Your pleasured, exhausted moans echoed in Jensen's ears as he closed his eyes for a moment, imagining exactly what he had just said.

“Fuck (y/n)”, he gasped, spilling onto his stomach while struggling to breathe.

You both just laid there for a while. The tension and stress of the last few weeks washed away as you stared at the ceiling.

After a few minutes, Jensen broke the comfortable silence. “Gimme… like… five, Sweetheart”, he mumbled into his phone before getting up and heading to the bathroom to clean himself up. You also used the time to freshen up before snuggling back into your bed. You lay on your side, holding your phone tightly in your hand, waiting to see your boyfriend's pretty face again.

“Hey”, Jensen mumbled as he sat on the porch a short time later with his phone in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. “Hey, yourself”, you smiled softly.

For a while the two of you just looked at each other. Lost in each other's sparkling eyes.

“I miss you, Jay… a lot”, the corners of your mouth twitched down briefly. Jensen sighed and took a long drag from his cigarette.

"I know sweetheart. I miss you too”. His hand, with the cigarette between his fingers, rubbed his forehead firmly. "I promise you, I'll sort things out". His look showed that he was serious. Jensen knew it was time to clean up, no matter how dirty it would get.

“I love you”, he murmured, flicking his cigarette away and watching you snuggle further into your pillows. “I love you more”, you yawned exhaustedly. “Sleep tight, (y/n)”, he smiled slightly.

Jensen stayed on the phone until you fell asleep before hanging up and returning to the here and now.

Each of your calls and each of your meetings was a little escape into another world. To a better world. You made each hotel room a place where Jensen felt safe. Felt like home. The thing he hasn't been able to do for ages. You were his home. And he didn't just want to visit anymore. He wanted to be home forever.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

[animasola86]

Kinktober: It is that time again.

Notes: Listen! I woke up feeling naughty again this morning and yet I somehow produced a fluffy, wholesome family life lovey dovey omg they are so freaking cute piece, at least for three pages, after that we're going straight to the topic of @kinktober2023: breeding kink.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 8k // [Read on AO3]

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! Marital sex. Oh and also: breeding kink.

Warning: After you die of diabetes or cute aggression by reading the first part of this, there will be severe filth following. (Though to be fair, I think I've written worse before >_> Still, it's smut: so if you want to keep your innocence, please look away!)

It is that time again, darling.

It is Friday afternoon in the Sallow cottage, and you're sitting on the couch by the fireplace, enjoying a good book – completely ignoring the loud and certainly obnoxious argument your twin boys are having. They do it all the time, so it's nothing new.

They come after their father in so many ways, it's almost scary. From the messy brunet hair that you failed to comb so many times, to the deep brown eyes that can turn your anger into adoration in only a few seconds (they know that fact by now, which is never a good thing) – to the insatiable hunger for knowledge and the equally insatiable desire to always get what they want.

Benjamin and Archie Sallow surely are Sebastian's sons. As they bicker over who gets to play with the toy train first, your gaze wanders to the corner of the room to your quiet daughter.

Little Anne is in her own world, surrounded by various sheets of parchment and paper, her colouring pencils strewn about as she scribbles away, equally ignoring her arguing brothers. You smile softly as you take in her features. She comes after you, has your eyes and unlike her brothers and father not a single freckle on her pale little face, probably because unlike the men of the house, she likes to stay indoors, drawing and reading with her equally sun deprived mother.

Just as you return to your book, the door opens, and the noise of your bickering boys subsides immediately and turns into a wail of joy as the twins jump up and into the arms of their father. You look at Sebastian with wide eyes and an equally wide smile, you haven't expected him home this early.

“I'm home!” he calls, laughing with one son on each arm as he enters the small house.

You stand from the couch and walk towards him, unable to stop the need to kiss him. As you do, your sons issue grunts of displeasure, yet you only laugh and kiss your husband more.

“Did you miss me?” he asks softly, his dark eyes on you as he sets his sons to the ground again.

“I always miss you,” you whisper and wrap your arms around him.

“You know, I'm only on the other side of the lake, right?” he teases and grabs your chin to plant another kiss on your lips – followed by another synchronised noise of disgust from the twins.

He is right, of course. You chose this house in Aranshire so you can always look over the lake to the castle, imagining your husband walking the halls of Hogwarts, teaching kids in Magical Theory, being in his element. He still spends a lot of time there, has his own room in the castle if his work load gets too much, but every Friday to late Sunday he will come home to you and spend as much time with you and your three children as he can.

“I still wish I'd see you more...” you whisper and lean against him, your hand gently grazing the stubble on his cheek.

“You could teach too, you know? You were offered a position, remember?” he says as he guides you back to the couch.

“You know I can't,” you sigh and look around the house. Your boys are back fighting over the train toy and Anne is still so fixated on her drawing, she hasn't even noticed Sebastian's return yet.

“Soon you can,” he whispers and makes you sit on the couch. “The boys will be at Hogwarts and our little princess here –” he starts and sneaks towards the little girl sitting with her back to the room. “– can handle her own. Hey princess, Daddy's back!” he then says as he grabs his daughter under the arms and lifts her up swiftly. She squeals and kicks, then quickly relaxes and throws her tiny arms around his neck as a wide smile comes to her lips.

“Hello Daddy,” she squeaks, and he laughs softly as he hugs her back.

“How's my little girl?” he asks and tilts his head to look at what she has been drawing.

“Don't look!” she says in that sweet, high-pitched voice. “It's a surprise!”

Sebastian chuckles and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Fine, fine, I won't look! Keep your secrets!” he sets her back to the ground and gently ruffles her hair before he lets her go back to her drawing and finally returns to you.

You reach your arms out to him, and he follows suit immediately, settling down next to you on the couch, your arms entangled as he pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. For a moment you just sit together, looking into each other's eyes, the bickering of your boys just another background noise.

“I've been thinking, darling,” he then says, and one of those wicked smirks comes to his handsome face.

“Yes?” you ask carefully and arch an eyebrow.

He barks a laugh and quickly leans closer to kiss your raised eyebrow. “Don't give me that look, I know for a fact that you'll love it,” he then says and winks at you.

“Really?” you wonder and watch how he disentangles your limbs and stands from the couch, returning to the bag he has left at the door.

“Oh yes,” he calls back and rummages through his bag before he walks to the twins, holding something behind his broad back. “Boys,” he says with a mock-stern voice to get their attention. The mini versions of himself look up with big eyes, their fight momentarily paused. “Have you been nice to Mummy and your sister?”

The boys nod eagerly, already knowing what's coming. He always brings them back gifts when he returns on Fridays. They know the drill and yet they are always so excited about it. You smile softly as you watch the scene before you.

“Well, how about you give your Mummy and Daddy a little break and take this outside?” he then says and produces two toy trains in his big palms.

The twins stare at him, and Benjamin, the cheekier one of the two, raises an eyebrow. “Dad, we already have toy trains...” he says and holds up the toy that he has finally snatched from his brother's hand.

Sebastian laughs. “Not these ones. If you push this button, they'll get bigger,” he says and shows them what he means. “But you can only use them outside, do you understand?”

The twins rise to their feet and crane their necks to look at their father. You already dread the day when they would become as tall as Sebastian, but luckily both of them have yet to hit any major growth spurt. He holds the toy closer and looks at them intently.

“Do you understand?” he repeats in a rather stern voice.

They both nod. “Yes, sir,” they say in unison and quickly grab the toys from his palms and run outside.

“Be good! No terrorizing the cats, alright?” he calls after them and then closes the door again, turning towards you now with that wicked smirk. Through the closed door you can hear your sons laugh and giggle as the sound of a train horn fills the square.

“Will they be alright?” you whisper as you stand from the couch and walk towards him.

“Of course, don't worry! Edgar will have an eye on them as usual,” he says with a disarming smile as he grabs your hand and eagerly pulls you along, right towards your bedroom.

You hold him back and take a look towards your daughter, who is focused on her drawings once again. “What about Anne?” you whisper, knowing what your husband is up to.

“She'll be fine, too,” he whispers back, leaning over you to brush his lips against your ear. “She won't hear a thing...”

You blush at the implication. When you look up at him, you can't help but smile back as he watches you with those dark eyes that can make you do anything. Biting your lip, you nod and follow him into your shared bedroom.

As the door closes behind you, you are very glad that he put up all those silencing charms and protection spells and anything else that will keep whatever happens in here out of earshot of your precious children. Because when he grabs your waist and pulls you flush against his body, you know you won't be able to keep your noises to yourself.

He doesn't waste any time and starts to undress you with nimble fingers, quickly unbuttoning your shirt as he leans down to shower your face and neck with light, innocent kisses. You inhale sharply.

“Do you know how old our sons are?” he then asks as he pushes your skirt down your legs.

You are a little confused by his question and frankly, a little too distracted to think at the moment. “They are... ten...” you whisper.

“And how old is our baby girl?”

“Five,” you reply and tilt your head, letting him nibble on your neck as he gets rid of the last of your garments.

“And do you see a pattern there?” he then says and leans back to look at you with a wide smile.

You blink slowly. “Sebastian, what –”

“It is that time again, darling,” he says with a smirk and quickly pushes his mouth to yours, silencing any doubts for the moment. Your hands reach up and cup his face, and when you finally manage to push him off your lips, you stare at him.

“Are you sure about this?”

He laughs. “Yes! Absolutely! It's time for another one, don't you think?”

“But we already live so cramped here...” you start finding arguments, when in reality you don't see any real reason not to indulge in his desire for another child.

“You realize you are a witch and I am a wizard? We'll just add another room, no worries! And I thought you loved the cosy feeling of our tight little space...” he whispers, leaning back down to kiss your cheek.

You breathe a little harder. “Yes, I do...” you whimper as he sinks his teeth playfully into your neck.

“Then I see no problem with me indulging in your tight space,” he says, and his words make you shiver, or maybe it's his fingers slipping between your legs, teasing at your folds.

“Another one, hm?” you whisper breathlessly.

“Or two, who knows?” he laughs and quickly picks you up to carry you to the bed. You frown at his words. “Those twin genes are strong...”

You groan playfully as he sets you down, and you scramble back on the bed, watching him. He is out of his clothes in no time, and when he crawls over you, settling right between your open legs, he gives you a serious look.

“Only if you're ready,” he says quietly, his dark eyes wandering over your face.

You watch him, and despite the emotional blackmail of those damn eyes, you find yourself smiling and already imagining having another baby. You also think about the last times the both of you decided on adding to your little family. The many hours you had spent in bed together come to your mind, and you can only imagine how long it will take this time. The thought alone causes your legs to twitch.

“Yes,” you eventually say and reach your arms out to him. “I am ready,” you whisper, and when he follows your beckoning to lie on top of you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, you add: “Put your seed in me, Sebastian.”

He leans back immediately and stares at you, not having expected these kinds of words from his beautiful, innocent wife. A sly smirk breaks from his lips. And you smirk right back. He must know by now that your sweet face is only a facade. He's corrupted you a long time ago. And even though you spend nearly every weekend in bed together, enjoying the other's body, the prospect of doing the deed with a purpose, makes it even more exciting for you.

“Then we won't need these,” he says with a wider smirk as he leans over you to the night-stand, rummaging through the first drawer where you keep your contraceptive potions. “Instead we might need... this,” he whispers and produces a tiny flask. “It's going to be a long night, love,” he adds and looks at you, before he downs the contents of the potion he rarely uses, but when he does, you know you're in for a treat – that will last (him) a very long time indeed.

You blush deeply and bite your lip, the heat already spreading through your body. When he leans back, gently putting his entire body weight on you as he cups your face with both hands, you see something you see very rarely: a tear in the corner of his eye. You quickly lean up and graze your thumbs over his cheeks. “You make me very happy, you know that?” he says softly, smiling at you.

You smile back and lean up to kiss him gently. “I'm trying my best,” you reply.

He chuckles. “Oh you don't even have to try, darling,” he says and kisses you back so gently you almost forget about what will come next. “You just do, no matter what you do, what you say, how you look, just thinking about my beautiful wife and all the things she has already done for me...” He inhales deeply. “I love you,” he says and presses his lips to your cheek, his eyes boring into yours. “And I will always love you.”

The warmth his words (and the way he looks at you) create in you almost overpowers the heat you feel for him. Grabbing the back of his neck, you pull him down onto your lips and kiss him deeply. “I love you too...” you whisper breathlessly between circling your tongue around his. “I love you so much, Sebastian. And now fill me up already!”

You feel him chuckling against your mouth. “So eager,” he teases and pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth. When he leans back slightly, planting tiny kisses on your lips, cheeks and jaw, his low voice vibrates through your very core. “My naughty, naughty girl...”

You watch him with your head spinning from lack of air, a small smirk playing around your lips as he moves his mouth to your neck. While you play with his hair, he sucks and nibbles on your soft skin, marking you as his own, as if the ring on your finger and the three children somewhere beyond your closed bedroom door weren't enough proof that you were his and his alone. That is the last time you'll think about your beautiful offspring for this day (or so you hope), as other things settle in your mind and you really don't want them to mix.

When he is done with his mark, gently lapping at your bruised skin, he kisses your neck and leans back on his arms, taking some of his weight off you, allowing your chest to rise and fall faster as you watch him. He looks at you with those dark hungry eyes, and you inhale deeply as he starts showering your bare body with kisses, all the way from your collarbone over the peaks of your plum breasts (that he gives a gentle squeeze with one of his hands as he moves down) until he presses his mouth to your stomach, his fingers softly massaging your skin.

“I can't wait to fill you up,” he whispers hoarsely, kissing your stomach, his fingers pressing down firmly. “I'll fill your womb...” he says and rests his head on your lower torso as if listening for something that isn't even there yet. “And I'll watch you grow... knowing it was my seed that made you so...” You feel his heavy breaths on your skin as you reach down to gently caress his hair, digging your fingers through his locks, smiling softly to yourself.

He stays like that for at least ten seconds, giving you the illusion of peace and quiet and hopeful dreams of the future, a really tender and romantic moment, and once those seconds are over, he presses his lips to your stomach, pushes himself up and quickly leans back, looking at you with that wicked smirk again.

“Let's prepare my beautiful breeding vessel,” he teases and grabs your hips to position himself right between your legs.

You stare at him. “What did you just call me?” you laugh as he puts your legs on his shoulders.

He just smirks wider, and without any warning, he leans down and presses his mouth to your aching centre, kissing your lower stomach down towards your quivering core. You forget about his wording the moment his lips close around your clit. A soft moan escapes you as you throw your head back into the pillow. You feel his tongue prodding at the throbbing bundle of nerves as his fingers wrap around your thighs, squeezing them hard.

“Ugh, call me whatever you like...” you groan, your hips bucking against his face as he keeps sucking with vigour. He chuckles against you, his voice and the feeling of his stubble on your sensitive skin giving you all the friction you need to produce another long moan.

“Sweetheart,” you hear him say as he releases your clit and plants soft kisses on your heated skin. “Darling,” he continues, and you shiver with every term of endearment and every kiss. “Honey.” He keeps going, whispering more names as he presses his mouth to your lower lips, his tongue gently swiping along them. “Love. Sweetie. Baby...” He pulls your soft skin between his teeth and gently sucks on it, coaxing more moans out of you as your fingers grip his hair tighter. “Kitten. Pet,” he finishes as he releases you again and leans up to look at you.

You watch him out of half-lidded eyes, your breaths shallow. As he holds your gaze, you feel one of his hands moving over your centre, his fingertips tracing the outer edges of your labia. Warmth settles in your cheeks as he keeps rubbing his fingers over your sensitive skin, his dark eyes boring into yours, a concentrated look on his handsome face. When he teases a finger between your folds, he looks down and raises his eyebrows.

“So wet for me, my love,” he whispers and moves his finger up and down your slick, the slight squelching sounds filling the room – and you with enough embarrassment that you turn your head away and put a hand to your mouth to hide behind. “You are so beautiful,” you hear him whisper. “Everything about you... Don't be ashamed.”

When he suddenly leans over you and grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him, you gasp softly. His wet finger grazes your ear, and you bite your lip, swallowing hard.

“No need to hide from me, darling,” Sebastian says sternly, watching you closely. “I know every inch of your body, I've seen it so many times and it still amazes me to this day and all the days to come. What your body has given me in all these years... I cannot express how proud I am of you,” he whispers intently, before kissing you softly. “But I will always try.”

You grab the back of his head and kiss him back with fervour, not letting go of him now. He complies and deepens the kiss as his hand moves back down between your legs, continuing its journey through your warmth. When you feel him prod at your entrance, you whimper softly into his mouth. He shushes you and keeps his tongue in a playful wrestle with yours before he pushes one of his fingers into you.

Yours walls clench around him as he starts to explore your tightness, pushing against and scraping over your soft wet flesh until he pushes as deep as he can from this angle. It is when he begins to pump his finger in and out, slowly at first, then much faster and harder, that you moan into his mouth and hold onto him tighter, feeling the tension building up quicker than you've expected.

Suddenly he leaves your mouth and scrambles back down between your legs, repositioning himself right at your quivering cunt. He adds another finger and continues pushing them into you hard and fast, while his free hand holds down your hips that you can't seem to control any more. More moans escape you, and you have to grip the bedsheets as he leans his head down and sucks on your clit again.

His tongue is eagerly lapping at your nub, rigorously pressing and prodding it, licking and rubbing, while his fingers speed up more and more, the wet sounds echoing through the room. But you're too aroused to be embarrassed now as you thrash your head around in nothing but pure ecstasy. You moan his name louder and louder, and when the tension reaches its highest point – he suddenly withdraws his fingers, and you feel his face pressing against your folds as he slips his tongue past your stretched entrance.

“Come on my tongue, darling,” you feel him mumbling into you, and as he moves his wet fingers to feverishly rub at your clit, you comply without hesitation as the coil burst within you, and you cry out and press your back into the mattress, your release pushing out of you with a force that shakes your entire body as you arch your hips off the bed and right into his face. He moves with you, holding your rear with his free arm while he laps at your juices.

More tremors and shivers rush through you, before you slowly come down again, gently placed back with the help of his hand. Breathing heavily, your heart thundering inside your chest, you watch out of hooded eyes how he eventually emerges from between your legs, his entire face covered in your release.

You sit up then, shaking badly, but you feel the need to do this as your hands find his cheeks, and you wipe at them, watching him with your own cheeks bright red. He chuckles and grabs your wrists, leaning towards you to claim your mouth instead. You taste yourself on his tongue as you deepen the kiss hungrily. When he leans back, you sneak a hand out of his grip and push a strand of his messy hair out of his forehead, smiling softly at him.

He smiles back and gives you another peck, before he gently but firmly pushes you back down on the bed, his hand trailing your chest, teasing at your hard nipples, until he rests it once more on your shivering stomach. Pressing down hard on your skin, you see him lick his lips. You swallow at the sight, knowing what is going through his head right now, and soon enough he moves again.

You watch him scramble off the bed, your eyes inadvertently moving towards his hard arousal twitching slightly (the potion seems to have worked already) as he comes to stand at the foot of the bed. His hungry eyes move to yours, and in the next moment, he has grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him, your legs falling off the bed. You let out a surprised shriek-laugh. He then grabs a pillow and shoves it under your lower back, raising your hips up.

He's always so gentle in his preparations that you sometimes forget what kind of animal he can turn into once he is done with said preparations. Yet he's usually quick to remind you. As he positions himself between your legs, you watch him grabbing his cock with one hand, the other ghosting your stomach downwards until he teases your throbbing clit. When he pushes his tip against your folds, you brace for his intrusion, watching him with your lips parted, yet he takes his time and lathers his girth with your wetness first, slowly rubbing it up and down through your slick.

You moan softly at the sensation, one of your hands moving up to caress your firm and currently unattended breast. While you watch him stroke his cock with confident strength, you roll your nipple between your thumb and index finger, whimpering quietly. His eyes snap to your face, and the dark look he is giving you almost freezes you on the spot. As he stares at you, he aligns his tip with your entrance, and at the same time as he pushes into you with one swift snap of his hips, his hands move forwards and grab both of your breasts at once, firmly squeezing them as he rolls his hips against you.

A loud moan escapes you, and you quickly retrieve your fingers from his grasp before you claw them into the bedsheets. Your walls may have expected his intrusion, but when it happened, it still took them and yourself by surprise. His force is unrelenting, and he only stops pushing into your tight channel when his balls press against your arse. You gasp, barely able to breathe for a moment, as you try to adjust to his size.

He's holding onto your breasts tightly, using them to guide his pelvis flush against yours, and once he's satisfied with how deep he is inside of you, he starts massaging your soft flesh, his palms rolling over your nipples, coaxing more and more whimpers out of you. “I wonder,” you hear him say gravelly, “I wonder how big they'll get this time...”

You chuckle softly, even more so when you catch the slightest bit of pink on his cheeks. Unclenching your hands, you rest them on his, causing him to look at you. His smile is almost shy and reminds you so much of the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. Even back then, he has been able to do the most vile things to you, but when it came to your breasts, he had always cherished them greatly, probably even more so now that they were so much bigger.

He licks his lips and folds his body over yours, moving within you as he does so, causing you to gasp slightly, before he places a soft kiss on your mouth, holding his face there for a moment, as if asking you something he cannot quite put into words. But you know what he wants to do, and with another chuckle, you put your hands down and move your chest up against the firm grasp of his. “Go ahead,” you whisper.

His eyes light up, and as he lowers his face down, moving his hands to hold your waist, his mouth quickly finds the pert bud of your left breast, eagerly sucking on it. As you moan softly, your hand starting to caress his hair once more, you watch him swirl his tongue around your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing it almost a little roughly. After nurturing three very hungry children, feeling the mouth of your husband there doesn't come as a surprise to you.

His words, however, catch you a little off guard. “I can't wait for you to lactate again...” he mumbles against you, and you hide your blush with a soft laugh.

“You might need to put a baby in me first, you know?” you tease him after he keeps caressing your tender tits, sucking on one and massaging the other with his fingers. You even buck your hips against him, reminding him how he's still buried deep within your warmth.

Without leaning back, he looks up at you, the creases in the corners of his eyes deepening as he smirks against your chest. “Who's impatient now?” he teases right back and gives your hard nipple a firm suck and a quick nibble.

You inhale sharply, glowering at him. He laughs as he leans back eventually, his fingers drawing soft lines on your stomach as he does. Once he's towering over you once more, with his hands now firmly on your waist, he tilts his head. Without another word, you feel him pulling out slowly, your walls clenching around him, trying to suck him back in. He almost slips out all the way, but then he thrusts forward harshly, hitting your cervix with a force that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

He repeats the exact same motion several times, each time pushing as deep as possible with as much strength as he trusts himself to exert against you. You quickly turn into a moaning, whimpering mess, your legs twitching badly with every slam of his pelvis against you. In the middle of your haze, you admire his control and wonder when he'll lose it as well. But he stays very deliberate in his movements, guiding his length in and out of you with slow but hard stabs that leave you shuddering and aching for more.

His grip on your waist betrays him though, you can see the veins and muscles popping beneath the skin of his arms as he tries to keep that steady rhythm for as long as possible, even though you know he wants nothing more than to ram into you in rapid, forceful little snaps of his hips as he fucks you open to finally receive his seed.

You watch him out of half-lidded eyes, your lips parted and swollen, your noises bleeding into the slapping of skin against skin that fill the small room. You manage to move your shaking hands down, gently brushing against the vice-like grip he has on your waist. He looks at you then, his eyes darker than ever, his own lips trembling before he presses them together into a straight line. In-between softly moaning, you smile at him – and that is all it takes for him to change his rhythm.

He moves his hands to rest on either side of your hips, clenched to tight fists, as he then starts to plunge into you faster, no longer as deep, but still pushing with as much fervour and vigour as he can muster. His groans fill your ears, and you close your eyes as the sensations build up more and more inside your stomach. Every thrust rocks you up the bed, but before he pushes you further, you raise your twitching legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, the change in angle coaxing even louder moans out of your throat.

Grabbing your thighs, he holds you in place and keeps slamming his pelvis against yours, eventually finding a rhythm that is both fast and deep, and every single inward motion hits that sweet spot right at your cervix. You squirm and writhe, whimpering more and more as you arch your back into the mattress, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving you. You throw your arms back and grab at the edge of the bed, holding onto it as if your life depended on it. The way your muscles contract it certainly feels like it.

“Come for me, baby,” you hear him grunt quietly, and when your eyes move to his face, you see that he's holding back his own release with how his jaw is clenched.

You start moving your hips with him, and it doesn't take long for you to fulfil his wish. The pleasure explodes inside you, sending you thrashing around on the bed, a long cry escaping you, before your entire body freezes and the coiled up tension dissipates in nothing but pure bliss that gnaws at the edge of your vision. He holds you tightly during your orgasm, keeping his rapid rhythm, forcing you higher and higher, until his hips snap against you for one final deep thrust, and it feels as if he's even deeper now, his tight, quivering balls buried in your folds as he comes right after you with a loud groan.

Your walls flutter around his cock as you feel him twitching within you. His warm seed pumps out of him with every twitch, painting your walls, squeezing into any orifice it can find, and as it does, he moves one of his hands to your stomach and pushes down hard again, feeling the sensation of his release through the deep tissue of your skin. You whimper slightly, and he eases his grip and looks at you, panting just as much as you do, but he still gives you a smile that almost pushes you over the edge again.

You reach your arms out to him, beckoning him closer, and he complies, leaning over you to press his lips to yours as you embrace him tightly. You can still feel him twitching inside you, still filling you up, as his tongue invades your mouth hungrily. Kissing him back, you moan softly against him, your crossed feet caressing his lower back as you do so. The warmth within you is indescribable, be it the actual seed seeping into you or the thought of what it will do to you eventually, it fills you up to the brim with happiness and then some.

You feel the same emotion coursing through him as he holds you firmly, his hands slipping beneath your body as he presses you to his chest and lifts you slowly into a sitting position. Once he releases your mouth again, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, breathing heavily.

Yet as you think he is done with you, happy with filling you up, you must have forgotten who it is that's holding you in his grasp. You should have known better than to think that Sebastian Sallow will leave it at this. He knows what he wants, and you know he won't stop until he gets it. It being the absolute certainty that his seed has found a home in your womb. And as you look at him, your limbs twitching in exhaustion, you know he isn't done with you yet.

That wicked smirk is back on his lips, and as you notice it, he presses his mouth against yours for a quick kiss before he slowly lets go of you, his hands prying your thighs open until your legs fall boneless to his sides. Pressing his hand on your lower stomach, he slowly moves back and pulls out of you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you bite your lip as you watch him, the sensation causing more tremors to rush through your body.

As soon as his cock leaves your warm embrace, covered in your combined juices, he puts his palm over your entrance, trapping the seed that's bound to spill from you. “Hmm,” he makes in thought and looks from his hand to you and back down.

Raising an eyebrow, you witness the gears turning in his head, amusement settling in your chest. When he then grabs your hand and switches his hand with yours, pressing it gently against your wetness, you frown deeply. “Do you expect me to sit here with my hand down there, waiting for something to grow?” you tease, your voice slightly hoarse.

He chuckles a little nervously. “No, of course not,” he says and looks around the room. “Hold it for me for just a moment, okay?”

You watch him walk around the room until he stops in front of your dresser, shamelessly rummaging through your underwear drawer. He retrieves a pair, but then his eyes fall onto the box you store on top of the furniture piece. He drops the garment and grabs something else instead, and as he returns to you, your mouth falls open. “Sebastian... what –”

But you can't stop him as he takes your hand away and shoves one of the many wand handles you collected over the years right into your quivering cunt, plugging it shut. It feels cold and hard as it pushes against your walls. You gasp and shudder deeply, staring from the intricate black object poking out of your entrance up into his flushed face.

“You can't be serious,” you just say and shake your head. “Is that one of the marble handles?”

“It is, fits perfectly, doesn't it? I'll clean it after, don't worry,” he adds cheekily and leans down to kiss you. “Now turn around for me,” he then commands, waiting for you to obey.

You do, obviously, and stand up on shaking legs. You feel his hands guiding you as you turn around, clenching your thighs together to keep the handle inside. Once you climb back onto the bed on your hands and knees, you feel his fingers pushing the object back in as it threatened to slip out. Shivering, you lean down on your chest and elbows, arching your body to only keep your rear in the air. As you settle in the new position, he steps behind you, grabbing your hips to move you a little closer to the edge again.

You turn your head and rest on your cheek, taking a shuddering breath as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He has his cock in one hand and gives himself a few tight strokes, breathing heavily. Apparently the potion still works, and he has a lot more to give you. His other hand plays around with the wand handle lodged inside you as he pulls it and turns it, teasing you with every slight movement.

“We should use toys more often, don't you think?” you hear him say, and you let out a tired chuckle that's almost a groan.

“Well, next time you bring gifts to the kids, think of me as well, alright?” you whisper into the pillow.

He laughs and pokes at the object again, pushing it deeper. You whimper quietly, your legs shaking at the sensation. “You can't tell me you never thought of sticking these things into your pussy,” he says quietly through laboured breaths.

“Who says I haven't?” you reply with a smirk. That renders him completely speechless. “You're usually gone all week...” you purr and lick your lips. “And a girl has needs...”

He exhales loudly, and suddenly he grabs the wand handle and basically rips it out of you. You shriek and squirm, and with a heavy thud it lands on the floor next to the bed. Before you can complain, you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. “You would choose one of those,” he says through gritted teeth, “over my cock?” He doesn't wait for your answer (and frankly it's not necessary), he simply rolls his hips forwards and rams his entire length into you.

Coated with his seed and prepared from the handle, your walls welcome him back with ease. You moan as he pushes in deep once more, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pulling you flush against him as he folds his body over yours. You can feel him pressing against your cervix and almost further as he stands balls deep over you, holding your shuddering body that would certainly fall into itself at the sensation if it wasn't for his strong arms.

“Doesn't this feel so much better?” he whispers as he leans down more, his lips brushing over your ear.

“Yes...” you whimper. “Of course... it does...” Breathing seems hard in this position with his body weighing on you and his cock prodding your womb.

He kisses your earlobe and starts grinding his hips against you in small circles, each movement coaxing more noises out of you. This time his noises join yours, and the heavy breaths he issues right against your ear make you close your eyes and moan softly as you dig your fingers into the bedsheets.

“Have you thought about names yet?” he then coos, and you can only groan as a shiver runs down your spine.

“No, Sebastian...” you mutter into the pillow. “Kind of... busy here...”

His laugh and the low timbre of his voice almost send you right over the edge. “I was thinking... Beatrice... if it's a girl... or Bartholomew if it's a boy...”

You squirm beneath him, exhaling loudly through your nose. “Bartholomew?”

“Yes...” he grunts as he starts giving you tiny thrusts that send tiny jolts of pain through your body. “Seems... fitting... you know with... Benjamin... and Archie... and Anne...”

“Sebastian!” you squeal and buck your rear against him. “Can we not talk about our children while you are balls deep in my vagina?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he chuckles into your ear. “That's where those children came from, why shouldn't we?”

You groan and bury your flushed face in the pillow. “I like Beatrice,” you then mumble, earning you another low chuckle that makes you shudder deeply. You feel him kissing your cheek.

“Would be nice to have another baby girl,” he whispers and inhales deeply as he halts the movements of his hips for a moment.

You relax slightly, but it only lasts for so long before he leans back suddenly, grabs your waist and starts ramming his cock deep and fast into your quivering cunt. The moans that fall from your lips are loud and quick and make your head spin. You grip the bedsheets tightly, your knuckles turning white, as you brace your body against his rapid thrusts.

Once again you'd be impressed by his stamina if your head wouldn't be so empty. As he grunts and groans, his movements far from deliberate now and more on the rougher side, you can only lie there, your face pressed into the pillow and your knees shaking so badly you wonder how you can still keep them up like this. Perhaps it's his grip on your waist that holds you up, or it's sheer willpower as you try to do your part of this deal in providing him the best angle for him to push his length into you.

You can feel him going deeper and deeper, and the slight shudder in his movements tells you that he's trying to press himself into regions he shouldn't possible enter, yet he tries nevertheless – and the pressure of his attempts is what kicks you right over the edge. The tension in your stomach coils up once again, and when your body starts spasming violently, you know you can't hold it any longer.

As your knees give way under the intense tremors, you feel your walls tightening around him painfully, all of your muscles contract, and this time, it's a long and loud wail that leaves your lips as you fold under the pleasure of your third orgasm of the day. The tight grip of his hands on your bruised waist holds you in that position, and you feel him leaning closer, one of his knees propped up beneath you in support as he keeps slamming his pelvis into yours forcefully.

All you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears, the almost obscene slapping of skin against skin and his deep, animalistic grunts as he exerts himself to crash over the edge as well. When he finally does, he groans loudly, his final thrust into you so powerful it pushes you right into the bed before his body falls on top of yours, his cock ramming deeper as he shoots his load right into your womb.

You cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, buried beneath his weight and overwhelmed by the sensation of his cum shooting into you in thick warm spurts as his cock twitches inside you, filling you up more and more as he lies heavily on you, his shallow breaths right in your ear. You can barely breathe yourself, but somehow it doesn't matter.

You're one step closer to bearing his fourth child.

It takes him a moment to collect himself again, and when he does, it's due to an interruption you both haven't anticipated. There's a faint knock on the door that makes you shudder deeply. He shifts on top of you slightly, inhaling sharply as he stretches his hand out to summon his wand from the pile of clothes next to the bed. You hear him muttering something and you know he's lifting the silencing charm on the door to answer whoever is on the other side.

“What is it?” he calls, trying to sound as composed as possible – despite the rather indecent situation you both find yourselves in.

“Daddy? Archie hit his head!” you can hear the faint voice of your daughter through the door.

You immediately start to stir beneath him as your motherly instincts kick in. But he holds you down with a firm hand to your shoulder as he leans back up slightly.

“Is he bleeding?” he asks through the door.

“No,” comes the hesitant answer.

He exhales loudly. “Is he conscious?”

“Is he what?”

“Can he talk? Cry? Are his eyes open?” he explains, in spite of everything calm and patient.

“He's crying,” Anne answers quietly.

“Then he's fine,” Sebastian mutters under his breath, and you are tempted to hit him if any of your limbs would work. He notices your reaction nonetheless and quickly kisses the back of your head. “I'll be there in five minutes!” he then calls to his daughter. “Go and get Mr Adley!”

“Okay, Daddy,” your little girl squeaks, and you can hear quick footsteps hurrying away.

After he puts the silencing charm back up, he drops his wand next to your head and leans down once more, pushing you deeper into the bed again, his lips brushing over your ear. You can still feel him twitching inside you, he's still not done filling you up. While you feel a little ashamed to have been interrupted by your daughter (though she luckily didn't catch you in the act, you really don't want your kids to ever see you like this), his body just kept going, and you admire his willpower once again.

You admire him, period.

For a moment you just lie there, your bodies moulded together, before you stir slightly. “Sebastian,” you whisper quietly, your voice muffled by the pillow beneath you.

“Hmm?” he hums softly against you.

“You realize that Edgar will come here, right?” you say with a soft chuckle.

“Oh blast!” he then hisses, and suddenly he leans back, unfolding his body from yours, leaving your skin tingling and cold without his warm embrace.

You feel him scrambling back, and when he pulls out, you moan softly as your walls clench tightly, threatening to pump his seed out as well. Yet he is one step ahead of you, and without any warning, you feel the cold, hard wand handle plugging your hole again. Squirming against it, you feel him grabbing your hips and turning you around before he pushes your thighs firmly together. “Hold that for me, will you?” he urges and then proceeds to dress in what must be a new record for him.

As you look at him, you can't help but smile. Inhaling deeply, you lean on your elbows and watch him. There he is, back in his shirt and his trousers, his soaked, throbbing cock hidden away behind the stiff fabric, not even hinting at the erection that he forced into hiding. He must be very uncomfortable right now, yet he doesn't show it one bit. When he notices your smile, he walks around the bed and leans down to kiss your sweaty forehead.

“I'll be right back, alright?” he whispers, watching you closely. “I promised you a long night, remember?”

“Oh I remember,” you whisper back and grab his arm gently. “Take care of our children, okay?”

“Of course, love,” he says and kisses you once more. “I bet Edgar would love a sleepover party, don't you think?”

You laugh softly. He winks at you, grabs his wand from beside your head and unlocks the door, before he leaves you alone in your bedroom, filled with his seed and the promise to give you even more. Lying back with a sigh, you close your eyes and shift against the wand handle between your legs.

Ending notes:

I almost feel the need to continue this and build a whole ass story around it. I mean, imagine a 30-something Professor Sallow, teaching Magical Theory, stepping into Fig's footsteps, teaching and inspiring young minds. And then when he's home, he has his cute little children (who'll attend Hogwarts soon-ish) and his loving wife and oh the potential this has! (But we'll see. Maybe I'll just drop a little more snippets of life with Dad!Seb in the future, who knows.) (Psst! Part two just dropped! Look!)

(By the way: The names of his kids are kindly borrowed from @subastian-swallows who made a Dad!Seb-bot whose prompt alone inspired me to write this!)

Oh and that wand handle... is this one, just for reference, if you need it.

Also, maybe a little disclaimer: I am not a mother and never intend to be one, but this mf of a pixel boy makes me indulge in things I never considered before, so I hope my attempt at portraying a family was somewhat realistic.

Thank you for reading!

Btw:

THERE'S A SECOND PART NOW!!!

[ masterlist ]

Other Kinktober submissions:

Pleasant dreams... and tentacles (somnophilia, tentacles)

A scholar and a pervert (overstimulation, sex toys)

The horny ghost (voyeurism, masturbation, spectrophilia)

It belongs to me (deepthroating, semi-public)

A Filthy Fantasy (1/2) (cnc, bondage, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial)

A Filthy Fantasy (2/2) (threesome, oral/vaginal/anal)

[its-time-to-write]

Hi there!! I’m the anon that requested the wedding date fic, which was absolutely fabulous, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to write about Jamie and reader’s wedding? It doesn’t need to be a continuation of that fic (and obviously you don’t need to write it if you’re not vibing with it!) I just thought it could be cute 💚

it took me a while to vibe with it, but I finally did!! Thanks for the request!

right words at the right time

“Don’t bite your nails!” your sister shrieks from across the room. You whip your hand out of your mouth. 

“I wasn’t,” you reply.

She raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Sure you weren’t. Here, eat something instead.”

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m too nervous. What if something goes wrong?”

“Like what?” Keeley asks from her position by the mirror. She slicks back a flyaway hair and dabs at the corner of her mouth.

“I dunno, what if- what if I trip? What if Ted forgets what he’s supposed to say? What if Jamie says no?”

Your sister and Keeley exchange a look.

“He’s the one who asked you,” Rebecca says before either of them can can snark back at you.

You’re still not convinced. “What if he’s changed his mind?” you ask worriedly.

Your sister bangs her head against the wall. You weren’t this nervous last night when you were out partying with the girls. None of the women in the room are quite sure what’s come over you.

“He hasn’t changed his mind,” Rebecca says in a placating tone. “Look at your hand. See that diamond? Does that look like something Jamie would forget about?”

“No,” you reply weakly. “But what if he wants it back? Or remembers that he’s famous and rich and I literally am neither of those things. I have a face that was made for the radio!”

“Oh my god,” you sister says, throwing her hands in the air. “He’s marrying you. Please calm the fuck down. You literally have to walk down the aisle in half an hour.”

Your nail is in your mouth again so Keeley reaches up and smacks it away.

She says, “Babes, I love you to fucking pieces, but you seriously need to calm down, yeah? It’s alright.”

There’s a knock on the door and you jump. 

“Almost ready?” Ted asks. “The boys are getting mighty anxious out there.”

‘The boys’ he’s referring to are the entirety of AFC Richmond, who may have been the reason this marriage is even happening. After all, it was Colin who swore he met the perfect person for Jamie and Dani who convinced you to go on a blind date. Sam provided the venue (obviously) and Isaac, Declan, and Richard made sure Jamie didn’t wear something stupid.

Rebecca opens the door a crack. “She’s getting mighty anxious in here.”

Ted frowns. “Pre-wedding jitters are normal, but you got nothing to worry about, darlin’. Two hundred of your closest friends and family are all here to support you on your big day.”

You blow out a breath. “More like thirty of my closest friends and family. The rest are for Jamie. Fuck’s sake, Ted, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be here. Do you know how much money he spent on this fucking wedding? It’s more than I make in two years. Don’t get me wrong, it’s literally my dream, but I just feel like I’m not going to measure up. He’s going to get bored of me sooner or later.”

Ted tilts his head and you feel oddly comforted under his scrutinizing gaze. “Alright, come with me,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “Everyone’s outside, I’m just gonna sneak you down the hall a little bit. You trust me?”

You nod and take his proffered arm. Your sister breathes, “Thank fuck,” as you leave, and you’re pretty sure you hear Keeley echo the sentiment.

Ted leads you to a door at the end of the hall and motions for you to stand against the wall, just out of sight. He knocks. 

“Jamie? You got a minute?”

The door opens and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from making noise. 

“Your girl’s having a bit of a pre-marital fright, so I brought her down to talk to ya. If you just sit down and stick your hand out the door, she can grab it and you won’t see her before you’re supposed to.”

Jamie says, “Sounds good, coach,” and his head is replaced by an arm. You stare at it for a minute before Ted motions you to grab Jamie’s hand. You sit down, back against the wall, and reach for Jamie who gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Christ love, your hands are fucking sweaty,” he says and you can tell by his voice that he’s smiling.

Something about hearing him makes tears well up, and you sniff.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Jamie asks. “You crying because you’re so happy your husband is mad fit and mad rich?”

You say, “No. Well, kind of,” and it’s all Jamie can do not to break the stupid fucking tradition of not seeing the bride before she walks down the aisle.

“Tell me,” he says softly. Ted hands you a tissue and then retreats back where he came from.

You sniff. “I’m really excited to marry you. I really fucking am. It’s just- you’re so much, you know? It’s one of the things I love about you. And I’m not, not really. I’m just me, and I don’t want you to realize that you can do better.”

Jamie maneuvers your hand so he can press a kiss to your knuckles.

“You worry too much,” he says. “We’re doing this shit, for better or for worse, yeah? How do I know you won’t realize you can do better than me? Dump me for some fit nerd.”

“You are a fit nerd,” you laugh through tears. “Football nerd, but still a nerd.”

Jamie snorts. “Shit babe, you know how to make a bloke feel special.”

You’re both silent for a minute, taking comfort in the fact that the love of your life is on the other side of the door.

The moment is broken by Keeley’s appearance. 

“Time to go back into hiding, babe,” she says.

You sigh, and Jamie squeezes your hand one more time. “See you in a bit, love,” he says.

Keeley helps you off the floor and back down to the room.

“All good?” she asks. 

“All good,” you reply.

[agentrouka-blog]

Saw an old ask you answered about Mya and had to ask your thoughts on Myranda Royce. Like, she’s the character I’m the most curious about re: the winds of winter. We know from Dumb and Dumber that the Vale plotting for Sansa won’t actually be very long (I’m assuming she gets out of there right after the tourney and leaves for the wall /possibly with the help of Brienne and or Brynden/maybe after some shenanigans from the mountain clans) but from what we can assume Bronze Yohn will be on Sansa‘s side and help her out (like in the show). Now, Myranda's Nestor dad is indebted to LF (and friends with him!) and I find it unlikely that she would pick her father’s cousins side over her dads? With her being lady of the gates too. And at this point everyone is in agreement that Myranda knows that Alayne is Sansa (very obviously highborn, educated, not interested in the new high septon despite allegedly training to be a septa, knows Ned starks bastards name, LOOKS like Catelyn Tully whom she has met not even 2 years before). IMO what’s pointing towards Myranda actually being on our girls side is 1) LF warning Alayne about her, 2) Myranda herself introducing herself as wanting to be wicked, 3) the fact that Myranda being just another Margaery would be lazy and boring, 4) The failed Myranda/Harry betrothal being revealed almost immediately by her, so it can’t actually be a major point of contention for her, right? I don’t want to put too much stock in what the show did but them naming their annoying evil fucked up Ramsay–simp Myranda Royce does sometimes make me hesitate in putting my faith behind Myranda. Ultimately I think she will look out for herself most of all but I feel like her interests aline with Sansa and it will be a net positive. I mainly just want Sansa to have actual allies! Do you think the two branches of the Royce family could end up in agreement/be scheming against LF? After all, besides Bronze Yohn's friendship with NedCat, the Royces share blood with the Starks and their house motto is "We Remember“!

I think you hit the nail on the head with the concept of aligning interests.

Nestor, I don't think he's that good of an actor to be actively fooling Littlefinger himself while appearing to be flattered into complicity, but Myranda is sharp as a knife and clearly not quite satisfied with her lot in life of marrying old men her father picks out for her. But she seems too invested in Sweetrobin to really care that much about marrying Harry for his potential title, as opposed to simply a handsome dolt her own age. So whatever she cares about, it's not in opposition to either Sansa or Sweetrobin. She's capable of subtly interrogating Sansa without her even realizing it, and she has sat on this information for months now without making a move yet. Littlefinger considers her a threat, which is the greatest compliment imaginable, and he wouldn't do that if he thought she was easily manipulated or had goals he could easily assist her with.

If the show paid lip-service to Sansa's Vale plot by naming Ramsay's invented lover after her, I don't imagine it's because Myranda herself is secretly evil, but because she's one of the key figures in the Vale arc.

I imagine she is part of a larger conspiracy connecting her to Bronze Yohn and Anya Waynwood. She would be ideally placed to be a spy for them, and they have the resources she lacks to act on her own behalf and without her father's knowledge. A Myranda who assists the Lords Declarant in removing Littlefinger from power (the mark of a true patriot, honestly) is a Myranda who may yet be rewarded with a better marital match than Harry The Obsolete Heir. (Roland, the Waynwood heir? Andar, the Royce heir?)

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Oh, hello!

It’s time to replace my original pinned post with a more permanent choice, so here’s the quick, updated scoop on what you can expect here:

I love all things Tolkien and looking at, thinking about, and talking about those things. So I will absolutely reblog your fan art of Thranduil draped across his throne in that sultry pose or like your fic about how Tuor came to love Voronwë as a brother on their long journey to Gondolin. But in my heart, I’ve always been a Rohan kind of girl. That’s where you’re going to find my interest most often drawn, and it’s what I write about almost exclusively (with the very occasional tangent into Haldir-related content, which I understand is totally inconsistent, but the heart wants what the heart wants!).

So, if you could talk about the Eorlingas for hours on end, if Éomer is the Middle Earth king of your dreams, if you find yourself unreasonably attached to minor characters like Háma and Elfhelm or have tons of opinions about how amazing Théodred is, if you’re personally invested in Karl Urban’s dimples …maybe we should be friends! And if you like those things, then maybe you’d get something out of my fics. Or not. Either way is fine!

Those fics are now collected in one place below, which I’ll try to keep updated. I make no claim that they are fine works of literature, but they make me happy and that’s their primary purpose. While they’re all consistent with each other and exist in my unified headcanon, they tend to be one shots based on some particular thing I was interested in–a specific plot point, an unanswered question, a desire to see a certain character grow/develop a certain way. Anyway, you get the idea. So thanks for being here, click through to the master list (such as it is) and FORTH EORLINGAS!

Rohan: (stories in rough in-universe chronological order)

Éomer-focused:

TFW Siblings Prompt: Éowyn is frustrated by Éomer’s attempt to protect her from Wormtongue.

Turning Points: Éomer is back from the war of the ring with a changed worldview and an intention to get married. Includes the first look at the character who becomes his wife.

A Vigilant Eye: A marital scene between Éomer and his wife, Mereliss, focused on Éomer’s stubborn need to never admit weakness. This is as spicy as any of my fics get, which is to say…only very mildly spicy.

A Need of the Soul: Éomer is teaching Faramir how to speak Rohirric as a surprise for Éowyn. Cute brotherly bonding moments, remembrances of Boromir and Théodred and lots of horse talk.

TFW Parent-Child Prompt: Éomer becomes a father for the first time and has lots of feelings about it.

TFW Extended Family Prompt: Éomer’s father in law, Elfhelm, realizes what he means to Éomer in light of the many losses Éomer has already experienced.

Nowhere Else: A look back at how Éomer met his wife, told from both sides of the meeting. Includes a look at several other sweet moments from over their years together.

Théodred and Éomer art by Valeria Salo

Théodred-focused:

TFW Cut Ties Prompt: Traces the unshakable bond forged by shared grief between Théodred and Éomer, enduring all the way to Théodred’s literal last words.

Into the Breach: My most comprehensive look at Théodred the person and his backstory, told in the few days leading up to his death. It's more or less my answer to the question of what Théodred was doing in/around major canon events from LOTR. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Ties That Bind: A look at how Wormtongue’s manipulation of Théoden affected the larger royal family, as seen through Éomer’s experience when Théoden had him jailed. Théodred's fiancee is a key element of this fic, so I'm putting it with the other Théodred stories though he's not directly in it.

A Life Interrupted: Éomer reckoning with the death of Théodred. My original story with details of Théodred's life and my HC for him.

Háma-focused:

Háma art by @ rinthecap

Those Worth Fighting For: Family fluff of Háma being a sweet dad to his little girl while shielding her from the reality of the increasing danger posed by Isengard.

TFW Freeform Prompt: Háma and his wife struggle with how to protect their children from the increasing likelihood of war.

Not This Time: The discovery of Háma’s body after the battle of Helm’s Deep has major consequences.

Other Rohirrim:

TFW Ancestors Prompt: Théoden’s father, Thengel, returns from exile against his will to take up the throne in Rohan.

Unwary: The story of the deaths of Théodwyn and Éomund, the parents of Éomer and Éowyn.

Untitled intro piece about Guthláf: A short musing on what it means to Guthláf to be Théoden’s banner bearer.

Where Now the Horse and the Rider: The love story of Guthláf and Wídfara, trying to hold it together as the world falls apart around them. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8.

Untitled ficlet on Elfhild: A short intro to Théodred’s mother, who had a premonition she wasn’t going to survive his birth.

Lórien:

Three Weeks on the Nimrodel: Haldir meets his perfect match while posted for 3 weeks with a substitute marchwarden who understands and appreciates his natural reserve.

The Guardian: Haldir finds a lost and scared little human girl while on patrol in Lórien. Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Epilogue.

[josefavomjaaga]

Ciao Josefa! How are you?

I just wanted to ask you about the relationship between Eugène and Louis Bonaparte. No snippet about it comes to my mind, but if you or someone else already talked about it, would you like to send me some link? Thanks in advance!✨️

Thanks for the question, and no, I do not think I ever have. Mostly for the reason I've mentioned in the other very lengthy post about Hortense's and Louis' marriage: I do not think I could offer enough sources from Louis' side.

My gut feeling is that Eugène started out quite friendly towards Louis and slowly was dragged onto Hortense's side in the marital squabble. Which is probably quite natural, considering this was Hortense, his beloved sister. However, he for a very long time seems to have tried to bring about a reconciliation, forever stuck in the thankless role of a family mediator that he himself had chosen.

While Hortense claims that she managed to hide her unhappy marriage completely from her brother (which may or may not be true), Eugène must at least have been aware of her ambiguous feelings as a bride, because he wrote to her a very long letter full of encouragement and brotherly advice (it's interesting that Eugène had been sent away on a mission immediately before the marriage was arranged and the wedding happened, some historians seem to assume on purpose, so Hortense could not have induced him to intervene on her behalf).

From now, in his letters he will dutifully greet and embrace Louis together with Hortense and occasionally inquire after Louis' health. I do not think he held any ill feelings for Louis originally (Eugène was in general not good with holding ill feelings 😋. Okay, Masséna possibly being an exception). Tensions slowly start to trickle into the correspondence from 1805 on at the latest when Hortense lets Eugène know rather bluntly that Louis had (allegedly) complained about Eugène not writing in the same old familiar manner to him, now that he was a prince, but in a stilted, official way (which then later led to Eugène apologising in advance towards Louis about having to send him an official, very formal information about the birth of the first vice-regal princesse).

These tensions may, on Louis' side, also stem a bit from the Bonaparte-Beauharnais tensions that broke out as soon as Eugène was named viceroy of Italy and that completely troubled Eugène's relations with Murat. But when it came to the prospect of Eugène's royal marriage, Marie-Hélène Baylac cites from a letter Louis wrote to Hortense in late 1805, where he seems quite interested in the project, can't believe Eugène is still clueless himself, sends all his best hopes and congratulates Hortense on soon hopefully embracing her brother at such a happy occasion. So, no apparent ill feelings on his side either.

The most interesting bit I've come across so far is a letter Eugène wrote to Hortense after the death of her oldest son, and after she had recovered enough to make plans for taking the waters - alone! - in the Pyrenees, which then led to her hiking tour in the mountains and her getting pregnant with a certain Napoleon III. A pregnancy that destroyed every resemblance of normalcy in Hortense's marriage, precisely at a point when at least Louis was very ready to forget everything and start over.

The interesting bit is that in a letter before Hortense embarges on her solo trip - a step that was utterly unusual and must have raised quite some eyebrows in society anyway - Eugène in a letter implores her to not do it. To please think of her husband, her second child, to not make it look as if she was turning her back to her family, to mourn the boy together with the family etc. It's almost as if he knows - or guesses - what will happen.

After the open break-up between his sister and his brother-in-law, he then, if a bit reluctantly, lets himself be drawn completely over to Hortense's side. But as late as during Eugène's and Hortense's exile in Bavaria, when Louis wants his older son to join him in Italy and does not trust Hortense's people to bring the child safely to him, he insists that one of Eugène's aides accompany the boy.

And finally, after Eugène already has had his first stroke and is sent for recovery to take the waters in Marienbad, he there encounters - besides Goethe - his brother-in-law. He does not write much about this meeting, only that Louis had aged so much he barely recognized him (Eugène, by that time, had gotten so stout that Louis may have had similar problems 😁).

I kinda hope that the two of them at least ended up making their peace with each other. Louis was only three years older than Eugène, his birthday was one day before Eugène's, and I always felt that as far as their character was concerned, they had much in common. These two should have been friends.

Thanks for the Ask!

[drawnbadly-blog]

Hellish Bells

“Charlie, it’s time for me to redeem my favor.”

“Oh! Okay. Soooo, what is it?”

Alastor’s smile changed subtly. “I would like your hand in marriage!”

Chapter 1: The Favor

Charlie’s brain had gotten stuck on one particular word Alastor had said. Confused, she asked, “You want me to what?”

“Marry me!” Alastor said it cheerily, like it was some sort of natural consequence of some process only he knew.

“I, uhm…” Charlie giggled nervously, an eye narrowing in her feeling of cringe - for herself, her reaction, and the strange request Alastor made.

They were currently on the balcony of Charlie and Vaggie’s room. It had been four years of work and toil, but the hotel was finally becoming a success. Now, when she looked out among her people, there was a small pulse of hope in the Pride Ring. In fact, she had been marveling at it when Alastor had appeared from his shadows.

Then, the favor.

Trying to make it sink in in a way that made sense, Charlie said slowly, “So you want the favor I owe you…to be me marrying you.”

“But of course! Doesn’t it make sense?”

No. It did not. Charlie blew a breath out and asked, “Why marriage? Why me ?”

Alastor’s smile turned a little devilish as he said, “My dear, haven’t you ever heard of a political marriage? It would be quite the boon to have the Princess of Hell by my side.” Those words set her mind at ease. Okay, good. He wasn’t interested in sex. She thought. Hadn’t Rosie said he was an ace? He quickly changed her mind as he pinched her cheek and said, “Also, I must say I find your naive optimism rather endearing! It used to grate on me; now, watching you separate families and loved ones between Heaven and Hell and thinking it a kindness, I couldn’t be more pleased!”

Charlie gave a couple of weak laughs. “Right…” She coughed as she tried spinning around him. “Well, I’ll give it some thought and-”

She was stopped short, something around her neck pulling taut and making her fall backwards. Looking down, she realized there was a green collar around her neck. A chain led from her…to Alastor’s hands.

“ You don’t have a choice ,” Alastor said, his voice coming from both his shadow and his mouth. His horns had grown, green stitches all over his face, as a slightly crazed smile graced her presence. “ We made a deal. Anything that isn’t violent. You WILL marry me… ” He pulled the chain, which caused a strange pain in Charlie’s chest. Not even a blink later, he was back to being his normal self as he said, “It’s almost as if you don’t want to marry me!”

“Well…Vaggie…” Charlie said weakly. She’d been planning on proposing to Vaggie soon. The ring had been in her pocket for weeks. There hadn’t been an opportunity.

“Ah yes. Your angelic partner. No, she mustn't stand in the way…” He said it darkly, and Charlie pictured Alastor trying to tear Vaggie apart with his tentacles. Then Alastor said something weirdly cheerfully. “Which is why I wish to marry her too! Or, at least, you two marry.”

Charlie was struck dumb. “What?!”

“Oh goodness, Charlie, do you honestly think I would fulfill any marital duties such as exchanging fluids ? No, it simply would not do! The most I would do is consummating, and we both know we’d simply be going through the motions. Now, if your pretty little angel were involved, you and herself could engage in whatever carnal delights you wish!”

That…made sense. That made SENSE! Charlie could accept those terms, she wanted to marry Vaggie anyway! …as depressing as it was, Charlie really didn’t have a choice. She could still feel where the chain laid against her flesh. Clinging to her hopes and dreams, she said, “Those terms seem…” She tried to be diplomatic. “...acceptable.”

“Excellent! I knew you would see it my way!” Alastor laughed. Then, rolling the words off his tongue in schadenfreudian delight, he asked, “Now, how will you break the news to Vaggie?”

Charlie’s gut sank. She confessed, “I don’t know.”

“Hm. Quite the dilemma.” Alastor pretended to think before snapping his fingers. “I know! Engagements require rings, correct?”

Charlie’s hand immediately went to her pocket where her own ring for Vaggie sat in its container. She answered, “Yes.”

“In that case…” Shadows swallowed his hand. They condensed, writhing, until there were two black rings adorned with what was likely supposed to be horns. Alastor offered them to her. “Your engagement rings!” He tapped his cane against the stone underneath them and said, “It would greatly please me if you could put all the rings on at the same time. To really make it feel as if all the rings have equal weight!”

Did he know about the ring in her pocket? Sometimes it seemed like he read minds. Charlie nodded. She asked, “Could you leave me alone right now? I need to think.”

“Of course! My bride should get to do whatever she pleases!” With that, Alastor sank into the shadows and slid through them and down the wall.

Charlie sighed, looking down at the two shadow rings. On impulse, she pulled out her ring and held all three of them in the palm of her hand. Her thumb traced along each one, the tips of the horns proving to be sharp.

She needed to find some of her enthusiasm. Some of her cheer. This wouldn’t stop her, or Vaggie, or anyone! Right. This…wouldn’t be bad. In fact, it might be good! Alastor would definitely stay. Charlie had been worried the last few months that he would leave. She wasn’t a fool; his pleasure came from failure, and without the entertainment as more and more succeeded at Ascending she was aware that he might leave for something that brought him more of his twisted version of joy.

She ignored the idea that she would miss him almost the most, only lower than Vaggie on the totem pole. It was a strange little thing that barely earned the right to be thought.

Now… Charlie bit her lip. Now she needed to figure out how to break this to Vaggie. And her dad.

[marshmallowloves]

DAY 3 (ROMANTIC F/Os) - Edgeworth

💜 Sierra began working under Miles during an internship. She had studied law with the goal of eventually becoming a paralegal, but initially she opted for a position doing more generic clerical/secretarial work, rather than being directly involved with cases. It was partly because she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to do more than that, and partly to get a feel for the environment before making a decision anyway.

💜 Miles originally didn’t feel the need to take on any new hires, as he figured he was taking care of things in his office just fine. But certain cases began to take up more and more of his time and left little room for things like upkeep and organization. It was actually Detective Gumshoe who suggested he hire someone dedicated to taking care of the small stuff, so that he could focus on his more important tasks. (legend says that on this fateful day, Detective Gumshoe’s salary was raised for the first time in ages........)

💜 For a while she’s tasked with some pretty basic things - organizing files, fetching documents from down the hall, taking calls and occasionally some light cleaning. And despite Miles’s initial hesitation, his new intern actually did quite a fine job - and after some time, she proved to be pleasant company as well, which certainly didn’t hurt.

💜 It wasn’t long before Miles learned her goal of being a paralegal, which he encouraged her to pursue. Not only would it be largely the same as her job right now, but it would pay better and offer her a chance to actually use her knowledge from those law classes. She shows some hesitation of her own, but Miles insists that he wouldn’t suggest it if he thought she was incapable. His confidence in her ability is enough to get her to apply for a proper paralegal position at that office - and whose desk does her resume coincidentally land on a week later but his own...

💖 Before they had established their feelings, Miles once offhandedly mentioned how he's rarely met someone whose parents were both still around. Sierra informed him that hers are in fact still around, and…somehow, they both got roped into having a meal with Sierra’s family - something neither of them were particularly excited about. After lots of loud conversation, uncomfortable Italian generosity, and way too many questions about Miles’s marital status, they decided to never let that happen again (Meanwhile Miles accepts that nobody in his life is ever going to have a normal family/upbringing ksdjfhg)

💖 Even though interpersonal office relationships are…probably not a horribly condemnable thing in the Ace Attorney universe (looking at all the shipping the fandom does between legal professionals in the series dkjgf), they still feel the need to keep their mutual feelings somewhat hidden (but who are we kidding, almost everyone knows they like each other, they just take a billion years to figure it out and admit it dkjfhg) - Miles to keep his professional image, and Sierra because of implications that might come with wanting to date her own boss. Doesn’t mean they don’t have hilarious shiptease moments though 👀

💖 There’s almost certainly a point in time where they have to go on a fake date for the purposes of an investigation/following a case. May or may not include a panicked kiss to try and look natural as a person they’re following passes by dfjkg

💖 They absolutely have the ladder/stepladder conversation at some point. Maybe during an investigation she tags along in:

Edgeworth: This ladder wasn't here before. Sierra: Isn't that a stepladder, Mr. Edgeworth? Edgeworth: (...Why do I get the strange feeling that this exchange is going to become a long-running gag…?)

[admirableadmiranda]

For all it's worth, the most jarring thing to me besides the yungmeng shuangjie focus of the show was that fucking comb scene and "love triangle"

Wen Qing didn't have any romantic feelings for WWX,, they would make good queerplatonic partners but WWX doesn't see her in a romantic light ever.

Maybe this is also my gripe with how we can't ever have friendships without them being sexualized because yeah, they're in the burial mounds and they totally fucked because yknow they're hot and how could wwx not want to marry her to protect her and the wens?

The whole love triangle thing felt so weird to me. But seriously why the hell was that even a thing?

Because for some reason when Modaozushi was being looked at by the script writers and directors and they had to figure out how to adapt it without being gay or full of necromancy, both things banned on television, the answers they came up with were “Yin Iron and living people puppets are the evil of four episodes and weird nudging of “they’re almost dead” around Wen Ning and Baxia taking Nie Mingjue’s place”, and “everyone is now in love with Wen Qing with Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing as the end game.”

Yes. Seriously. Be thankful we got the CQL we did. I may rag on it for poor framing around Jiang Cheng and weird plot decisions, but it could have been so much worse. I am glad we got what we did, it did let me get into Modaozushi in a way that the initial CQL would have not.

And I totally get you on being annoyed about people celebrating platonic relationships, yet immediately sexualizing and romanticizing any actual platonic relationships. In addition, I find it incredibly tone deaf and modern Ameri-centric to insist that of course they could have had an affair in the burial mounds, especially given the setting and culture in which this takes place. Pre-marital sex was incredibly looked down on, especially for the women involved, and even MXTX confirms that while Wangxian did have sex before marriage, they completed their third bow before they had any more sex, so the rest of it is all in wedlock.

I do like the comb subplot in theory. If Jiang Cheng had more consistent proper framing around his actions and character in CQL, it would be another good way to hone the growing bitterness and inflexibility of him, and the dichotomy between him and Wei Wuxian in that Wei Wuxian is willing to give up everything to protect all of the Wens, but Jiang Cheng, who has the power to protect them without losing anything, insists that he would only save Wen Qing and that is final, telling her that she can either live and live with his hatred of her whole family, or she can die with the rest of them. Why wouldn’t she return the comb when it is clear how little his offer of protection means? Why would anyone want to marry a man who insists that he hates everything she is from regardless of who they are?

But alas, Jiang Cheng has so much undermining in film language in CQL and thus combined with the other general weirdness, the plot is lost and we end up with yet another Jiang Cheng ship that I have to filter out of so many fics because clearly he loved her, so they should be together in half the damn fics ever written.

Anyway, salt over. I normally wouldn’t be so grouchy about it, but I’m rewatching CQL for The Young, The Horny, The Jaded and the Jade: Partners in Time reason and I’m just reminded of all the weird choices that CQL made there as I have to remind myself over and over again that Jiang Cheng in the book and script is a character I enjoy far more than his CQL take.

[archduchessofnowhere]

Hi! could you pls tell me more about Mathilde in Bavaria Countess of Trani? I feel like from all of Elisabeth's sisters, she's the one I know the least about and I'm not sure where to find detailed information. I'd love to know about her life, what her marriage was like and her relationship with her birth family and daughter (or daughters, if the claim of her alleged illegitimate child is true?) Also did she play any role/have any allegiance during ww1?

Hello! She is indeed the least known of the sisters, perhaps because she had an overall uneventful life. I've talked about her on this ask, and sadly I don't really have anything more substantial to add. What I didn't mention in it, however, was the alleged illegitimate daughter, since I wanted to elaborate it properly. So let's do that!

Allegedly, during her first years of marriage Mathilde had an affair with Spanish diplomatic Salvador Bermúdez de Castro, Duke of Ripalda, which resulted in the birth of a daughter, María Salvadora Bermúdez de Castro, born in 1864 in Villa Farnesina, in Rome. The girl was almost immediately sent to England, were she was raised by her paternal family, and later on adopted by her father. She never had any contact with her mother again.

Mathilde isn't the only one with an alleged out of wedlock child: her elder sister Marie also was rumored to have become pregnant by a lover and give birth to a girl in 1862. But here's the thing: in Marie's case, these rumors were contemporary. She suddenly left Rome for Bavaria in June of 1862, officially because she was ill, and in October she entered the convent of St. Ursula in Augsburg, which she only left in January (!) of the next year. And while I still haven't found convincing evidence of Marie actually having a child during her stay at the convent, is completely understandable that the rumor spread like wildfire: newspapers reported that she was having some sort of marital crisis at the beginning of 1862, then she suddenly left her husband because of an unclear illness, and then nobody physically saw her for MONTHS. She finally returned Rome in April 1863, ten months after she left. And if you fall from the face of Earth for ten months OF COURSE people is going to think you were pregnant (specially if these people want to ruin your reputation after you became the symbol of the Bourbon cause).

But as far as I'm aware there is nothing even remotely similar in Mathilde's case. So far I haven't been able to find a "window" in which you can fit a pregnancy, nor any rumors about her around 1864. In fact, how could she possibly hide a pregnancy and have a secret child in ROME, right under the noses of her husband and in-laws and even the Pope? It just doesn't make sense. I still don't know where the story of her having a daughter in Villa Farnesina originated, but I do know that it wasn't in the 19th century.

That being said, María Salvadora did exist and was Bermúdez de Castro's illegitimate daughter, that much is true. Upon his death in 1883 she was the sole heiress of his money and titles. His will was actually reported in newspapers, since he owned a fortune. Here is an article from the Italian newspaper Fanfulla, from June 16 of 1883 (machine translation):

THE RIPALDA WILL Yesterday, the will of the Duke of Ripalda was found in the Farnesina Palace. It was opened by the Spanish consul in Rome, Juan Rodriguez Rubi, in the presence of the Italian judicial authority, a nephew of the deceased duke, who came three days ago from Barcelona, and other witnesses. The will is made by public deed in Madrid, now four years old; a codicil made in Rome last year is added. The fortune left by the Duke of Ripalda is calculated at 5 million Italian lire, valuing the Farnesina at two million, and counting the 750,000 lire that the deceased still owed the Italian government for the expropriation of part of the garden of the Farnesina, due to the work on the Tiber. This sum may even increase, as a dispute before the Italian courts has begun. The late duke has appointed as his universal heir one of his natural daughters recognised and legitimised by will, according to Spanish law, Dona Maria Salvadora Bermúdez de Castro, a nineteen-year-old girl, who is currently being educated in an institution in Cologne. Some portraits of the young heiress found among the duke's papers depict her with an uncommon aloofness. The duke, in his will, conceals, as is natural, the mother's name, but says that his heiress is hija de ilustre y hermosa señora [daughter of an illustrated and beautiful lady]. The executors of the will are the Duke of Vista Hermosa senator and Grandee of Spain, Don Francisco Cardenas ex-ambassador to the Holy See, Augusto Conta minister in Vienna, and the ambassador of Spain to the Holy See, who would have been in caries at the time of the testator's death. As guardian of the universal heir, the duke appointed Dona Incarnacion O'Lavolor de Bermudez de Castro, wife of his elder brother, living in Madrid. The will also mentions many legacies, gifts and pensions to relatives, old servants and the poor in Rome and Madrid. He also leaves to the ex-king of Naples a large painting by Raphael, currently in the National Gallery in London, valued at one million, and another painting by Titian, placed in the great hall of the Farnesina, plus a legacy of 50,000 lire for the ex-king and another of the same amount for the ex-queen Maria Sofia! The deceased had the name Salvador Bermúdez de Castro, marchase of Lema, Duke of Ripalda, prince of Santa Lucia. The latter title was not recognised in Spain, since the title of prince can only be borne by persons belonging to the royal family. The title of Marquis of Lema will go to the nephew, the son of Dona Incarnacion; the other two to the universal heir, who will thus add the princely and ducal crowns to a fortune of 5 million. If, however, this is not possible, the two titles will be carried by the guardian. The will closes with a sentence that shows the deceased's foresight and finesse. In it, it is said that if, as a result of trials, his daughter were to lose everything he had left her in his will, his fortune, instead of coming by right into the hands of his relatives, should all be distributed to the poor. The Duke of Ripalda shall have his grave at Campo Verano, which he prescribes modest, and on which shall be written only his name.

So in 1883 the only piece of information you could find about Maria Salvadora's mother was "illustrated and beautiful lady". I'm not aware if this kind of phrasing shows a particular attachment towards the girl's mother or if it was convencional, but in any case nothing really points at Mathilde.

María Salvadora moved to Spain some time later and in 1890 married Álvaro Pérez de Barradas Fernández de Córdova, Marquis Peñaflor. The marriage remained childless. I couldn't find much information about her, only that she wrote a book about the life of Sancha Alfonsa de León. She died in 1944 in Madrid, at the age of 80.

Do I believe that Mathilde was her mother? So far I'm not convinced. I need something that tangibly connects Mathilde with Bermúdez de Castro + a window for a possible pregnancy. Otherwise, you literally only have a story that did not even exist until some years ago. In fact, in the 1860s Marie was the one rumored to have been too close to the Spanish diplomatic, not her younger sister. Do with that what you will.

As for the last part of your question: I don't know if she did something during WWI, but honestly I haven't looked into it either. If I found something about it I'll share it!

Thank you for your question and sorry that I couldn't tell you more!

[sweet-vanilla-sims]

Year 1657

Giuliano's fifth birthday came and went with him spending more time with his parents learning about the plants they grew. He was still too young to be much help but Giovanni insisted that he be outside with them and get used to being in the sun. Giuliano didn't mind too much because he loved spending time with his parents.

Orsolina celebrated her thirteenth birthday in May and Giulia could swear that she was more lovely by the day. Knowing the plan for her nieces, Felicita went out of her way to provide her niece with a nice dress and fancy accessories for her hair so that she could look the part for a better match. Giulia was taken by her sister's generosity as she knew good and well that they hadn't the funds to provide that for Orsolina themselves.

In a lot of ways, age had made it easier for Orsolina to get along with her mother as they both were able to bond over shared experiences that came with life.

Orsolina and Osana were still as close as ever if not closer. Age had made her younger siblings just seem all the younger and Osana was just barely 'mature' enough to remain as good company.

That said it wasn't as if Orsolina was snubbing her younger sisters, they remained close but their dynamic changed from being one of joking to one where Orsolina considered herself to be more adult than them though Orelia was quick to humble her as siblings often do. Giulia was happy to see her girls interact as they navigated growing up. Though she did find it funny that that Orsolina was trying to be more responsible for her siblings but she couldn't relate too much to the dynamics as there had been such a large age gap between her and Felicita.

The one thing Orsolina had apparently outgrown is the teasing her younger sisters were more than happy to indulge in as she was aiming to be a proper lady for her future.

Orsolina picked up more habits that she hoped would help her in the future but was frequently frustrated when she pricked her fingers with the needle but she found she liked the outlet for her creativity.

Tala came over to spend time with her oldest's family as Felicita was spending time working on bonding with her marital family and little one. Giulia was glad for the company as she delighted in speaking with someone who wasn't currently living with them. The break was refreshing.

While age had brought Orsolina closer to her mother, Orsolina and Giovanni were still going strong as most of the family was well aware of the special soft spot Giovanni held for his eldest.

Felicita didn't want to announce her suspicions but towards the end of the year she was almost certain that she was with child again which she secretly shared with her mother and sister who were happy for her.

Orsolina continued her studies at her parent's urging to make sure she was well taught so that she could have a bright future as a higher class lady. Orsolina also had her reasons that she wanted to make a good match so that her dreamer sisters could marry as they pleased when the time came in hopes that her parents could be satisfied with one of their daughters marrying well so that the others could be happy especially since Orsolina had no real hopes for a fairytale marriage. Perhaps it was from being the oldest but she was rather pragmatic about what would be a proper future for her.

With the girls being occupied with their own thing and Giuliano spending more time with his father, Giulia decided to dabble in practicing magic once more since she had asked for it so very long ago.

As the end of the year approached, Giulia realized that she had been feeling off but in a familiar way. She didn't want it to be true since they were struggling with saving up enough for dowries for their four daughters but Giulia couldn't put aside the idea that she was likely pregnant again. And though she hated the idea of it she knew that waiting could ruin their Orsolina's future so with a heavy heart she approached Giovanni and after some talks the pair went down the hill to speak with the widow Collari.

After a long discussion with the noblewoman, an agreement had been reached and the payment was made for their daughter's hand to the youngest of the Collari boys. Giulia felt sick that she had made the match for her daughter so young as she had sworn she didn't want but she wanted at least one daughter's fate to be secured when they were struggling with funds for her other sisters in fear of a fifth daughter. The marriage was not to be official for another few years though which is something Giulia insisted on so at the very least her daughter would not be wed until she was older but the arrangement was set. Giulia feared that her daughter would take the news poorly but instead, she was delighted. She was fine with marrying the Collari boy and Giovanni was relieved to know his daughter wasn't opposed to the match he made for her. Orsolina was glad for the security for her future and the fact that she would be following in the footsteps of her Aunt as she married into nobility but like with most things, the marriage being years in the future didn't really make it feel like it was real so that made it easier to be okay with it. At the end of the day, it was just a part of the plan for Orsolina's life that she had known about since she was a young child the timeline made little difference to her.

Giulia was glad that her daughter took the news so well of her arrangement but she still felt horrid for her part in it. There were a few things though that she was content with: that the marriage wasn't going to happen until Orsolina was at least fifteen since Orsolina would be going to the Collari household for lessons on being a proper lady, the fact that her daughter would be marrying into nobility (low ranked but still), and the fact that unlike her marriage to a man older than her own father, the young man her daughter was set to marry was only three years older than her so at least both kids would be in the same stage of life together. Giulia kept telling herself that it would be for the best every time her daughter left for her lessons.

Little Veniera grew up into a darling little one as her mother finally announced to her household that was most certainly expecting.

[lil228]

Red White and Royal Blue Notes Day 3 Part 1

WARNING spoilers for Red White and Royal both the movie and up to chapter nine of the book

Also I got a lot of reading done and had a lot of thoughts on day 3 so I'm splitting this up into two parts

Ah Zahra’s great

Okay so I’m reading this at work and no one told me it was homeschool days before I agreed to cover for a sick coworker today. So it’s flipping homeschool days and here I am reading a book as gay as the fourth of July and that’s had at least three spicy scenes so far! I mean nothing supper explicit but still! If there’s a day were some’s going to be mean to me for what I’m reading it’s going to be today 

Okay make that four spicy scenes. Is this what non-asexual people are like? Or is this just what early 20’s non asexual men are like?

If someone offred my jewelry in the shape of my own face I would be incredibly weirded out 

Ah! Henry had English degree, if he was a woman I would have the worlds  biggest crush on this fictional person, as it is, I would desperately like to be friends with this fictional prince. 

  The fact that Henry is invested in the queer history of his so cute. I really like him as a character! 

So- I wanting to know more about queer history- googled what Alex researched and here’s what I’ve learned. The Laws of Illinois 1961- it was a law (the first in the US) in Lillison that repealed the states sodomy laws, thus make same sex sex acts legal. The White Night Riots were riots in response to the very lenient sentencing of Dan White after he murdered George Mosacone and Harvey Milk. White was only convicted of voluntary manslaughter (the lightest possible convictions) he was only made to serve five years of a seven year sentence. It is very likely that if it had not been two gay rights activist White would have been convicted of at least 2 murders and spent the rest of his life in prison. The gay community in San Francisco was understandably upset, and riots broke out. I’m really upset by this news because no way in hell would this man have gotten 7 years in prison today, ane he shouldn't have then just because of who his victims were. Paris is Burning is a documentary from 1990 that follows the drag/ ball scene in NY and the trans, gay, Latino and African american communities around it.  Well I have a new movie to watch now!

I learned a lot just now! That’s more queer history than I learned in High School, hell that’s more than I would have learned in college if not for choosing Oranges are Not The Only Fruit for my capstone project.

Okay maybe Zahra needs to chill just a little bit, but I still appreciate her wit. (162)

Alex never staring a phone calls with a greeting is very in character.

Wait? Hold on which two Kings of Enlgnad were gay? (164) To the google! 

After a quick google search it would appear that Henry is referring to Edward II and King James I. It’s not just those homeschoolers learning things today!

Wait, Bea did cocaine? Did I miss that earlier, or is it just being brought up for the first time right now? 

Aww, these two boys are such good younger brothers

Okay its official Amy’s the best! (167)

Oh, okay this is the first time it’s been brought up- it’s a rumor to the public, but Henry knows that it’s true.

Wow Henry’s  dads death was really hard on the family. I think they could all really have used some therapy.

I feel so bad for Henry’s mother, she could really use some therapy, grief is kind of the worst. 

“It’s good to have times when it’s not all about me, as tedious and exhausting as it may be.” (169). It’s almost like Alex know he’s the main character of the book 

Wow one of the ducks at work is yelling and I’m not sure why, I better go make sure sure no ones getting picked on

Nope, just female wood duck yelling, for some reason, seemingly to the male wood duck, their both fine. Their just having a marital dispute 

Lol just heard a kid yell “Look there’s a turtle kissing a turtles butt!” 

I’ve just been told that those two fight all the time. You would not believe how much duck related drama happens in this place

“Gran sat me down… and made it abundantly clear I was not to let anyone know about any deviant desires I might be beginning to harbor that might reflect poorly upon the crown” (170) I’m at working trying so hard not to cry right now!

The love story between Henry’s mother and father is so cute.

 Holy sh*t how did June know? Who told her?

No really everyone knew Alex was Bi before Alex.

“Stop trying to Jane Austen my life!” Lol

As of page 182 there a seven people who know- June, Cash, Amy, Shann, Nora, Bea, and Pez. 

I think what Alex just heard between Luna and Oscar makes me even more suspicious of Luna

Also what did Richards do to Luna also, also what’s this stuff about the kids? Dose Richards have secret love affair babies? Or.. oh, oh, god I hope not (188)

  Oh my god, they got Henry to do karaoke, 

Oh and Bea’s the best!

Okay were are now at five spicy scenes in this book, all of which I have read at work. At least pretty much no one’s around to see how awkward and mildly embarrassed I am while reading them

Wait, Nora has lipstick on the back of her neck… who was it? I know Alex may not want to know but I do!

So the crew is Alex, Herny, Bea, Nora, June and Pez. 

Aww Alex has friends (200)

Well now I have to look up gentleman of the bedchamber 

Okay so if was basically a group of men that would help the king dress, serving him while he ate and were also there for companionship

205- Holy literary references batman! 

There is something so genuine and vulnerable  about Henry telling Alex his favorite British author especially because she is seen even today as writing “girly” books or books for women.

Be right back, going to goggle Daniel Defoe

He wrote a ton of books, but is most well known for Robsinson Cursoe 

I think I shall also be referring to all of my secrest as “fruity truths” 

I think I’m also going to steal “Utah ugly” and “Christian Ugly”     

Okay so if I’ve got this correct the 3 geniuses in the Alex and three geniuses group chat are Nora, June and Henry. 

The royal box comment on 213 made me laugh out loud

I love that now that Alex knows he’s bi he sees David Beckam and is like how tf did I ever convince myself I was straight.

I kind of relate to Alex, after I realized I was lesbain I looked back on so many things and think how tf did I not know sooner?

Okay how on earth have these two not been found out yet. They slept in the same hotel room in Paris! Henry invited Alex to a polo match! Henry invented him to WIMBLEDON for God’s sake? Surely someone must think something is up right? Like come one! I mean June put two and two together! And Amy probably knew before they told her too! Is everyone around them just oblivious? Do they genuinely think these two are good friend

 I have a feeling there’s about to be a spicy scene

Annnd there it is ladies, gentleman, and distinguished non-binaries- spicy sense number 6

“Love doing things out of spite.” (217) made me laugh out loud, because honestly who hasn’t done anything out of spite before? 

[cherry-lipbalm]

tommy shelby

marital bliss. tommy shelby.

part four.

concept: yn’s family is down on their luck, for want of a better phrase. tommy comes up with a rather extreme solution.

YN was never comfortable with telling people what to do, especially Tommy's staff. In fact, even calling them his 'staff' didn't feel right.

Every time she visited Tommy she could never demand anything from the maids that paced up and down the hallways; it didn't feel right asking them to do a task she could just as easily do on her own, and they always seemed busy; after all, working for Tommy Shelby had to be a demanding job, to say the least. Yet, when Tommy had asked a passing Mary to run the bath in his ensuite for her, she couldn't find it in her to protest. Instead, she followed behind her sheepishly, wringing her hands as she led the way to Tommy's room. YN got the feeling that neither of them were ready to trespass onto sacred soil, opening the door slowly and peering inside, almost as if expecting him to be there, scolding.

When they stepped inside, YN was surprised to see that Tommy's room was spotless. His bed was made, his bedside cabinet clear, no clothes sprawled on the floor like he'd so habitually made a frequent occurrence of when he came over to her house. The thought crossed her mind to throw her clothes around his bedroom when she got ready for the bath.

Speaking of, Mary escaped to the ensuite and began running the hot water. YN took a seat on the edge of Tommy's bed, trailing her hands over the thickness of the duvet, listening to the gushing of water. The anticipation of being soaked in warmth made her feet restless, tapping her toes in excitement. She wondered what side of the bed Tommy slept in.

Then, it wasn't long until Mary was finished, and she came out the bathroom drying her hands. "All done," she said.

YN beamed, jumping up and thanking her profusely, meandering past her in desperation to head into the ensuite, which she could see had steamed up over the course of the bath filling up, and the pile of towels on the radiator, too... it was enough to make her cry.

She thanked Mary again, then sauntered into the room, gracefully leaning her back on the door to gently push it closed. Closing her eyes in bliss, then opened them to see that, yes, she wasn't dreaming and this was all fantastically real. She didn’t allow a single second for the water to cool before she stripped, then stepped into the hot water. Even though it irritatingly burnt her skin, she didn't mind at all. Upon touch, she practically melted into the tub, draping her arms on the side, resting her head on the back, she let her eyes flutter close, feeling the melting sensation of all the joints in her body alleviate every tension and creak. Her body slipped further down, until she could dunk her head underwater, relaxing the tight curls of her hair. When she broke the surface she displayed a wide grin, and the hot water did the trick of rubbing the fatigue from her eyes. Again, she set her head on the bath, blissed that this was happening for her.

It still felt immoral. Like she was using Tommy in some sort of way, in spite of the fact that he’d been the one to offer. She knew she had to cherish it, still, even if it was tainted by the thought that she didn’t rightfully deserve any of this. Tommy had worked so hard, and she had just been able to saunter in, but, well, she wouldn’t be here for long. This was a quick fix, Tommy would want her out soon enough. He said himself it was just until she got back on her feet, and surely that wouldn’t take so long? Not that she no longer had to worry about their home and getting food on the table, all of that would be taken care off by the liberty of Tommy, and all that she would feel with an astounding amount of guilt. She tried, however, to abhor it for the time being, and instead focus on the vast warmth surrounding her.

Frankly, YN had never been so relaxed, it was like she was having an out-of-body experience. Then, a knock sounded to bring her right back out of it. "You alright in there?"

"Fucking 'ell, Tom!" YN exclaimed, rising with a start. Water splashed out of the bath as she jumped.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "Sorry. Just checking you 'adn't, you know, drowned.”

"Yeah," she called through the door. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Okay."

"I'll be out in a minute," she told him, beginning to pull herself out, not having realised how much time had passed. The minute she took herself out of the heaven that was the bath, she cursed the air, wanting immediately to fall back in, but her fingers were starting to prune and the water had turned a meagre room temperature. Plus, if she got back in she was bound to catch a cold, and she’d burdened Tommy enough already.

She wrapped herself up warm with the towel on the radiator, willing herself not to exclaim over how soft and purely magnificent it felt against her skin. This is how Tommy lived day to day? Why didn’t she marry him sooner?

Using a smaller towel to ruffle her hair dry, she stole a glance of herself in the mirror. Though steamed up, YN was shocked by her appearance, one she had failed to see in a long time. Her blurred silhouette was different to what she remembered, it was more crouched, it was smaller, frailer. YN gulped guiltily, and wrapped the towel around her closer. Her conscience wanting her to do anything but, she stepped to the mirror and used her cracked palm to wipe it clean, exposing her face in the reflection. Even with the healing powers of Tommy’s bath, the incandescence that had reached her cheeks was one YN knew was only temporary. The bags under her eyes were as prominent as ever, and led YN to wonder what her bedroom would be like, her bed! All to herself, too. None of her brother’s kicking legs to keep her up through the night.

Here, however, she realised she didn’t have any night-clothes to change into.

“Shit,” she whispered, more than aware that Tommy was on the other side of the door.

She balled her fists, beginning to pace along the tiles of the bathroom, hesitant to approach the door as she turned on her heel at the last minute. Asking Tommy to go get her clothes would be weird, wouldn’t it? But what was she supposed to do! Stay in the bathroom forever? Though, to be honest, that didn’t seem so bad…

However, as she thought that, the after-effects of being in the bath were starting to hit her now, and she was beginning to shiver, her feet bare against the tiles. She needed slippers, and she needed them now.

With a deep sigh, she called, “Tommy?”

“Yeah?” He answered, making YN silently curse.

“I haven’t, well, funny story actually. I just, I haven’t got my–”

The door creaked open a tad, then Tommy’s hand poked through, a pile of clothes hanging from his hold. She squealed in delight and clutched at them, cradling the thick cotton in her arms, beaming until she realised that she had never in her life been so privileged as to own thick material.

“These aren’t mine,” she said, a dead tone to her voice as she thought about slapping Tommy across the head because who on earth has the audacity to give his wife (granted, not really his wife) another woman’s clothes?

“I know,” he replied, sensing her drastic jump to conclusion. “They’re mine. Your clothes aren’t enough to keep a snail warm, never mind yourself. You’ll wear this for now until we can get you something better.”

YN heard him light a cigarette, leaning against the door to shut it closed as she dressed. Through the wood, YN held up the clothes (a jumper and a pair of trousers) and observed them with a quirk of her brow, sceptical, to say the least.

“You’re kidding, right?” She commented. Maybe it was just the luxury of being Mrs Shelby getting to her head, but she didn’t exactly see sleeping in itchy trousers as comfortable.

“It’s either that or nothing at all.”

“I think I’d rather take nothing at all.”

“Well, I wouldn’t complain about that,” he said, candidly, and YN smacked the door whilst pretending it was him. She called him disgusting and smirked at his laughter.

They fell quiet, both growing shy and both unknowingly to their counterpart. YN proceeded to drop the towel and stretch the jumper over her head, letting the warm softness drape against her, blissful at the realisation that Tommy had had it on the radiator. She was stumped when it came to the trousers.

“Seriously, what do you expect me to do here?” She asked.

“God, so picky,” he groaned. YN heard himself push off the door, disappear for a few seconds, and then stride back. YN dreaded to hear what solution he’d come up with.

“I can give you boxer shorts—”

“Boxer shorts! Tom, I am not wearing your underwear!”

She practically heard him roll her eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe, uh, literally anything else?”

“I’ve given you my bloody trousers!”

“The trousers are ridiculous!”

“Well I ‘aven’t got anything else, YN, you’ll ‘ave to deal with it.”

Astounded at his forward intentions to get her in his underwear, YN raised a brow. She contemplated on the pros and cons, filtering in between the pure awkwardness of what would unravel, and refuting it with the realisation that she could be comfortable. “Fine,” she grumbled, cracking open the door a smidge. Tommy avoided looking through, and instead essentially threw his boxers at her.

“These better be clean,” she mumbled under her breath. She stepped into the gaps, pulling them up to her waist. She was certain she looked a picture, dressed to the nines. For once, she was glad the mirror had steamed up to make her reflection invisible.

“Let me out.” She knocked on the door, feeling his weight still against it. He shuffled, and it opened. She peered out bashfully before stepping into his room, relieved that a pair of slippers awaited her. Hastily, she slid them on her feet, sighing contently when she recognised they were yet another item Tommy had left on the radiator.

And Tommy was staring at her, she could tell. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she had an urge to bow her head and never look up again. Her fingers wrung together, and when she eventually did crane her neck, Tommy was –indeed– staring.

“Don’t say a word,” she threatened. He dropped his stone-cold expression, raising his hands in defence and gaping wordlessly like he wasn’t even thinking of anything.

YN stifled a laugh, fighting the urge yet again to roll her eyes. She thumbed the cotton of Tommy’s jumper against her skin, and wondered how long she’d get to cherish all this. It was surreal, to be surrounded by such luxury, to be who she was in that moment, and to be with Tommy, so casually and yet committed at the same time.

“So, uh, you’re all settled in,” he said, breaking her reverie. “Mary’s done your room, just across the hall, so, if you need me, I’m right here,” he said, sauntering away. He dropped his cigarette box on his bed, beginning to undo his tie.

“Somehow I think I’ll be fine,” YN laughed, but made no such effort to move.

Tommy nodded, beginning then to unbutton his waistcoat after the discard of his tie. He threw it with a similar nonchalant fashion on the bed, and YN realised he had never cleaned up for himself at all. He looked up when he noticed she remained standing, and, after a reckoning quiet, made a movement of his own for the silver box. His fingers callously traced the edge, the eventual click of its opening striking the silence of the room. YN thought if anything summarised the years that had passed between her and Tommy, what had kept them anchored to the same meeting point, it was the sound of that cigarette box.

Tommy extended his hand, closing the space between them with his offer. YN, never mind feeling guilty, stepped forward and accepted. Her fingertips trembled in trying to pry one free, only doing so more when she felt Tommy’s eyes on her, and she smiled bashfully once she was successful.

“Got there in the end,” he said.

Again, he lit it for her, striking the match he brandished from a pocket and cautiously holding the flame up to YN’s lips. The latter tried, to no avail, to ignore that the warmth coursing through her wasn’t solely due to the smoke she inhaled. Tommy’s hands were unnaturally close to her own as they both cupped her cigarette to protect the flame, him looking down on her like she was some fulfilled project made her chest contract.

He waved out the match, then —to take YN even more off guard— held his own cigarette to hers, lighting the tip of it by her flame. His eyes shifted to hers, and she fretted that he’d seen the rush to her cheeks, and hoped he’d suspect the heat to be the cause.

Once lit, Tommy backed to the bed, and shuffled over to allow her a seat. She cleared her throat, dragging a smoke as she vacated the space, deciding to shove his arm playfully when she did so, and they both chuckled blithely under their breaths. Tommy pushed back, a little too harshly, almost sending her off the bed. YN exclaimed with a hearty laugh after guffawing at his nature. She stuck the cigarette firmly between her lips and jumped to drive him back, using the meagre strength of her arms to jostle him, promptly forgetting Tommy’s tenacity.

With a ‘pfft!’ he similarly readjusted his cigarette and subsequently gripped her arms in a wrestling stance, twisting her over to pin her on the bed as she cried out. He grinned at the sound of her laughter, beaming down at her with his legs trapped on either side of her own. In vain, YN wrangled her arms to propel against his, struggling to push him off, Tommy continued to patronise her. It was funny, she thought, to see a grown man with such menace as Tommy Shelby grappling atop her, play-wrestling.

“Okay, okay, stop now, I’m done!” YN announced, her words muffled behind the cig. Tommy laughed victoriously, dropping his hands down around her head, dipping into the mattress. He was breathless, somehow, and remained stationary, perched above her, eyes gleaming before scattering over her face, then landing primarily on her lips. YN couldn’t ignore it, like she tended to do when something filled with tension like this happened, she was obliged to see how Tommy analysed her face, dotting over her features again before circling back round to the same destination. He inhaled, YN mirroring him underneath. She smiled shyly.

“You can… get off now,” she said, tapping his forearm.

“Right, yes,” he replied bluntly. He hopped off, sitting straight on the edge of the bed. He removed his cigarette, extinguishing it in the ashtray on his cabinet. As quickly as he squished it, the humour left his system, and he sat with an arched back, arms rested on his knees, a pondering expression on his countenance.

YN propped herself up on her elbows, clearing her throat. “I, uh, should go to bed. It’s late.”

He mumbled, “yep, you should rest.”

YN considered refuting him, maybe even begging him not to be so melancholic, but she was tired, and the prospect of a nice warm bed appealed to her just that bit more. She shuffled off the bed with a sigh, brushing past him on her way. Tommy gave her a small glance, but didn’t relish in anything else apart from a bidding nod. With a smile, YN realised it was probably the best she was going to get, so she whispered a ‘goodnight’ and showed herself out, reluctantly, even despite every fibre in her body feeling foreign to the notion of leaving Tommy. She closed the door behind her with an internal curse. She rested her head against the wood, mouthing a swear to herself before pushing off it and heading to the room opposite, the door creaked open a tad to display the attractiveness of it. It was beautiful, YN could already tell, with a bed bigger than her entire kitchen, adorned with pillows and a thick duvet, candles galore surrounding it. A heavy sigh emitted past her lips, and when she entered the room she found that she wasn’t at all as fulfilled as she imagined she’d be.

Not through any fault of the maids, no, but more to the feeling that the room seemed awfully empty without Tommy in it. She wanted to slap herself for that thought, but there was nothing she could do to deny it.

But, even so, there was nothing to be done about it. She prepared herself for bed, pulling back the cover and climbing in, more than ready for a sleepless night upon the realisation that she longed and missed a man who was a mere ten feet away. But boundaries kept them apart: doors and whatever feelings and morals that separated them. YN was not a Shelby, despite what the paperwork said. She was nowhere near Shelby status; if they were to be anything, it would be nothing but wrong.

She tried her upmost best to dismiss the thought as she lay in bed. She had expected to be doused in serenity when she did this, but focusing on the silkiness of the sheets was evitable when all she could feel was Tommy’s proximity, still. The way he stalked towards her, eyes intent; how he didn’t touch her but YN felt him all the while. Even now, the pressure of his presence exacerbated around her, and she tossed and turned in the bed in a vain attempt to rid of it. It was fruitless. Tommy was the only thing on her mind, rather than the comfort encompassing her exit she had imagined would be the primary focus.

Frustration only accumulated when the hours went by without any redemption. YN sighed, threw the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She made it thus far, then contemplated on her oncoming decision, feet bare against the wooden floor. The bed became significantly more appealing, but something was pulling YN away in the other direction. She hung her head, then jumped off the bed and tiptoed to the door. It, obviously, had to creak when she opened it, yet when she popped her head out into the hallway she saw it had alerted no one, and she was alone.

She sent a sneaky eye to the door opposite her, closed and making YN freeze in her step. A dull light shone under its gap, and she cursed the fact that it had because it meant that she really had no excuse to not commit.

With a foreboding sense of regret, YN proceeded, raised her fist and took the leap to knock on Tommy’s door. The quiet that followed was claustrophobic, and, if it hadn’t been for the resounding fear that struck within her, she would have backtracked; escaped to her room, slam the door and pretend like she’d never left. Instead, the petrifying anticipation kept her still, and she was doomed to wait for Tommy to answer the door.

Of course, she could lie. Pretend she had got the wrong door, like she was looking for her mother instead, you know, like she hadn’t just been in his room and she was bound to know where it was as a result. Or, maybe, she could say she was hoping to get a glass of water, and didn’t want to bother the maids so please could he do it for her? It wouldn’t be weird… right?

The door opened before she could make her decision.

“You alright?” Tommy asked. He looked at her inquisitively up and down, leaning his arm on the doorframe.

YN was stuck for words, she thought she forgot the whole English language.

“Fine,” she exclaimed, surprised as if she hadn’t been the one to knock on his door in the first place. “Fine, yeah.”

He quirked a brow, “…alright.”

“I just,” YN continued, “I never really thanked you for all this.”

“No need to thank me.”

“I disagree.���

Tommy smiled, then stepped back to allow more room for YN to enter. She bowed her head and did so, wringing her hands as she headed inside. The door closed behind her, and Tommy gestured at the edge of his bed for her to sit.

“Drink?” He offered, swaying to the alcohol cabinet appropriately placed by his bedside. YN was of immediate refusal until she saw the array on his cabinet. In particular, a glass bottle stood out to her.

“Is that your gin?” She asked, excited.

In the midst of pouring his own whisky, Tommy’s eyes danced over to the bottle standing tall within his collection of booze. He allowed a small chortle, then grabbed the neck of it and swung it to his side. By his lack of caution, YN guessed he was already a few drinks ahead of her.

He set it on a nearby cabinet, pouring the Shelby gin into a drained glass which YN guessed had some remnants of another previous drink. She watched him feverishly, eyes wandering over his posture until they bulged at his antics.

“Jesus, Tom, alright.” She leaped forward, grabbing the glass when he surpassed the halfway mark. “You do know you’re supposed to have something with gin?”

“If you’re boring,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. YN scoffed, diluting it with a tonic she’d snatched off his trolley.

Tommy didn’t waver in joining her side, residing back into the imprint he’d formed on the bedsheets. He cleared his throat and swigged the whisky in his hand, clinking the glass back down on the trolley, ‘aah’ing in satisfaction. He propped himself sturdily up by his hands on his knees, eyes, like a rotting tree, hollow and full of decayed life, centred on the wall ahead of him. YN wondered vehemently what he was thinking, and came to the conclusion that she’d rather not know at all.

“You settle in okay?” He asked, out of nowhere, almost making her jump. The distant tone of his voice alluded that his query had been the last thing on his mind, but had simply been asked out of courtesy. YN felt an astonishingly overwhelming sense that she wasn’t welcome, but clutched her glass tighter and stayed. She turned her head to the side, focusing her attention on the small details of Tommy’s room that she’d failed to notice before. More of his clothes were strewn across the floor, and there were a few oddly disfigured stains on the carpet where ash had fallen and been rubbed in over time.

“Yeah, I did. Thanks,” she said. She took a drink, then found the courage to turn back to him and pull together a strong smile. He flashed one back with a similar uncertainty, finally craning his neck in an effort to peer at her.

“Good.” He coughed. “Good,” a whisper, now. YN’s heart began to expand against her ribs when Tommy’s stare remained on her, or rather, her lips. She bit her lower one to prohibit herself from saying anything stupid.

“So, I just, thought I’d come over and say, you know, thank you. I can’t explain it, really, what it means… to my Mum and Jack, too. I know Jack doesn’t say much, but—”

“YN.” Tommy’s hands clasping hers, all of a sudden. “You don’t need to thank me.”

YN, often prone to refute anything that came out of Tommy’s mouth, became uncharacteristically quiet, whether from astonishment of his kindness or the way his eyes traced every minuscule movement of her lips, she didn’t know. A sharp intake of breath shattered the silence of the room, and YN’s grasp tightened on her glass, wondering if she could really prepare herself for what she predicted would be next.

“There’s something else you should know.” Came Tommy’s husky voice, close, YN perceived, as he’d shifted nearer to her without her notice. “About my proposal to you.”

YN gulped, nodding in anticipation. She rested her glass on her knee with a gentle hold. Her eyes focused on Tommy’s mouth as he leaned in, his arm snaking behind her to rest on the mattress while his other graced her cheek. They were close now, with the callouses of Tommy’s fingertips trailing against her cheekbone. His eyelashes flickered upwards, peering almost sheepishly to her. YN struggled to repress a giggle, and raised her hand to rest on his bicep. There was a brief, tense moment, a quick, fluttering glance, before Tommy gently pulled her in and into his kiss.

Surprisingly, Tommy’s lips were soft. When they moulded into hers YN swapped her vacant hand to hold her gin and tonic in order to caress Tommy’s cheek; it quickly reached his hair, grazing against the buzzed sides until clambering to his scalp. Her fingers ran through while Tommy pressed their kiss further (YN allowed him), then travelled down to his chin, cupping it endearingly.

If someone had told her this morning she’d be living in Tommy’s house, married to him, she may have just believed it, knowing that Tommy is awfully prone to fathoming incredulous ideas. If someone had told her this morning that she’d be kissing him, she’d have laughed in their face.

Yet, here she was, holding his neck and moving her lips in rhythm with his, and not finding it completely utterly disgusting.

“Tommy,” she whispered, though, pulling apart from him. She willed herself to ignore the string of saliva that stretched out between them.

The aforementioned automatically gravitated back to YN, eyes still closed in a daze and silently begging for another indulge. Her hand pushed on Tommy’s chest, and he looked at her like a child whose favourite toy she’d just broken.

He cleared his throat, then sat back. “What’s wrong?”

The way he looked at her made YN want to backtrack the whole thing: shake her head and claim it was nothing before kissing him all over again. But she persisted.

“I don’t think we should,” she said, exhaling deeply, with Tommy followed suit.

“You’re my wife, no?” He joked.

“We both know that’s not what this really is.”

Her words made Tommy’s faltering smile finally drop, as well as his hands from her face. He cleared his throat, looking away in what YN could only establish was embarrassment.

He licked his lips, and YN turned her torso away to stare at the floor, resting a hand on her lap while the other was preoccupied with supplying the gin and tonic. She took a loud gulp, biting her lip in the abhorrent silence. Eventually, the sound of rustling cotton signalled her movement, standing from the bed.

“I should… I should go,” she said, smoothing out Tommy’s jumper against her. It was vital she didn’t look down at him when she embarked, instead she bid him goodnight and fumbled out the door, leaving –it felt– as quickly as she had arrived.

Inside, Tommy listened ardently to YN’s curses from the other side of the door, and wondered intently to himself what the hell he had gotten himself into.

part five

@katherinemelissa @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @alreadybroken-ts @missymurphy1985 @littlebloodyshadow

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader 

Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining

Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.

A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.

“Where do we start?”

The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.

“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”

“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”

You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”

“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”

“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”

And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.

“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.

“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”

“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.

“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.

Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”

And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”

“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”

“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”

“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”

Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”

“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”

“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.

“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”

“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”

You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”

“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”

“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.

“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'

Oh, how wonderful.

You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.

He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.

"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”

And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”

And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.

“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.

And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.

“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.

“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”

At the sound of the what—

And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”

Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.

And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”

You glance from him to his hand.

Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—

“Ready.”

What other choice did you have?

~~~

“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.

“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”

“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”

“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”

“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”

“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”

You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.

The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.

After all, money was money in their eyes.

You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”

“You mean physically or?” you shrug.

“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”

“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”

“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.

And that was what scared you the most.

The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”

“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”

“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.

He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”

You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.

So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”

And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.

You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”

His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.

You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.

And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.

Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—

And then the lock clicks open.

He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.

And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.

You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).

But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.

Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”

“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.

“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”

“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”

“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”

“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,

He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”

“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”

“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.

And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”

His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”

And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.

Shit.

Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”

And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”

An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.

And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."

He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."

You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”

“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.

“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.

The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”

You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.

Probably fucking not.

~~~

Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.

Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.

The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.

By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.

Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.

“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Is something going on?”

And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.

“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”

He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”

“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”

Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.

“If you want to sleep—”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”

And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.

His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.

It felt so nice.

Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —

Because it was you.

And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.