#still processing all but this definitely helps so much

[ggirlthatgotaway]

You Now Smelled of Flowers, and He Loathed how Perfectly it Suited You

summary: You had always known that, despite being wed, you and Aemond would have never gotten along, especially because none of you tried anything but staying as far as you could from one another. Weirdly enough, Aemond made your relationship changed by asking for help.

trigger warning: wrote this while on ovulation, explicit language, mention of self harm, mention of lost of virginity, sexual content, name calling(wife), pretty chill sex tbh

word count: 9.4k

supposed reading time: 38 minutes

note: BITCH THIS HAS A FUCKING VIBE. anyway, i love the dialogues in this. also, thnkx for more than 200 notes on the last one ARE YOU KIDDING. love ya

-💎

He couldn’t sleep, which was far from anything new, really. He took a deep sigh and stared at the ceiling. He could hear the soft rain falling on the stone walls outside his room, but he made no movement to check how much was entering his chambers like he normally would.

His head was killing him, and he could hear his heartbeat banging against his skull. He’d been loathing the night since the day he’d lost his eye.

That had been the fateful day that ruined his entire existence, and also the reason why he was awake in the hour of the wolf, when the entirety of King’s Landing should have been deep asleep.

He had often dreamed about cutting off his scarred skin. Surely, the action would provoke not only the risk of infection and an immense amount of bleeding, but also a wider- and so more irritating- scar on his face.

That was not what he had desired during the open-eyed dreams he’d had about slicing open his face once more, no. What currently appealed him was the tranquility that would come with the first stages of the healing process: no itch, nor irritation.

Just simple, pure pain.

He sighed and swung his legs off the bed. His eye did linger on the butter knife left on his table- it had caught the light coming from the hearth and reflecting onto the blade- but he got up and walked out of his rooms.

He wandered for a brief moment what you were doing. After all, a husband ought to worry for his wife’s whereabouts, whether he was loving or as Aemond was, which included a rather long list of disparaging adjectives- such as: abrupt, sharp-tongued, curt and cold when it came to those brief and definitely insignificant moments in which you two exchanged some words; unapproachable, uncaring and unresponsive when you needed his assistance (which happened only in one occasion, for the lesson was learnt fast); tense, silent and falsely indifferent when it came to your nearness.

Anyway, the thought of you being asleep brought an only slight sense of calmness in Aemond, for he reasoned that half of the couple- if one could call you two such- could find comfort in the confines of a bed in the darkest hours the night had to offer.

What he did not know was that you were far from asleep. Your life at the castle did not include much- quite the opposite, in fact. And you put your foot down so that you would never get used to such a disgraceful thing. You were, after all, the Rogue Prince’s daughter, and nothing in your body was ‘still’.

So, most of your nights were spent awake, walking around the interminable castle until the muscles in your legs hurt from tiredness or reading until your eyelids fell shut on their own.

Usually, the nights’ hours were not passed in the shared chambers you had with Aemond, but you found they had the perfect view of the full moon in that day’s clear night sky- despite the soft rain.

That was the reason you were there, your hands on the wet stone of the window ledge as you looked at the city below you. The rain was wetting part of your nightgown, but that was not your concern.

Rainy days in King’s Landing were not something usual this season, and it reminded you of Dragonstone in a slight way that you redeemed to be enough for comfort.

The chambers were beautiful, despite the obvious memory that surfaced in your mind: the wedding night. It hadn’t made you as excited as you and your sisters had dreamed them to be when you were younger.

You were aware that those hopes were a mere product of the fantasy of young and unaware children that loved to spend their days in the confines of the island, braiding their hair and taking about the dreams of the nights’ passed.

Still, hope hadn’t been a crime for your mind yet. You hated the mixed feelings you had felt that day. You recalled the unusual feeling of anxiety that had set into your gut in the morn and that carried through the hours of the day.

The memories of the ceremony were not many, aside from the grimace on your face that persisted through the wedding, celebrated under the Faith of the Seven and not in the tradition of Old Valyria, which you thought to be the rightful one.

What you remembered vividly, was the night. Hating Aemond Targaryen for what he’d called your cousins through the years of your childhood and early adolescence seemed nothing but rightful. And still…

You remembered his hand on your lower back as he’d walked you to your new shared chambers, and the way his warmth had seeped into the fabric of your dress.

You remembered the way he had not looked at you as you’d taken off the intricate wedding dress and left it on the floor after you’d stepped out of it.

He had put out the candles and told you to lie down on the bedding with a nod of his head before extinguishing the last source of light with a blow.

He had stripped completely before he’d also climbed on the sheets, making the mattress sink under his weight.

You had expected roughness and pain throughout the whole action, for many ladies of the court who had a friendly relationship with the Princess Regent, had told you what to expect would happen to you in the weeks preceding the wedding.

It did not come, that stinging sensation, the sharp feeling of the hardness entering you. He had worked you with his fingers the exact way you did when you were alone, almost making you think he had known your body despite having never seen it.

You had to repress your moans by biting the inside of your cheeks, and you remembered feeling glad that he could not see your face in the darkness that enveloped the chambers under his wish.

He had not kissed your lips once, but he had continued moving his fingers inside you until he had redeemed your cunt wet enough to be fucked.

That was when he had turned you around so you lied on your stomach and had pulled up your hips- the biggest contact he had offered you that night.

He had put a hand on your hip- it had been warm and comforting, despite it being distant at the same time, and it had stayed there for the whole time.

You had not come, for you forced yourself not to. His thrusts were determined: slow and steady at first, and grew faster as he continued taking your purity. But you had not finished, for the pleasure you had felt seemed so unexpected and abnormal you simply could not let your body do so.

But he had, and both of his hands were on your hips when he’d emptied himself inside of you. And then he had stilled, and you had heard his rough breathing and the sweat on his palms as he had slid them down and off your body.

He had walked out after his climax, leaving you on the marital bed, empty, still biting the inside of your cheek to withhold the moan you had let out once the heavy doors had closed behind him.

You remembered getting off the bed and feeling your legs weak. But you had still gone in front of the full length looking glass in the chambers, turned, and looked at your reflection from behind your shoulder. You had seen his seed trailing down the inside of your thighs.

You had touched yourself at the sight, thankful for being alone. You had done so many times after that night, and the mere thought sent a flush to your cheeks.

As you looked outside the window at the city below- still a number of candles burnt, but you could hold the number with your hands- and sighed, the sound of steps coming from outside made your head turn sharply to the dark wooden door.

Out of your deepest surprise, Aemond came in. He froze when he saw you, but made no move to step back, “Wife.” He greeted you, his eye falling from your face and finding an armchair.

“Husband.” you replied, tearing your eyes from what was his obviously tired form. But they found him again when you heard the sound of him sitting down. The way his hand was on his scar, the way his fingers traced it angrily, made your brows furrow. “Are you faring well?” you asked, for the silence was already starting to be uncomfortable.

Still, all he replied to your seemingly harmless question was: “Mh…” You could not resist to tut and turn once again to the sky.

Why did you even think you had the chance to have a normal opportunity for a conversation with him? Gods, you sometimes wished he were a mute, so he would have an excuse to substitute his words with those daft sounds.

You dug your nail into the skin of your finger and tried to contain the urge to walk away. After all, you were there first, and you would be the one who’d stay. What was he doing there, anyway? As far as you were aware, your shared chambers had been empty since that night of two moons ago.

Despite these thoughts, you started musing how lucky you had been to end up with someone like Aemond. He was far from the best husband, and so was clear to everyone, but he was also far from the worst.

He did not talk- even if it sometimes infuriated you; if he had lovers, his relationships were discreet; and, as he was rather far in the line of succession, especially now that Rhaenyra had birthed five children, he did not crave for an heir- testimony was the fact he had considered his duty fulfilled after taking your virginity.

“If I am correct…” His voice made you snap out of your thoughts and you turned around, looking at how his tapered fingers were still pressing onto the scarred tissue. The strain in his voice was obvious as he continued his request, “You have quite the experience with poultices?”

Your eyebrows raised at his words. How in his Seven Hells did he have that information? You may have flaunted yourself about your prowess now and then, but that had happened a long time ago, many years before your wedding.

“Y-yes.” you said, clearing your throat and turning to face him, leaning against the window ledge, “What is the matter?”

You saw how his eye avoided any form of contact, deciding to set on the stone floor instead. “I might need something to… Ease the pain from my scar.” You were extremely sure that Aemond Targaryen’s scar, in that exact moment, hurt him way less than his pride after having asked for help.

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain a grin at the thought. “Alright.” you pushed yourself off the ledge you leaned against and walked towards the door, “Come to the maester’s laboratory.”

He followed without a word, walking behind you and silently letting you know he had no intention of speaking another word for the foreseeable future. You had no intention of saying anything else whatsoever, so the walk to the laboratory was punctuated by the sound of your and Aemond’s boots on the stone floor.

His eye was stuck on your form as you walked in front of him, on your hands joined behind your back. He had not seen you so clearly since that night of two moons ago, for he had since then forced himself to stay as far from you and from the places you visited as was possible for him.

He tried not to let himself be bothered by the fact that you had decided to play his game and not try to initiate a conversation as you would have normally done. But mostly, he tried not to let his eye linger on the hypnotising sway of your hips and of your blood red skirt.

The colour annoyed him. You were supposed to be his wife, but the fabric and embroidery held nothing resembling the ones the women in his family wore, and everything to do with women he was not supposed to care about.

Once you reached the airy chamber, the rain rhythm had picked up, but the sky had begun to shift its colours to those that belonged to Dawn.

The smell of pot marigold began to fill the room once you put the plant into boiling water, and you had to gather the courage to take a small jar from a shelf and walk towards him. You did not know why he’d asked for your help when the highest maesters with the best training in all of Westeros were in King’s Landing to tend to any problem the royal family thought they had.

Also, why would he do it if, when you approached, he eyed the jar and the transparent gel it contained with wariness, his jaw tightening? And why had he said he needed assistance if he squirmed away when you raised your hand to apply the poultice on his cheek.

“Aemond-“ you sighed, but he interrupted you.

“What is that?”

His sharp tone made you bite the inside of your cheek so you did not roll your eyes at him. “Aloe. It could alleviate the irritation if you let me put it on the scar.”

Aemond had the audacity to tut at the words that came out of your mouth, but he complied and turned his head to the side. The small victory that filled your chest was shortly replaced by the need to be wary, for you had to take off his eye-patch.

There had yet to occur an occasion when he’d taken off the leather that covered his eye, and you did not know if your curiosity was strong enough to invade his privacy in such a manner.

But you reasoned it was him that asked your help, despite the truism that he did not crave for the touch that came with it. So, you took an internal deep breath and brought your hand behind his head to grab the strand of the patch and take it off.

He did not move, he seemed to be frozen with the cold of beyond the Wall. You thought his breathing had ceased, but when you saw the twitch of his jaw- which he was shutting so tightly his teeth might have snapped- you released a breath.

He was beautiful, and you had known so for a very long time, but nothing would have prepared you for the sight in front of you: the blue sapphire was bigger than you expected, and it caught the light of the few remaining candles right away, casting an eerie and soft light to his features. If anything, it made him more delightful to the eye, in a frightening way.

You told yourself to stop looking, or he would have definitely left. So you unscrewed the lid of the jar and took some of the gel onto two of your fingers before bringing it to his cheek.

His skin was scorching hot, so much so that you felt it even through the cold substance you were applying to the scar. His violet eye was fixed on the stone wall, not moving and inch, but you saw and felt the tension in his entire body, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was your presence that caused such a reaction or the fact that you were touching his scarred cheek in a manner you had never seen anyone do, not even his mother.

You straightened up and screwed the lid back on the jar, turning swiftly around and walking back towards the marigolds. You closed your eyes shut and took a deep breath- that may have been the hardest thing you’ve ever done, on the same level of claiming your dragon.

He watched you, more insistently than he’d wished to as you strained the marigolds from the boiling water. The fresh sensation the aloe left on his cheek reminded him of your fingers, and that made him need to sink his nails into his palm. Suddenly, he felt the room was not airy enough, and he got up swiftly to walk to one of the tall and narrow windows. Taking a deep breath with his eye closed, he asked with words that came out more curt and strained than he’d intended: “What is it you are making now?”

“The poultice I was talking about.” you said quickly, your voice slightly higher than usual. It made Aemond wonder if he was what had your voice raise in such a way, if that was the effect he had on you, because the effects you had on him was making him bleed from his left palm.

Aemond nodded stiffly, letting out a deep breath and feeling the fresh air of the morning hitting the still not absorbed aloe on his scar. “And how often should I apply it?” he asked, hoping you would not notice the fact he was trying not to breathe the flowery scent anymore, because your skin definitely smelt the same way now, and he seemed unable to drift his mind to any other thought.

“As many times you feel you are in need of it.” you answered, putting the marigolds into a mortar, the action leaving a slight yellow tint on the tip of your fingers.

Why was he looking at you? When had he turned around and let his eye wander to your face? He cursed himself internally, for the only candle that was still burning- the one set on the counter where you were working- was casting a warm light across your features, making them even softer, prettier than they needed to be.

He wanted to put that fucking candle off- that was the reason why he approached, of course. “How will I know when it’s working?” he asked, uttering the most superficial and mindless question he could muster. But he forgot about it when he noticed your fingers stilling momentarily at his nearness, and when they started smashing the marigolds again, your movements were not as precise any longer, but more erratic.

You answered the obvious, “If your scar does not pain you as much…” but the softness of your voice almost made Aemond grin. He restrained himself, however, as he halted his steps and stood right behind you.

You felt the heat of his body seeping into you, and you felt foolish for the feeling your mind mastered up, because he was not touching you. “So,” he said, the leather covering his arms cracking when he crossed them in front of his broad chest, “can I come to you each time I feel pain, wife?” His tone was challenging, mocking even, but you heard the slightest bit of hope for you to accept that involuntarily slipped out of his mouth. "What if it's in the middle of the night?" he continued, stepping closer still, making his forearm brush against the middle of your back. "Will you rise from your bed and tend to your husband?"

You sighed and turned around so you were facing him. He was closer than expected, but you tried not to let the things his nearness provoked from showing on your face, despite the breath that caught in your throat. “If you so need it, husband, I will.”

You clearly saw his pupil dilate as you turned and looked up at him, making the purple of his iris almost disappear completely as it got swallowed by the purest black. The sapphire did not have any available source of light to catch, but Aemond was handsome nonetheless. You were completely aware of the blush on your fair skin, showing bluntly to his hungry gaze, but you told yourself that he was most obviously also affected by the closeness of your bodies.

“Good,” he said, almost spat. But then his hand raised and tucked a strand of hair that was left out of your tresses behind your ear. His hand lingered purposely, letting you feel the scorching heat of his fingertips as he trailed them down to your jaw. “I would hate to suffer needlessly.” You saw his eye drop to your lips.

The only occasion in which your lips had met had been the wedding ceremony, and the contact had been brief, chaste. The sudden memory made you wonder what he would taste like. You were aware that he drank green tea most morns and every evening, so that was certainly an option.

Aemond's thumb brushed your cheekbone gently, ghostly, tracing a path down to your neck, stopping just short of your mouth. He could feel the rapid beat of your heart pounding against his fingertips. "Perhaps you can apply it yourself tonight...wife." He whispered, his breath burning pleasantly against the soft skin of your cheek.

The words you spoke next made you doubt all the hatred you had felt all these years towards the man that was now in front of you, asking you to service him and making the undergarments covering your most intimate part wet. “If you wish me to.”

He stepped back, releasing you from his hold, but the heat between you remained palpable. “Yes,” he replied, his voice husky with barely contained desire. "I think I'll enjoy that."

Despite the need you now felt for his touch, you were extremely grateful when his hand fell from your face and he walked out of the maester’s laboratory, leaving you with the poultice you were making for him.

You had never felt like this, what was getting to you? Pleasing a man in such a way? Yield to his desires without hesitation? And he was not any man: he was the one who had married you against your will and fucked you from behind before leaving you alone for interminable days. And he was now deciding you worth of his attention?

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, and opened them again as you released it. You took the mortar back into your hands and continued on with the poultice, forcing yourself to forget who it was for.

Aemond arrived at your shared chambers with fast steps and faster breath. He needed to get a grip of whatever it was he was feeling and stop acting as if he actually desired you. It was an ignoble thought, the one he’d had back in the maester’s laboratory with you. Fucking without the sole intent of procreation was a sin, and he would not inflict such a stain upon himself for someone he had not cared to know for the two decades of his life.

Still, he poured two goblets of Dornish Red and did not touch his until you came back with the poultice in hand.

His eye fixed on you until you stood in front of him, and then he gave you one of the goblets. “Thank you.” you replied as you took it, brushing your fingers against his in the motion. His skin was still hot, but not as much as before. Your eyes stayed in his as you both drank the fresh liquid quickly.

Then, letting out a breath, you unscrewed the lid containing the marigold poultice and took some on your index and middle finger, bending over towards him. He tilted his head to the side, leaving you the space you needed right before your fingers came in contact with his cheek.

His nails dug once again into his palm at your nearness, and also because he had been right: you now smelled of flowers, and he loathed how perfectly it suited you.

Even as his nails stabbing his skin did something to distract him from your perfume, his thoughts were far from calm. He couldn't ignore the way his pulse quickened whenever you touched him, or the way his cock stirred in his breeches at the mere sound of your breath, which was also not the one of a tranquil individual.

“I am done.” you said with haste, straightening up and screwing the lid back on the jar and leaving it on the table, near his goblet. His eye moved to you, taking in your flustered expression and the pink colouring of your cheeks.

Silence stretched between you two as he sat on the chair and looked up to you as you stood in front of him. You did not know whether you wished to run away from him or sit on his lap and grind yourself on him until you shivered with pleasure.

He answered the question for you when he said, “You may leave now.”

You did stand there for a moment after those words exited his mouth, looking at him as his hand fished the eyepatch from his pocket and put it back to cover his sapphire eye. You pressed your lips together with strength to remind yourself what was happening, and you turned and left.

❀❀

What had been tormenting Aemond Targaryen the most, was that he was reminded of you each time he applied the poultice to his scar. He had tried to stop, but it had become almost a drug, both because it made him stop wanting to cut his face and because he smelled you each time. It made it way easier to fuck his hand thinking of you.

A month had passed since the time he’d last spoken to you, and the contents of the jar you had given him were completely gone. It was a perfect lubricant, and it also did something for his scar, which could have been a double win for you, if he’d told you.

It was the perfect occasion to seek you out again without seeming to have interest. He had used every remaining bit so as to show you he had waited as much as possible before coming to ask for help.

He squeezed the glass in his hand as he knocked at the doors of your private chambers, and when your sweet and calm voice told him to come in, he pushed them open. You were sitting in front of your vanity looking glass, braiding your hair simply as you prepared for going to sleep.

“Wife,” he greeted you, relishing in your surprised gaze that met his in the reflection of the glass. He showed you the empty jar, “I find myself in need of your services once again.”

Your brows furrowed, and he was aware that the amount of time in which the poultice had finished must have seemed incredibly short in relation to the quantity of the product. Fortunately, you stood from your chair and relaxed your eyebrows again, approaching him and taking the jar from his hand. His hands were scorching hot once again.

“Do you wish to wait for me here while I make it?” you asked, purposefully ignoring the way his eye was burning holes into your scalp, seeking for visual contact.

“I will come with you.”

As you walked, Aemond’s eye remained fixed on the tantalising way the skirt of your gown moved, and Gods forbid the thoughts that surged into his mind while you climbed the stairs before him.

It could be easy for him to bring you into his bed and satisfy his desire, but he had a completely developed need to strain himself until he could not take it any longer. It made whatever it took far sweeter, and you would have been the most palatable thing he will sink his teeth into. Because he will sink them.

Once you reached the maester’s laboratory again, Aemond sat down on a wooden chair, crossing his ankle over his leg and looking at you while you worked. You did not glance once at him, and you were proud of that as you boiled the marigolds into the water again. That was until he spoke.

“Do you have a lover, Princess?”

That made you turn sharply around, almost touching the pot. You blocked your hand against your stomach, “I beg your pardon?”

"I merely asked if there was another man who had the privilege of warming your bed on these cold nights." His tone remained even, but there was a tightness to it that he couldn't quite mask.” he cleared himself, before standing from the chair and walking towards you with his usual slow and measured steps. “There is nothing wrong with the notion.”

Your mouth fell open at his words, and you weren’t able to answer his question but with a small shake of your head. The notion made you feel slightly out of place. You had always thought Aemond had other women, but the question he asked almost assured you he did, and it made you feel betrayed in some way, because you did not have anyone else. Or, well, anyone at all, because you did not have Aemond.

“Hmm.” was his answer, before his eye moved from you to the pot behind you, “I believe the marigolds are ready.”

You cleared your throat and turned back around to continue with your poultice, draining the flowers and moving them to the mortar to smash them. The scent filled the room again, and you closed your eyes, repeating the motion mechanically and hoping he’d turn away and go sit back on that fucking chair.

❀❀

Three weeks later, Aemond Targaryen was once again at your door, demanding more of that poultice. You wanted to ask him how in the Seven Hells had he been able to finish such an amount of product in twenty one days, but you contained yourself and sighed, walking out of your room and towards the maester’s laboratory without a word, knowing he would follow.

Your strides were faster, and you held your skirt up so as not to trip on the fabric. You wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, so you ripped the stem off the marigold petals as the water boiled, throwing them into the pot before leaning against the countertop.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, knowing Aemond was watching you intently. Fortunately, your hair was down that day, and it covered your face completely.

It was when a soft breath hit your bare arm that you opened them again, and, tilting your head, silver strands came into view before a black leather eyepatch.

“You smell just like them.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear, so as to be able to look at his face without obstacles. “Is it a bad thing?” you asked in a small voice, and despite wanting not to care about his thoughts for he most certainly did not know you, you cared about his answer.

"No," Aemond replied softly, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment. His hand twitched ever so slightly, as if he wanted to reach out and brush a loose strand of hair away from your face. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining his usual poised demeanour. He had learned long ago to hide his true desires beneath layers of stoic indifference. "Quite the contrary," he added, his voice low and husky. "It's... comforting."

You pressed your lips together and turned your head back towards the marigolds- it was time to drain them, not time to blush for the childish words that came out of the mouth of Aemond Targaryen.

Still, how did he do that? How could he always make you feel so small and incompetent with a mere stare. As you transferred the flowers into the mortar and began to smash them, you started thinking of any way, any question that could make him as uncomfortable as he’d made you.

“Do you have a lover?”

You saw him straightening up after the words left your mouth, and you realised you had hit the spot. His hands joined in front of his lap, and he stared down at you as you continued to smash the marigolds- your position made him seem even taller than he already was. “That is hardly any of your concern, wife.” he answered coolly, turning his gaze back to the crushed flowers.

Your movements halted, and you looked up at him, an unbelieving smile on your lips, “Why are you free to ask such questions, yet when I do so you are not willing to answer?”

His eye betrayed nothing of what he felt, except for the distaste he seemed to reserve to you when you talked to him. “You chose to answer, however pathetically.”

The smile, false as it was, faded from your lips. You preferred the version of him that asked you uncomfortable questions and stared at your every move, no doubt. This version made you want to slap him across the face.

And that’s exactly why you did it. He did not move much at the impact- he almost did not move at all- but you hoped it stung as much as it did in your hand. “Then ask a fucking maester for this daft poultice and leave me be.” you spat, grabbing your skirts and walking out of the chambers.

❀❀

You had never loathed and yearned someone in such a way.

The mere sight of his walk, so rhythmic and precise, made the hairs on your arm stick up, and the sound of his steps had your ears inevitably tense up, and they made you hope that he was walking to come to you, to make you go mental again. But he never did.

Even if you heard his steps outside your chambers at night, stilling in front of the door, even if he stared at you across the table during dinner, even if you found him occupying spaces he never used to be in, he did not speak a word to you. It made you incredibly frustrated, and the desire to slap his face again made itself palpable.

It was another full moon, however, and, having lost the last one for Aemond Targaryen, you decided you were not going to cower again. You made your way to your shared chambers despite you wished not to stand in the same room as him and pushed the doors open after taking a deep breath.

You found him there, but you were not going to give him the satisfaction of having a reaction to his presence. “Husband.” you greeted him with a curt nod, your eyes not truly meeting his as you walked to the window. You lent your hands against the window ledge and looked at the source of pale light coming from the night sky.

When he did not greet you, you felt a sense of pride, for that made him a childish man, a pathetic one. Although the urge to speak to him, to ask him if the poultice the maester made was working, to ask him if he could not sleep, was strong, stronger was the need to hate him. So you bit your tongue and stared out the window.

He crossed the room slowly, his boots echoing against the stone floor, making the hair on your neck stand up. However, you did not turn around. "I see you've finally decided to grace me with your presence." He spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. "Mind telling me what's so bloody important about that window?" his sharp voice cut through what could have been a pleasant ten minutes.

“Tonight is a full moon.” you answered, not taking your eyes away from the sky, although you swallowed heavily. “And I was not trying to avoid you, merely going about my day.”

He let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "So, you're here because of the moon, not for me?" His tone was laced with bitterness. Aemond stepped closer, standing just behind you, his warm breath brushing against your neck.

He placed his hand on the window ledge next to yours, his fingers so near yours you could feel the heat emanating from them. You took your hand away, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Bold of you to imply that I am here for you.” you said, feeling both repulsion and a strong arousal at his nearness.

“I imply nothing.” Aemond replied curtly, but his next words dripped with challenge: “These are the chambers in which we are supposed to share a bed. If you are not here for me, I do not see why you should be here at all.”

You turned to face him slowly after his words, your eyes going from his chest covered in dark green fabric to his face. “I will leave, then.” you announced.

Before you could do any move- which you were not going to, for those words were only spoken to make him react- his hand came up and grabbed your wrist. His hold was strong, but it did not aim to hurt. "No," he growled. "We are wed. You will stay." A flash of anger ignited in his good eye as he held your gaze. "If you're so determined to ignore me during the day, fine. But nights are mine." The words were spoken with a low, menacing undertone that left little room for argument. He didn't release his hold on your arm, waiting for your reaction.

But you did not give him the satisfaction, for you turned back around and faced the window, not uttering a word back to him. His grip tightened momentarily, making you feel how boiling his skin was, before he released you.

You heard the sound of his boots, and you turned around despite yourself, thinking for a moment that he was going to walk away. But he filled two goblets with red wine and brought one back to you.

“Am I to consider this a symbol of truce? Or the apology you cannot utter?” you asked him, taking the cold metal in your hand and bringing it up to have a sip.

“Consider it what you will.” he said, his tone still harsh as he did the same thing, but his eye moved to your lips, watching as the liquid slightly tinted the inner skin of your lips of a dark red.

You sighed and turned back around, keeping the goblet near your chest as you looked at the night sky with way less interest than you had when you had come in. You heard him putting the goblet on the windowsill, before he exhaled an intentionally deep breath, hitting your skin and making goosebumps rise.

He looked at the moon too, for some moments, and you wondered what he was thinking about. Then, out of the blue, he took a step forward, making his chest touch your back, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing his palm flat on your stomach. “I did not realise the moon was so much more captivating than I, Princess.” he murmured in your ear, standing so close your perfume filled his nostrils.

“I will continue to pretend it is.” you answered after hoping your voice would not come out broken.

You heard the brief chuckle he let out against your neck as he leaned in closer. “Is all this because I did not answer your question the past moon? Or for the words I spoke?” he asked, his hand moving left until it rested on your hip, “I will admit it might have been a slight overreaction.”

You let out a scoff at his words, taking a big swig of wine to try and forget about his hand on you. “At least you acknowledge it.”

When his hand moved to your arse, squeezing it softly with his warm hand, you thought yourself about to drop the goblet. You were glad when he took it from you with his free hand, that touched yours extremely more than necessary, and finished the few remaining drops before settling it down the windowsill beside his. “I also said you smelled of marigolds, did I not? I said I found it comforting.”

“You did.” you said with what was your remaining voice, before stating more confidence, “You brought me the wine as an apology.”

“I did.” he blurted out, his hand stilling for a moment before it went back to your hip, as did the other one. “I am sorry.” he confessed then, making you feel far from pathetic after having Aemond Targaryen apologise with no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

But when he squeezed your hips, brought you back to reality and pressed his erection to your back, he made you suddenly realise what was happening. His breath ghosted on your neck before the tip of his nose brushed your jawline. “Does my apology satisfy you, wife?” he asked in a husky whisper as his hands roamed your waist.

The warmth of his body seeped into yours and into the fabrics you were wearing. You imagined he felt the same fires stocking his insides when he breathed out as if oxygen was just given back to him. He brought you closer still, massaging his cock with the curve of your arse, as if the mere contact was enough to fulfill his burning desire.

You leaned over the windowsill and rested on your elbows, arching your back nonchalantly and looking at him from behind your shoulder. “I believe it appropriate.”

At your actions, his mouth fell agape, and he looked down at your arse, pressed against his lap in such a tantalising manner he seemed about to rip the fabric off in one tug, letting this game you played cease. His hand moved to caress your back, and it returned to your hip when his eye found yours once again.

He pressed himself harder into you, as if to be sure you felt the extent of his hardness, the full lenght of his desire. “Do you wish for me to show you just how sincere my apology can be?”

You bit your lip, looking at his strong hand covering your hip and wrinkling the soft fabric of your nightgown, and nodded.

Aemond let out a deep breath at your consent, and he bent over you slowly, eyes closed, as he massaged your hips roughly. “Shall we move to our bed, then?” he asked, using the possessive adjective purposefully.

It made you grin, and you straightened up as he did the same, before facing him. With a hand on the side of his neck, your nails grazing the contour of his jaw, you led him to the bed, before pushing him to sit on the softness.

You reached behind your back, and undid the bow that kept your nightgown tight. He spoke when your hands moved to the button at the back of the collar, “Can I be of any-“

“No.” you interrupted him, looking at how his violet eye darkened at your firm answer. You let the light fabric glide down your shoulders before you bared your chest to his view, and then your stomach, and your legs.

You took a step forward, completely naked before him. He breathed out again, raising a hand and placing it on your hip, almost testing if you were really not just a product of his fantasies. “Devine.” he said in a whisper, genuine and unfiltered, as he ate you with his eye as much as he could, taking in everything possible in the dim light of the full moon.

Your hand found his shoulder once again as you climbed on top of him, the softness of your thighs against his sides. Your hair concealed both your faces from whatever else was in the room, and you took off his eyepatch right before it fell discarded on the stone floor.

It was obvious the slight discomfort he felt, but he did not let it linger, for his tapered fingers trailed down your waist to your thigh and felt every dip and curve in its way. “May I touch you?” he asked, the purple in his iris completely replaced by the black of his pupil as he stared up at you, his thumb tracing the edge of your pussy.

One of your hands left his shoulder to find his between your thighs, and you guided two of his fingers to your entrance, letting out a breath as he began exploring your wet folds.

Aemond’s mouth parted at the feeling of your slick cunt, testament of your desire for him, and slowly pushed inside, relishing in the tightness around his fingers. He started moving slowly, curling his fingers before sliding out of you completely and filling you up once again.

You started to grind your hips against his hand, coating his milky skin with your arousal as you threw your head back and moaned. The sound made the grip of his hand on your hip tightened so much you were sure it would have left a bruise, but you did not stop him.

Your nails scratched at the base of his neck, giving him the signal to pick up speed. His fingers moved faster, making you cry out as he leaned forward and started tasting the skin of your neck like a man starved, nipping and kissing, licking and biting.

Another moan escaped your mouth, and his fingers went even faster, fucking your tight cunt until, added to the sound of your moans and his rugged breathing, there also was that of the wetness inside of you.

Heat flushed through Aemond as you moaned on top of him, the sound alone enough to make his cock swell with anticipation. He was mesmerized by the way you responded to his touch, each gasp, each little movement driving him madder with desire. He thought he might just release himself simply from watching you ride his hand, but he fought it back. He wanted more, so much more, and he wouldn't let his own pleasure interrupt this moment. The feel of your cunt clenching around his digits, your body writhing with ecstasy, was worth far more than the temporary relief of orgasm.

In a swift move, he picked you up and stood upright, keeping his fingers inside your cunt even as he laid you on the bed. He moved on top, one of his legs between yours, and he slipped his fingers out of you.

At the missing contact you whined, bringing him closer with a hand on the side of his neck. He let out a satisfied smile and leaned into your ear, “Patience.”

His lips found yours hungrily, then, making you taste the wine you had just consumed and the fire that burned on his tongue, while his hand still cupped your sex possessively. You moaned against his hot mouth, rolling your hips to tell him you wanted more.

He grinned and broke the kiss, and before you knew, his hands were gripping your thighs, sinking into the soft skin, and his mouth hovered over your dripping pussy.

You wanted to ask him what he intended to do, but it became quite clear when he replaced his fingers with his tongue, savouring every last drop of your juices, ready to bring you to the brink of pleasure.

You moaned loudly, finding his hair right away and pulling the silver and silky locks to urge him closer to your dripping heart. Your feet lied on his back as you closed your eyes, a sensation immensely stronger than the one you felt alone started to be felt in your lower stomach.

Aemond's breath was ragged, his lust evident in every touch, every kiss, every stroke of his tongue against your sensitive flesh. As he teased your clit, his one good eye focused intently on your face, drinking in the sight of your pleasure.

Your taste was intoxicating, your cries music to his ears. He craved this, this raw display of passion and trust, and he intended to make the most of it. He slid his tongue inside of you, thrusting in and out before returning to your clit and replacing it with his fingers, relishing the way your muscles contracted around them.

He felt your body tense, your breathing quicken, and he knew you were close. He increased his efforts, determined to make you scream his name- or whatever title you chose to give him in that moment- to the heavens.

You came undone, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Aemond continued to lick and suckle at your clit until the last tremor subsided, only then crawling up your body to claim your mouth in a possessive kiss, sharing your taste with you.

Your vision returned when his lips collided with yours, finding entrance to your mouth right away and caressing your tongue with his. You moaned into his mouth, willing your legs to stop shaking after your orgasm.

He broke the kiss, and brought his hand to his lips, tasting you on the fingers he’d used to bring you the best pleasure you had ever felt. He looked down at you as he did so, shifting position so as to remind you of his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

“Strip.” you breathed out in what sounded much like a plea to your ears, but the frantic motions in which he did what you said made you understand how desperate he was to stretch you out.

He quickly revealed his toned and flawless chest to your eyes, before taking off his trousers with equal haste. Stepping out of them, he locked his eye with yours as he slid off his breacheas. He took his hard cock in his hand, pumping it slowly as he positioned himself on the bed once again, the pressure of him on his knees making the mattress sink.

Precum leaked from his head, and you remembered how it felt to have his seed inside of you after your wedding night. He gripped your knee, spreading your legs apart guiding his cock over your still trembling pussy.

His breathing was extremely laboured as he looked down, “I do not have a lover.”

The confession made your eyes shoot up to his, wide and attentive for what he was about to say, but no other words of the matter came out of his mouth. “You… You do not?” you breathed out, needy for another reassurance.

His eye went to you, and he shook his head. Then he licked his lips and leaned down to your ear. He left a ghost of a kiss on your cheekbone, making the skin tingle, before moving to your ear. “No, sweet wife… But, if you must know, I have fucked my hand countless of times thinking of this perfect cunt of yours… And of your smell, most of all.” he whispered huskily, his hand coming to rest on your hip, squeezing the flesh.

He left you wordless and with ragged breathing as he straightened up. His hand found his hard shaft again, and he slapped it against your pussy, coating your clit with his precum and making you squirm for the touch on the still sensitive part.

He watched your reaction with dark intensity, a hint of satisfaction flashing across his features at your responsiveness. His thumb stroked the bundle of nerves lazily, even if completely aware, while his cock teased your entrance. He knew you were ready, yet he took his time, prolonging the torture for both of you. "Do you want me?" He asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yes!” you almost yelled, making his lips curve into a predatory smirk. With a triumphant grin, Aemond positioned himself at your entrance, feeling the wetness and warmth that awaited him. His hand left your hip, gripping your breast instead, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, teasing you even further.

When his hand moved back to your hip, but he made no sign of moving, you rolled your eyes, “Aem-” but you could not finish saying his name that he thrust into you with a ferocity that was just short of violent, and a groan escaped him at the sensation.

Despite the loss of gentleness that he offered to you as he took you for the second time, you could not deny that was exactly how you wanted him to fuck you. Your moan reverberated loudly through the walls of your shared chambers as he pounded into you with a ferocity that made your walls clamp down on his length.

His hips snapped forward with unrelenting force, burying his length deep within you, eliciting another loud moan. The sight of you writhing beneath him was enough to make him lose control, but he fought to keep himself in check.

He savoured the feel of your body tightening around him, the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, and the soft whimpers that fell from your lips. Aemond couldn't help the thought crossing his mind: she was his now. His to claim whenever he wanted, his to protect, and his to pleasure. It filled him with an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction that bordered on possessiveness. "Fuck," he growled, the sight of his cock disappearing into your depths driving him closer to the edge.

He pulled out abruptly, causing you to gasp in surprise and protest. He hooked both hands under your knees and spread you out to him. “Was I blind to wait this long to take you again?” he asked almost to himself as he drank the sight of you, glistening and trembling for his attention.

With one swift movement, he entered you again, making you feel another orgasm approach. You sunk your head on the pillows, your mouth opened as he started thrusting again, moans of pure bliss and satisfaction coming out of his mouth.

One of his hands moved to find your soft thigh, “I want you to look, wife.” he said almost pleadingly. “I want you to look as I claim you again, as my seed fills your beautiful cunt.”

You bit your lip hard but looked down at his cock as he moved fast, making you take it inside, which you did greedily. It all made your walls tighten around his length even more than before, making him grunt out a moan.

“Gods,” he whispered gravelly, furrowing his brows in pleasure but still maintaining his gaze on where your bodies joined, “It’s so fucking perfect.”

He slammed into you even harder then, but his erratic thrusts made you understand he was about to finish. “Fuck…” he grunted again, and he leaned over your leg, bending it and letting his cock deeper inside you.

Your hand found his neck, bringing him closer while applying pressure to it as your cunt spasmed around him. You closed your eyes shut in pleasure, but the iron grip on your thigh reminded you to look as he had ordered.

So you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, feeling your throat going raw at the contained screams of pleasure while you came around him. Your grip on his throat loosened drastically, for your strength was now completely drained out of you, but then he buried himself inside your cunt to the hilt, sliding out to do it again, all accompanied by his moans into your ear as he emptied himself inside of you.

You saw the arm that he was holding upon to give up, and, spent, he lay on top of your chest, his skin glistening in the candlelight due to the sheer layer of sweat on it.

Your hand found his hair, pushing the silver strand away from his face. He sighed heavily in a weak attempt to regain his breath, and rested a hand on your ribcage, letting his thumb trace circles on the skin. “We will continue once we have rested a moment.” he announced, making you breathe out a laugh and raise your eyebrows.

“Aemond,” you said with a lingering smile, your free hand finding his back and tracing the same circles he was on you. “It has yet to pass a minute.”

“I am fully aware,” he replied, moving to rest his chin on your sternum so he could look up at you. “We have been married for five moons now, and this is the second time I have you… I need more.” he said, his eye serious as he bent to leave a kiss on your skin.

[finelinevogue]

let’s go home

summary - jack nearly gets taken from you and you’re worried that you’ve ruined everything

pairing - aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

word count - ~2k

❗️ warning : near kidnapping / physical violence

It all happened so quickly.

One moment you were holding hands and the next he was gone from your grasp.

It was so fast that you wouldn’t have even registered it if it hadn’t been for the devastating scream of his voice calling out for you.

“Y/N!”

Your whole body shook with adrenaline as you turned around and noticed him being taken from you.

“Jack!”

The crowd was so busy that you almost lost sight of him.

You had come to the park with Jack to get some fresh air. His dad had been pulled into meetings all day and so had asked you to mind him like you usually did. Jack had wanted to do something fun, so you’d suggested the local park.

You had completely forgotten there was a fair on so hadn’t accounted for how busy it would be.

“Hold on tight to me, okay bud?” You had said to him.

And he had been doing such a good job.

But you’d gone through a busy patch and you couldn’t control what would happen next.

The crowd split as you screamed for Jack’s name.

His hand had felt tugged out of yours and you knew he wouldn’t let go without your permission. Your worst fear came true when you turned and saw a random man tugging Jack away with him.

“Hey! Stop!” You yelled, hoping someone else would step in. “Someone help!”

The man started running, pulling Jack along.

Luckily Jack was still only little so they didn’t get very far.

You ran towards them like your life depended on it, because it really did. If you lost Jack you would never forgive yourself. It would be the worst occurrence in your head.

And God…

What would Aaron do?

Before you could entertain that thought you caught up to Jack and pulled him back and behind you.

Without thinking you swung your hand into the mans face. You had never done it before and you definitely did it wrong, because your thumb is definitely not meant to hurt that much after.

Your knuckles connected with the man’s face his head turned with the force.

The crowd gasped as they watched on.

Hopefully someone would be filming so you could at least show Aaron the footage and get this bastard arrested if he fled.

Your other hand kept a tight hold on Jack behind you.

You turned to Jack for a moment, “You okay?”

He nodded with teary eyes and wet cheeks. You were so furious and scared but you had to hold it together for Jack.

Before you could confront the kidnapper - because that’s what he was - your face got punched to the side and then another punch went straight into your stomach, making you keel over in agony.

That moment was what it took for some crowd members to interfere. Two men caught and shoved the man on the floor, holding him tight as they called for someone to call the park security.

For you though, you were trying to process a single thought.

The punch to your head had completely shaken you and the secondary punch to your stomach had winded you.

You hunched over so bad that you had to fall to your knees to try and ground yourself (literally).

“Jack.” You said with pain, wanting to check that he was still next to you.

“Yeah?” He asked, holding onto your hand.

You blew out a breath.

Fuck that hurt.

What was going to hurt even more was the redundancy notice Aaron was going to serve you as soon as he found out about this.

Of course you knew this could’ve happened to anyone, but you couldn’t help but think it felt personal. Like whoever the kidnapper was had been testing your ability to prove yourself and you had failed.

You’d become like a best friend to Jack over the months you had been his nanny. Now it felt like you had just ruined all that progress by letting him down in the worst way possible.

Someone else came down on the floor near you and you immediately grabbed Jack’s hand tighter and pulled him closer.

“It’s alright. Ma’am are you okay?” It was a woman speaking.

You looked up and noticed it was the parks security.

You nodded shakily.

“Is there someone I can call?” She asked.

You looked from her to where two members of park security was handcuffing the kidnapper whilst another one was taking some witness statements.

You then looked to Jack who looked really shaken still. You tried to smile but it hurt to move the muscles in your face.

Looking back at the woman you nodded weakly, “Aaron. Aaron Hotchner. From the FBI BAU.”

She nodded and immediately got to it.

You let out another deep breath before looking back at Jack. You held his hand with one of yours and used the other stroke his cheek carefully, making sure he wasn’t bruised or anything.

“Sure you’re okay?” You asked him.

“Was scary.” He admitted and it made you want to kill a man for making him feel like that. You’re sure Aaron would.

“I know, I know. I’d never let anything happen to you though.” You promised even though it felt like you’d already broken it.

He nodded.

His hand reached out to your cheek carefully.

“You’re bleeding.” He said.

You had to bite your lip to hold down the sob you wanted to let out.

This whole situation has been bad start to finish. It was rubbish that you felt like this but it was even harder having to hide how you felt to protect Jack.

“I’m okay.” You lied.

Another lady came over to you then, offering you a hand up. You took it generously, not letting Jack go.

She helped you up and you turned the other to wince as your stomach straightened. It didn’t feel good at all.

The lady helped you over to a nearby bench, the crowd slowly carrying on instead of staring at you. The kidnapper had been taken away by the park security, but you had no doubt they’d be back to talk to you and Jack.

You thanked the woman as she left you and Jack alone.

Jack immediately clambered into your lap, sitting weirdly but in a way that he could wrap his small arms around your neck and rest his head on your chest. You rested the good side of your face on top of his head.

“You’re okay now.” Jack said and it made a couple of tears fall down your cheeks.

Your tongue had to reach out and catch them before they could fall into his hair.

Jack, bless his heart.

This boy was so pure and lovely. He was completely lovely and it was all because his dad was the best role model.

Aaron was continually kind to you. He was always making sure you were comfortable at his house when you were over - which was nearly always. He would always buy in your favourite teas and juices so you didn’t have to bring your own. He constantly praised you and credited you for pulling him out of his darkest moments.

You had been there for Aaron and Jack when it felt like no one else could be.

You had slowly weaved your way into both of their lives.

Which is why it was all the more painful and scary when they could be taken away from you so easily. So carelessly in your case.

“Jack! Y/N!”

Jack’s head popped up from your chest and he immediately clambered off your body.

“No, Jack wait.” You said panicked.

You tried to move quick, but your stomach burnt as you moved. You swore to yourself over the pain, but calmed yourself down when you realised Jack was running towards Aaron. Spencer and Emily were close behind him.

“Dad!” He shouted.

Aaron bent down to catch him in his arms, bringing him up and hugging him close. You could tell Aaron was doing his best to think about all the good things right now.

He had Jack in his arms. He was okay.

You felt like you could finally breathe now. You didn’t have to shoulder everything anymore, even though you were worried for what Aaron would say to you.

Jack wiggled out of his dad’s hold and Aaron put him on the floor. Jack guided him over to you.

If you weren’t sure you had a concussion you might’ve noticed that Aaron was wearing your favourite suit he owned. He was so damn handsome and it was infuriatingly frustrating when he was constantly in close proximity to you.

“See, dad! Y/Ns poorly.” Jack explained as they came to stop in front of you.

Spencer and Emily suggested to Jack that they come with him for a moment.

Aaron crouched down in front of you then. You dropped your head so you didn’t have to look at him.

“Y/N.” Aaron said.

You shook your head, allowing more tears to fall.

Your cries were heavy and your body wracked, which only hurt your stomach, but you couldn’t dare face the anger of a terrified father in front of you.

“Sweetheart.” Aaron’s hand came to cup your chin softly, forcing your head to look at his.

His eyes immediately went to your beaten cheek and the blood there. His jaw clenched as his eyes wandered. It would no doubt bruise ugly.

“I’m so sorry.” You cried.

Aaron frowned, looking at you with those permanently sad eyes.

“What are you sorry for?” He asked seriously, dropping his hand so he could cup both of yours together in both of his.

You looked to Jack, who was playing around with Spencer and laughing to his heart’s content.

You couldn’t help but let out another cry, dropping your head again.

It could’ve turned out so different, so quickly, today.

Aaron could’ve come here and it could’ve been just you sitting on the bench. It was that fact alone that terrified you and caused you to cower into yourself.

Aaron tried to catch your gaze with his.

“Hey.” He tried, “Y/N, look at me.”

The authority in his voice is what caused you to look at him.

One of his hands left yours and came to wipe the tears from your cheeks away his the pad of his thumb.

He moved so delicately over the skin on the battered side of your face. He always was so delicate with you. You think Jack’s kindness and tender heart comes from his dad being a gentle giant.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But…”

“Stop, I mean it. Please.”

You pouted but let it be.

“Please don’t fire me” You asked, your voice sounding so small.

Aaron gave you a small smirk, something you believed he only reserved for you.

“I don’t think Jack would let me even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

You nodded, feeling relieved.

“I’m sorry that this happened to you.” Aaron said.

You smiled at him, raising your combined hands up so you could delicately boop his nose with one of your fingers. Aaron smiled at the silly gesture.

“If I’m not allowed to apologise, then neither are you.”

“Okay.” He agreed. He paused before asking, “Well in case that case I want to say thank you for doing everything you did, for Jack.”

“I… love Jack. I couldn’t imagine anything happening to him.”

“I know.”

“Feel so s-stupid.” You said shakily. “I was holding onto his hand, Aaron, I promise.”

“I know.” Aaron smiled sweetly at you.

You knew you didn’t have to keep defending yourself to Aaron because he knew that none of this was your fault. You knew, perhaps only deep down inside of you, that he would never have been mad at you, but that’s the way your fear manifested itself.

You’re just glad they got the sick son of a bitch who thought he could get away with it.

“I punched him.”

Aaron frowned, “Who? The unsub?”

You chuckled, “He’s not an unsub Aaron, but yes.”

“You’re right. He’s screwed is what he is. At least he will be once I’m done talking with him.”

“Alright Agent, settle down.” You played along, laughing before wincing when your cheek stung from the movement. “Damn it.”

Aaron’s frown returned for the umpteenth time that day.

“I need to clean you up.” He said.

“It’s just a graze:”

Aaron spluttered out a profanity that would make Jack gasp with disbelief, but it made you giggle.

“I’m cleaning it up and bandaging that too.” He pointed to your hand. “Honestly, punching with your thumb tucked in.” He mumbled to himself, like he was more disappointed in himself for not teaching you the proper way to hit someone.

His affection towards you and his worry made your heart feel pulled towards him. It was a dangerous feeling but one you don’t think you’d mind acting on.

“Come on.”

His knees clicked as he stood up, forcing you to look up at him now.

“Let’s go home.” He held a hand out for you to stand up, only he didn’t let go once you were stood.

In fact he kept a solid grip on your hand until you relaxed and allowed your fingers to intertwine with his.

You gazed from your hands up to Aaron, giving him a soft smile as if to say ‘I hope you feel this too’.

Aaron turned to Jack then.

“Hey, buddy? Pancakes for dinner?” He asked and Jack cheered, Spencer lifting him up and twirling him around in glee.

Aaron looked at you, waiting.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

[alli-ily]

I am so sorry for just replying now- BUT LET ME YAAAAAP NCKDJJDJDJD‼️‼️

FIRST OF YOUR OC IS SO COOL AND ABSOLUTELY CUTE????? 😭😭😭🫶🫶💜✨✨ I LOVE THEIR STORY SO MUCH AND I AM SO DUMB FOR FORGETTING THE WORLD BUILDING INFO'S, I'LL DEFINITELY GET INTO THAT ONCE I FINISH MY OTHER TO DO LIST 😭‼️BUT I LOVEEEE HOW DETAILED THIS IS 🤩🤩✨‼️ (in fact it might not even be all of it huh...👀)

The way you literally built Siyun's personality and background, how they're so traumatized sweet, stronk, hard working, and doesn't abide by strict orders/rules because who cares about that anyways- 💅✨ aND AND THEY'RE GIVING GOLDEN RETRIEVER VIBES⁉️⁉️🤩🤩🤩✨✨✨ (rip for Azul btw, bro is being stared at by Siyun so hard that he can't even do anything about it XD)

I am literally smiling so hard when I first saw this and even now 😭😭‼️ I was shocked that you even put a thought about my OC 🥹🥹⁉️⁉️ BFKDJDJSJSKDJF TYSMMM 😭😭💜💜✨SO IN RETURN HERE'S MY THOUGHT FOR THEIR INTERACTION AND LORE DROP ‼️‼️

just some explanation about Ariya's family background:

The house of Adler (Ariya's surname in this universe) is a family of Knights and was known for their contribution to the country’s military strength and mastery of swordsmanship; because of this, the monarch gave them permission to build a school to further spread knighthood and their art in swordsmanship to knights-in-training. This made her family a former powerhouse in the field of combat and producing powerful knights. But now that her father is the one handling the legacy, an incident happened in the process; an unknown group of people killed a high-ranking figure in the court using the technique that their family was so proud of, and this sabotage is the main reason why they had no choice but to shut down the school and the start of the once-prominent Adler family’s decline. (Ariya was trained by her family and an unknown person at a young age and proved her immense skill in this regard *she is a dual sword wielder*)

What if they met in a swordsmith shop?

Ariya is definitely surprised to even meet such a genuine person in this world of masks since Siyun's "kind" is rare nowadays, but after interacting with them out of curiosity and interest with her happy and soft facade, she came to a conclusion that they're just really nice and hopeful. (She also noted Siyun's eyes, how they lit up with familiarity towards her and the way it furrows into..pity? *that got her a bit annoyed* Ariya also observed their armor and movement, making sure they're not trained under her Family's art of swordsmanship.)

Once Ariya's curiosity is satisfied, she'll probably just remember Siyun as some unfamiliar knight who knows her family's downfall and not outright look for them to gain connections or suspect them because of her history with knights...it's probably out of pure luck if they will still meet again and surprisingly Ariya keeps bumping into Siyun whenever she's out investigating or doing errands (she is very alert but knows she somehow magnet extroverts that keeps wanting to adopt befriend her- she's introvert :'3)

Their friendship will probably be a bit fast because Ariya is mostly out snooping for evidences while she keeps bumping into Siyun and Siyun will probably be persistent (? please correct me if I'm wrong) because they want to help her with her investigations.

In the end Siyun got involved in one of her snooping's that escalated into fight making Siyun officially see Ariya with no facade and the infamous Adler swordsmanship with a mix of Ariya's own unique and elegant twist to it. (her double sword and swordsmanship is actually inspired and similar to Elizabeth Midford from Black butler hehe) Siyun will of course still help despite Ariya's words to let her handle it, making the fight more easy and swift with their own swordsmanship's harmonizing. At the end of the event, their bond will definitely grow strong, making Ariya compliment Siyun's combat and art genuinely because she is a lady of culture 🤌🤌 Once they bond more, Ariya will be more comfortable with Siyun, talking to them like a real friend with no facade and will even invite him to train if she has free time.

please notice me, prince!! ♡

au by @alli-ily << i've been meaning to join this au for a little while now hehehe

*click for better quality LMAO,,, sorry i have no idea why it's so fucked up but i did transcript the important stuff down here if you want

sir? dame? siyun (aka azul's worst nightmare)

"though they are very capable, they're quite unpopular with nobles as they tend to disobey even direct orders if they figure that there is a more efficient way to do things. they're also a little too honest for high society's taste."

siyun hails from far away lands, practically another world (hehe nod to them being a yuu). it is known that they have two younger siblings and that their parents are both well but it seems that they are no longer in contact.

...ashengrotto despises them (they give him SO many headaches, FREE HIM 🙏🙏)

some more stuff utc,, ARGHHH I BRAINROT OVER AUS LIKE THIS SO FAST💔💔💔 it's the evil manhwa lover in me

ALRIGHT SOOO.... the reason why i keep mentioning azul is because In My Head (please correct me if i'm wrong/you don't want me making up stuff HELPPP i didn't know what to go off aside that there's a bunch of kingdoms and nobles), he was accused/is suspected of embezzlement and siyun was dispatched to monitor him.

...they might as well be the bane of his existence honestly. embezzlement is likely the one crime he has yet to commit but with a highly competent knight keeping a close eye on him, it's gotten a lot harder for him to do anything that is remotely not outstanding-member-of-society material, which pisses him off to no end (...that's kinda just his own assumptions though LMAO, siyun does NOT care that much about the matters of some rich merchant,, unless someone gets hurt that is).

ANYWAYS. this made me think i should probably write down how they feel about lady ariya and prince shin

starting with lady ariya

siyun truly admires her resolve to clear her family's name. but they also can't help but feel something akin pity for her, the path she chose for herself will be long and arduous, especially alone—very few manage to walk out, head held high and pride intact. still, she seems like a promising young lady and siyun is a hopeful person, "i will assist you should you ever call for me."

prince shin (@liyuviq)

humble beginnings, big responsibilities. it's a bit presumptuous, but siyun sort of relates to the illegitimate prince. perhaps not fully—they never experienced Suddenly Being A Royal and sincerely hoped they never would, even in another universe. however, they can relate to the whiplash, the struggle to cram into a few months—no, weeks—everything the other nobles learned over the years, the stares, the whispers... they remember how it all felt, and when they look at their highness shin, they can only hope that they will rise through it all. "then again, i do know i am not your highness. perhaps you don't feel even a fraction of the dread that filled me back then—i would be very glad if so."

i hope i'm not overstepping 👉👈,, aghh also open for interactions for anyone interested hdhdhhdshd, i haven't checked the tag yet HELP

as for the hypothetical target of their affection,,, i fear it may be butler jade 💀💀........... I'M A SUCKER FOR BUTLER X KNIGHT ARCHETYPE 💔💔💔ALSO I BRAINROT OVER YUNDE 2MUCH💔AH AND quick lore rundown

i imagine their knighthood still stands in another empire—or kingdom,,, sorry my knowledge of the world building here is a little vague HDUAJHF. anyway the point is that they are skilled enough for the royal family themselves to take them under their heavy golden wing—until the ashengrotto accusations and they're given bits and pieces of their freedom back.

I'M REALLY SORRY MOOTS THIS IS JUST ME YAPPING ON AND ON..... but like this au's really sick‼️‼️‼️ tags - @heyhellohihowareyou @elenauaurs @distant-velleity @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @skriblee-ksk @sickle-stick @puowei @jadelover69 @tixdixl @nemisisnemi @angelwishess @theleechyskrunkly @chillygourami @bunniehunn @cheerleaderman UUUH DID I FORGET ANYONE.....

[canyonmooncreations]

Okay so bratty princess reader x bodyguard tf141 has me in a chokehold and I love it so much. Is it okay if we get more of readers internal thoughts about why she’s so polite and lovely around Simon? Like I can imagine one day princess is down in the kitchen late at night looking for more ice cream and Simon is down there brewing some tea trying to wind down for the night, and as per usual brattyness, princess asks- no.. orders Simon to make her a bowl only to be met with, “Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that luv?” Does princess care? Fuck no, and when Simon doesn’t follow directions she goes to make a bowl herself only to be met with Simon grabbing the ice cream and raising it in the air away from princess, which was easy thanks to their height difference. Gently saying “I jus’ said that it’s too late for some ice cream, let’s get some tomorrow yeah?” And princess is just in shock. She’s never been told no, and even if she was it wasn’t like THAT. Her brain all frazzled with Simon’s authoritative yet gentle demeanor, she just gives up and scoffs, mumbling little threats under her breath as she stomps up stairs to her room.

I also see princess all embarrassed about that interaction because she’s so used to men her age not being like Simon

Also is it okay if I become 🐚 anon? :3

I love your writing so much !

Hey anon… you just got me out of my writer's block and I even felt the need to break out my laptop for this and I have many ideas for more parts…. Love youuuuu and yes you can be my little sea shell anon :)

This takes place before the last part as a little bit of backstory on why our bratty princess is only an angel for Mr. Riley 

“Mr. Riley. Two scoops of ice cream. Whipped cream on top.” You barked out. Not a please, not a thank you, and it definitely was not a question. If your father was to insist a broody man be with you at all times, they could at least be useful, right? 

“Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that luv?”

Seriously? Who is he to tell you it’s too late for ice cream? Fuck that. You give him an eye roll, missing the way his demeanor shifts at your attitude. If you paid any attention to him you’d see he is enjoying this little attitude of yours. You move to the kitchen determined to get your sweet treat. You get your bowl and the scoop, then walk around the beast of a man and head to the freezer. As your hand reaches for the ice cream, Simon’s large hand beats you to it. 

“Come on!” You’re getting frustrated. Maybe you should report this to your father, but what would he care? They’re job is to protect you, not ruin your life. 

“I jus’ said that it’s too late for some ice cream, let’s get some tomorrow yeah?”

It is like your brain short circuited. Did he just tell you no? You couldn’t remember the last time someone told the princess no. But the way he said it, in the deep yet calm and authoritative tone? It is hard to process. You let out a small huff and groan (and maybe even a little stomp). As you make your way back upstairs, you replay the conversation over and over in your head.  

The way his body was so close to yours, his eyes looking down at you from his hulking frame, and the way his face was soft yet suggesting you don’t try to argue with him. His whole demeanor, his body language…. 

You catch your face turning red and can’t help but groan as you flop into your bed. Who is this man to tell you no?? And why are you so flustered by it?? 

The next day as you roll out of bed the night before still plays on repeat in your head. All through your morning routine you can’t help but feel flustered. You are just hoping they have switched shifts and you don’t have to confront him again today. 

The world is not on your side this morning…. When you walk down for breakfast, there he stands in the kitchen nearly in the same spot as the night before. You can feel your cheeks turning heating up again. 

“Mornin’ princess.” He grumbles out. Your new bashful and embarrassed demeanor does not go unnoticed to him and you miss the way he smirks slightly. Is that all it takes to tame the bratty princess? A simple authoritative tone? 

You reply with a short good morning and begin to fix your breakfast. 

“Sit down luv, I already made you breakfast.” 

You are shocked to find yourself following his orders thoughtlessly. It is like your brain just turns off and does whatever he tells you to do. And to be honest? You kind of like it. 

Your eyes go wide as he delivers a bowl with two scoops, whipped cream, and sprinkles. 

“Told you we would get some tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Thank you, Mr. Riley.” You give him a small smile trying not to melt at his tone yet again. 

He smiles as he turns around knowing that he’s got you tamed. It was much simpler than he thought. Just some authority and gentleness? From this moment on, you don’t question him. You never argue. You are simply a sweet princess, but only for Mr. Riley.

MASTERLIST

[zombaebitez]

Jackson!Perv!Ellie that can't stop staring at reader's white top cuz she can see her nipples under it? (Reader forgot to put on a bra since she never wears it when she's gonna sleep and she had to wake up early)

ellie williams x fem reader

zom’s note: i wrote this in like 20mins pls spare me, (i didn’t outright mention r! forgetting to wear a bra, just that r! isn’t).

word count: abt 535

warnings: slight nsfw content, ellie imagines doing stuff to reader, unknown/perverted staring.

Completely, and utterly fucked. That’s what Ellie has concluded about herself. What was supposed to be a chill hangover at her’s, turned into a sleepover; a common happening. It wasn’t the sleepover that made her feel like she was about to lose her damn mind. You had an early morning, but whined about how much you want to still hang. It's a win-win solution.

What did make her feel this way was what you were wearing, or lack of. Okay… let’s be honest, she knew she was in the gutter. You innocently decided to strip down to just your white shirt and underwear, to be comfortable sleeping. Sure, that’s fine. But, did Ellie keep taking small glances your way as you undressed, attention turned away from her? Hell yeah. She did it each time. Were you oblivious to her intense gaze? Maybe, fuck she didn’t know nor did she care.

Your soft skin, the curves of your body, the line of your back, hair unstyled… your tits. Okay what the fuck— as you kept moving around, putting your stuff on the couch, and picking up the mess you two made, she noticed the extra bounce, then the obvious outline of your nipples. She couldn’t help but not stare, while you were basically prancing around in her room half naked.

Ellie bit her lip, following them intently zoned out. Maybe it was a little perverted, especially when she felt that pang of arousal low where it shouldn't be. Scratch that, definitely perverted. But god she wanted you. Could easily just walk up to you, stop you in your tracks, wrapping arms around your waist that quickly trailed up to your clothed tits. Easily able to thumb over the hardness of your nipples, could lift your shirt up to feel the warmth of your skin. The touching leads to her wanting to taste, you’d be nice enough to let her. She’d quickly make her way to place small kisses around your chest, your body shivering in the process, and then finally…

“Ellie!” She jumps slightly, quickly looking up to your face. You looked slightly concerned, making your way to sit on the bed where she was. “Ellie, you okay? I was trying to get your attention for a second.” Ellie nodded quickly, clearing her throat as the bed dipped next to her.

“Yeah I’m all good, just deep… in thought?” She winced at her own sentence, wringing her own fingers, a small pang of… guilt? Thrill? Want… Need? You merely hummed a lighthearted ‘clearly’, getting comfortable on the bed, ending with a stretch. She glanced down towards your chest again, before looking away so fast the girl could’ve gotten whiplash. Mentally cursing herself to ‘not fucking stare again’. Ellie laid next to you in her bed trying to get comfortable, she didn’t have to fall asleep like you did. But god, was she about to force herself.

She knew she had to, or else the thoughts would fuck her up. You would fuck her up; but she’d let them… and you. That feeling deep down, progressively getting worse. A perverted lust over a close friend, a crush, a desire. Maybe no more sleepovers for a few days.

[la-principessa-nuova]

first off i want to say that everything you’re describing here are all very much thoughts that went through my head at some point, and not just say that they will get better, but to give you the additional datapoint that i had all these same thoughts and yet for me it has gotten better.

I ended up writing a lot so i guess read whatever you feel like (as always) and i’ll put it after the fold so it doesn’t take up too much space on people’s dashboards:

that creeping sense of doubt of what if it’s all wrong or what if i can’t do it can be so hard to go through, and I’m sorry that you’re so deep in that right now. it did get better for me with time. it still comes into my head from time to time, especially when i’m around people who are deadnaming/misgendering me a lot or in an environment where i’m not out, but it definitely gets easier to deal with, a little bit just over time but especially as people around you start respecting your name and pronouns and treating you like a woman (either bc they change or bc you change your surroundings but either way).

for me, the thing that has helped the most in combatting the doubt, and you mentioned this already, is that counterpoint that when you think about going back, about having to pretend to be a man again, it feels so bad to think about. Because once we’ve had a taste of self-actualization, the pain of hiding and being someone else is just so much more noticeable with the context and the language/mental model to describe it. But that feeling is such a clear and present form of gender dysphoria that always reminds me why I’m doing this.

When I question if I could really be a woman because it seems so uncomfortable to push through all the conditioning that I’m not allowed to be, I think about being a man and it seems so foreign and so wrong that it helps me distinguish the feeling of truly not being a gender from the fear of the unknown and the fear of putting myself and my femininity out there to be rejected.

And when I fear that I will never pass and be read as a woman, I think about all the years that I was failing to pass as a man. All the rooms full of men (and boys earlier on) who tried treating me as one of the guys and it felt so wrong, and when I would use one of their phrases to fit in and it felt so gross coming out of my mouth. Never fitting in, never being truly part of things. Physical features are actually way easier to change than how we think and feel.

And when I think about the same situations with women, while there was a discomfort, introspecting on that made me realize that what I was feeling was that I wasn’t allowed to be there. I feared rejection from the group I wanted so badly to be part of and yet had been conditioned to believe I could never be. I felt like my presence in those settings was obtrusive, offensive, and threatening. These were all things I needed to work on (and still do to an extent) that clouded my sense of belonging within those groups.

i think it might help to show that this stuff gets better if i share a bit of my own story.

i first realized that the feelings i’d had about being more feminine and not like one of the guys meant that i was trans when i was 19, sitting in my dorm. it was the first time i had been away from home with peace and time to myself to think enough to do some deep introspection. i processed a lot of what i’ve mentioned and a lot of what you’ve mentioned at that time, and it was so overwhelming.

i didn’t think i could ever even tell my parents, and they handled all of my medical appointments and things still, so there was no way i felt like i could “medically transition” (whatever i thought that meant at the time). so after initially figuring things out, I just stopped thinking about it. I got busy with school and getting a job and I let that stuff keep me distracted, and every now and then when I had some time alone I would think about the fact that I’m trans and my gender and just feel this huge sense of cognitive dissonance as i continued to tell myself it’s not an option.

I convinced myself that even though I was technically trans, I didn’t need to transition, I could just get through life knowing for myself and hopefully one day I can find a partner who will be respectful enough about trans stuff that I can be open with it about her and that will be enough. But I was lying to myself, and eventually that all caught up with me when I moved out of my parents’ house and had some free time to introspect again and privacy to not be embarrassed reading about and watching videos by trans people explaining everything.

And then finally after 8 years I had a moment where it really sank in that I had to transition. I realized that while I could maybe keep myself alive and go to work and find some little joys along the way, I could not live until I transitioned. I realized that I could never relate to a partner who is expecting me to be a guy, and that at best I could hope to make it to old age and die sad and alone with no real friends and no partner. I realized that my creative pursuits were suffering because I wasn’t experiencing life. And I finally realized how many things that, even knowing I was trans, I hadn’t realized were manifestations of gender dysphoria.

And even after that, I still had doubts, and for the first 6 months or so after that they were so strong that I was afraid to come out to anyone irl because I didn’t want to pass the point of no return where I couldn’t just quietly throw away all my feminine things and go back to before. Even now they come and they go, but I know how to get through them without letting them send me so far into a spiral.

And when I started transitioning, I felt like there was zero hope of it working. I felt like I looked so masculine and like I could never be read as a woman, let alone completely “pass”. I thought I’d get laughed out of the room if I ever told anyone I was a woman and asked them to call me a different name and use she/her pronouns, especially my parents. I thought I’d pass so poorly nobody would ever see me as woman. But already, only 9 months into HRT, people do, and people have even earlier on.

But in some environments, people who know me from before still see me as a man in a wig, and it hurts, but it’s getting better with time. My conservative dad who had said severely transphobic things over the last few years, just a couple weeks ago, called me Sabrina for the first time. And in the conversation afterwards referred to me as his daughter. It gets better.

You will learn how to handle these struggles and avoid spiraling with time, and even if you never pass, the world will become more accepting in the long run.

As for your fears about the difficulties of transitioning, they are very valid, but while stressful and difficult, I have found them much easier to handle than the moments/contexts where I’ve had to boymode a lot and started to get sucked back into the before-times.

I’ve also come to realize that I was overestimating a lot of the difficulty and that fear was the hardest part both to experience and to overcome (although context: I have OCD and that definitely played a role, and also I live in a very blue state). The biggest step that reduced the most stress for me around transitioning was finally actually accepting that it was my life to ruin as I wanted. That I can disappoint my parents and that’s fine actually. That I can dress in ways that clash or don’t quite work and that’s fine. That I can not quite perfectly cover my stubble or make my body shape conform to feminine standards and most people won’t notice or care or think that means I’m trans even.

And also that outside of your family, people tend to care a lot less and get used to change a lot quicker, and if they don’t, you’re not stuck with them. The one exception I’ll say is possibly school, if you’re still largely with a cohort of people you’ve known for a long time (idk how common that is with like some in sixth form and some at college if i understand the uk school system correctly).

So for me there was a lot of like accepting that I can do it wrong and adjust and eventually I’ll get there. And that I have to woman badly to learn how to woman well. Like I have to actually put on makeup if I want to get better at doing it. I have to talk to cis women about things I still feel like I’m not allowed to in order to get comfortable with it. And learning to separate out those insecurities to know how to deal with them one by one.

idk i kind of rambled for a bit but hopefully some of this makes you feel less alone and maybe gives some advice on dealing with things. (and oh god i’ve been writing for 2 hours??? why can’t i do that for my book like i do for tumblr posts?)

i think im starting to accept that im a girl and. im just heartbroken

i feel robbed, i couldve been so much happier and im grateful that ill get to be, but its all so much more complicated. its not fair

i shouldnt feel as calm as i do. it seems so up here but i feel like its just stress masquerading as quiet. i just dont have the words anymore

they should get to work on that button

[soulsdontbreaktheybeeend]

Look around, look at all these people. I will no longer allow any of you to keep me down.

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[hungergameshyperfixation]

Not to be that person but Panem had nearly 75 full Hunger Games before their system of government was overthrown. 75(+?) years. But things changed in the end. This too shall pass (but not without active participation)

[rafaelcb]

"Yes," he smiled, nodding his head, "just not with my own two hands." That would have been a feat. Where Rafael knew plenty about houses in terms of selling them, he couldn't say that he knew all that much about getting them built, what went into making that happen. Thankfully, for him, he knew plenty of people who understood the process, though. "I hired a local to lead up a construction crew and it all came together pretty well." Now it was a sort of castle on the hill, the dream home that he had spent so many hours going over plans for, picking out this and that, discussing options. His smile softened when she asked if he was close to his parents still, nodding his head. "Very much so. My father serves on the board of the company, my mother -- well, you'll see, but she stops in a lot with food." That was Isabella, though. When she wasn't baking or cooking for her son, she was volunteering at the hospital, or attending book clubs. He could only hope to be half as active in his life when he got to be his parents' age.

"So it's not something that you're used to," he nodded with understanding. Rafael got it -- he did. When people lived in different areas of the world, they were going to be used to different things. Sometimes that meant that they craved a little bit of spice and flavor, and sometimes it meant that they were going to sweat their way through eating something that wasn't bland. Different strokes, he knew. "I'll… try my best not to," he grinned, taking a bite of his food and letting it rest on his tongue thoughtfully, before chewing it down and asking, "so when you moved out and you were able to try all of those foods that you didn't have before, were you nervous? Or excited, and wanted a little bit of everything at every moment that you could have it?"

And then, the deep question. One that he mulled over for a moment, reaching for his glass to take a sip of wine moving it around in his mouth thoughtfully. "I needed to get out of New York. That wasn't negotiable, I lost my job, I had just ended a relationship," which was a very glossed over way of saying that his wife had filed for divorce and he had been fired from a prestigious firm, but they would cover that when the time was right, he knew. "Moving to Maine on a whim based on a job offer was a big undertaking, and I definitely spent a while wondering if I had made a mistake. I thought New York was cold, this was cold. The work was… decent. Steady. Not nearly as high profile or dramatic as the cases that I had taken on in New York, so that was a change, but eventually I started to find my people. I made friends with a local blueberry farm -- he's since passed, but I'm still friends with his family -- and he was my first real client. Then he helped me get more clients based on word of mouth. And I started to realize that there were big hearts in small towns, and despite my," he raised his brows a bit, "high tastes and rough exterior, I think just getting to know the people helped to soften me. If that makes sense."

"So you did build it? In a round about way?" Aurora had been joking, but the way Rafael spoke about building something so beautiful out of nothing; because he could, because he wanted to; caught her off guard. "That's such an amazing thing to do, I bet they're so grateful. You guys are close, I take it?" To say she was in awe by that piece of information was an understatement. Aurora was by no means from a modest background; her parents owned a lake house in north Sweden and she grew up in Lapland - a childhood woven by winter dreams. But, she hadn't necessarily reached the stage where she surpassed her parents success either, and she knew they wanted her to. She wanted to. She just wasn't sure how yet. But when she did, if she did, she'd want to give back too. "Oh, we're so polar opposites!" she said. "I do like spice, don't get me wrong but we're Swedish - well German and Swedish - but I was raised in Sweden, so bland and dull runs through my blood. Actually, a little grotesque to some." Sipping her wine, she smiled. "You know, I never had anything like curries or things specifically from other cultures until I moved out at sixteen." She shook her head. "So where you had spice, my life was pea soup, pickled herring, a lot of bread," she laughed lightly, "Don't be too jealous."

Aurora's eyes wandered, this time around his kitchen. She'd already noted the bar they were sat at, it didn't particularly bother her - if anything, it felt on brand. A table with many chairs for someone who, no matter how many friends they had, was solo? It didn't make sense. She didn't have one either; most of her dinners were eaten in the living room, over her laptop. Also pretty on brand. "–How did you know you'd done the right thing?" she asked, her hands landing back on him again. She wasn't sure if she'd meant to vocalise the question but it was out now, dancing between them as it waited for her to add context. "Living here, I mean. When did it start finally start falling into place?"

Because God knows Aurora couldn't wait for it to be her turn.

[pyrriax]

6, 12, 30 for the writing asks ^_^

6. What’s the last line you wrote?

Shaking its head in what seems like disbelief before meeting his eyes again, almost like it wants to say something before it makes a noise like a growl, "oh, you're one of those seraphs, aren't you. A star-eater. No wonder you act like you've lost your mind."

(ignore that that's a couple sentences, the Thought is important)

12. Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them?

Oh yes! I outline my fics thoroughly. Though, I do allowed myself to deviate as much from the outline as I feel like when things go off the rails. Some snippets of planning from a couple fics & concepts:

My outlines are very... One for one. With some exceptions. I tend to basically write a very brief version of the fic and try to get the feelings and words right before I actually write it. This is... Also why it can and will take me a month to write a oneshot. I try to get things Right.

30. How much do you edit your fics?  Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

So! I edit them a bit? I edit while I work, but often I don't really touch anything I've already written unless it's something longer that might be taking a few months to get through. I think the fic I've edited the most is the prologue of Artificial Stars, which was originally a quickly written 2k oneshot into about 5k of actually decent fic.

Usually I don't edit to make something shorter/more concise, since I tend to only come up with more ways to bridge concepts when I go back to it. Also to be fair... There's usually no difference between first draft and final product. I cannot be asked to edit my fics after I write them, I just release them to the birds and pray for the best. (Unless I actually decide to show it to my beta reader in full instead of just sharing snippets as I... usually do.)

Conclusion: Rarely, those thangs are being given to the world as-is unless something is horrifically wrong with them

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.

[fingertipsmp3]

Ughhhhhhh I hate writing and I hate not writing and I hate myself

[thethingything]

I'm fatigued, my back hurts, I accidentally spent like 3 hours sat downstairs in a chair that made our back feel worse because our executive dysfunction prevented me getting up and going back upstairs even though I only went down there to get one thing, and now I really need to lay down but if I accidentally fall asleep again I feel like I'll wake up, realise I fell asleep and also that I feel like I wasted a big chunk of the day, and I'll end up feeling even worse again

[talkorsomething]

Me when everything is hard & i know why and i just have to get over myself But Also

[sweetteaanddragons]

I have been thinking lately about a universe where Bruce Wayne killed the Joker.

I want to be clear here, since there are so many longstanding debates on this topic: I do not think Bruce Wayne should kill the Joker. I have just been wondering what would happen if the circumstances aligned in such a way that he did.

And to be clear on a related, yet slightly different topic: when I say I have been wondering about what if Bruce Wayne killed the Joker, I do not mean as the Batman. I mean Bruce "Brucie" Wayne.

Maybe it's kind of an accident? Like, he definitely did intend to hit the Joker, but he's Brucie right now, so he's trying not to look like he knows what he's doing while still doing enough damage to keep the Joker from killing someone, and meanwhile the Joker makes just the wrong move and -

And here we are. Brucie just killed the Joker.

Bruce's reaction here is one thing; he has his one rule for a reason, he's just broken it, he's determined to turn himself in -

His family's reaction is a whole different story. How does Cass feel about this?

How does Jason? Bruce has killed the Joker, just like he wanted, but it wasn't for him, not really, and -

And meanwhile, this happens in front of, say, a gala full of people, so now all of Gotham gets to react to it too.

Average Gothamite, seeing the words BRUCE WAYNE, JOKER, and KILLED in the same headline: OH, NO.

Average Gothamite, once they've processed the order those words are actually in: . . . I did not have that on this year's bingo card.

The city's most famous mass murderer has just been publicly killed by the city's biggest employer/philanthropist/source of tabloid harmless nonsense! Three days before Brucie was making tabloid headlines by tripping into a fountain and somehow losing his shirt in the process! Two weeks before, the newspaper was running a retrospective on the Wayne murders and what donation Brucie was making to help the families of victims this year! The article mentioned how one of his adopted sons had also tragically become a murder victim!

Now this has happened, and Bruce is having a breakdown over breaking his one rule, and the rest of Gotham just assumes that this is because poor Brucie thinks this somehow makes him like the man who killed his parents. They send a huge outpouring of support his way. This in no way helps Bruce's actual breakdown.

Ninety percent of Gotham is sure Brucie didn't actually mean to kill the Joker, and pretty much a hundred percent of them support him whether he meant to do it or not. No one wants to have anything to do with prosecuting this mess. Bruce is trying to make it as clear as possible that he will fully cooperate with the justice system and meanwhile an entire gala full of people is suddenly acting like they could in no way have possibly witnessed events that took place ten feet in front of their faces. Did Bruce kill the Joker? Is the officer sure? That doesn't seem like him. Maybe the Joker just tripped on his own. Marble floors, you know. Very slippery.