apothe-roses

[apothe-roses]

BELATED ANNIVERSARY

-ˋˏ| summary: With war going on, Tom forgets about your aniversary, and tries to make it better... in the same day. ✧ | Pairing: Tom Bennett x reader ✧ | word count: 6.3k ✧ | Warnings: 40's mindset, mentions of war..., just fluff and comfort.

✧ | note: this was supposed to be uploaded for valentines... but i didn't finished on time and then things happened, BUT here it is. two months late. Special thanks to the people who gave me suggestions in this post! thanks to @yoursweetheartsrevenge @ladylokianna @slytherincursebreaker love ya!

“What’s that dress all about?”

Vera was a tiny bundle of joy, no doubt, squirmy and she’d let some squeals from time to time. Lois would knit clothes and things from her. Tom still danced around the subject, he didn’t judge Lois and he loved his niece, so he never asked unnecessary questions… yet. 

“We’re going to meet Harry on tomorrow, so you don’t need to babysit” Lois says, as she sits Vera by Tom’s side -he can’t still believe he named her daughter after the fucking canary- “It’s a special day for you, innit?”

“What, it’s my birthday?” Tom asks playfully, smirking as Vera babbles.

Lois looks at him with a raised eyebrow, as she takes out the washed diapers, and she starts folding Vera’s clothes.

“No, it’s your anniversary” Lois says as if amused that he had no idea what day tomorrow was “What, you ain’t taking your darlin’ out?”

“Are you joking?”

Lois was in fact, not joking. His anniversary was, in fact, tomorrow and he had nothing prepared.

He had to have his shit together in less than one day. He tried to get reservations in fancy restaurants to no avail, since everything was full in advance. He tried to get the house alone for you and him, but his father looked at him unimpressed as he could not simply spend all day somewhere else. Fine, let’s have his dad in too. 

He could get a reservation for the new ferris wheel that had been making a fuss in town. It had been from ages now, he supposed that with the war, it was not a priority. He could get one ticket, since he knew you wanted to try it and he thanked God, as much as he wasn’t the most religious bloke, but sometimes he had to thank the Big man. 

And, since Lois was busy with Vera, he took upon the role of cooking sometimes, and he knew how to make spaghetti with meatballs. Nothing fancy, but he could make it work. (And besides he had to make the dish for three, but hopefully he can convince his old man to eat in his room)

Next thing on his list was having his formal attire as clean as possible, so he had someone wash it and iron it for him. Formal attire? His uniform was better anyway, since he was discharged a few weeks ago. He could wash it and look even more formal.

He had the bad habit, at least before the war, to knock on the window of your room, asking to be let in by you. 

“Doll” It’s his voice as he knocks on the window, hoping you’d open up.

It was always a sight to his eyes to see you in your nightgown, ready to get on bed. It was a sight not everyone could get of you.

You appear into his view, with a raised eyebrow and your arms crossed. You open the window, not really welcoming with a kiss and a hug as he is used to. 

“You forgot about our anniversary” it’s the first thing you say to him. He sighs, a lazy smile on his lips as he thinks how to win you over again. 

“How could you think that?” He says, trying to hold your hips, but you weren’t budging. “Look, I might have not remembered, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything planned.” 

“It is tomorrow and you just appear now”

“I’ll make it up to you” he promises, leaning to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Will you let me do so?”

Even if you seem reluctant, you nod softly after giving it some thought. You didn’t seem quite confident in his promise, but it was better than being left like a fool. 

He sits on the bed, and shamelessly pats his lap so you can take a seat in there. “Forgive me, doll. How foolish of me, to forget about my darling” he says, caressing your face. “I have a little something prepared, but after lunch, it is.”

“Where are we going, then?”

“That’s the thing with surprises, they are a secret”

“I want to know what to wear” you tell him with a raised eyebrow. “I intend to look pretty”

“Why don’t you model for me, hm?” He asks with a smirk. 

“Do not be crass” You say smiling “I have a few new dresses.”

“And do you have a few kisses to spare for this poor man?”

You roll your eyes amused yet you press a kiss on his lips, which he delights himself in accepting eagerly, kissing your lips and holding your waist to keep you close to him. 

“You only need to look pretty for me, which you always do” He says pressing kisses against your lips, and he separates and adds “And wear something that will drive me crazy”

“You have to ask for my mum’s permission to take me out, you know?” 

“Of course I do know that” he says smirking “And I’ll do so, and then we’ll have a wonderful day together.”

He sees your sweet face, and feels bad to have forgotten such a day, trying to make it up with kisses, and hopefully, a great day tomorrow. 

“You came just to invite me?”

“Mmmm, no. I came to see your face, to have you in my arms… to hear your precious voice…”  

“You are…” you say, rolling your eyes. “You do know that my family is in the next rooms, right?”

“I won’t wake your ma or pa, love”

“You better not, because there is no chance they’ll allow me to be with you if they know you sneak here”

“Why? I am a charmin’ lad, innit?” he says cheekily, making you smile.

“You do have a reputation, love” you remind him. “And I wouldn’t like to stop being your girl”

That has him smiling genuinely, his heart fluttering at your sweet words.

“I don’t want that either” he says softly, kissing your cheek. “I’ll better get going, then. There is a day full o’surprises tomorrow”

“Till tomorrow then…” you whisper, following him to the window.

He turns back to press a gentle kiss on your lips, his tall frame over yours. “Until tomorrow, doll. Just you and me.”

Once he got home, he tried to leave everything ready, but he slept awfully the night before. He was so anxious that you'd kill him. You were the type to resent when people forgot about your birthday, not in an envious jealous way, but in a sad-puppy-face way. And since it was your anniversary?

Even when Vera cried first thing in the morning, which usually woke him up, he was already awake, putting on his suit, and trying to look spotless, and not get too much brylcreem on his hair. He needed to smoke so badly, but he was afraid he would stink to cigarettes when going to your house, and give a bad impression to your mother.

Great heavens, your mother. What will she say when he asks for permission to take you out for Anniversary on the same day? He was so screwed. He always asked with anticipation, much more because he knew you parents valued it. 

He had known your mother a handful of times, was very protective of you and your siblings, and she was not easily impressed. It was as if nothing he ever did was good enough, and that… was an odd feeling. He was always polite, trying to use his best posh accent with her, even offering himself to say grace before eating, but she never seemed quite pleased with him. 

And in honesty, he could see it. You were too good for him, and he always tried his best. He made you laugh, he was a gentleman, he never did something you would despise. 

He knocked rhythmically three times, sighing as he nervously held the flowers. His hair was practically stiff from using too much brylcreem, and his perfume was a bit too much. He could swear he had stung his fingers with the thorn of the roses and he didn’t smoke a single cigarette all morning to avoid smelling bad. 

“Mr. Bennett.” Your mother greets him, and he nods. She opens the main door, and she steps back to allow him to enter. 

“Good morning, Mrs….” He says softly, and he sees you in the back.

He wanted to hold you tightly, kissing your cheeks and calling you his girl… if you were alone, that was.  

“Are those for me?” You ask, moved, with a soft smile turning in your face.

“Eh… no, these are for your mother…” he says a bit awkwardly, and stiffed up before handling the roses to your mother in a chivalry gesture. 

Your mother raises an eyebrow, and takes them, to inspect them. “Put these in water” She says simply, a silent way to tell you to go away. 

You put them in a vase in the kitchen, and you quickly walk to the stairs to see what they are talking about. Your sister, Lydia, was already peeking from there. 

“What are they saying?” you ask her softly, curious to see what they are talking about. You saw your Tom, so self aware and stiff as he tried to make a good impression and take that wayward reputation of his go away. 

“He wanted to ask something important” your sister says softly.

You open your mouth, and say “You think he wants to marry me?” 

“I think he is just a bloody fool who forgot your anniversary” your sister says softly. “He is all shy trying to make it better, it’s too late, it’s past midday”

“Hey, language” you say softly, but it was half true, by the way he nodded when your mother scolded him about asking permission hours before taking you out. “He didn’t forget, he just… he has a lot going on..”

“Yeah, right”

You got ready as fast as a girl could. Pick a nice dress, and your sister did your hair as you applied makeup and lipstick to your face. If you were taking long, whatever, he could wait, after all, he had forgotten partially about it. 

You were distressed about it, yes. Tom and you had been together for a while,. He was your darling and you were his, and an anniversary is quite important for every couple, and everytime you thought he would tell you his plans for it, he never did.

You were a bit shy when your friends reminded you of it, when you had to pray that Tom would invite you to do something exciting soon. You could invite him, but you weren't sure if he would like that. 

Tom had a plan; he had more than one trick under his sleeve. Knowing people in town had its perks when he was this desperate. 

“Look at ya” he says, as you get down stairs with a smile, and your mum waits by his side. “You look absolutely gorgeous love” 

You get by his side, squinting your eyes at him. He knew it would be hard to win your forgiveness, but he was willing to do it. 

“You behave well” your mother says to you, before you two leave the house.

“I’ll bring her before sunset, ma’am” he says, his composure still a bit rigid.

Tom was glad you didn’t scold him in front of your mother, but you waited when you two were alone.

“You really forgot about it?! You said you.. you had things planned” You say as you two walked in the street. 

“I know I fucked up, alright? I should've asked ya to be my valentine.”  he says in self defense.

“you should have! why didn’t you?” 

“Because… I forgot, love, between the bloody war and…” he says, as he stops on his tracks to look at you, he is truly remorseful “It's just been a right mad time lately, y’know…, what with everything going on and all…”  

You look at him, your expression is sympathetic as you knew the war had taken a toll on him. He didn’t speak about it, but you could see it sometimes. He just came different, even if he was the same charming and cheeky man, there was simply something that was different. 

“Give me another chance, yeah? Let me make it up to you.” He says with a huge grin, as he takes your hand to playfully pull you closer to him.

“Mmm, fine, aye, but I am not an easy lass, Tom Bennett. You have to win me” you say looking at him, and you can see his cheeky smirk slowly appearing on his face, yet relief accompanies his expression.

“You ain’t gonna regret it” 

Taking the bus was particularly anticlimactic for an anniversary, but Tom made it all fun. He let you sit by the window, and he started to point and say all kinds of things about the people in the streets, the cats, the dogs, the houses. 

He leans closer to you, whispering all kinds of silly comments, about how a man was ridiculously wearing a jacket made too big for him, a woman wearing something from the past century, and on and on. He tries to make you laugh, and from time to time, he leans to kiss your cheek sweetly.

“And where’s our stop?” You ask him softly. 

“Aye, doll, that’s the secret, innit? I have tons of things planned” he says smugly, as he looks so different with his sailor suit, but he is, after all, still Tommy. 

You really liked that he was still him. You have heard of men after the Great War, coming back different. Surely, they were the same person, they lived in the same houses, had the same families and jobs. Yet there was something off about them, their lives changed, and it was as if there was not a coming back to before.

And you were terrified for Tom. You cried when saying goodbye to him, you begged him not to, all to no avail. He soothed you, but pulled away to take the train and leave for Liverpool, before going on a ship to be part of the War. 

“Mhm” you say, not impressed as you raise an eyebrow with the curves of your mouth turning up in a smile as he leans to leave a little peck on your cheek. 

“come on, doll, trust in this good ol’ sailor” 

He loved when you played hard to get, he had to be honest. He liked the challenge of changing your mind, it was refreshing. And there was always a different way of doing it. 

“Why are you wearing your uniform?” You ask him, as you walk by the center of Manchester. 

“It gets me benefits” he whispers in your ear with a smirk. “In the pubs, I get free drinks”

“Aye, and lasses throwing themselves into your lap” you say stubbornly. 

He chuckles, looking at you as he takes your hand to kiss it gently, almost in a reverent way. “I ain’t have lasses throwing themselves at me” Tom says cheekily “Only one, and she is with me now” 

You roll your eyes, even when your lips curl into a smirk at his comments. He was such a cheeky flirt, and he knew it very well. 

“Look, they are doing a puppeteer show” you say softly to him, which he nods. 

Perfect. He thinks.

“Why don’t ya stay here and watch it while I go to get ya something, eh?”

“Let’s go together” you say softly, looking at him. “I don’t even like it that much…”

“No, no, no, no, doll. I’m spoilin’ ya and makin’ it up to ya, no need to get ya ‘ead in a tizz about it. I’ll just pop out in the front street and come back before ya can even miss me. I’ll buy some things we need for later”

He was playing with fire, he knew it damn well.  He crosses the street, walking towards an Italian store where he knew they sold pretty good pasta to make at home. It took him a few minutes and all, but he finally got the ingredients left. 

With the package in a bag, he walks hurriedly back to you. Leaving you alone was already rude as it sounds, and he certainly doesn’t want to leave you alone, or make it seem as if he was uninterested in you. Lost in his hurried walk, he almost stumbles across a small flower stand. It was perfect for you, you loved roses and plants. 

 He can see you, on the other side of the street getting impatient. He left you watching some puppeteer show as if you were a bloody child, and he knew you’d berate him for it. 

“Hi. What kind of flowers are the prettiest?” He asks the owner of the flower stand, a bit hurried up with this because he wants to take you to the next place quickly, and not to make you too mad thanks to the wait. 

“Ehhhh…” the man says, glazing over at the many flowers he has on display. “All of ‘em are pretty”

“Aye, but I want a proper lush bouquet”

“With what colours?”

“With reet nice colours, bright n’all that, y’know, red, white or blue…” 

“The normal one costs around… 20, and it could be wrapped with ribbons and such…”

“I’ll take that one” he says, taking the money out and giving it quickly, hoping it will be quick.

Tom couldn’t be more exasperated, as the time he was taking in settling a nice bouquet together was awfully long. It was just flowers, and all combinations were nice and pretty. 

“no need for it to be fancy…” he says as he sees the old man picking some flowers almost too carefully to set them together. 

“Yeah, no worries” 

Tom looked at you, arms crossed and annoyed. You were going to kill him. He saw how the man took his time, picking small flowers, and taking some leaves out of the bouquet. 

“Can be quick?”

“Certainly, sir” the man says. “Would you like a small letter to go with it?”

“Aye, sure…” he says absent mindedly, and he frowns slightly when the paper and pen are given to him. “I thought it came with an already written message…”

“It is better to admit your true feelings…”  

Tom sighs, he was losing time over this and it was causing him a headache. 

The paper wasn't that big, it was almost like those business cards, and he tried to be as delicate as possible as he leaned to write on it. As he writes it, he tries to think about his feelings, being concise yet thoughtful. 

After a few moments, he tuckles the card and places it in the bouquet, carefully between the roses. The bouquet was perfect, and he could hopefully earn your forgiveness. He would hate to see your disappointed face all the date, instead of a happy and carefree expression.

“Thank you, this is perfect” he says softly, even if it took the seller an awful long time, but whatever, it was at least nice. 

He feels as if time got wasted and his chances of making it right to you were going awfully wrong. He spent so little time with you the last months, thanks to the war, and he didn’t want the next memories you had of him become bitter and sour because he forgot an important date and everything was going against his plans.

With The bouquet in hand, he crosses the street almost too quickly and imprudently, but he has a charming grin when he gets back to where you are. He might have taken some ten minutes, more or less, to take all of this, but he thinks a romantic gesture never dies. 

“Sorry for keepin’ ya waiting, doll.” He says as you look unimpressed, arms crossed and your expression a bit upset. “I got you, though, a nice somethin’ to remember me…”

Your face lights up considerably upon seeing the pretty bouquet, you loved flowers and plants. He knew all about them thanks to you, because he loves to hear you talk about what you are passionate about, and obviously, feed your hobbies.

“It took longer than I anticipated, didn't mean to leave you here so long, and… and I was so nervous I gave your bouquet of roses to your mom.. and..” he tries to make it better “I wanted somethin’ nice for ya, y’know. I had to make it up for my special girl”

You sigh, rolling your eyes amused. How could you really be mad to this man? 

“It’s fine.” you say softly “Just don’t do it again” you say, seeing the bouquet and seeing the small letter, as you take it in your hand.

“I won’t” he promises, smiling softly as you take the letter tucked into the roses. “Go ahead, read the note”

“My heart is yours, now and forever.” You read the small letter with his messy handwriting, even if he tried his best to make it legible. “You signed off as Thomas?” you ask, the annoyance on your face going away as you smile.

“That’s my name, innit?” You roll your eyes as he grabs your hand to kiss it with a cheeky smirk on his lips. “I guess I went a little too formal, aye. But come on, we still have more to do”

“Good God” you say, as you definitely didn’t wear the right pair of shoes for this. “That’s a lot for a man who forgot–”

“I am making it up to you”  he reassures you, taking your hand in his. “And you’ll see why I am using my sailor suit” he smirks proud of himself as you two walk together in the park. 

It is only when you two reach the end of the Ferris Wheel that he keeps walking with you by his side.

“What do you have planned?” You ask incredulously as he skips the line, going straight up to the man checking the tickets.

“Nothing”

“Thomas, I know you-”

“I am usin’ my… acquaintances' for our lovely date. Do not fuss over it, love” he says shrugging, and he can be so annoying  “People look up to sailors, we are fighting for this bloody country. Might as well shorten the line to take the ferris wheel with ma’ darlin’.” he says with a cheeky smirk. 

“Unbelievable” you say, the curves of your mouth turning into a smile nonetheless. 

You try not to care for looks, Thomas walks confidently as if he had everything sorted out, which is quite horrifying as he has nothing planned by yesterday. 

Tom discreetfully (or maybe not so much) handles a small wad of cash to the man, who he takes it. "Thanks, mate," he whispers, taking his uniform hat off as he glances back at you briefly.

He guides you, your hand interlocked with his as he walks closer to the next gondola. 

“In you go, doll” 

“This is so wrong” you mumble amused, as you enter carefully on the ferris wheel. It was a two-seater, and open in the air. 

Tom settles the security bar in your laps, and he says “Aye, I am doing me best, love” 

“I am not complaining” you say, as the ferris wheel starts to slowly work. You look amazed by the technology of it, as he leans back and takes off his hat. 

“real nice, innit?” 

“it is…” you agree softly, leaning back as you hold the security bar. 

“sorry if it is rushed” he adds, as you two start going up. “I mean it”

You think for a few moments. “It’s fine.” you simply state “I am grateful for the chance of us being together, even if you forgot. War hasn’t been kind to everyone. And I appreciate that… even with all, you still tried to make it a nice day for me”

Tom hums, a slight smirk on his lips as he extends his arm to be around your shoulders, pressing you closer to him. 

“Of course” he murmurs, pressing a kiss on your cheek. 

You two remain silent for a bit, you rest your head on his shoulder as you see the view of the cities of Manchester. He is awfully quiet, knowing how chatty he could be, and you enjoy his presence, as best it might be thanks to the war. 

“It does have a nice view, you know” your tone is soft as you speak, the flowers he gave you on your lap, as you made sure they don’t slip to the ground and get crushed.

“That’s the idea, doll” he replies, his tone soft and intimate. “To get the best view and… Well, maybe sneak one kiss or two one we’re at the top” 

You open your mouth, a chuckle leaves your lips as you lean back to see his face “Thomas!”

“What, you don’t wan’ a kiss or two from your darling?” 

“Well, yes, but…”

“Then it’s settled” he says, moving his face closer to yours to press a small kiss on your lips. “We’ll have tons of kisses”

“Just kisses?” you ask, raising one eyebrow to him.

“Hm” he murmurs amused, his lips curving into a smirk. “I wouldn’t say so, but not in here… we could break this thing”

You roll your eyes playfully at his comment, and you look at him. “I definitely don’t want to fall… you think people have fallen from here?” You ask him, looking slightly down at the ground.

“We are not going to be the first ones, love”

You two enjoy the ride, pointing out things in the ground and how small everything looked from up there. You two nervously laughed when the gondola rocked forward and back, and you two gripped on the security bars and to each other. 

You two giggle as you get down, Thomas extends his hand so you can get down, and you feel a bit dizzy but ultimately very happy at the same time. He looks ultimately handsome when he smiles, more than his sassy smirks, but his truthful, genuine laughs, his happiness reflecting on his face. 

Tom liked to spoil his girl, he liked treating her with gifts and surprises, which was a surprise as to why he had forgotten about this. But again, it was impossible to stay mad at him for long.

“Are ya hungry?” He asks as you two walk towards his house, you know the streets and you have been here a lot of times.

“Mmm, a little” 

“Well, I have a little something left to do.” His tone is overly confident, as he nods. Some of his strand falls over to his face, and he makes sure to follow the role of an utter gentleman. “C’mon doll”

You always liked Tom’s house, it had a homely touch to it. It was never as posh as yours, but it seems slightly more full of life. 

“Ah, hello” Douglas greets you, as he was reading the paper. 

“Hi, Mr. Bennett” you greet him back, politely. “Have you had a good day?”

“Yeah, I went to the cemetery, to give flowers to my wife” 

“That's so sweet” you say smiling, almost turning to see Thomas for his reaction to it.

“Will you cook now, son?” Douglas asks Tom, ruining without knowing his last surprise.

“Dad…” Tom groans, almost grumpy because his last effort had been spoiled, as if almost urging him to go upstairs. 

“Yeah, I’ll go…” 

“Do not worry, Mr. Bennett” you say, as you don’t want to make a fuss. “We can stay in the kitchen, Tommy. There’s no need..” 

“Fine… We’ll be in the kitchen, dad” Tom says, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards his kitchen. 

Thomas was not a man who did the home chores, sometimes he cleaned the living room, or helped Lois rearranging the rooms, moving the heavy furniture.  

“Are you really going to cook?” You ask, your smile almost not believing in it, as Tom helps you sit as gentlemanly as he can. 

“If I don’t burn the damn house down, we’ll be eating in no time”

Tom is rather talented while making pasta. He describes it as an ‘easy work’ as he boils the already made sauce (which you lowkey think that his sister Lois made it for him, but you won’t comment on it)

He looks all cocky when he stirs the spaghetti, explaining it to you as if it was a millennial technique, very secret and obviously as if he was making the most delicious dish ever. 

“I swear that this will be the best plate of spaghetti you will ever have” he says as he prepares the plates for you both. He had forbidden you to help in any way, so you were sat, with a glass of wine and the candles lighten up in the table (which he insisted to, since ti was more romantic)

He stirs the sauce, adding some spices, trying to make it better. It does smells amazing, to his defence, and it definitely made you hungry.

“It smells real good” you agree, as you see how he places the food in front of you. “It seems even better”

“Taste it” he says, sitting in front of you with a smile confident on himself, as he takes his own fork. 

You have a hesitant smile, as you move your fork to take a bite of the spaghetti. They look very good, perhaps the presentation wasn’t very posh, in a way, but you knew that Tom did it with all his love, and that was enough for you. 

You take a bite, and it feels a bit sticky yet good. The sauce has maybe a bit too much spice on it, but Tom looks at you eagerly for your answer.

“It is quite good” You say, covering your mouth with a napkin as you eat. 

It was all he needed to hear, smirking proud of himself before starting to eat. “Aye, I told you…” He says as he takes his own bites. He seems happy as he eats, and then he says “Just good, love? I spent all this time slavering myself over to give to you this plate, I expected some praise, and kisses…”

You chuckle softly, as you take another bite, then you say “It is real good, Tommy. It is yummy” You say as if he didn’t believe you. “And you are just cheekily asking for kisses” 

“Guilty as charged” he says amused, as he takes another bite. “Though, I think this won’t be enough, huh. Perhaps I made too little of it”

“It is perfect, love” You say to him with a soft smile.  

“I am hearing lots of compliments to the food yet none at the chef” he says playfully, which makes you roll your eyes amused. 

You chuckle, covering your mouth as you do so. “Well, the chef is very talented, and charming….”

“Oh yeah? What else?” He asks smirking

“Well, he is very handsome” you add with a smile. “And very dear to me”

His smirk is self-sufficient, as he nods pleased knowing those words are meant for him. 

“I’m glad I could impress you with my cooking skills” he says smugly. 

You decide to wash the dishes, much to Tom’s horror. He tries to dissuade you, but it’s the least you could do. 

The fun thing is that Tom tries to amuse you however he can, trying all sorts of tricks to get you smiling and entertained. 

It’s as if he tries to make up for lost time, between the war and his busy life deploying to the navy.  You do not know how much longer this whole situation will last, but you only hope to be with him at the end

“I still have some minutes left before having to take you back to your house” he says as he leans back on the counter, watching you with a smirk. “C’’mere….” 

‘Tom… your da is here…” you murmur as he takes your hand, pulling you in with a cheeky smile. 

“And?” He says, leaning his face to your neck. He presses some soft kisses there. “He’s not here in the kitchen”

“Thomas” you say amused, feeling his arms around your waist, as he kisses your skin softly.  

“Won’t you give me a kiss, doll? It’s our anniversary…”

You look at him with an unimpressed smile, as he tries to put on his most charming face. “Cheeky” you murmur

“My da won’t bother us” he says “And I want to… use all my time with you, before I have to walk you back to your house, before the sun goes down…” He says, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

Tom’s kisses are soft, and he always kisses you with a mixture of passion and utter tenderness, savouring your taste as if trying to remember it. 

The first time he had to leave you kissed him nonstop, trying to shower him with affection so he doesn’t forget how the feeling of being kissed and being loved feels.

“I never want to stop kissing you” Tom murmurs against your lips. 

“Then don’t”

His kisses grow desperate after a while, pulling you closer against his chest, and his arm wrapping around you in a steady and firm grip, yet it’s still tender. Your hands are on his shoulder, trying to have a hold of him as you can feel his tongue making its way onto the kiss. 

You can feel his hand, wandering it cautiously and slowly towards your body, your waist, innocently enough, moving to your hip and then your ass, gripping it firmly. 

“You’re being lewd” You say between kisses.

“Can you blame me?”

Between kisses, Tom would always let out a little groan before going back for more. As if he couldn’t believe his luck and couldn’t wait for more. It was exciting, since he always had a way to make you feel special. 

His touch becomes increasingly more persistent, as he definitely grows aroused from it. He had been without any action far too long– it isn’t as if you’d allow him many times, since you definitely did not want a pregnancy before being his wife.

“You’ve missed me?” You ask as he starts to kiss your neck, his kisses too passionate. 

“You’ve got no idea, doll” he says as he softly opens the first buttons of your dress, as he takes a peek of your chest. “You’re so perfect” he whispers before pressing his lips to your breastbone, going lower and lower. 

You sigh softly, your lips tugging into a smile as he compliments you, making you feel truly like the only person in the world. 

He kisses the skin of your breasts, moving the fabric down slightly to being able to. He isn’t rough as you thought he’d be, instead he is caring and tender.

“My girl” he muses softly. 

You close your eyes slightly, and you feel his big hands moving along your ribs to your back to take off your bra completely. He had slippery hands, of course he did, and he was a pro at undoing your clothes. 

Even if the little passionate moment was like the cherry on top, you could hear the little gasp of Tom’s sister as she arrived home. 

“Thomas Bennett” She calls him out, and you immediately try to cover up and hide on his chest. Lois had Vera’s eyes covered, as if that would do something.

“Lois” Tom says, not so embarrassed, but he didn’t want their moment interrupted either. 

“Have you got no decency?” She scolds her brother. “You can’t treat your lass like that”

“I’m fine, Lois…” you say weakly as you hide on Tom’s chest, yet Lois was always putting Tom in line when he got careless. 

“You gotta take her home, it’s pretty late already” she says in her thick accent and her scolding tone. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know it. Get ready, doll” Tom murmurs the last part to you as he leans to take his coat. “Couldn’t you get home later?”

“So you’d get in a full mood in the kitchen? You gotta be a gentleman, Tom” she says as Tom stands there like a petulant kid after a mischief. 

You seek your things, a bit ashamed yet you knew Lois didn’t judge, but came to your defense when it came to her brother. You try to get more composed, fixing your lipstick before interrupting the small bickering.

“I’m ready” you muse out as Tom turns to see you, and so does Lois, already on the first step of the stairs.

“Good.” Tom says as he walks to grab your hand on his.

“Bye Lois” you say, before walking towards the main door with Tom.

As he puts on his hat, you help him fix it and get tidier than before. You have to stand on your tippy toes, helping him with a soft smile. 

“I had a great time” you tell him softly. 

“Did ya?” 

“Hmm.” You nod softly, you are grateful for everything, especially that he came back safe and sound from the war. “Though make sure that next time you won’t forget it.” 

Tom smirks slightly and says “I’ll try ma best”

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Uk peeps!! Let’s get this going! 🏳️‍⚧️🇬🇧

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James Norrington did nothing wrong. His only crime was being a Jane Austen hero in a Disney movie based on a theme park ride.

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we were robbed of dev patel playing heathcliff in the wuthering heights adaptation smh

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the most problematic movie of 2026

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Still can’t get over the fact that they’re white washing Heathcliff in 2025………..

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pls reblog and tag whether you were a peter pan, wizard of oz, or alice in wonderland fan as a kid and ur astrological sign thank u

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its just embarrassing when you make a fandom related post and it doesnt get any notes like okay. so no one want to play tuoys with me. no one wants to play with our little guys together. okay thats fine. yeah its cool... puts my hands in my jacket pockets. kicks a beer can that was on the side of the road a little

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Dumb question, but how do we know Ewan’s in the Emerald Fennel Wuthering Heights adaptation?

I’m not on Twitter, so any info coming from there is unknown to me.

People are talking about it like it’s a done deal, but I’ve seen nothing official in regard to casting.

Could someone send me the link or something? I’m so confused

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His Distraction // Aemond x Betrothed Reader

Warnings: Violence, talk of missing an eye

Summary: Luke challenges Aemond to a friendly duel. Little does Aemond know that Luke has concocted a plan with his brother to humiliate him.

AN: THANK YOU @exitpursuedbyavulcan FOR REMINDING ME ABOUT COMMAS

Aemond stood still on the cliff overlooking the ocean. Wind billowed around him, causing his hair to flow majestically. The fresh and salty scent of the ocean surrounded your entire being. You stood behind the oak tree just to the side of him. He didn’t know that you followed him. This was where Aemond went to be alone, to be free of other people. He had shared this place with you before, but only once. Any other time you would consider yourself trespassing, but in this moment, you were making sure he was safe. 

Earlier That Day

“Aemond, you do not have to go through with this,” you pleaded to your betrothed. “Lucerys is trying to bait you, anger you.” You followed him as he made his way to the courtyard.

Without breaking his stride or turning to look at you he replied, “And I can not allow for such a challenge to be ignored.” He stopped to turn to you. “If I refuse him, that makes me a coward. No one, least of all one of my nephews, will make me one.”

You took in a breath, ready to say something else, when a group of noble ladies strolled by. They gasped and pretended to look away at the sight of you and Aemond. Some of them giggled, but either way, harsh words were whispered.

Aemond pulled your attention back to him by momentarily grabbing your hand. “You see? This is why I must go through with the challenge.” 

You shook your head. “They do not matter, Aemond. None of these lords or ladies matter. What matters is us.”

“You may say that now but in the future, it will matter.” He lowered his voice. “If the crown should somehow fall to me, we would be the rulers. We would need people on our side, to have their support. A king with no followers is not king at all.”

You nodded your head, too afraid to say anything else that could be overheard and considered treason.

“Now, let me do this. I will maintain our honor. I doubt Lucerys will be able to best me.”

Sighing, you let him go on his way to the courtyard but maintained your spot behind him. Wherever Aemond went, you followed. It was not as though you were a lost puppy trailing after their owner, but rather a silent protector. Though you were a woman and could not physically best a challenger, you would always be a safe place for Aemond, whether he knew it or not. To you, he was the most honorable man. He had fought tooth and nail to get to where he was now. Anyone else who thought otherwise was an idiot, you had deduced.

As you and Aemond entered the courtyard, all eyes turned to him. It was a given. Whenever Aemond set foot in the courtyard to train, there would always be a crowd to watch him. Most gawked at him in awe, thoroughly impressed at what he could achieve with one eye. If you had asked anyone, however, they would deny their interest. Other ladies would pretend not to ogle at him. You could not deny that Aemond was a masterpiece to look at, to watch, as he sparred with the other men. It would be a lie, however, to say that it did not bother you. Any woman who dared try anything more than to look at him was carefully noted. You were protective of Aemond, bordering on possessive.

A gust of wind blew your hair back as you entered the courtyard behind Aemond. Your skirt billowed in the wind and the cold breeze had goosebumps appearing on your arm. Finding a spot on the edge of the training arena, you stood with Aemond’s sister, Princess Helaena.

“I did not expect to find you here, princess,” you said to her.

Helaena hummed a wistful tune before answering. Her eyes set in front of her, not looking at you. “A flying pig will return today.”

Cocking your head to the side, you considered her words. They were odd, but Helaena’s odd words had a tendency to contain a warning of some sort within them. “A flying pig, you say? Should we be aware of the skies?”

“The flying pig does not truly fly; not like the dragons.”

You nodded your head. Flying pigs made little to no sense to you, but dragons did. “A pig against a dragon, you say?”

Helaena gently tilted her head to the sky. “I can only pray to the gods that the dragon wins.”

Nodding your head, you had deduced that the dragon was Aemond. Yet, Helaena was worried, which was what confused you. Aemond was one of the best swordsmen in Westeros. No one, especially Lucerys Velaryon, would be able to end up as the winner in a challenge against him. You shuffled your feet, suddenly nervous for your betrothed.

While you were conversing with Helaena, Aemond had stepped up to the weapon rack. Meticulously, he noted every weapon and weighed the pros and cons in his head. In the end, Aemond chose his trusted broadsword. 

When you turned your attention back to Aemond, Lucerys entered. He smiled then whispered to his older brother, Jacaerys, and whispered something back. The two brothers went their separate ways, snickering. Jacerys went to stand next to you. As he did so, he brushed his arm against yours. Immediately, you wanted to empty your stomach; you hated Jace and Luke with a passion. 

You hated how Luke hurt Aemond and took his eye as a child. You hated how nothing of consequence happened to them. You hated how their mother, Princess Rhaenyra, prompted her father, King Viserys, to drag Aemond through “questioning.” You held nothing in your heart for the Velaryons except hate. Ever since Daemon became Princess Rhaenyra’s husband, the two brothers had become especially cruel to Aemond and his older siblings, Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.

Jace leaned into your space. “Hello. Here to watch Aemond lose his honor?”

You turned your head to face Helaena, who was still staring up into space. “The sky is rather lovely today, is it not, Princess?”

“Come, now,” Jace tried to turn you around to face him, but you pulled your arm away.

“Do not touch me,” you hissed. "No man but my father and betrothed may touch me. I do not wish to be touched by any other man. Although," you gave him a small pout, "are far from being a man.”

“So I may hold your hand, my lady?” Jace inched closer.

“No, it means you may stay far away from me as I watch the duel.” You turned your nose up at him as you looked once more to the courtyard’s arena.

Jace’s lips turned into a tight smile. “As you wish.” He turned to walk away, though not very far, to his own place to watch Lucerys and Aemond fight.

As you turned your attention back to the arena, Luke and Aemond were ready to begin. The two family members were circling each other, waiting to see who would make the first move. The air was tense; you felt as though you could not breathe. You were waiting for something to happen, anything.

Luke lunged first. He was not very quick, so Aemond was able to deflect him with ease. Once again, they were circling each other. It was your least favorite part of watching these fights; the circling. You knew it was a way for each opponent to gather information and plan out their attacks but it still had you worrying.

Aemond made his move. Running at Luke, with his sword high up in the air, made to strike Luke through his head. Luke, ready for this attack, blocked him with his sword above his head. He pushed Aemond’s sword out of the way and went to lunge at his stomach. You gasped as Aemond barely dodged the attack. Soon, the two were locked in a fast-paced battle of steel.

Your eyes never left Aemond, afraid that something would happen to him. The animosity between Luke and Aemond was strong, and you knew neither of them had any reservations about hurting the other. Luke made that clear many years ago. You watched the two battle back and forth. To your surprise, it was a fairly even battle. Something was wrong.

“My lady, I could hear your breathing, and I am not near you.” Jace had made his way back to you and Helaena.

I am Aemond’s betrothed, of course I would be breathing heavily. There is a possibility that he could get hurt, something I am rather not a fan of, you thought, still not letting your gaze flit away from Aemond.

“The dragon…” Helaena mused.

Immediately you turned your attention away from the battle in front of you. “What about the dragon?”

Helaena turned to you. “Be careful,” was all she said before leaving the crowd.

“Now that she is gone, perhaps you would like to watch the rest of this by my side?” Jace asked you.

“I would rather eat maggots and throw up than ever willingly stand by you,” you spat at him.

Jace clicked his tongue. “Sensitive, I see.” 

He snuck an arm around your waist and pulled you to him. He bent down as close as he could. “Would be a shame if you caused Aemond’s failure.”

You tried to push off of him; to turn your attention back to the fighting, but Jace would not let you. The clashes of steel began to slow down. You wanted to know what was happening, but Jace would not have it. Whenever you would try to move, his grip would tighten. You could not make any noise, it would be unbecoming of you, and you did not want to draw attention. Instead, you glared daggers at Jace, picturing his death in your mind. Preferably at Aemond’s hand.

“Yield!” It was Luke’s voice.

Swiftly, you wrenched yourself away from Jace and focused on the two in front of you. Aemond was on his back, his sword just shy of his grasp.  Luke was kneeling in front of him, almost on top of him, with the tip of his sword against his chest. 

“Yield!” He yelled at Aemond.

“Never.”

You could barely hear Aemond’s voice, but you knew that was what he said. His strong-headedness would be his downfall, and right now, it may look like one of those moments. 

You called out to your betrothed. “Aemond, yield!” You could not bear to see him get hurt.

“See that, even your lady wants you to yield; she knows when your end has been met,” Luke taunted Aemomnd.

With fire in his eyes, Aemond pressed himself further into the sword, as though he was daring Luke to finish him. When he got close enough, he punched Luke in the face, drawing blood from Luke’s nose. “I yield.” He got up from the ground and stormed off.

“Such a shame he lost, it was almost as though he was distracted by something,” Jace suggested before he tossed you off of him and walked away.

On the Cliff Side

Aemond stood facing the water. His face was tipped toward the sky, as though he could not get enough of the fresh air and sunlight. From your place behind the tree, you simply watched him. You made no noise. For a few moments, that was it; you, watching Aemond, and him, taking as much of the fresh air as he could.

“I know you are there, my love,” Aemond said without turning around. 

You stepped out from behind the tree and slowly made your way toward him. “How did you know?”

Aemond hummed. “I always know when you are near me.” His voice shook. “And I know when you are not safe, when someone is threatening you.”

Realization dawned on you. “Jace,” you whispered. “He and Luke must have concocted a plan to distract you by using me.”

“And it worked,” he admitted. “It was as though I was focused on your conversation only. He was too close to you, he made you uncomfortable.” He took another breath. “And I was not there to do anything about it.”

“Aemond…” You were close enough to touch him. Gently, you turned him around to face you.

Tear tracks flowed down his cheeks. He had taken his eye patch off, and you could see the tears pooling from the sapphire. Raising a hand to his cheek, Aemond leaned into your touch.

“I was so afraid he would do something to you. And in that moment, I lost my focus on Luke, and he bested me.” He pulled away from your touch. “Those damn bastards bested me!” Turning around, Aemond let out a guttural yell. 

Carefully, you reached out to his hand. He stiffened at your touch but soon relaxed as he felt you tug him down to the grass. As you sat down, he curled himself on the ground, his head in your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, attempting to soothe him. 

“I hate them as much as you do,” you reassured him. “Never would I willingly let them touch me. Never do I doubt your ability to protect me. Never will I lose my faith and love in you.”

“You were alone, and all I could think about was going to you. It was only when Luke knocked my sword out of my hand and held his at my chest that I knew I had lost.”

That made you curious. “If you knew you had lost, why did you not yield?”

“Yielding would mean I have lost my honor to that bastard once again.”

“You did not lose any honor in my point of view, Aemond.”

“But the others watching -”

“- No. They do not matter, remember? Only we matter to each other. I do not care what other people say or think about you.” You lowered your voice. “Once we get closer to you becoming King, then we can worry. But,” you brought yourself back to a normal speaking volume, “in my eyes, you did not lose your honor. It was not a real battle, merely a convoluted attempt at making a fool of you. I do not believe they won, you did, Aemond.”

Aemond nodded his head in your lap. He snuggled in closer to you, and you held him tight. “Punching him was one of the most satisfying things I have ever done,” he chuckled. 

You smiled, enjoying the humor in his voice. Very rarely does he joke during the day. During the day, he lived as a working Prince. In the night he was your love, Aemond, someone who wished to live.

“Sometimes I think about us running away, somewhere far away from here. Somewhere we could live our lives peacefully,” he mused. 

“I know, my love. But for now, let’s just live peacefully in this moment.” You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and continued to hold him as the sun shined on the ocean. 

It was in this moment that you knew you would always stand by your betrothed, no matter how people try to diminish him. As time went by, Aemond slowly fell asleep, your hand still combing through his hair.

When the sun began to set, you began your attempt to wake up Aemond. 

“My love, it is time for us to return to our chambers,” you gently roused him.

“But if we go to our chambers, we will have to return to our own, away from each other,” he lazily argued.

Stroking his hair again, you pushed him a little bit in an encouragement to get up. “Aemond, if we are gone, people will worry about us.”

“Then let them worry.”

A thought clicked in your mind. “If you are still upset about what happened today, the best choice is to keep your head high and show no fear.”

That had him shooting up off your lap. “I have no fear, no regrets about what happened today.” His eye was steel.

“But they do not know that,” you reasoned with him as you got up off the ground.

Aemond took a deep breath. “I know. I just… I do not wish to be gawked at due to Luke’s actions again.”

“If anyone gawks at you, I will be right by your side. And if any lady gawks at you, I will make note, and perhaps if I know her, some poisonous ivy will make its way to her bed.”

His eye widened. “You would not…”

“Oh, I have already done it a few times already,” you smirked and took his hand. “No one shall make a fool of you if I can help it.”

Aemond sighed and pressed his forehead against yours. “I wish we could stay out here forever.”

“I know.”

[apothe-roses]

spin the wheel and assign an animal to prev

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I hope the ghost of Emily Brontë haunts Emerald Fennell for the rest of her life.

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YOU hate JK Rowling!

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Fire on the Mountain - Chapter Three: Lucky Ones

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage, canon typical sexism, mentions of pregnancy, allusions to smut. Word count: ~10.3k

Chapter summary: Lia settles into life in Oldtown, but all is not what it seems.

Author's note: Header by @foxinthegodswood who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

Lia groaned. The sunlight that streaked through the small gap in the curtains made her wince as she blinked her eyes slowly open; the soft golden hues that she would ordinarily find comforting, sliced through her head like Valyrian steel. Memories of wine, far too much wine, accompanied the foul taste in her mouth as she smacked her lips with her tongue, rolling laboriously onto her side to reach for the pitcher of water upon her bedside. She collided with the warmth of a body, the sensation startling her fully into wakefulness. Her eyes felt swollen as she attempted to open them wider – an unwanted reminder of having cried herself to sleep.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Alicent told her, as she sat upright against the headboard. The morning sun illuminated her loose curls, a sea of vibrant auburn, so much like the floor of the Godswood when the weirwood tree shed its reddened leaves.

Her soft smile and the kindness reflected within the honeyed depths of her brown eyes felt like more than Lia deserved. She cringed, swallowing back a wave of nausea as she remembered how she had fled from the wedding feast, stumbling against the stone walls of the Keep as she had hiccuped around sobs the entire way back to her chambers. She barely remembered falling into bed, and for the briefest of moments had allowed herself to hope it had all been a terrible dream. The solid and sympathetic presence of her friend was both an embarrassing and horrifying realisation that this was in fact her reality.

Lia allowed herself to fall heavily down against the pillows once more, her body prone and face tilted towards the girl that sat beside her. “You should be with the king,” she groused, her voice still thick with sleep.

Alicent hummed softly, reaching across to the bedside table to fill a pewter cup with water, before handing it to Lia. Slowly, she pulled herself into a sitting position, accepting it gratefully before drinking long and deep. The cool liquid was a welcome relief to her parched lips, making her drink with such desperation that it dribbled down her chin and onto the front of her white cotton nightgown. She did not miss the way that Alicent tutted quietly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and passed the empty cup back to her.

“The King had long been asleep before I came to you,” Alicent told her, setting the cup back down upon the table, “I have only been here an hour or two.”

Lia swallowed thickly, her gaze dropping to her lap as she plucked absentmindedly at the fabric that covered her legs. Alicent was no longer a maiden, and a thousand questions raced through her mind. Had it hurt? How did she feel? Was Viserys gentle with her? The thought of the old man rutting atop her friend made Lia’s nose wrinkle in revulsion, and when she lifted her eyes to see Alicent staring expectantly back at her, all curiosity died upon her tongue. Lia would not want to speak of such a horrible ordeal, so she would not expect Alicent to either.

“I ruined your wedding feast,” she admitted, her voice an apologetic whisper as she watched Alicent smooth her hands over the bed sheets either side of where she sat.

Alicent shook her head, reaching out to grasp Lia’s hand. The sight of her fingers picked bloody was almost too much to bear in Lia’s delicate condition, and she forced her attention away to where dust danced in spirals in the shaft of light between the curtains.

“You did not,” Alicent reassured her, squeezing gently. “Truthfully, I do not think anyone noticed.”

Lia scoffed quietly to herself, her gaze drifting back to where her hand joined with her friend’s upon the bed. She supposed she should be grateful that no one had paid her sudden departure any mind, but the stark reminder of how utterly inconsequential she was hit like a dull blow to her already bruised ego.

“You are queen now,” Lia said, lips quirking into a playful smile as she glanced up at Alicent. She wanted to change the subject, to talk about literally anything else but her betrothal to Gwayne. “Shall I call you Your Grace?”

“Well,” Alicent began, leaning in conspiratorially, “since you are to marry my brother, you could call me sister.”

Any hope Lia had had of skirting around the subject sank like a stone, and she yanked her hand away, sighing heavily as she flopped onto her back, eyes fixed upon the canopy as resentment burned hot and bitter in her chest. “I do not want to go to Oldtown,” she insisted, the tightness in her throat forcing her voice to come out as a whine.

“Please do not be sad,” Alicent pleaded, and in an instant she shifted over on the bed, looming over her as she stared down at her with wide, imploring eyes. A curtain of chestnut ringlets fell around either side of Lia’s face, shrouding her in their soft warmth and floral scent, her own personal shelter from the forces that wanted to tear her away from her home and everything she knew. “I cannot bear it if you are sad. You have always been the bravest of us, and you make me want to be brave too. I feel like I could be queen…a good queen because of you, and that heartens me, even if you are not at my side. But to know that you are a thousand miles away and heartbroken…I cannot…I–”

Lia reached up, cradling Alicent’s face in her palm, putting a stop to her emotional ramble, seeing that tears had begun to well up in her eyes. “I am not sad,” she told her, stroking her thumb across the apple of her cheek, “I am angry, but I am currently in no condition to adequately express my rage without being violently ill in the process.”

She offered a wolfish grin to Alicent, a pearly white flash of teeth, in an attempt to lighten the mood, and it appeared to work, as Alicent laid down, resting her head upon Lia’s chest. “You know, our children would be cousins,” Alicent told her quietly, her fingers twirling the lacings of Lia’s nightgown around her fingers, “I would be aunt to yours and you would be aunt to mine. They could be friends.”

“They would never see each other,” Lia replied bitterly, rolling an auburn curl between thumb and forefinger. 

“We could visit each other,” Alicent offered, “and write letters…I…I did not know. I pressed my father to tell me why you had fled so suddenly. He did not want to tell me at first, but I did not know until after you did. I hope you know that.”

Lia was not foolish, she knew precisely what the girl she held in her arms meant; ‘I have not betrayed you as I betrayed Rhaenyra.’ 

“I believe you,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against the top of her head. “Did he say when Gwayne and I are to depart to Oldtown?”

“In a week,” Alicent told her, raising up on her elbow to look down at her.

Lia’s heart sank and she pressed her lips together tightly, fighting back the wave of anguish that rolled through her body, creating a lump in her throat and making her want to howl hysterically at the unfairness of it all.

I must be brave.

She exhaled shakily, before forcing a tight lipped smile. “A week and you shall be rid of me.”

“I could never be rid of you.” Alicent rolled her eyes, drawing herself up onto her knees. “Here–,” she removed the ring from the middle finger of her left hand, a gold band engraved with delicate leaves and an emerald at its centre, “so you have a part of me with you always.”

Lia’s breath hitched as she took the ring offered to her, the simple gesture crumbling the dam she had built up to hold back her tears. She distracted herself from the urge to cry by taking the ring from the index finger of her right hand – gold with an obsidian stone – and replacing it with Alicent’s. She offered the ring she had taken off to her. “And so you don’t forget me.”

Alicent laid down beside her, placing her head upon Lia’s pillow as she slipped on the ring, holding her hand up to examine it. “What do you think?”

“It suits you, Your Grace,” Lia teased, and Alicent kicked her shin gently, causing them both to burst into peals of laughter.

Lia’s tears were forgotten for now, but the fate that awaited her loomed larger than ever.

The week slipped by like sand through Lia’s fingers, the days passing with a swiftness that felt like a deliberately cruel joke. She had not spoken to Rhaenyra since the day that the princess had forcibly ejected her from her chambers, and she wondered if she was even aware of the fact that she would be leaving the capital. Any chance of a reconciliation had been squandered, with Rhaenyra spending much of her time since the wedding with her dragon.

Truthfully, Lia could not blame her friend for favouring the skies over the walls of the Red Keep; she could not imagine how jarring it must feel to have her best friend suddenly become both her stepmother and queen in one fell swoop. However, there was still an ache that lay behind Lia’s ribs, a hollow that deepened each day with her friend’s absence. She wondered if it would widen enough to swallow her whole entirely by the time she reached Oldtown.

While the chasm that lay between Lia and Rhaenyra had never been wider, she and Alicent were closer than ever. They spent Lia’s remaining week as two entwined vines, utterly inseparable and unwilling to be parted. She knew that the new queen’s desire to be at her side was not rooted entirely in her impending upheaval from King’s Landing; it was an avoidance of the king during daylight hours, a means to occupy her mind from the fate that awaited her every evening when the rest of the castle slept. The haunted look that lingered in the depths of her dark eyes each morning when she came to Lia’s chambers told her everything she needed to know. They did not speak of it, every conversation existed within the negative space of the fact that Viserys had called her to his bed each night since they were wed.

“Come with me,” Lia suggested, one afternoon as they sat in the solar. She could not bear the thought of leaving her all alone in the Keep, with both the king and his hand plucking at her as though she were carrion. She would not even have Rhaenyra for company. Only the Gods knew how long that wound would take to heal, if it healed at all.

Despite the vibrancy of the sunshine that filled the space, warming her skin through the large bay window, Lia was uncomfortable. Her spine felt too rigid sitting upright in the high backed armchair, a book open in her lap that she had not even bothered to attempt to read. Alicent mirrored her in the armchair opposite, her fingers leafing restlessly through the pages of her own tome. Long gone were the days of lounging beneath the weirwood tree without purpose, basking in the sun, or squeezing onto the same chaise to giggle over badly written romance stories they had found hidden within the back shelves of the Keep’s library. Alicent was queen now, and such childish fancies were considered improper. She had to conduct herself with the poise that was befitting of royalty. Sadly, poise meant sitting in high backed, uncomfortable chairs and being surrounded by a gaggle of ladies and attendants. Growing up, Lia, Alicent, and Rhaenyra had all shared a set of maidservants, tasked with assisting them in dressing and bathing. Now that Alicent was queen, she had been appointed her own staff to attend to her, as well as four ladies in waiting, all desperate to pry on whatever they might talk about. Lia was grateful that, on this occasion, Alicent had dismissed them all so that they could talk freely.

“You know I cannot,” Alicent told her quietly, her gaze apologetic as it lifted from her lap to meet Lia’s eyes. “I could be with child, and I must remain here to perform my duties.”

Lia could not hide the disgust on her face as her nose wrinkled. Alicent’s relationship with Viserys was one she tried not to think about, the thought of it sickened her, so on the occasions where its mention was unavoidable she found it impossible to mask her distaste. She twisted to the side in her chair, attempting to turn her attention to the window and what lay beyond instead.

Alicent sighed, snapping her book shut as she leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on Lia’s knee through the fabric of her skirts. “You will not want me in the way of your courtship with Gwayne,” she urged, fingertips stroking the smooth taffeta. “You have a year to get to know each other before you are wed, and I am sure you will grow to like him, perhaps even love him.”

It was a battle to swallow back the bark of laughter that attempted to force itself from her throat, as Lia thought of the single interaction she had had with Gwayne since he had arrived in King’s Landing for his sister’s wedding. It had been two days after the ceremony, and they had taken a walk in the gardens together, at the behest of Otto. It was the only time she had seen him parted from his father’s side since he arrived, the two always seemed to be together, talking in hushed tones, looking serious. He was no longer the chubby boy they had left behind in Oldtown all those years ago. He was tall now, almost his father’s height, and the baby fat was no more than a whisper of a memory, his body now hard and lithe, moulded by the rigorous training required of a knight. He was certainly handsome, but there was something about Alicent’s older brother that did not feel quite right to Lia. Familiarity could be found in the sharp cut of his profile that reminded her so much of Otto, and a fire in the auburn hues of his hair not unlike Alicent’s, but his eyes unsettled her. Their icy blue was paler than the vibrant cerulean of her own, and they yielded no emotion, gave nothing away. They were Alyrie Florent’s eyes, the same ones that would stare with an unreadable expression as Alicent, Rhaenyra, and Lia once giggled and threw cake at each other after supper, only to find that for the next week after that, no cake at all accompanied their evening meals. It was the unnerving stare of a silent assassin, and she hated the uncertainty she felt when he gazed upon her.

When made to interact with Lia on their walk in the gardens, it was as though a mask had fallen upon his usually cold features. His smile was suddenly charming, his posture not quite so rigid, though as he had lifted her hand to his lips, his mouth brushing gently against her knuckles, uttering a polite “my lady”, his eyes had remained cold, betraying the truth of his feelings – or lack thereof – for her. All of it was performative. Even as they had strolled slowly, arm in arm, around the paths lined with neatly manicured hedges and colourful flower beds, his questions were superficial, his interest in her disingenuous. He may as well have been enquiring about how much the grass had grown in the last year, she decided; in fact the answer to that likely would have interested him more than hearing about Lia’s leisurely pursuits. No love could ever blossom in such frost; she had seen Rhaenyra look upon honeyed dates with more lust in her eyes than Gwayne could fathom for her.

Lia stood rooted to the spot, watching as attendants hoisted trunks filled with her belongings from her chambers. She wanted to throw herself upon them, scream and claw at them, demand that they stop dismantling her world, to keep their filthy hands off of the very fabric of what made her who she was. She did none of those things. She had shut down the moment the first dress had been taken from the armoire, folded and packed away. For an entire week she had existed in denial, refusing to give any thought to her leaving King’s Landing. Now the day had arrived and she did not know what to do. Where was the brave girl that Alicent had told her she was? Who would look after her when Rhaenyra was a thousand miles away, and she only had the cold stare of Gwayne for company? She felt that she had been placed into a trap from which she could not escape, no matter how hard she struggled. This was not acceptance, it was defeat.

A shadow fell across her from the open doorway, and she turned to see Otto standing there, his expression impassive as his eyes moved around the now empty space, where only furniture remained. Lia looked away, clasping her hands in front of her. Her fingers stroked across the emerald of the ring that had found its home upon her index finger for the last week. She had not spoken to Otto since he had told her of the betrothal, she did not want to, and mercifully he had not attempted to seek her out either. Until now.

She swallowed thickly as she sensed him advancing towards her, even without looking at him she could feel how he loomed over her, the familiar scent and warmth enveloping her. Would she forget that once settled into The Hightower? Or did his presence linger there too? She would never be free of him, every part of her had Hightower influence woven throughout. To attempt to remove it would be to slough the very skin from her bones.

“I trust you are ready to depart?” Otto asked, his voice a soft rumble. It made her heartbeat quicken, though she did not know why.

“No,” she said quietly, straightening her spine, though her gaze remained upon her fingers.

“Are there things that still need to be packed? I shall send for the steward to–”

Lia’s loud sigh of exasperation cut him off, as she finally turned to look at him, her brow furrowed in annoyance at his misunderstanding, yet her blue eyes betrayed the sorrow that her anger attempted to hide.

Otto’s head tilted slightly, his hazel eyes softening in understanding, and he reached up, his large hand gently cupping Lia’s cheek. Despite herself, she leaned into its warmth. “This is not a punishment, Lia.”

“Then why does it feel like one?” she whispered, her voice tight as she fought back the tears that threatened to burst forth.

Otto’s thumb stroked across her cheekbone. “You will be closer to your family. I have arranged for a visit, so they will be awaiting your arrival. You will surely be glad to see them.”

‘I do not know them, I do not want to see them,’ she longed to scream back. Instead her bottom lip trembled, her voice pitiful to her own ears as she pleaded, “Please do not make me go.”

He lifted his other hand, cradling her face in both of his palms as he tilted her tearful eyes to meet his, filled with adoration that made her chest ache. “You are one of the most precious gifts to ever have been bestowed upon this family. I hope in time you see your marriage to my son as the honour it is intended to be.”

“Let me stay with you. Please.”

Lia hated how pathetic she sounded, but hiding behind denial, anger and defiance had gotten her nowhere. She hoped that if she laid her feelings bare at his feet, threw her anguish upon his mercy, then perhaps he would reconsider. Instead, Otto leaned in, pressing his lips gently to her forehead in a tender kiss, before turning and leaving. The room felt as empty as the aching void in her chest, and as she began to cry in earnest, the sound amplified within the space that she had once called home.

The wind whipped around Rhaenyra’s head, the strands that had been blown loose from her tight braid fluttered around her eyes, obscuring her vision, making her growl in frustration. Syrax rumbled impatiently with her, the great golden beast she sat atop seeming to understand the sense of urgency, even before her rider had had the chance to utter “Aderes, Syrax!”

The princess had spotted the small convoy of carriages departing the city via the King’s Gate as she had hovered her dragon over the Blackwater Rush that morning. She had been desperate to get away from the Keep, unable to bear the sight of her father and her best friend – now his wife – breaking their fast together. She had taken to the skies, allowing the rush of air around her ears, and the sight of the water that sparkled from miles beneath her to bring her peace. The three carriages rolling slowly away from the city towards the South East piqued her curiosity. All of the wedding guests had already departed, and they had had no further visitors that she was aware of. As she had brought Syrax to land beside the entrance to the Dragon Pit, Ser Criston Cole had been dutifully awaiting her arrival, just as he always did since she had appointed him to his place in the kingsguard. His white cloak fluttered gently in the breeze, his dark eyes watching her carefully as she dismounted, always ensuring she was safe. And she did feel safe with him. While the presence of Ser Harrold Westerling had always been steadfast, there was a warmth in the presence of Criston, a sense that he looked out for her as more than a mere sense of duty and obligation. He protected her because he wanted to, and Rhaenyra felt that now, more than ever, she needed to be protected.

She had casually inquired about the carriages she had seen being pulled by horses away from the city, not expecting a particularly interesting answer. However, no sooner had Criston informed her of their occupants, than she was shoving the dragon keepers aside, and hastily mounting up onto Syrax’s back once more with a cry of “Sōvēs, Syrax!”, ignoring the shouts of protest from below, letting them filter off into nothing as each powerful wingbeat drove her higher.

Lia could not leave, not like this. Rhaenyra had not felt ready to speak to her, the wound of her secrecy regarding Alicent’s relationship with her father still too fresh, but there was not a day that had passed where she had not thought about her. Truthfully, Rhaenyra had never felt lonelier, and she had allowed pride and hurt feelings to keep her from the one person she knew would bring her comfort. Now that person was being taken away. She cursed Otto Hightower’s name towards the Heavens as the wind rushed past her, making her eyes water with the speed at which the cold air hit her face. He had taken her father from her, and Alicent. Now he was trying to take Lia. What else would Rhaenyra have left? Would she arrive at the Dragon Pit one morning to find he had laid claim to Syrax too?

Finally the convoy came into view, and she tugged at the reins, urging her dragon lower. Syrax’s claws scraped ungracefully across the roof of a carriage as she banked around the formation, the looming bulk of her causing the horses to whinny and rear up in fright. They came to a jarring halt as Rhaenyra landed on a grass verge, paying no mind to the frantic driver who was trying to calm his mounts. She dismounted quickly, picking her way through the grass and then out onto the road, the loose gravel of the track crunching beneath her riding boots. She smirked when none of the retinue dared to approach. 

Cowards.

Instead, it was Lia who clambered hastily from the middle carriage, her dark hair pulled away from her face in a low bun, and a grey, woolen travel cloak wrapped around her. She tugged it tighter around her body as her feet touched the ground. Her blue eyes were wide, displaying first shock, then confusion and finally settling upon anger as she marched towards Rhaenyra. The smirk never left the princess’ face, she could not help it, Lia had always been so funny when she was angry.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” she demanded, swiping an errant curl away from her forehead as she came to stand before her.

“This does not concern you, Ser Hightower. Stay where you are,” Rhaenyra called out, watching as Gwayne’s red crop of hair disappeared back inside the coach as quickly as it had peered out. She turned her attention back to Lia. “You were trying to leave without saying goodbye,” she argued, standing straighter as she clasped her hands behind her back.

Lia scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You have not spoken to me in weeks, what would you have me do?”

She would have spoken to her, when she felt ready. She hated this, hated the lack of control, she wanted this to be on her terms, not forced by the whims of Otto Hightower. She loathed that man. Rhaenyra sighed, her posture softening, shoulders sagging as she reached out, taking Lia’s hands. She tutted, unable to feel them through the leather of her gloves, and snatched them away, before tugging them off by the fingertips with her teeth, letting them drop to the ground, before grasping for her friend once more. Warmth bloomed in her chest at the familiar feeling of her hands in hers. “You could stay,” she offered softly.

Lia squeezed, her thumbs stroking gently over the backs of Rhaenyra’s hands. “I have tried to, believe me, I have. But Otto wishes for me to marry Gwayne, and that is that.”

The words struck Rhaenyra like a physical blow, her eyes pricking with tears as she pursed her lips, lowering her gaze momentarily, before staring desperately into her friend’s eyes, as though if she looked hard enough she could change their fate. “You cannot marry him, he is–” 

He was what? Handsome? Charming? The perfect match?

‘He is not good enough for you. No one is.’

“He is a Hightower,” she finally said.

Lia laughed bitterly, looking down to where their hands were joined. “And I am a Costayne. Not all of us can be Targaryens.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes fell upon the ring on Lia’s index finger, watching the way the emerald glinted in the sunlight, immediately recognising it as Alicent’s. A parting gift, no doubt, but it made jealousy burn bitter and acrid in her throat. She had no jewels to give her, no token of remembrance; she never wore jewellery when she was riding. She had long since learned her lesson after losing a priceless Valyrian brooch somewhere over The Gullet.

She would give Lia something else to remember her by. She cared nothing for who might see, she was heir to House Targaryen, and no simple coach driver, nor the pompous knight he was charged with ferrying would deter her. Surging forward, she pressed her lips against her friend’s, feeling the way she gasped sharply and stiffened for just a moment, before she kissed her back. Her mouth felt pillowy soft against her own, a similar sensation to when she bit into a peach and made first contact with the juicy flesh beneath the skin. It stole her breath away, made her heart flutter, and when they broke apart, flushed and breathless, foreheads pressed together as they grinned, it felt all too soon.

“I am sorry I did not tell you, I–”

“No, do not spoil it,” Rhaenyra whispered, closing her eyes, not wanting the moment to end. She did not need an apology, not now. There was no more hurt or anger, at least not when it came to Lia.

“I will miss you,” Lia said, her voice watery with unshed tears, as she drew her hands back, only to wrap her arms tightly around her, enveloping Rhaenyra in her familiar scent of vanilla and honeysuckle.

She breathed deeply, allowing her own arms to drape around the woolen fabric of Lia’s cloak. “You will not.”

“I will!” she insisted, squeezing tighter.

“I will not allow it. You are not so easily rid of me,” she teased, drawing back to smile softly at her.

“What do you mean?” Lia asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Oldtown is not so far away on dragonback.”

A grin spread across Lia’s face, and Rhaenyra returned it with one of her own, unable to contain her joy at their reconciliation, even if it had not been on her own terms.

“You will visit? Do you promise?” the dark haired girl asked, her tone rushed with excitement.

“I promise.”

“My dearest Alicent,

I do so look forward to your weekly letters, and was glad to receive your last.

Are you terribly fat yet? I can scarce believe I am not there to watch as you waddle about the Keep. Are you excited to be a mother?

Upon Rhaenyra’s last visit, I urged her to speak to you. I hope the two of you have reconciled, it has been too long. She will be an aunt to your child, so the two of you must make amends.

My family have finally departed back to the Whispering Sound.It was a long three months. It is unfortunate that my mother took ill again during their visit, but Maester Harlaw says that it is nothing too serious, simply fevers that accompany her moon’s blood no longer occurring. She would be so cross if she knew I wrote of such things to you! My brother, Robert, is now a father. He wrote to me three days ago to let me know that Cassana gave birth to a girl. Leon’s visit to Oldtown was fortuitous too, he is now betrothed to Bethany Redwyne and they are expected to be wed next Spring.

Gwayne is well. He spends much of his time in the training yard, or out on hunts with his squire, Leyton.

Your father writes to me often. I know he is angry that I do not reply, but I do not know what to say to him.

I miss you, even if you are fat.

Your friend always,

Lia.”

Alicent read over the letter once more, frowning in disapproval at Lia’s playful words, though an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She wondered if she would be disappointed when she learned that she had not begun to show yet. It had been three moons since she had last bled, and Maester Mellos had confirmed that she was with child after two. She had waited another month before informing Lia, wanting to break the news to Rhaenyra first. She knew the princess made a monthly visit to Oldtown, and was fearful of creating further tension between them if she learned of her impending sibling as secondhand information. 

Rhaenyra had not responded well to the announcement; the look of shock and upset upon her face as she had blinked rapidly before turning and walking away, worsening the feelings of nausea that Alicent was already afflicted by.

She stroked her right hand over the barely noticeable swell of her belly as she leaned back in the chair of her writing desk, Lia’s letter still held loosely in her left upon the tabletop. Despite the fact that she was not noticeably pregnant yet, Alicent felt as though she carried the weight of the world in her womb. Any expectant mother would have felt excited for the gift to be bestowed upon her, but between the frequent bouts of sickness, the upset that her marriage and subsequent pregnancy had caused to Rhaenyra, and the crushing sense of loneliness, she truly did not know how she felt about the life that grew inside of her.

Rhaenyra had approached her upon her return from her last visit to Lia. They had attempted small talk that felt awkward and stilted, until the topic had turned to her pregnancy. The mere suggestion that the babe could be a boy sent Rhaenyra into a rage, convinced that Alicent was attempting to supplant her as heir. They had not spoken since. She did not know how to tell Lia that, at least not in a letter. How could she explain that she had never asked for any of this, was merely doing what was expected of her, and how unfair it was that she was being made to feel so guilty for all of it that she could not even find simple joy in the act of becoming a mother?

Lia’s letters always seemed void of anything real, as though there were huge parts of her life in Oldtown that she was holding back on. She missed when she was here, and would tell her everything. She never spoke very much of Gwayne in her letters, and she wondered how their courtship was progressing, and if Lia was warming to him. She envied Rhaenyra and her ability to be with her within a day, to watch the way her blue eyes became animated when she was excited, to see the crafty smirk that would spread across her face when she said something witty, even just to casually observe the frustrated manner in which she would swipe her hair back from her face. Rhaenyra was getting to see and hear it all, while Alicent was stuck within the walls of the Red Keep, destined to grow fat with the king’s children.

“Perhaps you will be my friend one day,” she whispered down to her belly as she splayed her hand across it.

Alicent looked up as the door to her chambers creaked open and her father stepped inside. His eyes drifted to the parchment in her hand, his brow raising expectantly. “News from Oldtown?”

“A letter from Lia,” she said quietly, stashing it between the pages of a book, and out of his sight. She knew that Otto wrote to her, and was growing increasingly frustrated with her lack of response. She could understand Lia’s reluctance to speak to him, but did not wish to be placed in the difficult position of having to relay information between the two of them.

“It seems she does not have time to write back to me,” he commented, coming to stand behind her, placing his hands upon the back of her chair. “I suppose your girlish exchanges would be of little interest to me.”

She loved her father, but she hated the ability he had to make her feel small and insignificant. He loomed over her, a constant shadow, even more so now that she was pregnant. His attitude was one of prideful anticipation. She was not quite certain of what he wanted of his unborn grandchild, but felt it was unfair to place any sort of expectation upon a child before it had even left the womb. She wondered if he had hovered around her mother, placing similar pressure upon her when she had carried both her brother and her.

“I am sure she means to write to you,” she reassured him, “but I expect Gwayne keeps her quite busy.”

Otto hummed, the sound more of low, rumbling disapproval than of acknowledgement. “You know, you are queen now, Alicent, and soon to be mother to the king’s heir. You would do well to find better ways to spend your time than exchanging idle gossip.”

Alicent swallowed thickly, placing a hand upon her chest in an attempt to stay the wave of nausea that rolled through her body. “The king already has an heir,” she whispered, allowing her gaze to drop to her lap.

“You will tell Lia to write to me,” Otto said, ignoring what she had said as he walked from the room, “and let her know it is not a request.”

“Lia,

I am troubled that a date remains to be set for your wedding to Gwayne. A two year betrothal is unheard of. Gwayne informs me that Septon Rowan has fallen ill, and that the two of you wish to wait until he is recovered so that he may perform the ceremony. While I appreciate the sentimental value that the Septon holds for our family, I must insist that you delay no further and seek alternative arrangements.

Awaiting news of your progress,

O.H.”

“What does it say?” a voice thick with sleep rumbled against the pillows beside her shoulder.

Lia tutted at the interruption, crumpling the parchment in one hand, allowing it to drop to the floor beside the bed, grateful for the fact that her bedmate could not read.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she quipped softly, turning to face him as she prodded at the smattering of dark hair dusted across the broad expanse of his chest, “and you should not still be here.”

Alyn Thatcher was the stablehand of The Hightower, and the older brother of her handmaiden, Marybel. Though he had not been part of the welcome party that had gathered to greet her and Gwayne on the day they had arrived at the castle – a gathering that had consisted of her mother, her father, both of her brothers, Gwayne’s squire, Leyton, Marybel, and Maester Harlaw – Alyn had been quick to catch Lia’s attention. While Gwayne’s every interaction with her was for show, a carefully curated act to prevent her from seeing whatever lay beneath the perfectly polished veneer he presented to the rest of the world, Alyn was too stupid for any such deception. What she saw was what she got, and Lia liked what she saw very much.

Alyn had long, mousy hair that he kept pulled back into a low ponytail, and gentle, light brown eyes. His strong, chiseled jaw was never cleanly shaven, and she took great delight in running her fingertips over its roughed edge whenever they kissed. She had been in Oldtown for six months when she stole her first kiss from him, and another six after that when she invited him into her bed for the first time. They had nothing in common, but it was not his conversational skills that Lia was interested in, moreso the physical sensations he elicited from her and the pleasant ache he left her with between her thighs when he departed from her bedchamber most mornings. He was easy to manipulate, and that was what she wanted. She had settled into life in Oldtown, not by allowing it to mold her to its surroundings, but rather by forcibly carving out a life that she found comfortable. There was nothing that Lia could not bend to her will, or would not discard if it refused to yield to her.

Though Alyn was her first,her only,she did not love him. She held no expectation of anything more than their continued trysts and his warmth in her bed, until she had decided what to do about her betrothal to Gwayne.

The initial year-long engagement had passed uneventfully, with tedious walks along the coastline, tiresome displays of cheering for him in the training yard, and laborious dinners with her family on the occasions when they decided to visit. However, she felt she did not know him any better than the first walk they had taken together back in King’s Landing. She had only managed to get his mask to slip on two occasions. The first had been on the journey from the capital to the coast.

“Did you not wish to ride the journey on horseback?” she had asked from her seat opposite his in the wheelhouse, as the rickety carriage had bumped its way along the Kingsroad.

He had cleared his throat, blinking as though caught off guard, before sitting straighter and offering her a tight smile. “My father suggested I keep you company, my lady. ‘Tis a journey of considerable length, so it would provide us with the opportunity to get to know one another better.”

Lia had rolled her eyes, unable to suppress the sarcasm that laced her tone. “How lucky for us.”

For the briefest of moments, she had seen his pale eyes flash with irritation, his nostrils flaring as he snapped indignantly, “I did not ask for you either.”

She had stared at him with intrigue, eager to needle her way beneath the surface and poke around at whatever lay hidden, but as quickly as it had fallen, the mask was back up again, his expression yielding nothing as he uttered a quiet apology and turned from her to stare out of the small window.

The second time had been on one of their coastal walks. The breeze that blustered around the clifftops had wafted the scent of him beneath her nostrils – a fresh smelling combination of spiced apples and cedarwood – she had complimented him upon it, and her words had been met with a sharp raise of his eyebrow.

“You sound surprised, my lady, does the company you keep ordinarily not find the act of bathing a favourable one?”

“Rhaenyra certainly does not,” she quipped with a smile.

The bark of laughter that had left him was almost cruel sounding, and it had turned her smile to a grin. His eyes sparkled as they had crinkled with mirth, the flash of his teeth as he threw his head back was utterly carefree. This was a man she could be friends with, perhaps even learn to care for more deeply than that. But she had been unable to make him laugh like that again, at least he had not allowed her to. There was some part of him that he was determined to keep hidden from her, that he did not want her to know, and so their interactions had remained superficial. He made a show of asking for her favour whenever she watched him in the training yard, they made strained conversation over their evening meals, and once a week they took walks together, either around the castle gardens or, on clear days, along the coast where they could see out to the Arbor.

When the first year had come to its end, Lia had lied and told Gwayne they could not marry as she had yet to have her moon’s blood. She had delighted in the way he had attempted to hide his blatant disgust at being presented with such a topic – all of the blood and injury that came with being a knight, and still he could not bear to talk of the ichor that trickled forth from a woman. Was it only acceptable when accompanied by violence? It had been enough to put their nuptials off for a further six months, and when Septon Rowan had taken ill it had been Gwayne who had suggested they delay them further to allow time for his recovery. It seemed as though he had as little desire to marry her as she did him, so she did not argue. Instead, she found entertainment in the arms of the Hightower’s stablehand. They were discreet, and if Gwayne knew, he did not say. 

Usually, Alyn crept from her chambers each morning before sunrise, slipping away before anyone could notice he was there. This morning, he had not, and when the steward had knocked softly upon her door to deliver Otto’s missive, she had thrown the bedclothes over him, hoping to hide him from view, as she had opened the door no more than a crack to accept the rolled up parchment.

Now, as he stared at her with that lazy smirk upon his face, his honey coloured eyes still heavy lidded with sleep while she poked at his chest in an accusatory manner, she was glad he was still there, as she felt the familiar stirrings of arousal throb within her. Such a pretty creature, and not a single thought in his head.

Just as she was about to lean further into him, the door creaked open and Lia looked up to see Marybel step through. Her eyes, so much like her brother’s, widened momentarily before narrowing in annoyance. “Out, you lazy lump,” she commanded him, jerking her thumb back toward the door, “they are looking for you out in the yard. Get down there. Now.”

The balcony doors to Lia’s chambers were thrown open, the briny scent of the sea breeze filling the space, airing out the heady aroma of sex and sweat. The room that Lia occupied in The Hightower was smaller than her former dwelling in The Red Keep, but no less opulent. A large four poster bed was situated at the centre of the bedchamber, with a plush, forest green coloured velvet serving as its canopy and privacy curtains. She had a vanity table, a small seating area with couches positioned around a low set, rectangular table, and high windowed double doors that opened out onto a balcony with a view that overlooked the castle’s verdant gardens and further out to where the land ended at the vibrant blue waters of The Summer Sea.

The stunning view was obscured momentarily as Lia flinched, squeezing her eyes shut at the painful tug upon her scalp.

“Ouch!” she groused at Marybel, attempting to pull away from her handmaiden who stood behind her, tightly braiding her hair.

“Stop fussing,” Marybel scolded gently, placing a hand on Lia’s shoulder to still her before her deft fingers continued their work, “I have to pull it tightly.Your hair is so bloody unruly, it will come loose otherwise.”

Lia smirked to herself, her gaze dropping to the emerald ring that sat upon the index finger of her hand that was settled in her lap. Alicent and Rhaenyra were the only people that she had ever allowed to speak to her that way. She supposed it was why she liked Marybel so much. Upon arriving in Oldtown, Lia had been horrified to find that she would only have one person attending to her – a stark contrast the host of maidservants that rallied around her in King’s Landing – however, Marybel’s sharp tongue and quick wit were refreshing to Lia, and she found she enjoyed having only her to ready her in the mornings, quickly beginning to see the older girl as a friend rather than a servant. Marybel was eighteen, two years younger than Alyn, and shared her brother’s light brown eyes and mousy hair, but that was where their similarities ended. Marybel had a delicate bone structure, her weak chin was compensated by the plush ruddiness of her rosebud mouth. Lia could scarce believe the profanity that often tumbled from such pretty lips.

But as well as being foul mouthed, her handmaiden was trustworthy. She breathed a word to no one about Lia’s illicit relationship with her brother, and was the person entrusted to discreetly deliver moon tea to her room every few days. Having Marybel around helped to quell the ache of loneliness that was rooted within the very marrow of her bones. The pain of missing Alicent and Rhaenyra did not feel quite so fierce with her around.

“I do not see the point of making a show of going down to the training yard anyway,” Lia sighed, lifting her eyes back up to the open balcony doors, watching as a gull in the distance swooped towards the surface of the sea. “Gwayne will not care if I am there or not.”

Marybel hummed in acknowledgement, pushing a hairpin into the thickness of Lia’s curls to keep a loose strand in place. “You could always remain here and write a reply to his father.”

Lia gasped in indignation, her head whipping round to glare at her handmaiden, ignoring her annoyed tut at having lost her grip on the braid she was working on. “Have you been reading my letters?”

The older girl rolled her eyes, forcing Lia back into position. “It is difficult not to when you leave them on the floor for me to clean up. It seems you spend more time discarding his letters than you do writing ones of your own.”

Lia scowled, the ache in her chest suddenly much more painful than the tugging at her scalp. “I am cross with him,” she muttered, her voice sounding more like a petulant child’s than she cared for it to.

“You have to forgive him eventually,” Marybel insisted.

“I miss him,” Lia sighed, “I did not think I would. I have my family back now, I can visit them as often as I’d like, and yet I miss him. I do not know why, and I cannot bear to write that into a letter.”

Marybel moved to face her, her hands smoothing over the front of Lia’s hair. A knowing smile played upon her pout, as her honey coloured eyes sparkled with mischief.

“What? What is it?” Lia asked in annoyance, feeling herself prickle at the way Marybel had responded to her admission.

“Oh, nothing, my lady. Just thinking how funny it is when you are so far into the forest that you cannot see the trees.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she enquired, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Marybel’s eyes met hers and she grinned. “‘Twas a joke about your scruffy hair.” 

Lia gasped in mock offence, swatting playfully at her handmaiden’s arm, before the two of them began to giggle.

Lia was bored. The wooden bench she sat upon was hard beneath her bottom, and no matter how much she fidgeted, she could not seem to get comfortable. She sighed, idly twisting the rings upon her fingers as she stared blankly at the display within the centre of the courtyard. Gwayne bowed to the audience after besting his opponent once again. The rapturous applause of the spectators gathering made her wince, exacerbating the headache that bloomed heavily within her skull, brought on by the tightness of her braids. She would have sooner left her hair loose, and remained within the castle.

Of course, Gwayne had made a show of greeting her, referring to her as ‘my beloved’ and requesting her handkerchief for luck before squaring off against the opposing knight. The moment his sword was drawn, she was forgotten. His affection towards her was for appearances sake only, and her patience wore thin for it.

Her attention drifted to his squire, Leyton Cooper, all sandy blonde curls and piercing green eyes as he stood off to the side, his gaze never once faltering from Gwayne’s skillful movements. There had been a time when Lia had found herself enamoured with Leyton, when she had first arrived in Oldtown. He stood half a head shorter than her betrothed, and was slightly built, yet muscular in a way that was wiry from long hours spent sparring with the knight he served. At first, Lia had enjoyed the way his alluring emerald gaze always seemed to affix upon her, assuming he was looking at her out of admiration, but as the time passed she had felt more like she was being studied. It unnerved her, the way he would observe her whenever she came out to watch Gwayne spar. He never acknowledged her beyond a courteous dip of his head in greeting, and any interest she had had in him faded to indifference as she decided it would not be wise to pursue anything with someone who shadowed the man she was supposed to marry so closely. Leyton accompanied Gwayne on hunts, and helped him to keep his sword and armour polished. It was rare that the knight and the squire were not seen together, so getting to know him, let alone attempting to seduce him would have been impossible. She wondered if he ever got to see behind the mask that the Hightower knight wore so fastidiously.

A shout of “dragon!” pulled Lia’s focus towards the skies, the courtyard turning momentarily dark, as the golden bulk of Syrax passed overhead, banking towards the grassy cliff top that she liked to roost upon when Rhaenyra made her visits. They were usually once a month, and always unannounced. It did not seem to occur to the princess to inform anyone at The Hightower of her impending arrival, and so they were always taken by surprise.

Today, her surprise interruption could not have been more welcome, and Lia leapt from the bench, the tightness in her scalp and the soreness of her bottom long forgotten as she grinned excitedly and rushed to meet her friend.

“How is Alicent faring?” Lia asked, “I expect she will be due to give birth soon.”

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, the memory of Alicent in the wheelhouse on the way to the Kingswood making her frown. She had been certain that the bumpy ride would have brought upon early labours; it would have been better for her to stay behind.

“Yes, she’s enormous, you’ll be pleased to know,” she replied, raising an eyebrow as Lia muffled her laughter behind her hand.

“And Aegon?” she asked, once she had finally composed herself.

“He’s two now, as you are probably aware. He still cannot say my name properly, but he can eat porridge by the fistful.”

She stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes, grateful to have her feet free of her riding boots. Her heart ached at the way Aegon babbled her name – “‘Nyra”; the only person to ever have called her that before him was Lia, and every utterance of it reminded her of the girl a thousand miles away, making her more resentful of the grandfather of the babe that had sent her friend away in the first place. She found it difficult to maintain her anger towards Alicent, seeing her in such a vulnerable condition, filled with discomfort. And in truth, though she had feared that Aegon meant to supplant her as heir, she could find no malice within herself for the rosy cheeked little boy. He was blissfully unaware of what his existence meant for hers.

Rhaenyra leaned forward, plucking a purple grape from the silver platter placed on the table that she reclined on a chaise in front of, examining it as she rolled it around between thumb and forefinger, before popping it into her mouth. “Could you not have put cake out?” she asked, as she chewed, dabbing with her fingertips at a stray dribble of juice that attempted to make its way down her chin.

“You did not tell me you were coming,” Lia protested, as she laid upon her side on the chaise opposite, mirroring Rhaenyra’s position. “Should I just keep an endless supply of cake around, on the off chance you might deign to grace me with your presence?”

The princess smirked, settling her head back upon the curved arm of her seat. “That would be preferable, yes.”

“I am surprised you have not requested wild boar, bloodthirsty huntress that you are,” Lia teased, plucking free a grape of her own.

Rhaenyra grinned, flexing her fingers against the fabric of her riding trousers. She had been breathless with excitement when recounting the events of Aegon’s name day riding hunt to Lia, sparing no detail when it came to recalling how she had slain the boar that had attempted to take her life. She could still smell the copper scent of its blood, feel the warmth and viscosity of it upon her skin when she closed her eyes. It had been liberating, but it was not the news she had flown to Oldtown to relay – that news was far less exciting to her, but needed to be said nonetheless.

“I may not be able to visit for a month or two,” she finally confessed, her gaze apologetic as she lifted it to meet Lia’s.

“Why not? What has happened?” Lia questioned, her brows drawing together in concern.

Rhaenyra sighed, lacing her fingers together across her stomach as she thought about where to begin. “My father…he has assured me that he will not replace me as heir, but he wants me to marry, to shore up my succession. So, I am to tour the realm and meet with potential suitors until I find one I like.”

“Lucky you, getting to choose,” Lia spat, and Rhaenyra did not miss the bitter tone of jealousy in her friend's voice.

Sitting up, she crossed her legs, placing her hands upon her knees as she looked earnestly across the table at her. “It is not luck. It is duty. Truly, Lia, you should see some of these men. Jason Lannister…I have never seen a man more…more delighted with himself. You should consider yourself lucky that your betrothal is already settled.”

“I do not want Gwayne and he does not want me,” she admitted quietly, slowly beginning to loosen her braid.

Such a stubborn thing she was. Rhaenyra had visited Oldtown enough over the last two years to know that Lia had not made any real effort with Gwayne, her distance from him a means to spite Otto, and while the princess had no love to spare for her father’s hand, she knew that her friend’s betrothal to his son was a fortuitous one.

“And where did you arrive upon that certainty?” she asked, grasping for her wine cup. “Upon the end of Alyn’s cock?”

She grinned, before drinking deeply from the cup of Arbor gold, enjoying the shocked expression that Lia wore as her mouth fell open.

“Look,” she continued, setting her wine back down upon the table, “you’re seventeen, Lia, there will not be a better match for you. At least you know you would be free to pursue whatever you wanted while married to him. You could even come home.”

Rhaenyra knew she had struck a chord with Lia at the mention of returning to King’s Landing. Her expression softened, becoming wistful.

“I do not think Otto or Gwayne would allow that,” she said quietly.

“They would if it was at the command of the queen,” Rhaenyra urged, “you could even be my hand.”

Lia snorted, sipping from her own wine and shaking her head. “A woman has never been hand before.”

“Nor heir to the Iron Throne,” Rhaenyra added with a shrug, “and yet…”

The two grinned at each other over the table, all time and distance melting into nothing as they fell back into each other’s company with the ease of a well oiled sword returning to its sheath.

Rhaenyra’s scent of dragon smoke and bergamot still lingered upon Lia’s bed sheets long after she had departed the following morning. Lia never had a room made up for her when she visited, content for the princess to share her bed. They would spend the entire night wrapped around each other, whispering secrets, until the sun rose and Rhaenyra had to depart for King’s Landing once more.

This time when Rhaenyra left, it was not just the smell of her that remained with Lia, but also her words. The urgency that she had impressed upon her to marry Gwayne had not left her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Lia could do worse, he was at least from a family that she was friendly with, and he was somewhat familiar to her. Perhaps he was just shy, and if she pressed for marriage then he would realise that she was warming to him, and would do the same for her in turn. Maybe, given time, they could learn to love one another.

Once Marybel had readied her for the day, dressed in a gown of pale pink taffeta, her hair loose around her shoulders, though meticulously combed, Lia made her way out towards the training yard. It was still early, no one had gathered to watch as the knights sparred, but she knew that Gwayne rose before the sun most mornings, to strap on his armour and tend to his weapons.

She walked quickly towards the armory, the loose shingle crunching beneath her slippered feet, as her heart pounded with nervous anticipation of what she was about to propose. She had not even given thought to what she might say, too filled with restless energy to wait and compose it in her mind, instead she trusted that she would be able to blurt the right words when she saw him, and hoped that he would not refuse her.

Flinging the door to the armory open, she stepped inside, immediately freezing as she blinked, trying to make sense of the sight before her. In the gloom of the armoury, between the shelves of polished breastplates and oiled chainmail, illuminated only by a thin beam of light that shone through from a high window, Gwayne stood locked in a tight embrace with Leyton. Dressed only in their breeches and undershirts, their mouths moved against each other with a frenzied hunger as they held each other close. They sprang apart as they heard Lia’s approach, both breathless and wide eyed with surprise.

Realisation clicked into place for Lia, a combination of humiliation and shock bubbling up in her throat and forcing its way out of her mouth as a loud yelp of laughter. At last the mask was torn free.

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[apothe-roses]

Game Over 🎮

Gamer!Aemond - Fem!Reader

Summary: After putting in the effort to create the perfect romantic night, your plan comes crashing down like a house of cards when your boyfriend dumps you for games.

How far will a girl go before she takes matters into her own hands?

Rated: Explicit (+18)

(Bjob, semi-public sex, praise kink and others)

Word count: 6k

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Enjoy!

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

You snort for the tenth time as hear a bored laugh coming from down the hall.

Fingers drum impatiently on the edge of the bed, a fat pout projecting on your lower lip. Having long since given up on the purposefully suggestive pose on top of the soft silk sheets, you now find yourself sitting upright and very sullen amidst the romantic decor of the room.

With each muffled word coming from your boyfriend's office you feel your mood sour further, the irritation in your nerves increasing to worrying levels.

Aemond wasn't the kind of guy who played games regularly; God knows he's too selfish and perfectionist to be a decent team player. And he barely had any free time to indulge in hobbies and vices anyway. Despite having a complete setup in his personal office with everything a gamer could dream of, he spent very little time cultivating such a habit. Usually only indulging when he was feeling too stressed about work or his family, or when he was absolutely bored.

He didn’t usually care for games. And that’s why you feel even more frustrated by the second. Of all the nights he could have had the unexpected urge to play, did it have to be the night you had planned something special for the both of you?

The soft, delicate lace of your new pastel pink lingerie set teases your skin almost mockingly at this point, the long stockings on your thighs rubbing against each other as you swing one leg over the other in exasperation. The high heels were thrown haphazardly into the corner of the room during the little bout of impatience you had a few minutes ago.

The scented candles you had chosen for the night still burn softly in your peripheral vision, illuminating the room with warmth and romance, the delicate scent of vanilla permeating the air like a seductive invitation. On the bedside table was a bottle of his favorite wine, two glasses neatly arranged next to it.

This was supposed to be a romantic night.

As soon as you saw him casually enter the office a few hours ago, presumably to privately answer some video call from a work client, you ran and locked the bedroom door, preparing everything as quickly as you could to surprise him. Excitement ran freely through your veins, heating your skin to moisten the valley between your legs with anticipation. When you finished arranging everything as best you could, you opened the door invitingly and threw yourself on the bed, acting out what you hoped was a sensual and innocent pose at the same time.

But time passed and Aemond didn't show up.

It was only when you heard the first muffled murmurs of 'all right, I'll cover your left' and 'are you stupid or what? How hard can it be to hit that damn target?' that you realized what he was really doing in the office. But despite the small wave of disappointment, you tried to be level-headed about it. Playing games wasn't something that bothered you at all, but tonight you felt a specific need that only Aemond could fulfill.

You decide to be patient, though, after all he wasn't in the habit of playing games - maybe he just needed a single round to de-stress from the day.

But the minutes passed and what was a single round became two, three; each lasting an average of 30-40 minutes. And here you were, almost two hours later, still waiting.

You had enough!

This was absolutely ridiculous. No one in an adult relationship should spend that much time waiting for some attention - especially when they were losing attention to a damn game.

With a frustrated sigh, you rise from your position on the bed and march towards his office, determined to give him a piece of your mind. Your steps are deliberately heavy as you walk through the living room and into the hallway until you reach his door, where you listen for a few seconds, breathing enough to control the worst of your nerves, but after hearing the same regular tapping on the controller and grumpy responses, you slowly push the door open.

Peeking your head into the room, you see him in front of his setup, playing what looks like some kind of first-person shooter.

The room, as always, smells of cigarette smoke and clean leather, the soft hum of the air conditioning welcoming you - the familiarity enveloping your body in a blissful way that you didn't want at the moment. Your eyes try to focus on surroundings, as the only illumination comes from the purple and blue hues emanating from the sophisticated setup. With his back to you, in his big, comfortable chair, your boyfriend was sitting as if nothing else in the world mattered, with the joystick in his hand and his eye glued to the monitor, mumbling lazily here and there to the chaotic chat of the server.

And seeing him there, carefree and oblivious to all the effort and expectation you had put into this night - into him - made you rethink your course of action for a minute. A thought suddenly crossed your mind.

You were still hurt and frustrated, but maybe giving him a piece of your mind wasn't your only option at the moment.

You walked across the room slowly, but stopped before did what you were thinking.

You mean, were you really about to do that? What, were you really going to act like a hormonal teenager now?

Your body suddenly started moving on its own, mind screaming at you to stop.

Your irritation eases slightly as you admire the outline of his toned, bare back (why the hell is he shirtless anyway?) looming in your line of vision, the way his muscles flex as he leans forward in his black gaming chair, pale, smooth skin illuminated by the purple and blue lights of the setup. He’s wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants and black socks on his feet, and the sight of his broad shoulders and long, muscular arms completely exposed makes your mind wander in a sinful direction.

Maybe your night wasn’t wasted.

Your steps are almost catlike as you advance slowly, silent and focused, taking in his furrowed brows, his devastatingly handsome face with that serious, focused expression, silver hair pulled back into a half-bun — smoke curling up from the cigarette resting in the ashtray on the table.

Aemond hums a vague acknowledgement as you enter his line of sight, his bored gaze flicking from the monitor to you for just a second before returning to the game - but quickly returning to you when he actually notices what you’re wearing.

It’s hard not to get a little carried away when that turquoise blue eye slides across the planes of your body like melted butter; greedy over the thin, nearly sheer bralette on your breasts, the curve of your waist, your cute panties and the lace stockings that come up to your mid-thighs.

“Baby, what the—” he breathes hoarsely, lips parted and brows heavy over his gaze - even his thumbs stop twirling over the buttons on his controller. But you’re both interrupted by a sudden stream of complaints and curses coming from his headset, the volume clear and loud enough for you to hear clearly. Aemond growls. “Fuck, shut your mouth - I’m still here.” And just like that his attention slips from you to the game again, his expression returning to those same disinterested, serious lines from before - but you notice a stiffening in his shoulders that wasn't there before, as if he's on alert now.

You hold on tight to it so his lack of attention doesn’t shake you, trying to solidify your plan as you move. Your hands grip the sides of his chair, using the wheels to help you push it back a few inches. He sends you a sharp, narrow look, shifting between you and the screen, as if he knows exactly what’s on your mind. With a mischievous smile and more determination now, you ignore his warning, slipping innocently into the space between the chair and the table, kneeling between his legs.

“No, the shooter’s on your right.” He mumbles into the mic, sounding more sullen now that his attention has been compromised, but still stubbornly trying to stay focused on the game. You lean forward with a naughty smile, gently sniffing the bulge of his cock trapped in his sweatpants, a whimper rising in your throat when you realize he’s already hard — no doubt an instinctive reaction to understanding your intentions. God, how did this man make you so heated with so little effort?

Your teeth tug playfully at the drawstring of his pants. The muscles in his stomach contract beautifully in response and you sigh, turning your head to rub your cheek against his cock, like a kitten begging for attention.

He’s fully hard now and there’s a thrill in your belly, warm and dark, knowing he’s this way for you — just by you being there, breathing near him, barely touching him properly.

Your lashes flutter heavy over your eyes as you stare without qualms; the soft seam of his sweatpants over a bulge that makes your body tremble with anticipation, burn so much that you’re not sure if you’re breathing anymore.

His cock is thick and hard beneath the gray fabric, big and — stupidly big — so big — over his hip.

“Don’t do that,” he warns in a low tone.

You smile innocently. “Do what, love?”

He growls in his throat, your attitude clearly coiling inside him, making his cock throb beneath your touch. “You won’t be able to walk properly for a week, girl.”

You hum softly, pretending you didn’t hear his threat as untie the laces of his sweatpants to pull the waistband down. Aemond makes no move to help you, stubborn as he's, but you don’t need it. Your grin deepens, glad to be able to lower the elastic enough to free his cock.

“Does it look like I spoke to any of you idiots?” He’s actually more impatient now, dishing out rudeness in the server chat when they question his latest suspicious statement.

You sigh, salivating for him more every time you see his cock — all long and thick, outlined with prominent veins and a shiny flushed head, dripping with precum. Your eyes meet for a moment of distraction from the game, you sugary and full of malicious intent and he suspicious and grumpy - but the anxious twitch in his cock deflates any possible claim that this isn't turning him on in some way.

Let him pretend all he wants, you think with an innocent smile and a slow bat of your eyelashes, sliding your fingers down the hard, pulsing length, slick with the arousal dripping from the tip; a small fist clenched, down and then up, twisting over the head - and then your mouth comes close, spitting a glob of saliva right over it. Pre-come, sweet, warm, sticky saliva as you drag your fist down the tip to the base before repeating. More pre-come.

He shifts in his chair, teeth biting into his lower lip, large, beautiful hands gripping the controller so tightly that the stupid thing squeaks between his fingers. And then you come close; the heated puff of your breath against the base of his cock, your eyes watery and lazy, face flushed and teasing.

And the first swipe of your tongue over him has his abs clenching like a vise, a sharp growl from his chest as you suck him, a little unsteady from the position but so fucking eager that he’s physically incapable of not noticing your effort.

You chase the head of his cock with your mouth as he tries to tilt his hips, your knees shaking as you sink a little to reach him, to close your mouth around him and suck him. One hand instinctively relinquishes its grip to tangle in a fistful of your hair, hips bucking upward as he huffs a ‘fuck baby’; your eyes fluttering and your chest shuddering with a little groan of own, like it’s as good for you as it is for him.

And it is.

'Shit, what's going on man?! I can't believe you missed that one!' Someone complains loudly in the chat.

He just grunts in response, realizing he can't play with just one hand, so he reluctantly puts it back in control. You let out a small chuckle at the length between your lips, happy to see him struggle so much, your right hand resuming the slide of his shaft that your mouth can't reach.

You pull out until only the head of his cock is in your mouth, tongue sliding over it; hand sliding your fist over the spit sheen on his shaft, slick and slow, pushing your lips back until he's nudging the back of your throat and you're breathing hard as keep thrusting and swallowing, keep trying so hard to relax more.

You've never particularly enjoyed giving blowjobs in your previous relationships, but Aemond has elevated the act to something almost sacred; you loved having this kind of power over him, feeling him get harder and harder on your tongue, making him go crazy with desire until he couldn’t control himself anymore. Your pussy clenches in response, the cute panties absolutely ruined by now.

“Can you guys just shut the fuck up for a second? Like I haven’t been carrying this team on my back since the beginning anyway. Fuck all of you.” He growls into the chat, breathing hard between words, undulating his hips discreetly into your mouth - pushing his cock an inch deeper and deeper into your mouth. His gaze is icy and electric as he looks down at you, a dangerous warning shining there, an implicit threat that you’ll regret pushing him this way.

The server chat erupts with denial and curses, but you barely listen, too focused on continuing teasing him; especially now, feeling how his restraint begins to crack and tremble. You pull away with a sticky strand of saliva still connecting you to the head of his cock, using his knees as support to stand up and sneakily settle yourself on top of his legs.

"You're acting like a spoiled brat." He breathes at the corner of your lips as you bring your face closer, anxious and trembling body falling into his lap.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You mumble back, heart racing at the darkness in his turquoise gaze, the other half of his face torn and eternally marked by the jagged scar only adding danger to that warning bite in his expression. With almost too eager fingers you smooth the muscles in his abdomen, moving up to feel the hard ridge of each one until you reach his shoulders.

He breathes heavily, but keeps his eye on the monitor as he violently presses the poor buttons on the joystick, waging a proud war to keep himself away - but you are nothing if not determined.

It takes just a second to admire the milky, soft expanse of his neck, the Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and then your warm, wet lips are there; covering his skin with soft kisses and bites, sucking slowly between your teeth and licking it afterwards, making him gasp softly and bite his lip, reluctantly tilting his head to offer you more of him. 

You breathe out a smile before leaning back on his knees, letting his gaze slide greedily down your body. To the soft peaks of your breasts half-visible in that thin bralette, the valley of your belly to the dip of your little belly button, and finally to your hips beginning to undulate sensually over his. His cock, as hard and wet as it is, leaves a trail of arousal and sticky saliva on his lower belly and you blush at the sight of the mess he’s making.

You shiver as you feel that same thick wetness of his cock drag against your pussy through your lacy panties, pushing and pushing the swollen tip against your clit until you let out a series of short, sharp gasps. With eyelashes flutter and your eyebrows furrow at the sensation, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you continue to grind your clit against his throbbing cock.

'Wait, wait, what’s that?' you hear someone ask through his headset, but your mind is too far gone to stop now. Little fingers hook into the soft crotch of your pantie for just a moment before you pulls it aside, letting your scalding, drooling pussy rub directly against his hard shaft. Your moan is louder this time, more brazen too. 'What the fuck—are you watching porn while you play, your fucking pervert?' A player in the chat asks with a mocking, mischievous laugh, and in the middle of pushing your needy folds onto his cock, you watch Aemond smile back - sharp, icy, dangerous.

“Much better than that, fucker.” His voice changes to something rougher, something demanding and wicked, and you push yourself against him a little harder, your temperature rising, and you moan. “My girl is needy tonight.”

The chat becomes chaotic again, bursting with dirty laughter and snide comments that would offend you any other time — and maybe Aemond thinks the same, because you see his jaw clench once, his eye cold and his lips pressed together in that way he does when he’s not satisfied with something.

But something keeps him going, keeps him pushing harder.

Quietly he drops the controller to the table, relinquishing his participation in the game, sliding his headset down to hang loosely around his neck. And you can’t breathe. Your heart is pounding, so hard you’re surprised you can’t see it when look down at your chest.

“You wanted my attention, baby. Well, now you have it. And theirs too.” He smiles teasingly at you, his gaze dark and intent on yours, even though the game is still going on the monitor right behind you. "How about we put on a little show for these fucking losers?"

The chat seems to fall into a deliberate silence as he speaks, as if everyone is waiting to hear the outcome of this bizarre and absolutely wild situation.

"I can smell your pussy," he continues when you don't respond, his voice a growl. "I can smell how wet you are." He leans down to nibble on your earlobe, sucking on the lobe before nuzzling into the soft hollow just below it. You think he's exaggerating, he couldn't really smell you, could he? But the room is filled with colored lights, smelling of cigarette smoke and leather, and his cock is brushing against your clit and you really don't know what to think. "Hm, what do you say...want to give these horny nerds something interesting to jerk off to, princess?"

You shouldn’t agree, but you’re moaning before you know it, nodding as your cheeks explode with heat.

“That’s my babygirl - take this cock then,” he whispers to you, filthy and shameless, picking up the cigarette resting on the ashtray to draw slowly. Aemond slides his other hand up your thigh, stroking the soft lace of your stockings. “Fuck yourself on it until you cum,” he tells you, and only the sharp gaze locked on yours keeps you from rolling your eyes back in, not even the acrid puff of smoke near your face distracting you at this point. “Make me open you up, brat. Make my cock all sticky and heated with your pussy.”

He sounds so honest when he says it and yet so rough around the edges, like he’s punishing you somehow — though you don’t quite understand how yet.

Your fingers are shaking as you grip him by the base, lifting your hips to start thrusting him inside.

You keep it slow and steady, the first few inches aching and too tight as always; staring down between your bodies, his thick, glistening cock stretching you open as you suck him inside. He continues to smoke his cigarette leisurely, watching you from beneath one half-lidded eyelid, leaning back in the chair like a king as you work your pussy into him, inch by tight inch. Feeling the tremble of your thighs, the shiver in your body; those first few inches that always feel like he don’t fit, like you’re stretched too much, like you’re too small—

He runs his other hand down your side, down over the tightness of your stomach, hearing you gasp, moan at the stretch, the ache, the way he sinks deeper and deeper. Watching the heave of your breasts, the exasperated, rising intake of breath that turns into something else when your hips finally press against his. Buried so deep and thick inside your walls that he can’t hold back his own noise; hoarse and broken, escaping his lips along with a swirling hiss of cigarette smoke.

You exhale his name, the softest, shakiest Aemond — as your body inevitably begins to relax, as if it doesn’t matter the stretch, the pain, the depth…because just having him inside you, embedded so deeply, is exactly what it needs.

Your delicate palms rest on the broad planes of his chest and he sighs — his hips pulse inside you, just a small push upward, a small movement and you tense, a sharper noise falling from your lips. He tilts his head to the side with lazy interest, grinding his hips against yours again, enjoying the sounds that come from your mouth, the way it opens to suck in a garbled breath.

“You know, I never knew you had it in you, baby…an exhibitionist streak like that,” his heated murmur is dark and full of depraved promise. “I’ll give you that, though, you really know how to get a man’s attention.”

Your breathing is rapid despite your best efforts. He presses his palm to your throat, curling his fingers slowly, squeezing just enough to hear a small hiccup of inspiration, your toes curling against the sides of his thighs...

“Where’s that smart mouth now? My pretty baby girl’s gone so quiet all of a sudden.” He murmurs with a mischievous grin, clamping the cigarette between his teeth to grip your hips, pulling your body to his in obnoxiously slow undulations.

Even though it’s draped around his neck, the voices coming from the headset are still loud enough for both of you to hear; a cacophony of whistles and disbelieving laughter.

“Come on,” he says, picking up the cigarette again to toss it into the ashtray. He pulls you closer and wraps both hands around your hips, staring into your glassy eyes. “Go ahead and ride me.”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning more firmly against his chest as you begin to grind against his cock, little mewls escaping your lips, ass slapping rhythmically against his hips.

'Holy shit, are they really doing this?' Someone ask shrilly in the chat, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment — your movements stuttering for a moment. This — this wasn’t right, was it? You couldn’t just fuck while these strangers listened. This wasn’t right.

“Don’t stop,” Aemond growled, pulling your chin up so you could look him in the eye and see that he meant business. “Keep riding my cock like a good girl. Let them hear you. Let them fuck their own pathetic dicks while they listen to me fuck your pussy until you cry. Let them be so fucking envy of me, because I have the cutest and naughty girl in the world. Can you do this?”

You look up at him with beautiful doe eyes, lashes fluttering as you nod yes, leaning in to kiss him. Aemond takes you in immediately; soft, warm lips on yours, wet tongue sliding across yours and you taste cigarettes and mint gum. You moan louder as he plants his feet on the floor, thrusting up into you roughly, tangling his hand in your hair to keep you pressed against him even as the impact makes you bounce on his lap. It’s so damn hot in the room, the two of you electric and heated. Your whimpers and sobs grow louder and louder, matching the rhythm of your hips undulating more and more into his.

‘Oh shit, she sounds so fucking good…’ you barely hear the comment through his headset, eyes rolling back in pleasure with each deep thrust of his thick cock into your pussy.

"Yes, she does." Aemond hums, gripping your hips tighter, guiding you easily, and you feel yourself getting closer, but there’s something missing — an incentive to push you over the edge.

You rest a hand on his thigh, fisting the soft sweats of his pants, tilting your body and head back as the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle. He watches you hungrily, leaning back in his chair — though he looks like he wants to jump on top of you. The purple and blue lights illuminate you both in a flattering, almost artistic way; highlighting his silver hair in that messy half-bun, the soft planes of your breasts, the definition of the muscles in his arms and abs — your pussy swallowing his cock with wet, greedy sounds…

Your hips roll at a feverish pace, the head of his cock slamming perfectly into your soft walls and you moan as the hand on your left hip moves slightly until he’s flicking his thumb over your clit.

Fuck yes. He knows you so well. 

“Oh f— fuck. You feel so good, you feel so good...” You mumble, hips moving faster, the chair audibly creaking with the force of your thrusts.

“Yeah? It must be really fucking good if you can barely wait a few hours before acting like a brat for that cock, huh?” Aemond runs his tongue over his teeth, taking his time to tease your clit as you bounce up and down, sending you a hooded, hungry look as he continues, “But I can’t deny that you look so cute when act like a little slut for me, when you let me use you however I want, drunk on my cock and hungry for cum like the good whore you are. I fucking love it. Come on, take me, fuck me, show me how much you want this.”

Moaning loudly, your widened knees nipping at his hips, you nearly come at those words alone — eyes rolling back with an open mouth.

“Greedy brat…”

“Y-your greedy brat—” 

“My brat.” He growls approvingly, thrusting his hips deep into yours, steadily building that tension in you again, knotting your belly.

Your head falls forward and you watch him smile and bite his lip as thrusts into you again and again and again. Your own hips struggle to keep up with his punishing pace, even though you’re the one on top. His thumb moves as ruthlessly as his cock — a quick, easy rhythm at times, a drastic shift into a languid thrust at others; a torturous pace that somehow wipes all thought from your eternally thoughtful brain.

By now, your mind is so clouded and focused on the pleasure he’s giving you that you no longer understand anything the other players are saying over the server chat. But you know they’re still there. A staticky blur of what sounds like compliments to you, declarations of envy to Aemond, and even a few muffled sounds of pleasure. None of it matters, though. Nothing but the man beneath you.

“That’s it, beautiful. Are you going to cum on my cock, baby?” He whispers, his voice thick with lust as you grind against him relentlessly, head thrown to the side and mouth open, letting sweet sounds fall from your lips.

You can feel the heat emanating from him, the intensity growing by the second.

“Aemond…so close…” You gasp, body shaking uncontrollably.

“Cum for me, baby…scream my name, let them know who’s fucking you, who’s the only one who can fuck you.” He demands, his cock and thumb never stopping their relentless assault on your most sensitive spots. Every inch up drags his cock against those nerves inside your walls. Every inch down keeps you full and exploding with him, there’s no release, no edge to be found, it’s just pleasure, cigarette smoke and the heat of his body.

"Aemond!"

You build so stellarly, so intensely, it almost feels like you’re building up in your mouth, that sticky, warm sweetness. The sensation burns behind your belly button, sinks between your hips, tingles in your pussy, pulses in your clit against your stomach, until your fingers are shaking, white and slick on his shoulders and his mouth is on your neck as you fall forward, writhing and moaning.

And still, he keeps working you, well past that limit, keeping you so full of him, so focused on him, that there’s nothing else in the world but his skin, his cock, his voice in your ear.

“That’s it, that’s it. Come on, pretty girl.”

And you do. Choked sobs into his skin. A toe-curling, thigh-trembling release, clenching around the thickness of his cock.

As he promised, tears flash in your eyes at the sheer intensity of this orgasm, and you sniff pathetically into his neck.

“Mmm, such a crybaby…” he scoffs, but still wraps his arms around your body, hugging you tightly as he pounds his hips into yours, panting wetly into your shoulder and neck. “You’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard with that cute little cry and that pussy squeezing my cock over and over…”

A strangled moan escapes your throat.

“Y-yes, please—inside Aem, cum inside me, please, I need it!” You can feel him shudder in response, his tip buried against your cervix.

“That’s my greedy girl.” There’s a ghost of a kiss on your neck. “I fucking love this, baby. I fucking love you.”

You sob and he thrusts into you again, his hips slamming into your thighs with so much impact you’re sure you’ll bruise. He grips you flush against his body, stopping inside you with one deep thrust, slowly spilling hot streams of thick cum into your pussy as he pants harshly in your ear. Your body feels like it’s vibrating, wracked and claimed.

You’re panting, chest rising and falling against his, bites and hickeys beginning to bloom across your exposed skin. You’re pleasantly gorged on his seed, high on the rush of endorphins and satisfaction that washes over you.

“Hey losers,” Aemond mumbles into the mic after a while, a ghost of a smile on his lips and a wicked glint in his eye, “try not to jerk off too much to the memory of this in the next few days.”

And before the chat can explode into a flurry of dirty comments and sharp retorts, he reaches over to end the call and close the game window.

You sigh wearily, distantly aware that he’s rising from his chair with you in his arms. You hold him tighter, face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent, and he nuzzles you back. And for a moment, you think he’s taking you to the bed or the bathroom, to clean you up. Your face scrunches up in sleepy confusion when he sets you down on his desk instead.

He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen lips, smirking at you before he lowers himself. His tongue suddenly slides into your mouth and you accept it obediently, one of his hands running through your hair, pulling your head back, changing the angle of the kiss. Your mind is confused by the smell of him suffocating you in the best way, but before you can get too deep into it you feel him pulling away a few inches, enough to slide his cock out of your pussy.

You grunt a sound at this, but Aemond ignores, positioning himself better in front of you with a suspiciously amused glint in his eye - even though his other, mutilated and missing, lends him a look of constant danger.

“Spread your legs wide for me, baby.”

Even though you were suspicious about the meaning of that look, you did as he said, parting your legs slowly for his view.

“Why do you want to — oh ,” you close your mouth the moment you understand why he asked for it. Your cheeks burn as feel his hot cum slowly spurt from your pussy, dripping down between your thighs and onto his desk.

His gaze darkens until there’s nothing blue left in him, just that animalistic darkness and desire that makes your core throb with anticipation once more. You blink down at his hard cock - even after so much time together you’re still genuinely surprised at how long he could last.

You could have sworn he growled when you tried to close your legs, sending you a sharp, narrowed look before reaching his fingers down to your pussy, gathering the cum that was already on your thighs and pushing it back into your quivering entrance.

“A-Aemond, I don’t know if I can...if I can keep going with this—”

“Hmm...really?” He hums, lewdly watching his fingers sink into your pussy with an absolutely embarrassing squirting sound, his other hand casually stimulating his hardening cock with languid pumps. “But you tried so hard to get my attention before — a needy little slut on a mission...”

His voice is dangerously low, purring as he closes the distance between the two of you, a few strands of ice-blonde hair slick with sweat around his face.

“I really hope this bratty behavior of yours was worth it. Because you’re only leaving this fuckin room when I’m completely satisfied.”

And with that he pushes himself lazily to the hilt inside you once more, so slowly that you feel every veiny inch of his thick cock stretching you — pushing his cum into you again until your eyes roll back in your head.

Smooth and easy and relentless as he draws back to the tip and thrusts to the root, and then again, and then one broad hand is smoothing down your side and curling under one thigh to flick you up and open and the angle is so much better.

Aemond shivers with a guttural groan, nuzzling into the shell of your ear, and you sob again, so heated and so turned on by how completely your boyfriend has you wrapped around his fingers.

And oh yes. That was a phenomenal idea that certainly worth for you. And you can’t be humble about it — the credit is all yours.

Heat blooms in the center between your legs. You turn your head to the side, resting your sweaty temple against his. Your breath is shared between you, slow pumps of his cock into your sticky pussy.

“You bet it was worth.” You murmur, with a sugary little smile that is equal parts mischievous and shy.

Aemond snorts in amusement, though his brows are heavily slanted over his gaze, and he’s blinking at you hungrily, the way he weaves just a trace of fear into the lust that curls inside you, heavy as smoke.

“Greedy brat.”

And as you stand there; panting wetly against his lips, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, his thick cock inside your walls, his hands on your skin like an amalgam of possessiveness — welcoming his dark hunger like it’s your sole mission in life…

Yes, as you can already feel the slow burn of your orgasm building, tingling and warming you from the inside out, you think he might be right. You are a greedy brat.

But only for him.

Always for him.

[apothe-roses]

🔪 knife stop 🔪

Take a knife or two to complete any tasks you need to finish soon. Reblog to give your mutuals a knife for any group projects you may be working on

[apothe-roses]

all right everyone let's hear it for ACETAMINOPHEN let's give it up for STORE-BRAND TYLENOL let me hear you make some NOISE