#‘twas disgusting

[poppy5991]

When you find an international food you liked when you were abroad in a grocery back home, but it’s all wrong:

[liam-summers]

Just watched “Alien: Romulus” and bitchhhhh the gasps I guspt during the last 30 mins…almost started praying cause how tf am I supposed to get THAT imagine out of my mind now? Huh????

[rainydaysie]

looks at you with my big kind eyes

[platypusparfait]

One of the most unsettling things that has ever happened to me here in my 10+ years on this Webbed Site was finding out one of my ex ‘social justice’ mutuals went full blown T//E//R//F

I had suspicions bc they kept rbing r//4//df//3m safe’ bs but I couldn’t confirm them when they were crypto and simply just unfollowed bc those posts were red flags for me

Like it was a Whole Thing in my ‘circle’ at the time...

[skitskatdacat63]

I forget how comfortable my life is living w just my parents, in terms of being comfortably out, then have to listen to my brother go on a homophobic rant, that I can't tell if its a joke or not, but was really hurtful :)

[thecosmopossum]

A little trend in Insta that I hopped on.

Couldn't stop myself from taking a stab at it.

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hatred & Love

"... burn in the same intensity," Gwayne laughs as I walk off. His expression softens but no one but him will ever know. He links his hands together, "or so I'm told, princess."

Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen!Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fuck boy!gwayne, fluff ig, when daemon said hightower cunt he meant gwayne because he Serves™, typos, etc.

I saunter down the hall on my way back to my chambers. My ears perk at the sound of laughter from the distance. Immediately, my jaw tightens in recognition, and my feet quicken its pace. I squeeze my hands together, wanting nothing more than to avoid whom I knew I might encounter.

The gods fail me as I spot the aggravating Hightower, merrily loitering in the gardens with his company. Dare they drink in broad daylight? Clad in his sigil and armor, no less.

Tactless.

Apparently, he had won another silly tourney. How irritating of him to celebrate in my home. The Keep would surely benefit from his absence. Gods know the peace I feel when he is not around.

Gwayne's eyes drift. I can feel him looking at my handmaids, at me, as we pass. He laughs at whatever foolishness his friend tells him; the noise grates at me. I scoff under my breath, "barbarian."

Gwayne smirks and calls out, "blessed morn, princess!"

"How can it, when you are here, and it is midday?" I retort, sparing him no glance or pause.

He chuckles as he stands. My face twists as I hear his clanking armour. My heart races at the sound of footsteps accelerating towards me.

My arm is pulled back. I shoot a glare at Gwayne and his stupid face as he releases me. His lopsided smirk aggravates me further as he says, "is a congratulations not in order?"

I snort, "for whom," I raise a brow, "for you?"

"For you," he tilts his head back, placing his hands behind him, "the most temperate princess of all. So comely, so-" his dimples show, "sweet."

I feel my face begin to tighten.

He sticks out his lower lip, "they had no one to crown queen of love and beauty in your absence. Twas a shame."

My head cocks to the side. My brows knit, "you mean you?"

"What?"

"You had no one to crown Queen of Love and Beauty," I step forward.

He stays put as I impose into his personal space. His eyes dart up and down; the muscle on his jaw feathers.

"Were you so anguished by my absence that the victory left a bitter taste in your lips?" I pout and sigh as I bring my hands behind me, effectively mocking him.

Gwayne watches how my chest sinks. His expression chips away a fraction, but it is enough to make me smirk, and I do so happily.

That is, until he licks his lips.

"Tis victory enough that you know of it," his smirk grows. Mine fades as he continues, "my heart sings at the newfound knowledge that you gossip about me, princess."

I chuckle dryly, admittedly louder than necessary, "I need no gossip! Tis not hard to hear about you, when your blabbermouth is audible even in the dungeon's depths!"

His defenses slip. A giddy chuckle escapes his diaphragm, and the rich sound makes my stomach drop. His eyes crinkle and his hands relax to his side. He lets himself relish his amusement before he mutters, "how then would I gain your attention?"

My lips part.

His brows raise.

My breath hitches.

Wind blows my silver hair into my mouth and the sound of me spitting it out snaps him out of his trance. Gwayne shifts on his leg, "perhaps I should pull your hair."

My upper lip curls at his childish response, and he chortles at my look of disgust. "You are a hateful beast," I roll my eyes and turn about.

"Hatred and love burn in the same intensity," Gwayne laughs as I walk off. His expression softens but no one but him will ever know. He links his hands together, "or so I'm told, princess."

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141!(Part 5)

The shithead owner decides that he needs to sign up for a "restaurant renovation" show. Chaos ensues.

"A fucking TV show?"

Gaz frowns while polishing glasses.

"Told him it was a bad idea."

Price shrugs, lighting a cigar. You are horrified, being on the screen for millions of people to see was nerve wracking. And it'll be the first time you meet the owner.

"Restaurant renovation... Lik' he gives twa fucks aboot renovating this shitehole."

Johnny ashes his smoke and passes it to you. You take a deep drag and sigh, this is gonna be a disaster.

~

Cameras are set up everywhere, everyone's mic'd up, there are too many people in too small of a space. Some obnoxiously loud man introduces himself. He seems to be an amalgamation of every TV host you've ever seen, wearing too much cologne and too much hair gel. He puts a hand on your shoulder,

"The place looks terrible but at least they got something nice to look at here."

He flashes a smile, cheap veneer blindingly white. You awkwardly laugh while Price steps in, introducing himself. You scurry away to the back where the rest of the boys are,

"I want everyone to be on their best behavior today. No fucking around. Don't make me look bad."

The owner is a bland man, average height and weight, with a shitty haircut and wearing an ugly flashy shirt. He turns around and briefly introduces himself, he already smells like liquor. Great. He gets waved over to get interviewed by the host. You and the guys watch from the other end of the restaurant. It's quite embarrassing, the host pointing out how run down the place looks, the menu is confusing and overwhelming, and then asks if he's drunk,

"I can smell the alcohol from here Carl... it's only 11am buddy."

The owner stutters and blinks,

"I- just uh, just a crazy night is all."

The host stares, unconvinced. Carl shifts awkwardly in his chair. The next segment was ordering food apparently, so you were up. You walk up to the table as the host asks you a barrage of questions,

"How would you say the fish is here? Is everything fresh? What do you think of the steak? Do you have any recommendations?"

When you say you only ate the fries from here and he laughs loudly,

"That is not a good sign folks!"

He stares at the camera, showing off teeth that were too big for his mouth before you walk off and punch in the order. There's a cameraman recording John and Simon cooking,

"Steak and potatoes."

John reads the slip out loud, they move around the kitchen while the owner watches. For such a simple dish there's a lot of chaos, Carl is yelling at them to move faster and cook properly, John is busy arguing with Carl and burns the steak, Simon plates up the food and hands it off to you. You place the plate down in front of the host,

"Oh...oh my God..."

You keep a straight face, hands behind your back. The host looks back up at you,

"Does the food usually come out like this?"

There's a tone of disgust and concern, his eyebrows turned up, you shrug. He stares back down at the filet and cuts into it,

"It's very impressive that one is able to overcook such a large piece of meat. That takes...skill."

You watch concertedly as he picks up a piece and puts it into his mouth, it looks like he wants to cry.

He goes on to complain about the quality of the food to the camera as he walks to the kitchen,

"At least it's clean back here. I've seen kitchens in wors- is that a fucking pigeon?"

Sure enough, there is. How the fuck did it get in here?

"Oh! I just left the door open to let some fresh air in..."

Carl awkwardly tries to catch the bird while the boys watch amusedly, even the camera crew stifle a laugh.

"Christ Almighty, what is wrong with you man?"

The host shakes his head, watching the whole scene in disbelief. Eventually, the bird is out of the building and the sweep of the kitchen continues.

"Food is not expired, everything is stored properly, it's all very well organized. I was honestly expecting worse."

The host walks up to the bar next, plucking up bottles and examining them,

"So, Kyle is it? How long have you been working here for?"

"Just a little over five years."

Gaz leans against the bar. There's a gasp and the host waves the camera over,

"Look at this shit,"

He points at the label,

"Expired in August,"

You look over at Gaz and Soap, they look like they're about to piss themselves, holding back laughs.

"Of 2012!"

The host looks disgusted,

"Why didn't you throw this away?"

"Carl told me to not toss anything."

Kyle shrugged. Soap is almost in tears, shaking, trying to bite back a howl of laughter.

The next two days are like this, you don't know why Carl hasn't pulled the plug on this fiasco yet,

"I think he's getting drunker as the days go by."

Johnny says, ashing his cigarette. There's a nod from Simon,

"I think he enjoys being embarrassed, seems like the type to get off on that."

'The big finale' as the host calls it, means getting a new menu, refreshing the cooks(John's) skills, and cleaning out the bar. The place is opened and there's a line out of the door. It's overwhelming, the customers are putting on a show, acting like dickheads and sending everything back even when there's nothing wrong with the food. Simon and John are on top of everything, putting out food as fast as possible, Carl is shitting himself running around the kitchen like a headless chicken. The night goes by fast and everyone is at the bar,

"So the cooks are for the most part competent, the waitress is amazing, and the bartender is well... The man can do no wrong. The problem here is you,"

The host points at Carl who is fucking sloshed swaying back and forth,

"I genuinely think this restaurant would be better off without you."

Carl starts bawling. The host is visibly uncomfortable. The boys and you are looking at each other. Then when all the cameras and lights are gone, it's all back to normal. Carl is looking for reassurance from anyone and you and the boys just pack up and head home, Price patting him on the back,

"You'll be alright."

~

A few months later, you're all sat on the couch watching the TV. Johnny's over the moon pointing at the screen,

"Look thare A am! See hou sexy A look?"

He's smiling and waving at the camera in the background of the scene where Carl is crying his eyes out. That gets a laugh out of Gaz,

"You're a sick bastard, Soap."

Once the episode dropped, the restaurant got busy for a few months. Most of the customers are horny women ogling at Kyle. On occasion you get the request to bring out "the scary looking one" and you just laugh it off.

"You're so lucky working with all these guys, I don't know if I'd be able to control myself,"

A particularly drunk woman said to you one day. You just smile while Kyle winks at you over his shoulder.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. ( HOTD x READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Niece! Targ! ( Strong ) Reader suggest song to listen to whilst reading: Like Real People Do by Hozier or Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives prompt : I wanted to ask Aegon x niece!reader who is married to him and has been for a long time (say since the Driftmark incident), and has been taking care of him for a long time: helping him through hangovers, patching him up when he gets into fistfights etc. And no matter how much he tries to drive her away by cheating, by yelling and throwing things and generally being disgusting she never gives up on him. I need the ANGST. can you do that please? and Hi🥰 Can I request an Aegon II x Targ!(Strong) reader. She is Rhaenyra’s first child, and she inherited the Targ looks, so she is accepted by the greens. She has always been close friends with Aegon, so it was logical for them to marry. Aegon is still kind of an ass, but he loves her, she can always calm him down. Feel free to change bits here and there, it’s just an idea. Thank you so much in advance, and much love to you!😊 word count: 1, 000+ words

When your betrothal was first announced, you were barely ten and one and Aegon, was ten and two. It was supposed to be a match made in good will. You were a year younger than Aegon, a happy girl who would make a good Mother one day. But, Aegon detested it. No, he loathed it! He made it clear as day, having no shame if hurt your feelings or caused problems. But, it never bothered you.

In many ways you were like Helaena. You were gentle, soft spoken and viewed the world with a special glimmer. There was this good in you. A good that everybody noticed and adored in the tense walls of the Red Keep. He noticed many things about you, not as if he was paying attention to you. Why would he? You were just a pest. His annoying, pest of a wife. 

You liked to read under the weirwood tree in the garden’s. You liked lemon cakes, not the actual tart, but the sugary lemon slice on top. Your eyes and nose could crinkle up when you smiled. You refused to wear a corset or keep up with the fashion trends in Court, preferring your own distinct style of gowns and hair styles. 

Your jaw would clench whenever you tended to his bleeding fingers, something he inherited from his Mother. You would chew on your bottom lip to stop yourself from flinching whenever he yelled at you. Your eyes would look for him in a room, like you wanted the assurance of his presence there. You were always patient with him, even though he never deserved it. 

You made him feel things, good things. He had gotten used to being ignored or only receiving negative attention. But, it was almost like a dirty little secret of his. To savor the good moments with you. To clutch it close to his chest when he was all alone in his bedchambers. You were good and you were always good to him.  He wanted to break that, and he would.

Watching as you softly wrap his hand with the bandage, he doesn’t speak up, not daring to ruin this one moment of peace. He could ruin it. He would ruin it, just not right now. This was a nice moment of calm. Just this once would he allow it. Feeling bile go up his throat, he swallows it back down, his face curling up in disdain. His head was still pounding. His gut bubbling up from the large amount of food and strongwine he gorged on. He felt sick, disgustingly sick. 

"You must be careful. Twas' a cut on the finger that took Viserys." You warn, "I do not wish for you to endure such a painful fate as well."

"Do not speak." He murmurs, almost pleading.

"Aegon, I worry for you. Truly, I do not wish to awake one day to hear you've died." You whisper, "Please, Aegon. Be careful. If not for my sake, then for your own."

"Stop with the nagging." He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I am not nagging, I know I am not the wife you wished or wanted. But, please, Aegon.."

Feeling his annoyance bubble as you say his name, your voice soft and making it sound so lovely. He detested his name. He detested the legacy that was being forced upon him for being named after his ancestor. But, the way you said it. You made it sound like such a beautiful thing. Like he was not the discarded son, the hated one, the sinful one. Pulling his hand away from you, he abruptly stands up from his hair, pacing on the other end of the table from you. 

He couldn’t bear you caring for him. He was horrid. He was rotten. Everyone in Court thought of it, why could you not do the same? Why could you not stare at him with the same disdain as everyone else? Why? Why? Why the fuck did Rhaenyra raise you so well? Running his fingers through his greasy hair, he thought of the cruelest of things to say to you, wanting to keep you far far away from him. To make you hate him. To make you see him in the same light as others do.

"Why can you not be like other whores? Why can you not spread your legs and not your lips?" He sneers, his voice cruel. 

"Is that I am to you? A whore." You ask, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

"Yes, your a thing for me to fuck. Something for me to use when I need my cock wet. So stop speaking and do your duty.” He continues, “Be nothing more than a thing for me to fuck when needed be.”

“Aegon..”

“No, no, you are nothing. You may look like a Targaryen, but you will always be the blood of a whore. Tis’ why it is no surprise you follow in the same path your Mother does.” He adds, watching your reaction carefully.

Seeing the tears bubbling up in your eyes, he for a split second wishes to take it all back, to beg for forgiveness. But, the voice in the back of his head stops him. You were Rhaenyra’s daughter, a good and kind person. She raised you right. She raised you perfectly. You were supposed to be his enemy. You were supposed to stare at him with the same hatred your Mother stared at his Mother with. Yet, despite it all, you were kind to him. It was fair. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Clenching his jaw tightly, he shakes his head firmly, burying the guilt that festered within him. Soon enough you would understand. Soon enough the good, the kindness, all of it would die within you. You would detest him. You would grow to hate him just as everyone else did. Then, only then, would it make all of the cruelty he had thrown at you be excused. He would then have a good enough excuse for it. The guilt he felt would die. 

“Why do you say such cruel things to me?” You murmur, your voice cracking at the end.

“Because I can. Tears do not move me, so do not expect pity from me.” He confesses, “I never wished for you. I never wished for any of this. Yet, you pester me with your kindness.”

“What must I do for you to not hate me? Tell me, tell me, what you wish for me to be and I will be it.” You murmur, eyes full of so much kindness.

“Stop talking.”

“Tell me, Aegon. Please, please, tell me what you wish for me to say and do. Tell me what girl you wish for me to be, and I can be that girl for you.” You plead, bargaining with him. 

“Stop talking.” He repeats, his voice a little louder. 

"Aegon, please, stop shutting me out. Just speak to me."

You stare up at him, big teary doe-eyes. The same look you gave him whenever unsure, seeking out guidance and reassurance. The same haunting eyes you gave at your wedding, so young and unsure of what to say or do next. Feeling everything bubbling up as you plead and beg him, attempting to please him despite it all.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Were you so damn good?! Why can’t you just hate him?! Why could he not just break you?! He broke everything else around him. From toys to furniture to others around him. He could break it all, yet you refused to break or bend.

"He is your brother, your kin. You should not treat him in such a manner."

"Aegon, you twat! You break everything!"

"Tis' the third glass you've broken this week, your grace. Do be careful."

"You are a Prince, a man of a high status, a man grown. Act like it, stop conducting yourself in such a dishonorable manner."

"Have you no shame? Do you not see the dishonor you bring to your wife? To our family name?"

Tears bubbling in his eyes, his bottom lip trembling softly, a lump in his throat thickening up. Shaking his head, he covers his ears with his hands, attempting to block out your soft pleas and attempt to mend things with him. You were so good. Alicent always said she wished to lock you away, to protect you from his rotten touch.

He wished that he was not so rotten. He wished that he could just hold you and melt into your warmth. He wished that he could love you the way that you clearly loved and cared for him. He wished that he could not have such cruel thoughts lingering in his mind. That you both could be like Rhaenyra and Daemon were, so happy and full of love. 

“STOP FUCKING TALKING!” He snaps, tears streaming down his face.

Thankfully, you stay quiet.

“Why can’t you hate me as all the others do? Why must you be so good? So kind? After all I have done to you, you continue to love me." He pleas, "Just hate me. Hate me, scorn me, hit me, damn me to the seven hells! Be like the others. Please..”

---

love you babe's for requesting this! i really loved this and had so much fun. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

@decadentfantasy

@the-riley-show

[celticwoman]

starting to feel nauseous while on the bus is the worst thing that could happen to a girl

[ladyredmoon13]

DCxDP prompt

Twas love at first sight.

After being crowned Ghost King. Danny begins teaching his high council and advisors how to make portals to the human realm in case of emergencies or if they ever need to talk.

Princess Dorathea was having trouble with this particular ability but she thought she was getting the hang of it. Well, she thought she was, anyway. She honestly didn't know what happened but now she was in a dark, dank city that reeked of bad intentions and death.

It was foul, disgusting, and felt all-consuming. She didn't like it. But that all changed when she caught sight of him. From down the alleyway Dora heard loud hissing before a brawl started.

Thinking that a fellow ghost might need help with ghost hunters she ran towards the fray. What she saw when she reached the mouth of the alley was not a ghost fighting back ghost hunters. She should have known, she would have sensed if there was another nearby.

Nevertheless, she was no less captivated by the man that she saw. He was, for the lack of more eloquent words, very large. 9 feet tall and broad in both chest and shoulders. His claws were sharp, his teeth pointed and his entire body was covered in scales.

He was one of the most handsome beings she had ever seen. Not to mention the bravest. Currently taking on many hunters at once and holding them back with such fierce strength.

She had to know just who that magnificent moral was. Dora could not leave till she had at least a name to put to that sculpted face.

-Dora/Killer Croc

[purpledisastertwin900]

So I’ve actually tried cucumber Gatorade

It’s fkin nasty I tried to like it so hard for the bit but bro

It’s nastyyyy

What flavour is that It's gatorade What flavour is that Cucumber I just lost so much respect for you What's wrong with cucumber gatorade? Have you tried it before? Yeah I love it it's my fav- That's what's wrong with it It's my favourite gatorade That's your favourite?! Yes Cucumber gatorade is like drinking aloe vera, with some salt in it. The fact that you're drinking that is disturbing I'm about to say something and gonna make you real mad You better watch what you're about- that- that's insane that you're drinking that I love it so much Whenever I was an athlete in like highschool and college, I would only drink this. I used to do something, would you rather me show you or tell you? Show or- show and tell? Is it an act?? There's something I used to do with this gatorade And you can show it to me? I still do it Oh my god I swear, this is what I do when I get cucumber gatorade, cucumber gatorade only I drink have of it, immediately Why are you chugging it?? I drink half of it immediately. And I don't like the cucumber gatorade just for the taste, I actually prefer the smell. If I don't want it to run out I just, I just sniff it That's disgusting. That- IT'S GATORADE ZERO?!? It's not even the- oh my god. I know that tastes disgusting! Not only is it aloe vera, in a bottle, liquified with salt. But now there's NO SUGAR! It's so good You're drinking medicine! You're drinking like a remedy! You are dis- And you sniff it!!! It smells good. It makes me feel hydrated when I sniff it I bet so! That's like a natural diuretic! Like that's- that is the worst flavour of gatorade that has ever been invented!!! I want more YOU HAVE MORE! YOU HAVE ENOUGH!!

[howyouloveyourdragon]

Sweet Girl

pronouns: she/her (afab) warnings: smut (piv, oral (male & female receiving), soft, rough), hickeys, possessiveness, incest kinks: light degradation, spit, praise, corruption, overstimulation summary: Aegon and Aemond are less than impressed when they hear that their sweet girl has been betrothed to a man of House Blackwood. They decide she must be claimed in every way a dragon can be claimed and perhaps they may discover even more. pairing/s: Aemond x reader x Aegon dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 4,221

His heart hammers at the sight. His nose twists at the display. His hand clasps a cup to raise. “Final tribute!” Aemond announces, a sly grin twisting his lips but all can see the disgust within it. “To the health of my nephews; Jace, Luke and Joffrey.” He can sense her attention returned to him in mere moments. “Each of them, handsome, wise…Strong.” The implication is clear before Jace even entirely turns his body toward him. “Aemond,” His mother hisses but it means nothing when your eyes are on him. Aemond merely smirks as Luke’s hand drops from his sister’s waist. “Come let us drain our cup to these three…Strong boys,” He pretends to have recalled something. “Ah and my beloved niece’s engagement, I am sure Lord Blackwood will satisfy you plenty. After all, it does not take much to please you.” “I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys warns, eyes consuming most of his anger while he tries to stay composed. “Why?” He quirks a brow and turns to him. “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” The closer they step to one another, the higher the tension rises. In a swift movement you push your younger brother behind you. “Do you not want your sister well satiated?” “Aemond.” It’s your voice that snaps at him this time, Targaryen rage shooting through your voice. Your eyes are narrowed on him but the attention is welcome. He merely smirks at you and that is enough to set Jacaerys on him again, shoulders squared and hunched. "Perhaps only by yourself," The older prince continues to taunt. Jacaerys is quick to fist his hand and hurl it at his uncle but it barely breaks impact.  You go to move, yelling at them to stop for once but Aegon grasps your wrists tightly and tugs you flat against his chest. He swallows and blinks rapidly to forget the warm wall of your body against him, oh for the love of seven hells– Jacaerys is shoved to the floor in mere seconds while you scramble futilely to rush to one of the princes. To whom, Aegon is not sure but it makes him smirk all the same. “That is enough.” Alicent chastises as she stands firmly. Aegon attempts to hold back a snicker. Idiot, he thinks to himself. 

Before Aegon can comment, Rhaenyra has snatched you into her arms. He tries for maybe a moment to scrounge you back but Daemon glares and the point is made clear. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent asks, grappling Aemond by both forearms and the mixture of desperation and frustration evident across her crinkled brow. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond snides, attempting to keep his voice soft before calling out louder, “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.” Jacaerys struggles in a guard's grip but when he breaks free, Daemon stands before him and halts the boy. The rest is a blur and quite frankly you don’t care, you’re too busy trying to drown out the hurt circling your mind. When Daemon commands you to go to your chambers and your mother finally releases you, you make a point of shoving past him. Aegon bites back a snicker while his brother scowls. They both share a smirk, lips twitching upward in tandem. Everything is going perfectly to plan. 

The first mistake you should have gathered was that it was Ser Criston Cole who had decidedly stepped up to escort you and your brothers to your guest chambers. You were the final stop and no matter your attempts to engage in conversation, he stayed stiff and silent albeit with eyes glances over you every few seconds before hurriedly returning to in front. Worry cinches your brows and anxiety smothers your body but it needn’t matter once he stands guard at your bed chamber door. That should have been the second mistake. You should have noticed as he dismissed the guard that usually stood before your door and commented on needs elsewhere. You should have noticed as he slammed the door firmly shut. But not all mistakes are unwanted… 

You slip into your bed chamber, your sparkling eyes alight with wet unshed tears as you recall the night. You sniffle, not even noticing as a short pattering presses through your walls. A low chuckle wraps around Aegon’s throat before the noise is stifled by his brother’s hand. Aemond’s steps are slower, more careful. Deliberate. A grin as sly as a sneer graces his lips as he peers past the tapestry covering them. Wait…He just needs to wait. And he has proved over the past six years, he is fully capable of this, it is just that his brother is wetting his own lips and jogging his leg in impatience. You call in your ladies maids who gossip and giggle in your ear as they unlace your coal dress, the ruby detailing crumpling in a pattern within it. The laces slide through but their hands are rough and hurried. Aemond almost growls, they have no idea what they’re doing, no idea just who they have the permission to undress. To savour. Aemond would savour you. No, he will savour you. Your fingers are so delicate as they unlock the pattern of your braids, of the thick ropes of silver that falls past your shoulders. Aegon feels a rumbling in his throat again as his groin grows at the sight of hands peeling back your head to gather your hair up and expose your neck. Oh what he wants to do to your neck. Hands finger at your necklace, one that is high and steel and he’s sure must be warm from the heat of your body by now. Aegon sinks his teeth into his lip, letting delusion consume him as he imagines his thick fingers twining it higher on your sweet flesh and yanking at it, kissing at the tears that would slip from your eyes. 

Aegon’s disappointment is obvious as he watches your lady remove the necklace and every trace of jewellery. Aemond snickers under his breath, now comfortable for hearing the louder barking of your ladies. “There will be other nights, brother.” He gleams. “Not like tonight.” Aegon huffs. “Not while she is pure.” Aemond rolls his eyes. “You fuck every common whore on the street.” “Fuck-ed.” He corrects with a smirk. “I’ll have a dragon warming my bed from now on. Aemond narrows his eyes. “And what makes you think that?” “My tongue.” Aemond is half an inch close from grasping his hair and tossing his nose into the stone wall. “An unreliable source then.” Aemond comments smooth as a snake. Aegon winces in wound but there’s a playfulness in his eyes. “You wound me.” He snickers but Aemond quickly hushes him at the sight of your figure embracing the girls before they leave. Breath stutters in his throat at the sight of your chemise, baring your long arms to him. He wants to twist them behind you like when you were younger except this time he wouldn’t be so merciful. A groan rolls around his mouth. Your fingers peel at the material and for a moment he wonders if you will remove it but you hesitate and glance around. You must have heard him, Aemond clenches his jaw and Aegon holds his breath. “Ser Cole?” You call out and now he knows you heard him as your feet pad toward your bed chamber door and rapp against it. “Ser Cole?” It is time.

Aegon moves quicker than Aemond does but he’s not any less careful as he glides one arm around your waist and one spread hand along your succulent lips. He wants to taste them but he refrains, letting his wine stained breath coax in your ears. “Hello, sweet girl.” He murmurs and your short struggling ends, wet eyes blinking up at his own as you recognise him. You whimper but soften. You’re not afraid and that is all it takes to harden him again. Aemond chuckles from behind him and Aegon feels you gasp. He moves his hand away from your lips to squish your cheeks. His other paws at your silk fabric. “Oh sweet girl,” Aegon chuckles again. “Don’t let big bad Aemond worry you, he’s promised to be gentle…for now.” Aemond upturns his lip and lets the knuckle of a curious finger roll over your tender skin. “For now,” He repeats slowly. His eyes roam you as sharp and penetrating as an eagle. He wants to play with you first. His cold fingers wind into your hair and tug. Your lashes flutter, your eyes closed and hiding the newfound feelings beneath them. “Are you untouched?” He whispers in your ear and you hesitate. He chuckles. “Bad girl…And here Aegon was so hopeful that you would stay his sweet girl.” The other prince rolls his eyes and glides a hand up your thigh. Your lips part to release a high pitch mewl, your brows knitting and breath hitching. “She does not need to be a maiden to be pure.” Aegon purrs. “Please,” You whisper, pressing your thighs tight. “Who was it?” Aegon hisses and squeezes pries them apart by sliding one hand between them, the one formerly around your waist. You gasp at the contact and his voice. 

He’s only ever been gentle with you before. His nose presses against your hair, his eyes pressing shut. “So sweet,” He whispers into it, breathing it in. He groans like a sinner. “Just tell us and you can be our sweet girl again, just tell us,” He coos, suddenly soft again. It might have been the threat of his hand drifting over your throat or the excitement that throbbed at your bud that let the forbidden whisper pass your delectable mouth. “A stable boy.” Aegon’s hands both tighten at the utterance and Aemond chuckles. “Would you really rather seek the affections of a low-born than that of a dragon who would worship your every step?” Aegon sneers at the mere idea. Wet kisses plant like the juice of fruits along your neck, his breath heavy. “I think we can do better than that ingrate, darling. Let us show you.” Aemond moves to roam his up and down your waist, almost comforting before his left lowers to slap your rear and deliver a resounding noise. You steal an inhale quickly. Aegon snickers and leans to throw his head back. “Ohhh,” He drawls lowly before kissing up your neck again, tracing it with his tongue. “We are going to have so much fun with you.” He speaks in deliberate muffled murmurs. 

Aegon’s hand draws up your chemise, the fabric rising like rippled water as it flows up your skin. He groans, peeking over at the exposure. A shudder runs over your veins, the pressure of it riding you back into his embrace. Your neck rolls back as a gasp slides between your teeth. Your brows crinkle when Aemond’s slender hand cups your breast, squeezing it gently between his fingertips. He wishes he could watch as the flesh spills over but you are still horrendously covered in the cruel white fabric. Aemond is slick when he rolls the chemise over your head and chuckles at the bare skin beneath. “Bad indeed,” He comments. “It is as though you were waiting for us, princess.” Aegon’s grip tightens. “Our sweet,” He cups your cheek and squeezes it before diving forth and finally tasting your lips, pressing lips warm with dragons blood to one another and expressing the lewdness of one’s tongue. His muscle slips between the seam and runs along your mouth. He groans at the feeling while Aegon moans at the debauchery. The elder prince dips his hand between your thighs and admires the plump flesh, rolling it between his fingers before a thick finger wedges between the glistening folds that he is so desperate to meet. A sharp high pitched jolt of sound pushes into Aemond’s mouth and he swears his eye nearly rolls back. “See,” Aegon chides with a smirk. “I told you that she is still pure. Our good girl once more. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Whimpers are too busy occupying your mouth to elicit a response but the man is satisfied, chuckling and begins to grind his hips against your rear. 

A resounding sound slaps the air once Aemond parts from you. “Good girl,” He mewls, he removes his hand from your breast to cup your jaw. Again he opens your lips but this time you are much more willing. You don’t understand at first why his tongue is rummaging through his own mouth but before long, he slicks his saliva and spits it into your mouth. Your breath hitches but he closes your mouth and narrows his eyes. “You are ours now. Swallow.” He smirks when you obey. “Sweet darling,” Aegon coos and strokes at your swelling bud. “You know that you’re ours, don’t you? Don’t you sweetheart?” The claimant lets another whine bounce from his lips to your ear. You nod, eyes wetting at the attention. “That’s our sweet girl, always wanting my approval, huh?” The comment shouldn’t stroke your wetness like it does but neither should the thumb playing with your pearl. Aemond grins. “Ever since we were children, isn’t that right?” Aegon snorts at the claim. “I think you will find that I was much more important to her.” Aemond scoffs while Aegon starts to thrust his finger inside you. A soft yelp slips out of you and you squeeze your eyes shut, already stimulated between the two men. “Please,” You whisper to no avail, they are too busy in their petty squabbling. The rivalry between them only strengthens. Aegon licks his lips. “I bet you that I could make her cum with my thigh.” You whine at the imagery shooting through at the thought. Aemond glances down at your figure. You deserve a reward, he decides. “Keep begging like that and I’ll be stuffing my cock in that pretty cunt of yours.” Aemond whispers in your ear. Another whimper escapes. 

“You won’t be waiting long, you needn’t chase, brother.” Aegon grins as sly as a fox. His hands grasp at you until he can haul you over his shoulder and carry your surprised and squealing form toward your bed. He lets his eyes roam the plush mattress and canopy. How many nights has he slept in here while you were away? Awaking with a stiff length and your portrait in his palm. A rumble threads through his throat at the mere memory. He crawls over you and kisses at your shoulder until your mewls become restless. “This feels like more than your thigh, Aegon.” His brother snides, Aegon can already feel his judgement. He rolls his eyes. “All in good time.” Is all he babbles, wanting to enjoy his prize before she is plucked again. Finally he pulls back and looks at your eyes. Those beautiful shining jewels. This time his hand is tentative as it coils around your neck. His eyes feast on the bliss, glossy shine and your kiss-bruised lips. He licks his own and swallows. “All ours,” He lilts like a man desperate and he supposes he is as he tosses you to wrestle the length of his right thigh. His hands settle on your hips and he juts the muscle against your sweet cunt. A gasp escapes and your eyes close. “Look at me,” He growls and suddenly, Aemond is behind you and letting his fingers trace at your shoulders. “Look at your future King.” That is what snaps your eyes open and rips another gasp. You do not have time to protest or question him because as you crinkle your brows, he is pulling you back and forth on him and stimulating your bud against the rough fabric of his leg. “That’s it,” He praises. “Be a good princess for me.” A guttural groan bounces off the walls. Aemond embraces your bosom with both hands, rolling the teats with a softness you didn’t know was capable of him. “Sweet girl,” He, too, praises. You whimper, mind fuddling at the mixing information desperate to pass your lips. But it’s too much. It is more than you have ever known and certainly more than that stable boy taught you. What was his name again?

You don’t have time to remember because now your thighs are clenching around his and it’s you who demands control, sliding back and forth like it were your god given right. Your birth right that the boys are eager to supply. “Aegon, please,” you practically beg for the first time in your life. “I knew you would want us,” Aegon hisses. “I knew you would. Aemond is more a fool than you remember him, thought that leaving us was your choice but do not fret, my dear,” Your face scrunches. Your pace quickens, desperate, pleading, wanton. “We’re not letting you go again. Your mother can tear me limb from limb if she wants to but you are not leaving us again.” It is that moment that triggers a long hybrid of yelping whines from your lips. The air feels thick in your throat but stale in your mouth.  “Please!” You yelp in one final beg. “Let go,” Aemond whispers. Your peak doesn’t finish quickly, oh no, instead it drowns out any sound for what very well be an hour and if you were lucid you would feel humiliated at the certain prospect of Ser Criston Cole hearing you from outside your door. Your limbs immediately collapse against Aegon’s chest as he continues to roll his thigh enough for you to keep enjoying your ride. Pride swells in his chest. “Good girl,” He murmurs. “So good for us.” He kisses your cheek and lingers. “Let Aemond clean you up, yeah?” You nod limply and blissed as he moulds your body to his very whim, turning you gently to rest your back upon your mattress. He parts your thighs with little resistance and Aemond is eager to slide between them. You do not expect to see such eagerness in the youngest of the Targaryen men aiding your pleasure. 

Aemond audibly moans at the slick that greets him. You jump as he glides a single index finger along your thigh before he sticks out his tongue, tastes the residue and hums at the flavour that greets him. “Sweet girl, indeed.” He murmurs. “Sweet girl indeed.” It takes little effort for him to engage in your said sweetness, licking fervently and sucking violet marks into your thighs. You barely feel it, too absorbed in your high. Your head lolls to the side, barely noticing as Aegon laughs. “I thought it would take more but I suppose you are more like your mother than we suspected. Albeit lucky for us.” You whimper at that and it seems to shut him up for now. Aemond’s tongue delights at the taste of you, poking between your lower lips and probing at every droplet he can steal from. Even after he has drained you, he wants more. He sighs and palms at his own hardened member. “Want it,” You babble as if he has taken your comprehension into his tongue also. He lets the upturn of his lips quirk and glances at his brother. He raises a brow. “I think we can help you with that.” The brothers both hum, smirking. “And which one of us do you want in your little snatch, sweet thing? Tell us, princess.” Your lip wobbles and suddenly concern lowers their brows. Aegon is quick to your side, more experienced in the matter and your face turns into his neck just as quickly. Comforting palms caress your hair and soothe you softly. 

“Is it too much, my love?” He asks quietly and suddenly worries. He was so sure that you would enjoy this, you always loved pushing yourself, always pleaded for their approval. Has time really changed you that much? You shake your head, inner frustration trembling your body. “N-No,” You stutter, sniffles threatening you. He softly shushes you. “Take your time,” He commands gently but with a firm tongue. “Look at me.” He directs your head up so those pretty doe eyes blink up at him. “Is it too much?” He asks. You shake your head, a gentle pout at your lips. He releases a relieved breath. “Do you want more?” You nod. He looks over at Aemond. “I think we need a word.” He states with authority atop his demanding voice. He nudges his head, moving a hand so he can wrap an arm around you as soft and comforting as an old blanket. Familiar. Aemond rubs soothing patterns on your thigh. “Something she can say if it gets too much.” He ignores your whining, threading fingers to gently massage at your hair. Aemond glances over you and nods, a softness in his gaze. “What do you want, sweetness?” Aemond asks, the most gentle he has ever spoken. Another sniffle leaves you and he drinks in your wet eyes. You drift your eyes down and bite your lip. A few moments pass. You hesitate but he nods in prompt. You swallow. “Sapphire.” You whisper and an expression passes over him but it is found indistinguishable. He nods and looks up at Aegon who returns the gesture. “Sapphire.” He repeats. 

Their ministrations appear more gentle this time, held back. Soft. Aemond circles your flesh with his thumb and rises to hover over your body. “Whose do you want?” His light lilt asks, letting his thumb fly away the tears that gather on your cheeks. “Whose cock?” He asks. You do not answer at first, instead you whimper and tug at his shirt. “Aemond.” You murmur and while Aegon is disappointed, he cannot say it is unjustified. You have seen him fuck before with all the animalistic prowess of his teenhood but Aemond is still the soft boy who read stories to you when you were both children. You do not know what to expect from him yet. An experimental little dear. A pang of surprise and desire threads at his pained heart. “I want you,” You murmur. He swallows. You want him. He doesn't think anyone has ever wanted him over Aegon. Over a soon-King at the rate his father was decomposing like the corpse he is. Aemond nods, unable to speak for fear that it will incite his voice to break and provide his brother another tease. He merely nods and lets your soft fingers undress his tunic, his undershirt and slowly you both work at his trousers. Aegon grumbles something and undresses himself but it is all in playful quips. An intimacy structures him as he holds your hands and hesitantly rests them to wrap around his neck. “I will never hurt you,” He whispers and kisses your neck chastely. His hands wrap around his tender member and he glides between your legs softly. “That’s it,” He murmurs. “So perfect for me.” With that he slips inside, breath halting on the way. Aegon slips behind you and props you against his chest, he raises your hips so Aemond’s leverage is better endowed. Aemond pushes, a hiss dripping off his lips. “I want you,” You babble again. “Want you, want you,” With every praise, he quickens. Every sweet word encourages his desperation. “That’s it,” He praises you, hips snapping to yours. He tries to hold back but then your legs wrap around him and there’s nothing more that could induce his pleasure. Your jolts of movement in return persuade him further to be the one to draw your fountain this time. “You’re not going to marry that lord.” Aegon utters. “You’re going to stay here and be our sweet girl aren’t you?” You nod, bordering on a moan. “Do it.” He breathes. “Let go.” You do and he swears it is the prettiest sound he has ever had the grace of hearing. “Good princess.” 

“You want it, don’t you sweetheart?” Aemond teases, confidence returned. You nod. “You want it so bad that you are soaking me.” His firm appendage stiffens even further inside you. A moan ripples from the roof of his mouth. “Yes,” You tell him, throwing your head back onto Aegon’s shoulder as the man plays with your breasts. “That’s a good darling, don’t you want to help your uncles?” You hiss at a particular jolt of his groin. You nod. “Mhm,” You whimper, eyes snapping closed. Aegon smirks. “What about your pretty mouth?” He grins. “Does your pretty mouth want to please us?” You nod again with desperate whines. Aemond nods at his brother before carefully twisting you around, only pulling out for a moment before sliding back in. You gasp at the momentum but then it is quickly muffled by Aegon’s fingers easing your mouth on his length. He hisses. “Sweet girl,” He murmurs and moans, eyes rolling back as the peak of his fantasies crashes onto his cock. Your tongue flicks as Aemond’s fingers move to flick your bud, his pace unrelenting as he pushes you forward. “That’s it…” The men gleam. “So perfect.” Everything is going perfectly to plan. 

And you do not even know it yet. 

Sweet Girl Taglist (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @targbarbie @aemondx @connorsui

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter @cookielovesbook-akie

[rizsu]

questionnaire gojo, shoko, geto.

sum. you ask them the first question that pops up in your head. sometimes serious, sometimes worrisome, but you will get your answer.

"satoru, can you swim?"

twas nothing but a question. birthed from utmost curiosity at one's boyfriend. judging his frame head-to-toe, a sentence was spoken to justify the prior question: "you look like you can't swim."

gojo wasn't having any of it. not even an atom of it. ever since the earth's been graced with his presence, he defined himself as perfection. his walk, his body, his words, and even his nails are perfect. living a life of compliments and being awed, never had he ever felt the need to worry about swimmimg. he can swim — not as perfect as a professional one — but who needs to know such things?

"how dare you?" gojo questions, face contorted in disgust.

"i'm sorry, it's just you look like you fear the ocean."

"you have got to leave."

"it's okay you know," you comforted him, patting his back. "but you'll need to learn how to swim."

gojo stands up, hand on hip as he walks to his door. twisting the knob slowly, he opens the door and gestures at the opened area. "exit yourself."

"i'm not leaving," you countered.

"i'll drag you then."

"okayyy mr. swim-not."

sitting in the relaxed ambience of shoko's office, you spin around in her chair while she stands at the opened window. it's silent — the kind of silence after a long beach day. well, it was silent. due to human nature of speaking before thinking, you blurted out the question, "would you rather eat a cockroach or eat a worm?"

shoko puffs out the smoke from her cigarette, looking at you with a face that screams 'are you stupid?' before going back to her smoke break.

"look, imagine if it's for survival! you gotta answer," you justified yourself, urging her to answer.

"you're crazy."

biting the skin of you lower lip, you dove deep into your thinking skills to urge her to answer. "okay what if i was the worm. would you eat me, the worm, or the cockroach?"

"neither," shoko shrugged.

"COME ONNNN," you sighed, slumping into her chair. impatience tickling your body every time she answered.

"i'd rather die than eat any of those things," shoko spoke, pressing her cigarette down into the ashtray. "if you were a worm i'd probably step on you."

"so you won't love me even in sickness and in health?"

"don't worry yourself."

"don't even think about it." geto places his index finger on your lips, sealing it before you can get a word out. he knows you — he's learnt your patterns and habits. whenever you're silent it rounds up to three things: hunger, sleepiness, and curiosity.

you're not hungry. you developed a habit of looking at food compilations whenever hunger dawns on you.

you're certainly not sleepy. if you were, you'd have already used him as your body pillow.

so, it leaves curiosity. the forbidden curiosity. questions that keep even geto up at night and in the shower. most times your questions are okay, but the peculiar times they aren't scares him.

furrowing your eyebrows, you defend yourself, "i didn't even say anything."

"that's exactly why you shouldn't speak."

"you're not stopping me," you replied, taking hold of his finger. "is the egg the one that comes first or is it the chicken? shouldn't it be the chicken? but then the chicken comes from the egg so that'll mean it's the egg, right?"

"girl what the fuck," geto's eyes traveled across your face, making sure that you aren't under the influence. you're sober, not a sign of any high but he still doubts.

"just think about it!"

"i really don't want to."

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (16)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, violence ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

When he returned to the supper to join his family he tried with all his might to hide what was going on in his breeches. He didn't know why, but her words had aroused him tremendously and if he could, he would just take her to his chamber and fuck her all night.

I don't hate you.

You're not a monster.

You're not like your brother.

He sat back in his seat and tried to focus on what was happening on around him, but each time he drifted completely away with his thoughts, no longer even looking at his uncle or nephew.

He felt some kind of savage satisfaction at the thought that he didn't disgust or repel her.

That she didn't think that he and his brother were alike.

Those few words were enough to make his momentary anger at her and his uncle evaporate from him completely; he thought that he had no intention of spoiling his mood that evening anymore, wanting to concentrate only on thinking about what he should do with her at night, how to take her to reward her for her devotion.

He didn't even notice that the servants had started to lay out trays of main courses in front of them until he heard a quiet chuckle in front of him. He glanced in that direction and saw, frustrated that for some reason a barely restrained, mischievous smirk was painted on Luke's face.

It made him enraged and he wondered for a moment what that was all about but then he saw what was placed in front of him.

A roast pig.

The Pink Dread.

He felt something inside him snap, some last thread that held his cool mind together burst. He slammed his fist on the table, grinning, raising his cup high.

"Final tribute."

He said, glancing at Luke with a look from which his smile faded from his face, replaced by a proud concern.

"To the health of my nephews."

He murmured soundly, looking around the room, wanting to see the reaction of the others as well.

"Jace,

Luke,

and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…" He paused, his lips pressed into a thin line. He hesitated to say it, but then nodded, concluding that he didn't give a fuck. "… Strong."

"Aemond." His mother said warningly, looking around the table in horror.

"Come. Let us drain our cups for this three Strong boys." He said with delight, seeing the horror of everyone gathered, the chaos he had caused.

He no longer cared what would happen, he had never felt such wild satisfaction before in his life.

"I dare you to say that again." Hissed Jace, lifting his chin proudly, trying to hide his fear and humiliation. He felt like sneering at this pathetic sight and turned, walking slowly towards him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?" He asked lightly and didn't even flinch when Jace hit him in the face with all his might, thinking with amusement that his wife would have had a stronger punch than he did.

He pushed Jace away with such ease that the boy toppled to the ground. This sight amused him so much that he chuckled loudly, looking around, wanting to see Aegon react to this, seeing with satisfaction that his older brother was pressing Luke's face to the table top.

After a moment they were separated by the guards, his mother came up to him agitated, grabbing his arm.

"Why would you say such a thing before these people?" She asked with a regret and pain that infuriated him.

He wondered how she could so quickly forget what they had done to him.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother." He said, feigning light-heartedness, impatiently pulling his hand from her grasp, heading towards his enraged nephews again.

"Mm, though it seems my nephews aren't quite proud of theirs!" He called out softly, feeling that he was on the verge of insanity, the fire flowing in his blood.

He stopped, as his uncle stood before him. Daemon looked at him piteously, folding his hands in front of him, sighing expectantly. They looked at each other intensely.

He knew that he could not confront him.

Yet.

He decided that it have to wait.

He grunted low, sidestepping him, walking slowly out of the room into the corridor, moving straight ahead to his chamber.

He felt like he was trembling all over, thinking that he could kill someone right now.

That he would like to kill someone.

To strangle someone with his own hands.

When he stepped into his quarters, his wife was waiting for him obediently, all bare, just as he commanded. He pressed his lips together, feeling frustration and rage, all the lust he had inside him flowed out, giving place to the physical brutality that he craved.

He quickly undid his leather tunic, dropping it to the floor.

"Lie down on your stomach." He said coolly, walking over to her, grabbing her brutally by the hips, he heard her tremble all over, her breathing frightened.

She knew that something was wrong.

She knew that he was enraged.

He knelt behind her, untying his breeches and took his length in his hand, beginning to squeeze himself with quick, sharp strokes. He tried to focus on the sight of her, on her naked body, but he felt nothing.

Her dance with his uncle.

His hands touching hers.

Luke's mischievous smile.

The Pink Dread.

After a moment, a loud, frustrated growl came out of him.

He couldn't believe that he couldn't make himself hard.

He couldn't take his wife, do what is natural for a man, for a husband.

He collapsed next to her on the bedclothes and turned away, ordering her to sleep, knowing that otherwise he would hurt her.

He would take it out on her.

He squeezed his eye shut, furious, when he felt her embrace him.

He didn't want her sympathy, her feminine, weak sense that she needed to comfort him.

"− let me relieve you, husband −"

He felt his heart thump harder at her words and hesitated, no longer knowing himself what he wanted.

He feared that even her efforts wouldn't do anything.

That it would enrage him even more.

She didn't let him think about it though, a pleasant shiver went through him as he felt her soft, moist lips on his neck.

"− turn over on your back − I’ll take care of you −"

He swallowed loudly, thinking that he needed this.

He needed his wife to take care of him.

To show him that he was all that mattered to her.

He turned as she requested, looking at her discouraged, letting her lie down between his thighs, settling into a more comfortable, semi-sitting position.

He saw her untie his breeches in a sure, gentle motion, revealing the pitiful sight that was his soft manhood. He felt ashamed at the sight and wanted to order her to stop, but when she took him in her soft hand and licked him with a tip of her pink tongue a powerful, pleasurable shiver went through him.

He thought about saying to her that it was pointless, that he'd had enough, but he just looked at her face and shuddered every time she kissed and caressed his swollen manhood with her moist, puffy lips.

She was behaving differently from usual, she wasn't in a hurry, she hadn't even taken him in her mouth yet.

He felt his manhood throbbing under her fingers harder and harder, his body calming down thanks to her gentle caresses. He leaned his head against the back of the bed and let her do what she wanted to him.

He moaned softly, gripping her hair with his hand as she began to tease him, sliding the tip of his member into her mouth only to release it with a loud, sticky plop.

He thought there had been some amazing change in her, and while she still remained innocent and gentle, there was a greater experience speaking through her that gave her confidence in her actions.

He no longer had to direct her on what to do, being able to concentrate only on enjoying the pleasure of her touch.

I don't hate you.

You're not a monster.

You're not like your brother.

He felt his cock twitch at that memory, increasingly swollen and sore, thinking surprised that what she was doing was working, a loud, low, delighted moan broke from his throat as she finally slid his manhood into deep between her fleshy mouth.

Unable to stop himself, he clenched his hand tighter in her hair, forcing her to fit all of him, rocking his hips inside her, panting hard, he could hear her breathing loudly through her nose.

"− oh, fuck − made to suck my cock, didn’t you? − so fucking perfect for me −" He breathed out, clasping his other hand in her hair, fucking her gorgeous mouth with the sticky, perverted click of her saliva, watching as his manhood slid away and back up between her lips, hitting again and again the back of her throat.

So devoted.

So good.

So sweet.

His little wife.

"− so good for me − ah − my sweetest −" He mumbled with delight, shocked by his own tender, soft tone, a complete contrast to what he had felt just a moment ago.

He thought, feeling his fulfilment approaching that with her he was the best version of himself.

With her he believed that he could still be a decent man.

With her he wasn't sinking into his increasingly progressive madness.

The thought made him moan loudly for some reason, clenching his fingers in her hair, his hips slamming greedily his fat, hard cock into her mouth. He parted his lips, feeling like he was about to spill himself down her throat.

"− o-oh fuck − gods, yes, swallow it, swallow it all −" He uttered, tilting his head back with his lips parted wide, panting loudly with relief, his hot seed filling her palate.

He watched with delight as she bravely swallowed his spend, breathing loudly through her nose, tears of exertion running down her flushy face.

When she finally released him from between her plump lips, there was not a trace of his seed.

He pulled her to him by her hair, pressing her against his hard abdomen, embracing her with a loud sigh of contentment.

She showed him understanding when he was most helpless.

She gave him wonderful fulfilment even though she was terrified of his behaviour.

He stroked her hair, trying to think only about the warmth of her body, feeling her shifting higher, laying her head on his chest only to fall asleep with him in this position.

When he was woken before dawn by a commotion outside the door of their chamber and the raised voices of the guards, he knew immediately that something had happened. His wife mumbled quietly when he rose, gripping his arm, he sighed looking at her, his hand stroking her hair.

"Go back to sleep." He hummed, getting out of bed, fastening his breeches. He put on his leather tunic and left his chamber, closing the door behind him.

He saw, surprised and concerned, that the guards were taking their servants somewhere, all around him besides he saw not a living soul, his heart pounding like a mad.

He went to his mother's and Aegon's chambers, but did not find them there.

He wondered what was happening.

He finally stepped into Helaena's quarters and saw his mother sitting beside his sister, tears of grief and pain in her eyes, her face pale and terrified. Then he understood.

His father was dead.

For a moment all he could hear was the beating of his own heart.

He didn't know how he felt about it.

Everyone assumed that he had very little time left, but he didn't think it would so quickly.

He thought that he would never say anything to him again.

His mother stood up and walked to him, putting her hands on his shoulders, stroking him with reassuring movements.

"Your father the king told me before he died that he wished for Aegon to be a king." She said quietly, looking at him with her warm, brown eyes, full of motherly love.

He did not believe her.

"My father despised my older brother. Like all of us." He said impatiently, recognising that she must have overheard.

He didn't want to see his whore half-sister on the throne, but his brother wasn't suited for it either.

He was created for drinking and lying between the whores' tits.

"Aemond. We must crown him as soon as possible." She whispered and he looked at her in disbelief.

She meant it.

She wanted to make Aegon king.

A drunkard.

A fool.

A rapist.

"What do my brother say about it?" He asked, feigning indifference, trying to hide his dismay, frustration and anxiety at what was happening around them.

He thought this was all one big misunderstanding.

His mother tightened her lips at his question, remaining silent. He looked at her expectantly, and when he realised what had happened he chuckled low, shaking his head, walking impatiently around the room.

"When was the last time he was seen?" He asked coolly, wondering where he might have gone.

He thought of the brothel he'd been taken to when he was only 13.

His mother shook her head, putting her hand on her chest in an attempt to calm herself.

"I have no idea." She said helplessly, holding back the tears that were once again gathering at the corners of her eyes, her body trembling with stress.

"I summoned Ser Criston, I want him to find him." She said and he murmured under his breath, sitting down by the fireplace, thoughtful.

If Aegon was to become king that changed everything.

If he died, his children would be too young to rule in his name.

He would become prince regent, and his sweet wife would be his queen.

He pressed his lips together at that pleasant thought.

Indeed, after a moment Ser Cole joined them wearing full armour, bowing low before them.

"My queen. In accordance with your orders, the servants have been confined to the dungeons. Prince Aemond's wife and Princess Rhaenys have been locked in their chambers."

He gave him a quick, furious look, standing up at once, walking over to his mother.

"What is the meaning of this, mother? My wife will now be a prisoner?" He hissed, enraged with the fact that anyone had the impudence to make decisions that involved her.

She belonged only to him.

His mother looked at him pleadingly, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"We must be sure that no one leaves the keep until we crown Aegon. We need to do it before word reaches Rhaenyra. It is the only solution." She said softly, wanting him to understand, but he pulled away from her.

"I will join you in the search for my brother, Cole. Don't go anywhere without my knowledge." He said lowly, walking out of the chamber.

He headed back to his quarters and ordered the servants to open the door, his wife rose from her bed, terrified, dressed only in her nightgown and a thin, translucent robe worn over her shoulders tied at her waist.

The guard closed the door behind him as he came up to her, grabbing her by her neck and kissing her forehead, seeing how shaken she was.

"What's happening? Lyanna's nowhere to be found, they've locked me in and won't let me leave." She mumbled terrified, he took her cheeks in his large hands so that she looked at him with a quiet sigh.

"My father is dead."

She froze in mid-breath, her eyes grew wide with disbelief.

He could see that she was analysing in her head what would happen now.

Their six-month marital idyll had just ended.

"My mother is going to crown Aegon king. She said that was my father's last wish." He said dispassionately.

He saw the look in her eyes.

She didn't believe it any more than he did, but nothing could be done.

He stepped closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling the adrenaline flowing through his veins.

"Will you stand by me? Will you be faithful and devoted to me?" He asked quietly, as if whispering about something forbidden, as if a stranger might hear them.

She looked at him in disbelief not understanding what he meant, unable to comprehend what he craved and what he was capable of doing to achieve it.

She nodded, touching his scarred cheek with her palm, stroking it with her soft fingers. He felt desire at the gesture, at the thought that she would be by his side.

That he would make her his queen.

He kissed her greedily, making her lose her breath, their moist lips sucking and rubbing against each other in a sticky, hot dance. He pulled away from her, running his hand over her cheek, as if he wanted to remember her expression and this moment well.

"Don't speak to anyone about the king's death or coronation. Do not confide in anyone. Trust only me."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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