#beauty of scars and flowers

[genz420]

Beauty of Scars & Flowers - Chapter 5: Sacred Places.

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The throne room within the Red Keep was not as great as the one in Harrenhal.  Lyanna had come to that conclusion.  The Hall of a Hundred Hearths could be called a ruin, but when all hearths were lit, their warmth would make up for the drafts that wisped through the hall.  But the great hall was underwhelming, small, and the air stiff.  The pungent smell from Blackwater Bay made its way into the room just as it did in every other place in the Red Keep. Lyanna still had not grown used to the smell, yearning for the scent of ash, earth, and freshwater that Harrenhal had throughout. 

Yet all the lords, ladies, and young knights in the great hall did not seem to hold the same thoughts as she.  They all kept their attention on Otto Hightower as he sat on the Iron Throne with smiles on their faces, happy to be welcomed in the hall.  But Lyanna wasn’t happy. She didn’t like King’s Landing.  She missed her home, the smell of nature, and the people of Harrenhal she called her family.  

Lyanna let out a small huff; she couldn’t help but wonder if she could sneak out of the hall and try to find Helaena to spend the day with.   But her uncle wouldn’t be pleased with her doing that. He is the reason why she isn’t spending the day with her friend.  He had insisted that Lyanna stay in court all day to try and catch the eye of a lord or knight so that she could return to Harrenhal and no longer be his responsibility. 

Aemond didn’t know why he couldn't keep his gaze on his grandsire.  Usually, when audiences were being held, he would take a break from whatever he was doing and stand by the throne to listen and watch his grandsire act on his father's behalf.  Yet his gaze drifted away from his grandsire and Riverland lord, who was complaining.  It kept drifting towards the soon-to-be lady of Harrenhal.   

He noticed how she rocked herself on her feet, how her gaze darted to each face in the hall and towards the pillars in the room.   How her eyebrows were pulled together, meaning she was in thought about something.  

She would have the same expression while she read, Aemond noted.  

Aemond didn’t fail to notice that today, she was wearing a blue dress, the same strong blue he could remember from his childhood.  A colour he thought he disliked, but he did not mind it on her.  

Aemond did not mind that she was adapting the styles of the other ladies of the court.  Wearing her hair in the same southern style as the other ladies, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would soon wear the same green dresses that ladies often wore to show their loyalty to the throne. Lyanna had made it a point to wear browns, yellows, reds, and now blue.  But never green, even if it was one of her house colours. 

Aemond rolled his shoulders and puffed out his chest as he looked back toward his grandsire. It was inappropriate for him to be looking at her for so long.  He reminds himself that.  He reminded himself that he was a prince of the realm and should not be staring at a lady for so long.  Yet, as Aemond looks up to his grandsire, he can’t help the feeling that he should take one more peek at Lyanna. 

With one eye scanning around the hall, Aemond noticed that no one was looking at him; instead, they were watching the argument or talking between themselves in hushed whispers.  No one would see if he slipped away from his spot and made his way down the sides of the hall to stand elsewhere. 

Lyanna moved her weight from one foot to the other as she watched the people around her.  Her eyes scanned each face in the room as she tried to remember everyone's name and title, a fun game she would play with other ladies at Riverrun or the Twins.  She only knew a handful of people in the room, and the suffocating feeling of loneliness and falsehood crept up from her stomach and into her chest.  

Across the hall stood Ser Alan.  Dressed in his house colours, his short curls were not as neatly put together as the prince that loomed over Lyanna.  Yet Lyanna's heart yearned as she watched Ser Alan whisper in the ear of the lady he stood behind.  Not even hours ago, she was in the same position as that lady, giggling and blushing as the young knight spoke quiet words that only she could hear.  

Lyanna is no fool; she knows that she and Ser Alan were not betrothed, but a small part of her had hoped that she was the only lady that he was interested in.   Yet if only Lyanna turned her head towards the man standing beside her, then she would see how he studied her movements and face like it was a piece of artwork he saw for the first time. 

The young prince couldn’t help but take note of the defeated look on her face as she watched the pair across the room.  She quietly huffed through her nose before strengthening her back and releasing her clenched shoulders and jaw like she was resetting herself.  

Aemond lets out a low hum as he turns to watch his grandsire.  Lyanna snapped her head toward him, nose scrunched up as if she had just smelled something rotten.  A cute expression, Aemond determined.  Yet his face still held the cold expression he had mastered long ago. 

Lyanna couldn’t help but feel like the prince was trying to gain her attention.  Yet, as she watched him and noticed his eye was not focused on her, she wondered if she was going mad and just imagining the sounds he usually made.  

Lyanna straightened her back and licked her lips before she chose to break the silence. “Is something the matter, my prince?” 

Aemond moved his gaze back toward Lyanna, and part of him was happy to see that she was already looking at him.  Aemond hummed before speaking, “Nothing at all, My Lady Strong.” 

Lyanna nodded before turning her head back toward Otto Hightower.  If anyone were to look at them, they would only see the prince standing a little too close to a Lady he is often seen spending time with.  

Aemond looked away from Lyanna and back to the Riverland lord, who was throwing a tantrum.  As he tried to focus on what was the matter, he could only take note of the faint smell of flowers and a hint of spice.  The scent was as faint as the forget-me-nots that Lyanna had pressed for him and Helaena.  

“You’re from the Riverlands,” Aemond said the words as if they were more of a statement than a question.  

Both of their gaze stayed away from the other, doing their best to appear to be paying attention rather than engaging in conversation.  But as Aemond broke the silence between them, Lyanna leaned slightly more toward the prince.  The distance between them was becoming smaller and smaller.  

“I am,” Lyanna whispered back to Aemond; her response was enough for the prince to lean closer to her. Close enough for Aemond's shoulders to gently graze the back of hers.  

“Why is Lord Bracken often here, nanging about something the young lord Blackwood has done?” Aemond asked her in the same low whisper.  

“It’s hard to say why; this feud goes back to when they were kings and queens, before your family conquest, before the Andals.  Blackwoods and Brackens will hate each other until the end of time. And each house has a version of why it started,” Lyanna answered the best she could in a few words. She could go on about the feud between the two houses for hours, and there would probably still be something she left out.  

Like most of the Riverland nobility, she favoured the Blackwoods as opposed to the Brackens.  

“It’s foolish,” Aemond commented, keeping his gaze forward.   He supposed he did not understand just how far back the feud goes.  He had read every history book he could get his hands on, yet the history of the first men and the history before the Andals were not interesting or even considered studying.  

“I suppose, but it’s part of who they are.  Rooted in the very foundation of their houses,” Lyanna continued, now allowing Aemond's coldness to stop her from talking.  “They are raised to hate each other.  Hatred like that can’t just end because a king demands it,” 

Aemond looks at Lyanna, taking in her words as she watches the Bracken complain.  She was right; if someone is raised to hate another being, it won’t just end because someone demands it to.  Aemond looks away from Lyanna, realising he has been looking at her far too long.  Even just leaving his regular place and choosing to stand by her was already a risky move.  He could play it off that he is keeping his sister's friend company.

“I heard that Lady Alysanne Blackwood has grown tired of the feud and is now spending her time in the Twins with the new Lady Frey,” Aemond breaks the silence, causing Lyanna to snap her head towards him.  Mouth slightly agape as he spoke, as if she did not expect him to know that.

Aemond does not know why he said that. There was a good chance that Lyanna knew Alysanne Blackwood and that she would not humour such rumours.  But that is one of the few things he knew about House Blackwood or House Bracken, hearing the rumour from both his sister and younger brother. He just wanted to give a contribution to their dying conversation, to keep Lyanna talking to him rather than going to watch the people around them.  

“My prince, I do not think this is an appropriate thing for us to talk about,” Lyanna whispered back to him, shock still on her face as she tried to take in what Aemond had said. 

“I did not take you as someone who did not gossip,” He comments; he knew that Lyanna does gossip.  He overheard her tell Helaena many of the old and new rumours she had encountered.  

“I did not take you as someone who does,” Lyanna shot back.  

She and the other ladies she had talked with thought that the one-eyed prince was a man a few words.  They would say that he would rather just stare and use his eye to talk than his words.  Many of the ladies she has met in her short time would often go on about how to catch the prince's gaze.  How handsome he looked without the eye patch he often wore.  Even rumours that, unlike his elder brother, he did not need to visit the streets of Silk to find a woman to warm his bed. 

But none of the gossip included how he, too, took part in talking about the people around him. 

“People talk.  I listen.” 

“Do you wish for me to talk?” Lyanna asked after a moment of silence.   She turned her head to the side, not looking at Aemond, but the movement allowed him to see her face and the look of concentration on it.

It would be no different than her and Helaena talking over tea or wine.  The only difference would be that Aemond was a prince and not a princess. For all she knew, Aemond enjoyed gossiping with everyone.  But the truth was that the prince only talked to people outside of his family and close circle at feasts or because his mother would make him. That Lyanna was the first person, outside of his sister, that he has talked about the rumours of court with. 

“I do not hate when you do,” Aemond answered her after taking his own pregnant pause of silence.  

Lyanna nodded as she looked around the hall, trying to choose what rumour she would share.  She didn’t want to appear rude but also wanted to disappoint the prince by not sharing something.  Her gaze eventually landed on a trio: two young knights and a lady.  The lady, Talla, had an extravagant shawl thrown over one shoulder that hid her midriff and chest, a fashion statement that she claimed would soon catch on, but most knew the truth as to why she suddenly chose the new article of clothing.

“Do you know why Lady Talla has chosen to wear that ridiculous shawl?” Lyanna asked Aemond as she nervously smoothed down the skirt of her blue dress. She was worried that someone might overhear her and the prince. 

Aemond looked around the hall, settling on the Stormland Lady and the two young sirs who stood close to her.  The prince let out a low hum, telling Lyanna to continue. 

“She is trying to hide a swelling belly; thinks that the shawl will take attention away from it, but I just think that it makes it obvious she is trying to hide something,” Lyanna continued in a quiet voice as her gaze flickered between Aemond and the group she was talking about. 

Aemond nodded along with the words before he leaned closer to Lyanna, close enough for her to feel the warmth of him and his smell.  Closer than they had ever been before.  Close enough for a few whispers to start around the hall, but neither of them cared. 

“I often see her and Ser Rycherd walking together,” Aemond added, hoping to keep the conversation going.  

“And Ser Henly,” Lyanna quickly added; the two of them looked towards the two men behind Lady Talla, and Lyanna didn’t miss the look the two men gave one another. “Sometimes all three of them walk together, I hear,”

Aemond hummed at the revelation, thinking it over and wondering where Lyanna had heard such things.  He doubted that she heard it from Helaena, and as far as he knew, Helaena was Lyanna’s only friend at court beside him. 

“I was hoping that a duel might happen in the training yard,” Aemond said as he turned to look at Lyanna.  She had a smile on her face and her cheeks slightly red.   “Would have been good fun to watch,”

Lyanna couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped as Aemond finished talking.  She quickly bowed her head down to hide her face as her hand covered her mouth and the noises that were trying to escape.  

The actions were enough for Aemond to smile slightly, but the feeling of onlookers caused Aemond to look away from the giggling lady and around the hall towards a few older couples whispering and looking at them.  

That was enough for Aemond to straighten his spin and take a small step away from Lyanna.  Putting distance between the two of them.  His action pleased the onlookers because they turned back to look at his grandsire.  Once Aemond was sure no one else was looking at him and Lyanna, he returned to his previous spot.  

Aemond watched as Lyanna did her best to compose herself, but it seemed that she could not contain her laughter as her shoulders shook.  Aemond rolled his shoulders as Lyanna finally calmed down. 

Aemond knew that after the audience was finished being held, Lyanna would either find her way to Helaena or might even be convinced to join Ser Alan for a walk around the gardens.  It was a 50/50 chance that he wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of the day with her, a chance he didn’t want to take.  

“My Lady Strong, have you visited the Dragonpit yet?” Aemond whispered.  

“Princess Helaena has asked me to accompany her,” Lyanna answered without thinking.  She had no desire to visit the dragonpit besides the fact that Helaena wished to show her the dragon she had bonded with.    “Why, my prince?”

“You could accompany me today,” Aemond offered her, a sure way that would make sure the two of them spent the rest of the day with one another and allow Lyanna to see the true strength of the house of the dragon. 

The question caused Lyanna to turn her head towards Aemond, her hair flying over her shoulder and her eyebrows pulled together.  Aemond kept himself composted as Lyanna looked at him with a shocked expression.  

“You want me to accompany you to the dragonpit?” She asked, her voice loud enough for the people surrendering them to look and judge.  

Aemond looked away from Lyanna and toward the people now staring at them, two youngsters with stern expressions.  

Aemond nodded his head now in apology before he placed his hand on Lyanna’s lower back, gently guiding her away from the crowd and toward the giant pillars in the room.  If Aemond had only looked toward the throne, he would have seen his grandsire watching him and Lyanna with a puzzled expression. 

Once they were in the darkness and quiet behind the pillars, Lyanna turned to face Aemond.  Leaning against one of the pillars with her hands behind her, the action was so quick it left Aemond’s hand that was on her back in the air.  

“I don’t think my uncle would allow that,” Lyanna told Aemond, a worried look on her face.  

In truth, Larys would be more than happy to allow Aemond to take Lyanna to the dragonpit.  But she was scared.  Scared because she had grown up at Harrenhal, a clear reminder of what the beasts were capable of doing.  

Aemond hummed as he walked to stand in front of Lyanna, looking down at her as he hummed in response.  He wasn’t going to force Lyanna to the dragonpit, but he still wanted to share that part of his life with her.  

The two of them had spent hours in the Godswood reading with one another, and Aemond knows that to Lyanna, the Godswood is the most sacred place for her.  He might not follow the gods of Valyria, but he knew that it might impress her for him to also share something sacred with her.

“There is another way of seeing a dragon without the danger,” Aemond told her, slowly thinking of his plan.  “If you would accompany me,”

Lyanna nodded, and Aemond offered his arm for her to take.   Aemond knew that the two of them should stay in the great hall and wait for the Bracken lord to finish his rant, but he feared that the lord could go on into the hours of the night.  

Once Lyanna took his arm, Aemond guided them toward the doors.  He was glad they had been kept open, but he still knew that remours could spark why the two of them were leaving.  

But the most judgmental gaze came from the man who sat on the Iron Throne.  Otto tuned out the lord speaking and focused on his grandson and the lady on his arm.  

– –

Aemond kept glancing at Lyanna as they descended the stairs; he noticed how she held up the front of her skirt rather than holding onto the rail beside her.  Perhaps she felt that Aemond would prevent her from falling more than the railing, or maybe she did not wish to bruise the prince's ego by taking her hand off his arm. Whatever her reason, Aemond did not mind, for it kept her hand gripping his arm.  

As the two of them got closer and closer to their destination, the air grew cold and still.  The freshness of cold water was a welcome smell to Lyanna, and the pungent smell of Blackwater Bay was left in sunlit corridors. 

The worry that someone might have seen the two of them sneak away was slowly being replaced by anticipation of where Aemond was taking her. 

Once the two of them reached the bottom of the stairs, Lyanna gasped and removed her hand from Aemond's arm.  Moving towards the giant Dragon skull that hung from the ceilings with a bed of candles under it.   

Lyanna couldn’t believe what she was seeing; the warmth of the candles in front of her reminded her that she was not dreaming.  She had heard stories about Belarion but always thought they were over-exaggeration. However, she might think they were under-exaggeration.  

The skull was a smooth black, and its teeth were longer than her arm.  The dragon could undoubtedly eat her in one bite if he were still alive.   

He didn’t know why he brought her here.  He rarely came down to the skull, but maybe he just wanted to show Lyanna a part of his own culture.  He also doubted Lyanna would want to spend time in the Sept. 

Aemond walked past the threshold of the stairs and toward Lyanna, who stood in front of the skull.  He chose to stand beside her, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword as he looked between Lyanna and Belarion. 

Aemond didn’t believe the sight before him, the way that the flames from the candles danced across her face and reflected in her eyes.  The candle flames made her eyes look like flames, and the smile on her face warmed him. 

“It’s hard to think that one creature could do such damage,” Lyanna spoke up, her eyes dancing all over the skull, trying to commit every detail to memory just as Aemond was doing with her face.  

Aemond let out a hum as he turned to look at Belarion. Vhagar was getting close to his size, and Aemond hoped his dragon could last longer than her male counterpart.

“Are they just as scary in person?” Lyanna broke the silence as she quickly took a glance at him before looking back at Belarion. 

“I wouldn’t say they are scary,” Aemond told her.  

Sure, when he was younger, the dragons did scare him, but once he was bonded with Vhagar, that fear turned into appreciation, and now he could see the beauty of one of the most destructive creatures to grace the realm.  

“Just as big?” Her tone told Aemond that she was jesting with him, but he still held his stoic expression.  

“No,” Aemond answered as he looked back at Lyanna.  “Vhagar is the closest,”

The mention of his dragon sent pride flowing down his throat and into his chest—a show of his greatest accomplishment and greatest sacrifice. 

“Your dragon?” Lyanna asked, even though she already knew the answer.  

The smile that graced her face was enough for one to creep onto Aemonds.  He nodded yes as he turned to look at the skull, hoping that turning away from her would be enough to hide the smile. 

“My dragon,” Aemond confirmed, and Lyanna hummed as a comfortable silence fell upon them.  

Lyanna and Aemond stood in silence, with Lyanna turning back to look at the skull.  To imagine what the beast must have looked like when he was in his prime.  When the dragon flew above the gods eye and used its black flames to melt the great castle, she had lived her whole life.  

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@delaynew @coldmermaidhologram @snh96 @sahvlren

[raviollies]

As for Fell Brambles & a small summary - but last session using excerpts from a manuscript, Blythe dragged everyone to an abandoned Archmage tower (which actually was more of an observatory, as the Archmage and a dragon were studying the stars, hoping to one day explore the cosmos).

There we encountered a dragon completely consumed by these dark tainted briars, which had taken over the entire tower. These originated from a piece of a powerful demon's horn that was mistaken for a meteorite and it corrupted and killed all the occupants. It's essentially a plant that grows with dark thorny branches but has purple flowers growing along the vines. To spread and find a new habitat, it infects a host and after a period causes delirium and hyper aggression causing them to attack to inoculate another, while the original host dies and it can grow from their body.

The dragon kills Raha, and after we trudge through the entire tower, and find it and Raha, it in a moment of clarity while dying offers up it's life as an apology, to do some Dark Magic to trade with the Abyss, offering up one soul for another, and what better offering than a dragon. Raha comes back, HOWEVER, this did not remove any of the briars, so while it healed his wound, it left him with a nasty scar on his chest, and inside are dark thorns entangling around his heart and ribcage. As they grow, he will go through the same process as the dragon, one day losing his mind and attacking without thought, with the prognosis of those that have this illness being a maximum of 10 years.

I thought it'd be interesting if Blythe's pursuit of power was directly responsible for hurting someone she loves, and with this time limit, not only is her fears are brought to the forefront, she also has to now put aside her own desires (such as breaking her pact) in favour of...helping someone else. Maybe even having to reconsider the power Theta promises! As well as Raha having to now think about what he wants due to his limited time, since before...he just followed others.

[luc3ks]

thinking about my little meow meow

sol emeralds and sol energy fucking her up 😱

[my-drama-heart2406]

Nothing, just... Randomly thinking about the fact that the all the song writers of Alchemy of Souls knew exactly, EXACTLY what was going to happen and even gave literal spoilers in the lyrics to prepare us for it.

We were just too ignorant to notice...

[hawkeyedflame]

new ink. first of two pieces honoring myself, my past and my journey forward. being finally free from 15 years of physical and mental illness, being able to see for the first time in my life that there is a future for me that's worth having, worth fighting and struggling and striving towards... it's too big a feeling to put into words. this line is just a placeholder for the song from which it came.

florence + the machine carried me through my lowest lows, and now keeps me company in my highest highs. the second piece will also be a reflection of their influence on my heart and creative spirit.

[the-somwthing]

Ok the confession I remembered seeing was on the mcyt confessions blog instead that makes sense lol. I just wanted to look at it again. The feeling of seeing someone finally point out that treebark could be seen as unhealthy and being like “omg someone finally said it-“ and then the notes are all just “what? anon is being so weird they’re literally the healthiest ship in the entire series” like HE CHOPPED OFF HIS HEAD??? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???

[inun4ki]

my brain is fuckin blasting

[lucygraysboy]

“hm?  what  do  you  mean?”  billy  purses  his  lips  to  keep  from  grinning  goofily,  his  eyes  twinkling  with  amusement  as  they  linger  on  lucy  gray’s  flushed  visage.  she’s  so  genuinely  innocent  that  he  almost  feels  bad  for  having  this  conversation  with  her  in  the  first  place.  “it’s  not  always  easy  to  wait  when  you’re  both  attracted  to  each  other,  and…”  he  pauses,  not  sure  how  to  put  his  thoughts  into  words  without  sounding  like  a  heartless  asshole  to  this  sweet,  angelic  girl  who  clearly  is  more  on  the  naive  side  when  it  comes  to  romance,  “you  don’t  want  to  marry  every  single  person  you  take  into  your  bed.  sometimes  sparks  fly,  but  you  both  know  it’s  only  temporary  and  there’s  no  hard  feelings  when  you  go  your  separate  ways.”  of  course,  he  has  to  think  of  alice  and  how  miserable  he’d  be  if  they  had  to  spend  their  entire  lives  together,  but  he’s  not  the  kind  of  man  who  kisses  and  tells  so  he  doesn’t  bring  her  up  as  an  example.  

“i  really  like  your  way  of  thinking,”  even  if  he  doesn’t  live  by  these  rules  that  are  so  dear  to  her  heart,  “but  what  happens  when  you’ve  already  promised  to  love  each  other  for  life  and  then  it  turns  out  you’re  not  compatible?  i  don’t  think  god  wants  us  to  be  miserable  or  truly  minds  if  we  experiment  before  settling  down.”  shrugging,  he  doesn’t  want  to  say  something  that  will  offend  her,  but  this  perfect  kind  of  love,  where  two  people  wait  to  tie  the  knot  and  then  live  happily  ever  after,  happens  mostly  in  fairytales.  “it  doesn’t  have  to  be  serious,  lucy  gray,  and  just  because  it’s  not  serious  doesn’t  immediately  mean  it’s  reckless.”  a  soft  sigh  escapes  his  lips,  his  gaze  falling  onto  her  hands,  struggling  not  to  look  up  and  marvel  at  these  cute,  burning  cheeks  of  hers.  he’s  not  trying  to  change  her  mind  or  corrupt  her,  but  she  should  know  that  love  comes  in  different  forms  and  sizes.  “and  that’s  perfectly  alright,  feeling  the  way  you’re  feeling.  it’s  okay.  you  don’t  have  to  prove  anything  to  anyone.”  he  doesn’t  want  her  to  worry  there  might  be  something  wrong  with  her,  the  way  he  felt  when  jesse  first  had  a  similar  conversation  with  him,  and  so  he  briefly  rests  his  hand  on  her  knee.  a  gentle  squeeze  to  comfort  her  and  then  it’s  gone,  not  trying  to  be  flirtatious,  just  a  good  friend.  “i’d  say  it’s  the  other  way  ‘round.  it  starts  with  pleasure,”  god,  why  does  this  word  taste  so  strange  on  his  tongue  all  the  sudden?  “and  babies  are  a  bonus.  an  afterthought.”  it  would  be  so  very  awkward  if  pleasure  didn’t  matter,  if  people  only  made  love  when  they  wanted  to  have  a  baby.

“i  won’t  hurt  you,  i  swear  it,”  he  repeats,  using  his  forefinger  to  gently  tilt  her  chin  up  and  make  her  look  him  in  the  eyes  before  taking  her  hands  into  his.  whereas  trust  is  the  most  important  thing  to  her,  this  is  the  most  important  thing  to  him  —  making  sure  the  ones  he  cares  about  know  they  can  rely  on  him  at  all  times  and  feel  safe  around  him.  “my  father  was  a  good  but  weak  man.  it  didn’t  matter  if  he  was  or  wasn’t  there.  he  couldn’t  protect  his  family.  my  ma  could  never  count  on  him.”  why  is  he  telling  her  this?  must  be  these  glossy  eyes  of  hers,  gleaming  in  the  last  rays  of  the  dying  sun,  so  warm  right  before  it  conceals  itself  over  the  horizon.  she  pulls  on  the  strings  of  his  heart  without  even  meaning  to.  “my  stepfather  was  even  worse  ‘cause  he  wasn’t  a  good  man.  he  could  never  hold  a  job  either,  didn’t  have  much  to  his  name,  not  that  it  stopped  him  from  frequent  visits  at  the  local  brothel.  nobody  ever  felt  safe  around  those  men,  not  my  ma,  not  joe…  and  so  i  promised  myself  to  never  be  like  them,  that  i’d  do  everything  in  my  power  to  never  hurt  the  ones  close  to  me.  what  i’m  tryin’  to  say  is  —  you  don’t  have  to  worry,  lucy  gray.  i  really  won’t  hurt  you.”  he  doesn’t  expect  her  to  trust  him  immediately,  knows  it  will  take  time,  but  he’ll  try  his  best  to  make  it  happen  one  day.

“so,  i’m  very  much  ready  to  take  on  this  challenge  and  make  sundance  and  spirit  jealous  of  our  friendship,”  he  laughs  softly,  letting  go  of  her  hands  and  cupping  her  warm  cheek.  his  thumb  caressing  the  skin  beneath  her  eye,  willing  to  wipe  away  any  tears  that  might  roll  down  her  face  and  pretend  he’s  never  seen  a  thing.  “yeah,  it  does,  doesn’t  it?  and  it  stinks  like  a  mammoth’s  fart.”  suddenly,  his  only  job  is  bringing  back  that  dazzling  smile  that  never  fails  to  make  his  heart  miss  a  beat.  “what  do  you  say  i  fix  you  a  bath  and  go  clean  up  the  mess  we’ve  left  in  your  bedroom?”  he  offers,  lowering  his  hand  into  his  lap  when  he  realizes  he  shouldn’t  be  getting  handsy  with  her.  “and  how  long  do  you  think  it  takes  to  grab  a  girl  like  you?  a  split  second  is  all  it  takes,  lucy  gray.”  trying  to  refrain  from  shaking  his  head  as  she  continues  to  rub  lotion  into  his  skin,  he  restores  to  huffing  and  shrugging  his  shoulders.  “you’re  very  welcome.”  giggling  as  her  skilled  fingertips  trail  down  the  side  of  his  face,  tickling  his  skin  and  making  it  tingle,  leaving  it  slightly  flushed.  he  loves  being  pampered  and  so  he  doesn’t  even  try  to  protest  when  she  moves  to  his  hands,  coating  both  of  them  in  this  shiny  substance.  “true,  but  your  birthday  should  be  about  you.”  she’s  so  selfless  that  it  makes  him  wonder…  does  she  ever  put  herself  first?  “that  sounds  like  such  a  fun  day,  very  sweet  of  her  to  care  for  you  like  that.”  he  hopes  maude  ivory  won’t  mind  having  a  helper  around.  “and  there’s  a  lake  nearby?”  he  didn’t  notice,  not  that  it  surprises  him.  he  was,  after  all,  barely  conscious  when  he  got  here.

"why's it gotta happen at all? why can't the two people in the relationship wait on it to happen." lucy gray wonders, not realizing she sounds a little naive on how strong emotions work and how compatibility is important to most people. to her, when she thinks about it, if she really finds herself smitten for someone... it won't bother her how they work in a bedroom. eyes trailing off... well, she doesn't think. that wouldn't matter? right? or would it? a world of confusion blinds her trying to decide. "i do think they abuse god's word. take his word and use it to their awful advantage. but this isn't about those perverts. this is about how men are supposed to wait too, not just the girls of the human race. this is about how some people just find it more special, not rushin' into things. to some... it just sounds more special and beautiful to promise each other to love each other for life before sharin' their bodies. since that seems to be god's opinion." she points out. "what do you mean a good time?" she felt like she might puke her cheeks were burning so viciously, "a good time's watching a band play or going to a party. sharin' yourself with someone is much more serious than that. you just can't trust people like that, be so reckless. unless it just doesn't bother you i guess. but personally, for me, i have to know i can really trust them and that they really mean it when they say they love me." she definitely takes it serious, it's not just something to do recklessly for a good time in her mind. she'd feel like she'd been violated, if she decided to love someone and they left her. let alone expose herself and let them have her in such a vulnerable way. it's a terrible disgusting feeling thinking of it... there might be something wrong with her, she thinks. since apparently it didn't play on everybody's mind like that, like it did hers. "well, it starts with babies primarily. then the other thing secondly. both still are reserved for after marriage, though."

"okay, well that's true. but if you really won't hurt me then we can compete by bein' the best of friends. we'll make the horses and rabbits so jealous, they'll wanna be us." she decides with a giddy smile, since that's what she wanted and still wants to be reassured of... that he won't hurt her. and being told that, well that just strikes a nerve. even if he ends up not even meaning it... being told she won't be hurt by someone made her heart pang before causing emotions to well in the barrels of her honey eyes. she wasn't crying yet, but something of the way he said it made her eyes prick with tears. "gosh, that oil definitely leaves an itchy smell." blaming the oil and cloth being so close to her eyes, she thinks that could be a reasonable excuse in case it looks noticeable that lucy gray now worries about. then he puts the cloth down and closes his eyes which helps. the brunette stays quiet, smearing in lotion with both hands, rubbing it into both of his cheeks softly and then over his chin and forehead��� brushing these dark little locks away so the lotion doesn't stick to his fresh clean hair. "i can't help but think you're a little crazy, thinkin' someone got me all in a matter of a minute or two?" she didn't know what he had to be paranoid like that before, because she's never lived a day in his shoes. "but..." as much as that CONFUSED her, brows knitting, "it's sweet. so thank you, for comin' to my rescue." she sheepishly laughed as features softened, truly not understanding his level of paranoia like that. but appreciative. smoothing lotion down his neck with little pats then taking his left hand, rubbing in a small spots of lotion into his skin there too then picking up his right hand, doing the same again. "both are good wishes," she corrects gently, wellbeing of her loved ones and these little things like a picnic and a necklace. "well, maude ivory usually makes it a fun day for me. it used to be my mama, but now it's maude ivory who usually brings me over a pastry and we go to the lake to play all day."

[dram4tics]

tags tags tags

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 think i need someone older (s & f)

olderBoyfriend!Jungkook x inexperienced!reader

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content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine

note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always

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Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.

A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.

Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.

It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.

Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.

The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.

That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.

Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.

"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.

you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.

He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.

"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.

It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.

During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.

Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.

The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.

"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.

"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for

"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.

"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.

To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further

"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form

It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,

"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,

he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way

"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick

"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,

In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you

"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength

"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top

Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,

"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you

but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission

"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"

he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with

"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch

"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly

Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction

"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features

jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again

"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly

"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,

unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration

"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity

"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"

he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top

"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off

both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft

he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body

"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,

Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself

"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put

You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did

effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips

"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"

Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it

"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration

"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"

It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in

Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it

until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again

"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours

"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him

"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him

"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours

he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously

"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,

Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it

"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,

he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"

Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,

"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body

"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,

It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end

As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.

his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body

the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,

"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,

"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"

your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,

"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?

"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,

"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.

[genz420]

Beauty of Scars & Flowers - Chapter 4: Blooming Flowers and Feelings

Master List

Previous Part - Next Part

The day was warm, with the sun shining brightly and not a cloud in sight.  Many ladies walk with their lord husbands or with one another throughout the Gardens of the Red Keep.  Some share the latest rumours being spread around court, while some just enjoy the warmth of the sun beating down on them. 

A group of three were among the people outside enjoying the warm weather.  Princess Helaena had dragged her new friend and younger brother to accompany her for the day. She wanted Lyannas' knowledge of the flowers in the gardens and Aemond to spend time with.  The day had gone well so far, with Helaena picking out flowers she liked and then asking Lyanna to identify them before Lyanna put them in the basket she was carrying so that she could press them for {Helaena. 

Aemond had only shared a few words with either one of them.  He stood tall and walked along with them, answering the question Helaena asked in his head rather than aloud.  Part of him feared that he would be wrong when he chose to identify one of the flowers.  He wanted to be sure, not just of the name but also of the meaning and use of the flower.  

Lyanna rocked her weight from one of her feet to the other, her gaze not on Helaena or Aemond but on a group of ladies not too far away from them. Aemond stood beside her; his face held no expression, and if anything, the prince looked bored.  His shoulders were pulled back, and his hands folded before him.  Helaena was on the ground in front of a bush of powder-blue flowers with bright yellow centers; they were arranged in rounded, divergent clusters along the length of the branch.  

“This one, Lyanna?” Helaena asked as she held up a small cluster of the small powder-blue flowers. 

Aemond racked his brain for the name of the flower and the meaning.  Wanting to show off his knowledge of the flower, he had spent the past two days reading the few books the maester had on botany.  He even went as far as to ask Helaena for the books that Lyanna had given her.  

Aemond knew the flower, but the worry that he might be wrong prevented him from speaking its name.  But as Lyanna didn’t respond to his sister, he felt the silence eating away at his nerves.  After two more beats of silence, he finally chose to speak up.

“forget-me-nots, sister,” Aemond said as he shifted his weight onto one of his legs.   “A sign of fidelity and love,”

Aemond did his best to try and see from his peripheral vision if Lyanna had heard him.  He was almost sure he was correct about identifying the flower, and the only doubt sprouted from the worry that he might be wrong.

Lyanna looked back towards Helaena, and at the flowers she was kneeling at.  Slowly, she nodded to confirm that Aemond was right about the name, having heard him.  Aemond rolled his shoulders back in pride as she did so. Of course, he was right.

Helaena brought the flowers to her nose, smelling them as she spun them around.  Helaena spoke to herself, “I like them.  The colour reminds me of Dreamfyre.”

“When gifted, they mean you will never forget the person and keep them in your thoughts and heart.  The tea is good when you have a cough,” Lyanna added with a heavy sigh.  

Her tone was enough for Aemond to look away from his sister and towards her.  Lyanna's jaw was clenched, and her shoulders were tense.  He knew well enough now that he was not the reason for her shift in mood, for only moments before, she and Helaena were happily joking with one another; once giving Lyanna a once over, he forced his gaze back onto his sister. 

Helaena did not mind her friend's shift in mood, only holding out the bundle for Aemond to take.  The prince accepted the flowers and copied his sister's action of bringing them to his nose to smell them.  The small flowers had no scent, Aemond realized.

“They have no scent, and if they do, it tends to be very faint,” Lyanna told Aemond as she took the flower from him to place in the basket.   

Aemond nodded at her words, acting like he already knew that fact when he didn’t. Aemond kept his gaze on his sister rather than the lady beside him, who was looking at the flowers in her hand.  He noticed how Helaena was letting what looked like a wasp land on her finger, a small smile on his sister's face as she watched the bug.

“Helaena, be careful,” Aemond warned as he spotted the yellow and black striped bug land on his sister's finger.  

Lyanna put the flower in her basket as she looked towards her friend, worried as she heard Aemond speak. Her attention was fully back on the two siblings instead of the people around them as she said, “They are harmless, Hover Flies.” 

It was Helaena's turn to confirm Lyanna’s words as she brought the small bug on her finger closer to her face to inspect it.  Lyanna moved towards the small bundle of flowers with the bug flying around it, letting one of the bugs land on her finger.  

 “They are good for the plants, spread the pollen from the plant to others and even eat other creatures that would harm the plant,” She informed him as she held the bug close to Aemond's face.  

Aemond watched the dragonfly-like bug on Lyanna's finger. It had a face like a fly, yet the butt of the bug made him nervous because of its likeness to a wasp. Aemond looked behind Lyanna and to his sister, who was still kneeling in front of the forget-me-nots. His attention was returned to Lyanna as she reached for his hand and laid it palm up onto her own.   

Aemond can feel the warmth of Lyanna’s palm and the softness and calluses free. Aemond, one eye, watched Lyanna's face as she tried to get the fly onto his palm; her face held no sign of discomfort as their skin touched.  Only a small smile as she watched the bug crawl into his hand.  He relaxed his hand entirely on top of hers. He pried his gaze away from her face and onto the fly that crawled around his hand.  

The peaceful, distant chatter of the people around them and the sounds of the songbirds in the trees were quickly drowned out as a group of four young nobles made their way down the path they were on.  

Lyanna’s hand was grabbed in one moment, and she was ripped away and around from Aemond. The force was so strong and unexpected that some of the flowers in her basket fell onto the ground. 

“Lady Lyanna!” A young man exclaimed with a booming voice.  

Aemond watched as the man grabbed ahold of both of Lyanna’s forearms. His hands moved down her arms until he had a hold of her hands.  The man brought both of her hands up to his lips as he held them in his tight grip. 

Aemond watched as the others in the group greeted Lyanna with smiles, but none had been so forward as the man.  All he did was watch with the Hoverfly still in his hand, the same hand that Lyanna had been holding.  Now, her hands were being held and pampered with kisses by another. 

Helaena did not seem to care about the addition of new people; still focused on the flowers and bugs around her.  If she had looked away, she would have seen Aemond’s free hand move to rest on the pommel of his sword as his shoulders tensed and face hardened. 

“Ser Alan,” Lyanna had finally greeted the man. Aemond noticed her voice did not hold the same excitement as Alan's, but it was not nearly as cold as he had hoped.  

“I thought that you might be around here somewhere, enjoying the warm weather,” Alan told her as his thumbs rubbed against the back of her hands.

“Alan has been a bore and in a flawless mood once he realized you were not with your uncle,” The man, whom Aemond did not recognize, spoke up.  

Lyanna only let out a disingenuous laugh as her shoulders started to tense.  It was clear to anyone who spent a few moments with the young lady that she was uncomfortable; it would be apparent to anyone who could read body language.  

But Lyanna knew better than to embarrass a young lord in front of his friends. Instead, she just went along with what was being said and allowed the man to hold her hands.  

“You should accompany us,” One of the ladies said, a genuine smile on her face with the hope that Lyanna would join them.  

Lyanna shook her head, looking towards the lady with a kind smile as she spoke. “Princess Helaena and I are not yet done spending time with one another, but perhaps tomorrow.” 

“I hope the gods give us another beautiful day then,”  

“Perhaps My Lady Strong will come to see you in the training yard,” Aemond said as he stared down at Ser Alan.  

Part of Aemond wanted Ser Alan to agree with his words so that Lyanna would be able to see the man's lack of skill.  But Aemond watched as the man shifted on his feet under his gaze. Lyanna looked away from the man in front of her and towards Aemond.  Eyebrows slightly pulled together because of his words. 

“The training yard is no place for a woman, Prince Aemond,” Ser Alan told Aemond, which caused Lyanna to snap her head back towards him.  

She shouldn’t have been shocked at his words, but Lyanna still was.  But she knew for a fact that most of the ladies often went to watch the young knights and lords train.  She doesn’t understand why Alan did not want her to watch him, but Aemond did; the man's lack of skill was humorous to him and no doubt the man wanted to impress Lyanna with his words and not his skills.  

“Hmmm, I’m sure it will do my lady some good to see you train,” Aemond pushed on as he stepped closer to the two of them. 

“I do not think her uncle would want her in such a place,” Alan shot back, not thinking of the words he was saying. 

Aemond didn’t show any emotion on his face while Alan spoke. Instead, he showed that he was in control, with his calm posture the opposite of Alan's.  Aemond's voice was smooth as he said, “Well, she can accompany me.  I will happily escort her to watch.”

“I have already finished training for the day,” Alan made an excuse, his grip tightened on Lyanna’s hands as he narrowed his eyes at Aemond.  

“No harm can come from a few hours more,” Aemond spoke back, and the man and two ladies behind Alan looked amongst themselves as the prince shot back at Alan. 

“Not everyone has the luxury of spending the day in the yard,” Alan told Aemond; his friend nodded along with his words, but that did not stop Aemond. 

“Some lack the dedication to,“ Aemond added his own opinion, and he watched as Alan's face hardened back as he spoke.  He hit a sore spot, it seemed. 

“Are you saying I lack dedication?” Alan asked with a scoff. He took offence to Aemond’s words but was in no position to talk back to the prince or even call him out on his behaviour.  

“I did not name you, but perhaps you identify with my words,”

“I will see to it that we spend time together tomorrow, Ser Alan,” Lyanna said before Alan could respond to Aemond, gaining his attention with a smile on her face.  

Alan nodded before he brought Lyanna’s hands back up to his lips.  He placed one last kiss before letting her hands go, and he turned back to his group.  The four of them made a quick pace to leave the two royal siblings and Lyanna.  Aemond watched as Lyanna relaxed her shoulders and moved to pick up the fallen flowers that had been trampled and crushed.  

“Isn’t he charming, brother?” Helaena broke the silence as she asked Aemond.

“Certainly,” Aemond answered as he moved to help his sister up off the ground.  

Helaena doesn’t wait for Lyanna to pick up the flowers before she moves on to the next bush of flowers. But Aemond does wait, his palm still up towards the sky even though the hoverfly had long since left.  

Aemond watched as Lyanna stood up and turned back towards him; the basket of flowers was held in front of her with both hands.  Lyanna looked at Aemond and offered him a small smile.  

Aemond did not offer her a smile but instead, his arm for her to take.  

Lyanna looked between Aemond’s cold face and his extended arm, letting a few beats pass before she stepped forward and rested her hand on his arm.  

Taglist: Reply if you wished to be added to the taglist!

@sahvlren @delaynew @coldmermaidhologram @snh96

[sennamybeloved]

⛧ SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 ⛧

HELLO ALL! welcome to another year of selfshiptober. i've noticed this is pretty much the 'official' selfship tober event now, which honestly warms my heart! i love seeing what this wonderful community does with my prompts :)

this year, i'm doing things a little differently. EACH DAY HAS TWO PROMPTS ASSIGNED TO IT. the first set is SHIPPY, while the second set is SPOOKY. you may either COMBINE THE TWO PROMPTS TOGETHER or CHOOSE ONE OF THE PROMPTS. the spooky prompts are a bit on the grittier side and probably won't appeal to most, so if you'd like to only use the first set of prompts and completely ignore the second, be my guest! on the other hand, if you prefer the gritter prompts, you can only use the second set of prompts, you can do that too! if you want an extra challenge, you can create a piece that incorporates both of the day's prompts. you can also change your approach depending on how you feel that day!

there are no hard rules for this. YOU CAN START WORKING ON THIS CHALLENGE EARLY, but i encourage you to wait until october to post anything. YOU CAN ALSO CONTINUING WORKING ON IT AFTER OCTOBER ENDS! you can drag this shit out into december for all i care. just DON'T OVERWORK YOURSELF PLEASE.

without further ado, LET US PROCEED TO THE PROMPTS!

#1. confession  |  night.

#2. blanket  |  flame.

#3. embrace  |  blood.

#4. apple picking  |  fog.

#5. all dressed up  |  blade.

#6. carnival  |  haunted.

#7. rain  |  infection.

#8. swim  |  terror.

#9. music  |  masquerade.

#10. warmth  |  claws.

#11. comfort  |  recovery.

#12. married  |  ritual.

#13. party  |  magic.

#14. date night  |  vampire.

#15. games  |  hunt.

#16. candy  |  illusion.

#17. heart  |  feast.

#18. pining  |  violent.

#19. shared hobby  |  potion.

#20. trust  |  experiment.

#21. snuggle  |  nightmare.

#22. kiss  |  scars.

#23. movie night  |  slasher.

#24. baking  |  empty.

#25. rest  |  bandages.

#26. beautiful  |  grotesque.

#27. decorations  |  cemetery.

#28. brush  |  forest.

#29. pumpkin  |  lantern.

#30. flowers  |  snow.

#31. halloween  |  death.

TAG YOUR CREATIONS AS #SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 AND TAG ME IF YOU'D LIKE ME TO SEE! i cannot guarantee interaction as i struggle socially, but i promise i'll look at everything! HAPPY CREATING ♡

[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

[lxvvie]

You and your never-ending quest to make Jason Todd blush.

And it's working, gorgeous. Christ, it's working.

If it isn't the gifts you spring up on him out of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere, it's the compliments. He's every kind of pretty, hot, gorgeous, stunning, everything that lets him know he's the most beautiful thing you've ever laid your eyes on, and fuck if his cheeks aren't flaming hot.

And if it isn't either one of those, it's the way you remind Jason that he's better than he thinks he is and while he may not be the quintessential paragon of virtue, he's what the city needs, and you can't imagine a world without him. That and he makes some good ass coffee in the morning.

Gee, thanks, baby.

But what really gets Jason is the way you look at him, the way you see past the scars and tough exterior and he can't help but wonder if he looks as lovestruck as you do whenever he sees you because he feels it—feels you—with every fiber of his being.

And then you surprised him with flowers one day—"I saw them and they reminded me of you, Jaybear."

And not only is his entire face on fire, but he's a puddle of fuckin' goo.

He'd be a fuckin' liar if he said they didn't, either.

[sweet-honey-bubbles-127]

Chino Hills, CA

[oceantornadoo]

persephone (simon riley x f!reader) age gap, a bit coercive, dark

—

it started with fruit.

you were simon riley’s secretary, working for a man clouded in darkness and gold. you’d hear whispers on the street, see pitying faces when you mentioned who you worked for to strangers. to them, he was a cold, hard beast. to you, he was a king.

he started by bringing you fruit, pomegranate seeds and ghost-white pears. small quips about eating healthy now while you were still young enough. ms twenty something meets mr not-yet middle aged, the lines of his face just starting to crease but the beer belly nowhere to be found. he mined diamonds, you heard. he owned cemeteries, said another secretary. they call him ghost, whispered a personal assistant. you didn’t care, didn’t need to when that wasn’t your job.

he had scarred hands, craggly things winding into the cuff of his midnight black suits. didn’t wear a mask but always seemed to be covered in darkness, his face unrecognizable in half lit rooms and empty offices. he always stayed late so you did too, indulging in the extra car he ordered for you, his driver called charon. simon never held long conversations but simply beckoned you, some string in your belly pulling tight at his recognition. at least a third of his day spent with you, murmuring soft nothings, inquiring about your mother and the upcoming winter, the beauty in the death of the trees. “y’ smell like spring, love.” he’d said one morning, and you resolved to wear that same pomegranate spritz indefinitely.

and then it moved to jewels. congratulations on your one year preceded by a tennis bracelet. a trinket of a three headed dog, something small to keep on your desk. the hours draw on later and later, canceled plans with your mother and nymph-like friends piling up like leaves. his touch starts lingering, hard calluses on soft skin.

a hand on your back, guiding you into a conference room. your hair brushing against his torso, the intimacy of it jarring. you twisted your ankle one day, the height of your heels overindulgent. ended up on the couch in his private office, his hands massaging your foot. “like a delicate flower.” he’d murmured, rewarding you with an anklet of diamonds once the pain wore off.

three years in, an invite to his private island. no service, leave your phone at home. sign an nda, we’ll work remote, gone for a month maybe more. pack some nice clothes, maybe a white dress if you’ve got one. take my card if you don’t.

stepping off the helicopter, charon at the helm. you weren’t there against your will but the hairy arm around your waist was heavy, a reminder of the cost you’d paid to visit the underworld. two weeks in and you couldn’t even act surprised when he proposed, on one knee with a glint in his eyes. “you and me, love, against th’ world.”

and if you said yes to the fruit, the diamonds, the care, the attention - saying yes to this was just the next step. an elopement, he’d already drawn up the license - “why wait, dove? y’r so fragile already.” you’re not, have a hidden strength under you, but ghost doesn’t care, ghost takes what he wants, and you, legs spread and eyes soft, are it.

when he fucks you, that’s when it’s settled. cunt dripping on his fingers, his face, his cock. he mutters something about a vasectomy and you’re taking him bare, making eye contact with a ghostlike gardener who walks past the window. your jaw unhinged, drool at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you from behind, one hand on your throat.

“such a good secretary, hm?” and you nod ferociously like the three-headed puppy on your desk. you’ll never work again, too busy with his cock in your mouth or his remote vibrator in your cunt at dinner. the jewels drip into a roar - diamond encrusted toys you’re not sure are entirely safe, bejeweled handcuffs, glittery collars. he’s pluto, the riches of the earth following his orders when he chases you in his private woods. simon’s presence is otherworldly, taking you with the strength of a god as you squirm against his grip. his oldness disgusts you but makes you gush all the same. “gonna be good for daddy?” and you agree vehemently at the king before you, on his knees.