#twas so beautiful

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

Old woman yuri in celebration of the eclipse

[quirkle2]

ms paint with mouse time

[humblemooncat]

Radio silence on my end today brought to you by my new Nashu alt and her speedrunning Hildibrand for that sweet, sweet glam (With a small detour to join @scholarlostintime's march to Haurchefant!)

The name's Nashu Mahkaracca if you wanna friend her!

I've also been made an officer of an NPC FC, so if you're running an NPC alt on server 2 for funsies like me, I can send you an invite!

[waterfallofspace]

Tormented By Your Love.

The one in which S/uguru G/eto is given a lovely gift from his caring boyfriend S/atoru G/ojo, that he just so happens to be desperately allergic to. Cue him trying to hold back the attack long enough to get away from G/ojo, but the other is not so keen to be ditched.

Inspired by ~this post~, so the idea’s are not all my own, but the execution is. Also shoutout/thanks to @lycheeehehe for mentioning G/eto in that post because it totally got my mind RACING with this concept. (Hope you don’t mind the tag!! And if you read, hope you enjoy it~ <3) Same for anyone else, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy~!

Characters: G/eto, G/ojo, and a bottle of expensive cologne with a not-so-secret scent. Word Count: 2.6k 

(References to playful violence, and swearing, incase you don’t like either of those! Also features mentions of J/ujutsu K/aisen world concepts such as curses/techniques, so I don’t believe it’s spoilers, but just be aware!) 

~~~~~~~

“I got you a present~!” Geto looks up as Gojo floats into the room, hands behind his back, a deep smile across his cheeks. The sunglasses conceal his eyes, but Geto can say with certainty the smile reaches them. “It’s not my birthday… Did I miss an anniversary?” “Nooope~! I just felt like spoiling you!” The tone is light and musical, something Geto has grown quite used to. ‘And yet… the fondness rekindles itself every time I hear it.’ “You don’t have to do tha-” “Uh-uh, shush. I already bought it, and I want to see your face when you open it! Don’t you dare ruin this for me, Suguru!” He’s practically whining, letting his sunglasses slip down just enough to meet Geto’s eyes with his beautiful blues. Geto sighs, a smile slipping over his normally calm expression. ‘This is what I get for falling in love with The Satoru Gojo.’ “Alright, alright. Show me what you got.” “Tadaaa~!” Gojo holds out a bottle, beaming even wider than before. Geto matches the warmth with a smile of his own, letting Gojo delicately place the bottle in his hands. He examines it, finding no label or etchings on the bottle. His gaze falls back up to Gojo, who’s rocking back and forth, practically vibrating with excitement. “I- don’t understand…?” “In that case let me explain it to you!” His voice is as vibrant as his eyes, and he throws himself onto the couch next to Geto, letting his arms fall across the back of it. One leg crosses over the other, and he nearly shakes the couch as he bounces them. “This, my dear Suguru, is a special creation made by yours truly! See, I wanted a scent that’s specifically you, so that I can recognize you by a scent other than your cursed energy. However, as I said, specifically you, therefore I couldn’t use anything from the store, sooo~!” Gojo pauses, ‘For dramatic effect’ Geto reckons, letting his smile reach his eyes in the silence. Finally it seems Gojo reaches his limit, his tongue moving before his brain can even catch up. ‘That’s how he always seems to talk when he’s with me. It’s truly stunning, watching him just let go. He always has to be so careful in front of anyone else.’ “Sooo~ I made this at one of those specialty shops, that way the scent is entirely unique, and distinctly for you! This way not only can I always know your personal smell, I can also…” A blush forms across his cheeks, his words growing uncharacteristically quiet. “I can bring some with me when I need to be reminded of you. Like, a palate cleanser, I guess… just… something that’s distinctly you… that..-” He trails off, but Geto knows the ending. ‘That no one can use against me. If it’s a scent, no one has to know, so then no one will care.’ Without really meaning to, Geto finds his hand tracing down Gojo’s arm, brushing against his cheek, letting his chin rest against it. Gojo gives him a small smile, which quickly turns into a purr as Geto runs his hands through his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. He breaks it to glance back at the bottle. “Aren’t these expensive, Satoru?” “Ach, don’t worry about that. Just means you have to wear it often, I guess~!” Letting the cap tip open, Geto leans in to smell it, and has to fight to keep the smile on his face from wavering. ‘Oh shit-’. From the first whiff, he can tell this is gonna be a problem. “Can you guess what I added? Can you, can you, can yo-” “I- I think there’s some sage… M- maybe a hint of rosemary?” “Correct, and correct! But, can you guess what the secret ingredient is to make sure it’s uniquely yours?” Geto raises a hand subtly to swipe at his nose, nearly gasping at the way the reaction sparks from a simmering buzz to a full blown burning. Keeping his breathing shallow, he manages to avoid sniffling, but the burning feeling is slowly spreading down his throat. A light clearing of his throat sends it barreling up his nose, each inch of his sinuses alight with a tickle so furious he nearly chokes on it. “Pretty sure… Is- is it rose…?” “Ding ding ding! How did you manage to guess that, Suguru? When I had the workers at the shop guess, no one could get it!” The only response Geto can give is a light chuckle, the vibrations from it nearly sending tears to his eyes as his sinuses buzz angrily. He brings a finger up to rub at his nose, feeling it start to drip, just to bite his tongue hard as the feeling of the wetness rubbing against the tip brings a whole new wave of tickle. “hhiHh-!uhh… hhHUhh-!” “Hm? Sorry, didn’t catch that, did you say something?” Geto manages to catch his breath in his chest, sniffling once more to try and quell the building pressure, only to let a faint moan fall from his lips as it does nothing to relieve the itch. “N- no, didn’t say anything. It smells lovely, Satoru. Th-heHh-! Thank you.” “Oh, alright. I’m so happy you like it! Hey, I know, let’s spray it over both of us so we can both smell like it!” “Gojo wai-” The attempt is futile, Gojo already spraying the mist above their heads. All Geto can do is attempt to subtly shield his nose with his hand as he watches the allergen rain down on him. The very air seems to be tormenting him with its existence, his nose deeply aware of each particle falling around his head.  “hHIHhh-! G-god… heEHh- I can’t… hh’knnxxgt-! nnxgt’shh-!” Gojo is focused on the mist, spinning around in it and humming something about ‘getting soaked in the smell of our love’, but Geto’s too focused on his nose to pay any attention. The twitching has started with a fury, each movement sending new chills down his spine as the tickle begs to be released. “ihh’nnGT’shoo-!” “Oh, bless you!” “S- sorry just… just… heH’KNxxgt’huhh-! Excuse me, just a bit of a tickle.” “Bless you again. Ar-” “nnNGT-KNXXGT-iH’DTNGT’choo-!” “Jeez, bless you, are you alright?” Geto feels his face pale, all the colour rushing to his cheeks and nose as a pink tint starts to form. ‘I can’t tell him I’m allergic… he’ll be crushed, he bought this for us, he’s so excited. I can be strong, like him. I won’t be weak.’  “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit dusty in here, I think. They don’t really clean these old staff rooms that well, since they’re not in use anymore.”  “Oh, why didn’t you say so? It’s a lovely spring day, we can head outside instead, don’t want you feeling miserable here, plus~ you know I love a nice spring breeze!” “Sounds g- hehHh-! good.”  They stand, Gojo playfully bowing, offering an arm to raise Geto from the couch. Geto can’t help but laugh, rolling his eyes pointedly, but accepting the arm anyways. He lets himself be dragged through the halls, using the unwatched time to raise a knuckle to his nose, scrubbing hard. ‘That just ma- haHh-! Makes it worse… the stifling isn’t helping either… this fit is gonn- hEHh-! Gonna be bad when it finally breaks free…’  Once the fresh air hits his face, Geto breathes an itchy sigh of relief. Which is quickly replaced by a watery glare aimed at, well, everything as his nose reminds him once more that this little war is far from finished. “Wow, doesn’t the sakura just look stunning, Geto? Why don’t I collect us some, we can make flower crowns! Have you heard of those? Some of the students were showing me the other day, I can make us some, here hold on-” ‘I must have upset a great many people to be cursed this badly.’ Geto silently complains, sniffling deeply as he weighs his options. Either let Gojo hear him break into a fit caused by his gift, or keep suppressing this until it kills him. ‘At this point, death sounds like a nice release. I just… need to…. sneeze…’ “Here you go~!” With that, Gojo places a sakura crown on Geto’s head, and suddenly, as if the sun had finally come out from behind the clouds, Geto sees an opportunity. Letting himself take a deep sniff, he nearly recoils at the way the tickle magnifies. ‘Okay, maybe a bit more intense then I planned on-’  “heHhH-! hAH’KNNGT’choo-! DNTT’shho-! knxxgt-ehnnxgt-mmNGT’choo-!” “Woah, bless you, are you okay?” “Y- hNGGT-! Yeah, sorry I thi- dtNNXGT-! think I’m a bit aller… alleerrgic- haHhhH-! hAH’INNGXT’shh-! aHNGT’choo-! Allergic to the sahhh-! hEH’ENNGT-! enxggt’choo-! To the sakura…” At the stunned look on Gojo’s face, Geto feels a wave of guilt wash over him. ‘It’s not actually a lie, I am a tad allergic to sakura. Even if it wasn’t for the cologne I’d be sneezing having it so close like this- granted, it wouldn’t be nearly this bad, but that’s just unnecessary details.’ “You’re allergic to sakura?! How did I never know this? Wow, Suguru, must be a bit of a masochist living in Japan when you’re allergic to sakura! How are you still alive?” Geto lets out a strained laugh, the best he can do with the tickle still spreading in his face. It’s grown from a study buzz to an all out hum, deeply unsatisfied with the stifling keeping it from releasing itself fully. “Mostly take medications, avoid the outside when I haven’t. Guess I just… forgot it today.” “Let’s go back inside then.” “You- hAH’ENNGT-! you like it outside, I can go back in alone.” “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’ll come with you. And Christ, Suguru, take it off your fucking head!” “R- right, forgo-huHH’NGxxt-! Forgot about that.” He lets Gojo pick it off his head, nearly moaning as Gojo’s sleeve brushes his face, sending a new wave of prickles up into his eyes, allergic tears starting to form before he can stop them. “Should’ve known you’d be allergic to something like sakura. It’s so pink, and bright, and you are the king of black and darkness.”  “Hah, very funny, Satoru.”  Gojo once more offers his hand, which Geto takes, letting his other hand come up to pinch his nose as another sneeze threatens to break through, pausing only to wipe at his eyes to remove the tears before they can fall. “No seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you touch something pink. Hey! Maybe you’re not allergic to sakura, maybe you’re just allergic to the colour pink!” A laugh breaks free from Geto, his eyes crinkling as he bends slightly forward, only realizing his mistake when the feeling of his nose dripping nearly takes away his ability to walk. Had Gojo not had one arm wrapped around him, he would have fallen to his knees, the itch returning with a fury he wasn’t aware his nose could have. “heHhh-! iHhhH…. Guhh… don’t- hEHhh-!” He reaches up to rub at his nose, wincing at the way each brush of his fingers seems to hit a new ticklish spot, spreading the buzzing deeper and deeper. “hEH’KNGT’shhoo-! nnxggt’shoo-! hAH’IZSSHH’uue-!” Geto blushes as the last sneeze breaks through his stifling, raising a wrist to catch it as Gojo stumbles against the force of his body shuddering. ‘Come on, Suguru. Don’t let your control waiver, you have to stay strong.’ “Woah, bless you.” “Thank you, excuse me, that one… got away from me. nnxxgtt-! dnnzzxgt-! hAH’INNT-! ” “Seems you’re more allergic to the sakura than I’d thought… should I go get you some medication or something?” “No no, I’m alright, really. It’ll stop once we’re inside, away from the breeze.” ‘At least… I hope it will.’ His confidence wavers, his sinuses practically vibrating from the accidental release, desperate for more. ‘I should really try to get away from Gojo. I need to let this out before it gets any worse… maybe say I have to use the washroom, he wouldn’t follow me there, right..?’ Geto opens his mouth to try out his excuse, but all that he manages to get out is a faint gasp before he’s crushing his nose against his wrist once more. “heHH’KNGGT’shoo-! INNT’shh-!” “Bless you. Gonna live, Geto?” “I’m okay.” “If you say so~!” A slight groan forces its way out before Geto can stop it as he recognizes the room Gojo’s leading him back to. The scent still hangs heavily in the air, each breath seeming to scrape against his throat, bringing handfuls of allergen soaked air into his itchy lungs. “haHhhh… ca- heHhHH-!” “Oh, I had almost forgotten about this! Let’s spray it again, shall we?” There’s a tone in his voice that Geto can’t seem to place, but there’s bigger issues to attend to first. He tries to talk, to tell Gojo not to spray it, but his voice is lost in the whirlwind of ticklish breaths he’s desperately sucking in. Managing only to cast his watery gaze at Gojo, Geto suddenly notices the playful smirk the other man dawns, as he sprays the bottle right at Geto. “hEH’IZZSHH’UU-! hh’ETTZZSHH-huH’AIEZZSHH’OO-!” “Oh my~. Bless you. Whatever’s the matter~?” Geto doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the smirk painted across Gojo’s face, which is good, because he couldn’t open them if he wanted to.  “heHHh’ESSHHEEWW-! I have- have to- huHH’IZTSHEEWW-! iHH’KNNGT-! haHhh… hIHhhH-! hiH’ISHH’oo-! kezzshhh’uhh-! dttzzzshhh’oo-! hH’eSSHH’oo-!” “You should have just told me you were allergic, Suguru.” “H- how did- heH’AZZshh’oo-! huHh’aiiESHHhh’oo-!” “You’ve been fighting the urge to sneeze since you first sniffed it. You were practically vibrating with allergic need, even your cursed energy was pulsating with it. I’m a special grade jujutsu sorcerer, my love. I have the cursed technique six eyes. There’s not much you can hide from me.” Geto tries to form a reply, but all he can do is-  “hAH’AISSHHEEW-! TTZZZSHH’oo-!” “But even without all of that, I’d have known from the beginning anyways. I know you, Suguru. Every inch of your skin, every ounce of your soul, every fibre of your being. I know you.”  “I didn’t- mmMPFFZZSHH’oo-! didn’t want you to think I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to hurt you, Satoru. heH’MMTSSHH’oo-! I love it, because it was f- from- hhaHhh-! hH’AIISHH’oo-! From you… and I know how much it meant to you.”  At the statement, Gojo lets out a laugh that has him leaning against the wall, tears starting to form in his eyes, matching Geto’s, which are currently streaming. “I don’t care if you wear this specific scent. I’d rather my lover be alive, not sneezing his lungs out because he wants to ‘not hurt my feelings’. We can always go back together and find something you’re not allergic to!” “B- notagain- hH’AIIZZSHHEWW-! IZZSHHH’oo-! Scuse me. But it’s so expensive, I don’t want you spending that much on me.” The laughter returns to Gojo’s lungs, beautiful, and sucking all the breath that Geto had left with its light and airy sound. Something so pure, and full of joy. “I’m a special grade jujutsu sorcerer. I’m in unbelievably high demand. You think I couldn’t make that money back in a week easily? Money isn’t an issue, your health is all that matters, Suguru. The only thing that matters. You’re my one and only, after all.” Geto meets his eyes, the tears running down his cheeks not only from the sneezing anymore. “Satoru… I don’t know what to say-” Without a word, Gojo grabs his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, their lips meeting with a burning passion, hunger dripping from every breath as Gojo lets his hands roam up to Geto’s hair, purring at the moan he gets when he grips it. Finally breaking away so Geto could get a breath in, Gojo lets his sunglasses dip so Geto can see him wink. “Don’t say anything. We’ve never needed words before, let’s not start now.” And with that, Geto takes his turn to pull him in for a kiss, reveling in the beauty that is his one and only, Satoru Gojo. 

[atla-yun]

did u guys know she’s actually the most beautifulest ever 😮‍💨

included sketch only bc i liked it more lowkey + here’s a closeup :)

[leonsliga]

Manuel Neuer reflects on the match | FC Bayern München vs. FC Copenhagen | 29.11.23

[sunflowerrboyy]

went to a shitty school halloween dance bc someone i know got stood up by her friend group

we said we'd be there 10 mins to check it out

we stayed the whole time, got free candy, and danced to crappy pop music and saw cool costumes

at some point i acquired a light up unicorn headband

[its-tea-time-darling]

comment i got on my newt/teresa fic lmaoo

to those who don't get it why i find that amusing: while i appreciate fandom culture around headcanoning a certain sexuality for a character and deriving joy from it, it amuses me that

1) people seem to think a fictional character's sexuality needs to be policed in fanfiction, the medium where fans make up fictional content on fictional characters bc they derive joy from it 2) that people talk of newt being gay as though it was canon, when it in fact was one (1) tweet trashner made for clout, and the newtmas fanbase is the one he's continually trying to milk for money and attention bc that's the only thing he's got left to do for publicity since his publisher dropped him for sexual harassment allegations.

before i hit post, i want to highlight that luckily, this isn't a mentality i've seen around in the maze runner fandom for a long time, or that i feel is rampant. i just have Thoughts TM about this, and getting a comment like that prompted me to spell them out again.

loads of love to the tmr fandom for being one of the loveliest places on the internet. <3

[stargarland]

good morning everyone 💙💙💙💙 very wonderful morning it has been! hope everyone is having a good day or night or whatever time it is🫂🫂🫂🫂

[tngrace]

[ruins-of-her-peace]

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day, the sky was clear and serene, and Nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild-ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble-field.

Washington Irving, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

[lewisvinga]

down bad | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; just lewis being an absolute simp for his wife on the main

fc; stenss on ig

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3

note; requested ! lewis the loml

masterlist !

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liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, and others !

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lewishamilton uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; the wife demanded matcha today] [caption 2; 😍😍😍😍]

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lewishamilton ‘lew let’s go get matcha now if you say no i’m divorcing you😛’

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yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; the husband picking out a pink shopping outfit, is this a sign for what i think it is?] [caption 2; all good things come in orange boxes right?😁 thank you so much, my luv lewishamilton 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨🩷]

lewishamilton if the wife says she wants a birkin 25 in sakura then a birkin 25 in sakura is what she’ll get 😁😁

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yourbestfriend we all know lewis would only hang out w u if given the chance 😭

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liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, and others !

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tagged; lewishamilton

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liked by yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux, and others !

lewishamilton: happiest of birthdays to my sweetest girl. forever grateful that i get to call the most gorgeous woman on this earth my wife. may this day be filled with many blessings. i love you so much, pretty girl. 🤍

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: YOU ARE MY BLESSING🥹🥹

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lewishamilton: love you , pretty girl 🩷

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alexandrasaintmleux: happy birthday 🌸 so excited to be in the ferrari garage with you next year🤍

yourusername: thank u alexxx🥹🥹 so excited too🫶

charles_leclerc: it means ditch the pink for red 😇

lewishamilton: hey, my wife can do whatever she wants 🙄

charles_leclerc: i’ll get roscoe and leo matching outfits 😇

yourusername: DEAL!

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liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, and others.

yourusername: advice of the day; marry a man who is down bad for you

tagged; lewishamilton

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landonorris: tysm for saving me

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yourbestfriend: does he have spare $$$?

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yourbestfriend: THANK U MR N MRS HAMILTON😭😭🙏🙏🙏🫶

lewishamilton: 🫡🫡🫡

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[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

[oscalesoffeeling]

idk if i'm remembering wrong or what but when huffie called da mouse droid 'little one' in omse6am...... like literally. 'hope this doesn't awaken anything in me' (it did)

[fayes-fics]

Moments: 'Twas The Nights Before Christmas...

Moments Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: It’s Christmas, and once again, the Bridgerton clan are gathering at Aubrey Hall to celebrate together. However, all Benedict can think about is conceiving a fifth child... if only he and his wife can get a moment of privacy.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, breeding kink. Fluff & humour, thwarted intimacy, kids being kids, Viscounts being Viscounts.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Sorry this is about 2 weeks late, but here is the latest festive one-shot for Moments. It is set 6 years after the main story/their marriage and is based on an idea from the lovely @colettebronte (Request: Benedict and Reader want some adult alone time but keep getting interrupted/foiled because of holidays, family, and SO MANY KIDS), who also beta read an early version. I hope you all enjoy <3

23rd December, 11:04pm

“Was your evening agreeable, Mrs Bridgerton?” His voice is silky as he trails hot kisses down your throat.

“You know it was,” you reply, hand sinking into his lush hair, directing his lips where you want them as he smirks knowingly against your skin. He always enjoys it when you lead him, pushing into his warm body, clad only in a white ruffled shirt and trousers.

This is you finding a moment of intimacy with your husband as you get ready for bed in your guest room in Aubrey Hall. It’s two days before Christmas, and the entire Bridgerton clan have gathered at the family’s country seat to celebrate the holiday, a large house now packed with many children. You and Benedict are here with your brood of four.

Just as your fingers toy with the buttons on his shirt and his land on the bow of your gown…

“Mummy, I cannot sleep,” a little voice cuts in from across the room.

You twist around to see your youngest, two-year-old Thomas, standing in the doorway, his little fist clinging to the door handle at head height. 

“One moment, lovely,” you call, watching him nod drowsily and toddle back into the adjoining nursery. 

You bury your forehead into Benedict’s shoulder, knowing the possible romantic interlude is lost but unwilling to admit it out loud.

“Why do you have to be so damn handsome?” you grouse.

You feel his quiet laugh quaking his body as much as you hear it. “Thank you, my love. But that seems a non sequitur to this particular dilemma?”

“Quite the contrary,” you counter, raising your head. “We would not have these offspring interrupting us if I could resist you,” you sigh, shooting him a mock pout.

He breaks into a full belly laugh that creases his whole face. “How about I deal with the children I am responsible for, and you get some well-deserved rest, hmm?” he suggests chivalrously, nuzzling your cheek.

“You know, such wonderous things make me open to persuasion about more children, Mr Bridgerton,” you jest lightheartedly, swatting his bicep playfully.

His responding chuckle is rich. “Why do you think I do it, Mrs Bridgerton?” he hums, his lips grazing your temple, his flirtatious tone causing that flutter low in your belly. He has been quite enthused by the idea of a fifth child for a while now.

“Mummyyyyyy,” Thomas reappears at the door, his tone more whiney this time.

“You get Daddy this time, Thomas,” Benedict responds over your shoulder, releasing his hold on you, walking over to the doorway and hauling his infant son into his arms. “I hope I prove an acceptable substitute; Mummy needs to rest. Now, how about a Christmassy bedtime story…?” 

Before he disappears into the nursery, Benedict shoots you a devoted but heated look that makes you want to strip him bare.

—

24th December, 7:14am

“Good morning, beautiful,” Benedict breathes into your ear as you awaken. 

Last you remember, when you stirred in the early hours, you were alone in the bed. You had padded to the nursery and clutched your chest at the sight of Benedict, and the little ones all curled up on a mass of pillows and blankets on the fireplace rug, just visible in the ember glow, an open book in his hand. After a few beats of staring at the adorable pile of sleeping Bridgertons, you closed the door quietly and snuck back to bed. He must have awoken at some subsequent point and joined you.

“Good morning,” your reply is scratchy from sleep, burrowing back into your husband's embrace, reluctant to throw off the covers just yet.

“I think I would like to persuade you this morning…” his opening gambit as his hand slides down over your thin silk nightgown, rucking the hem up your thighs.

“To do what?” you obfuscate, an unseen smile toying on your lips. You know precisely what he refers to, but you want to see how he will broach it.

“I do believe you may be amenable to more children, my love,” he rumbles into the nape of your neck, dropping a kiss there as his warm fingertips swirl on your thigh.

“Am I?” you feign ignorance, that smile growing wider, a flush spreading through your being at how your husband can be when babymaking is on the cards. “But this is not a family wedding, and that is your usual milieu,” you tease, flipping over to capture a brief, chaste kiss.

“A family gathering is close enough,” he counters over your lips, then swallows your noise of bemused derision with a passionate kiss that has you arching up and pulling him on top of you as your tongues tangle.

“IS IT CHRISTMAS?!?” 

Amelia barges through the nursery door, a ball of enthusiasm and jumping excitement.

“I thought I locked that blasted door...” Benedict grumbles tacitly over your cupid's bow as you giggle.

“Not today, Amelia, that is tomorrow,” you respond placatingly, turning your head to look at her and stroking your husband’s arm as he sighs deeply into your neck, knowing your intimate moment is gone.

Your tiny entertainer climbs onto the bed as your husband rolls away defeated, a triumphant look on her face as she claims a prime spot among her favourite audience, her parents. 

Isobel then appears in the nursery doorway holding Thomas’ hand. “It is only fair we get to join too,” she appeals.

“Fine, yes, come join us, my sweet,” Benedict calls genially if a touch reluctant.

“I brought the story, Daddy,” Isobel adds as all three settle between you, handing over the book he had been reading the previous night. “I thought you and Mummy could read the rest to us; we do so need to know how it ends, do we not…?”

Amelia and Thomas nod along, enthused, and you have the creeping suspicion your children have somehow conspired to get their way. Especially when eldest James wanders in and casually perches at the end of the bed, a lopsided smirk identical to Benedict’s as he pointedly gestures for you both to begin reading.

“I do believe we may have been hoodwinked by our children,” you sidebar quietly to your husband as he opens the book to locate where he had left off.

“I suspect so,” he responds sotto voce, but there is such contentment in his tone as he surveys the gaggle of children filling your bed—you just know he could not be any happier about it.

—

24th December, 9:57pm

You are taking some fresh air on the terrace after another busy family day, rounded off with a convivial dinner when strong arms wrap around your middle.

“The children are in bed, sleeping this time. Should we resume our plans?” he rumbles as he pulls you back into his solid frame.

You scoff bemused. “Here on the terrace? Where any of the family could wander out?” 

“You didn't seem to mind all those years ago when you were pregnant with Isobel,” he points out, both of your eyes cutting off to the pillar where, indeed, you had taken your husband into your mouth right there after the family Christmas dinner.

“You cannot hold me responsible for my behaviour when I am pregnant; you know how I get,” you shoot back, lacing your fingers with his hand at your waist and swaying gently.

“Oh, I think it simply delightful. Why do you think I want you pregnant again, my love? Hmmm? We could take a walk somewhere. Perhaps the woods?” His voice is low and skitters over your collarbone pitched at that cadence he knows always makes you weak.

“‘Tis late December and close to freezing,” you point out feebly, your reticence ebbing as his warm lips land on your shoulder, right by the neckline of your dress.

“I will keep you warm,” he vows, sucking your skin insistently, a damp heat that invariably ignites a flame in your gut.

“You are so very persuasive, husband,” you mutter, pushing your bottom back against the nascent swelling in his britches and guiding one of his hands from your waist up to your mouth, kissing his knuckles.

“I do so enjoy persuading you,” he purrs before opening his mouth wider and gently grazing the edge of his teeth over your flesh, your arm reaching up to wrap around his neck, grinding back against him insistently now and sucking his fingertips into your mouth.

“Benedict! I was wonde….” the Viscount’s voice rings out.

Anthony bustles onto the terrace but stops short at the sight of you both in an ardent cinch. You immediately slide away from your husband but know it’s too late, both of your clothing slightly dishevelled and a bloom on the top of your collarbone from your husband’s zealous attentions, your saliva glistening on Benedict's fingers.

“Sorry…”Anthony stumbles, his cheeks heating at the obvious interruption.

“I apologise, my lord,” you lower your head, embarrassed.

“Perhaps it would be wise to keep your… amorous activities… to more private spaces,” he chastises gently, recovering. 

“Was that not you and Kate I saw against the stable wall yesterday?” Benedict challenges, wrapping his arm around your waist, defiantly pulling you back into him, his tone full of sibling goading.

Anthony flushes claret red. “Well… I…” You can feel Benedict smirking as his older brother flounders. “That is no matter. But I wish to discuss something with you if you do not mind,” he finishes pointedly with a brusque nod, firmly changing the topic.

Sensing there is something Anthony would like to broach now, you twist your head to whisper to Benedict. “It sounds as if it would be best you do as your brother wishes, my love. We will resume later, I promise,” you pledge, your voice intentionally laden.

“I do believe you are right, as ever,” he concurs reticently, squeezing your waist. “I shall see you anon,” his whisper thrillingly auspicious.

—

25th December, 2:17am

“Do you think the Viscount will mind?” You murmur, your lips on his ear as you rise and fall. Pressing yourself into him as much as possible.

“That we are fucking in his dining room in the dead of night?” Benedict checks, his hands banded around your waist, encouraging your movements. The moonlight streams through the large windows, throwing everything into sharp relief, the room bathed in streaks of light and shadow. 

You giggle and gently teeth the shell of his ear, slightly breathy with exertion. “Yes.” 

“Yes, I think he will mind,” he chuckles, splaying his large hand wide, hooking his thumb onto your clit even as his fingers crest your hips. It makes you groan loudly, your hardened nipples dragging against his chest, adding to the sensation as you ride his cock. “But I say this is apt payback for his interruption earlier. So make all the noise you want, darling.”

“He can watch for all I care,” you stutter, leaning away from him and grasping the large, sturdy banquet table behind your back, using it as leverage to fuck him harder.

Benedict groans at the idea you would fuck him even with an audience. His eyes are on your face as you look down, watching his solid cock disappear inside you by the pale glow of the room. It’s a sight you always enjoy, feeling him push you open inside as you sink. 

“Do you like what you see?” He murmurs his voice buttery, his thumb on your clit circling more insistently now.

You tear your eyes away from the hypnotic sight and raise your head to meet his hooded, amorous gaze. “Always,” you affirm. 

It’s a daring thing to do in the early hours of Christmas Day while the rest of the gathered Bridgerton clan sleeps. But after two days of thwarted intimacy, this was almost inevitable.  

You had retired as Anthony detained Benedict in his study discussing business matters. However, you awoke thirsty sometime after midnight and came downstairs for a drink. Benedict had followed soon after and found you—sipping a glass of water and staring out across the moonlit grounds. 

One kiss led to another and another, and then you were both peeling off nightwear. The look on his face as you pushed him into a dining chair and straddled his lap was priceless. And now here you are. Riding him with your feet hooked onto the crossbar of the chair gives you the leverage you need to go so hard that the sturdy chair squeaks in objection.

He utters words of encouragement as you tighten your arms around him and sit back upright, wanting to feel all his skin against yours.

“What shall we call this child?” he murmurs. “Perhaps Joy as it is Christmas?” 

“We cannot conceive a child here!” you protest huskily, even as an excited quiver wracks your frame, so very needy after so many denied attempts at intimacy since you arrived. 

“Oh yes, we bloody can,” he growls and surges his hips upwards, his cock grazing so deep you go limp at the sensation of being plundered so thoroughly.

“What if it is a boy?” you gasp as he takes over, his grip on your hips vicelike as he lifts you and then pulls you back down into his lap in forceful strokes.

“Noel, of course,” he chimes, jubilant, not missing a beat with his movements.

You just nod weakly, too drunk on the sensations coursing in your body to disagree. His mouth is back on that same spot he bothered earlier, no doubt leaving a dark mark you already know he won't care for you to conceal. He loves it when you bear his love bites, even in front of his family. 

“Unhook your feet,” he mumbles, and as you do so, he stands up, still buried inside you and lays your back upon the table.

Then it's a blur of swallowed moans and dewy skin as he fucks you hard, your nails scraping down his back as his hands band under your shoulders, tugging your whole being down onto his cock relentlessly, the table now squeaking louder than the chair had.

You babble a litany of encouraging words into his hair and hold on tight, your heels digging into his rear, skating the edge of that enthralling abyss that is so addictive. 

“Come for me, my love,” he pleads, those fingers back between your bodies, catching your clit. And then you are away, breaking and tumbling over the edge, trying desperately to muffle your ecstatic cries, face buried in his neck as your whole body spasms and bliss radiates out from where you clench hard around his cock. 

His movements become erratic, and his grasp on you so tight before he growls and freezes, a groan wracking his body, his seed spilling deep inside as you still float away, writhing under him as he pins you down.

And, a few minutes later, after re-dressing, you both creep back upstairs to your room, giggling and wrapped in each other's arms, grateful it seems no one has stirred (yes, not even a mouse) on this magical night before Christmas.  

Some Moments are indeed best uninterrupted.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[redstarwriting]

pda/general affection hcs | ii.

ft. pavitr prabhakar & gwen stacy

request?: yes and no

warnings:  language, cuteness, mentions of injuries, mentions of stressing too much, possibly incorrect use of hindi words

a/n: slay!! i think i love hcs so much bc it gives me a chance to actually get to know the character i’m writing them about lol, i hope y’all enjoy! twas a fun one

if you wanna read pt i. (with hobie and miles), click here!

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pavitr prabhakar | spider-man

pda

- he loves pda - point blank PERIOD - at the very least - his arm is around you - AT THE VERY LEAST - he’s just In Love Dude - and he gets excited every time he sees you - of course, though he reads people very well - so if you don’t like it he doesn’t do it - but bro - he LOVES holding hands - like it’s ridiculous how much he loves holding your hand - and when i say holding hands i mean hands intertwined - doesn’t matter if y’all are walking - studying - eating - just hanging out - if his hand isn’t intertwined with yours his arm is around you - and if he can’t do that his leg is touching you - and if he can’t do that his foot is touching yours - listen - he loves to be touching you - and he loves when you’re touching him - one day after his Spider-Man escapades - he rushed to meet up with you - and his hair was all kinds of blown around - and you giggled - fixing it for him - tucking it behind his ear - he was in heaven - he frequently messes up his hair now just so you’ll fix it - “Pavitr, baby, what’s going on? Your hair’s been so unruly lately.”   “I don’t know, betu, but I think you should fix it for me.”   “Okay, okay, get over here.” - he hopes you never catch on - you already have - but it’s cute so you don’t care - he’s also very partial to staring at you and not paying attention to anything else around him - he has frequently run into a building - or a car - while web swinging if he sees you - and he’s run into poles - other people - more cars - when the two of you are just walking next to each other - the two of you have matching bracelets - he never takes his off - one time he lost it after he took it off - he FREAKED - “(Y/N) I CAN’T FIND MY BRACELET!”   “Pav it’s okay just—”   “I RUINED THE RELATIONSHIP”   “Pav—”   “I— oh hi auntie, what’s that? You found my bracelet! Bahut! (Y/n), the problem is fixed! Our relationship is stronger than ever!” - but he BRANDISHES that bracelet - shows it to everyone - especially if someone comments on yours - he will be right there like - “I have a matching one! Are we not adorable?” - speaking of - he’s not good when it comes to getting jealous - he gets jealous easily - he trusts you 100% - it’s the other people he doesn’t trust around your beauty - he gets touchier somehow - and super pouty - “(Y/n), pay attention to meeeee…”   “Pav, baby, you’re pulling on my shirt like a toddler.”   “Pay attention to me and I’ll stop. Promise.” - he doesn’t get like this all the time obviously - but if it’s obvious some man is flirting with you - he gets this way - he’s also way smoother than you think - sometimes he trips up but he immediately catches it and fixes it up lol - he just loves pda - and you

general affection

- if you thought Miles was affectionate hoo boy just you wait - he has difficulty keeping his hands off you in public so in private? - game over - there are times when he is literally just laying on top of you - i’m not kidding - when y’all take naps together he is sprawled out on top of you - good luck trying to get up - it is not happening - unless you wake him up and even then he’s like nooooooo don’t leeeaveeee :( - his auntie Maya loves seeing the two of you at home - he always pours your chai for you and knows exactly how you like it - he actually knows exactly how you like everything - he will order for you just because he knows how to get it your favorite way - and when you aren’t expecting it he’ll get you coffee - or chai - or literally any drink of your choice because he knows all of them by heart - he also knows how to cheer you up if you’re ever upset - whether he needs to listen - give advice - just hold you - all of it - he knows things about you that you don’t even know about yourself - in fact - he has a little journal where he writes down everything he knows about you - it’s not in a weird way, i promise - it’s more of a “if they need this, do this” type of thing - of course, he also gushes about you in it - because he is literally in love with you - he keeps you out of his Spider-Man business as best as he can - he doesn’t want you to get hurt - because chances are if you get hurt he will literally break down - and if you’re in danger, he believes he could save you as well as anyone else in trouble of course - he’s Spider-Man, that’s what he does - but above all - he would save you - and he really doesn’t want to lose you in any way - it’s actually one of his biggest fears - and when he thinks about it for too long it almost sends him into a panic attack - “Pavitr? What’s up, baby? You’re shaking...”   “Huh? Oh, nothing, (Y/n), don’t worry about me. I’m supposed to worry about you.”   “Uh uh, Pav, that’s not how it works. I’ll always worry about you. If you don’t wanna talk about it that’s fine, but come here.” - he never turns down cuddles from you - never - in fact, he actually prefers being the little spoon if y’all ever spoon - he just loves being held by you - he also really loves the way you speak to his auntie - you respect her so much - and it’s obvious - the two of you get along so well - it warms his heart - and he will often invite you over for meals - another thing he loves is just being in your presence - like literally as long as you’re around him and he’s around you he feels calmer - he has many nicknames for you - too many to even pick a favorite - he’d have to think about it for a long time to choose a favorite - something he does do is he says bro affectionately to you - “Pav, how do you like this new outfit?”   “Bro! You look so good!”   “Bro?”   “Yes, bro… just like… bro in the sense of ‘I love you you mean everything to me,’ you know?… Bro…?” - he doesn’t call you bro often but sometimes he slips up and does lol - you don’t really care it’s just funny to watch him scramble when he does call you that - and the way he tells you he loves you every day - once in the morning - once in the afternoon - and multiple times in the evening - another thing he does is show off to you in private - he always shows you his spider skills hoping to impress you - you know why he does it - and find it endearing - so you ooo and ahhh like you haven’t seen him do all of it 78 times - it boosts his ego and makes his heart flutter in the best way - he has definitely snuck into your room at night after a long day of Spider-Manning - if he’s hurt, you help - but he honestly tries to cover up any injury he’s gotten before seeing you - he doesn’t want you to worry too much - even though you do - the first time he did come to you injured you helped him immediately - and then had to hold him because you were worried - you fixed the injury - and then just clung to him like a koala - he loves when you do that - he will actually walk around while you cling to him like you weigh absolutely nothing - because you do weigh nothing to him with the absurd strength he has - he finds it so cute - he tried to uno reverse it once - didn’t work out too well for him (or you) - but he still thought you were cute even when you did fall on the floor underneath of him

overall

- he loves pda because he loves showing you off to people - not in a weird way - but in a “look how amazing my partner is! i know you’re all jealous” type way - but my god he’s soft - and he can and will know absolutely everything about you - and picks up on your moods and behaviors and will get you what you need - before you even know it - he’s very attentive - and very in love - he tells you that all the time

gwen stacy | ghost-spider

pda

- Gwen isn’t all that big on pda actually - it’s not that she like - hates it - but she also just - doesn’t care for it - it’s not like she avoids any and all physical touch with you in public - that’s not the case - and she will always be very close to you - to the point where sometimes it’s like - personal space, Gwendy - “Gwen, babe, you’re literally on top of me.”   “What? No I’m not. I can be if you want but I don’t think many people would appreciate me standing on your shoulders.”   “…Gwen I meant you’re just very close to me right now.”   “Oh. Well, yeah. I like being near you.” - she does like to link arms with you - that’s a big one for her - if the two of you are on a walk - she will link arms with you - her hand will be in her pocket too so there’s no escape!! - not actually - you could slide your arm out whenever you want - she also will frequently bump her shoulder against yours - that’s like the biggest way she shows affection in public - she’ll bump shoulders - push you playfully - playfully punch you - playfully slap you - it’s a good way for her to show you that she cares for you - but without all the super lovey-dovey stuff on display for everyone - she will also link pinkies - but there’s not a lot of kissing in public - not even like - on the cheek - maybe - maybe - she’ll blow you a kiss - but i think it would depend on who’s company you’re in tbh - obviously when she’s around people she’s comfortable with she’ll show more - she’ll prop her legs on your lap - wink at you - will have her hand somewhere on your arm or your leg - especially around Pav, Miles, and Hobie - she really doesn’t care that much around them - but she still isn’t outwardly making out with you or anything like that - another thing she will do in public is boop your nose - sometimes you laugh - and she’s just like yeah - yeah that’s the good shit - and she’ll boop your nose cause it’s all scrunched up - it’s actually very cute - “I love your laugh.” *boop*   “What was that?”   “What was what?”   “Why did you just boop my nose?”   “It was all scrunched up and looked cute and it’s my obligation as your girlfriend to melt when you look like that.” - she does make eye contact with you a lot - but she also looks away a lot - girl gets flustered - she’ll be a blushing mess at times - especially if you do something while she’s drumming at one of The Mary Janes shows - those shows are the rare times she will give you a kiss in public - she’s just got so much adrenaline pumping through her she doesn’t give a fuck - she will finish the set and immediately kiss you - “How’d I do, babe?”   “Y-You did great, Gwen…”   “Awww, someone’s flustered. Good to know I have that effect on you, honey.”   “Shut up, Gwendolyn.

general affection

- y’all - 🚨we got a biter🚨 - she will bite your shoulder - not hard or like with malicious intent - but she will just - glomp down on you - the first time it happened you were like girl, what? - but now it’s just kinda - awwww - like you’ll be minding your business - cooking dinner or something - and out of nowhere - *chomp* - “Gwen, babe, I’ll give you attention in a minute just let me finish this.” - she will stay there until you are done - if you walk she walks with you - she’s also much more laidback when the two of you are alone - in fact, she is way more open to everything - she will frequently crawl on the ceiling and hang upside down just to give you an upside-down kiss - it’s like her favorite thing - “Again?”   “Obviously.”   “You know we have the ability to kiss right side up?”   “Where’s the fun in that?” - you must admit - you do like the kisses - something else she really likes to do is dance with you - like y’all will be in the kitchen - at like 3am - looking for a snack or something - trying to keep quiet so her dad doesn’t wake up - and she’ll just start spinning you around - she’s lucky she’s so graceful or else her dad would be ready to fight every time you stay over - he also lets you stay over a lot - he wants to give Gwen freedom - and he knows that he can trust you - you’re also the closest she’s been to anyone after Peter (which you help her with tremendously) - so he’s more than okay with having you around - and she is too - the two of you will share a bed - facing each other - this is when she shows the most physical affection in your relationship she’ll stroke your cheek with her thumb - steal kisses - rub your back and arm - play with your hair - she gets needy when she’s tired - and when she comes home tired from a long day of being Spider-Woman - she’ll just collapse on her bed with you in it - “Babe, you should take a shower”   “But I want cuddles.”   “Gwen, go clean yourself.”   “But I want—”   “I will cuddle you only if you take care of yourself!” - she tends to let her basic needs fall behind her duties - so you are always there to remind her to do things - she does the same with you - in fact, she’ll always put your needs before hers - which you scold her for - but she doesn’t care - you’re more important to her than herself, so - like actually, after Peter she can’t afford to lose another person close to her in her life like that, she’s always checking on you and will frequently stress herself out worrying about you - you’re always cared for - always have food - always have a place to stay - anything you need she will get you - she also tries really hard to tell you where she is all the time - she shares her location with you - and even has another dimension-hopping watch so she can reach out to you when she’s away - took a while to convince Miguel of that - “but he caved eventually,” she said - Hobie made her oneL LMAO - she will write a lot of songs about you - like all the time - you’ll never see them - maybe - and if you do she’ll try to play it off like she isn’t a cheesy romantic at heart - but you mean a lot to her - and she means a lot to you

overall

- Gwen isn’t too physically affectionate - but she is when it counts - and she will do whatever it takes to take care of you - you are the light of her life - she will do anything to keep it bright

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