⚠️ Warnings: Blood? Depictions of blood and shotgun wounds. Dead bodies, gore. Themes of murder, satanic cults, sex. Oral sex (f. receiving). MDNI, you’ve been warned.
♯ Notes¹: I am obsessed with all things Shawn Hatosy, but the closer we get to finally getting to know Titus, the more giddy and anxious I get about him. I have been having dreams about this silly guy. I was coming home from work and thinking about writing this, and yay, finally did. I promise there’s gold after the gore.
♯ Notes²: Unedited and raw. English is my second language, so the story comes first, grammar and punctuation second. Feedback is welcomed! Enjoy - and read responsibly!
—
Titus Danforth knew every single part of his father’s property - being born and raised there with his twin, the second woman he loved the most, Ursula. He knew which doors opened inward. Knew because he had loved this house before he learned to hate it, and the body doesn't forget a home just because the mind has declared it a grave.
Of course, the vast Danforth land had more bodies that someone can count in a lifetime. And to be honest? That wasn’t a problem for him. It never was, as Titus always knew his role in the family: being the first born male heir, producing a first born male heir. He had learned that early, the way children learn to follow their mother or to fear their father - as he did to his. Titus has always been good at following instructions, maybe too good (for Ursula’s enjoyment).
Getting a wife was Ursula’s idea. Most things were. So there he was, five years back in time, at one of Ignatio’s tedious dinner parties where people were too loud or too cunning to have a proper conversation - looking at every socialite Ursula pointed as if choosing from a catalogue. Running his eyes over the new women debuting in the council - new families, new faces.
Your face.
Who would’ve thought the most interesting person in the room wasn't a peer at all, but a secretary to one of the council families? Drinking champagne from a bottle, as you shouldn’t. Barefoot at the library, when you shouldn’t be anywhere near the enclave they were having - you shouldn’t know or see anything. But you knew, even if you hadn’t seen it yet. A week later, after bugging you to go out with him - he was very insistent - Titus told his sister:
“I found my wife.”
“I wasn’t aware you lost one.” Ursula jabbed, unamused, looking up from the documents she was signing.
“You’ll want to meet her, Sully.”
“I highly doubt it, Titie.” he would normally roll his eyes at the stupid nickname she had given him when they were kids, but Ursula did agree to meet you and understood as soon as you didn’t roll over and showed your belly that he was right. That you were right. For him.
—
The following three months after that felt like the flap of a butterfly’s wings and a stone dropped in still water. Titus didn’t even allowed you to second guess the hitched "yes" you had given to him during a particularly steamy Sunday morning.
He had been between your legs, hand holding you down in the bed with fingers squeezing your waist to a bruising point; while his other hand had its fingers hooked inside of you (sometimes with his tongue working between your slick folds, other times his lips sucking your clit), eating you out ferociously - like everything he did - when, at the brink of an orgasm (your ruined orgasm), he raised his head.
Your own head hit the pillow, with a needy whimper escaping your lips.
“Titus, you’re the worst,” made him chuckle, chin glistening.
“I think you should marry me,” head tilted slightly to the side, fingers steady inside of you. “Marry me?”
You rolled your eyes, hand coming to your own face. “Will you make me come if I say yes?”
As if to prove a point, he gave you a dirty look before kissing your clit - just to see your nipples perk once again.
You got quiet for a second, and he tested your resolve once again, twisting a finger. A shaky “Yes” escaped your mouth.
The marriage happened at the Danforth estate, not long after, where he is still living. Where you had spent the happiest day of your lives, and the last one of yours.
—
Even after five years, the stain of your blood still tainted the old wood of Danforth manor no matter what Titus did to clean off. His family home was centuries old, and they only maintained the original architecture, each kill signaling another fifty years of prosperous wealth, fertility and longevity for his family.
At his desk, a picture of you and him sits perfectly encapsulated in time, your simple wedding dress a revelation in his eyes. Ursula had given you something blue and borrowed, being their late mother’s sapphire bracelet - one you still had on, when she took off your cold corpse.
Titus wasn’t worried about you playing the games before your wedding night: you were smart, savvy. And you knew this world, even if it was just because you worked for the Harlows. To him, you’d never take the one card that you weren't supposed to - actually, no one ever thinks their loved ones will do.
He had overestimated how well presented to their hunts you were, as he came to understand years later.
You’d probably have felt the same way, when you were sitting across from his father - old Chester Danforth looking at you with both curiosity and amusement as you didn’t flinch or seem to shake when the wooden box stopped in front of you. You had told yourself, in the weeks leading to this dinner, that you understood. That understanding was the same as preparation, but ultimately? Nowhere fucking near.
The card felt different as soon as your fingers touched, the paper thicker, heavier. You set it down on the cloth in front of you and folded your hands in your lap and did not look at your husband, because you already knew what you would find there, and you had decided, in the half second between drawing and breathing, to run.
Titus only understood what was happening when Ursula let out a hoarse laugh, looking at her father. Your chair had hit the floor and the door behind you slammed shut with a loud boom.
“Let’s seek, then…” Chester rose, his sickness showing in his slow pace as he headed for the gun rack.
—
At the time, Titus had loved you more than anything in the world - there was this sharp, bright quality in you he had never felt in any other woman before or since you. You were the sole reason he decided, each day, that breathing was still worth the effort. And yes, he would have had children with any woman he married. Only yours would have been his.
Yet he allowed the hunt to proceed. That was the thing he could never explain, not even to himself - that his legs moved, that his hands were steady, that some part of him his father had built a long time ago just... continued.
He was outside when it all happened, searching near a clearing with father. He never even heard the shot, and if Ursula didn’t come to him - face sprayed with blood, your blood - he wouldn’t even know. What stuck to him the most was that that you were there and then gone, and the night had given him nothing.
Titus was never violent towards his twin, but the way he had taken the shotgun from her hands - the same weapon she had pointed to your face before pulling the trigger, firing the shot that was still ringing on her ears when she went to tell her brother (owning, never hiding) the fact that she was the one to take your life - smashing against her face before running to the manor, to his office, was brutal.
As brutal as the scene he found. His lungs felt full of water as he felt to his knees, guttural sobs escaping him as he clawed his throat for air - the image of your remains branded behind his eyes, grey matter scattered on the floor as he tried to gasp for air and reach you.
—
He hadn't forgiven Ursula, not really. Was there anything to forgive at all, when he was the one who put you there? One thing was certain: he had held you until he couldn’t.
His three piece suit bloodied from you, and him still on the floor when Chester finally lost patience. His father's men came in twos, and he felt the first hand on his shoulder before he heard the order - but he didn't move, face buried in your hair not minding the mess that was, both arms around what was left of you. It took three of them and his father's voice cutting sharp across the room before his grip finally gave out.
“Titus! Have the decency of allowing the poor woman to rest!” turned his insides cold, while he still sobbed, allowing the men to take you.
They have buried you by his mother’s side, where he and his own father usually stopped by every Saturday to place flowers - white tulips and forget-me-nots (your favorites), always. The little ritual happening until Chester’s legs began to fail him, and his mind became foggier. Now, tied to his bed, the patriarch of the Danforth family still ruled over his children, but with less of an iron claw.
Titus was just leaving his father’s chamber when something odd happened. Something that… shouldn’t.
His father’s business with the Harlows shouldn’t have taken that long, but Titus found himself sitting by Ignatio’s office by noon - signing papers and checking contracts. He shouldn’t be paying attention to office gossip, but the glass partition cut the room in half and Harlow’s new secretary had given him a funny look through it - not having thought to lower her voice when she told another well-dressed woman:
“I’ve heard the shelter on Upton Street is closing. A shame, really, since the late Mrs. Danforth” the secretary tilts her head to point at Titus, while he pretends not to listen “used to help to keep the place afloat, before she even married the guy.”
That kept ringing in his mind, but he asked nothing about the shelter - no use feeding the gossip. Titus pocketed his gold pen, finished buttoning his coat after he nodded at Ignatio, and drove home to find in your accounts the name of the shelter - maybe he could give back to society, hell, even soothe your poor soul beyond the Earth in some way.
He scrolled without knowing what he was looking for.
The last transaction was dated four months after they buried you.
♯ Notes³: Want to know where this goes? Let me know!
Summary : You and Titus have your first born, a little girl. Titus wanted a boy mainly to carry out the Danforth name, but when he held your little girl for the first time, he swore no harm would come to his little miss.
Warnings : 18+ DNI MINORS!!! - Age gap, (not specifically mentioned but Titus is described as ‘much’ older than yourself.) Swearing, one mention of bullying and name calling. (Carrot head), suggestive smut at the end, slight possession (on Titus’s side)
Authors note : First time writing for Titus, he is one of my favourite Shawn Characters so far! I love a sassy man who is freaked out. I hope I did him justice, I felt like he would definitely have a softer side in front of his daughter. No one bullies his sweet baby girl.
divider by @diviniyae ❤️
You could say that Titus was a little sad that your firstborn child was a little girl, but as soon as he held her in his arms, his face softened. He was looking down at his daughter with pride and joy. Also… You could both always try for another baby once you were ready.
As she was growing up, Titus was very protective over her. Never let anyone else touch her other than you and his sister, Ursula. After she turned 1, her first birthday needed to be perfect! He completely closed the resort for the weekend, and planned everything to the smallest detail. You had to explain to him that she wouldn’t remember her birthday at this age.
“Do you remember your first birthday? I know it was a looong time ago for you.” You teased him, as he was much older than you. You always loved to tease him about his age, it made for a very fun time after your daughter was fast asleep.
He smirked as the staff was bringing out the large pink cake, gently placing it onto the table. You couldn’t help but laugh as he kissed your cheek, pulling you closer.
“Better watch that mouth, Mrs Danforth.. wouldn’t want to miss our daughter's first birthday because you were getting smart with me.”
You rolled your eyes as Ursula brings in the birthday girl. They were picking out her birthday outfit because she told Titus that she needed to pick it, not him. Your little girl was in a cute pink and white dress with socks and little shoes to match.
“There she is! The birthday girl!” You walked over as you grabbed her from Ursula's arm, kissing her little chubby cheeks over and over. Her little giggles filled the room as Titus walked over to you both. Her little eyes widened as she saw her daddy, making grabby hands for him.
“Okay baby, you can have some daddy-daughter time before your big party.” Titus grabbed Eleanor as she cuddled onto him. Her little ginger curls flattened as she rested her head on him. She was very much a daddy’s girl, and who could blame her? Titus would do anything for his little princess.
When she was around 4 years old, you had to remind Titus that Eleanor needed to socialize with kids her own age and a little older to develop good relationships and social skills. Titus was a little picky with who his daughter played with, but that was to be expected. It was mainly frequent rich families kids that he knew wouldn’t try anything.
Until one day, some rich kid who briefly visited with his parents due to his school record being poor but recently was acting ‘accordingly’ came down by the pool. He was looking around, mainly trying to find an easy target and immediately noticed your daughter’s bright red hair as she was colouring on the tables near the pool. She had her little hat on, sunglasses on the table, little legs kicking around. The kid walked over to her and immediately started to call her names about her hair colour. Eleanor frowned, her eyes filling with tears as she jumped off her chair and ran inside, looking for you, Titus or even Ursula.
The staff member that was supposed to be watching your daughter noticed that she had disappeared. They looked around the resort for her, but another member of staff had taken her to Titus immediately. She ran into her daddy’s arms as he looked at her. You both were completely shocked at her tears as she was happily colouring and had someone watching her.
“What’s wrong princess? Tell daddy. You know daddy can fix anything.” There was an edge to his voice as he said the word ‘fix’ as you knew what that meant. You gently hit his arm as you gave him that look of ‘murder isn’t always the solution.. sometimes’
Your little baby’s voice wobbled as she looked at her daddy, her hat almost falling off.
“A v-very m-mean boy.. c-called me c-carrot head.” Eleanor buried her head into Titus’s neck as she sobbed. Titus was beyond furious, who dared someone call his little girl a carrot head.
The three of you went back to the pool so she could point out the boy who picked on her. He had made it onto a new target, proceeding to dunk another poor kid under the water. You had to stop Titus from marching himself over and dunking that bastard kid underwater himself. You made him take a seat with Eleanor to try and calm her and (himself) down. Fortunately for the kid, you had a lighter approach.
You walked over to the kid and asked him if he picked on your little girl, pointing to your baby and your husband. He immediately deflected and said no. You asked him again, your voice became more pronounced and he again said no and told you ‘get lost lady’ splashing you with the pool water. Titus saw everything, his anger was growing more by the second, Eleanor was gently calming down from her tears as Titus whispered that her hair was beautiful and just like his when he was younger.
After the kid splashed you, he swam away, looking back to see if you were still looking at him. You had already begun walking back to Titus and explained what happened.
“I am going to find Ursula to see if we can find the parents of that kid. He clearly needs to be taught better values than to mess with the Danforth family”
Titus kept an eagle eye on the kid. “Oh. Trust me. I have more than enough values to teach.”
“Titus, that’s a kid.” You sighed. You loved your husband dearly, but sometimes you did get annoyed by his actions when it came to wanting to handle problematic people with violence.
“Stay with Eleanor.. I am going to find Ursula and sort this out. The non-violent way.” Titus looked annoyed, then opened his mouth to speak. You pointed your finger at him, Eleanor looked up at her daddy’s little pout and giggled.
“Naughty daddy..” She giggled more as Titus looked like a scolded puppy.
“You laughing at daddy getting told off by mummy?”He said as he kissed her hair, as she nodded. You smiled, kissing both Titus then your Eleanor’s forehead.
After around 5 minutes, you found the parents of that kid. You told them what their boy said to your daughter and how he was very disrespectful to you. They were both mortified, all colour drained. They apologized on their son’s behalf multiple times on the way back to the pool.
“Oh, your apology means nothing to me. It’s your son’s fault. He made our child cry about something she couldn’t change. Her father is very angry.”
The boy’s family noticed Titus and your little girl at the table. She had her little sunglasses back to help her sensitive eyes from crying. Ursula walked over to the staff who was supposed to be watching her niece, giving them a good talking in private.
Once Ursula returned, you told her to take Eleanor for some ice cream. She smiled big at the thought of ice cream and spending time with her auntie. She reached up to Ursula, wrapping her arms around her neck. Ursula began to walk away to the kitchens as you heard them both talk about what ice cream she wanted.
You had turned to the family with your back to Titus. Oh, you knew Titus loved this as much as you did. They looked completely shit scared just by Titus glaring at them. You gently sat yourself on Titus’s lap, hand playing with his curls.
“Did you know that our daughter’s beautiful red hair is from Titus himself?“ You prompted to the couple, they both shook their heads as you continued. “When Titus was younger.. he had the most gorgeous red hair. I’ve only seen it in photos…” You sighed, as you continued to play with your husband’s curls at the back of his neck.
The father pleaded to you both. “Mr and Mrs Danforth, we are both extremely and deeply sorry that our son called your daughter names about her gorgeous hair. We are extremely-“
Titus lifted his hand up to silent the man from speaking. He had heard enough, the tone of his voice and pitch annoyed him. God, this man was pathetic. The wife had grabbed her son and scolded him. You and Titus saw that the kid looked like he didn’t care. That’s what made you make your last decision final.
“You’re banned for the Danforth Estate. If you have any share holders with us? Gone. You see, we don’t appreciate bullies.. of any kind. Doesn’t matter what age. A bully is a bully.”
The husband looked shocked, and the wife began to cry. Their family was one of the monthly regulars. You and Titus couldn’t care less. Their son made your beautiful baby cry.
“Cry me a river.. go. Pack your shit and get the fuck out.” You scoffed, as the husband looked like he was going to defend his wife but Titus grip got heavier on your hip.
“Don’t. My wife’s word is final. Get the fuck out…” He said with a low rumble in his throat. Fuck, you loved it when he got overly protective of you. It made your thighs push together gently as you turned to look at him.
“I would do as my husband says or I may let him approach this.. his way and we wouldn’t want that.”
You kept eye contact with Titus as you warned the family. You saw his tongue gently dart across his lips as the family accepted their offer of leaving. Unharmed. You could hear the woman screaming at her husband and child for both being idiots.
“See? My plan worked perfectly. Save all of your energy for the hunt next week.. I heard it’s gonna be a pretty big one..” You gently kissed his lips, coming off his lap.
“Let’s go back to our room.. I saw the way your thighs squeezed together. Want some help.. bunny?”
cw: noncon, titus gets aroused at the fact he’s chasing you so primal play, implied age gap, reader gets injured to it lowk makes her defenseless, fear play too cause he likes how scared you are. he handcuffs you & forces you to marry him!!
a/n: thank you for 500 followers already!! i’m genuinely happy that you all like my works! it encourages me to write more fucked up shit lol.. so enjoy pervs ! this is probably the most i’ve ever written too lol
you don’t even know how you got into this fucked up position, but apparently you can blame your fucking parents & how they’ve secretly been literal devil worshipers behind your back, (you’re so glad that you cut yourself off from them a long time ago) but now these scary rich people they have done illegal business transactions with, want to use leverage against them, so… they kidnap you.
you were being so fucking stupid. walking back from a party all alone at two a.m slightly tipsy, in a mini black bandage dress hoping to impress some guy tonight- but you were just not feeling like yourself so you made your way home, smudged makeup, faintly staggering in your kitten heels down the sidewalk. you felt so dumb & careless- you didn’t even know where your phone was…
you should know better to have some type of protection on you this time of night, but you weren’t expecting this. everything hit you so suddenly when you felt a thin needle being injected into your neck and a cloth being held over your nose & mouth. you barely had any time to panic before your eyes began to close on their own, losing all consciousness.
when you wake up you see you’re in a big space. a huge room. a really nice large room, almost like a headquarters. you realize you can barely move. you’re restrained- to a wooden chair, and you can’t speak either, your mouth is gagged with a ball. you don’t even have your fucking heels anymore. what the fuck. what in the literal fuck, you think.
as you try to figure out where the hell you are, you then see two people standing in front of you. an older white man & a woman, they looked like brother & sister you assumed, but, they look very expensive too, like they could destroy anything with the snap of their fingers simply because they were that powerful. and it gave you a sick feeling in your stomach.
the danforth siblings were going to just kill you at first. well, because your parents are in severe debt to them.. and they had no use for you. but he took a slight interest you, and he wanted to find a more useful way for you to settle your parents’ dues. (consider they already took care them both.) so they wanted to settle a negotiation with you before just killing you right away.
as you saw them discussing & chatting quietly wondering what they want with you, you observed the older man. you don’t know why he intrigued you, you didn’t even know his name but you could tell he was a man of experience. you could tell by his domineering attitude & stance that he was very authoritative & most of all, intimidating.. especially to you.
the blonde woman beside the man begins talking as you’re still gagged & tied up. “so, you probably don’t know who we are. and we don’t expect you to, so let me introduce ourselves really quickly. my name is ursula. & this is my brother titus.” she points at him as he raises his hand. you just the blink at both of them. still in shock that you’re in the weird situation. “i know you’re wondering where you are. you’re at our most lavish danforth manor and resort. but, we don’t really have much to discuss, so let me keep the chatter small here.” you listen to her but you wonder why she is doing all of the speaking- & not the slightly taller man standing next to her.
“just know that your parents have made some… she glances to the side to make eye contact with titus. really expensive agreements with us and haven’t exactly held up their side of the bargain. so, we had to come take you.. for leverage. but it turns out they don’t give a fuck about you really..” you look down at that because it’s true- or else you wouldn’t be in this strange situation. she sighs before speaking again. “so, i have two options for you. we dispose of you the way we did your parents or i hand you over to my brother- titus, who has some weird inkling for you for reasons i don’t even want to know about.”
so that’s the deal they basically made with you- either they kill you, dispose of your body & you will never be heard of ever again or, you marry their next heir in line of the danforth family: titus danforth, which is the man who has been deviantly eyeing since you’ve been in his vision. also the man you’ve exact known for about an hour. you can’t fucking marry him! you have a whole life waiting for you out in the world. but titus couldn’t give less of a shit about that. he wants you all for himself.
that’s why he was discussing with his sister about rather they wanted to discard you or make use of you. ursula didn’t really care about you- just wanting the money back that your parents owed. but titus was more than intrigued with you.
he likes you. well, he likes the way that black dress looks on you, hugging all of your curves, including your chest. he likes the way ropes restrain against your body just right- and the way he could slightly see your drool all over the ball gag.. mm yeah.. he could definitely have a lot of fun with you.
they order their servant to take the ball gag off you to speak, but before you can even open your mouth to voice a thought- titus, now knowing his name finally speaks “just know. before you say no, you could try to run away, get off the estate & be free, but i will catch you before you run too far.”
“i’ll take my chances.” finally being able to get a word out. ursula just shakes her head & chuckles lightly before quietly making her exit.. what’s so funny?
titus raises a brow before making his way towards you & leaning down to your level, breaths mingling before addressing to you again.
“well, you better run- because when i get you, i’m tying you up and fucking you the way i want.” titus can physically see the fear that has overcome your body, and he chuckles, grabbing your soft face lightly. “awe. don’t be scared bunny..” he goes up to the shell of your ear and speaks again “you’ll love what i’ll give to you.” he gives you the most feathery kiss on your ear and he revels in the way you flinch away from him. “and you’ll make a cute little wife.”
he says before stepping back and making the servant undo your restraints once more, only for you to get up and run off once you’re free. he sighs already knowing how this will play out.
this isn’t even a fair fight, you don’t even know your way around the danforth estate, let along the fucking forest the have surrounding it! so titus was nice enough to grace you with a five-minute headstart. so you flee. with no direction, just wanting to just want to get away from him.
your bare feet scurry across the clean hallways of the manor, trying to find any door that leads outside. you don’t even know how many minutes it’s been, but you hope titus isn’t stalking you down you yet. fuck. you’re scared. you don’t know how you’re going to get out of this.
when you see two big large main doors, and windows beside you them, you know that they lead to the outside. so, you take that door and run. and you dash as fast as you can, hoping those footsteps you heard that were creaking from behind you was only your imagination.
but you didn’t look back. you ran as far as your feet could take you, you make it across the golf course in into the outskirts of their estranged forest before tripping as falling over a large rock, scraping both your knees in your small black dress, making it rise over your bottom, light blue panties showing, making a slight rip against your side.
“wow, what an amazing view.” your heart drops as you feel titus’ voice directly behind you. how did he manage to find you that quickly? you don’t think twice before jumping up to your feet and bolting away again, not caring about the small amounts of blood trailing down your legs, or how you slightly can’t control them.
but you don’t make it far, maybe fifteen steps as titus circles you then tackles you onto the ground, grass & dirt coming in contact harshly with your back. he puts his hand up under your head just before it came in contact with the ground. you see the slight gesture, but that does not mean he is a gentleman.
especially when you feel his hard, big, erection try to grind onto your cunt between your legs you scream out. you internally panic, fuck. if he gets his cock in me i’ll be defiled! you don’t know what to do. he’s strong, fit, older body is no match for your smaller frame. he’s literally not even extorting all of his force on you. it’s sad really. he’s using his knee to stop your bottom from kicking and one hand to pin up both your tiny wrists.
“it’s a little pathetic you thought you could get away from me bunny.” he lick a stripe from up to your cleavage area all the way up to the the pulse point of your neck and sucks. you cry out again, defenseless against him, he’s making you feel dirty already. titus groans at your sweet little whimpers & the way your chest heaves up and down, his cock throbbing with need.
“but i don’t think it’s enough. i’m gonna make sure you won’t get away from me from now on.” you whole body runs cold when you see him pull out a pair of basic silver handcuffs.
you began squirming again, already knowing what he’s about to do to you. but then he grips your face hard, forcing you to looking him, fat tears running down your face. “you better stop fucking squirming, cause i can fuck you gently or can fuck you rough. it all depends on you behavior.” you begin crying harder.
titus just rolls his eyes… not caring about your waterworks. “well, until i know you can behave, you will be bound.” easily flipping you over, he takes your hands & swiftly cuffs them behind your back, bloody knees now digging into the twigs & dirt.
he has a steady hold on your hips to keep you from falling over, thick hands rubbing all over your middle .. teasing just up under your soft breasts. it’s your making skin crawl all over, knowing his hands aren’t supposed to be touching you. he begins slightly pulling your dress up higher.. you can’t believe this is fucking happening.
“p-please don’t do this.. i’m a virgin..” you’re shaking under his touch, but you don’t know in titus’ sick twisted mind, that just makes him want to fuck his cock into you even more.. knowing your first time will be taken away from you in their stranded woods by an older man you’ve only known for a few hours- or you’ll die. fuckkk. his cock begins to stir even more in his cargo pants.
“sorry, baby.. you’re so just so tempting, and like i told you..” he leans forward “i caught you- now i’m having my fill.” he doesn’t spare as second ripping your lace panties off, feeling the cool breeze slap against your naked, damp, pussy. oh god.. we’re you slightly wet because of him..?
you felt his fingers lightly tease your supple asscheeks before trailing farther down to your pussy, and takes fingers and presses them up against your open entrance. not fully in- but prodding, seeing how you react. and god do you respond well.
you arch your back into him, wanting more. shit, your body is betraying you right now. you whine when he pushes his fingers past and into your leaking hole- thrusting the two digits in & out of you. you immediately start to constrict around them, not used to having anything inside you.
“please!..mister.. oh my god..” you don’t even know what you’re begging for. maybe for him to stop or keep going. you’re not sure. but he knows that he’s does not like what you just said. so, he corrects you.
“don’t fucking call me mister.” he says it like the word viscerally disturbed him. “you call me daddy. understand? say you understand.” he curls his fingers just right in you so you have no choice but to obey.
“i understand! i understand daddy, i do!” oh my god. you feel yourself gushing around his fingers and pulsing around him uncontrollably. you think you’re cumming for the first time. and titus realizes this too. he can’t help but softly scoff & tease you.
“awe, is this my bunny’s first time cumming? it’s okay.. you’ll learn to love it more as time goes on.”
after you’ve cum on his fingers, he slowly pulls them from out of your pussy, then shoves the two fingers in his mouth tasting you. cleaning up the slick that was left on his digits before pushing the same fingers into your mouth. he just doesn’t want to want you to be too loud. but it doesn’t get ignored the way you’re slowly beginning to not squirm anymore and you the way you don’t bite his when he puts them in your mouth.
so when you hear the rummaging of pants and heavy breaths, it’s no surprise that he begins he’s tapping his fat, mushroom tip against your sensitive hole. you moan around his thick fingers at the sensation. beginning to feel your eyes start to water again when you feel him lodge himself deeper in your small cunt. fuck.. he’s stretching me out. you think. you can feel it already and he’s not even halfway in.
titus here is giving you grace and going slow since you’re being good, but, it’s only so long he can be patient for. you feel him moving back in forth trying to get some friction, grunting at the way you feel around his cock.
his cock was so big, you felt like your hole was being stretched out entirely. so much thick and hot pressure between your legs it’s forcing your hot walls to get so wet all over him.
he pushed more into you and now you’re starting to feel like it’s too much. on instinct your pussy begins to quiver & you try to widen your legs to slide him out of your weeping hole- but it’s no use. titus continues stuffing his shaft in your until you are full of him completely, his balls smacking dangerously against your clit.
he begins forcing your hips with his other hand by pushing you back onto him, making you fuck yourself back on his cock. god, he could blow a load into you right fucking now. you squeal when he begins rolling his hips into you before pulling halfway out & driving himself all the way in.
oh no. you feel another one coming again. you think you’re about to come on his dick this time. but he wants that. titus wants you to come all over him so he can have a reason to stuff your little wet hole to the brim with his seed. even though he was already going to do that.
when you yell muffled around his around his fingers when you feel it coming out again “titus.. daddy.. i t-think im coming again. please pull out..” but that’s just makes him piston back and forth into your cunt even more, hearing nothing but the sounds of your squelching pussy in the silence of the forest. you weren’t expecting him to make you feel so good, all you can think about is titus as he fills your mouth and pussy.
“fuck no, you take what i give you, bunny.” when he feels the way your cunt clamps completely down onto him- you force him into filling up your sweet pussy. it was practically crying for him.. he thinks as the hot spurts come out of his cock and spray onto your vaginal walls. he loves the way it begins to overflow your hole. making some of the cum trickle down your labia & onto your clit then finally on the ground absorbing into the dirt. titus laughs, seeing as your legs are now shaking for a completely different reason. he can feel the vibrations from your screams on his fingers. shit, he’s never been so turned on before.
he then pulls his cock out of you, you whine at the lack of pressure- feeling incredibly empty. satisfied with how he’s used you, he takes the handcuffs off of your wrists, slightly red and raw, knowing you won’t go anywhere now. you’re whimpering hesitantly when you try to to stand yourself up, legs wobbling, not sure if you can even walk right now. you know your knees are severely red as well, you know you can’t speak very well right now either. titus does nothing but huffs and hoists your over his shoulder. you yelp in surprise.
as he whisks you away, taking you back towards the danforth mansion, he says- “now, let’s get you all cleaned and patched up. we have a big day to prepare for, wife.”
hope it was good! feedback is always appreciated <33
tw: reader passes out, titus is a sick fuck, daddy kink, icky
he's got his thick bicep wrapped tightly around your throat, body completely caging you in, hips plowing into you so hard that with every thrust the headboard bangs against the wall
it's becoming all too much, you can feel your own heartbeat getting louder and louder, your head becoming cloudy, n your vision blurry-
can't even hear his deep grunts and dirty, degrading words leaving his mouth
you feel yourself lose control of your body, pretty fingers slowly releasing your grasp on the sheets below you, knees buckling, and eyelids drooping closed
titus notices immediately, loosening his chokehold on you, n bringing a big hand to your cheek, small taps turning to slaps-
"uh uh- c'mon bunny, not done with you just yet...haven't even filled that cute baby cunt yet."
you feel yourself come to, now laying on your back, with titus still pinning you below him like his fresh-caught prey
"thereee we go honey, you pass out a little? daddy being too rough?"
"mm- mhm..."
he revels in how fucked out you look below him, still blinking away the black dots blurring your vision, lips all pouty, with cute, erattic little gasps leaving them
instead of cooing at you and apologizing (by finally letting you cum), titus only grins, leaning down to gruffly whisper in your ear-
"better get used to it, little girl. loved how you went all limp on me like my own pretty ragdoll. let me see how many times i can push you to the edge."
summary: after watching a dispute between sister and brother you decide that the latter needs to be attended by a gentler hand this time.
pairing: [snow white and the huntsman] Finn x witch!reader
word count: 5.5k
cw: abuse, adult content
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, depression, Finn is introverted, but also eager to impress, good boy Finn, bathing together, bath sex, handjob, edging, lots of kissing, cuddling, aftercare, the idiots are in love your honor
The sharp noise of a slap echoed through the large chamber. Queen Ravenna had struck her younger brother, again.
Just a few minutes ago you’ve been chatting away with her over a a few glasses of the finest wine in the royal bedchamber she had occupied since ripping the power of the crown out of the former kings hand, and held it with an iron grasp. Of course, who would challenger her. She was one of the most powerful witches in the realm and you were all there for her, not just supporter but friend too.
The evil queen had called upon you years ago, since she needed an advisor at court who wielded the same magical power as she did, she needed a witch. And got one as soon as you arrived to her kingdom. With your combined power the common folk could throw as many rebellions at Ravenna’s feet as they wanted but the crown did never slip nor budge, your hand alone had crushed a many rebellious uprisings.
Although you never fancied either crown nor kingdom you had to admit that living in a castle, enjoying the finest dining and dresses had it’s benefits.
Before all this you came from the swamplands, living in a hut on chicken legs and your only work being helping out peasants or the occasional lord. Even then it was always “Brew me a love potion” or “Help, the cattle has fallen sick.” So you did your crafty work in silent misery, you were born for something greater not for some backwater life conjuring spells to stop foxes from raiding chicken coups. It was an awful exile, one you in all honesty did not deserve. Simply because the king of a far away kingdom decided he preferred the council of a rich man over yours, claiming coin and wealth had greater power over man than witchcraft. Of course you had taken revenge, you weren’t a pushover.
They had found the king and the rich man strung up over the castle gate, naked and with their bellies slit open. Maybe it had been a little over the top but gods did you marvel in their fear and warm blood. Shortly after the folk declared you guilty, the only woman at court with power, so you swallowed your pride and left the country, witch hunts could be quite annoying after all.
You turned your attention back to the spectacle to your back, a fuming queen yelling and screaming like a harpy at her pathetic brother who already cowered on the ground, holding his red cheek, his white hair tousled from the blow he had received.
‘Poor Finn’ you thought, ‘you really mucked up this time.’ Although Ravenna had every right to be furious, with Finn having lost the runaway princess twice now, you still had sympathies for the young man, he always tried to make his sister proud and happy even if it was hard he’d go to the end and beyond for her. She sadly just missed to see that.
Your gaze slowly moves over his dirtied form, mud and twigs clung to him like a second skin, even his hair was dirtied, “A fight with the traitorous huntsman” he had said, eyes cast to the ground. You knew Finn wasn’t the most skilled fighter, by no means was he bad either but you would’ve proposed to go to the cursed forest yourself, being less affected by it’s awful fog and miasma, your witchy nature connected to it in an unexplainable way. But Ravenna had refused and told you she rather needed you here, so you stayed, also curious if Finn would succeed this time.
The queen turned back to you, her raving stopped and a deep troubled sigh left her lips, “Go wash up brother, you reek of dirt and death, my dear consort and I will think of another way then. Leave!”
And so he did, with his muddied head bowed in defeat, the sound of his steps vanishing in the hallway.
Ravenna let herself fall down onto the plush chaise longue in front of yours, grabbing the goblet of wine and emptying it in one go. You chuckled a little before speaking up, “You are to harsh on him sometimes, have I not told you of his admiration for you before. You seldom see it.”
She looked at you, her eyes turned softer. “I know you favour him, but that alone won’t make him a better man I fear”, she poured more wine into her gold cup “I just can’t afford failures during these times, I can feel my skin growing old, the heart of Snow White could undo this curse once and for all.”
“Then let me find her, I will bring you her heart and head if you desire that too.”
You gently took her hand, “I do not care much for kings or princesses but I care for you, my friend!”
A smile ghosted across her lips and she squeezed your hand, “And for that I am immensely grateful, but you are important to me, not only as an ace up my sleeve but as a friend as well. I will let you know when we strike.”
“Fine then, I trust your judgement…” You too now took a sip of the wine, a sweet aroma sliding over your tongue and you let go of each others hands. “But must you hit him?”
A groan left Ravenna as she dramatically threw her head back and you smiled into your wine cup. “Fine, I agree I get carried away in my rage sometimes, gods forbid I call it desperation. I will apologize to Finn on the morrow. If you worry so much about him go see him then.” She rolled her eyes, but in truth she would never be mad with you and if you desired her brother then so be it. She just couldn’t wrap her head around how such a beautiful creature like you would give so much attention to her pathetic brother of all people. Of course she loved him, he was her kin after all but some days she wondered how a man like him could be of the same blood as her.
A huff escaped through your nose, “If that would please my queen and release her from my exasperating worries about her brother then I shall take my leave!”
Ravenna gifted you a lighthearted look “You know I didn’t mean it like that, but yes go look after him. He likes seeing you more after such spectacles. Go wipe his tears woman.” At that you chuckled and stood up. But before making your way to the door you strut around the table and put your arms around Ravenna, your cheek laid on the top of her head. “Have a good night my queen.” She softly petted your arm and watched you leave with a smile. Everything would be good in the morning and when you returned to her side you two could finally plot some new plan.
-
The cold from the stone floors seeped into the naked skin of your bare feet, your blueish embroidered mantle and simple chemise a dance of fabric behind your hurried form. You didn’t wear much, for it was late and you had planned to go to your chambers after the little lounge with Ravenna before Finn had interrupted you with his return.
The guards crossing your way lowered their gaze in respect but you didn’t even acknowledge them, your destination just being at the end of the hallway, Finn’s chambers. You’ve been there before, more than once comforting the poor man after a rough day or after he had gotten an earful from Ravenna again. Now probably wouldn’t be any different.
Your steps came to a halt as you faced the fancy wooden door, separating you from his chamber. With a hand raised you let your knuckles knock at the door softly. No answer came. You knocked a little firmer. Still no answer.
“Finn? It’s just me. Can you hear me?”
Silence.
You waited for a minute longer, “Finn I’m coming in alright?”
Hand pressed onto the handle you opened the door, slipped in and shut it right after. The sound of water sloshing made you turn around now looking at the white haired man, he already looked cleaner than before. Clear water ran down his temples and pooled in his collarbones, his wet hair framed his pretty face and still had bits of leaves in it, you’d have to pick them out later. It looked like he just dunked his head under water and was thus unable to hear you at the door.
Finn looked at you with tense shoulders and a distant look in his eyes, in a way he reminded you of a frightened child and it tugged at your heart strings.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your bath, I can come back on the morrow if you’d like, bring you the lavender cakes that you like. I just wanted to see-”
“Don’t leave. please.”
He even sounded like a frightened child and you felt your heart break into a thousand pieces. How could a man this sweet be of the same blood as the fierce and cruel queen.
With few steps you were next to the copper bathtub, the warmth radiated from it as you moved the soaps and towel off a stool before sitting on it. You were closer to him now, the candlelight throwing soft light on his features and you could see a little frown now, he looked tired.
“I know Ravenna has been harsh to you again but for all that it’s worth I am proud of you, you are a good brother.” His shoulders dropped a little and he felt his heart swell, for him your praise was worth everything.
Although he would never tell you how your words made him feel all warm, how your soft strokes through his hair made him forget all the bad things for he was afraid, afraid that you’d feel disgusted for him wanting. It was the one thing that stuck with him all his life, something he had learned from an early childhood, that he should never want for anything, not even a loving touch from his mother. For there was no place in their world for boys and now men that wanted to feel. So he always tried to be the opposite, for his beloved sister and in a way for you. Only in these moments, where you caught him in a vulnerable state, often licking his wounds did he quietly indulge the feeling of wanting, wanting to hear your loving words and your soft hands touching his skin, always so soft and never rough. Not once had he feared violence from you, unlike he did his sister. Not rarely catching himself flinching when she raised her hand too quickly when close to him.
His eyes turned glassy and he turned his face from you, “I’m just tired” was all he mumbled. But you knew that it was not the lack of sleep that made him feel this sad. “Oh sweetheart,” you slowly moved your hand to the side of his face that was turned away and onto the cheek that was struck before, covering hurt with love . You had seen him flinch in his sisters presence before, a habit taught through violence. Turning his face towards you and stroking his cheek with your thumb you locked eyes with him.
“Don’t hide away from me. I will hold you gently, you have been cracked enough as it is, and your heart is more shattered than you let on, I know this. My poor boy, my good boy.” He shuddered in your hands then slipped one arm from the water to put it around your midsection, pulling you in. The other arm followed, closing around your waist and the last thing was his face, his sweet face, which he moved from your hand and pressed it to your ribs and stomach.
Your body was warm and he wanted to feel the softness of your skin so bad he wanted to permeate the fabric of your chemise, pressing himself into you like he was afraid you’d turn into air if he let go. Finn couldn’t hold back a breathy whine when he felt your fingers graze through his still muddy hair, the other hand falling on his bare shoulder blade, the bone pulled up underneath the skin. You didn’t mind him sullying your nightdress even if the wetness seeped through the thin material now clinging to your skin, the dress could be changed, his mind could not. So you continued petting his hair and cooing to him as Finn melted in your arms.
“Why are you always so good to me?” he murmured into your middle, and you almost didn’t hear it.
“Because you are a good man Finn,” the sound of his name coming from your lips gave him goosebumps “And you deserve so much more than what you give yourself credit for.” You bent your head to kiss the crown of his head.
“I know you beat yourself up and you never ask for anything but with me you are always allowed to want…anything.”
“Anything?” he repeated and you let him know your answer with a soft “Mhm.”
Finn felt stunted but also immensely grateful, grateful to have met you and for your motherly touches. It still did not make much sense to him how such an ethereal and wonderful creature like you could be so kind to someone like him. You two have had these moments before, where you comforted his hurting and told him to not be afraid. To never be afraid to want.
The words swam around in his brain and he mustered up all the courage he had in his body to pull his face away and look up at your divine face. If this was the moment where you’d tear yourself away from him and leave to never look back then he was ready, it would break his mind but he could say that he wanted for one thing, no, desired one thing. And that was the woman he looked at as if she hung the moon and stars for him. Finn swallowed and felt his fingers flex in the thin fabric of your night dress.
“Even you?”
Finn wanted to grab the words out of the air before they could reach your ears but alas, only his arms tightened around your form, out of instinct most likely. He could almost see the disgust creeping onto your beautiful features, shame overtook him as he squeezed his eyes, mouth formed into a tight line awaiting the familiar sting of palm against cheek.
But it never came, instead he felt your soft lips just above his eyebrow. The young man carefully opened his eyes and stared back into yours, shining beautifully in the glow of the candle light.
“I knew you could do it…”
Now he truly was taken aback, you looked at him as if he was the most precious gem in this world and you were holding it. You wouldn’t tell Finn that this is what you had had in mind all this time, to build up his confidence and you let you know his needs all on his own. Joy spread in your chest as you watched the realisation in his eyes that this was never jest and that you were serious about this.
The young man opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, the words he mustered in the head refusing to roll off the tongue. “In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. So tell me Finn, what do you want of me?”
“All of you then…” he answered with a whispered tone, still unsure of his voice but newfound confidence carried his being right into your loving arms.
You put your hand on the side of his face again, pulling him in and he followed, eyes fixated on your lips until you were close enough to feel each others breath against your faces.
“You have my heart,” head turned into him you whispered against his lips. “You have all of me.” And you sealed it.
The kiss was a soft one, as if you were afraid to break him. His lips moving slowly against your own in a lazy rhythm only breaking up to inhale missing air. “Make me forget,” he rasped into your kisses, “I want you to make me yours.” A smile formed on your lips, “Of course my darling, I will make you forget anything until your pretty head is only filled with the two of us.” You placed an open mouthed kiss on his lips and he eagerly followed your lead, the act becoming more fiery. The hand you put on his face now slid to the nape of his neck where hair met skin, pulling him impossibly closer. Finn’s own hands still on you, the right hadn’t moved from your hip and the left was now holding onto your thigh as if he never wanted to let you go. You both still swam in the sensation even after you parted from the kiss, the two of you hard of breath.
“I’ll make you feel so good sweetheart,” you cooed at him. Finn just nodded and leaned into another kiss, you gave it to him, hot and passionate. Slowly you started to add your tongue, licking along his lower lip, teasing him into opening his mouth, and he did. Still a little clumsy but oh so eager he returned with his own tongue, sliding along yours as he moaned into it.
A shiver ran through him as you continued kissing him with a passion he had only imagined in his darkest dreams, warmth spread in his abdomen and he felt himself become stiff.
Soon your mouth started to travel, your lips felt cool against his burning skin as they touched his neck. Finn craned his neck to give you even more access, a groan leaving the end of his throat as you placed open mouthed kisses all over the sensitive skin.
He felt as if his entire body was tingling when you let your teeth deliciously graze the skin on an especially sensitive spot right beneath his ear. The slight stutter of his hips underneath the water didn’t go unnoticed by you and a knowing smile spread across your face. You continued kissing his neck and occasionally sucking the sensitive skin that made him tense so adorably in your arms. But you wanted more, your own desire to make him break apart in your hands taking over your lust-clouded mind.
So you left the hand that was placed on his shoulder wander down, sliding it over his chest and you felt the skin and muscle beneath it. Finn’s body was on the leaner side, soft in some parts but mouth watering nonetheless. The skin felt hotter the lower you let your hand travel, it reached water, and dipped beneath it. A choked gasp reached your ear as you finally took hold of him, he felt hot and heavy in your hand. “You’re such a good boy, behaving so well for me,” you groaned against his neck, his hands clutching at your form frantically. “Let me take care of you.”
With slow and lazy strokes you purred sweet nothings in his ear and watched him squirm in your hold. He looked so gorgeous in your eyes, trusting you completely with his body and mind as if you were a goddess and his body the sacrifice.
A rasped moan escaped him and you picked up the tempo, stroking his cock and twisting your wrist. You focused on applying a little more pressure on the head as he was most sensitive there, eliciting delicious groans out of him. Even the smallest of his whimpers snaked themselves under your skin and you felt so hot you thought you might melt into a puddle. The sensation of a tingling set itself in you and you felt yourself becoming wet, every noise that escaped Finn shot straight to your core.
“Are you feeling good my love?” You whispered into his neck and pressed a kiss onto his scorching skin. A strangled ”Yes…fuck” was all you got before he turned his face into yours, catching your lips with his own. It was him this time who licked into your mouth greedily, you could but return, a heated battle of tongues ensuing which left both of you breathless. He whimpered into your mouth as you picked up the pace again and caught a glimpse of how his right leg had started to tremble. A hand shot into the water and wrapped around your wrist, not to stop you but simply to hold on.
Finn let out a choked gasp and his puppy eyes flew up to yours, “Please…go slower.” ’Oh the poor thing’ you thought. “I-I can’t…please, I don’t want this to end so soon.” How adorable.
“Are you close hm?” A drawn out groan reached your ears and you actually slowed down. Poor thing wanted to deny himself pleasure simply because he was afraid of it ending. But you wouldn’t have that, you wanted him to cum but not in your hand.
You took away your hand and Finn whined at the loss of contact, “What… no please don’t stop.”
“Don’t worry darling, I promised to take care of you so I will do exactly that.” You ensured him with a smile and gave him another quick kiss which he chased as you stood up. Longing eyes fell on your covered body, his arms returned to him and he put them onto the bathtubs rim.
Slowly you raised your hands to your shoulders, pushing off the sleeves and the chemise cascaded down in waves of white and cream pooling at your feet. Finn’s eyes darkened, his pupils almost covering the iris whole and he gazed at you as if you were a goddess, your skin smooth and glistening. A divine figure in his eyes and he wet his lips with his tongue, this had to be a dream. Or maybe he was dead and the picture in front of him was heaven. He let out a breath he was holding and you motioned him to make room in the tub. Were you going to bathe with him?
He slid back until the warm copper touched his skin and he watched you step into the water, but instead of taking a seat at the other end of the tub you moved closer to him and lowered yourself in his lap. If he wasn’t blushing before then he was now, your own naked skin touching his almost drove him into madness. Finn immediately put his hands on the flesh of your hips, as if it was second nature and his hands always belonged there.
The water swished around your bodies, tracing your ribs just under your breasts, nipples still soft for the water was warm. You let him roam your body with his eyes before pulling him by the hair into another kiss. The groan he lost in your mouth was like music in your ears.
Between kisses and moans you told him to touch your body, to explore it with his hands. He didn’t have to be told twice as hands began to wander over your skin. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, it would certainly be heaven to feel them inside of you. But that was something for next time, right now you wanted this experience to be all about him, to cover hurt with love and to make him forget.
His hands soon found your breasts, fascination in his touch and he began to imitate what you had done to him earlier, mouth traveling lower, to your jaw and neck. And he placed soft open mouthed kisses there, remembering how your teeth had grazed his skin, making you feel the same. Light moans escaped you and you buried your right hand in his hair, pulling at it gently. You wanted to tell him to stop, to let you take care of him but it felt like he took immense pleasure in making you feel good as his dick twitched against your thigh. Always so eager to please.
Soft lips were now at your collarbones, littering them in kisses and kitten licks. Finn wanted to explore all of your body, especially since such sweet sounds were blessing his ears and he felt a little pride in being the one eliciting these sounds from you. He wanted more, his left hand found your breast, giving it a light squeeze while his mouth wrapped around your nipple. The feeling made you shudder and you pet his head, silken white strands between your fingers. When he was done sucking and lapping at your right breast he switched to the other, showering it in as much attention as the other had received. You let out a breathy chuckle, “Wouldn’t you like to see what I want to do with you?” Light eyes were on yours immediately, hands coming to rest back on your hips.
Finn swallowed before responding with almost a whisper, “Of course I would.” You kissed his forehead.
“Then lean back my darling, I wish to ride you…”
The hands on your hips tightened but he did as you said, cock twitching against your thigh again. You dipped your hand underneath the water and took a hold of him, a slight shiver overcame his body making you coo at him and place another kiss on his lips. Aligning his dick with your core you let your eyes meet, as you wanted to savour everything he gave you. And you sank down on him, you were slick enough so he could slide in easy, a groan left your lips. You watched him as he tensed and left out a shuddering moan, grasping onto your hips so hard it would surely leave bruises.
As much as Finn wanted to watch your face he couldn’t, his eyesight turning blurry as he strained to not immediately release into you. It took all his willpower and concentration, you just felt so divine around him, wet and welcoming and hot. He swallowed down a groan and let out a shuddery breath.
Watching the young man so tense brought a smile to your face and you wondered if this was his actual first time or if it was just a long time since his last woman. Deep inside you hoped this was his first time, pride worming it’s way into your chest and you took his face with both hands, raising it to yours. “I won’t move until you tell me to, love. Take your time.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb and watched his eyes glisten before enveloping his lips with another kiss.
Soon you felt him grind his hips into yours and little whimpers leaving his lips, “Please move, you feel so good.” And who were you to deny him this wish, you couldn’t wait any longer either, he filled you out so nicely. His size was just perfect for you, not too long and a manageable girth with a slight curve upwards, hitting your sweet spot in all the right angles. Slowly you picked up a rhythm that would fit you both, you were aware of how sensitive he was so you moved your hips in a lazy grind. Finn let out a strangled moan and tried to match your rhythm, it was uneven at fist but he quickly got the hang of it. He looked so beautiful under you, eyes all glassy, mouth hanging open and letting out the sweetest sounds. A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek and you quickly caught it with a kiss before placing your lips back on his. Warmth grew in your belly and you decided to go a little faster, a lazy grind turning into a steady up and down, his cock sliding against your plush walls and Finn swore he saw stars when he felt your pussy suck him in. It was such a delicious feeling and it had him internally thanking all the gods for bringing you into this castle, you took such good care of him. A tight heat started building in him and he could feel his abdomen flex with every thrust he tried to deliver into your welcoming heat.
Parting to catch a breath had him mewling, “oh my sweet darling you will get your reward soon.” You promised him, his eyes still glistening from pleasure and you put one arm behind him, catching the bathtub rim before leaning over him. The feeling of being so full and the tug of his dick against your walls had you building up an orgasm of your own. And having watched Finn how he breathed and moaned and the stutter of his hips trying to keep up with the pace you set told you everything you needed to know.
“Please,” he sounded so desperate, trying to chase the pleasure.
You pressed a kiss against his temple and started to move faster, now bouncing on his cock, making the water splash in waves around your entwined bodies. A choked moan of your name made you stifle a groan of your own. Quick breaths fanned against the skin of your neck as Finn wrapped his arms around you and held onto you like a lifeline, his face buried where the neck meets shoulder. Just a little bit more, just a little more.
“Come inside me, love,” you moaned into the side of his head. The hard stutter of his hips were all you got as a warning before he let out a strangled moan and your name on his lips as a full body shudder rattled his body, legs shaking under you. You could feel his warm cum inside of you and your walls clutched around him so tight before you came with a a silent moan, nails buried in his hair and the copper of the tub and your aching thighs tensed around his hips.
The two of you remained entangled for a while, coming down from you high. You had to admit, you were proud of him for having lasted so long after all.
Finn was spent, his entire body felt sore, never had he felt such an amount of pleasure. Even when there wasn’t any comparison, he had always been so busy working around his sister that a womanly touch evaded him. Until now and it made him so happy, he couldn’t explain it even if he wanted to but he was glad that it had been you who was his first. With no one else had he built this much trust.
He felt your kiss on his head and looked up at you like a devote servant to his deity, “Thank you” he choked out, not knowing what else to say but he felt the need to let you know how grateful he was.
“You don’t have to thank me, my love. I enjoyed it as much as you did, you made me feel so good you know. My good boy.” There it was again, it made him feel so warm in his chest an his heart fluttered at your praise. A blush crept up on his face again, but this time instead of hiding it he leaned in for a kiss. A soft one full of love and longing, a kiss which you eagerly returned. He behaved much more different already, the tension in his shoulders gone and his brows unfurrowed. For the first time in a long time Finn looked happy and relaxed, it made your heart ache.
Smiling sweetly you pulled away, petting his head, “Let’s wash up and get to bed. It’s already late.”
Finn just nodded at you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, sighing, “I don’t want to let go of you yet.” That earned him a chuckle and a kiss to the crown of his head.
“Fine then, let’s stay like this a little longer.”
And you two stayed entwined until the water started getting cold, even then it took convincing and a promise of cuddling in bed for Finn to loosen his grip around you.
The night was yours entirely, the morrow could wait.
summary: after watching a dispute between sister and brother you decide that the latter needs to be attended by a gentler hand this time.
pairing: [snow white and the huntsman] Finn x witch!reader
word count: 5.5k
cw: abuse, adult content
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, depression, Finn is introverted, but also eager to impress, good boy Finn, bathing together, bath sex, handjob, edging, lots of kissing, cuddling, aftercare, the idiots are in love your honor
The sharp noise of a slap echoed through the large chamber. Queen Ravenna had struck her younger brother, again.
Just a few minutes ago you’ve been chatting away with her over a a few glasses of the finest wine in the royal bedchamber she had occupied since ripping the power of the crown out of the former kings hand, and held it with an iron grasp. Of course, who would challenger her. She was one of the most powerful witches in the realm and you were all there for her, not just supporter but friend too.
The evil queen had called upon you years ago, since she needed an advisor at court who wielded the same magical power as she did, she needed a witch. And got one as soon as you arrived to her kingdom. With your combined power the common folk could throw as many rebellions at Ravenna’s feet as they wanted but the crown did never slip nor budge, your hand alone had crushed a many rebellious uprisings.
Although you never fancied either crown nor kingdom you had to admit that living in a castle, enjoying the finest dining and dresses had it’s benefits.
Before all this you came from the swamplands, living in a hut on chicken legs and your only work being helping out peasants or the occasional lord. Even then it was always “Brew me a love potion” or “Help, the cattle has fallen sick.” So you did your crafty work in silent misery, you were born for something greater not for some backwater life conjuring spells to stop foxes from raiding chicken coups. It was an awful exile, one you in all honesty did not deserve. Simply because the king of a far away kingdom decided he preferred the council of a rich man over yours, claiming coin and wealth had greater power over man than witchcraft. Of course you had taken revenge, you weren’t a pushover.
They had found the king and the rich man strung up over the castle gate, naked and with their bellies slit open. Maybe it had been a little over the top but gods did you marvel in their fear and warm blood. Shortly after the folk declared you guilty, the only woman at court with power, so you swallowed your pride and left the country, witch hunts could be quite annoying after all.
You turned your attention back to the spectacle to your back, a fuming queen yelling and screaming like a harpy at her pathetic brother who already cowered on the ground, holding his red cheek, his white hair tousled from the blow he had received.
‘Poor Finn’ you thought, ‘you really mucked up this time.’ Although Ravenna had every right to be furious, with Finn having lost the runaway princess twice now, you still had sympathies for the young man, he always tried to make his sister proud and happy even if it was hard he’d go to the end and beyond for her. She sadly just missed to see that.
Your gaze slowly moves over his dirtied form, mud and twigs clung to him like a second skin, even his hair was dirtied, “A fight with the traitorous huntsman” he had said, eyes cast to the ground. You knew Finn wasn’t the most skilled fighter, by no means was he bad either but you would’ve proposed to go to the cursed forest yourself, being less affected by it’s awful fog and miasma, your witchy nature connected to it in an unexplainable way. But Ravenna had refused and told you she rather needed you here, so you stayed, also curious if Finn would succeed this time.
The queen turned back to you, her raving stopped and a deep troubled sigh left her lips, “Go wash up brother, you reek of dirt and death, my dear consort and I will think of another way then. Leave!”
And so he did, with his muddied head bowed in defeat, the sound of his steps vanishing in the hallway.
Ravenna let herself fall down onto the plush chaise longue in front of yours, grabbing the goblet of wine and emptying it in one go. You chuckled a little before speaking up, “You are to harsh on him sometimes, have I not told you of his admiration for you before. You seldom see it.”
She looked at you, her eyes turned softer. “I know you favour him, but that alone won’t make him a better man I fear”, she poured more wine into her gold cup “I just can’t afford failures during these times, I can feel my skin growing old, the heart of Snow White could undo this curse once and for all.”
“Then let me find her, I will bring you her heart and head if you desire that too.”
You gently took her hand, “I do not care much for kings or princesses but I care for you, my friend!”
A smile ghosted across her lips and she squeezed your hand, “And for that I am immensely grateful, but you are important to me, not only as an ace up my sleeve but as a friend as well. I will let you know when we strike.”
“Fine then, I trust your judgement…” You too now took a sip of the wine, a sweet aroma sliding over your tongue and you let go of each others hands. “But must you hit him?”
A groan left Ravenna as she dramatically threw her head back and you smiled into your wine cup. “Fine, I agree I get carried away in my rage sometimes, gods forbid I call it desperation. I will apologize to Finn on the morrow. If you worry so much about him go see him then.” She rolled her eyes, but in truth she would never be mad with you and if you desired her brother then so be it. She just couldn’t wrap her head around how such a beautiful creature like you would give so much attention to her pathetic brother of all people. Of course she loved him, he was her kin after all but some days she wondered how a man like him could be of the same blood as her.
A huff escaped through your nose, “If that would please my queen and release her from my exasperating worries about her brother then I shall take my leave!”
Ravenna gifted you a lighthearted look “You know I didn’t mean it like that, but yes go look after him. He likes seeing you more after such spectacles. Go wipe his tears woman.” At that you chuckled and stood up. But before making your way to the door you strut around the table and put your arms around Ravenna, your cheek laid on the top of her head. “Have a good night my queen.” She softly petted your arm and watched you leave with a smile. Everything would be good in the morning and when you returned to her side you two could finally plot some new plan.
-
The cold from the stone floors seeped into the naked skin of your bare feet, your blueish embroidered mantle and simple chemise a dance of fabric behind your hurried form. You didn’t wear much, for it was late and you had planned to go to your chambers after the little lounge with Ravenna before Finn had interrupted you with his return.
The guards crossing your way lowered their gaze in respect but you didn’t even acknowledge them, your destination just being at the end of the hallway, Finn’s chambers. You’ve been there before, more than once comforting the poor man after a rough day or after he had gotten an earful from Ravenna again. Now probably wouldn’t be any different.
Your steps came to a halt as you faced the fancy wooden door, separating you from his chamber. With a hand raised you let your knuckles knock at the door softly. No answer came. You knocked a little firmer. Still no answer.
“Finn? It’s just me. Can you hear me?”
Silence.
You waited for a minute longer, “Finn I’m coming in alright?”
Hand pressed onto the handle you opened the door, slipped in and shut it right after. The sound of water sloshing made you turn around now looking at the white haired man, he already looked cleaner than before. Clear water ran down his temples and pooled in his collarbones, his wet hair framed his pretty face and still had bits of leaves in it, you’d have to pick them out later. It looked like he just dunked his head under water and was thus unable to hear you at the door.
Finn looked at you with tense shoulders and a distant look in his eyes, in a way he reminded you of a frightened child and it tugged at your heart strings.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your bath, I can come back on the morrow if you’d like, bring you the lavender cakes that you like. I just wanted to see-”
“Don’t leave. please.”
He even sounded like a frightened child and you felt your heart break into a thousand pieces. How could a man this sweet be of the same blood as the fierce and cruel queen.
With few steps you were next to the copper bathtub, the warmth radiated from it as you moved the soaps and towel off a stool before sitting on it. You were closer to him now, the candlelight throwing soft light on his features and you could see a little frown now, he looked tired.
“I know Ravenna has been harsh to you again but for all that it’s worth I am proud of you, you are a good brother.” His shoulders dropped a little and he felt his heart swell, for him your praise was worth everything.
Although he would never tell you how your words made him feel all warm, how your soft strokes through his hair made him forget all the bad things for he was afraid, afraid that you’d feel disgusted for him wanting. It was the one thing that stuck with him all his life, something he had learned from an early childhood, that he should never want for anything, not even a loving touch from his mother. For there was no place in their world for boys and now men that wanted to feel. So he always tried to be the opposite, for his beloved sister and in a way for you. Only in these moments, where you caught him in a vulnerable state, often licking his wounds did he quietly indulge the feeling of wanting, wanting to hear your loving words and your soft hands touching his skin, always so soft and never rough. Not once had he feared violence from you, unlike he did his sister. Not rarely catching himself flinching when she raised her hand too quickly when close to him.
His eyes turned glassy and he turned his face from you, “I’m just tired” was all he mumbled. But you knew that it was not the lack of sleep that made him feel this sad. “Oh sweetheart,” you slowly moved your hand to the side of his face that was turned away and onto the cheek that was struck before, covering hurt with love . You had seen him flinch in his sisters presence before, a habit taught through violence. Turning his face towards you and stroking his cheek with your thumb you locked eyes with him.
“Don’t hide away from me. I will hold you gently, you have been cracked enough as it is, and your heart is more shattered than you let on, I know this. My poor boy, my good boy.” He shuddered in your hands then slipped one arm from the water to put it around your midsection, pulling you in. The other arm followed, closing around your waist and the last thing was his face, his sweet face, which he moved from your hand and pressed it to your ribs and stomach.
Your body was warm and he wanted to feel the softness of your skin so bad he wanted to permeate the fabric of your chemise, pressing himself into you like he was afraid you’d turn into air if he let go. Finn couldn’t hold back a breathy whine when he felt your fingers graze through his still muddy hair, the other hand falling on his bare shoulder blade, the bone pulled up underneath the skin. You didn’t mind him sullying your nightdress even if the wetness seeped through the thin material now clinging to your skin, the dress could be changed, his mind could not. So you continued petting his hair and cooing to him as Finn melted in your arms.
“Why are you always so good to me?” he murmured into your middle, and you almost didn’t hear it.
“Because you are a good man Finn,” the sound of his name coming from your lips gave him goosebumps “And you deserve so much more than what you give yourself credit for.” You bent your head to kiss the crown of his head.
“I know you beat yourself up and you never ask for anything but with me you are always allowed to want…anything.”
“Anything?” he repeated and you let him know your answer with a soft “Mhm.”
Finn felt stunted but also immensely grateful, grateful to have met you and for your motherly touches. It still did not make much sense to him how such an ethereal and wonderful creature like you could be so kind to someone like him. You two have had these moments before, where you comforted his hurting and told him to not be afraid. To never be afraid to want.
The words swam around in his brain and he mustered up all the courage he had in his body to pull his face away and look up at your divine face. If this was the moment where you’d tear yourself away from him and leave to never look back then he was ready, it would break his mind but he could say that he wanted for one thing, no, desired one thing. And that was the woman he looked at as if she hung the moon and stars for him. Finn swallowed and felt his fingers flex in the thin fabric of your night dress.
“Even you?”
Finn wanted to grab the words out of the air before they could reach your ears but alas, only his arms tightened around your form, out of instinct most likely. He could almost see the disgust creeping onto your beautiful features, shame overtook him as he squeezed his eyes, mouth formed into a tight line awaiting the familiar sting of palm against cheek.
But it never came, instead he felt your soft lips just above his eyebrow. The young man carefully opened his eyes and stared back into yours, shining beautifully in the glow of the candle light.
“I knew you could do it…”
Now he truly was taken aback, you looked at him as if he was the most precious gem in this world and you were holding it. You wouldn’t tell Finn that this is what you had had in mind all this time, to build up his confidence and you let you know his needs all on his own. Joy spread in your chest as you watched the realisation in his eyes that this was never jest and that you were serious about this.
The young man opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, the words he mustered in the head refusing to roll off the tongue. “In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. So tell me Finn, what do you want of me?”
“All of you then…” he answered with a whispered tone, still unsure of his voice but newfound confidence carried his being right into your loving arms.
You put your hand on the side of his face again, pulling him in and he followed, eyes fixated on your lips until you were close enough to feel each others breath against your faces.
“You have my heart,” head turned into him you whispered against his lips. “You have all of me.” And you sealed it.
The kiss was a soft one, as if you were afraid to break him. His lips moving slowly against your own in a lazy rhythm only breaking up to inhale missing air. “Make me forget,” he rasped into your kisses, “I want you to make me yours.” A smile formed on your lips, “Of course my darling, I will make you forget anything until your pretty head is only filled with the two of us.” You placed an open mouthed kiss on his lips and he eagerly followed your lead, the act becoming more fiery. The hand you put on his face now slid to the nape of his neck where hair met skin, pulling him impossibly closer. Finn’s own hands still on you, the right hadn’t moved from your hip and the left was now holding onto your thigh as if he never wanted to let you go. You both still swam in the sensation even after you parted from the kiss, the two of you hard of breath.
“I’ll make you feel so good sweetheart,” you cooed at him. Finn just nodded and leaned into another kiss, you gave it to him, hot and passionate. Slowly you started to add your tongue, licking along his lower lip, teasing him into opening his mouth, and he did. Still a little clumsy but oh so eager he returned with his own tongue, sliding along yours as he moaned into it.
A shiver ran through him as you continued kissing him with a passion he had only imagined in his darkest dreams, warmth spread in his abdomen and he felt himself become stiff.
Soon your mouth started to travel, your lips felt cool against his burning skin as they touched his neck. Finn craned his neck to give you even more access, a groan leaving the end of his throat as you placed open mouthed kisses all over the sensitive skin.
He felt as if his entire body was tingling when you let your teeth deliciously graze the skin on an especially sensitive spot right beneath his ear. The slight stutter of his hips underneath the water didn’t go unnoticed by you and a knowing smile spread across your face. You continued kissing his neck and occasionally sucking the sensitive skin that made him tense so adorably in your arms. But you wanted more, your own desire to make him break apart in your hands taking over your lust-clouded mind.
So you left the hand that was placed on his shoulder wander down, sliding it over his chest and you felt the skin and muscle beneath it. Finn’s body was on the leaner side, soft in some parts but mouth watering nonetheless. The skin felt hotter the lower you let your hand travel, it reached water, and dipped beneath it. A choked gasp reached your ear as you finally took hold of him, he felt hot and heavy in your hand. “You’re such a good boy, behaving so well for me,” you groaned against his neck, his hands clutching at your form frantically. “Let me take care of you.”
With slow and lazy strokes you purred sweet nothings in his ear and watched him squirm in your hold. He looked so gorgeous in your eyes, trusting you completely with his body and mind as if you were a goddess and his body the sacrifice.
A rasped moan escaped him and you picked up the tempo, stroking his cock and twisting your wrist. You focused on applying a little more pressure on the head as he was most sensitive there, eliciting delicious groans out of him. Even the smallest of his whimpers snaked themselves under your skin and you felt so hot you thought you might melt into a puddle. The sensation of a tingling set itself in you and you felt yourself becoming wet, every noise that escaped Finn shot straight to your core.
“Are you feeling good my love?” You whispered into his neck and pressed a kiss onto his scorching skin. A strangled ”Yes…fuck” was all you got before he turned his face into yours, catching your lips with his own. It was him this time who licked into your mouth greedily, you could but return, a heated battle of tongues ensuing which left both of you breathless. He whimpered into your mouth as you picked up the pace again and caught a glimpse of how his right leg had started to tremble. A hand shot into the water and wrapped around your wrist, not to stop you but simply to hold on.
Finn let out a choked gasp and his puppy eyes flew up to yours, “Please…go slower.” ’Oh the poor thing’ you thought. “I-I can’t…please, I don’t want this to end so soon.” How adorable.
“Are you close hm?” A drawn out groan reached your ears and you actually slowed down. Poor thing wanted to deny himself pleasure simply because he was afraid of it ending. But you wouldn’t have that, you wanted him to cum but not in your hand.
You took away your hand and Finn whined at the loss of contact, “What… no please don’t stop.”
“Don’t worry darling, I promised to take care of you so I will do exactly that.” You ensured him with a smile and gave him another quick kiss which he chased as you stood up. Longing eyes fell on your covered body, his arms returned to him and he put them onto the bathtubs rim.
Slowly you raised your hands to your shoulders, pushing off the sleeves and the chemise cascaded down in waves of white and cream pooling at your feet. Finn’s eyes darkened, his pupils almost covering the iris whole and he gazed at you as if you were a goddess, your skin smooth and glistening. A divine figure in his eyes and he wet his lips with his tongue, this had to be a dream. Or maybe he was dead and the picture in front of him was heaven. He let out a breath he was holding and you motioned him to make room in the tub. Were you going to bathe with him?
He slid back until the warm copper touched his skin and he watched you step into the water, but instead of taking a seat at the other end of the tub you moved closer to him and lowered yourself in his lap. If he wasn’t blushing before then he was now, your own naked skin touching his almost drove him into madness. Finn immediately put his hands on the flesh of your hips, as if it was second nature and his hands always belonged there.
The water swished around your bodies, tracing your ribs just under your breasts, nipples still soft for the water was warm. You let him roam your body with his eyes before pulling him by the hair into another kiss. The groan he lost in your mouth was like music in your ears.
Between kisses and moans you told him to touch your body, to explore it with his hands. He didn’t have to be told twice as hands began to wander over your skin. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, it would certainly be heaven to feel them inside of you. But that was something for next time, right now you wanted this experience to be all about him, to cover hurt with love and to make him forget.
His hands soon found your breasts, fascination in his touch and he began to imitate what you had done to him earlier, mouth traveling lower, to your jaw and neck. And he placed soft open mouthed kisses there, remembering how your teeth had grazed his skin, making you feel the same. Light moans escaped you and you buried your right hand in his hair, pulling at it gently. You wanted to tell him to stop, to let you take care of him but it felt like he took immense pleasure in making you feel good as his dick twitched against your thigh. Always so eager to please.
Soft lips were now at your collarbones, littering them in kisses and kitten licks. Finn wanted to explore all of your body, especially since such sweet sounds were blessing his ears and he felt a little pride in being the one eliciting these sounds from you. He wanted more, his left hand found your breast, giving it a light squeeze while his mouth wrapped around your nipple. The feeling made you shudder and you pet his head, silken white strands between your fingers. When he was done sucking and lapping at your right breast he switched to the other, showering it in as much attention as the other had received. You let out a breathy chuckle, “Wouldn’t you like to see what I want to do with you?” Light eyes were on yours immediately, hands coming to rest back on your hips.
Finn swallowed before responding with almost a whisper, “Of course I would.” You kissed his forehead.
“Then lean back my darling, I wish to ride you…”
The hands on your hips tightened but he did as you said, cock twitching against your thigh again. You dipped your hand underneath the water and took a hold of him, a slight shiver overcame his body making you coo at him and place another kiss on his lips. Aligning his dick with your core you let your eyes meet, as you wanted to savour everything he gave you. And you sank down on him, you were slick enough so he could slide in easy, a groan left your lips. You watched him as he tensed and left out a shuddering moan, grasping onto your hips so hard it would surely leave bruises.
As much as Finn wanted to watch your face he couldn’t, his eyesight turning blurry as he strained to not immediately release into you. It took all his willpower and concentration, you just felt so divine around him, wet and welcoming and hot. He swallowed down a groan and let out a shuddery breath.
Watching the young man so tense brought a smile to your face and you wondered if this was his actual first time or if it was just a long time since his last woman. Deep inside you hoped this was his first time, pride worming it’s way into your chest and you took his face with both hands, raising it to yours. “I won’t move until you tell me to, love. Take your time.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb and watched his eyes glisten before enveloping his lips with another kiss.
Soon you felt him grind his hips into yours and little whimpers leaving his lips, “Please move, you feel so good.” And who were you to deny him this wish, you couldn’t wait any longer either, he filled you out so nicely. His size was just perfect for you, not too long and a manageable girth with a slight curve upwards, hitting your sweet spot in all the right angles. Slowly you picked up a rhythm that would fit you both, you were aware of how sensitive he was so you moved your hips in a lazy grind. Finn let out a strangled moan and tried to match your rhythm, it was uneven at fist but he quickly got the hang of it. He looked so beautiful under you, eyes all glassy, mouth hanging open and letting out the sweetest sounds. A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek and you quickly caught it with a kiss before placing your lips back on his. Warmth grew in your belly and you decided to go a little faster, a lazy grind turning into a steady up and down, his cock sliding against your plush walls and Finn swore he saw stars when he felt your pussy suck him in. It was such a delicious feeling and it had him internally thanking all the gods for bringing you into this castle, you took such good care of him. A tight heat started building in him and he could feel his abdomen flex with every thrust he tried to deliver into your welcoming heat.
Parting to catch a breath had him mewling, “oh my sweet darling you will get your reward soon.” You promised him, his eyes still glistening from pleasure and you put one arm behind him, catching the bathtub rim before leaning over him. The feeling of being so full and the tug of his dick against your walls had you building up an orgasm of your own. And having watched Finn how he breathed and moaned and the stutter of his hips trying to keep up with the pace you set told you everything you needed to know.
“Please,” he sounded so desperate, trying to chase the pleasure.
You pressed a kiss against his temple and started to move faster, now bouncing on his cock, making the water splash in waves around your entwined bodies. A choked moan of your name made you stifle a groan of your own. Quick breaths fanned against the skin of your neck as Finn wrapped his arms around you and held onto you like a lifeline, his face buried where the neck meets shoulder. Just a little bit more, just a little more.
“Come inside me, love,” you moaned into the side of his head. The hard stutter of his hips were all you got as a warning before he let out a strangled moan and your name on his lips as a full body shudder rattled his body, legs shaking under you. You could feel his warm cum inside of you and your walls clutched around him so tight before you came with a a silent moan, nails buried in his hair and the copper of the tub and your aching thighs tensed around his hips.
The two of you remained entangled for a while, coming down from you high. You had to admit, you were proud of him for having lasted so long after all.
Finn was spent, his entire body felt sore, never had he felt such an amount of pleasure. Even when there wasn’t any comparison, he had always been so busy working around his sister that a womanly touch evaded him. Until now and it made him so happy, he couldn’t explain it even if he wanted to but he was glad that it had been you who was his first. With no one else had he built this much trust.
He felt your kiss on his head and looked up at you like a devote servant to his deity, “Thank you” he choked out, not knowing what else to say but he felt the need to let you know how grateful he was.
“You don’t have to thank me, my love. I enjoyed it as much as you did, you made me feel so good you know. My good boy.” There it was again, it made him feel so warm in his chest an his heart fluttered at your praise. A blush crept up on his face again, but this time instead of hiding it he leaned in for a kiss. A soft one full of love and longing, a kiss which you eagerly returned. He behaved much more different already, the tension in his shoulders gone and his brows unfurrowed. For the first time in a long time Finn looked happy and relaxed, it made your heart ache.
Smiling sweetly you pulled away, petting his head, “Let’s wash up and get to bed. It’s already late.”
Finn just nodded at you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, sighing, “I don’t want to let go of you yet.” That earned him a chuckle and a kiss to the crown of his head.
“Fine then, let’s stay like this a little longer.”
And you two stayed entwined until the water started getting cold, even then it took convincing and a promise of cuddling in bed for Finn to loosen his grip around you.
The night was yours entirely, the morrow could wait.
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Marital problems, Maekars control issues flaring up again, Aerion's being a brat and gets paddled, references to being sick, Blindness, Maekar hits her (but its legitimately an accident), PnV, Mating Press, after sex cuddling, creampie, talking her through it, Dyanna does not exist in this universe.
Word Count: 5.3k
Summary: When a fever takes your vision, Maekar who had tirelessly been at your bedside while you were unwell, suddenly is distant. You try to take steps to connect with your husband as you get accustom to your new reality but he seems set on avoiding you.
You’d married him in kings landing, had the celebratory feast within the Red Keep and even than, with all the planning and people, it had felt less suffocating than what your life had recently turned into.
Maids, ladies, maesters, gaurds, you had your own infantry of people to attend to you throughout the day while you became more accustomed to your condition. You’d not been able to see for moons now. Your vision just vanishing one morning during a week where you were fighting quite a strong fever. Maekar had seen men at war bleed out, he’d seen his own chest cut open and be poorly stitched back together but nothing had ever worried him as much as you did, while your whole body shivered as you sweat through your nightgown. Your memories were quite fuzzy during that illness, all you really could remember was the aching in your head and Maekars calloused palm brushing hair off of your forehead for hours at a time.
You wished to feel those callouses now. But you’d not felt them since you opened your eyes and were met with darkness.
Your ladies said he hardly left the bedside and when he did it was only to write ravens to the citadel to request somebody with greater medical insight! That devotion he had to you did not seemed to remain. The only thing that had changed was you and your capabilities. It was impossible not to feel his distance was because of the blindness.
“Aemon, back to me now darling.” You held a little stuffed animal in your hand and smiled when suddenly his little chubby hands pressed into your lap. Your fingers touched gently to his side and held him up under his arm to keep him more stable.
“What animal is this?” You rattle the stiff animal, hopefully close to his line of sight. “Hmm? Tell me is it a dragon?” Motherhood had come naturally to you with Daeron and Aerion, you worried aemon was receiving less of your love than they had because you had been unwell for so long. He would never know how you were before, that you took pride in handling most of your child’s care, that you would run about the gardens with them and bring them to the kitchens to help make rolls for supper. You had not yet ventured into the gardens and people got nervous when you even neared the kitchens and all the sharp and hot things it contained.
“Tell me, what animal is it?” You grinned when his one hand grabbed the toy and the other squeezed your cheek.
“bear!” Aemon shouted in his precious two year old voice. You savored these moments, smiling, being with somebody who did not know yet that something was amiss with you.
“it’s a dragon.”
The voice was unmistakable. Maekar’s. Not the guard who you knew stood within the room to be available if you required help, and it was far to deep to have come from any of your ladies that you had begged to remain in the hall so you could have a moment of normalcy with tour your youngest.
Your head snapped in the direction of the sound and your mind fumbled over responding. It felt important that you say the right thing. But that pressure of saying something good, something that might endear him to being in your presence more and actually speaking to you, it was just alot.
Had he just been standing there? How long had he been watching?
“He’s full of shit, it’s got a bloody tail.” Maekar shared his voice sounded a bit closer this time and your pulled Aemon into your lap, letting him take the toy to keep him content.
“he’s two.” You reminded.
“…and he knows the difference between a bear and a dragon he can see the distinction.” His voice did not cut out. Maekar said many things he began to regret as the words left his tongue but he was horrible a bitting them back. He would just let out a huffed sigh after.
You bent your head down and kissed the top of your son’s head. Choosing to ignore that you were not even capable of determining if a babe was right or wrong while playing.
“mayhaps he likes to play tricks?”
“perhaps.” Maekar agreed stiffly for your sake.
“da!” Aemon squirmed and your grip on his loosened. Shield gone as he stumbled across the floor to his father.
“Did the maids find you last night?” You suddenly asked when Aemon’s babbling lulled.
“yes.” Short, direct. That is how he always was now.
Distant.
“Then why did you not come to my chambers?” You weren’t sure if you were greatful for this boldness or if you’d regret confronting him entirely?
“there were reports, you know they require my attention.” He excused his absence. It was horrible reason, there were always reports and that had not ever kept him from you in the past.
“these ones specifically required a entire nights worth of your attention?” You pressed, the bitterness in your tone unable to be hidden. You knew it was not to much for a wife to wish to see her husband, for you to want to be in his company. You missed so much. His touch, the intimacy, his private grumbling, you missed him making your tea in the morning when you woke and keeping everybody from your room so he could soak in as much quality time with you as was possible. Now he seemed content to avoid you or outright flee your attempts at contact.
“reports do not disappear if I chuff the duty of dealing with them to another day.” He was being short now, like your attempt at expressing he was neglecting you was not fair.
“Do I?”
That stung him, it chipped at the barrier he’d build up around himself to keep distant. Even Aemon was silent after that. Your hand shifted from your lap to the floor and your began to push yourself up to your feet.
“you are well looked after, your ladies are there-the maesters are helping you understand how to navigate as well.”
Looked after? As if you were a bloody child to be managed? Perhaps that was the reason for his distance, he resented that you were more complicated now? That you were not an independent as you were before? Another task on his plate.
Your jaw was clenched so hard that you could not speak. He was lucky for that because whatever you would of said to as likely to be incredibly cruel.
“Stop-“ you heard his heavy feet move against the floor and you hated that you listened to him, that you paused your movements and that you prayed he might grab you for one reason or another. “The rugs corner is turned up.” He informed you.
You paused, despite yourself, hope suddenly spiking as you thought he might reach out to you and guide you around the obstacle. One hand letting go of your tense grip on the side of your dress, opening a hand for him to take as you heard his heavy booted steps get closer to you.
Maekar knelt down, right before you and easily flipped the rolled corner down flat.
“go ahead.” He stood up, stepped back and watched as you made your way from the room and back to the grouping of people he paid to do what he could not find the strength to himself.
You regretted letting your hopes raise. Finding out quickly that it hurt more when you acknowledged, even just to yourself, what you desperately wanted from him.
That sting lingered in you all day. Tugging at you emotions still when you sat for supper at the large dinning table. That dreadful embarrassed feeling of rejection keeping your heart from being able to even celebrate what you would consider a small win. Maekar Correcting you when you first sat at the table and reached for what you thought was your cup. It had been Daerons and Maekar was quick to correct you and suggest the one near your left hand.
The wistful part of you wanted to read into it as meaning he was watching you, caring for you. But you rationalized it quickly as him just ensuring that Daeron did not get your wine and you his tea.
Your jaw clenched and you said nothing, just retracted your right hand and reached with you left. Nose wrinkling when you felt something that was distinctly not a cup.
“now your fingers been in it-“ Aerion huffed sitting up in his chair to pull the plate back towards him. “You can’t do anything right anymore.” The boy grumbled and the table went deathly silently.
You pulled your hands back wiping them on the napkin in your lap and you swallowed tensely. You were the boys mother, you should lecture him, punish him, but your confidence was so deflated by this point that his childish, yet cruel, words were close to making your cry! You knew if you spoke with a tremble in your voice that it wouldn't sway Aerion's behavior.
“Maekar?” You questioned when suddenly the suffocating silence broke with the loud screech of a wooden chair over stone. Your husband steps were unmistakable to your ears.
“Maekar it is alright-“ the fact that he was not shouting was giving you serious dread. He was not a man to jabbered about but when he was displeased he swore, horribly, and he shouted. It was just apart of his nature.
Perhaps when he entered a furious enough state he forgot to shout entirely?
“I’m sorry! Mother I’m sorry-please.” Aerion began to pour out apologies and you found you were also breathing faster.
“it’s alright-we are all adjusting-“
“That was not fucking alright!” Maekar bellowed and you put the napkin up on the table when the chair across from you was pulled out from the table.
Daeron, who was sat beside you wished for a moment that he might be blind. Then he would not have to see the brutal clout Aerion received to the head. Or witness that his brother was crying and reaching back for you because he knew father was likely to beat him for saying such a cruel remark.
“Maekar this is hardly necessary!” You stand from your seat and at once a lady is at your side holding to your forearm.
Aerion should be punished but you did not think a boy of his age deserved such a stern hand. He was angry, frustrated with the trial the gods had upon your family. His rage was misdirected, at you, but his feelings were understandable! He wasn’t the only one frustrated with your sudden lack of ability.
You said far more hurtful things about yourself in the privacy of your own mind!.
“this is the little princes room m’lady.” The maid informed you gently after guiding you out of the dinning hall and to your sons chambers. Laying your hand on the door.
“leave us, please.” You felt the knob and took in a deep breath, attempting to relax your shoulders as you exhaled. You could hear your husbands muffled voice and Aerion’s crying.
“Are you sure my lady?” The sweet maid asked. They’d all been kind to you, so you’d regret snapping, but only later.
“I am blind not incompetent. I know what I say, leave me!”
You only twisted the door open after the maids footsteps sound distant.
You strode into the room, hands gently splayed out at your sides. You had learned to brace your hands out a bit to avoid bumping into things. Though the bruises on your sides and hips gave away that you were only partially successful at avoiding colliding with furniture.
“you will respect your mother!” Meakar grunted a bit from the exertion of pulling his arm back and brining it down over Aerion’s rump. “Honor her-help her as she suffers this curse!” These were not suggestions, but demands.
It was somewhat ironic because from your perspective somebody should be telling maekar those things. He was quite the hypocrite to demand Aerion support you when he hardly made time to be in your company!
“Enough-Maekar, seven hells!” You stepped into the room more when Aerion had let out another sob. Speaking up to try and stop this madness. Instantly receiving a backhand to your throat and collar bone that sent you stumbling back and hitting into one of your son’s wardrobes.
You’d approached the two of them from behind Maekar, which meant neither of you had seen the other, and unfortunately walked right into the backwards motion of his hand.
"Maekar...was that you?" Your voice was quiet as your hand rubbed at the tender spot. The rest of you staying completely still. It was a genuine question. You needed to confirmation because you could not see the truth.
Maekar, who had faced armies of men and tore them down without his feet wavering for a second, was concerned his knees might give out.
"Yes" You nodded at the confirmation, moved your hand from the red spot on your neck and knelt down fingertips brushing against the wood floor to stabilize yourself.
"Come here Aerion," he was pressing against you a second later. His little sniffles stiffed against your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him. "Breathe, slowly son." you urged as a hand rubbed soothing lines up and down his back.
Maekar said nothing. You knew he was still there though, you never heard the sound of his boots so surely he'd remained there in the middle of the room.
Aerion whispered to you that he was sorry. That you weren't useless, that you did not ruin everything. It was as genuine as a five year olds apology could be. He was forgiven in your mind, that went without saying.
You managed to get him to his bed, tucked under the covers and had found him his favorite stuffed dragon. Maekar almost interjected then, Aerion like this little black one you'd made for his cradle when he was first born. He could see it laid right there in the basket that you were digging through. He didn't speak though, he just watched as you felt the seams.
You'd held this thing a hundred times, you made it with your own hands and mended a spot by the wing a dozen times by now. You could feel which one was his favorite and retrieved it eventually for him. You’d done it without needing Maekars help. You sat on the edge of his bed, humming him a calming song to settle him to sleep after he had the dragons snuggly comfort. Your humming died in your throat when his little snore filled the room.
"Don't" you warned when you stood and instantly heard Maekars shoe slide against the floor. It stopped and you took a deep breath before walking back to where you thought the door was. Managing to get out into the hall easily and walking slowly with one hand out to trail against the cool stone wall. You felt spiteful now, not wanting his help.
"Im going to your chambers." You informed him, speaking over your shoulder so he could hear you and follow.
Your world had changed. The fever had altered your reality forever and no matter how stubborn the both of you were neither of you could avoid what the gods had dealt you any longer.
He was surprised that you found his chamber so seamlessly. You’d made this walk before he realized when he took note of the soft whispered counting you did. You'd made some map in your mind of how to reach this spot. His room.
"Sit, I'll call for the maester." He was looking at the red mark his hand had left on your skin.
"Im fine." you bit out and took in a breath for some courage.
"Though if the Maester can fix whatever has been broken between us than i would gladly accept his presence!"
Maekar's eyes closed and he took in a deep breath through his nose.
"There is no problem"
"Perhaps not for you but I'm quite certain my husband can no longer stand to be in my presence. Or too listen to my voice. Gods-" your voice got sharper "He wont even accept an invitation to my bed!”
"I've been busy, and you've been healing."
"You have been busy since they day we wed Maekar, and It has not kept you distant like this…." He was silent. "And i am healed, No fever plagues my head, no shivers wrack through my body or food hurts my stomach. I am no longer sick."
"You are-" He began, about to defend himself with a poorly thought out excuse.
"I am blind. No bedrest will fix that. nor tonic. And No distance from my husband will heal me."
He felt like he was being invasive all of a sudden, Because he was watching your eyes well up and you did not get to see in return that his were beyond glossy.
"I should have done more." There it was, his guilt. The shame and frustration he felt at himself for not being able to take care of you better.
You floundered to find something to say, the vulnerability in his tone had been somewhat unexpected.
”Maekar, you were there for me. Next to my bedside holding my hand as the fever broke. That is all I needed from you.” That did not settle his feelings of inadequacy though because he remained silent.
“You remember…after I had Daeron, when I said the bleeding had remained for moons?
“when you lied?” He remembered. Bitterly.
You’d been so distant after laboring with Daeron. The maester had told him you were more than healed and yet anytime your husband kissed your shoulder you told him things were still not right. That you bled a bit still, that that maester said you could not lay with him quite yet.
All of it had been untrue and Maekar had known. He had let you have space until you eventually cracked and came to him and admitted all of that. Quietly sharing that you’d been embarrassed and insecure about how motherhood had changed you.
Changes that mattered not to him.
“I’ve less patience than you husband, I will not provide you with more space.”
He laughed at that, a dry and sad thing but still, some amusement.
“It is hard to have less of that than I.” He watched your hand, your fingers going white from gripping the side of your skirt so hard. This conversation was not easy for you.
“admit to your lie and let us move forward.” You stepped closer a bit. “You are not busy-you are avoiding me.”
“there are reports….and ravens and silly fucking squabbles,” his shoulders were high and tense, you could tell from how he was breathing. You did not speak. Letting the silence between you linger in hopes that it might will him to fill it.
”i cannot bare it.” His voice sounded jaded, like he was trying to keep it even.
“You cannot bare to love me any longer?” Your voice cracked. It could not be held together any longer. Perhaps he would response better to seeing the honesty in how you felt instead of the composure you fought to maintain.
"No." It came out roughly. A tone you’d heard him use when discussing important matters. When somebody suggested something that he would not even hear more of!
"No, gods, no."
"What else am I to think?" Your voice trembled. "I reach for my husband in my bed and feel cold sheets. I call for you and get silence! What should I think?”
"that I am a coward."
"Maekar-“ you frowned, he was many things but a coward was not one of them.
"I failed you." The admission pulled from deep inside him.
“You cannot prevent a fever.” You whispered, softening slightly.
“you were in pain.” He was angry, not at you. at the memory of your cries, your pleads for water and cool air, you stomach rejecting anything that was put in it. He was furious that he had watched you suffer unable to heal you himself or find somebody who fucking could!
You stepped forward, your hand letting go of your skirt and moving in the direction his voice came from.
“pain is not something that can be avoided, even by the most fearsome of princes.” Your fingertips bumped into his side. “Mourning my sight is not nearly as painful as mourning the loss of you.”
His hand rose to your cheek as you got closer.
“End my suffering now.” You beg. Cheek pressing into his palm as your feet stopped right infront of his. “Please-“
His mouth, lips that you had never needed vision to recognize pressed harshly to yours.
You grabbed his wrist urging his hand to keep it in place at your cheek. You’d longed for that touch for moons. Craved it. Need it.
“Forgive me.” He breathed into your mouth, lips barely backing away from yours.
“kiss me-“ you pushed up onto your toes to press your mouth fully to his again, your tongue gently sliding between his lips and tracing a place that you knew so well. Everything about him was familiar and familiar felt safe!
“forgive me-“ he grabbed both your cheeks and pulled your head back. “Forgive your foolish fucking husband.” He breathed heavy looking down at you. A thumb moving over to stroke gently under your eye and wipe away a tear that rested there. How lip twitched when he saw your eyes shift slightly, they almost looked like they’d focused on his.
“I love you.” You squeezed his wrists fingers stroking the veins there and smiling up towards him softly. “But no more separate rooms.” You plead.
Maekar responded by backing you up until your knees touched the side of his bed and you sat, hands never letting go of him just drifting from his arms to his sides. Holding his firm, strong frame.
”no more…your place is here.” He bend in half and kisses your jaw. You melt into the feeling and start to lean back fingers looping into his belt though dragging him to follow you.
“I’m still mad.” You told him as his bread pleasingly scratched at the skin of your collar. His nose rubbing against the column of your neck as he pressed his warm lips to your tender neck. Focusing his attention to the redness he had caused there earlier.
“I know, you can be cross with me in the morning.” His mouth continued it pursuit. He’d clearly missed and needed you as much as you had! Idiot man, suffered due to his own guilty mental cage!
“v-very well.” You nodded voice getting airy when his lips got at the tops of your breasts and you felt your body raise up towards him because his hands were frantically beneath you to get at the back of your gown. Your own hands fumbled about a bit looking for his shirts buttons. You found one and then struggled to locate the other.
“Maekar-“ you groaned, getting a bit frustrated at not being able to do this properly.
“rip it woman!” He urged you as he pulled your dress down over your wide hips and he smiled at the sight of the silvery stretch marks that covered much of the skin there.
You made a small struggling sound before feeling the fabric give away and your hands were able to get at his warm chest now that the buttons were all popped off.
Both of you were a bit uncoordinated as his trouser were pulled down and you wiggled free from your tights. That coordination wasn’t suffering because of your blindness it was caused by the build up of need, the frantic reaching and needing to be joined back together as one.
“don’t you dare, Maekar!” You warned him grabbing at his perfectly aligned hair when he started to kiss down your body, hands already rubbing your thighs to get them open.
“let me taste you.” He growled out hungrily. His nose just reaching the soft hair at the apex of your legs when you tugged at his hair to bring him up.
“you could have licked my cunt every night for the last two moons had you not been such a foolish sensitive man!.” He groaned at the scolding but followed your urging and laid himself out over you. Careful to not crush you with his weight.
“what does my wife want?” He kissed you, lips harsh and warm against yours. “You need me within you?” He asked, brow raised as he felt your legs come up to wrap around his body’s settled around his sides with your heels pressed low against his back.
“Gods, yes,” you nod, face getting soft and your mouth opening as you feel a pulsing heat graze against your folds. “Please Maekar.” You spoke softly while pushing your hips up. Trying to make his tip catch against your core but your slit was so wet from the anticipation of getting what you’d need finally that his length just slid right up and bumped your clit.
The contact against your pearl had you moaning, lips already a swollen mess from the kissing and now your teeth pressed against them to add to the damage.
“Maekar….M-Maekar-“ you squirmed voice desperate. He wouldn’t deny you, wouldn’t make you wait one second longer for something that he never should have withheld from you for so long!
“breathe,” he urged you hand cupping your cheek against as his hand pressed to the matress beside your waist and he aligned himself with your dripping core. He thrusted in fully. Searing through your warm velvety walls into he was seated to the hilt inside of you.
Both your brow knitted together and you turned your face to kiss at his calloused palm as your body remembered how he filled ever inch of you. How his cock stretched your walls and gave your stomach a pleasant ache.
He showered kisses overtop your shoulder, slured compliments and praised into your soft skin. Admission of how deeply he missed you and acknowledgments of how neglectful he had been!
He would learn from this. Adjust so he never did this to you again. He should be better than letting his own self frustration effect his marriage. You and your happiness were to important for that to ever happen again!
Both of your bodies adjusted quickly and Maekar was able to put a bit more power behind his hips. Thrusting into you enough that your breasts bounced up against your neck every time his hips smacked your inner thighs.
“harder…” you moaned he’s spreading back against the bed as your blinked up at the ceiling. He watched for a moment, wishing your eyes would lock on his, that he would feel you looking at him see that love in them again. He would mourn that loss for a very, very long time. You were the only person to ever look at him with that much understanding. You looked at him and saw deep into his being and he could always tell by how your eyes softened that you loved what yuh saw.
“your taking me so well,” he praised and began to move your legs up higher. They were being settled up over his shoulders and you realized quickly that he was moving you both into a mating press. “You need this, don’t you wife?”
Your moans for louder and you nodded and your hands grabed at the sheets below you. Gasping as he sunk in further which felt like an impossible feat but this position let him in deep!
“I feel you….” You groaned turning your jaw up and kissing at his face. Moaning when he guided you to his lips.
“where?” He asked breathlessly as his hips snapped and he watched your stomach bulge.
“So deep Maekar…so-“ you cried out when another pound from his hips came and your toes curled up by his shoulders. “Here-deep right here!” You hand slithered between you two so you could press at where he was reaching. That pressure pushed bed rattling moans out of you both.
You were beginning to squeeze at his cock…he could tell it wasn’t the intentional clenching you did to get him dizzy…this was uncontrolled, your body was simply doing this as it took every bit of attention he was giving you.
You gasped every time he pressed himself against you pointedly after burying himself in deep. Your clit getting squished and it was starting to make you delirious.
“I can’t-Maekar it’s so much!” You cried out and he let go of one of your legs to grab you jaw. Brining you into his neck and holding you there as he pounded into you faster.
“you can…I can feel you. You are so close.” He guided. His voice was always tender when you got close, when your fingers tensed and body went taught and you got scared of how you uncontrollable the orgasm felt inside you.
He’d been your rock since the marriage was consummated. Made sure you knew he was there to ensure that the overwhelming feeling wasn’t going to rip you apart. Not with him right here.
Every roll of his hips pushed another stuttering moan from your chest and when Maekar made a low, long groan behind your ear your eyes squeezed closed.
“your cunts too warm.” He breathed, beard tickling your ear. “I need to fill you.” He grunts and you let go of the waning grasp you have on your body and relax so the orgasm and rush through you.
“ahh!” You hide against his sweaty flesh and whimper as the after shocks run up and down your limbs. Your cheeks get red when you feel him fill you with a deep growl. He keeps himself pressed deeply into you both of your panting and not moving.
Slowly as he starts to go soft inside you and he feels your cunts fluttering calm he lets your legs down and wraps an arm around your back. Pulling you up as he settles himself agains the headboard.
You broke the silence first, while finding a comfortable position sat over him, still plugged by his length.
“you are completely mad,” you hum. Hand grazing over some of the scars on his side as your body rested against one half of his chest. “You know it will thicken.” You press a kiss to the center of his chest.
“We’d agreed to another one Aemon was older,” he grumbled. Hand stroking up and down your soft back. “I cannot help myself.” He admitted when your fingers paused on his flesh urging him to admit to truth.
“Does it not please you?” He questioned, a bit concerned that you may not want more children now that you could not see.
“Will you describe them to me?” You asked. Quieter. Worry obvious in how your fingers trembled over a deep scar on his chest by his heart.
“yes,” he kissed the top of your head.
“I’m serious, not that they are handsome or pretty. I want to know weather their hair in the color of sand or the color of milk…and what their smile looks like.” He looked down at you hand tangling in your hair to soothingly rub at the back of your neck. “You must be detailed Maekar.” You couldn’t imagine having a child that you’d not ever see. That you may never know how they smiled. Aerion for example, he smirked, but would you know that it’s a pursed crooked thing if you never saw it with your own two eyes?
“I will study them closer than the fucking maesters read those tombs.” His tone was serious. “You’ll know them fully…you’ll manage to see them better than I even do I am sure.” He kissed you. Fiercely. He would be your rock, here in this bed and every other corner of this realm. He could not slash a fever, save you from that, but he could ensure you were never scared, never felt alone in this world.
↪ 𝐁𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 possessed hands that had reshaped kingdoms. They had held sword and shield, dragged wounded men from battle, broken rebels, and delivered death when duty demanded it.
He just never expected you had other things on your mind when you looked at them.
warnings; hand kink, rough sex, breeding kink, baelor fucks you from behind, sinful thoughts, minors do not react.
Eh, I'd like to volunteer as tribute to have his hands wrapped around my throat. Gosh, please tell me I am not the only one.
𝐁𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 possessed hands that had reshaped kingdoms. They had held sword and shield, dragged wounded men from battle, broken rebels, and delivered death when duty demanded it.
Broad-palmed, calloused, and scarred by years of war, they were hands forged for command, not tenderness.
Yet for all they had accomplished, for all they had taken and protected alike, never, not once, had Baelor imagined that his own wife would become so utterly, hopelessly captivated by them.
He would catch you staring whenever his fingers drummed against a table, tightened the leather of his gloves, or absently turned the pages of a book, your gaze lingering with such shameless devotion that it left the Prince of Dragonstone wondering what, in the Seven Hells, possessed you to look at his hands as though they were the finest treasure in the realm.
It had begun with little things. Your gaze would drift toward his hands whenever he spoke at council, whenever he signed decrees, fastened the clasps of his cloak, or absently rolled the heavy rings upon his fingers with the idle habit of a man deep in thought. At first, he dismissed it as coincidence.
Then he noticed you did it constantly.More often than not, Baelor would lift his eyes from whatever occupied him only to find you staring intently at his hands as his thumb lazily turned one ring after another.
The instant he caught you, your cheeks would bloom crimson. You would sputter the most dreadful excuses—claiming you had been admiring the craftsmanship of the rings, or wondering whether the metal pinched his fingers, or insisting you had merely been lost in thought. Neither of you believed a single word.
He had faced charging cavalry without flinching, had stood firm before rebellious lords and seasoned warriors alike, yet there was something profoundly bewildering about the look in your eyes whenever they settled upon his hands. It was not mere admiration. It was fascination, tender and unguarded, as though the very hands that had known bloodshed and battle were, to you, the safest thing in all the Seven Kingdoms.
It happened, as most things between you did, in perfect silence.
Baelor sat across from you, the afternoon sun spilling through the windows as he reviewed yet another stack of petitions. One broad hand rested upon the table while the other idly turned the signet ring upon his finger—a habit so deeply ingrained he scarcely noticed he was doing it.
You noticed, you always fucking noticed.
Your book remained open in your lap, unread for the better part of five minutes, your eyes fixed shamelessly upon the slow roll of gold beneath his thumb.
Baelor sighed without looking up. “Again?”
You blinked and frowned, “Hm?”
“My hands.”
Now he looked at you, one dark brow lifting in quiet amusement. “You are staring at them.”
Heat rushed to your face. “I am not.”
He leaned back in his chair, “You are.”
“I was thinking.”
“About my hands.”
You lowered your eyes to your book with all the dignity you could muster. “Hmm, they are very nice hands.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Baelor's mouth. “What,” he asked, setting the parchment aside at last, “do you find so fascinating about them?”
You looked up from your book, your gaze drifting—as though entirely of its own accord—to those same broad, scarred hands. Your shoulders rose in a helpless little shrug. “I can just imagine them wrapped around my throat.”
Silence, absolute in it's infinite presence, lingered as Baelor simply stared at you, gaze darkening as amusement lingered beneath them. “Oh, is that so?”
You blinked and then, very slowly, the realization of what you had actually said caught up with you.
Your eyes widened. “Oh, Seven Hells.”
The book snapped shut over your face. “I did not mean—that is—I wasn't—”
Your words dissolved into hopeless spluttering and across the table, the Prince who had negotiated with quarrelsome lords and commanded men in battle found himself utterly speechless for perhaps the first time in years.
“My sweet lady wife,” he said at last, his voice unusually measured, “that is not the answer I expected.”
You blushed, “Just pretend I didn't say anything, you are good at that.”
Gods, the sight of your flushed cheeks threatened to undo him, because now he knew he needed to know more, “And what else do you imagine when you think of my hands?”
“Nothing, my dear husband,” you replied as you tried to return to the book in your hands, looking everywhere else but him.
He groaned and rose an eyebrow, “I see,” but then he pushed back, the scrape of the chair shattering the silence that lingered and your eyes widened when he walked around the table, fingers wrapping around the book and with a careful snap, he pulled it from your grasp, placed it on the table and leaned over you—
arms bracketing you as he placed them both on the armrests, “Look at me, sweet wife,” you did not, and the breathless hitch that tumbled from your lips as his left hand rose, fingers wrapping perfectly around your throat as his thumb then pushed your head back and then up, “that is not a nothing reaction.”
“I—I,” you murmured, “it is nothing, I promise.”
But Baelor Targaryen found himself incapable of letting this slip, “No, no more lies, you know how much I despise it. Tell me, or I will pull it out of you,” and then a sinful thought crossed his mind and his fingers tightened briefly around your throat, thumb pressing between your lips as your entire body shuddered, “slowly, quietly, until you are nothing but a squirming mess beneath these hands you admire so fiercely.”
He pushes his thumb forward, your lips parting and he groans as your mouth then wraps around the finger, pressing down on your tongue, “Tell me,” and then he releases you, but just enough to pull you flush against his chest, “or I'll fuck it out of you. Tell me what you imagine, tell me of what you desire.”
Your mouth opened and closed, and the desire he saw reflected in your eyes as you trembled before him, no coherent thought within his mind remained as honourable as he would have liked them to be, “I often think,” you blush further as he pulls you closer, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips as the other grips your chin, “of them wrapped around my throat as you fuck me from behind.”
“Hmm, such sinful things that occupy my wife's mind, and have you often imagined this whenever these hands of mine distract you?”
You could feel an insistent heat press between your thighs, “Not often, Baelor,” and then you uttered the word that had broken the carefully woven thread that kept him composed, “always.”
He kissed you.
It wasn't gentle. It was hungry and desperate and tasted like salt and years of silence, his tongue sliding against yours, his hand fisting in your hair, tilting your head back so he could take your mouth the way he'd wanted to since the moment the words had slipped from your mouth.
You made a sound—a whimper, a moan, you didn't know—and he swallowed it, pulled you closer, pressed you against his chesty until the warmth of him pressed through your dress.
His hands moved. Down your sides, over your hips, gripping the fabric of your skirts and pulling them up, bunching the wool in his fists until he could slide his palm along your thigh. The skin there was bare, pale and warm, and he groaned against your mouth when he felt it.
“Tell me more,” he growled against your lips, turning you around as the back of your knees bumped against the desk.
“I dreamed of this.” He dragged his lips along your jaw as you spoke, down your throat, over the curve of your shoulder where your dress had slipped. “I dreamed of your hands touching, claiming and not stopping.”
You felt the scrape of his nails against your neck as his hand other hand slid lower, fingers finding the wet heat between your thighs, and you gasped—a sharp, broken sound that he answered with a growl against your collarbone.
“You're soaked.” His voice was thick, reverent, his fingers pressing against you, through the fabric of your smallclothes. “Is this for me?”
“Yes.” You couldn't breathe. “Always—only you—”
He made a sound that was almost pain, and then his hand was gone, and you heard the tear of fabric, the rip of your smallclothes giving way under his fingers, and you didn't care. You didn't care about anything except the heat of his hand returning, bare skin against bare skin, his fingers sliding through your wetness, finding your entrance, pressing inside you with a single, desperate thrust.
You cry out, your head falling back as he watches—watches your face twist with pleasure, your mouth falling open, the way your body arches into his hand. His thumb circles your clit, rough and perfect, and you’re already too close, the weight of what you had just revealed to him something that he intends to fulfill.
“Not yet.” His voice is ragged, strained with need. “Not yet, I need—”
He pulls his hand back, and you sob at the loss, desperate for him. But then his mouth is on yours again, swallowing your protests, while his other hand fumbles urgently with the laces of his breeches. “I need to be inside you. I need to feel you—”
You reach down, finding him through the fabric, feeling the heavy heat of his cock straining against his trousers. He shudders, his forehead dropping to yours, breath mingling with yours in the tight space between.
“I’m not going to last,” he warns, voice rough and low. “Gods, you have ruined me, you little minx. I need—fuck, you thought of these hands and thought sinful things.”
“Yes,” Your fingers clumsily pull at his laces, desperate and urgent, until you can wrap your hand around the length of him. He is hot and hard, leaking, and the sound he makes when you grip him is broken, raw, almost animalistic.
“I want to feel you. I want—” he grabs your wrist and shakes his head, grinning against your lips as he kisses you once more.
“You wanted my hands, sweet girl, you are going to get them.”
Baelor did not waste time, nor did he waste his words, he did not wait—he simply pulled you flush against his back, wrapped the fingers of his left hand around your throat, turned you both and pressed the other against your back and promptly bent you over his desk. “Is this what you imagined?”
“Fuck, yes.” his fingers tightened around your throat and then he hooked two of his fingers into your mouth, pulled your head back and grinned.
“Then what husband will I be not to indulge your desires,” His hand found your hip, pulled your arse flush against him and you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance, the slick heat of your body welcoming him, and he paused.
He pushed inside you in one long, desperate stroke, you felt it everywhere.
The stretch, the fullness, the way he filled you completely, pressing deeper than you'd thought possible. Your back arched against his chest, fingers curling around the edge of the table, and he groaned into the air, his mouth opening and closing as he removed his hand from your hip, thrust forward and then growled.
“Fuck,” he moved, pulled out and thrust back in, harder this time, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the quiet solar.
The candlelight flickered.
And you, pinned beneath him, gripping the table as if your life depended on it and voice muffled as his fingers delved deeper into your mouth, gods, what else had you kept hidden within your mind?
“So this is what you imagined,” he murmured, “whenever you looked at my hands.”
Baelor’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm. He kept two fingers hooked deep in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue while his hips snapped forward again, burying every inch of his cock inside you in one brutal stroke.
The desk creaked under the force. Your muffled moan vibrated around his fingers as he fucked you harder, each thrust driving you forward until your hips slammed against the wooden edge.
He leaned over your back, chest pressed hot against your spine, and growled low in your ear. “You wanted this—being bent over and used like a whore in my solar.” His fingers slid deeper, almost gagging you, saliva dripping down your chin onto the papers scattered across the desk.
He pulled out until only the head remained inside, then slammed back in, the wet sound of your cunt taking him filling the room.
Baelor’s hand left your hip to reach beneath you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in rough circles while he kept pounding into you. “Look at how wet you are,” he rasped, voice thick with lust.
“Dripping down my cock every time I fuck into you.” He thrust again, deeper, grinding against your cervix, and the pressure made your legs shake.
He released your throat only to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arched sharply.
His fingers stayed stuffed in your mouth, forcing you to suck on them while he railed you from behind. The slap of skin grew louder, faster. Sweat beaded on his chest and dripped onto your back as he used you, hips pistoning without mercy.
“Tell me what else you want,” he demanded, voice hoarse. “Because I’m not stopping until this tight little cunt is overflowing with my cum.” He angled his thrusts to drag against that sensitive spot inside you, each stroke deliberate and punishing, pushing you closer to the edge with every brutal snap of his hips. “I will not repeat myself,” he growled, “tell me.”
“Fuck, Baelor—I, I only ever thought of you taking me like this, your hands claiming every inch of me, gods, I imagined that perhaps if you fucked me like this long enough, I'd be able to give you a child.”
Baelor’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then slowed into deep, rolling thrusts that dragged every thick inch of his cock through your soaked walls.
He eased his fingers from your mouth, sliding his palm down to cup your throat instead, thumb stroking the frantic pulse there. His chest pressed to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding together as he curled over you, mouth brushing your ear.
“Keep talking,” he murmured, voice low and velvet-rough. “Tell me how you picture my hands on our child.”
His free hand slid beneath you, palm splayed wide across your lower belly, fingers spreading as though already imagining the swell there.
Each measured thrust bottomed out, grinding against your cervix, filling you so completely you could feel the heavy pulse of his cock inside you.
“I'd like to give you a daughter, and I can't help but imagine how you'd hold her.”
He huffed a breathless laugh. “I’d hold her the way I have always held you, not in the same manner I have done now,” he breathed, lips tracing the shell of your ear. “Gentle. Careful. But these same hands would never let go.”
His hips rolled forward again, slow and deliberate, the head of his cock nudging that tender spot with each pass.
“I’d cradle her against my chest while you rest. Kiss her tiny fingers. Watch her sleep between us.”
He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, softer, as his thrusts stayed deep and unhurried, letting you feel every ridge and vein.
“A daughter,” he repeated, almost reverent. “Ours. I’d teach her to be strong, but I’d also be the one she runs to when she’s scared. And every night I’d come back to you and put another one inside you if that’s what you wanted.”
His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make you feel owned, while the hand on your belly stroked in slow circles, matching the steady rhythm of his cock claiming you.
“Say it again,” he whispered. “Tell me how badly you want me to breed you until you’re carrying my child.”
LOOK AT THOSE FUCKING HANDS! LOOK AT THEM! SOMEONE SUFFER WITH ME.
It's probably too early to be having so many sinful thoughts but fuck it. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about his hands wrapped around my throat a couple hundred fucking times.
summary — when your sister is betrothed to marry a prince, it is only natural that you accompany her to king's landing. what you do not expect is for her betrothed's attentions to be focused so heavily on you instead. (10.4k)
featured — prince baelor "breakspear" targaryen / fem!stark!reader
content — no spoilers for akotsk, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, tried and true kate sharma/anthony bridgerton dynamic, he falls first she falls harder, reader is a bastard and is called "lady snow," baelor loves smart women, forbidden romance, you know high valriyan, asshole!aerion (are we surprised?), your fictional dad is a major ass, i've rewritten this fic like 5 times it's time to commit
(cross-posted on ao3)
“I don’t think I like King’s Landing,” your sister says in her position across from you in the carriage.
She’s been quiet most of the way to the castle, staring out the small window to the throngs of people lining the city streets. Every once in a while, she’ll gasp as if she noticed something particularly strange outside—or in one instance, she caught a glimpse of the alley you immediately recognized as being the Street of Silk, where noblemen went to commodify sex and pleasure, and a scantily dressed Dornish whore waving to passerby.
“We haven’t even seen the castle yet,” you say to her, eyebrows furrowed at her split decision.
Lyanna is not really your sister. Not fully. Your father had her with his lady wife, he had you with a whore. You are not the same—far from it. Lyanna’s everything a Stark woman should be: beautiful, exotic, and strong-willed—the perfect match to a Targaryen Prince. You are lucky you were not shoved to the streets of Winterfell or left for the dire wolves to eat.
“I know cities,” Lyanna replies back simply, “and a city that has more people hungry than people fed is not a good city.”
You can’t help but smile a bit at your sister’s naïveté. She knew as well as you did that isn’t how diplomacy worked. No king could snap his fingers and rid Westeros of hunger and strife. It is a nice thought, though.
“And your betrothed? What do you think of him?” you ask, your inflection curious but restrained.
“I suppose we will see, won’t we?” Lyanna tries to sound unaffected by the responsibility placed upon her slight shoulders, but you notice her hands threading the fur of her coat incessantly, the slight tremble to her fingers.
There’s a lapse in conversation as you look down at your lap as if it holds the answer to all your worries. Lyanna is not your full sister, but she is your sister nonetheless. You worry for her more than anyone else in the seven kingdoms.
“Perhaps he will surprise you,” you tell her this in earnest, but even you recognize that your words ring hollow.
In the farthest reaches of the north, whispers of the Targaryens were as commonplace as snow. One cannot wonder what the Red Keep is like without considering the people that live there. They have ruled on the Iron Throne since the time that dragons walked among people. Some were quick to call them “gods among men” whilst others claimed they were a stain upon the seven kingdoms
You cannot blame either side. It seems to be a bit like flipping a coin whether or not a Targaryen ruler would be corrupted by the weight of all it entails. You would never gamble on those odds.
“The castle,” your sister’s voice is tremulous and weak and it quickly shakes you from your thoughts. You look over at her and notice the widening of her eyes as she peers out the small window.
Your curiosity wins over your fear as you lean forward to take in the view. The castle is simultaneously beautiful as it is haunting. Landed on the precipice of an imposing cliff, your eyes slide down the brick side to the edge and your eyes make the jump over the rocky shoreline to the water below. You briefly wonder how many people had fallen to their deaths there. You shake your head to clear yourself of such thoughts.
The rest of the journey to the Red Keep moves slowly. Each rattle of the carriage has you clutching your gown in the hope you could steel your nerves. You are not the one being sold off like a breeding mare today, so why are you so nervous?
When the horses finally draw to a stop, you bite your lip so hard that you begin to taste copper. You release your lip when you meet Lyanna’s eyes from across the carriage; her eyes looking between yours in some semblance of comfort, some kind of bravery. You reach across the carriage to grasp her hand. Her palm is slick and trembling.
“No matter what happens,” you tell her softly, “I will be here for you. Always.”
Lyanna’s quivering lips pull into a soft smile at the corners. She averts her eyes.
“I know I have not always been the best to you.” She pulls at an invisible thread of her beautiful deep grey gown as she speaks, too afraid or embarrassed to meet your eyes. “But you have always been my closest friend.”
You purse your lips at the thought of you and Lyanna’s tempestuous relationship and nod. You squeeze her hand once and pull away just as the doors to the carriage open and a burst of light blinds you.
You lean back so as to escape the light’s reach and to show deference to your sister. Lyanna is the picture of elegance and beauty as she stands from her spot across from you and takes poised steps down to the path below. You move only once she has cleared herself completely out of the way.
You stand and grab the outstretched hand of a nearby guard to help escort you down. You squint your eyes to better focus on the outside as the light assaults your senses. In Winterfell, the sun is never this bright. And if it is, it is filtered through thick tree branches or clouds. This sun is aggressive and its light immediately heats your skin through your thick fur coat.
You keep your eyes respectfully averted as you join your sister and your father, but you allow them to trail upwards after you have taken your place and successfully escaped the spotlight.
Your eyes latch onto a feeble older man near the front of the line. You recognize him immediately by his deep red robes, violet eyes, and gold crown as King Daeron. His hair is white and his skin is aged and pale as the full moon on a deep starless night. His gaze sweeps across the dire wolves assembled in front of him like the round, intelligent eyes of an owl. When they reach you, his near-white eyebrows furrow only slightly. It is an imperceptible difference that not many would catch. A bastard always would, though.
It is the same expression that other noble ladies would make after hearing of your parentage. The same face that suitors of your sister would pull when they noticed the stark differences between you and Lyanna. It was the same face Lord and Lady Stark made every time they looked upon your visage as a child.
You look back down at the ground, content to trace the lines in the cobble beneath your feet as they spoke.
“Lord Stark,” the King’s voice is light and youthful as he speaks, a difference to his weathered face, “it is a pleasure to welcome you to the Red Keep.”
You look over at your father as he nods. His beard moves as a smile splits his face. “No words can fully capture our deep gratitude for you having us.”
The king nods once before he looks back at your sister. Your eyes unconsciously drift across the gathered faces.
Each one you recognize from stories and vague descriptions from your studies. Maekar Targaryen, the youngest son–the anvil, strong and capable. His eldest children; Daeron, Aerion, and Daella. Two other young children. And then… Baelor Targaryen.
You startle when you realize his eyes are already centered on you. His eyes, the most recognizable of his features, one violet-blue and the other a deep brown, are extremely intimidating. Something lingers there, behind those mismatched eyes. Something that you cannot quite place. You look away just as his own flit toward his father.
“And those you have brought with you?” the king beckons.
Your father’s head turns in your direction. You do not look at him, but you can feel his gaze burning holes in the side of your face. You know what he is feeling. The embarrassment at having to present his beautiful, perfect daughter and then the walking depiction of his sins on the other. He looks back to the king and you let out a breath as his gaze is removed from your face.
“These are my daughters Lyanna and–”
“You are Lady Snow,” a small voice interrupts your father. “You are the bastard.” Your heart pounds in your ears as your eyes seek to identify the speaker.
Your gaze meets the violet ones of a young boy across from you. Prince Aegon, you guess. He can’t be older than eight or nine, a small, genuine smile pulling at the edges of his lips. He was smiling… at you?
His father immediately grabs his shoulder and the boy falls silent under his disapproving eyes. You do not fault the boy. If anything, he made the whole thing a bit easier. Now, everyone is on a level playing field.
“My apologies,” the king says, and you are startled to find his gaze not on your father but on you. “The boy has yet to learn when to hold his tongue.”
You smile tensely. “It is quite all right, My Grace. Ae-the boy meant no harm.”
The king smiles at you, genuinely, and you think in that moment that perhaps you had judged his character too hastily.
Your father steps forward. “She will not be of consequence to you or your family, My Grace. She knows well her place.”
You swallow thickly and any happiness or feelings of acceptance you had been mulling in disappear.
“Hm,” the king does not say more. Silence settles over the courtyard like snow blanketing a valley.
You hear the sound of boots clanking against cobble and your eyes drift up from the ground to the figure approaching. Baelor’s deep black and maroon coat swishes across the paving as he takes long strides toward Lyanna. You watch from the side of your sister as he looks deeply into her eyes and a small smile curls at the edges of his lips.
“My lady,” his voice is soft. It sounds like the crackle of fire warming a room. The sound of the crunch of snow underneath heavy boots through an old growth forest. The sound of a lone dire wolf howling from afar, searching for its missing half.
Lyanna smiles gently and curtsies. Her dark hair slips from the thick coat and tumbles into her vision like the waves of a waterfall slipping off the edge of a cliff. Everything she does is carefully measured and planned, from the slightest gesture of her hand to the expression on her face. Your sister carries an effortless grace you could only hopelessly dream of. She offers her dainty hand and Baelor reaches forward to grasp it within his own. A small smile slips across your mouth as he bends his head down to plant a curt kiss across her knuckles. You notice your sister’s lips tremble with delight.
Their hands slip away from each other and Baelor takes a step back. You think he is going to go back to his spot with his house, but then he surprises you by stepping forward toward you.
He keeps a respectful distance as he nods his head in your direction. “Lady Snow.”
You hide your tremulous hands under your coat as you do your best attempt at a curtsy. His eyes wrinkle at the edges and a smile flirts at the edges of his lips. You do not return the gesture–it is already enough that he has singled you out in the way he has, no need to stoke the flame.
As he finally steps away, you realize what emotion it is he hid behind his mismatched eyes you saw before but could not place. Curiosity.
If Winterfell is a sleeping den of wolves, then the Red Keep is charged like a viper’s nest. Everywhere you turn, there is someone lurking. You cannot ever fully escape the stares that follow you regardless of where you are or what you are doing.
Suddenly, you find yourself seeking the most recluded spots in order to escape it. You find yourself backing out of arrangements and responsibilities more often than you ever have. Sometimes you sit in your chambers all day in the hopes that the quilts will simply swallow you whole.
Instead of your usual wallowing, that morrow you slip away with the first rays of light to the courtyard. You have traded your usual plethora of thick fur-lined gowns with airy dresses that you feel that you can actually move and breathe in. People pass you and give you cursory glances, but you realise that most do not recognise you as the Stark you are without your fur. You smile to yourself for a moment at the realization before your thoughts are shattered by the sight of your sister striding toward you.
“Lyanna,” you say, surprised by her appearance so early in the morning. She is one to not be so easily roused from her chambers, rather, she usually sleeps until the sun is high in the sky.
She is dressed in a beautiful fur-lined coat and a deep emerald gown that draws eyes from every corner of the courtyard. That, along with her striking northern beauty compared to your plain commoner beauty, is the reason you shrink in on yourself when you see her headed your way.
She smiles and grasps your arm, threading it across her own in a secure hold. “Walk with me.” The statement is less of a question than it is an order. You are used to following your sister’s bidding and so you simply bite your tongue and follow her as she leads you across the courtyard.
“How have you been, sister?” she asks. You startle at the title she only scarcely afforded you. Being called Lyanna’s sister–the acknowledgement of it–was not something that you were used to.
“Just fine,” you tell her, though it could not be farther from the truth, “and you?”
The smile that whips across your sister’s face makes you realize that the question had been less a genuine one and rather a formality. What Lyanna really wanted was to tell you about her day, but she had to get all the boring questions of your own out of the way first so she didn’t come across as a complete bitch.
“I have had the best few days,” Lyanna says in hurried excitement, “the gods have really smiled down upon me as of late.”
You bite your lip to prevent yourself from questioning her. The Gods? Which, those of the Old or of the Sept?
“I’m glad to hear that,” you say. You think you might actually mean it, but a part of you stews in jealousy. While your sister thrives like a flower underneath the oppressive sun of the Red Keep, you wilt and long for the wild outside the walls.
“Baelor is so sweet,” Lyanna continues unperturbed by your lackluster reply, “he took me on a walk around the gardens yesterday. He told me all about his duties as Lord Hand, which I mostly tuned out, but then he picked a flower and gave it to me and said that I was as pretty as a rose and I nearly cried.”
You almost laugh at the irony of the differences between you and Lyanna. You would have been thrilled to hear about the duties of a hand to the king–and probably extremely put-off by the cheesy flirting.
“So your betrothed is kind?” you say, thinking back to your conversation only a few days prior and the fear you had felt on her behalf.
“Yes, oh, I couldn’t ask for anyone better.” Lyanna’s grin stretches from ear to ear as she continues. Then, it slips away as she seems to recall something. “But I will say he is awfully busy. I do not see of him nearly as much as one should their betrothed.”
Your lips twist. “Well, he is the hand of the king. I’m sure he is very busy.”
“That’s what father said,” Lyanna groans. “But my mother always said that nothing should be more important than one’s wife, or in this case, wife-to-be.”
You look over at Lyanna in amazement at her naïveté. You had distantly remembered her mother saying that, but you do not think she had meant it in respect to the situation at hand now. Surely she realized that the fate of the kingdoms held some weight against the fate of one young woman?
“Oh,” Lyanna suddenly gasps. You follow her gaze across the courtyard where an older lady in bright red robes stands under a pillar. “I have to go. I forgot I had lessons.”
“Lessons?” you say, confused.
She looks over at you as if she suddenly remembered something. Her face turns from surprised to guilty in a flash. “Yes, er, father has me in studies to become a better wife for Baelor.”
You nod even though a pit has formed in your stomach. Father had considered it all for his true daughter, but left naught for you. You try not to take it personally. You were not the one getting married, afterall. But a bitterness sweeps over you despite it.
Lyanna runs toward the septa and you watch her as she goes. Passing noblemen watch her with wide, lustful eyes, before they snap away at the realization of her status. You ball your hands into fists, but you are not sure what you are more angry about. The impropriety of the men’s reaction to your sister or the jealousy that you had never once been looked at like that before.
You turn your head away before your thoughts further circle toward destructive tendencies. You try to remember exactly what it is you had planned to do for the day when your eyes get caught on a beautiful black stallion crossing through the courtyard, led on a lead by a young boy.
He’s all muscle and velvet. His long, wavy mane stretches past his forelocks down to the start of his legs, jumping and falling against his side in tandem with his heavy trot. You do not realize you are following him until you are led across the castle to the stables. The stableboy is busy removing his halter and he does not notice you as he does, hanging it up on the wall, and then crossing the stable and leaving through a small door.
You move as if in a trance toward the beautiful beast. His dark eyes are sharp and follow your every step as you inch closer. His velvet nostrils flair and a deep noise comes crawling out of them, a swell of hot, ashy air lifting your hair from your face.
He leans over his stall door curiously and you reach out a tentative hand toward his face.
“You are beautiful,” you whisper.
Suddenly, the stallion lets out a high pitched neigh and his ears pin themselves tightly against his skull. You step backward instinctually and draw your hand back to your side.
You are not sure what you have done to offend the animal. You watch him closely.
“...His name is Vaegon.”
You do not look to the unfamiliar voice, half-assuming it is the stableboy from earlier, as your eyes stay enraptured by the stallion. “Emā se brōzi hen iā rōvēgrie vala,” you whisper. (You have the name of a great man).
The horse seems to calm in the face of your fluency. His ears lift from their tense position into their upright form. He leans forward and you are able to lay your hand onto his snout. He does not only allow you, but encourages it by pushing his face wholeheartedly into your palm. You let out an amazed laugh at his eagerness to be stroked.
You smile. “Iksan biare īlon shifang tolie sir.” (I’m glad we understand each other now).
“Skoriot gōntan ao gūrēñagon bisa?” The voice breaks in again. This time, though, the change of language makes your head spin to look at him. (Where did you learn this?)
Your hand falls from its position back to your side at the sight of the man before you. Prince Baelor. You fall to your knees automatically and drop your head.
“Stand,” Baelor orders and you do not know why for a brief moment you believed him to be anyone else. His voice is completely unique and gentle in a way you had never known a man’s to be.
You follow his order but keep your eyes stubbornly on the silver broach in the shape of a dragon keeping his cloak together.
“…Kessa ao udligon nyke?” (Will you answer me?)
Your mouth suddenly seems dry as you go to answer. “I… taught myself.” You draw your hands across your gown. “Issa daor qopsa skori emā jēda.” (It is not difficult when you have time).
The prince lets out a laugh. It is not like his speaking voice. Rather, it is loud and sharp and contradictory in every way. You assume he must be amused by the thought of a young bastard girl teaching herself High Valriyan as a choice of pleasure. Admittedly, stated so plainly, it does sound quite absurd.
He stops laughing and when you look up, his eyes are soft, held together by deep crow’s feet that reveal to you his seniority to your own years.
You can feel your throat bob as you swallow harshly.
“Gaomas aōha mandia gīmigon ziry tolī?” his eyes continue to twinkle with amusement despite the laughter having fled far off his face. (Does your sister know it too?)
“Lyanna?” you say, even though you know who he speaks of. It is not often people refer to her as your sister. It is startling when put as plainly as the prince did. “Daor, gaoman daor pāsagon sīr.” (No, I do not believe so.)
“Hm,” Baelor seems to be considering something as his mismatched eyes draw down your face. “Pār iksā mēre hen iā sȳz.” (Then you are one of a kind.)
Your eyebrows furrow before you can prevent them from doing so. Your skin prickles with unease at the thought of the stableboy watching from slats in the wood. You nervously card your hands down your gown.
“My apologies, my prince,” you say, “I have to excuse myself. I had forgotten but I made some arrangements…”
If he is offended by your response, Baelor does not show it. His lips curl only partially at the corners, a hint at the amusement he had felt before.
He nods his permission and you hurry away, nearly tripping over your skirts in the process. You blame your pounding heart on the fear of getting caught in a compromising position with Lyanna’s betrothed, but even you are not sure how true that is.
You had thought that perhaps you may have a short reprieve from having to deal with the royal family, but that hope is shattered as quickly as it arrives when Lyanna bursts into your room later that evening.
“Why are you not dressed?” she says urgently, looking you up and down in your shift with thinly veiled contempt.
You frown from where you sit at your desk. You look down at yourself. “You mean why am I dressed to rest?”
“I told you,” she starts, “that King Daeron has requested we join them for dinner tonight...”
You startle and immediately you stand. “You did not.”
“I did,” Lyanna says angrily, “are you calling me a liar?”
You shake your head. No use in making her angrier than she already is. “Of course not,” you reply. “Just… I need to get dressed, can you step out?”
The fire that had been stoked in Lyanna’s eyes douses out like water being poured over her head. She smiles and nods and steps out of your room without any more ceremony.
And so this is how you find yourself in the midst of the dining hall and smiling, jovial faces and the celebrations of marriage and the bringing of families together. Unlike before, your sister is happy this time—joking with Egg and shooting coy glances across the table at her betrothed.
You cannot find it within yourself to share in the celebration and you hate yourself for it. You are lucky to be included, to be treated more of an equal and less like the bastard you were always treated like at Winterfell and yet a part of you longs for the simplicity of fading into the background like you could so easily back home.
You are not sure why you have been included. You are not adding much to the conversation or atmosphere. Really, if anything, you’re detracting from it.
You pick at the roasted duck in front of you in mild interest. You push around sprigs of parsley and thick marinate to see the strips of white meat underneath. You take a small bite and force it down.
The back of your neck suddenly prickles with unease. You lift your eyes and immediately they clash with the deep brown of your father’s across the way.
He’s looking at you like he might an animal. Or worse, an insect. You have to remind yourself that he does not hate you, he hates what you stand for, but even that seems like a lie now.
You look back down at your plate and you feel the weight of his gaze leave you as he gets involved in conversation with Prince Maekar, if you had to guess by voice alone.
“Lady Snow,” someone says from down the table.
You immediately meet their eyes and recognize the sharp violet as belonging to Daella. Even at her young age, she is already strikingly beautiful.
Most of the eyes at the table draw to you at Daella’s beckoning as if they only just realized you were there.
Daella continues to smile at you unperturbed by the stares. “What was it like growing up in Winterfell?”
You wonder why such a question was not aimed at Lyanna. As your eyes dart to your sister, you think she’s wondering the same thing. Your experience is not the average, and most of your memories are downtrodden by the fact of your existence being a stain upon Winterfell.
If you were to be honest with Daella, which you never would be, you would tell her that your childhood was strife with heartache. That from your earliest memories you remembered being ostracized, pushed to the side for the better sister. That you always felt bitter for how you were treated and took it out on Lyanna, causing her to hate you for much of your youth. That other noble girls would turn their noses up at the idea of even touching you, much less being friends with you and that noble boys would tease others by saying that they had a crush on you, as if the very idea of courting you was the worst their mind could conjure. That your own father and step-mother were your own worst enemies.
Instead, you smile pleasantly and say, “it is much colder than King’s Landing, that is for sure.”
That gets a few laughs from around the table.
“I’ve heard it’s all snow and wolves,” Daella continues innocently, “what did you do for fun?”
What should be a simple question makes you sweat. Your mind goes blank. What had you done? Embroidery? Weaving? Reading? They’re all trivial things that make your throat clam up and your palms slick.
Lyanna leans forward when she notices you struggling. “We enjoyed the things that all noblewomen did. We are no different than you.”
You meet her eyes and give a small nod of thanks for her quick response.
Daella smiles cordially, the picture of royalty, and nods. She turns her attention fully onto Lyanna and she begins to continue her conversation with the more social of the two Stark sisters.
A few minutes pass before King Daeron stands from his position at the end of the table, raising his goblet into the air. Your eyes get caught on Baelor’s face as he sits near his father. He watches him like he hung the very stars in the sky; his eyes wide and his lips pulled into a small smile. You feel a spark of envy at your chest at the evidence of the close relationship Baelor has with his father, a relationship you would never have with your own, but you force the feeling away as Daeron begins to speak.
“I am so happy to have the North and the South united as one again,” Daeron says, “and as much as I enjoy talking. It is time to dance!”
Your breath catches in your throat as from the corner of the room a few stewards begin to pluck at lutes. A beautiful song begins to play, the chords oddly familiar but still exotic and even harder to place. You watch as Lyanna jumps to her feet, excitedly gesturing to her betrothed to dance.
You notice Baelor’s eyes linger on his father’s for a moment too long before he grabs your sister’s hand and leads her to the middle of the room. You wonder if perhaps the prince was just as embarrassed by attention like everyone else was.
He wraps his arm around your sister’s waist and Lyanna’s hands climb up to hang around his neck. They begin to four-step around the room as the music climbs and climbs and becomes jovial and intense.
As they continue to dance, others begin to join them. Baelor’s son Valarr takes his cousin Daella to the floor. Daeron swings Aegon around the room with a burst of laughter escaping his lips. The youngest princess dances with her grandfather.
You watch with solemn eyes at the display because you cannot bear to look at your father sitting across from you in the fear that he might suddenly get sentimental.
“Perhaps you’d like to dance, Lady Snow?”
Your eyes shoot toward the sudden voice by your side and you nervously clutch your gown when you see who is standing there. Prince Aerion. He’s handsome, smiling, the picture of cordiality. But you have heard things about him that makes your stomach twist at the sight of him.
You do not have the power to deny the prince. You nod and stand and take his hand as he leads you to the floor.
Prince Aerion does not say anything for a moment. You try to focus on not stepping on his feet as he guides you around the room. You had taken lessons as an adolescent, but your skills were definitely rusty.
You keep your hands a few inches from actually touching his body, partly in the fear that he may react badly if you do.
“Lady Lyanna is beautiful,” he says suddenly. Your eyes dart from watching your feet to his staring eyes. His violet ones are not the comforting presence like his uncle’s, his are predatory. A smirk licks at the edges of his lips. “But she is no match to you.”
His eyes trail from your face to your bust and his wet tongue slips from his mouth to trail a line of spit across his teeth. You stumble at the words and nearly fall backward in your attempt at creating distance when Aerion’s arm tightens around your waist to prevent you from falling.
“Careful there.” His grin splits across his face like an open wound. His teeth are like maggots wiggling inside decaying flesh. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”
You don’t say a word as his eyes continue to trail over your body. You look over his shoulder and see your father staring at you with narrowed eyes. You clench your hands from where they sit frozen on Aerion’s shoulders, a well of helplessness coming forth from your chest.
“It is unfortunate you were born from a fleabottom whore,” Aerion continues, unperturbed by your horror. If anything, he seems fueled by it. “You certainly are not marriage potential by any means… but that does not mean you are not a good lay. Tell me, did your mother teach you any tricks—“
“Prince Aerion,” a voice startles your dance partner and his eyes widen and dart to the side. You follow his gaze to where his uncle stands, his eyebrows furrowed and his hands crossed behind his back.
At the opportunity given before you, you jump away from Aerion as if his very touch scalded your skin.
“Uncle,” Aerion’s response is deferential, but in it a touch of bite rounds off the word. No doubt, he is frustrated that his toy has been ripped from his hands.
You gaze at your unlikely savior with wide eyes. You can’t help seeking your sister from behind him, but find she seems to have been enraptured in conversation with Valarr across the hall.
“Perhaps I may dance with Lady Snow for a round?” Baelor asks, though you gather it is not as much a question as he tries to make it seem.
Aerion rolls his eyes, but does not argue. He does not say anything more before he turns his back and slinks away.
You stand, frozen, staring at the spot where he once stood.
“Are you okay?” Baelor steps closer to you as he asks this.
You swallow back the desperate emotion clawing up your throat.
“I am just well,” you reply after too long a moment of hesitation.
“He will not bother you again.” your eyes snap up to meet his, and you are surprised by the anger in his clenched jaw and set gaze. “I will make sure of it.”
You are intimidated by the seriousness inflected in his voice and center your eyes on his broach again. Why should he care? It is not like Aerion had said that to your sister. You are a bastard second daughter. Your only benefit to your father is to how much dowry he can gain from the highest bidder. Baelor should not care about you. And yet, inexplicably, he does.
His hand enters your periphery and for a moment you stare, stunned, at the raised veins in his corded muscle and the rings on each of his fingers.
“You do not have to dance with me,” you tell him in lieu of a reply.
Baelor’s lips twist. “And if I want to?”
“I would say that is incredibly improper,” you tell him. You watch for a moment as his face drops. Your heart pounds against your ribcage. He goes to lower his hand, but you intercept it and guide it to wrap around your waist.
The instantaneous brightening of his face makes you feel dizzy.
Unlike with Aerion, you place your hands gently on Baelor’s shoulders and the dance comes naturally to you. You tell yourself it is because Baelor is a good lead, but a part of you actually thinks it is something else—something deeper.
You smile despite yourself and avert your eyes. Baelor’s arm is warm around your waist. You tingle from where his fingers brush your exposed skin. You suddenly feel incredibly hot, and you chide yourself for feeling such a way with such a man.
“Why do you do that?”
Your eyes meet his, alarmed. You have to wet your lips before you can speak and his mismatched eyes dart to follow the movement. “Do what, My Grace?”
“Baelor,” he corrects quickly, “call me Baelor.”
You shake your head. “You must understand I cannot. My father would have my head.”
“In private then,” he says softly, and somehow that idea makes you even more uncomfortable. The idea seems like a secret shared between lovers, something fugitive and risqué.
You nod just to appease him.
“Why do you not meet my eyes?” he clarifies.
You frown, unsure of how to answer the question. Unconsciously, your eyes drift to meet his own. His lips curl into a smile when you meet them and your heart stutters.
“I… I'm not sure, My Gra-Baelor,” you say, “it is something I have just always done.”
“You are a lady,” Baelor says and your heart leaps up to your throat when his arm tightens. “You should not be afraid to be yourself.”
“I am not a lady.” A flash of anger rips across you, so sudden it is dizzying. “I am a bastard. They are not the same.”
Something like amusement clouds Baelor’s face. Frustration makes you dig your nails into his cloak, but he only looks more joyed at the feeling. Like he’s finally gotten some kind of real emotion from you.
“My mother,” Baelor says and your grip loosens, “do you know of her?”
You try to remember, but the memory slips from you like an apparition. Your jaw clenches as you shake your head.
“She was of Dorne,” Baelor tells you, “and I do not know what you know of Dorne, but I will tell you that they do not ostracize bastards there. Any child of a royal is simply that — a child.”
You try to hide your surprise but you know he notices, for a self-satisfied smile crosses his face. How had you never known that? Had you truly missed that in your studies? You look over Baelor’s shoulder and meet your father’s gaze. Or had it been kept from you?
“All that to say,” Baelor continues, “I do not think your being a bastard should define you. I think that you let it define you more than anyone else does. I think you use it as a shield to keep yourself from feeling. I think you feel safe with it because it means that you will never have to feel anything for anyone in the way you have never known.”
Your feet stop abruptly in their dancing and you remove your hands from him. Tears spring to your eyes before you can stop them. You notice through bleary vision Lyanna’s gaze from across the room. You drop your head.
“You know nothing about me,” you whisper, “you know nothing.”
You push past Baelor and weave through the room to the doors at the far end of the hall. You do not look back once because you knew if you did you would say something that you would regret.
Later that night, sitting in your bed, sleep evades you no matter how hard you chase it. Those words echo in your mind, relentlessly pursuing you. You know it is not true. It can’t be true. And yet your hands fist in the bed below you and your breaths come out in stuttered gulps as you try to recover from the hardest blow you have ever had to take.
“You look awful,” Lyanna says in lieu of a greeting as you step into the covered seating area at the edge of the garden.
You roll your eyes. “Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”
You cannot fault her statement. Your entire body pangs with exhaustion as you lower yourself into the seat across from her. The sun filtering through the leaves of the rose tree behind her gives a ring of gold around her figure that only further exemplifies her angelic demeanor.
Lyanna reaches over to pour you a cup of tea. You watch the dark liquid gather in the teacup with weary eyes.
You take a sip, and are pleasantly surprised by the warmth that immediately flows into your sore throat.
“This is lovely,” you tell her, “what flavor is it?”
She does not appear to have heard you as she stares out at the garden. You follow her gaze and jolt with surprise when you notice Baelor strolling down the path. Even though it is in the midst of summer, he wears at least three layers.
You shrink in your seat as you recall your interaction with him from the previous night. You take another generous gulp of your tea to hide the cringe that comes with immediacy across your face.
“May I confide something in you?” Lyanna says.
You put down the tea cup and watch her with wide eyes as she threads her hands nervously through her hair.
“Okay…”
“I do not want to marry Baelor.”
Your eyes widen. “What? Did you not just say the previous morrow that you cared for him?”
“…Yes,” Lyanna says, “but I was acting too hastily. Baelor is… how can I put this… boring.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose in between your fingers and try to will yourself to stay civil with your sister. She had always been this way. Lyanna would ask for a new dress one day, then it would sit rejected in her closet for years until it was eventually passed to you. Lyanna once asked for a horse and she got it, of course, but decided she did not like the way he rode and sold it as her earliest convenience. Why should she be any different with men?
“All he wants to talk about is politics,” she continues, “I mean, what man talks about politics with his betrothed?”
“I imagine the Hand of the King does a lot of those types of talks.”
“—And then he won’t even ask how my day is,” Lyanna says, “and he won’t kiss my hand or pick me flowers or compliment my dress. It is like he does not care for me.”
“Perhaps he is just not romantic,” you say to her.
“But I want romance,” her voice quivers with emotion as she conveys this to you, “I want to be swooned and to be cared for and to be looked for in a crowd. As it stands now, he looks more at you than he does at me.”
You frown at the last statement. “That is not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Lyanna scoffs, “if we do talk about me it is about you. I was too foolish to realize that before, but now I see it clearly.”
You sigh, too tired to argue with her. As you saw it, she was just making a load of assumptions about nothing.
“Well,” you say, “what are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do?” Lyanna rolls her eyes hard. “Nothing. I can’t do anything.”
“Maybe you could talk to father,” you offer, “he always listens to you.”
Lyanna looks amused by the suggestion. “Does he? What kind of fantasy world have you been living in?”
You bite your lip.
Lyanna lets out a soft laugh and shakes her head. “Father hasn’t listened to me since I was two and ten. Ever since I got my first bleed, it’s been about what I can offer him rather than what I can get from him.”
“I… didn’t know this,” you say to her, and you truly didn’t. You had always thought Lyanna to be her father’s biggest accomplishment in life, his biggest love. You did not know his misogyny extended even onto her. “I’m sorry, Lyanna.”
She nods, taking a deep breath. “It is fine,” she says, though you are not sure it is, “I should be grateful. Many women do not get as nice a man as I am afforded.”
You smile tightly. You do not argue with that, because it is very true. Many women would die to marry as honorable and intelligent and handsome a man as Baelor Targaryen.
A moment of silence passes as you take small sips of your tea and watch the microexpressions on Lyanna’s face warp and twist as she thinks deeply about her pressing issue. Suddenly, you notice her eyes dart to something behind your head. You go to turn when she stands abruptly.
“You will excuse me, sister,” she says, “I do not want to speak to him at the moment. Maybe you could?”
Your mouth gapes helplessly like a fish as your sister quickly takes her leave. You turn your head only to see Prince Baelor Targaryen headed toward you. He looks over at your sister speed-walking away for only a brief moment before his eyes look onto yours. His hardened expression softens so quickly you may have missed it had you not keen eyes. You suddenly feel quite nauseous, but for what you are not sure.
Baelor strides forward and stops a few feet from you. He keeps his hands crossed behind his back as his eyes sweep over your form.
“You look nice in that color,” his eyes are locked onto the periwinkle of your dress, and you smile without fully meaning to. “I have never been one to enjoy the Stark colors.”
Your throat suddenly feels very dry. You do not have the heart to say that you did not like the Stark colors either. “Thank you,” you manage to reply.
Baelor, by contrast, is in the colors he always wore. Black and red. You suppose you could say something about how handsome he looks underneath the rising sun, but knowing you, it would probably come off creepy rather than genuine.
“I… apologise my sister left in such a rush,” you force yourself to say, “she forgot her lessons.”
Baelor cocks a brow. “I do not mind.”
You notice as he draws closer a young kingsguard has accompanied him. He is far enough not to hear your conversation but close enough so he could quickly intervene should you get any funny thoughts. You nearly laugh at the idea of you attempting to overpower a man that went by the nickname“breakspear.”
“Gaomagon ao hae se rūklun?” he says, going to take a seat in the place your sister had just abdicated. (Do you like the gardens?)
“They are beautiful,” you reply with a tight smile, “as is most of the Red Keep.”
“Gaomagon ao daor ȳdragon eglie valriyan sir?” (Do you not know High Valyrian now?)
Despite his amusement at you pretending not to understand the language, you stay stoic.
“I do not find it appropriate to use it,” you tell him, “and I should have never learned it. It is not for common folk to know.”
“Qilōni vestras?” (who says?)
A flush of anger rushes over you at his continued questions. “Vestan. Sir keligon.” (I said. Now stop.)
A small smirk curls at his lips, but he listens and looks away. He seems to be watching a small butterfly flitting from flower to flower nearby.
You smooth out a wrinkle on your gown. You feel an inexplicable rush of guilt.
“...I apologise,” you tell him after a moment of silence. “I did not sleep well the night prior.”
His eyes draw back to your expression. He tilts his head slightly as he considers your weary expression. You stare at his mismatched eyes and wonder how in the Seven such an anomaly of nature could occur.
“Is there a reason you did not sleep well?” he says and you realise with a jolt that his voice sounds like concern. “Are your chambers not to your liking?”
“They are just fine,” you are quick to remedy, “I just had some things on my mind.”
Things that were put into your mind by Baelor. Things that you would never admit had a greater impact on you than you could have ever imagined.
As you watch Baelor sitting across from you, you realise he is turning one of the rings on his hand incessantly. He notices your gaze and he stops.
“I did not mean to offend last night,” he tells you and you think his voice sounds earnest, “I just wished to comfort you.”
You frown and pull at a stray thread hanging off your dress. “I do not need comforting.”
“No, I’m sure you do not,” Baelor says with a toothy smile. “But perhaps you would like a friend.”
Your eyes dart up from where you had been pulling at your dress. You stare at him for a moment in shock. You have never… Perhaps this is some kind of sick joke? Does he think you a fool?
“For what purpose?” you finally settle on saying. “If you want a quick lay, I am sorry to disappoint.”
Baelor’s eyes widen. You bite your tongue until copper fills your mouth.
“Is that truly…”
You feel sick at the pity that fills his expression in that moment so you avert your eyes.
“Do you truly believe every man that is kind to you wants to use you?”
The words hit like a slap against the face. Your blood runs cold.
“Baelor,” you say finally, “every man wants to use women. And those who do not believe that are fools.”
You notice him lean forward in your periphery. He gently places his hand upon where yours continually pulls at the fringes of your dress. Your hand stills, but you do not pull away. His hand is warm, kind. It is as gentle as his voice when he speaks to you, as intelligent as his eyes when he realises your emotion. You look up at him to see his eyes narrowed in contemplation.
“Not all men,” he finally says.
He pulls away and you can only hopelessly watch as his hand rejoins his other on his lap.
You begin to think about Baelor in your every waking moment. When you walk the gardens, you watch butterflies and wonder if Baelor had seen them before. When you read your few books on High Valriyan, you think of him and the conversations you shared. When you speak with Lyanna, your mind always drifts to him.
It is a terrible thing, you think, to become friends with someone who can never fully understand you. Soon, you are talking with him during family gatherings. You are seeking him out to ask about the history of his family. You discuss the endings of popular fables.
It becomes easy to like Baelor Targaryen. Contrastingly, it becomes harder and harder to acknowledge the fact that your relationship is only temporary until the wedding in a moon. You fear what will happen after it is all gone. Will you be able to recover?
You consider this as you weave through the hallways in the Red Keep, walking without a true purpose in mind. You keep your spine straight and your hands tucked behind your back as you walk. People watch you as you walk by with curious eyes. You do not flinch under the weight of the gazes anymore. They simply slid off you like water off a bird’s back.
As you continue to walk, you consider all that you have gained since coming to King’s Landing. You no longer shrink behind your sister and father and exist underneath the shadow of their impressively large fur coats. You do not try to hide your intelligence anymore, rather, you flaunt it to anyone who cares to listen. Most importantly, you do not think you are completely rotten anymore. You do not think you are doomed to a life of fear and ostracization anymore. Hope has sprung in your chest like blooming flowers at the start of spring.
“Lady Snow?”
A voice says from behind you. You pause in your steps and cock your head in the direction of the tremulous noise. It is a little serving girl, no older than five and ten, her eyes wide and glassy like she was preparing for a hit. She could have been you. You could have been her. You swallow thickly and put on a gentle smile. You can see the girl’s shoulders drop with relief at your aparent kindness.
“Yes?”
“Your father requests you in his chambers,” she tells you softly.
Your face hardens without you even realising. You watch as the girl drops her eyes and scurries away.
You begin your journey toward your father’s chambers with slow steps. You are not opposed to making him wait. Anyways, you could use the extra time to consider what he might say to you.
Your father, Lord Stark, is not a particularly kind man. He is gruff and hardened by years of living in Winterfell’s unflinching cold. He had always been worse to you. He never hit you or was particularly cruel, but it was the little things. You were always cast aside. Your sister was doted on, you were a brief consideration. For many years, you thought your jealousy to be born of a place of wrong, for you were much better off than many bastards in the realm. You were not living on the streets, selling your body for scraps, proliferating with more bastards to carry on your name. But you were not equal, either. As you later realised, the rejection wore worse on you than one could ever imagine.
Lyanna’s mother died when she was five and ten. She’d had a persistent sickness that eventually stole her breath. You had not cried for her. Your father and sister thought you were a monster for not. But why should you? She had never loved you, she had borne you like a responsibility, not as the impressionable child you were.
You did not cry for those who caused you pain. But you held Lyanna still and allowed her tears to soak your gown.
You stop outside the door of your father’s chambers. You had not been inside before, but you remembered it from the tour when you first arrived.
You place your knuckles across the mahogany door and rap them against it softly. A part of you hopes that it is quiet enough that he will not hear it. That you will have an excuse to escape before he notices.
The hopes are in vain, for he calls you in moments after you knock.
The chambers are quiet. Your father sits halfway leaned over a piece of parchment at his desk, a nearby candle casting great shadows across his face. You step closer. His eyes slowly draw up to your face and you are at once struck by the weariness in his expression.
He looks as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. Dark circles are under his eyes. His skin has an odd pallor to it. For a moment, you fear he might be sick like your step-mother.
Then his lips part.
“It took you long enough to get here.”
Your sympathy leaves you with the next breath that escapes your lips.
“I had not known you were searching for me.”
He gestures toward the chair across from his desk and you lower yourself carefully onto it. Your father’s eyes watch you closely.
“How have you been?”
Of all the questions you could have expected from your father, this was not one of them. You feel your eyebrows pinch together.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, how have you been?” he repeats.
“I have been… fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says. Then, his eyes go back down to his parchment and he begins to write something down.
You scoff at his audacity after a few seconds pass in silence. “I’m sorry, did you need something from me, father?”
His eyes slowly trail back up to your face. Suddenly, you feel incredibly uncomfortable. He looks… sympathetic? You frown, tingling fear spreading through your limbs.
“What is the matter?” you say urgently. “What has happened?”
Lord Stark’s throat bobs as he considers your question. “I have been speaking with Prince Maekar often these past few days,” he begins. “And he has made me a very… generous offer.”
You freeze. “You did not.”
His eyes soften. “It will be a good match for you.”
Your hands tremble as they go to cup your head. Your eyes slide closed at the realization. He allows you a few minutes to process this. You finally open your eyes and look up at him.
“Which one is it?” you say, “please… do not tell me it is the youngest.”
“Maekar believes that you and his second son will make a good match.”
“Second son,” your voice sounds not like your own. Everything feels like it is happening from outside of your body. You tremble all over, your heart pounding in your ears. “Aerion.”
Your eyes dart to his. Fear flees to your lips. “You cannot… Aerion will kill me.”
Your father cocks a brow. “You are being dramatic.”
“I am not,” you say quickly, desperately, “have you truly not heard of his exploits in the Street of Silk?”
“Your future husband’s hobbies will be of no consequence to you,” your father replies, “you cannot find one nobleman in the seven kingdoms that does not seek the company of women outside the marital bed.”
Anger, hot and rare and real, sweeps through you.
“Just because you sleep with any woman that gives you the time of day does not mean every man does,” you bite back. You stand. Your father does too.
“You will not speak to me in that way,” your father’s face is flush with anger, “no matter what you believe of me, I have done more for you than any man would in my position. I have gifted you with this.”
“Gifted me?!” your voice is shrill. You thrust your finger into his chest, pressing hard. “You have given me nothing. You have cursed me with this… this life.”
“Do not say that.”
“But it is true, is it not?” you continue, unperturbed, “if you had not slept with that whore we would not be in this mess. Your life would be better. My life would be.”
“Do not speak about your mother in that way.”
You shake your head. “What the fuck do you care? She was a fucking whore!”
His hand shoots out before you can react and he grabs your arm in a tight, unflinching hold. Your breath turns stuttery. You are frozen, forced to stare into his dark, encompassing eyes.
“Your mother was not a whore,” he says, his voice quiet. “She loved me.”
You lean forward until your noses are but a breath apart. “Is that what she told you when you spilled inside of her? When you gave her two silvers for her trouble at the end of the night?”
You think the anger is about to spill over. You think he might strangle you, slap you across the mouth for the audacity. Then, the fire leaves him all at once like water dousing a flame. He releases your arm and you take three hurried steps back.
He drops his head and turns his back from you. “You will marry Aerion. End of discussion.”
You feel the tears before you can prevent them. Time moves in a blur as your feet take you out of the room and through the winding halls. You keep your head down, shrink in on yourself when people stop to look at you. You are ruined. Your life is over.
You turn into an empty corridor and place yourself against the wall. The tears overflow and flood your vision, falling in rivulets down your cheeks and neck and the front of your dress. Your mind spins with the realization you will never live freely again. Becoming Aerion’s wife will be an execution of you mind, body, and soul.
The tears do not stop even when you hear the sound of footsteps. You simply turn your back and continue to shake with sobs.
“Please leave,” you tell the approaching figure.
They do not listen. A hand falls on your shoulder and you finally turn.
Your sobs become intertwined with a gasp.
Baelor stands behind you. His eyes watch you with a mix of solemnity and understanding. His face is bathed in shadow from the ill-lit corridor, but even through it you can see his lips pulled into a soft frown. You watch him as his eyes trail slowly down your face.
“You knew,” your realization comes with another choked sob. “You knew and did not tell me.”
“I just found out this morning,” Baelor says. “My brother told me.”
You shake your head. “My life is over.”
“I will do everything I can to convince my brother and father it is a bad choice,” he says and your mouth gapes like a fish at the admission. “I will help you any way I can.”
“Why…” you feel like you could puke. “Why would you help me?”
His beautiful eyes dart between the two of yours. His jaw clenches and you trace the muscle as it disappears into his close-cropped shave.
“Because you are my friend.”
You watch him as he offers this as an explanation in stunned silence. You trail from his gentle mismatched eyes to the mole that rests just beneath his eye to the dark salt-and-pepper beard to the faint wrinkles that pull at the sides of his lips as he offers you a smile. You can feel his breaths as they hit your skin, as they fan across your face and heat your blood. Your eyes become locked fixedly on his parted lips.
You lean forward before you can stop yourself and you fully place your lips upon his. He is frozen for a moment and your heart stutters. You suddenly feel like the biggest fool there is. Then, his hand lifts from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck and he is suddenly returning the kiss with full force.
He tastes sweet, like the blueberry tarts served in the morrow. You feel like you are drowning in him. His nose scrapes against the side of your own. His hand lifts and cradles your cheek, softly stroking the saltwater-slick skin.
You kiss him like you are drowning and he is your oxygen. It is raw, passionate, and self-preserving. You drag a hand up from his neck to scrape against his thin hair and he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.
You go to tilt your head to kiss him harder when you hear something from behind him.
You start to pull away when you suddenly hear a gasp. You rip yourself away and Baelor spins to see who has witnessed your indiscretions.
You recognise the face immediately. Her dark, curly hair. Her wide, angelic eyes. Her mouth, which has fallen into an oval.
You immediately launch forward away from Baelor, but the damage has already been done.
You go to reach for her but she moves away.
“Lyanna, please–”
She turns her head from you and brings a hand up to stifle her shock. She stumbles away.
“Lyanna!” you call.
But she does not turn around as she runs off.
Your life is over. You are quite certain of that now.
