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ASOIAF
A Knight Of The Seven Kingdoms
Thoughts about Lyonel Baratheon:
modern au!, siblings
Lyonel Baratheon's wife saga:
Mediations â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: There is no such thing in the world that would cool down Lyonel's spirit, but when intercession is needed and his lady wife has to put up a good word for him â well, then even the Laughing Storm can sense the seriousness. Who would have guessed that the spooked deer he married would turn not only into his true friend but also the closest advisor?
Name the riches â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lyonel plays a game of provocation to stir some audacity in his newlywed wife, but she is quick to catch up after realizing the position she holds. Lord Baratheonâs assurances that he is not a jealous man turn out to be dramatically untrue.
Mark of the Stags â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lady Baratheon wakes up next to her husband after a long, frantic night. The only unusual thing is the ache on her skin that happens not to be a bruise, neither Lyonel's worshiping touch. The marks on their bodies donât seem to worry the Lord very much, though. He is, in fact, quite thrilled.
Faint memory, promising pathways â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lord Baratheon is too occupied with the presence of his darling wife to follow his companions. He claims to remember the way⊠Well, nature isn't so bad, after all, then why not spend the whole day away from the castle?
Harlotsâ rank [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lord Baratheon has to face a fact hard to swallow â that his darling wife thinks of him as a disloyal dog...
Lady of Heartache [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: The only people afraid of Lord Baratheon were men, but how could you know that? You heard warnings about him and the duties of a wife too often to not let them get to you.
The Backbone and Gravity [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Some proud stormlanders could argue that impassive and deliberate were not words to describe a storm. They existed to be rapid and to destroy, did they not? Lord Baratheon, though, knows that the loudest, most ruthless thunder comes only with his wifeâs merciless stare..
The Strangerâs heiress [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x deity!reader
summary: During his travel to seal a new partnership, Lord Baratheon is met with a strange messenger sent to House Horpe. The veil and cowl fail to hide the ladyâs true identity, and soon enough, Lyonel finds himself mesmerized by what others see as fearsome and cursed. Customs happen to mean very little for him, though, when there is a divine woman to save.
Fair Trading [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x Dornish!reader
summary: The fierceness of a storm and dornish habits donât seem to match each other very well, but perhaps Lyonel Baratheon is not that much of a true abrupt stormlander. Or maybe itâs just that you, a princess of Dorne, can find it in your heart to accept such a stormlander as your man.
Blood makes noise [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x Bracken!reader
summary: Lyonel always said it is all about honor, protecting the good name of his house and kins. If he was truly honest, though â well, he would have to say he walked this earth for fun and the thrill of some risk. Oh, and impressing his lady wife all over again!
Knight's mercy [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x witch!reader
summary: Everyone would benefit from Lyonel keeping his new friendships to himself, but there was also no one who could stop him. Now after the worst experience of his life, ser Duncan has to bear the intrusive presence of Lord Baratheon and the â so called â witch, that he somehow convinced to stick aroundâŠ
Culprits [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x witch!reader
summary: Just like any other dark time the plague brings the need to search for culprits. It also seems that the Baratheonsâ subjects forgot what a true fury of their lord is.
Harbingers of sorrow â Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Terrifying visions that surround your husband with blood and pain keep appearing in your sleep, and despite his assurance, you decide to ask for advice that turns out to be meaningless.
[Part 2 â Bloodâs Devotion]
[Part 3 â Brother's Love] i'm struggling here okay
Humiliation â Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Baelor Targaryen's wife losing her temper awakes some unexpected possessiveness in the prince...
Summertime â dilf!Baelor Targaryen x fem!reader [modern AU]
Doubt your man â Maekar Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: If he only could, Maekar would gladly sit by his wifeâs side through her whole sickness. When he finally manages to run from his duties and rush to her, he has to throw a certain man outside the chamber and care for the woman himself. Just like he prefers it.
Mourning Feast â Maekar Targaryen x fem!reader
summary: Maekar Targaryenâs bride seems to be the most tragic lady in The Seven Kingdoms. Not only is she to be wed to a man of grim and sharp reputation, but also her father gets slaughtered on her wedding day.
Hidden Presence â Maekar Targaryen x servant!reader
summary: Deep at heart Maekar is furious that it took him so long to finally meet the woman that everyone seems so suspiciously fond of. Nothing is worse than the fact that his brother beat him to it, though.
[part 2]
summary: Despite Maekar's distrustful temper, he's even worse at resisting the woman he met in the kitchens than others. In fact, he would like nothing more than to have her for himself and himself only⊠He fails to notice how hard that can be considering her underground trade, hidden by a shroud of mystery.
[younger! Maekar x servant!reader]
summary: Once Prince Maekar set his eyes on the most promising of all cooks, no one could pull him away from her. He is too young, too smitten, and much too prideful to hide the affair and its fruits.
My Moon, My Man â Daeron Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: An imperfect bride for a flawsome man â it was not a tragic match by any means, but the heavy shroud of expectations made affection morph into doubt. It felt like a choke, the duty imposed by House Rosby, tightening on the necks of Daeron and his wife.
Dim Refuge â Daeron Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Life as Prince Daeronâs wife sometimes made you feel like the sky would fall on your head while you and your husband were just a pair of lambs sent to slaughter...
Lamblike â Daeron Targaryen x commoner!reader
Summary: The dragon was about to lose a tooth or two, and you werenât having itâŠ
House of The Dragon
Gwayne Hightower's restrained wife
Vestiges and Laments â Gwayne Hightower x reader
summary: After the battle at Rookâs Rest all Gwayne wants is you. Hopefully longing just like he is and cherishing his safe return. And yet he is met with an absence that makes his breath hitch and grim remarks he does not appreciate. Despite being a lord and a noble knight he is also nothing but a man, and how long can a man go without the comforting presence of his wife? And especially a wife who is worth worshipping, every battle and every whispered word of blasphemy?
In Body and Mind â Gwayne Hightower x bethroted!reader
summary: You werenât even wed to Ser Gwayne yet, and it already seems like you are closer to being a widow than a wife. Still, despite the whispers of worry and alarming omens, he manages to make a promise you decide to cling to.
Runaway party â Aegon & reader & Larys rant
Game of Thrones
True Knight â Davos Seaworth x fem! Estermont reader
Complete [wc: 10k+]
Summary: Lady Estermont, there was something truly strange about her. Whenever she appeared, the weird feeling came too. In the silence and ever-humming sound of the sea, in shadows, like something watched. Watched and waited. It was not an eerie presence, just something deeply buried that screamed to be unleashed again.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
ao3 link
Resident Evil
Anemone â Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader [southern gothic au]
summary: The idea of being married to Leon is⊠suitable and appropriate. Heâs an older, strange cop whose presence gives some people the creeps, but apparently he is just an individual. All you seek is an opportunity for a better life⊠even if it might mean shattering his peace. But he shouldnât worry, should he? Youâre a good woman, after all, and the arrangement is only proper.
I still dream of violence â older!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader
[part 2] Angry at the waiting game
summary: When a young married couple disappears, who could be better at investigating the case than a pair of special agents used to working together and known for their high efficiency? Well, probably nobody, but someone clearly ignored the fact that one of them should retire a long time ago, and they are both too good at their job to rot in rural America. Not to forget the questionable nature of their professional relationship and mutual tension.
My Pretty Woman In a Ball Gown â Leon Kennedy x co-worker!reader [soon]
summary: Leon was not a man who asked for commitment â he simply gave it. And before a stressful gala, he is, oh, so committed to youâŠ
old man leon x girlfirend!reader
Nothing in the world belongs to me â Leon Kennedy x neighbour!reader
summary: Affection and attachment. Strange things that Leon saw as great values, yet ones he couldnât afford because of his job. He didnât know if it was a sense of responsibility or fear of disappointment that made him so reluctant⊠Well, good thing that the famous âcat distribution systemâ doesnât care. Nor his luck for incredibly charming neighbours.
Missâ Mrs. Kennedy? Well, your wife⊠â Leon Kennedy x DSO agent!reader
Summary: You were pretty sure you preferred being strangled to death on a mission over having a phone call with a stranger⊠Embarrassing as it felt. Luckily, your closest co-worker is there to save you.
Forever's Gonna Start Tonight â rookie!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
summary: Leon takes care of you after a graduation ball at the police academy â just like he always does. Or perhaps this time itâs you caring for him?
The Pitt
Short thoughts about:
Brendon Park & ortho music drama
John Shen enjoying his wife's sleep routine
Fics:
Bad Visions â Jesse Van Horn x fem!reader
summary: An outburst from a patient in pain makes you rather indisposed for the rest of the day, but luckily you're not left alone. Jesse is easily known as one of the most reliable people in the ER â of course he will help his favorite coworker with making it to the end of the shift!
part two
I want it with you â FWB!Jack Abbot x fem!reader
summary: Jack Abbot is far from being badly self-conscious. Still, heâs plagued by obstinate thoughts and questions that he believed he could get rid of â all caused by the woman that he was supposed to be seeing only for one thing.
Direct Fire â Jack Abbot x SWAT!reader
summary: It is hard to consider saving somebodyâs life a failure. You get gravely judged for making a mistake, though, and getting hurt in the process. Your squad mates look at you like it was nothing but a show-off. Luckily, thereâs also Doctor Abbot who not only understands you to the bone, but also uses the occasion to do what he wanted for a while.
Sprezzatura â knight!Jack Abbot x princess!reader
summary: A single tear that stained the Princessâs cheek saved Jackâs life and made him bid his existence to the task of protecting her. As a Captain of the guard he finds new reasons for his devotion. They come with temptations, though, and ones Abbot can barely resist. And the Princess â she mastered the skill of effortless grace to mask the tension between her and her loyal guard. Unfortunately, an inconvenient betrothal was arranged by her fatherâŠ
Sacred bloody route â Rust Cohle x fem!reader [wc: 30k+]
summary: Rust was a heavy smoker since his late teenage years, and he picked up his liking for Camel Blues from the first woman he ever cared about. He knew she was the one part of his âprogrammingâ that he would not be able to deny himself: memory of the feeling, longing for the grim days when a shred of light made it worth living. Lust can morph into love. Love â into resentment, but care⊠Care will remain the same.
chapters:
I. The once forgotten route, now used by many
II. Don't you love her madly? Crash!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
III. Seven horses seem to be on the mark young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
IV. A lonely song of a deep blue dream young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
V. Donât you love her as sheâs walking out the door? young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
VI. All your love is gone 1995!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
VII. Void. 2012!Rust Cohle x reader
ao3 link
Call of Duty
Form and Void â ex!John Price x wife!reader x Simon Riley
summary: In all the years of your relationship with Price, you would never guess heâll be the crazy type of ex. Prying, never losing hope, annoying one â yes, but tormenting you and bothering your kids every second he could? It made all three of you anxious, worried about your every step. For years, you had a perfect marriage, and in one second, it turned into hell. The only good thing is that you have someone to call when your ex outdoes himself by causing a scene at your work, throwing punches, and scaring innocent people. It might be tense between you and Simon afterwards, but what choice do you have?
Hunting hound â huntsman!Johnny MacTavish x fem!reader
summary: Johnny didnât mind when you looked at him the way you would at a stray dog. He was a hunting hound, after all, and he would cherish you as his master. You werenât his to protect and worship, though.
Distractions â Simon Riley x fem!141!reader [soon]
[part 1]
[part 2]
summary: Simon wants to make sure the recruits know who they truly deal with after learning that one of them disrespected you. He puts some teaching into the kidâs head, also interrupting your session of distraction. You were supposed to watch the loudmouthed boy, but hey, a present for Simonâs birthday wonât figure out itself! He turns out to be a lot more picky than you would think. Apparently, what he likes best is holding your hand close, walking with you as a couple, and allowing himself to forget that itâs just for the good of the mission.
Red Dead Redemption
Cold dark earth (I'll crawl home to her) â Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
summary: For years, Arthur knew no remorse. At nights he slept peacefully as long as he could feel his woman close. None of them ever begged for another chance â he couldn't imagine an angelic person like his wife would have to ask for salvation. And him? He didnât want anything else. Yet the ransome came in the small fragile flesh. A pale body, that with its trembling shook your whole world. Arthur wasn't punished for his sins with the boy's presence, no â it was much worse. It was his son, his frail son, and his weak body, who had to bear whips aimed at his father.
Devil's resting place â Arthur Morgan x vampire!reader
summary: The fragile sepulchral finding except her charm happens to hold an unknown, eerie strength. What can be sensed by women and children remains invisible to Arthur⊠or perhaps it is his wish to not see what he truly lusts after?
Fellow conman? â Hosea Matthews x actress!reader
summary: Saint Denis' theatre, a house of art and majesty, gets burned down in a terrible accident, but you have a friend who will help you out. He's afraid of how you will handle the company of ruthless outlaws, but it happens that actors and criminals are much alike. Or perhaps you simply consider it a similar job? The presence of a fellow conman certainly helps you adjust, and during a robbery where the two of you play main roles, he realizes there's something more to his admiration than woman's grace and solidarity of profession.
1914 Jack Marston x wife!reader
Cyberpunk 2077
Runaway champ â Viktor Vektor x fem!V
summary: A grand champion has been craved with Viktor's help, and then a father is involved. The thing about fathers⊠well, they tend to turn into phantoms, hunting memories of their children, slowly creeping into their minds, taking control, and pushing them towards danger. V used to come to Viktor for everything: arguments, breakups, loss⊠Now she disappeared. He never really stopped looking until he was held at gunpoint and blessed with an indirect message from her to leave her alone. So he did, but still hoped. That's until 5 years later she is shoved on his doorstep by Jackie and Misty, tired, bloody and in great trouble.
ao3 link
Bloodied Boots, Envious Echoes â Johnny Silverhand x fem!V
summary: In the world of Goro Takemuras and Solomon Reeds, who would have thought that it'd be a random dude making Silverhand go crazy jealous?
Far Cry 5
The savior angel â Joseph Seed x fem!reader
Summary: You couldn't refuse to take care of this man. You wanted to, you really did, but it would be a sin dirtying you for the rest of your life. You wanted him gone and out of your life, but it was your job to help. Your call. Maybe you would feel more compassion if he werenât your father. Your work lies long forgotten, while he, in his new health, seeks the doing of the Lord. Then Joseph Seed appears to praise your effort and direct his people towards the light. Towards the side where he is the shine.
ao3 link
Uncharted
Victor Sullivan x reader
Samuel Drake x reader
Kingdom Come: Deliverance
Rattle [request] â Henry of Skalitz x bandit!reader
summary: Henry doesnât try to cross shady peopleâs paths on purpose â well, usually. Unfortunately, he has the questionable luck of stumbling over a certain outlaw and recognizes that they arenât much of a danger due to their condition. Heâs a good christian, though, so why not offer a helping hand even to those who steal from your pocket?
Fargo
Purgatory Blight â Gator Tillman x wife!reader
summary: Being Gatorâs wife wasnât a bliss despite his restless tries to make everything better. You didnât know what the harsh treatment that came from the Tillmans was supposed to prove. Did you belong to the family now, so all the rules applied to you too, or were you still a stranger standing on sacred land? What you knew for sure was that your husbandâs precaution grew more visible every day. He rounded you like a guarding dog whenever his father was nearby, and yet he felt like it wasnât enough anymore.
summary: You werenât even wed to Ser Gwayne yet, and it already seems like you are closer to being a widow than a wife. Still, despite the whispers of worry and alarming omens, he manages to make a promise you decide to cling to.
tags: fem!reader, younger!gwayne, pre the events of hotd, arranged marriage, first impressions, injuries, talks of death, gwayne is a smooth talker, no use of y/n, badly proofread, english is not my first language.
word count: 4.5k+
At first, when Gwayne regained the scraps of his own consciousness, he wasnât sure if he should chuckle at his luck, thank the gods or cry out from the pain. He wished to do it all at once, and yet it seemed too difficult in his dreamy state. He was dizzy from blood loss and the herby scent in his bedroom.
All that occupied his mind, no matter if he was awake or fell into the grasp of suffering and delusion, was the memory of you. It was strangely comforting. Even as a little boy he imagined it to be the grand order of things in the world â a wounded or dying knight was bid to dream about his lady wife. Or a future one, that is.
Back then he imagined the woman of his life to be his friend as well. A trustee that he could lay his heart out for without worry. Someone who would listen and share. He thought about being gifted a bow made of lace that belonged to her when he left for one of his brave, knightly adventuresâŠ
But then he grew up, matured, and the âadventuresâ turned into handling a pack of deathly outlaws that rummaged the nearby lands and the lady of his heart was a betrothed that he had only seen twice during one day.
The first one was in the dim morning before his departure. He watched you from afar, didnât dare to speak or approach, but his eyes seemed to be glued to your figure. He wished that he would be able to turn and walk away, not wanting to stare at a lady who wasnât aware of being watched, but he simply couldnât.
He wasnât exactly enamoured, not in love at first sight as some said he should be, but he stood there at the top of the hill and his body refused to move. It was an awe of some kind, that for sure.
It has been barely a day after you traveled to Oldtown â sadly he couldnât welcome you himself, leaving that job to his father â and the walls were apparently already choking you. Thatâs at least what he saw on your face when you strolled down the glade. Relief and calmness as if you were allowed to take a deep breath after a time of suffocating inside.
When the expedition that he was about to lead to take care of the rogues once for good was decided, he didnât mind leaving at all. The order was given by his cousin just a few days before your announced arrival in the city and Gwayne felt a pinch of disappointment about that, but he did nothing to change the matter.
Not because he didnât care about you as a future spouse, but because it was necessary. Someone had to put an end to the suffering of the smallfolk and attacks upon the Hightower caravans and the gods wanted it to be him. Simple as that. He didnât think too much about it, but the idea of your possible approval made him bolder.
Perhaps you would feel safe knowing he was a man who could manage the lands of his family, his people. His thieves and murderers as well⊠It could be naive to think you even cared, he deduced, but there was a chance, right? You certainly deserved to feel safe. His mind was very strictly set on that and for a long while there was no hesitation in him.
And yet when he saw you there in the morning he truly wished that he could stay.
It was an ethereal sight in a way that he could not put into words exactly. Something chaste and pure that at the same time made him feel warm all over his body. He set his eyes on the silks, the light nightgown, not see-through at all but still delicate. The material shone in the pale sun in a way that made him want to touch it. Its ends got wet from the morning dew as it almost danced around you when you walked through the high grass.
He could clearly see when you stopped in worry and looked around, certainly feeling watched. He took a deep breath and straightened his back before moving into the castle. He had no business here, after all, scaring his dear lady. His wife-to-beâŠ
You grimaced and pulled your cloak more over your shoulders. You thought that it was a mistake, even if the anxious feeling didnât appear again.
You were indulging in your silly wants too much probably and too early after getting here. You could allow such things at home, even if you were always met with a punishment, but here? âSomeone could think that youâre out of your mindâ, said your father once during your travel here, lecturing about your customs that he called fussy and not suitable for a lady.
Well, even if it was indeed a mistake, it was a sweet one for Gwayne.
The sight stayed with him. Warmed him during the lonesome nights that he spent on the ground in his poorly made tent with his company. Usually he cared for his own comfort but now there was no time for making a better camp or finding an inn. Now he didn't care.
He wanted to go back as quickly as possible.
It was also the last thing that moved in front of his eyes before a mace crashed into his side and he let out a scowl worthy of a wounded animal.
You werenât sure if it was the feeling of worry that settled under your skin or the thunder that roared in the distance that kept you awake. You didnât peek in the mirror in the dim light of the candles but you could already feel how puffed your eyes were from the lack of sleep.
You werenât the only one who felt deeply disturbed. Your dear, loyal servant joined you in your chamber somewhere around midnight with a hushed apology and begged so you would let her stay by your side. Thereâs something eerie about this night, milady, she said, something very wrong about it, I tell you. Even if you wished to scold her for her superstition, you felt it too.
So you spent the night together, calming each other by soft conversations and hushed laughter.Â
Finally when the colour of the sky turned from deep black into grim blue, you could hear someone run through the corridor. You were unused to the sounds of the High Tower; the echoes often morphed into the sounds coming from the port, never failing to make you shiver or look over your shoulder. And yet still you could recognize that something was wrong now.
There was surely some confusion downstairs from the chamber that was given to you and you could even tell apart a few familiar voices.
Your servant scoffed and told you not to eavesdrop under the door as itâs âunladylikeâ.
âAnd being uninformed isnât?â You muttered back, causing the good girl to roll her eyes.
âFine,â she said and bowed in an unserious manner, âfine, my dearest lady. I will go check it for you.â
And she did, even though you could tell that she was even more anxious than in the night. Perhaps there was really something bad in the airâŠ
Waiting for her to come back you moved to the window and watched the first light and last drops of the nightâs rain.
She ran back inside as if something was burning behind her. She almost tripped into a nearby cabinet, barely managing to close the door before raising her voice.
âOtto Hightower wants to see you. It's about the young ser, m'lady!â She made a dramatic pause to take a breath.
âSer Gwayne?â
âAye! Some say he's dead,â she reported.
It almost made you drop the gown that you tried to wrap around your shoulders. You gulped hardly, feeling a knot growing in your throat.Â
Gods. Over the day you have spent in Oldtown you rushed your thoughts away from him, always indulging in too much worry. You found it impossible to approach the matter with calmness, so you simply decided that it will all solve itself when you finally face him for longer. Why panic about the things you cannot change, after all?
You pitted the poor knight deeply when you heard about his condition, but you kept your hopes. You werenât given any details about his injury anyway upon the request of your father and the âgood willâ from Lord Otto.
But if the young Hightower was gone, or at least in critical state, then what would happen to you? You got used to being a lady in a strange town, waiting for her future husband, even if the title grew bitter on your tongue, but now? Not even married properly and already tied to a dead manâŠ
Your maid noticed your trembling look, almost sick. She was pale herself but she moved to help you with your cloak and rubbed your shoulders.
âWe have to rush, m'lady,â she instructed gently
You breathed the morning air, trying to calm yourself. âYes⊠As you say.â
Moving through the staircases of the Tower you could spot how unfamiliar it was in comparison to its looks during the day. Night still lingered in the corridors, despite the first rays of the sun. You understood the seriousness of the situation â at least you thought so â and yet you regretted not taking the time to put on your gown. You shivered from the cold, wearing only your nightwear under the cloak that at least protected your dignity.
There was something pleased in the eyes of your lord father when you finally joined him and Lord Otto Hightower. As if he was glad you look a bit disheveled. A look of a woman who truly tried to rush. You werenât sure if it was a display of your devotion to the marriage, but if so, then so be it. Faked one, surely, but only you would know. You and your servant, that is.
âYou took your time, girl,â he greeted grimly. Apparently it was his rule to always scold you, always say you could do better even if he knew it was impossible.
âIââ your voice died in your throat when you spotted the worried looks of people around. You decided to merely bow to your father before turning to Lord Hightower. âI offer my apologies if I made you wait too long, my lord.â
You knew it was better to pretend you were absolutely oblivious. Jumping in with questions about Gwayneâs health would surely be improper.
He welcomed your words with a calm half-smile, but you could tell he was deathly worried. His typical compostured face stayed the same and yet there was fear in his eyes.
âIt is about my son,â he said slowly, as if it pained him to use his voice. âHis condition turned worse, my lady, and he asked forââ
âHe's not dead then?â It broke out of your mouth before you could bite your tongue. Gods, you cringed at the awful silence your words caused and could almost hear your fatherâs jaw clenching. âIâI feared the worst, forgive meâŠâ you tried to explain.
Lord Otto shook his head and offered a comforting expression.
âHe is not dead, no,â he assured. âHe wishes to see you.â
Your breath hitched and you caved under the need to look at your father.
âMe?â You repeated.
âYou are his betrothed, after all.â
You nodded in obedience, certainly not willing to argue in such a position. Fair, you were his betrothed but he only saw you once⊠You were sure you could never forget the way he looked sitting on his horse, bowing his head when he spotted you. Well, you never imagined he could be as impressed by your presence as you were with his.
Your father was deeply offended when he first heard that Gwayne was to depart from the city just a day after your arrival. You were much more dull about it, listening to the stories of a band of murderers, rapists and thieves who deserved to be banished or hanged with little interest.
From what you've been told the young Ser Hightower made it all about his dignity and skills, tracking them for many days that you spent in an unfamiliar city. You wished you could detest him in the depth of your heart. It would somehow be comforting if you were allowed to hate him for showing so little interest in you, and yet your own nature didnât let you.
It was flattering when someone said he left to impress you, wanting to prove that he could not out protect his city but also you, as a wife. But it meant nothing in the face of the facts. If all the careful plans went well, you would already be his⊠And here you were. Not yet a wife, still with your father and with a husband-to-be on the edge of death.
Your hopes and dreams werenât grand, not unreachable. Just that he would be a friendly soul⊠Apparently the gods decided it was too bold anyway. Like you were being punished for ever wanting a good fate for yourself.
You followed the men that led you to Ser Gwayneâs bedroom that you have avoided during the last days. You were too afraid of being spotted and too afraid to hear groans of pain coming from inside.
âMy lady,â Otto approached you again. âPlease, keep it in your mind that my son isâŠâ He didnât finish, clearly troubled by his own thoughts. With a shake of his head he placed a hand on your shoulder. âWe shall pray for his recovery and that's all we can do. Do not take the things he might say to your heart and don't treat his promises seriously.â
What a strange thing to come out of a worried fatherâs mouth. Whatever he might have meant by that, you nodded.
âAs you say, Lord Otto.â
âPlease,â he said, opening the door for you and letting you pass.
You almost jumped in place when the heavy oak wood shut behind you with a whack. It was nothing, you told yourself, just facing a wounded man, but it sure felt like walking into lionâs jaws.
The place was dark for many days now due to the thick drapes. It carried this specific aura of a tomb, if you were honest with yourself. Something half-dead, a bit forgotten and worrying. You allowed yourself to breathe in the scent of herbs, candles and something unfamiliar. Something⊠manly, perhaps.
You wanted to speak up, greet the resting man, but the first thing you noticed when you looked at the bed was how evenly his chest raised and fell. His face was pale beyond comprehension but calm, with his eyes closed.
Gods be mercifulâŠ
You heard the whispers that even when he was conscious his mind wasn't really here and now they have sent you to him. He was no dragon and you were no sheep on a slaughter but you felt equally out of place.
Even if it was the truth that he had asked for you, he fell asleep again, so what were you supposed to do? What if he's scared by waking up to the sight of an almost unfamiliar face? What if it would harm his fragile health now?
But you couldn't walk out like that. What would you say to his father? That the sight of his almost vulnerable figure on the bed scared you too much?
That would be a lie too pathetic that could set a bad light on you. You werenât scared of him, anyway. He looked in that peculiar way that makes others want to care for the sick and poor. It crossed your mind that you would feel humiliated if the roles were turned. If it was you on the big bed, covered in damp, bloody dressings and only a linen shirt, and him standing over you.
You sat next to him on the bed slowly, clearing your throat in hopes he would wake up. He reacted with a small grimace, but that was it. With a deep sigh you released some of your nerves and looked around before your eyes returned to him.
You noticed that his hand laid on the sheets, close to you. Not sure what possessed you, you decided to brush it gently at first. His skin wasnât as cold as you imagined it to be. Quite the opposite, actually. Emboldened by how it felt against your touch you moved to pick it up and lay on your palm. With a gentle squeeze you looked up at his face.
âYou cannot die,â you whispered at first, testing the sound of your own voice in the overwhelmingly silent room. Then you spoke up firmly. âYou can't die, my lord, because I refuse to go back home and remain by my father's side. That is simply not happening, so you mustââ
His hand seemed to turn even warmer in your hold and twitched. Before you could realize that his fingers wrapped around your wrist you heard a snarl. Then the man fell into a fit of laughter, making you stand up in shock, but his grip kept you close.
The laugh turned into cough rather quickly and you consider it his punishment for scaring you. Even though he was fighting to take a deep breath in his weak state, he never dropped his hand from yours. He brushed it in curious affection, like he was testing the feeling of your skin, just like you did with his, just less boldly.
âYou've fooled me,â you muttered, still shaken up. âI thought you were asleep.â
It was an instinct when you moved to fix the pillow Gwayne was resting on. He offered you a grateful smile and tried to sit up a little when the cough left. His deep blue eyes met you. With utter seriousness, for the first time. They were bleaker, much more tired than when you saw them for the last time in the courtyard as he sat on his horse proudly.
His voice was different too, but you werenât about to lie and say that the husky undertone didnât make you shiver.
âAnd you almost fooled me into thinking that you don't care about my health, just your own comfort,â he said slowly.
You werenât sure if he was mocking you or naming his true accusations.
âI⊠my lord, that isââ you tried to explain, but he smiled again, brighter this time and squeezed your hand again.
âI'm jesting, my lady,â he cut in to end your internal panic.
His jaw clenched and he let out a grunt when he tried to shift and make himself more comfortable. He looked over his body in the bed under the covers with the sight of a man truly tired of his own disposition. âI pray you can forgive me for making you wait so long,â he spoke up a bit quieter. Bitter, like he was angry with himself. âI never imagined it to go that way.â
âThere is nothing to be forgiven, my lord,â you assured.
If you werenât convinced about it before and harboured some harm, then it disappeared the moment you saw how sorry he looked.
âI hurt you, though, with my recklessnessâ"
âIt is not your fault, my lord. I just hope that the man who did it to you was punished.â
He smiled bitterly. âOh, yes. He paid for it, you have my word.â He shook the cold look off of his face quickly and moved your touching hands closer to his lap. âAnd please, my lady, call me by my name.â
âWell, Gwayne.â You nodded slowly and tested it on your tongue.. âYou soundâŠâ
âNot as out of my mind as they say?â He offered when you struggled to find the right words. You read some mischief from his face. One corner of his lips twitched up. âDid they scare you by telling you that I can't control my drooling or forgot how to speak the common tongue?â
You shook your head. It was hard to understand his good mood in such a weird position but you guessed it couldnât go better than that.
âThey just said you are unwell,â you explained. âIn body and mind.â
âIn body and mind,â he repeated, almost giggling. âWell, I won't bore you with how rugged my body feels, but my mind is quite alright. Even if my head feels like it crashed with the grand bell in the sept.â
You stared at him for a while, tormenting him with silence and cracked a smile eventually. âAren't you cheeky?â You muttered, rather pleased with what a man Gwayne seemed to be.
You didnât imagine him too much, but you would never guess he would be so⊠serene.
âCheeky?â He laughed again. âYou not only offend your future husband but also a suffering man. Anyway, it is better to be cheeky than cruel, my lady, even if you might find it similar.â
You felt too troubled to answer that immediately.Â
âYour father worries a lot,â you informed, lightly hinting that it could be his share of cruelty.
Clearly he spotted it because he rolled his eyes, still with a smile.
âYes, I can tell,â he said.
âHe truly thinks you might die.â
âBut I might die, indeed,â he argued. âHeâs right to worry.
Oh, you saw dying men before and he wasn't one of them, that was sure. Not now when he spoke to you, joked and mocked.
âCan you keep a secret, my lady?â He asked and his eyes brightened when you nodded even if he wasnât really waiting for that. âThe maesters⊠They ask many dull questions that I don't wish to answer. They make me feel like Iâm going mad, so naturally that slows the recovery, am I not right?â
âI suppose,â you mumbled unconvinced.
âSee? It's easier to pretend Iâm a little worse than I truly am and not have to speak.â
You blinked, looking at him in silence for a while. Gods, what a menace⊠You were going to absolutely adore that man.
âPeople are frightened for your life,â you tried to reason, keeping your composter despite the wish to actually burst out laughing.
âAs am I,â he said stubbornly. âOr was, at leastâŠÂ Well, do not think I take it lightly.â
âI guess⊠I guess what matters is that you are better now, Gwayne. It makes me happy.â
âAnd it makes me happy to finally be able to speak to you. I canât name the anger I feel for how wrong the arrangement turned out.â
âItâs not so tragic,â you disagreed. âIt is merely postponed, I imagine.â
âYes, I hope so. Could you open the drapes, perhaps? I would like to see you, my lady, if you donât mind,â he asked with gentleness that offered you the chance to refuse if you wanted.
You grew nervous nonetheless. âIt is barely bright outside.â
He heard the anxiety in your voice.
âNo worries, my lady,â he spoke up and you could hear him joking again, âI don't have my father's judging eyes, you have my word.â
âWon't the light bother you?â You asked to make sure before pulling on the heavy material that covered the windows.
âNot if you do it slowly. Please.â
You could spot the carefulness that he watched you with. He didnât study nor rate you, no. He simply took you in, noticing all the small differences that he couldnât see when he watched you that day on the glade.
You were growing restless under his gaze but it was him who turned away first. He looked down rather unexpectedly, his cheeks painted with a blush.
âDo youâŠâ You cleared your throat. âWell, do you like what you see, Gwayne?â
He wanted to say that he did and knew it for a long time now. But wouldnât that be too bold? Wouldnât you think that your looks were all that he cared about?
âNaturally,â he finally answered, something terribly bashful in his voice. âI donât want to show lack of respect by saying how unbearably beautiful you are to meâŠâ
Unbearably beautiful? You almost smile to yourself at how weird it sounded. He realized it to.
âThat might not be the luckiest choice of words, Iâm afraid. Forgive me. Iâm still just a wounded fool in the presence of a lady, after all,â he said to distract you from his embarrassment. âWould you sit with me for a while longer, my lady?â
âOf course,â you agreed. âAnd you should know that I see no fool in here.â
âArenât all men fools?â
You would agree if your throat was used to such declarations. You were raised to be a good woman; good daughter, and a lady. You would blush at admitting something so true.
You occupied the place next to him, and Gwayne slowly reached for your hand again. âIf itâs alright?â
âIt is,â you assured and offered it to him.
He cleared his throat. âDo you know why I wanted to speak to you?â
âI have no idea. Except for making me laugh, it seemsâŠâ
He cracked a smile before turning serious once more.
âI wanted to make a promise,â he explained. âTo end your worries if you have them. I won't die because it would burden you. People would speak, some would say we already married in secret before my death which would make finding another husband difficult if not impossible⊠I do not wish to make you go through that.â
It sounded funny from the mouth of a man who was clearly not dying now, and still it was incredibly thoughtful. Overwhelmingly so.
âThat is kind of you, Gwayne.â
âNot kind, just⊠Just proper, I imagine,â he corrected.
âNot many men would care about it.â
He shrugged and his face turned even more pink, even if he bore it proudly, not escaping from your eyes anymore.
A knock and the sound of the door opening interrupted you.
You saw an old maester who held some clean water and bandages to change the dressings on Ser Gwayneâs wounds.
âMy lady,â he spoke to you in a lecturing tone. âIt is time for young Ser Gwayne to rest. He's still veryââ
He was interrupted by the ser himself who shifted up a bit and face the man.
âOh, I feel much better,â he offered with sincerity that made you feel warm inside, âsince I was told by my wife that I'm not allowed to die.â
You looked to your feet at the quote of your first words to him and stood up from his bed.
âYour wife, my lord?â Asked the maester with clear trouble on his face.
âWife to be,â Gwayne corrected with some irritation. âDo not think I've lost my sense of time. Iâm simply⊠restless, if you will.â
GIVE SER DONNEL TO MEHHHH I NEED HIMMMM BADDDDD YUGGHHHHHH
SWORN PROTECTORâSer Donnel of Duskendale
Donnel of Duskendale x Targaryen!reader
content: Your sworn protector takes his role pleasing protecting the royal family very seriously.
words: 5.3k
cw: MDNI 18+, p in v, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, breeding, reader is Baelor's daughter, but no physical appearance is described(I imagine her as the eldest of Baelor's children, but it is never explicitly stated), lmk if I missed any
a/n: when he said the pretty ones are temperamental he was talking from experience.
Your nose scrunched as the familiar smell of shit filled your nose as you finally arrived at King's Landing. It was a drastic difference from the Dornish air you had gotten used to spending the last few years in your grandmotherâs homelands rather than your own.Â
You were excited to be home. To see your father and your brothers, but were not ready for what was to follow.
A search for a husband.Â
The king had decided it was finally time for you to find an acceptable Lord to marry, as you were well past an age you should have been wed. You had been allowed some leniency, being Baelorâs only daughter and the Kingâs first granddaughter, neither eager to see you off to some man.Â
The carriage came to a halt, before the door was being opened, and you were stepping out officially back into your home. Your father's face immediately lit up as his eyes met yours, his mismatched eyes twinkling in glee as he called out your name.Â
His arms opened ready to pull you into his embrace, to which you easily accepted, âOh, I have missed you,â he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.Â
You finally pulled away, allowing him to take in your change in appearance from years apart, âYou have grown into a beautiful woman, much like your mother,â he told you, causing you to smile at him.Â
He turned slightly glancing behind him. âSer Donnel come forth,â he beckoned forward, causing your eyes to move to where he had gone. âSer Donnel is to be assigned to be your Sworn Protector until we can find a more permanent solution,â he told you.Â
You took in the man. He was of an average build, seeming to be a sturdy knight. He appeared to be closer to your fatherâs age than your own, but he was handsome. Very handsome.Â
âOh,â you grinned as your eyes trailed over the older knight, âHello,â you greeted.Â
Donnelâs eyes widened for a fraction of a second as if he could read your thoughts, before your father could see his reaction he composed his face, âPrincess,â he stated with a polite nod.Â
âWell, it is lovely to see you, father,â you greeted, pressing a kiss to his cheek, âI assume my chambers are still my own?â
âOf course. You rest, I will see you for dinner,â he told you with a bright smile.Â
Your eyes trailed over your new knightâs form, âCome along, ser,â you called.Â
The pair of you moved through the Halls of the keep, as he followed a few steps behind you, causing you to turn, âYou can walk beside me,â you told him.Â
âIt is proper for me to be behind you.â
âWell, I am still in a different mindset from Dorne, but I do insist that you walk by me,â you told him.Â
You watched his muscles tighten slightly as he moved forward, âWhere are you from?â you questioned, him your gaze trailing over his formÂ
âDuskendale, Princess,â he answered.Â
âAre you a Darklyn?â
âNo I am not.â
You hummed, âWhat is your role?â
This seemed to take him off guard. He knew you were a smart young woman. He had heard your praise sung from both the King and your father. He knew you already knew what his role was, having spent your entire life around knights, âTo protect you of course,â he finally replied, trying to not let his eyes wander, but you could see him fighting with himself.Â
âAnd to please the royal family?â you asked, raising a brow.Â
He swallowed harshly, and you watched his throat bob slightly, âYes, Princess,â he replied dutifully.Â
You hummed, âGood to know,â you told him, with a grin.Â
You allowed him to move forward ahead of you by opening the door to your chambers, âI require your help for a moment if it is not a bother you told him.âHe hesitated for a moment, âIt is not strenuous. I promise,â you told him with a smile.Â
He looked into the hallway before finally stepping through the threshold. HIs eyes looked around curiosity getting the better of him, âThey have not changed a thing,â you observed with a fond smile.Â
âI doubt your father would have let them,â he told you, causing you to nod in agreement.Â
You pressed your lips together turning toward him, âAll I need you to do is unite my dress for me,â you told him. His face reacted instantly, his eyes widening, mouth hanging open as he simply stared at you a moment as if you had gone mad.
âI can fetch your maids,â he then offered, his voice low in almost a whisper.Â
âOh, but they would take much too long. I only require you to pull at the strings,â you told him. It was a thinner material due to the Dornish warmth and you could get them yourself, but there was no fun in that.Â
He opened his mouth to argue, but you turned, presenting him the strings of your dress. He did not immediately untie them, but after a moment he finally did. His fingers moved skillfully as if he was well practiced.Â
Once they were hanging down your back neither of you moved for a moment, but you finally pulled away first turning toward him.Â
He then looked at you, his eyes locked on you for a moment, he bowed his head slightly, before moving to leave you to the room to take his place station outside your door, but before he could, you called out, âI did not say to leave.â
âPrincess,â he warned, but it lacked any true bite.Â
You raised a brow giving him a moment to turn away, to leave, which is what you both knew he should do, but alas he did not move. He stayed planted as if he were a tree waiting to see what you would do.Â
You smirked at him , as you pushed the dress down pooling at your feet, your small clothes following until you were completely bare before him. Finally his eyes dropped down, before quickly snapping back up to your eyes, âYou may leave now, Ser,â you told him with a grin pulling at your lips.Â
He gaped at you a moment and you could see the hesitation in his eyes as he followed your every move as you laid on your belly across your bed. You turned glancing over your shoulder with a grin, âMake sure you shut the door firmly behind you, Ser Donnel. We do not want anyone to see something improper.âÂ
He nodded, at you bowing slightly, âAs you wish, Princess,â he said, before moving out of the room, but you could see the way he walked as if it pained him. As if he did not want to turn away from you, but he did move out into the hall shutting the door.Â
Once he was gone you let out a laugh, âThis shall be fun,â you then declared to no one, but the empty room.Â
âDo you think there is something wrong with my dress?â you asked, Ser Donnel.Â
He stood vigilantly a few feet away as you lounged in the garden, a book propped open in your laugh as you tried to soak in the sun.Â
He swallowed harshly, allowing himself to steal a peak at the dress. You had not given up your Dornish fashion despite having been in the capital for over a fortnight, mainly due to the fact you were still awaiting the dresses the seamstress had measures for you.Â
Today you wore a thin dress that dipped slightly allowing more of your chest to be seen than the Ladies of Kingâs Landing usually allowed, but he was finding that you were not like most Ladies. If it was because you were the Heir only daughter or your time in Dorne he was still unsure of.Â
âYour dress is fine, Princess,â he tried to assure you, but it came out as if it was painful.Â
âOnly fine?â you asked, raising a brow causing him to clamp his eyes shut.Â
âWhy are you asking about your dress?â he finally asked, trying to steer the conversation away from where you were trying to lead it.Â
You shut the book looking up at him and for once he let himself look at you. He watched the sun radiating off your face as you basked in the warmth, and he thought this was the most beautiful you had ever seen.Â
Not for your dress. Or even your hair style, but the way you looked completely at ease. His jaw clenched at the thought much like it always did when it crossed his mind. It was improper. Everything about you seemed to be, but he was trying to stay firm to hold his ground.Â
But he was not an idiot. You were beautiful, kind, and smart, often sounding more brilliant than half the men he had ever met. If he was only a man and you were only a woman he would have long played into your games, but alas that was not the case.Â
You were a Princess. The only daughter to the Heir of the realm and he was your sworn protector, a member of the Kingsguard.Â
âThe master of coinâs wife was telling her companion that I looked like a whore from the Street of Silk rather than a Targaryen Princess,â you told him.Â
He could feel the anger filling him on your behalf, but you hardly seemed phased, which surprised him, âWhat did you do?â he asked, wanting to know how you handled it.Â
âNothing,â you replied, with a shrug.Â
He gaped at you for a moment, âWhy?â he asked before he could stop himself.Â
âWhy not? She is upset because her husbandâs eyes stray. Having her tongue isnât going to fix her issues, but if I hear it again I might be more tempted to take it or at least bash in her teeth.â
âYou are temperamental,â he told you, shaking his head to hide the grin spreading across his lips.Â
You grinned up at him, âThere is a saying about that,â you told him. He raised a brow, urging you to continue. âThe pretty ones are always temperamental,â you told him.Â
He let out a laugh at your words, loud, real and it caused you both to pause staring at the other. He watched you waiting for your reaction as he watched your teeth flash at him, a smile pulling at your lips.
You grinned up at him as if you had won something, a game he did not know he was playing it. That was a lie, he knew exactly well he was constantly playing into your hand as the days passed he found it harder to fight the urge to fall into them completely.Â
You stood to your feet, the book tucked under your arms as you wiped your hands across your skirts flattening them out once more. You took a step forward causing him to take one back, âYou should do that more often,â you told him.Â
âWhat?â he asked in confusion
âLaugh or at least have an honest conversation with me.â
âIt would be improper if I was honest with you all the time,â he told you, his eyes moving across your face quickly, to which would have gone unnoticed by most, but not by you. Never by you.Â
âI wished youâd be more improper with me,â you told him, taking a step forward, noticing he did not step back this time.Â
His mouth suddenly felt dry, as if he was in desperate need of water, or something more. His eyes flickered down to your lips, âIf you ever need⊠companyâŠmy door is always open for you and I can keep a secret,â you told him before turning away from him moving into the keep.Â
He let out a ragged breath as if he could no longer breath properly before he turned, looking both ways to see if anyone had witnessed that encounter, as if they could assure him it was real and not a dream.Â
âFuck,â he muttered before finally chasing after you. He would keep his distance, for now. The Keep was too full of life to do anything that could ruin your status, but he did not know if that thought could remain as the sunÂ
It was a rare night that he did not have to watch and that made it all the worse. It allowed his words to circle through your brain. The quiet let improper thoughts of you begin to conjure in his brain.Â
It had been like this for the entire fortnight since you had returned. Thinking of you. Hearing your voice despite being alone. Taking himself in his hand to the thought of you which always leads him with the feeling of overwhelming shame.Â
This was not proper. He was supposed to be protecting you. Watching for you, but yet here he was as if he was a boy once more pinning around a woman he could not have. One much younger than himself, a princess.Â
But your words from earlier rang in his ears. You wanted him to be improper. You found enjoyment in watching him squirm, because you knew exactly where to push, what to say, and it put him even more on edge.Â
You knew exactly what you had been doing, and you had done it on purpose.Â
He let out a ragged breath as he titled his goblet back, drowning yet another cup of ale that was supposed to ease him, to help him sleep but slowly turning into liquid courage.Â
Before he had even processed what he was doing he was outside your chambers, his hand hovering over the wood as his knuckles rapped against it.Â
The door flew open and he was being dragged in not even a second later. He was dragged through the threshold before he could even dare to run the other way. He wondered if you had been waiting for him long. If you knew that you would need to close him into your room before he could let his honor step in the way.Â
His honor was nowhere to be found now, as his eyes dragged over your form. You had a dark crimson silk robe pulled over you, as you turned from him moving toward the bed. He stood by the door unmoving watching as you sat slowly, your legs crossing over the over showingÂ
âI think I like you better without all the amour,â you said, with a grin, your head tilting as your eyes dragged over his appearance. He only wore a white tunic and a pair of brown trousers rather than the clunky white gear he wore typically.Â
âThis is a bad idea,â he suddenly confessed, causing you to only hum in response. âI can never be anything more than what I am.â
âI know exactly what you are,â you assured him, âAnd I want you all the same.â
He finally took a step forward, causing you to grin slightly.Â
âI can keep a secret,â you promised, pushing yourself to your feet as you moved to meet him in the middle. Your hands moved, finally touching him as you dragged your nails slightly across his clothed chest causing him to shiver.Â
âYou can still turn away,â you assured him, holding his gaze. You watched him hesitate, âIf it is my virtue you are worried for it has already been tainted, and will not be on you.â
He shook his head, his eyes trailing over your face, âI am supposed to protect you.â
âYou do not have to protect me from yourself. If anything someone should be protecting you from me,â you jested, your hands resting over his heart as you could feel it beating rapidly.Â
He continued to stare down at you, his princess, as you stared up at him, your sworn protector, but the titles slowly started to slip away fading into the darkness.Â
You finally let your hands wander up his chest wrapping around the nape of his neck, âI want you, Donnel. I think you want me too and that is more than okay.â
The last shreds of his honor crumbled to the ground as he surged forward pressing his lips to yours. One of your hands immediately laced through his hair, as his migrated toward your hips. You gave the strands a harsh tug causing him to groan into your mouth allowing your tongue access.Â
He pulled you closer, your chest flush to his as you could feel his hardened member poking against your belly. You finally pulled away your hands moving to pull his tunic over his head. You stepped back for a second, eyes trailing over his form as you took the jagged lines of old wounds over the hardened planes of his chest.Â
He smirked, clearly pleased with your reaction as he reached forward drawing you back toward him, his lips engulfing yours once more as if you were the thing he needed most. His fingers worked untying the knot of your robe, they were shakier this time then compared to the first time he untied your dress.Â
You stopped him for a moment, your hands resting over his, causing his eyebrows to draw together, âTake your pants off,â you then instructed him.Â
He stared at you a moment, before grinning allowing you to boss him around to order him just like it was anything else, âAs you wish, Princess,â he replied.Â
You held his eyes as his hands moved untying his trousers as they pooled at his feet, his breeches following moments later. Your gaze slowly moved down to his cock, and you grinned at the sight.Â
You pulled the string at your robe, quickly exposing yourself to the cool night air, before it pooled to the flor alongside his clothes. He stared at you, his eyes moving across your form trying to take the time to admire you, but you did not give him a chance.Â
You sank down to your knees, as your hands moved, gripping the back of his thighs as you pulled him closer to you. He watched you intently, his hands lacing through your hair, not forcing you, but merely holding you.Â
You leaned forward pressing a kiss to his already leaking tip causing his eyes to roll back, âI wonât judge if you cum untouched I am sure it has been awhile,â you teased, your eyes dragging across his cock taking the time to take in its size, length, and mapping out the veins that decorated it.
He chuckled, âA princess of the realm of her knees for her sworn protector,â he mused back, but you were quick to silence him as you took him into your mouth staring up at him through your lashes.Â
You said something, no doubt a smart remark, but it was inaudible due to your full mouth, as you began to bob up and down his length. He felt himself hit the back of your throat, as you hallowed your cheeks around him, and he quickly withdrew from the heaven of your mouth scared to shoot his load down your throat much too early.Â
A line of spit connected your mouth to his cock causing you to grin as you stared up at him. The man used his grip in your hand to pull you back to your feet as he began to guide you back toward the bed.Â
Once the back of your legs hit the mattress you gently lowered yourself down as you stayed up at him watching his every move. This time he was allowed to admire you fully. Taking you, as he fought the urge to simply map every inch of your skin with his mouth.Â
âYou are so beautiful,â he whispered to you in praise, as he lowered to his knees. He felt as if he was kneeling at the altar of the maiden as he reveled in your beauty.Â
He pressed a soft to the inside of your knee before slowly making his way up to your dripping womanhood. He positioned himself in between your thighs fully, your legs dangling over his shoulder as he held himself hovering over where you wanted him most.
You could feel his breath, and you tried to be patient, but it was never one of your strong suits. You wiggled slightly, trying to press your cunt into his face, but he simply held you there. âPatience,â he mused.Â
You let out a dramatic huff, waiting, until he finally leaned forward dragging his tongue through your folds, âDonnel. Oh fuck,â you moaned out, your back arching as your head dipped back.
You tasted even better than he could have imagined. He was unsure this could be a one time occurrence as he already felt as if he was addicted to the taste of you on his tongue.Â
The man lifted his hand inserting a digit into your drooling hole, then adding another with eas as if you were made for him. He moved skillfully like he had known exactly where to touch you for you to come undone.
It felt like this was something ordinary. Something had happened countless times and was apart of everyday routine. Mayhaps it could be.Â
You were a moaning mess as his tongue flicked your clit, sucking and lapping as his digits worked in and out of you hitting the spot that caused your toes to curl, your heels digging into his shoulders blades.Â
His other hand moved up your stomach until he was gripping your breast in his hand, his fingering pinching and rolling the hardened peak. It all became too much. The waves of ecstasy came crashing down over you claiming your body in release as you practically screamed out his name, as he fucked you through it.Â
He finally pulled away, his beard glistening with your slickness as you moved back onto the bed further. He took himself by his hand stroking his leaking cock, he smeared it over his length, a mix with the left over of your release that still covered his fingers.Â
âHave you been thinking of me?â you asked, tilting your head.Â
He hummed, âI have,â he admitted.Â
You smiled, âGood. I can assure you that your fantasies will now seem dull.â
He rolled his eyes, as he moved crawling to now cover your frame with his own. He took his cock running it once up your folds before hovering over your entrance, âThis isnât something we can take back,â he tried being the voice of reason one last time, but he knew it was too late in the game for that.Â
âDo not make me command you, Ser Donnel,â you told him, a teasing glint in your eyes as your finger came up to trace over his face.Â
He leaned down pressing his lips to yours as he entered inside you with one fluid thrust. He swallowed your loud moan with his own as he stilled for a minute allowing you to adjust to him, as he kissed you with feverish intent a promise for what was to come.Â
âPlease, move,â you whispered.Â
He complied, just like he always did when you said anything, drawing himself back before thrusting forward. âI will not break,â you promised him, and it was the last words of reassurance he needed.Â
He began to fuck into you without resitance. Setting the pace as the lude sound of him sloppily fucking into your wet cunt filled the room. He hoped that no one outside could hear it or the way you constantly kept moaning his name as your nails broke the skin on his back.Â
But he wasnât sure he really cared.Â
They could take his head, and send him to death as he was sure that he was currently in Heaven better than anything the Seven could ever offer him.Â
Each brutal thrust was met with dirty praise as he told you how well you took him, that you looked so beautiful cock drunk, and even that you were made for him. Each and every time his voice met your ears causing you to clench around him even tighter earning a low moan from the man on top of you.Â
His hand snaked between your conjoined bodies, his fingerings meeting your swollen clit as he began to rub quick circles, causing your nails to dig into him harsher as you felt the coil in your belly threatening to snap, promising you with another orgasmic relief of the night.Â
âSo, so close,â you cried out, your heels digging into his ass as you tried to push him closer into you, as if you were trying to make yourself one rather than two individuals.Â
He could only grunt in response as he tried to bring you over the edge, because he too knew he was bound to quickly follow. He was successful a mere moments later as your vision went white your bones suddenly feeling weightless, as you cried out his name.Â
He continued to fuck you through it, chasing his own release. He fucked you past the point of relief to overstimulation causing the tears to begin to fall down your cheeks until. You could tell he was getting closer when his thrusts turned even more erratic, "Finish in me,â you then commanded.Â
He wasnât even given a chane to argue as his cock then spilt into you painting your walls white, filling you even more with him. He came as he whispered your name slowly as if it was confession to everything that he felt deep inside threatening to break free from the barrier of his ribs.Â
Donnelâs forehead came down to rest on yours as your ragged breaths filled the air, âYou were right,â he confessed.Â
Your eyes opened locking onto yours, âAbout?â you asked, breathing trying to control the rapid rise and fall of your chest.Â
âThe fantasies were dull.â
You laughed, loud vibrant and he wished more than anything he could engrain the sound in his brian. You leaned forward pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as you simply held each other there for a moment, until your lungs begged for air.
He finally withdrew from you causing you to whine slightly at the feeling of emptiness now. He moved toward the end of the bed, assuming this is where the night ended, but he was proved wrong when your hand wrapped around his bicep.Â
âStay,â you whispered, clutching him, not truly preventing him from leaving as he was much stronger than you.Â
He sighed then settled back into the mattress. You moved forward resting your head against his chest, his arm wrapping around you pressing a kiss to your crown. He then knew he would do anything for you. He would lay down his life for you without hesitation, every other small request seemed dull in comparison.Â
You let out a frustrated sigh, you had long lost count how many times the same sound had escaped your lips during the entire feast. Your fingers moved pinching the bridge of your nose as you listened to Lord Lannister continue on boasting about his heir trying to sell your father on a betrothal for the pair of you.Â
âKepa,â you called out, causing him to turn toward you. Your eyes pleaded with him the way your words could not.Â
Your father nodded turning back to Lord Lannister, and ended the conversation allowing you finally to let out a breath of relief, âPlease do not marry me to his heir,â you pleaded to your father.Â
He laughed, âHe is not even an option the King and I have discussed,â he assured you patting your hand that rested on the table.Â
Your smile turned into a frown without thinking. Your eyes drifted across the hall to the familiar white armor that already had their eyes trained on you, causing you to hold his gaze. âI do hope you wonât be sending me too far,â you told him, but your eyes stayed on the knight.Â
âI could not bear to send you far. Mayhaps I will marry you to a second son and you could reside here,â he told you.Â
âOr as a Targaryen tradition you could marry me to family then I would not have to leave."
âThe thought has crossed my mind only for selfish reasons,â he admitted to you.Â
You finally pulled your eyes away from Donnel looking at your father as you smiled at him softly.Â
You knew your role. You knew your duty and you would perform it at the end of the day, but selfishly you were not ready for that day to come. You did not want to leave the Keep permanently. You did not want to leave your brothers or your father. You did not want to leaveâŠ
Your eyes drifted across the hall again causing you to sigh in displeasure, âI wish to retire for the evening. I am quite exhausted after Lord Lannister,â you told him.Â
âOf course, my dear.â
You stood pressing a kiss to the side of his cheek as you smiled at him, âI will do my duty and marry whoever you choose, but I do ask that you stick me with someone that is not completely ghastly⊠mayhaps someone you know at least a little.â
He smiled at you, âI will do my best to find you someone that you can get on well with.â
âThank you, kepa.â
You stood making your way out of the hall ignoring the eyes on you, and you did not smile until you were in the hallway and could feel your shadow trailing after you. Â
Once you were near your chambers you finally acknowledged him, âAnd how was your evening, Ser Donnel?â you asked, stealing a glance over your shoulder.Â
He did not answer, which caused your grin to only widen, with quick steps he moved ahead of you opening your door for you.Â
You studio outside for a moment staring at him as your eyes drift down both ends of the hallway before wrapping your arm around the nape of his neck and dragging him with you.Â
He kicked the door behind him shut with ease as your lips collided in a frenzy. You tried to pour everything you felt into the kiss as he did the very same, âThis is the last time,â he muttered against your mouth. You only hummed back in response, both knowing it was only a lie to ease his conscience.Â
His white cloak was long already stained with you, as was his soul, but he could not truly find it himself to stop. You were an addiction, one he couldnât get enough of and in no way wanted to stop.Â
His hands moved, gripping your hips tightly. It was the single thing he had been wanting to do all night. He wanted to claim you. To show the rest of those lords that you were his in a way they could only dream of, but of course he could not do that.Â
âI will not let this be the last time,â you told him, as your hands moved to the clasps of his chest plate.Â
âWill that be an order?â he jested, standing tall and allowing his hands to rest on your hips as you removed his armour.Â
âIf it must, but I know you take your role as my sworn protector and pleasing the royal family very seriously,â you mused, your lips turned up in a grin.Â
thinking about sitting behind maekar on his horse. having your arms wrappped around his waist and smooshing your face into the broad expanse of his back. him occasionally looking back over his shoulder to make sure youre okay, slowing his horse if theyre going to fast for your liking.
also thinking about sitting infront of baelor on his horse. his broad frame and arms enclosed around you keeping you safe and warm. speaking lowly into your ear, pointing out trees or animals you pass and telling you facts about them. keeping you pressed tightly against his chest and kissing at your hairline.
tags: +18, boyfriend!baelor, fluff, smut, a bit of angst, mature themes, romanticism (it's baelor cmon), nudity, oral (f), some dirty talk (but again, it's baelor), mentioned animal abuse and irresponsible owners, no use of y/n, badly proofread, english is not my first language. let me know if there's anything else!
word count: 1.5k+
a/n: if you like modern Baelor then please PLEASE go check out works by @ildico-the-golden and her The Dragons Next Door AU. you have my word that she is an absolute queen of AKOTSK modern AU.
Baelor is always protective in that specific way that doesnât make you feel stupid or irresponsible. Itâs the same when he explains something to you â doesnât matter if itâs exactly his interest or something that you imagine you should already know â he never makes you feel bad. He never lectures, he just suggests and asks. Not because he thinks he knows better⊠Well, even if he does, itâs not better than you, just better than others, better than the world. After all, in his age, he doesnât have that much faith in the world anymore. He finds himself to be some sort of a protector, apparently. You and the world with him in between, it seems.
Somehow, when the heavy summer and heatwaves hit, his protective nature grows thicker. Usually, it even makes you chuckle, and the smile on your face brings up one of his as well. It makes him realize that perhaps heâs treating some burned skin like the end of your life, and he panics inside a bit too much. Usually. Sometimes heâs so serious that you can literally feel his anxiety in the air.
Still, he worries that you'll get burned. Prepare for Baelor buying you every cosmetic with SPF that you could manage to think of. Heâs restless in asking you to move from the sun into the shadow, reminding you to drink and everything.
Funnily, he seems to be unbothered by the heat himself most of the time. As long as the weather doesnât turn in something truly hell-ish, he actually enjoys it. And honestly? There is nothing more beautiful than seeing his calm face, a bit tired but happy, in the light of a golden hour after the deathly heat goes away.
Perhaps he just forced himself to accept the weather and suffer inside because he refuses to change his quite elegant styleâŠ
Even though he works in an office, he tans pretty quickly himself. It often makes him look like a man who has an outside job. Youâd swear he blushes when you tease him about it, mentioning how attractive he looks. Like a hot blue collar husband. Itâs hard not to stare when he wears short sleeves or shows off his arms in the rolled up button-ups he loves so much.
Again, he never lectures, but that being said, he is also awfully strict about drinking alcohol in the sun. He wonât hear out any explanations, any assurances that youâre fine, until you move inside or take cover. He canât stop you, of course, but prepare for him to stare like he could actually influence you with the strengths of his mind and complain, insist and talk, talk talk⊠Itâs for his peace of mind, after all, so why wouldnât you calm him and finish your wine or other drink indoors?
Baelor loves watching you rest on a beach or somewhere near the water. Perhaps you have a trip to a lake with his sons. They would surely get lost somewhere with their friends, leaving the two of you to yourself. He can spot when the sound of the water and soft conversations makes your eyelids heavy.
He picks you up with particular carefulness, scoping you in his arms, to carry you off the beach and off the heavy sun.Â
Speaking about vacations and free daysâŠ
You know those videos that compare young couplesâ behaviour and those who've been together for 10+ years? Baelor doesn't mind both. He is a romantic soul, surely, he likes meaningful gestures, but what he loves the most is seeing you enjoying yourself. And if by that you mean playing in the hotel's pool then, hell, so be it.
Prepare for Baelor taking many, and I mean many, pictures of you.
With all his sense of injustice in the world and the weight that he carries, Baelor has trouble sleeping that seems to get worse in the summer. It's not rare that you wake up to him prompted on his elbow, watching you carefully with a gentle smile as if it was the only sight that could calm him and the sheets kicked down to his feet. Or you find the place by your side to be empty. There is something deeply gracious in the way Baelor sat on the balcony. He stares somewhere in the dark, clearly his thoughts making the look more interesting. He appreciated it every time you get out of bed and slide into his lap.
Even more if he can feel the skin of your back against his bare chest. Skin to skin, palms slowly moving to caress and trace.
Strangely, you think that those short, awful nights during the heatwave bring something depressive in your older boyfriend.Â
If he stays with you in the bed, you can find him sitting with his back against the wall and head thrown to the side a bit. His beautiful features are lit either by the moon or dim in the darkness, somehow in pain or worry as if he was forced to bear it all alone. âJust a headache,â heâll mutter when you ask or throw some other easy explanation. Like, he was thinking about the non-fiction book he just finished, and it will lead him into hours of soft conversation with you.
Even when you're in your apartment or when Valarr is out for the night you both speak in hushed voices. Itâs an unnecessary habit that provides some unexplainable comfort. And if it does, then why get rid of it?
Sometimes you think that seeing you so miserable actually provides him some entertainment. You would think itâs cruel if he wasnât so damn smooth about it.
âDoes my baby want some distraction from this suffering?â He asks and your breath hitch because you know that voice. The sound of it is somehow even more steady than usually, quiet and warm. Still, you did not expect the feeling of his rough beard rubbing over the skin of your inner thighs. You didnât really comprehend the situation until he was pressing his tongue into your core and mouthing. He let you feel the groan that left his throat when you ran your fingers through his hair. âDo it again,â he asked, no, ordered hoarsely. God, you thought of something else but you werenât complaining. It was surely rather distracting.
One day you stumble upon an animal locked in a car in the parking lot and, god, you don't even have to mutter any word of worry because your boyfriend is already on it. He is a very rational person but in moments like this he turns into the calmest version of rage known to men. His face shows a deep grimace, his voice turns even quieter but certainly more rough. As if he screamed before and now suffered from a sore throat.
You saw the focus in his eyes and the worry when he instructed you how to help. After contacting the local services and no sign of the owner around, you both decided that there's no other option than to get inside no matter what. With a brush over your back Baelor tells you to step away then rolls up his sleeves and picks up a big rock. He crashes the window with the skill of someone who did it before even though he swears he never did.
He's even more furious if the owner decides to show up eventually. The person snaps at you, trying to get the animal curled up in your arms back, and Baelor almost loses his mind. Well, that's at least how he sees it because on the outside he's still a picture of calmness. Only you could see something was wrong by how his hands shook a bit, his forehead frowned and eyes were adorned by more wrinkles. âDonât worry, darling,â you mutter to him, âwe will wait until the police get here, no need to get mad.â
âI know,â he grunts before apologizing for getting mad when he makes sure you are far enough from the idiotic owner. âThey almost hit you, thoughâŠâ he pointed out with his jaw clenched as if you didnât see the fist going your way yourself. âIâm lucky you were there, yes? Iâm perfectly fine,â you assure and he nods.
Yeah, consider yourself new animal owners after this! Imagine Baelor sitting still for hours because the pet rests their head on his lap or chest and he refuses to move and disturb itâŠ
Park picnic dates where he reads to you!
He also makes sure to ask and plead for you not to go on your runs and training in the biggest sun. âI will lock you in the bathroom,â he threatens jokingly when you rolled your eyes. âPlease, my love. You can go in the evening when it's colder,â he tries to reason. âBut I will be too lazy to go in the eveningâŠâ you complain, âalso⊠it will be dark. Do you want me wandering around in theââ Baelor cuts in before you can finish. âOf course not. I will go with you. Is that alright?â That makes you smile brightly. âMore than that. Who am I to turn down the chance of seeing you all sweaty andâŠâ
He chuckles deeply, but you donât fail to notice a faint blush on his cheeks. His lips brush your collarbone as he breathes in your scent. âYes, likewise, dear.â
a/n: i am in desperate need for baelor 'boyfriend' targaryen rn
tbh if they are messing with the plot already, they could at least change Helaena's fate and make her happy in the end... it's all I want at this point (I know they won't)
I think Otto might rise from the dead when he sees his girl hurt
Three-wheeled runaway party of despair OR a roasted barbecued king, an invalid who must have been bullied and not loved properly as a kid & a hooker in an expensive gown.
[Aegon Targaryen x fem!reader x Larys Strong rant]
Imagine being a lady of the court known for her detached approach to customs and morals (wink) accompaning Aegon and Larys on the run because 1) Aegon even burnt won't say no to some entertainment and 2) Larys knows you have a sharp mind and a lot of luck in survival.
You first burst out laughing when the master of whispers brought this matter to you in a hushed, conspiratorial voice. Then you gave it a second thought... They have money, Larys said, and King's Landing will burn soon anyway. So why the hell not?
Perfection. You are a stumbling company of comedy, sarcasm, and never-ending arguing. Larys is a smart man. He knows that having another person on their side might be crucial. Another person with a pretty face, a pair of titts, and an easy nature in flirting especially. You saved you three from being captured and traded a kiss or two for some protection.
And then it turns out you're either a secret Targaryen bastard or one of Mysaria's spies and that... Well, that is something Lord Strong didn't predict.
Bonus points if you kick them in the ass on a first good occasion and send them as a special gift to Rhaenyra.
Well, you had your fair share of a nice time with them anyway.
Afraid to Feel (Sex Therapist!Baelor Targaryen x Reader)
A/N: Virgin Island is actually good for inspiration whaaaaaâŠ
(Goes without saying but pls do not take any sex therapy/intimacy counselling advice from this. All my knowledge is from Virgin Island and even then itâs probably all unethical so just⊠yeah. Also, I googled it, and usually surrogate partner therapy requires three people but weâre going to pretend that itâs ok that the therapist IS the surrogate partnerâŠ)Â
Summary: After your therapist recommends that you seek intimacy counselling, you find yourself in Baelorâs office, pouring your heart out about your fears and inexperience. Youâve just started dating someone new and you want to be comfortable getting intimate. Baelor is committed to getting you comfortable experiencing intimacy, even as the lines begin to blurâŠÂ
Word count: 22.1k (ummm⊠sorry)Â
Tags: 18+/MDNI, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (of legal age), virgin!reader, very inexperienced!reader, probably unethical practices, discussions on fear of intimacy, personal insecurity (particularly around body image and oneâs self perception - while it is not specified that it is a curvy/chubby/plus-size reader, there is mentions of worry of being too heavy), discussion of mental health (i.e. having bad mental health but no details), SMUT: oral (f!receiving), fingering, PinV sex, kind of cheating in a way (reader has a boyfriend but is getting down with Baelor in the name of therapy), never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any)Â
Disclaimer: I do not own any âA Knight of the Seven Kingdomsâ characters. I do not claim to own any of the âA Knight of the Seven Kingdomsâ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.Â
Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)
The waiting room was⊠normal. You werenât sure what you had been expecting. Of course it was normal. Why would this office be any different to the other waiting rooms and offices you had been in? Just because it was a⊠yeah, ok. You still couldnât quite admit it, couldnât quite get yourself to say it, to even believe that you were doing this. How had you been convinced into doing this? No, no, this was a good thing, Vivian had said so, and you trusted Vivian.Â
The chairs were soft and comfortable, which was the most surprising thing about the waiting room, you supposed. The lighting was low and comfortable, warm yellow lamps on the little corner tables. The receptionist had checked you in, but this space was after her desk so you felt quite alone. The walls were painted a dark colour, and the wood accents were all dark as well. You felt rather cozy now that you thought about it, snug and protected. There was something to be said about the dark actually being good for comfort and vulnerability.Â
You were dressed comfortably, soft trousers and a full sleeve top, trainers on, light jacket for the cooler weather (despite it being springtime), and your usual bag on your arm. You resisted the urge to keep checking your phone, to use it as your safety net as you usually did. You and Vivian had been working on that too, a sort of side bit of homework to help you become more comfortable being in your own skin, of being on your own.Â
There was art on the walls, and you turned your eyes to it. It was all beautiful, the kind of paintings you yourself enjoyed, a mix of impressionist and renaissance style, either blurred or hyperrealistic, glossy and shadowed in the lamplight. There was one of a dragon, black and sharp, tall and imposing, looking down at a singular man standing on a beach. It was stormy around them, and the man was a miniscule thing next to the beast. But there was a connection between them, something soft and unspoken, mutual respect perhaps, or even care. It was a rather simple picture on the face of it, but you fell in love with it at that moment.Â
There was only one door going off from the waiting room, and it had been shut since the moment you had arrived, but now it opened, a little swiftly, and a man stepped out just enough so that his feet were over the threshold but he was still holding onto the doorknob with one hand. In the other was a clipboard, held up a little so he could read from it, then he turned up to look at you and smiled gently.Â
âHello, Y/n, is it?â You nodded quickly, eyes a little wide, lips parted. âAm I pronouncing that right?â He asked kindly, frowning a little and mouthing it again.Â
âYes! Yes, perfectly, thank you,â you jumped in, nodding and clutching tightly onto your bag strap.Â
He paused for a moment, looked you over, then with that same soft smile he stepped back a little into the doorway and nudged his head into the room.Â
âWould you like to come in?â He asked, and you nodded quickly, eyes still a little wide as you jumped up and hurried into the room, like a little mouse scurrying around when the cat has finally found them.Â
You could not quite absorb what he looked like. It felt⊠too good. That was an odd thing to say. You shouldnât be describing an intimacy therapist like that⊠But it was also true.Â
He wore a dark turtleneck, black and rolled up at the sleeves to display strong tanned forearms. He had little freckles on the skin there, dark but fine hairs, and big hands, long fingers and veins. He had a beard, a little scruffy but well-looked after, and wavy hair that had gone grey and was now scattered with white. It was a bit messy too, rather like the beard. He seemed to run his hand through it in thought, ruining whatever combing he might have done in the morning, but you liked it that way. It made him more human. He had a soft set to his face when he smiled, deep lines creasing between his cheeks and his mouth, and he had one blue eye and one brown eye.Â
That was a little jarring at first, the stark difference, and you sort of wanted to compliment him on them, but he probably heard it a million times over, and you didnât have the confidence to say anything like that to him just yet. Perhaps after working with him for a while you might do, but not yet.Â
His office was similar to the waiting room in the sense that everything was dark in here as well. There was a desk in the back corner, with framed degrees and certificates and awards on the wall behind it. A cork noticeboard was on the adjacent wall, the one that the side of the desk touched, and it was pinned with lots of things, calendars and reminders and pictures and cards. The desk itself was fancy, dark wood and carved with designs, and the computer on it was all sleek lines and high-tech. There were papers and folders on the desk, pens and post-it notes, but it was all neatly organised and he even had picture frames facing toward him. That warmed your heart a little.Â
The main bit was right in front of you though, a black leather couch with end tables on either side facing an armchair with its own end tables. There were already pens and paper and notebooks on the end table by the armchair, and there were lamps on each of them too, low yellow light with coloured and patterned lampshades. There were cushions on the sofa which made you happy, something to grab, something to hide with. All of this on top of a dark rug that looked lovely and plush. The sofa faced a wall of windows, lovely and big but covered by blinds right now to keep the room all cool and dim.Â
He gestured you toward the sofa, waiting for you to sit down before taking his own seat, fiddling with his clipboard and all the pens and papers on the table beside him. As he did that, you took your bag off and put it to the side of the sofa, rocking back and forth a little in your seat, looking around, frankly anywhere but right at him. You felt far too awkward. You took one of the sofa cushions and brought it to sit on your lap, feeling a little more settled with it covering you, but then you felt rude for taking it without asking. Finally, he settled a little into his chair, slouching slightly and looking far more comfortable than you, and smiled directly in your direction.Â
âDid Marion have you sign all the paperwork when you came in?â He asked kindly, just getting the ball rolling, you supposed, and you nodded, pursing your lips a little. âJust to go over it again, I prefer being as transparent and open as possible, even if itâs a little tedious. Everything you say to me, whether that be in this room or over correspondence is private and completely confidential unless I perceive that you intend to cause real harm to yourself or another person. While I will not record anything, I do take notes during the session and of course there will be a record of any communication via phone, message, or email, but again, this is all protected under confidentiality. Is that alright?âÂ
He had no judgement on his face, just a serene look, this spiel practiced by now. You nodded again, and then felt stupid for not having said anything yet.Â
âYes, uh yes, of course, uh⊠Mr Martell? Is that what I call you? Sorry, thatâs a stupid question,â you wanted to hide your face in your hands, to physically shut your mouth by pinching it with your fingers, but you just clenched them in the cushion and darted your eyes away from his face, feeling hot all over from embarrassment. But he was smiling, nodding, twisting his pen around in his hands.Â
âYou can call me what you like. If you prefer Mr Martell, thatâs alright, and if youâd prefer Baelor, thatâs alright too,â his smile was far too kind, it made you more conscious somehow. You nodded and attempted a smile of your own, but you could bet it came out strained and stupid.Â
Baelor had been careful since the start of his career to use his motherâs last name. He did not need his familyâs reputation following him into this office, not in the career he had truly curated for himself. He had become used to being Mr Martell in one room, and Mr Targaryen in another.Â
You couldnât look at him for too long, it was too intimidating, which meant your eyes travelled a lot, especially to the covered windows behind him. He noticed, because of course he did, that was his job wasnât it, and turned to glance at them as well.Â
âWould you like me to open the curtains?â He asked kindly, half-twisted in his seat and looking back at you. You felt hot with mortification again, for whatever reason, and instantly shook your head.Â
âOh, no, itâs ok.â You waved it off, chewing on your lip and glancing down, clutching the cushion a little tighter.Â
âAre you sure? Itâs rather a lovely view,â he added, smiling still and you smiled at that, this one a little more relaxed than before, and a quiet huff of a chuckle left you.Â
âYeah, no, itâs alright, donât worry. Maybe next time,â you answered, rubbing at your cheek a little to attempt hiding your smile. It went quiet again, that heavy silence that came with expectation.Â
âItâs alright if youâre nervous,â he said then, something softer coming into his eyes, as if he was keenly aware of how you were feeling, as if he had seen it a million times before and wanted to comfort you. âItâs natural to feel that way.âÂ
You let out a breath, closing your eyes for a moment and nodding, smoothing your hands over the cushion then looking at it instead of him.Â
âIâm really nervous. I donât even know why, I agreed to this, but⊠I donât know, I just am.â You felt a bit pathetic, your lips drooping a little naturally, and you heard his pen being placed down on the notebook. When you glanced up, he had laced his fingers together and was nodding at you, the smallest frown creasing his brow, concern it seemed like.Â
âWell, why donât we start with why youâve come to see me?â He asked gently.Â
You settled into your seat, leaning back a little into the softness of the sofa, allowing yourself to get comfortable. You liked his voice. It was silky, soft but intentional in your ears, and you had the sneaking suspicion that he only spoke words he deemed necessary. You liked that, it made you feel comfortable trusting him. You had been preparing for this question too, but now you felt a bit blank in the head.Â
âUm, well, my therapist, Vivian, recommended I try this, coming to see you, I mean. Iâve been working with her for a while, on a lot of stuff, but recently⊠Hm, I feel really awkward saying this,â then you did actually put your head in your hands, shaking it a little as you felt overcome with nervousness again, but he didnât say anything, just shifted in his seat a little and gave you the space to say it. You cleared your throat, brought your hands down, and spoke facing the cushion on your lap. âIâve never really been with anyone in a relationship before. No one asked me out at school, no one asked me out at university, nothingâs ever really happened. Itâs not even for a lack of trying, which sounds so pathetic. Like, I tried getting on a dating app but I just couldnât take it seriously, and the guys I talked to were either weirdos or it just didnât amount to anything. Which leads me here, never even having kissed someone, and terrified of ever doing anything with anyone. And it gets worse, because finally, finally, a guy has asked me out, and heâs⊠amazing. Heâs literally everything I could want, kind, patient, handsome, and I just canât get over myself. Heâs happy to take things slow, to work at my speed, but⊠I just feel wrong. I feel like I canât get over this fear, and until I get over that, I canât be a good partner for him.âÂ
You pressed a hand to your face as you felt the overwhelming rush of tears to your eyes. You didnât want to cry in your first session with him, didnât want to cry over just explaining this, but you had felt so bogged down by it recently, overwhelmed by your own inability, that it was constantly on your mind and constantly tiring you.Â
You heard some shuffling, and without saying a word, Baelor had stood, taken a box of tissues and brought it over to the sofa. He placed it down near you, then went back to his seat, crossing one leg over the other and twisting his pen around in his hands again. He nodded wordlessly at your quiet thank you, waited for you to dab at your eyes and take a few deep breaths in, to look at him again, before speaking.Â
âLetâs unpack some of what you said there. Youâve met someone recently, and youâd like to be able to be intimate with him?âÂ
âYeah,â you nodded, smiling a little at the thought of him. âItâs still quite new, but I think heâs the kind of guy I could see myself marrying. But I feel like I canât even imagine a future with him without addressing⊠this.â Baelor hummed and nodded, writing something down.Â
âAnd you spoke about your lack of experience. You mentioned that you havenât really been in a relationship before?âÂ
âYeah,â you swallowed, grimacing a little. âI⊠All throughout school I watched my friends get boyfriends, or I watched people get partners and start having all these experiences that I just⊠never got. No oneâs ever asked me out, no oneâs ever seen me in that way. Itâs embarrassing. Iâve confessed to my crush like three times and every single time I was rejected. I know it shouldnât be, but itâs so demeaning and confidence killing. And then Iâve just never had the confidence to ever confess again. I got busy in the middle too, life and stuff, and my mental health was so bad for a while and just⊠I donât know. I feel⊠I feel ugly, and unlovable.â You closed your eyes, swallowing harshly again, unable to look at him at the confession. You were opening your mouth too much, being too vulnerable too soon, you were sure of it. It was irrational, you knew that. You knew he wouldnât get you up and throw you out and tell you all of this was true, but that irrational bit of your brain was rather annoying even at the best of times.Â
âI know itâs only your first time meeting me, but I can assure you with full confidence that you are neither ugly nor unloveable.â His voice was quiet when he said it, gentle but firm, and you blinked open your eyes, blurred with tears and stared right at him. He was not smiling now but serious, sure, firm in his belief. You licked your lips and nodded, eyes a little wide, and you wiped at them haphazardly, gathering yourself.Â
âWe can take this slow as well, hm?â He asked then, gentle and smiling a little to comfort you. âWeâll start with just some more discussions, what you are comfortable with, what you actually want to achieve, and then I can make some other recommendations. Does that sound alright with you?â He tapped his pen against the notebook, punctuating his sentence with it, and you nodded quickly, smiling with relief.Â
And you felt it too, relieved. When you walked out of the session, there was already less of a weight on your shoulders. Instead it was replaced with the lightness of faith, of trusting that Baelor would help you, of trusting that you might actually be alright in the end.Â
âWhy do you think thereâs something wrong with being a virgin at your age?âÂ
You were back in the office again, the same pillow on your lap. This time you had removed your shoes before stepping onto the plush rug. You had wanted to feel it a little closer, just under your socks, as soft as you had imagined, and you sat with your feet up on the sofa, curled around the cushion, chin on your knees.Â
âI donât know,â was your first answer, automatic, too easy, and you knew by now that he wouldnât let you get away with it. He stayed silent, waiting for you to actually think, to be honest. He always did that, you realised, stayed silent until you gave him something worth responding to. You would appreciate it more if it wasnât so frustrating sometimes when you truly didnât know how to respond.Â
He was wearing a button-up today, blue and white stripes, neat and ironed, unbuttoned at the collar so it was a little more casual. He had his smart trousers on, as he always did, with a dark belt that blended into the fabric, navy blue socks, and leather dress shoes. He was always smartly dressed, and though sometimes it made you feel a little insecure, underdressed, you also really liked it. It made him look lovely and clean, trustworthy.Â
âI feel left behind I guess. Like thereâs something wrong with me because so many other people my age have already done this big milestone.â You picked at a corner of the pillow, almost mumbling as you spoke. âItâs not even just that Iâm a virgin, itâs that I havenât done anything. I havenât even held hands with a boy let alone had sex with a guy.âÂ
Baelor sighed and nodded, wrote something down then placed his pen flat on the paper, folding his hands on top of it. He looked you right in the eye, that serious and determined expression in them that always came with him saying something important that you should remember and pay particular attention to.Â
âI know it may feel odd, or wrong, but before anything else, you should know that there is nothing wrong with being experienced, whatever age you reach. It may not sound comforting, but unfortunately, sometimes that is the way life happens, with different experiences defining people differently. But again, there is nothing wrong with being inexperienced at your age.âÂ
You nodded, but then stayed silent, chewing on your lip and glaring at the floor. Usually you would say something in response, would agree with him or repeat what he said to affirm it to yourself, but this time you remained lost in your own head.Â
âWhat is it?â Baelor asked, not allowing you to stew alone.Â
âItâs just⊠of course you would say that. Like⊠look at you. You probably never had to worry about this. Youâre all⊠handsome and charming and older, like of course you would say that.â You said it with such confidence all of a sudden, like you believed it wholeheartedly, but when you finally absorbed the words that had slipped out of your own mouth, you instantly felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You could not believe you had actually said that. How could you have said that to him?? Just because it was true didnât mean you should have said it! Oh gods, now he knew you thought he was handsome and charming. Oh gods, he would terminate this. He would say itâs inappropriate, that you had crossed a line, that you didnât deserve to get help and that this stupidity was the obvious reason why you were still a virg-
He was chuckling. You looked up to find him smiling brightly, eyes squinted, shoulders moving up and down a little as he giggled at your words. You smiled too, couldnât help it because his own was so contagious, and all the tension that had begun to build inside you slowly melted out of your bones.Â
âWhile I appreciate the sentiment,â he finally said, still smiling as if you had charmed him with your little moment of unfiltered yammering, âmy words are still true. I know it doesnât feel like it, but itâs the truth.â You harrumphed a little, but nodded just the same, repeating it to yourself that you were normal, that this was normal.Â
You discussed a little more, spoke about how you should not feel shame, or should not take your lack of experience as a judgement of your worth and beauty, and you felt sufficiently exhausted by the end of the session. When there were about ten minutes remaining, Baelor paused and looked at you with that serious expression again.Â
âIâd like to propose something. I do not need your answer now, or even during the next session. Take as much time as you would like to deliberate, ask as many as you would wish, but please do consider it thoroughly. I think you may benefit from a more intimate approach to this. Your worries about your lack of experience seem to overshadow much of your other thoughts and I think it prevents you from moving on from some of your other insecurities. I would seriously advise you to consider surrogate partner therapy. I think it would allow you to gain some experience in a safe environment where you can ask questions and learn without feeling any possible judgement for your lack of experience.â He said it all with such a calm face, hands folded in his lap, and you nodded in response, chewing on your lip as you stared right at him, focused. Â
âDo some research of your own of course, to gain a better understanding of the concept, but essentially, you would have guided experiences with another person the same way you would with a romantic partner, and you would learn how to conduct it in a real-world scenario. Do you understand?âÂ
âUm, I think so,â you answered quietly, nodding and chewing on your lip with a small frown as you flicked your eyes back up to meet his. âSo⊠I would like⊠practice kissing with this person?â He hummed and nodded.Â
âYou could. You would only do what you are comfortable doing, would go only as far as you wish to go. You could stop at hugging or hand-holding if you wished. Itâs meant to be a comfortable environment to help you push past the physical elements holding you back.â You nodded again, glancing up at him with wary eyes.Â
âWho⊠would you be⊠who would⊠would it be with you?â You finally got out, heart clenching in your chest. He hummed and nodded, then moved his head side to side a little.Â
âIt could be. While I am trained, I do not conduct it myself often. I havenât in many years, and you should be aware of that. There are professionals we could find for you if you would prefer to do it with someone else, but I would be comfortable providing that experience for you if you are comfortable to have me do it.â He nodded again and placed his palms on his thighs, moving to stand up as he looked at the clock and realised the time.Â
âOk,â you sighed quietly, standing up as well and moving to put your shoes back on, slinging your bag over your arm and heading for the door. âIâll⊠Iâll think about it.âÂ
âOf course,â he replied kindly, smiling at you as he waited for you to head for the door before reaching out and opening it for you. âI would hope you do. Take all the time you need. Iâll ask again during our next session but do not worry if you have not come to a decision.âÂ
You nodded once more, smiled kindly at him, then bid him a quick goodbye before hurrying out of the office, popping your headphones into your ears and trying to sort through the million thoughts running through your head.Â
Baelor closed the door behind you, gathered up his notebooks and went to sit at his desk. He began typing up the notes he had taken during the session, adding anything he hadnât thought of before. He paused for a moment, staring off into space. He hoped this would help you. He hoped you would say yes.Â
The weather had gotten a bit warmer, so you ditched the jacket for only a t-shirt during the session. You wore one of those pretty white cotton skirts, the tiered ones that everyone had nowadays and you thought sort of looked like a wedding cake, but again, you wanted to take advantage of the warm weather while it lasted.Â
You took your shoes off again before walking on his carpet, this time feeling the plushness between your bare toes, and you sat with your legs folded up and tucked beside you, making sure to keep the skirt appropriately covering you. You wrung your hands in your lap, fiddling with the fabric of your skirt, and only looked up at Baelor in short glances.Â
Baelor was a little dressed down too, a plain white undershirt peeking out at his chest under a vibrant electric blue button-down, his usual smart trousers in navy and his shiny dress shoes still making an appearance. He sat down with a quiet huff, bringing his notebook to his lap and tapping his pen on it as he smiled at you.Â
âYou look rather more nervous than usual. Is everything alright?â He watched you carefully but without expectation and without judgement. You nodded quickly, an innate reaction, then paused, chewing on your lip before looking up and meeting his eyes.Â
âI- yeah, Iâm fine, but itâs just⊠I think Iâve come to a decision about⊠what we talked about last time,â you finally broke out, smiling nervously and letting out a pathetic little chuckle.Â
âOh? Thatâs good to hear. What is it?â He asked, settling a little more comfortably in his seat.Â
âI⊠think Iâd like to give it a go. I trust you, and if you think it could help me then Iâll do it. ButâŠâÂ
âBut?â He asked, raising one eyebrow as he watched you look down to the pillow you clutched in your lap again, picking at a thread by the zipper.Â
âI want it to be with you,â you mumbled, looking like a shy, scolded, child. You couldnât meet his eye as you said it, couldnât face your own decision despite making it. You knew he had said he would, that he felt comfortable doing it, but you didnât want it to be that he had suddenly decided that he actually wouldnât do it, and you would be embarrassed for asking. You didnât want to see any sympathy in his eyes as he decided to let you down gently.Â
âOf course,â he answered gently, and when you looked up, he had that small serene smile on again. âLike I said last week, I havenât done it myself in many years but I would be willing as long as you were comfortable.â You let out a long breath, sighing and smiling again, nodding quickly in response.Â
âYes, yes, I am. Thank you,â you breathed out, smoothing your hands over the pillow in your lap and finally looking at him properly once more.Â
âRight, we donât have to start right away if that was a worry for you. I wonât force you to jump into anything yet. We can just talk some more today, continue with what we discussed before,â he explained, gesturing with his hands and pen. You smiled again, nodding as you breathed deeply to calm any last jitters you had been feeling before. âBut I would like to make one change if you are comfortable with that.â You looked at him with wide eyes, blinking slowly as you waited for him to expand, suddenly feeling tense all over again. âWould it be alright if I came and sat on the sofa with you? Just on the other end.âÂ
âOh,â you let out, blinking quickly before shifting so you were right on one end of the sofa then glancing at the other end, the spot he wanted to take up. âYeah, yes, of course, if you want.âÂ
He smiled kindly at that then stood up. He was tall. You had noticed it before of course, but now you were sitting down, sunken in a little into the plush cushions, and it made him seem even more imposing. He walked over and sat down on the other end of the sofa, relaxed and without worry. You felt it move under you, shift a little with his weight, and you curled up just a tad more, making sure your feet were tucked under your skirt and wouldnât go near him. He sighed, slumping comfortably into the pillows, and crossed one leg over the other, ensuring he was at an angle so he could still speak facing you. His legs were quite close to you, and if you reached out with your hand you could place it on his knee. It was odd that you wanted to.Â
âIs this alright?â He finally asked, eyes flicking all over your face as you swallowed and nodded, your heart pounding a little.Â
âMhm,â you assented, but your voice was a little higher pitched than usual and he could see you clutching the cushion on your lap a little tighter, but he decided not to comment.Â
âDoes this make you nervous?âÂ
âA little, yeah,â you whispered, fluttering your eyelashes at him. Baelor felt a pang of something in his chest but chose not to focus on it, looking instead at the way you settled further back into the cushions and watched him in return.Â
âWhat about this makes you nervous?â He asked quietly.Â
âI donât know. Youâre just⊠very close, and Iâm worried that Iâll do something wrong.âÂ
âWhat could you do wrong if weâre just sitting together?â He asked without an ounce of judgement. It pointed you toward the absurdity of your thoughts without making you feel bad for it.Â
âI donât know. I guess thatâs a good point. I donât know, I guess I feel like I would sit weird or touch you accidentally when you donât want me to and you would just instantly be repulsed by me.â You spoke quickly, as if suddenly desperate to tell him everything you were thinking, and he hummed and nodded. âLike, if you were the guy I have a crush on, and you came and sat like this, I would be freaking out. I am freaking out.âÂ
âWhat would sitting weird do? Or accidentally touching me? What do you think would happen?â He asked gently, tapping his pen against the notebook in his lap.Â
âRealistically, nothing. In my crazy head? You would be repulsed by me and never want to come near me ever again and you would tell everyone that and I would die alone.â Baelor raised an eyebrow at you and you pursed your lips, nodding for a moment before sighing and giggling a little, hot with bashfulness. âI know. I know thatâs unrealistic.âÂ
âGood,â was his simple answer. Then he reached down and patted the side of his thigh. âStretch out your leg, and imagine youâve accidentally kicked me.â You looked at him, both eyebrows raising.Â
âReally?âÂ
âYes. Letâs play out the scenario. Reach out and tap my leg as if it was an accident,â he patted the side of his thigh again, face all seriousness, and waited for you to comply. He looked away to give the illusion of this being anywhere outside of a therapistâs office, and waited.Â
You reached out, gentle and hesitant, and lightly tapped the side of his thigh with your big toe. It was barely a touch, just enough to be felt, and he reached down and lightly tickled the sole of your foot. You squealed, jumped a little, and instantly curled your foot back into yourself, staring at him with wide eyes as he attempted to hide a smirk behind his hand.Â
âBaelor!â You squealed, mouth dropping open as a shocked laugh punched out of you.Â
âIs that not something you would have expected to happen?â He asked teasingly, and you giggled freely, perhaps for the first time since he had met you. He watched the way your face lit up, the way you rocked back and forth a little as you laughed. His chest felt warm at the sight. He was happy to see you happy.Â
When you finally caught your breath again, you leaned your elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested your cheek in your hand, looking at him from under slightly hooded eyes. âWeirdly effective strategy Mister,â you responded teasingly, and he hummed and nodded, smiling brightly.Â
You spoke for a little while. He asked how you were feeling over the past week, if you had seen your guy again, and you told him how you had been a bit busy with work, how you and him had been texting back and forth but you had been hesitant to accept any invitation to meet up. You still felt too nervous.Â
âWhy donât we try something else until the end of the session?â Baelor prompted after a moment, putting his pen down and shifting to sit up a little. You nodded, clutching the pillow to you. âWould you like to hold my hand?â He asked, leaning forward to rest his hand palm up on the seat between you. You glanced down to it, swallowing harshly, then nodded. You reached out, hesitant, and placed your palm on top of his.Â
His hand was warm, the comforting sort, like the kind of heat that emanated from a hot water bottle. His palm was soft, but he had callouses here and there, like he used his hands for more than just writing. Did he play sports over the weekends? Did he have a manual labour job at some point? Did he do a lot of DIY at home? You wanted to know all of these things all of a sudden, wanted to know how his hands became the way they were the moment you first held them.Â
He didnât say anything, just watched you carefully place your hand in his. Yours was smaller than his, soft in the way that hands became when one was diligent about moisturising them. Gently, he threaded his fingers through yours, turning your joined hands over so his was atop yours, then turning them back over. He caressed the back of your hand with his thumb, slow strokes, and dragged his eyes up your arm then to your face.Â
âHow does this feel?â He asked quietly, voice hushed to match the new heaviness in the air.Â
âLovely,â you sighed, holding his hand a little tighter. You had gotten used to it far too quickly. You did not want to let go now. It felt safe, right. âI like this. It makes me feel good. Makes me feel⊠chosen.âÂ
The two of you sat there together in silence just like that. You held his hand, and he held yours right back. He softly caressed the back of your hand with his fingertips, watching you shiver occasionally at the silky touches, at the teasing little drags. You could not say anything, and he chose not to. You were hit with the sudden urge to lift your hands and kiss his. You wanted it so much you were blindsided by it. The embarrassment at your own feelings burned in your cheeks and you tightened your grip on him as if he could read your mind and would throw you off in an instant.Â
The two of you sat like that until the end of the session, absorbed in your own thoughts, softly feeling each otherâs palms. When the clock struck the final possible minute, you quickly pulled your hand back, breathing in deeply and looking anywhere but at him. Baelor smiled, soft and kind, and reached over to gently pat you on the back of the shoulder.Â
âIâm very proud of you for taking these first steps,â he said simply, fully sincere. He stood and waited for you to pull your sandals on before opening the door for you. You were still hearing his words in your ears, still feeling all warm and mushy inside because he was proud of you. You had made progress, done something scary and made him proud in the process.Â
âThank you,â you mumbled quietly, but your face couldnât help breaking into a smile. âSee you next time.âÂ
âSee you next time,â Baelor waved once then shut the door when you had disappeared around the corner. He was smiling too.Â
âMight I hold your hand again?â Baelor asked, slumped comfortably on the other side of the sofa. He had sat there at the start of the session rather than taking up his seat in the armchair, and you were all tucked up on the other side, watching him.Â
âMhm,â you answered softly, reaching out without hesitance this time and threading your fingers through his. This was the third session where he had asked this, and you were beginning to expect it now. You sat a little closer to him than before, bringing his hand to your lap so you could hold it there, fiddle with his fingers and his rings as you spoke. You hadnât realised how comforting it actually was to be holding his hand during the session, to have that warm presence just there that somehow made it easier to delve into the darkest and saddest parts of your mind.Â
It was a couple sessions later when you initiated for the first time. The two of you sat down, and before he could ask, you gently reached out and said, âwould you⊠would you hold my hand?â Baelor smiled, the kind that shined in his eyes too, and he nodded, reaching out and gripping your hand firmly.Â
He wore a dark brown, almost maroon, shirt today, with white buttons. It looked soft, thick like a jumper, but you didnât think it was wool. You wanted to feel it. Another thought you batted away quickly.Â
âHave you become more comfortable with this action, do you think?â He asked, caressing your hand gently with his thumb as he readied his pen to write on his notebook atop his leg.Â
âYeah, I think so. It doesnât feel so daunting now that Iâve done it,â you answered honestly, smiling shyly at him.Â
âThatâs good to hear,â he responded, âIâm proud of you for taking initiative.â You beamed again, body alight with the praise, then he slowly unthreaded his fingers from yours and put his notebook and pen onto the table beside the sofa on his side. âWhy donât we move it along again? Why donât you come and sit right here?â He patted the spot directly beside him, âRight by me.âÂ
You gulped and nodded, swift and shaky, then slowly began shuffling over the sofa seats. He was smiling softly, encouragingly, and you moved until the side of your thigh pressed to his and you could feel the warmth of his body gently emanating against your side. Your breaths were shallow, too light in your chest, and you attempted to focus on anything but how nervous you felt.Â
You could smell his cologne, something cool scented that you enjoyed, that inadvertently soothed you. You kept your arms tucked close to you, your hands clasped tightly together and pressed to your stomach. He was looking down at you, watching you situate yourself back against the sofa, and then he carefully raised up his arm and lay it along the back of the sofa behind you.Â
âWould you be alright with me wrapping my arm over you?â He asked then, his voice almost a whisper, and you turned to look up at him. You could see the peppering of white in his beard closer here, could see the occasional little freckle on his skin and the flecks in his eyes that added so much dimension and beauty to them. You nodded because your throat was too thick for words. He nodded in return before moving his arm to come rest along your shoulders, his hand curling around your upper arm lightly.Â
His arm was a little heavy, but it was the comforting sort, the kind of weight that made everything feel real and secure. He tucked you up close to him, bringing you in even further so your shoulder pressed into his ribs under his arm and you were practically leaning your entire body into his side.Â
You were hesitant to allow it, worried you would somehow make him uncomfortable or put him off, but he seemed determined to tuck you against him, to wrap his arm tight and snuggle you into his side. You brought your legs up, bending them and tucking them against you on the other side to where he sat, and it leaned you even further into him. He hummed a little and you felt the rumble in his chest, the transfer of it into you.Â
You breathed slowly, sucking in lungfuls of his cologne, shivering into his warmth. You wondered if he ran hot. He must do with how warm he was. You brought up the hand not tucked against him and carefully splayed it onto his chest, a bold move but one that felt right despite the tremble in your arm. You tipped your head back a little so you could look up at him, and he pressed his chin down to ensure your gazes met.Â
âIs this alright?â You whispered, allowing your hand to spread over the soft material of his shirt just above his heart. He nodded, the smallest motion.Â
âOf course,â he answered kindly, voice as low as yours, then his free hand came up and began caressing your hair. You hummed softly with pleasure, your eyes fluttering a little. His hand was big and his fingers were careful, threading through your hair and caressing along your scalp. You shivered, full body, and he felt it, smiling a little to himself at the way you began snuggling a little further into him, your limbs beginning to fully relax. You allowed your head to rest against the place where his shoulder joined his chest, your cheek pressing into the material of his shirt and the thick muscle there. Your eyes had closed now and you just rested there in his arms. Eventually he rested his cheek on top of your head, taking soft breaths that ruffled your hair a little. He smelt your shampoo, the lovely scent of it, and allowed his own eyes to be closed.Â
âHow does this feel?â He asked, the smallest whisper, and you only hummed in response at first, far too busy enjoying the closeness, the softness and the warmth of being in his arms.Â
âReally good,â you finally breathed out. âI could fall asleep right here.â He chuckled, low and soft and the motion of it in his body moved through you too, like a baby being gently rocked.Â
Then Baelor lifted his head a little before leaning down so he was a bit closer to your face and said, âwould you like to sit on my lap?âÂ
He felt you tense against him, threaded through with steel all over again. He felt you shift back, sit up a little so you werenât as cradled against him, and your hair brushed against his chin as you tipped your head back, muttering a quiet, âwhatâŠâ.Â
âYou can refuse if you do not wish to. I donât want to push you farther than you are ready for. But if you would like, then why donât you try sitting in my lap for a little while.â He had that soft patient look in his eyes again, the one that showed gentleness, care, trust, and not one ounce of expectation or judgement. You sometimes wish you could take that look from his eyes and wrap it around yourself like a safety blanket, carrying it with you everywhere you go.Â
You chewed on your lip a little, instinctively fiddling with the fingers on his hand, twisting his rings around as you mumbled, âare you sure? I⊠I might be too heavy.â Baelorâs face softened even further at that, and he gently caressed the back of your shoulder, a warm and comforting pet.Â
âWell, why donât you sit on my lap and weâll find out? If you are, Iâll tell you.â He paused then, stopping his comforting caress, and he gently brought his hand around to nudge the underside of your chin until you were looking up into his eyes. âEven if you are, that is not a judgement on anything. It does not somehow take away from you, nor signify anything about you. You remain a beautiful young woman.â He could see your eyes go glassy, the way you chewed on your lower lip as it naturally began to pout a little more with your tears. You breathed shakily and nodded hesitantly, shifting forward to get on your knees.Â
Baelor placed one hand carefully on your waist, shifting towards where you had sat before to give you a bit more space to bring your knee over. You slotted it into the space between his thigh and the arm of the sofa. When you were straddling him, both his hands spanning on either side of your waist, he looked up at you. You looked concerned, chewing on your lip, a furrow to your brow. Your hands had naturally come to rest on his shoulders, your fingers clutching the strong muscles there a little tightly. You could tell he worked out even through the shirt.Â
âJust sit back on my knees for now, hm?â He prompted quietly, watching you nod quickly then rest yourself down onto his thighs. He resisted the urge to caress up your body, to run his hands over your sides and cup your face the way he would do a lover. You licked your lips and glanced up at his face, the worry clear in your eyes. âIs this alright?âÂ
âYes,â you breathed out quickly, hurriedly, as if to appease him, and he just raised an eyebrow while waiting for your real response. âIt is, I promise. Iâm just nervous. I donât want to do anything wrong.â He nodded, caressing his thumb back and forth over your waist. Your mind honed in on the motion. You prayed he would never stop.Â
âWhat could you do wrong?â He asked, so similar to all those sessions ago, and you almost smiled. Actually, you did, just a little one.Â
âNot sure, knee you in the groin?â He chuckled at that, squeezing your waist a little, and shook his head.Â
âHm, realistic, but as long as you try not to, then I think weâre safe. And even if you do, then Iâll know it was an accident, and it wonât change anything. Right?â He nudged, nodding as if to guide your answer.Â
âYeah, youâre right.âÂ
âGood. Itâs alright to be nervous,â he continued, tilting his head back to look into your eyes. âEven in a real situation, many people are nervous when conducting actions like that. Itâs perfectly normal. But communication and trust are very important, and the more experiences you have with your partner, the more comfortable youâll become.â You nodded, blinking quickly as you met his eyes and the small smile he offered you again.Â
âCan⊠Can I hug you?â You asked hesitantly, feeling hot with bashfulness. Why in the world were you so nervous just to ask for things? You wanted to berate yourself, to swallow the words back, but when his smile brightened, as if he was proud of you for taking the initiative again, your brain instantly quieted.Â
âOf course, come here,â he slid his hands around to your back, waiting for you to lean forward and tuck yourself against his chest. You shuffled your hips down a little then snuggled up against his chest, fluttering your eyes shut as you took long slow breaths. You tucked your face into the side of his neck, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pressing yourself right against him.Â
You loved everything about this moment. If you were to die now, you could be sure you at least died happy. He was so lovely and warm. Truly, like having the heating on in winter, cozy and soft and⊠perfect. His smell was lovely too, his cologne something cool-scented. You imagined if water had a smell, thatâs what it would be like, clean and smooth. He was strong and muscular, a firm presence under you. His thighs and hips forced your own open wide, and his stomach, chest, shoulders, were all expansive and perfect for you to find refuge in. The place where you tucked your face now, the soft stretch of his neck, was warm and his cologne was stronger there, probably sprayed there just before he left this morning.Â
You could feel his beard brush against your ear when you shifted, and you couldnât help yourself from letting out a little sigh of pleasure. You snuggled a little further into him, eyes fluttering a little but remaining closed as you somehow relaxed even further into his grip. Baelor ran a palm up your back, gently caressing you along your spine, his large hand spanning far. He sighed too, the soft breath rustling through your hair, and allowed himself to rest his cheek against the side of your head comfortably.Â
âMmm, this is nice, isnât it?â He said quietly, and you gave a small nod, humming softly again. âWhile I do not claim to speak for all men, I cannot imagine that many would complain at having the comforting weight of a pretty young woman on their lap.âÂ
You felt your entire body go hot. The flush crept through you, pulsing in your stomach and core, then gently reaching its warmth into your legs and arms, all the way up to your cheeks and ears and down into your toes. You held onto him a little tighter, swallowing down the whimper that wanted to tremble out of you. Hearing him call you pretty might be everything you needed in your life and more.Â
The two of you sat like that for a long while, just enjoying your shared warmth and softness. He would occasionally murmur something in your ear, something to speak about or something to remember if this ever comes up in a relationship. The two of you would shift sometimes, just to get a little more comfortable, but it was relatively still and silent.Â
When the session was nearing its end, he rubbed his hand up and down your back again and murmured, âyouâre a good girl. Iâm proud of you for taking these steps for yourself.â Your hands clenched into his shirt, your entire body feeling ready to tremble. Your legs tightened around him, a strong pulse clenching in your core. You felt it searing your insides, in your chest and right through to your nipples. This time a breathy sound left your lips, like a strong exhale, and you were instantly filled with embarrassment at it, curling in on yourself even further.Â
But Baelor didnât say anything, just paused his rubbing and pressed his palm a little harder into your back. You pulled back a little, suddenly feeling too hot, and you blinked quickly at him, your eyes still a little dazed and lost. Your lips were parted, and his own were open just so, soft but quick breaths falling from him. You looked right into his eyes, trembling properly now. His hand came up, caressing over your shoulder, his fingers grazing your neck before he cupped your cheek. His thumb stroked over the side of your face, along your cheekbone and just grazed the corner of your mouth. His fingers were threaded through your hair, splayed along your scalp, and you felt engulfed by him, totally in his control.Â
You licked your lips, the quickest flick of your tongue. You would have kissed him if you had any confidence. He watched the motion, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes. He would have kissed you if he had any less propriety and control.Â
The ticking of the clock signifying the end of session pulled you both out of whatever trance you had fallen into. He glanced in its direction, head tilting to the side and giving you a lovely view of his jaw, and you quickly slid off his lap, falling back onto the sofa beside him before standing and beginning to smooth out your hair and clothes. You felt like you had been caught doing something wrong. You werenât quite sure why.Â
Baelor cleared his throat a little, smoothed his hands down his thighs then stood as well, gathering up his notebook and pen from the table beside the sofa and holding it close to himself. He smiled at you, attempting a comforting look, though it came out a little strained.Â
âI would usually sit and debrief with you for a bit but Iâm afraid we got a bit distracted. Weâll continue next time, alright?â He asked kindly, watching you nod hurriedly, a bit of a panicked look in your eyes. You had pulled your shoes on again and were clutching the strap of your bag tightly. âY/n,â he called to you, gathering your attention once more. He reached out and gently patted the back of your shoulder, his smile a little softer now. âWell done.âÂ
You smiled in return, taking a deep breath and nodding. You looked into his eyes once more, blue and brown, but both soft and comforting. One look there and you could feel your entire chest become smooth and soft and relaxed. You nodded once more and headed out the door, knowing you would be thinking about that moment for a long time to come.Â
âI didnât feel very good yesterday,â you murmured to Baelor, chewing on your lip as you sat curled up in your corner of the sofa. He sat on the other end again, one leg crossed over the other, slouched down as he usually was, notebook on his lap and pen scrawling away.Â
When you had entered that day, he could tell you needed to speak. He didnât attempt to initiate anything, just smiled and gestured for you to sit then sat down himself and waited. You were wearing jogger bottoms and a hoodie today, grey and black, far more colourless than you would usually be. You had toed off your shoes and curled yourself up into the corner of the sofa, barely even looking at him.Â
âHow are you?â He had asked once you had both settled in, voice quiet and silky in your ear, and you had shrugged at first.Â
âI didnât feel very good yesterday is all,â you murmured, like it was nothing, but he nodded without saying a word. After a moment of silence, you continued. âSome of my friends were going to the beach and I was just feeling like crap about myself. I was so scared of having to wear a swimsuit, of having to be so open with my body that I couldnât⊠I didnât even go.â You shook your head and brought your knees up close to you, chewing lightly at your fingernail and keeping your eyes focused on the floor. You curled your arms around your shins and just kept yourself tucked up, safe, hidden.Â
Baelor watched you carefully, the picture of despair before him made his chest hurt. He wanted to reach out and pet your head again, to grip your chin and force you to meet his eyes, to kiss lightly at your face and- no. No he didnât want to do any of that. He knew that just telling someone they were beautiful didnât necessarily do anything. You need to learn to believe it yourself.Â
âI donât know, it feels worse somehow. I thought I was doing better. That insecurity hasnât been that bad in a while. Iâve been swimming and to the beach, but⊠I donât know. Yesterday I just felt horrible and I couldnât⊠could barely look at myself in the mirror.âÂ
Baelor placed his pen down and moved to put the notebook on the table beside the sofa. His chest felt a little too tight, and he took a moment to breathe before sitting up properly and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked at you for a long while, waiting for your face to smooth out from the pained expression and for you to open your eyes to look at him again.Â
âBefore I tell you anything else, I want you to know I only see a beautiful person in front of me. Inside and out.â His voice was quiet but full of conviction, and you felt it right in your chest. You blinked quickly, the tears overflowing, wet streaks down your cheeks. You nodded quickly, the hot lump in your throat rendering you incapable of speech, and swiped haphazardly at your cheeks and eyes. You opened your mouth as if to say something then shut it again, pursing your lips and licking your tears off them.Â
Baelor took the box of tissues and placed it between you, nudging it gently in your direction. You nodded in thanks and quickly grabbed one to dab at your face and eyes. Baelor cleared his throat and leaned back into his seat once more.Â
âI have some homework for you,â he began quietly once more when you looked a bit more settled and your breaths did not rattle through you.Â
âOk,â you whispered, nodding and looking at him with wide, innocent, eyes.Â
âI want you to think of at least three things you like about yourself. Real things, things that you can see in yourself. And I want you to tell yourself about those things. Say that you like those things about yourself, at least once every morning and evening until our next session. Alright?â His eyes were firm again, his mouth set in a straight line, and he waited to see you nod before going on. You were hesitant, chewing on your lip and tugging on the strings of your hoodie, but you did eventually nod, glancing up at him in quick little flicks.
âRight, good. I have more though,â he continued, and you smiled a little to yourself. Of course he wouldnât let it be that easy. âI want you to take some time in the evening, whether it be tonight or tomorrow, to strip down naked, and look at yourself in the mirror.â
You reared back a little, snapping your head to the side to stare at him with wide eyes. His expression did not change save for the slightest raise of his eyebrows. You spluttered a little, curling your hands close to your chest.Â
âI donât think I can do that,â you told him quickly, shaking your head and chewing on your lip again.Â
âYou can, and you will,â he affirmed, and his tone left no room for argument. You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him you truly couldnât, but he shot you one look, hard and steely, and you snapped your lips closed once more. You were sure that with that look he could make the entire world listen to what he had to say. So you bit your lip and nodded, and he nodded in return. âGood.âÂ
You wore a pretty dress this time. Baelor felt⊠bowled over by it. He had not seen you in a dress yet. Though it did not show on his face, at least he hoped it didnât, he felt his breath catch in his throat a little. Your hair was mostly loose, a cascade over your shoulders, a few strands from the front pulled back to keep it clear of your face. You looked better than last time, healthier, smilier. You wore something of soft cotton or linen, a wonderful pastel butter yellow, soft and beautiful on your skin. It was a simple summer dress, something pretty and easy to run errands in, and you wore matching ankle socks which made him smile.Â
âHow are you today?â He asked, resting his arm casually along the back of the sofa.Â
He wore a plain white shirt under a black cardigan today, simple and soft. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows giving you a wonderful view of his strong forearms. You felt like a demure Victorian maiden getting hot at the sight of them.Â
âGood. Really good. I went out for dinner with him a couple nights ago,â you told Baelor with a bright smile, hiding it a little behind your hand. He smiled too, nodding happily at your pure joy. It was lovely to see again. âAnd, you know what, if you tell yourself something enough times, you start believing it.âÂ
âAh, so youâve been following through on your homework. Thatâs good to hear,â he perked up at that, picking up his pen once more and writing something in his notebook swiftly without even looking down at the paper.Â
âMostly,â you told him hesitantly, looking a little embarrassed once more. You fiddled with a strand of your own hair, curling it around your finger and tugging on it gently.Â
âMostly?â He prompted, raising one eyebrow in question.Â
âIâve been doing what you said, picking out three things that I like about myself and telling myself that I like them every night. Itâs been good. ButâŠâ you cleared your throat then, looking down at your lap as you mumbled, âI couldnât get myself to do the other thing.â He paused, nodded once, wrote something in his notebook then looked at you again.Â
âDid you attempt it?â He asked.Â
âSort of,â you nodded, âI stood in front of the mirror. And I looked at myself. I couldnât⊠I couldnât get naked. And I felt like crying every time I tried to say the words. I did eventually. But I couldnât look at myself for very long.â You kept your head bowed, staring at your own lap rather than at him. You didnât want to see his disappointment. You didnât want to see his brow furrowed, his head shaking, a tut falling from his lips. He of course did none of those things.Â
âThatâs alright,â he finally spoke, his voice quiet and comforting. He offered you a small smile when you glanced up to his face. âItâs a good start, Iâd say.â You nodded in response but found you had nothing else to say.Â
Baelor stood up and walked over to the wall of windows. You followed him with your eyes, frowning a little when you noticed the thing he walked toward. It leaned against the wall but was covered in a brown cloth, and when he whipped it off, you realised it was a full length standing mirror. He brought it over to the open space between the windows and his armchair, standing it securely before turning to you.Â
âCome,â he beckoned, waving you over with one hand as the other sat comfortably in his pocket. You gaped at him, standing only because your body innately followed his orders. You padded over to him, hands sliding into the pockets over your dress and clenching into fists there to stop the trembling in your limbs. Despite your wariness, you still stood close to him, your arm brushing against his. You were careful not to tuck any closer despite how much you wanted to.Â
Baelor walked behind you, carefully placing his hands on your upper arms. His palms were warm and dry against your skin. He looked into your eyes in the mirror, waiting for you to nod to say you were comfortable before continuing. He walked you forward until you were in the centre of the mirror, reaching around to nudge your chin slightly to make sure you kept your head up and your eyes on the reflection. Your face felt too hot. Then he let go of you, not stepping back but not holding on either. The smell of his cologne stayed in your nostrils though, something hot and a little spicy today.Â
âRight, look at yourself,â he guided quietly. He watched on carefully, making sure you followed his instructions. He watched you peruse your eyes up and down yourself, something hesitant and a little pained in them. âGood,â he whispered, before carefully dragging his fingertips down your arms. You felt them touch the curves of your elbows, felt the whisper of them on your forearms, and you shivered. He grasped your wrists and pulled your hands from your pockets, placing them at your sides before removing his grip and putting his own hands into his pockets.Â
âI want you to look yourself in the eye, and I want you to say, âI am beautifulâ. Can you do that?â He was patient, so so patient, you thought, and you wanted to do this for him. He probably would have told you to do it for yourself if you had voiced the thought, but you felt it anyway. You gulped, a harsh movement in your throat, and nodded. You met your own gaze in the mirror and trembling said, âI am beautiful.âÂ
Your voice came out a whisper, hesitant and stilted, but the words were out in the air now. You glanced up in the mirror and he was nodding, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes, and you wanted to bathe in it.Â
âWonderful,â he murmured, âonce more.âÂ
âI am beautiful.â Your voice was more confident now, more firm, and you even nodded a little, standing up straighter. Perhaps if you pretended it was true, it might feel like it. Again he nodded, pacing a little behind you.Â
âIf you feel comfortable, and only if, you could try taking off your dress,â he broached. He stood just behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You couldnât feel him per se, just his presence at your shoulder, and you blinked quickly up at his reflection. You wrung your hands together, looking down as you contemplated it. You could do it. You knew you could. You could.Â
You glanced up again, nodded, then reached back to grasp at your zipper. Your fingers were a little clumsy, slipping off the small thing, but eventually you managed to grasp on with a blush burning in your cheeks and pulled it down. You slid your arms out of the off-the-shoulder straps and then pushed the dress down until it fell at your feet.Â
Your eyes were clenched shut. You couldnât look in the mirror knowing he was looking at you. You didnât want to see anything akin to disappointment, to disgust and repulsion, on his face. You did not want to see pity, to see that look that said, âoh poor thing. No wonder no one wants her.âÂ
You shivered a little at the cool air and crossed your arms tightly over yourself. You were wearing a pair of skin-coloured safety shorts, and your favourite go-to bra. You were not naked, but you felt it. Your breaths shook through you.Â
âWill you open your eyes?â Baelor whispered, and you felt him closer now, this gentle warmth at your back. You wanted to shake your head. You wanted to tell him no, that you could not, that you would put your dress back on and sit on the sofa and cry as much as you wanted. But you didnât. You nodded, and carefully pried your eyes open.Â
You looked at his reflection before your own, and he was⊠he was smiling. His face was open, bright, proud. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile was breathtaking. You wanted to hug him. Rather, you wanted him to hug you, to wrap you up in his arms and tell you you were safe and beautiful and everything was going to be alright.Â
You shivered once more then looked at yourself. You ran your eyes down your neck, over the slopes of your shoulders and arms. You looked at your bra straps and the cups holding onto your chest, the expanse of your stomach and thighs, the waistband of your shorts and the crinkles of your knees. You looked over it all, and before he could prompt you, you swallowed and murmured, âI am beautiful.âÂ
He sucked in a breath and nodded, whispering a âgoodâ as you chewed on your lip and nodded too, the tears filling your eyes. Your face crumpled, and you felt a bit stuck. You could not look away, but you wanted to. You could not believe the words you had said, but oh how you wanted to.Â
Baelor stood just behind you, this young woman who could not see what he saw, and he felt this desperate sense of urgency inside of him. He wanted to hold your face in his hands, to curl you close and look into your eyes and tell you how beautiful you were. He wanted to whisper it right into your brain, to say it right to the source, to press it into your mind so you were forced to believe him. His breath was too thick in his chest as he looked at the tear tracks begin to shine on your cheeks. He⊠he wanted to kiss you. Yes, he wanted to turn you around, to wrap his arm around your back and hoist you to him, to cup your cheek and kiss you until you were breathless, until he was breathless.Â
Baelor blinked quickly, rubbing a hand over his mouth and looking away. No, he did not want those things. He did not want those things because wanting them was wrong, was unprofessional, was inappropriate, was unethical. You trusted him. You came to him for help and guidance, and he could not want that without betraying everything else. He should⊠he should separate from this. He should tell you that this could no longer continue, that he was too emotionally invested and it was not healthy for either of you. He should refer you to someone, perhaps pass you along to Rowan in the offices near Ashford or that new therapist from Lys. He should⊠he should let you g-Â
You turned away from the mirror, your hands clutched tight to your chest. Your face had well and truly crumpled now, and you were shaking with your sobs. Without a word, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face to his chest. You cried into the warm shirt there, eyes shut as you shook with your tears. He shushed you gently, his own pain at the sight clenching in his chest. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, bands over your back and shoulders. He tucked you close, his voice whispering softly against the top of your head, his lips pressing gently to your hair.Â
âItâs alright,â he soothed, âitâs alright.â You trembled in his grip. âWell done, darling. Iâm very proud of you. Well done.âÂ
Baelor held you tight and continued murmuring softly to you, rubbing one hand up and down your spine as the other kept you tucked up against him. He rested his head against yours softly, feeling you slowly quiet down, allowing his own heart to settle with yours. But when he glanced back up, when he met his own eyes in the mirror behind you, he only saw himself on the edge of a precipice, teetering far too close to the edge, only the gentlest push away from falling offâŠÂ
You were sitting in his lap again, sideways on this time, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. You wore a white tank top and a pair of flowy black linen trousers, your fingers fiddling with the drawstrings.Â
âIs kissing really that good?â You asked quietly, your shoulders curled in a little. He rested one arm over your knees and caressed the outer side of your leg just so, his thumb running back and forth on your thigh.Â
âWhat do you mean?â He asked, brows furrowing a little as he turned to look at your face.Â
âI mean like⊠is it really that good? People are always making out and stuff⊠is it really that nice?â You chewed on your lip as you looked up at him, truly seeking an honest answer, and he smiled and nodded.Â
âKissing can be wonderful. Done right, it can be extremely pleasurable,â he informed you, not stopping in his caresses. You nodded, still chewing on your lip, and he waited patiently for whatever it was you clearly wanted to say.Â
âThe guy Iâve been seeing⊠he tried to kiss me last night.â You finally blurted it out, looking up at him with wide worried eyes. âWe were on his sofa watching a film, and it was really nice. We even cuddled for a bit, and I felt⊠I felt so good. We were talking about something that happened in the movie, and he was smiling and looking at me, and then he started leaning in, and I just- I panicked, and I turned my head so he kissed my cheek. Then I pretended like I thought that was what he meant to do and just sort of cooed about how sweet he was. I kissed his cheek in return and like ten minutes later I made some pathetic excuse to leave and ran.â You groaned loudly and pressed your face into your hands, shaking your head in despair. âI canât believe I did that. I must look so crazy and pathetic to him. For the first time in my life I have a guy who actually wants to kiss me and I canât even do it.âÂ
âSh, do not say things like that. We do not call ourselves mean things in this office, hm?â He nudged quickly, grasping one of your wrists and tugging your hand down so he could look at your face. You kept the other hand up for a moment before dropping it too and meeting his eyes. You nodded but didnât take back your words and he sighed. âThere is nothing wrong with what you did. It may have been better for you to communicate openly, to tell him that you werenât comfortable, or perhaps you didnât know what you were doing, but there is nothing wrong with avoiding a situation you did not feel ready for. I do not want to hear you berate yourself for it any further.âÂ
You nodded, sighing and allowing your shoulders to slump a little as you relaxed back against the arm of the sofa. You returned to fiddling with your drawstrings, glancing back up to Baelorâs face every now again.Â
âIâm just scared Iâll fuck it up. I have zero clue on what to do. Like, zero.â You looked him right in the eye as you said it, nodding your head as if to emphasise the point. âI know you put your mouths together but after that⊠nothing.â Baelor hummed in acknowledgment and turned back to you. His notebook and pen were on his other side, carefully out of your view, and he put his pen down once more. He looked up at you, smoothing a hand over your knee as he said,Â
âWould you like to practice?â
You blinked quickly, excitement surging in your chest. You bit your lip, hands tightening into fists as your insides began to flutter. Perhaps it was stupid and manipulative, desperate and naive, to have wished for this. You had wanted him to suggest this, had wanted him to want to teach you. You trusted him more than anyone, you had quickly realised, and the evening before had cemented it. You could only tell him these things, could only hope that he would help you with these things.Â
âYes please,â you whispered, the smallest smile on your face as you reached out and softly traced the collar of his shirt. He was wearing another button-up, this one in pale blue, and it was impossibly smooth under your hands.Â
âRight, why donât you straddle me again, like before, hm?â He prompted, shifting a little as you nodded and moved off. You stood just in front of him, your knees brushing his, and you looked down on him. His head tilted back to meet your eyes, and one of his hands automatically came up to rest on your hip. Your breath hitched a little in your throat, that simple touch searing, and you felt everything inside you tighten.Â
Baelorâs eyes drifted down over your body as you moved forward, bringing your knee up and into the space between his thigh and the sofa. His eyes traced down over your breasts, heaving a little with your quick breaths. Your nipples had hardened, and he could see them poking out through your bra and the thin tanktop. His mouth watered. He wanted to lean forward and press his mouth right there, to close his eyes and focus on the sounds that you may let out.Â
He gulped harshly, forcing his eyes away, and ran his hand down the side of your leg as you brought the other up and settled down on his lap. You sighed softly, running your hands along his shoulders, back and forth, before finally settling them on either side of his neck. You looked right at him now, not bashful little glances but an unabashed stare that traced over his salt and pepper beard, over the strong bridge of his nose, the small freckles that decorated his skin like kisses from the sun. You wanted to kiss each one, to press your mouth more places than just his lips.Â
His eyes were bright, colourful, and you looked right into them as you leaned a little closer, moving purely on instinct. His palms traced up your sides, one settling on your hip, the other continuing up and to your neck, then cupping the side of your jaw. You gasped, his grip was firm and tipped your head back just a little. His lips parted as he flicked his eyes down to your mouth. Your fingertips traversed up from his collar and gently touched the warm skin of his neck, the lightest trace, and he shivered a little. You felt it through you, in the places where your thighs touched his ribs, and you sighed breathily, leaning in even closer until your chest touched his and the tip of your nose whispered against his.Â
âWill you kiss me, please?â You asked, your voice barely a breath. You were trembling in his grip, and he let go of your hip to wrap his arm around your waist and hoist you even closer, until your core pressed right into his stomach. A small gasp left you. You felt hot all over, tingles turning to flurries in your stomach and chest. He was firm there, and you tilted your hips a little to press your core even harder there.Â
âClose your eyes,â he murmured, and you felt the barest hint of his lips against yours. You breathed shakily again, a small sound falling from your mouth, and his arm around you tightened, his grip on your face became firmer, and as your eyelids fluttered shut, he fully pressed his mouth to yours.Â
You hadnât expected to be so⊠aware. You could feel everything. The tip of his nose pressed into the crease of your cheek. His face was warm and you could feel it against your own skin. You could feel his lashes brush the high points of your cheeks. His hands were searing on your body, somehow hotter now that his mouth had joined yours. His lips were wet, hot, moving gently against yours, coaxing your mouth in small suctioning motions. His beard was rough against your face, ticklish at your chin and cheeks and upper lip, and you almost felt overstimulated by it, torn between pulling away to make it stop and pressing harder into it. You chose the latter.Â
A small moan left your mouth and Baelor groaned a little, the sound rumbling through you and triggering another little sigh. Your fingers curled at the nap of his neck, clenching a little in his hair. Your body rolled a little against him, your breasts pressing into his chest and your nipples rubbing into the fabric of your bra. Baelorâs hand slid further back and into the hair at the base of your neck, his fingers clenching a little as a high pitched sound left your mouth.Â
He pulled back for a second, not far, just enough for him to be able to push back in again, a little more hurried, a little more fervent. He coaxed your mouth open with his lips, and you gasped, twitching against him at the feeling of his tongue slowly licking into you. Your nails pressed into his scalp, scraping there, and he shivered, groaning harshly into your mouth.Â
You pulled back quickly, huffing and heaving in his lap. Your eyes fluttered but you didnât want to open them fully just yet. You were⊠overwhelmed. Your heart raced and your hands trembled and you so desperately wanted to dive back in again, to taste his mouth until you died from lack of oxygen. He tasted like the green Extra gum, sweet spearmint, and you hoped you tasted half as good to him in return.Â
Baelor looked at you with heavy eyes. You couldnât tell what he was thinking. He felt⊠wild. Yes, that was the word. He felt like a wild animal. He wanted to grasp you by the back of your neck and pull you in again, to devour your mouth, to lick your tongue like a lion with a kill. He wanted to thrust his hands under your shirt and feel along your skin, warm and smooth and simply perfect under his palms. He wanted to know the weight of your breasts, to feel the ripple of your arse against him. He wanted to know how soft the skin of your inner thighs was and how wet your core could get. He wanted to run his fingers there, to press against your clit until you shook. He wanted to taste everything.Â
âThat wasâŠâ you panted, eyes shining and sparkling. He had never seen your eyes like that. They were full of wonder and joy and made him want to kiss you again.Â
âThat was very good,â he finally broke out, licking his lips and nodding, attempting to recapture a professional tone as he looked up at you. You shifted on his lap, not back or forward, just pressing down a little, and his breath hitched. He hoped you couldnât feel the situation brewingâŠÂ
âYeah,â you sighed, blinking slowly but still looking into his eyes. âYeah, it-it felt good.âÂ
âKissing can be quite instinctual sometimes,â he told you softly, allowing himself to relax into the sofa as you softened in his arms and nodded, brushing your nose against his without thinking. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, feeling the soft skin there. âYou follow each other, listen to what seems to pleasure the other person. It is give and take.â You nodded again, glancing between his eyes and his mouth. Now that you had caught your breath, you wanted to kiss him again.
âCan we do it again?â you asked quickly, heat burning under your skin as you bit your lip and curled in on yourself a little.Â
âYes,â Baelor sighed out just as hurriedly, and then he was leaning in once more.Â
Baelor sipped slowly from the crystal glass, his eyes unfocused where he looked out of the windows. He had pulled the curtains back after you left from another session, as if a vampire punishing himself with the sun. But the view was lovely at sunset, and he needed something to look at as he contemplated. He did not usually indulge at the office, but it had seemed necessary and the decanter was calling his name.Â
The clinks were satisfying, the stopper, the pour, the stopper again. It was a lovely amber in the glass, expensive even in its colour, and it slipped down his throat like water, hot and smooth. He drank the first glass quickly, one throw back, but was now savouring the second. He rested his elbows on the desk, slumped forward a little as he thought back to your session.Â
He was getting far too used to you crawling over to him now, to your sweet eyes as you batted your lashes at him and asked if you could sit in his lap again. He should have started saying no to you. He should have started building that separation back up again. You said you felt comfortable in his lap now, that you really liked it, it made you feel safe and honest. He should have stopped it right then when you had carefully admitted that in a whisper against his neck as you snuggled into him. He should not have wrapped his arms around you and hugged you a little tighter. He should not have pressed his mouth to your hair in a silent kiss and allowed his eyes to flutter shut.Â
You were becoming too close, too dependent, and it would not do. It was his duty as a professional to stop this at once and pull away, to refer you to someone else. Not just because you were too dependent, but because his own mind was straying. He looked at you sometimes and found it impossible not to smile. He felt things in his chest that he should not have been feeling as an objective professional. His hands were always tight with the need to reach out and touch you. His lips were always tingling with the need to kiss you.Â
Baelor sighed, clenched his eyes shut, and shook his head. He took another long sip from the glass, rubbing a hand over his face. He was not viewing you as a client anymore, and that was the most dangerous part of it all.Â
He thought back to the session earlier, to your face, the way your eyes lit up as you spoke about this man you were seeing.Â
âItâs been really good, Baelor! Really! We went out for dinner the other night, and he held my hand, and we went for a stroll after and he wrapped his arm around me and I didnât even flinch. And⊠and he even kissed me goodbye. It was small and soft but it was a real kiss!â You giggled then, clenching your hand in the lapel of his blazer as you told him all the news excitedly. How odd that he should be happy and sad hearing this at the same time. Your excitement was beautiful, infectious, and he felt proud that you had come so far since your sessions began. He felt proud at having had even the smallest part in building your confidence. But he also felt shamefully jealous of this man, whoever he was, and how he got to do all these things with you.Â
âThatâs wonderful news,â he had told you, softly caressing a strand of your hair, eyes crinkling at the corners.Â
âYeah⊠yeah it is,â and you smiled so brightly, giggling a little with your giddiness, and it took an otherworldly sort of strength to stop him from leaning in and kissing you. âI think things are getting serious. I canât really believe it but⊠he likes me. Like, he really likes me. I guess I never thought it would happen.â Tears had gathered in your eyes and he had simply held you as you cried, daintily wiping one from your cheek before you pressed your face to his neck again and sighed softly.Â
There were a million things he had wanted to say in that moment. He had wanted to tell you that you deserved all the love there was to be given. He had wanted to say that he believed it, that he believed everyone was in love with you, because how could they not be? He had wanted to tell you that⊠that he loved you.Â
Baelor clenched his eyes shut again and drank what remained of his glass before gulping down another. He picked up his pen and quickly wrote at the bottom of the page, âSEND FOR REFERRALâ. He underlined it three times, then slammed the notebook shut.Â
You were wearing a red dress. Perhaps it was to torture Baelor, a punishment for not following through and referring you on to another therapist. It was another summer dress, vibrantly red, softly flowing around your shins. You seemed to favour off the shoulder straps, this one having lovely puffy and ruched short sleeves, and he could almost imagine the dress sliding down your body, piling on the floor at your feet.Â
You were back to your old positions, you curled up in the corner of the sofa, and him in his armchair, attempting some form of separation lest he get too lost again. But this felt worse somehow, because now he had a clear view of you. He could see your ankles and smooth shins where the dress had ridden up. He could see the goosebumps on your arms and the place where your earring was stuck in your hair. And he could see the way you chewed at your lip, looking at him nervously as if there was something on the tip of your tongue that you were attempting to gather the courage to say.Â
âI-â you began, then swiftly stopped. You glanced up at him and then shook your head, bringing your hand up and chewing at the side of your finger. âNothing,â you murmured, waving your other hand in the air and looking back down to the floor.Â
Baelor put his pen down and cleared his throat, waiting until you were looking at him before raising his eyebrows to prompt you into speaking. It was that look, the expectant one, the one that would have even the most disciplined of monks crumbling in their vows of silence.Â
âStop looking at me like that, it makes me want to tell you everything,â you grumbled, scowling a little. Baelor chuckled, shaking his head and sliding his hand over his mouth before resting it there, leaning into it on the arm of his chair as he watched you.Â
âYou should attempt to do so then,â he answered wryly, raising his eyebrow again as he waited for you to finally become forthcoming during this session.Â
âWhy are you sitting over there again?â You asked instead, looking back to the spot he usually took up then back to him. He paused a moment, jaw clenching for the smallest second (though hidden well behind the cover of his beard). Â
âSo I can see you better,â he finally answered, shrugging as if it meant nothing. You nodded, earnest, and he felt a twinge of guilt for the lie. Then you snorted a chuckle.Â
âYou know what? That makes you sound like the wolf from red riding hood,â you giggled, hiding your laugh behind your hand and looking at him with sparkling eyes. He smirked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly but unable to hold off his smile at your joy. He much preferred seeing you like this, especially compared to the nervous wreck from moments before.Â
You chewed on your lip again when your laughs subsided. You rubbed a hand down your face, shook your head, then looked up at him from under your lashes as you said, âcan you come sit here again? I like it better that way.âÂ
He didnât move instantly. It was a war inside him, the desperate desire to do as you asked, and the weaker, sensible, side of him that told him to stay put, to tell you that it would be better to remain this way. He could see worry begin to descend in your eyes at his inaction, could see the gnawing at your lip become harsher, and that sensible side of him failed once more.Â
Baelor stood and moved over to the sofa, sitting down on the other end and settling his notebook in his lap. Perhaps if he kept his notebook there this time, and didn't allow you to settle on his lap, then everything would end up alright. You smiled a little once he was sat, and he felt it like a kiss on his heart.Â
You pulled your knees up close to your chest and he could see your toes poking out from under your dress. You fiddled with your fingers on your lap and glanced up at him one more time before you blurted,Â
âI think he wants to sleep with me.âÂ
Baelor paused where he had been twisting his ring around, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as he met your eyes.Â
âOh,â he breathed out, nodding, pausing to pick up his pen and twirl it around once.Â
âI⊠I think so. Last night, I went over to his place again. We watched a movie, had a cuddle, it was⊠it was amazing, as usual.â Your eyes were off in the distance, a distracted but warm smile on your mouth. âWe kissed, for a while. Like, properly. Like, his mouth went places other than mine.â You felt heat burn through you as you told him, glancing back to Baelor as you pressed a hand to your hot cheek. âHe⊠he kissed down my neck and his hands started moving around, you know, like-like he started feeling me up and it was really nice. He asked me if I wanted to go to his room to get more comfortable. I panicked and said I had an early morning so I had to leave. Heâs so nice. Heâs like, the absolute sweetest guy ever. I donât know why I keep lying to him about this stuff but I just feel like if I tell him how scared I am, he wonât want me anymore.âÂ
Baelor pursed his lips and nodded, writing in the notebook again before looking at you. Your eyes were hesitant, looking to him for guidance, assurance, anything really.Â
âIs someone who would be angry about their partner being inexperienced the kind of person you would want to be with?â He asked after a while, carefully enunciating each word. Your eyes widened a fraction, lips parting, and you lifted your head to look at him properly. It should not have been such an epiphany but it still felt groundbreaking.Â
âI mean, of course not,â you answered, shaking your head and pursing your lips for a moment. âBut I donât think itâs about that either. In my head, I know he wouldnât dump me. Honestly, I think it would be the opposite. I think he would be really kind about it all. But the anxious irrational side of my head feels like I just canât. Itâs not about him being nice or not, itâs about me not being able to do it. I donât want to have the experience with him like that.âÂ
You glanced up at Baelor with worried eyes. It felt wrong to admit that somehow, that you wanted to be picky and choosy about this when you should just be grateful that someone wanted to be with you in the first place.Â
Baelor hummed and nodded again, brows furrowing a little in thought, and you scooted down in your seat a little to watch him. His hair was a little neater today despite his habit of running his hand through it. His beard had been trimmed recently, you could tell now, and the intense desire to feel it against your own cheek hit you so suddenly you went breathless. His lashes fluttered prettily when he blinked, and those eyes, blue and brown, warm and cold, were the perfect reflections of the balance that seemed to live within him.Â
âHm, that is rather tricky. I suppose you need to decide if you want to eventually push through this, obviously not pressuring yourself but working on it until you feel comfortable, to have the experience with him. Or if you wish to break it off and try with someone else.â Though his tone was careful, not unkind, you felt as if it was so final.Â
You nodded first, pursing your lips and then pressing them tight together as tears began to burn at your eyes. Your face crumpled slowly and you pressed it to the backs of your knees, shaking your head as you sucked in a wet, crackling, breath. Then you lifted your head and shifted, slowly crawling closer to him until you were kneeling right beside him on the sofa.Â
âCan I please have a hug?â You asked, your voice small and watery as the tears continued to pour. You sniffled as you waited and Baelorâs face contorted with pain. He nodded quickly and pushed his notebook to the side, bringing you into his arms. He hushed you quietly, wrapping both arms around you, one hand softly petting the back of your head as you burrowed your face into his neck and shoulder and cried quietly.Â
He kept you there until your sniffling quieted and the hand that had clenched at the collar of his button-up loosened a little. You pulled back to look him in the eye, but your faces were impossibly close. You could feel his breaths brushing lightly against your nose and mouth. You reached up with one trembling hand and wiped at your cheek and undereye. Your nose brushed against his lightly, and you blinked once, slow and long.Â
âWould you⊠would you do it with me?â You asked, voice hushed and small. Baelor stiffened a little under you as he attempted to comprehend what you were truly asking. His eyes flicked up from your lips and to your own. His hand stilled on your back.Â
âY/nâŠâ he said your name as a warning, but it sounded far too lovely from his mouth for you to heed it. You rolled your lips against one another and shifted a little in his lap, pressing impossibly closer, until your face was all he could see.Â
âPlease, Baelor,â you begged, voice soft and breathy. He could feel it almost against his lips, and his eyes fluttered closed at the sound, his adamâs apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. You begged far too prettily for it to be anything other than seductive, anything other than a punishment. âI trust you more than anyone, especially for this.âÂ
Baelorâs eyes clenched a little where they had shut, his breaths harsher now. His throat moved again, and you followed it greedily with your eyes, suddenly desperate for it all. Gods, you were hot with want. It was a fire in your core, pulsing hot at the apex of your thighs and in tingling sparks in your breasts. You shifted your hips again, not thinking, not knowing how it dragged you right over his cock, hard and pulsing under his trousers and underwear, how it made him want to bite down on the naked skin of your shoulder.Â
âIt would not be right,â he finally managed to grit out, his hands coming down to settle on either side of your waist. You worried he would push you away, but his grip on you only tightened, neither pushing nor pulling.Â
âYou would be helping me, please,â you begged again, your breaths shuddering along his mouth and chin. He wanted to open his lips and suck them in, wanted to swallow everything you had to give.Â
âIâŠâ but he could not continue because somehow your mouths were joined together. Somehow his tongue was pressed past your lips, licking strong and wet into the heat there, tasting the fruit flavoured gum you had been chewing on just before the session.Â
You moaned into his mouth, small and quiet, but it made everything from his neck down pulse hot and had him dragging you even closer to him. He tried not to hurry as he kissed you, tried to maintain a steady pace, deep and dragging with each movement of his lips, but it became increasingly difficult.Â
You felt hot all over, like your skin was touched by the sun, and everything inside you was electrified, sensitive to every breath and graze. His arm was strong where it wrapped around your waist to drag you closer. You were straddling him, the dress ridden up to expose your knees, and the motion of him moving you closer dragged your core right over where his cock had hardened along his leg. You were wet under your panties, slick in a way that moved your lips against each other and lightly teased your clit. Your cunt pressed right into the seams over his zipper and you let out a high-pitched keen, your mouth falling open against his. The drag of it, the pressure right there, it was electric.Â
He did it again, grasped your hips in his hands and dragged you back then forward again, pressing down a little more. Again that feeling, that lovely clenching inside you, the wet pulsing and rubbing feeling. He felt your moan against him, your hot damp breath over his lips, and he kissed you again until you were breathless and tingling from the rub of his beard.Â
âIf we are going to do this,â he finally panted out, pulling away from your mouth to reach up and begin pushing your hair out of your face. âWe are going to do it properly, hm?â He nudged your nose with his, making sure you were looking in his eyes when you nodded frantically. âIâm going to teach you, and youâre going to communicate. Youâre going to tell me if something feels good, if something feels bad, if something hurts or you want to do it differently. Understood?â You nodded once more and licked your lips.Â
âYes, yes I will,â you hurried out, sitting up and resting your hands on his shoulders. He groaned softly, hands flexing on you, and nodded once.Â
âRight, stand up,â he ordered, patting you on the side and watching you quickly scramble off him, huffing and puffing as if you had run a mile. The movement of your chest made your breasts push against the dress and it took significant willpower not to reach out and grasp them.Â
Baelor followed after you, standing up to his full height and gazing down at you. Your hair was dishevelled now, your eyes and lips glossy, and your dress had become rumpled and wrinkled. But when you looked up at him with such trusting and expectant eyes, he could not help himself from leaning down and giving you a quick, chaste, kiss on the lips before pulling back and refocusing.Â
âDepending on the situation, you may undress yourself, or your partner may undress you. It happens in the moment, and can depend on how fast or slow you are going, but it does not hurt to communicate here either.â As Baelor spoke, his hands went up to his own shirt, slowly beginning to unbutton and exposing the white vest he wore underneath. You stepped closer to him then, licking your lips and reaching out to caress the backs of his hands.Â
âCan- can I do that?â You asked, hesitant and small, but he smiled appreciatively and nodded, removing his own hands and instead busying them in caressing the skin of your upper arms and shoulders. You shivered at the feeling.Â
Carefully, you undid each button, moving all the way down to his waistband and pulling up to untuck the shirt. You pushed the sides open and carefully touched along his chest and stomach over the vest, feeling the soft material and the firm muscle underneath. He shrugged the shirt off and tossed it onto the sofa, leaving you to gawp at his arms. They were big, thicker than you were expecting and was belied by his shirts. You carefully splayed your palm on one, feeling the soft skin there, and squeezed a little, blushing hot when he chuckled.Â
Baelor reached down and undid his belt, pulling it from the loops and tossing it where his shirt was. You gulped at the motion, eyes dragging down his abdomen and to the place where you could see something pushing against his trousers. You reached out and pulled his vest from his waistband as well, gathering the white material up and up until it was bunched in your hands and you could begin pulling it up his torso. You dragged your knuckles up the lines of his stomach, up to the definition of his chest, and held your arms aloft so he could grip the vest and take it fully off. When that too was tossed on the sofa, you allowed yourself free reign, pressing your palms to his chest, to the scraggly hairs there that were the same mix of dark brown and grey.Â
You could see freckles here and there too, how his skin had gone softer as he had aged, and you carefully dragged your nails along his stomach. He shivered, huffing out a breath as he felt the scratching down over his stomach and toward his waistband. You followed his happy trail. You had finally felt a happy trail, you thought giddily, and you just allowed yourself to rub back and forth along the hair there until he was reaching down to grip your wrists.Â
You glanced up at him then, a new openness and almost-smiling quality to your mouth. You blinked quickly and flipped your hands so you could loosen his grip from your wrists and grab his instead. You brought his hands to your body, gulping as you placed them on your waist.Â
âWill you take off my dress please?â you asked, and he nodded, slowly dragging his palms up your sides, taking a moment to just cup your breasts over the dress. Your nipples rubbed against the inside of your bra as he did it, and you let out a shaky breath.Â
Baelor hooked his fingers into the neckline of your dress, sliding his fingers out to the side and stretching the elastic so you could pull first one arm out then the other. He held onto the neckline and brought it down, stretching it over your breasts then dragging it down your stomach, over the curves of your hips and arse and then down your legs. Each new inch of skin exposed was another he ate with his eyes, absorbing the details of pores or freckles or marks or hairs. When the dress was at your feet, you stepped out of it and he picked it up, gently draping it on the sofa beside his own clothes.Â
He looked back to you, to the white bandeau bra and panties, to the wet spot he could see there that made his mouth salivate. He reached out and placed his palms on your waist again, flat to bare skin, and you shivered at the searing warmth. He dragged his hands up and down your sides, feeling along the skin, heating you up further, and your shaky breaths left from parted lips.Â
Baelor leaned down and kissed you once more, that same soft chaste style, then pulled away to nudge his head in the direction of the floor.Â
âLie down,â he ordered, pulling away from you to grab a cushion from the sofa and drop it on the floor for your head. You nodded, getting down on your knees first. You looked up at him, gulping at the angle. He looked impossibly taller like this. You paused there, watching his hands go to the button of his trousers, flicking it open before pinching the zipper and dragging it down. You were fluttering, in your stomach, in your veins. He paused there to toe off his shoes, nudging them off to the side before gripping the waistband of his trousers and pushing them off.Â
You watched him as he had watched you, greedily. He wore black underwear, the tight shorts kind that had seams around the bulge area. You could see that he was hard under them, could see his cock pressing harshly against the fabric. You licked your lips, trembling, and watched him bend a little to cup your cheek with his hand. You tilted your head back to look at him, but he bent at the waist and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. You preened at it, going warm in the chest, and shuddered with pleasure.Â
He stepped back and held up a finger to you, then moved around the sofa towards his desk. You watched him as much as you could from where you leaned, but you only got a lovely view of the tan skin sprawled along his back and his firm buttocks under the black fabric. He opened a desk drawer, rummaged around, grabbed something, then shut it and walked back over. You traced his legs with your eyes this time, the strong muscles of his thighs, the tight lines that moved up and down from his knees, the black hairs that dusted him all over.Â
Baelor placed the thing down on the edge of the sofa and you realised it was a condom, the foil wrapper crinkling a little. You hadnât even thought about that in your desperation, and you felt a zap of embarrassment through you. Baelor kneeled down in front of you then, cupping your neck on either side and kissing you, licking into your mouth and emptying the thoughts from your head. You ran your hands down his chest, taking comfort from the warm skin. He pulled back, flicking his eyes down to your bra then tracing the band that lay just under your breasts.Â
âDo you want to take this off?â he asked, running his thumb over the curve of it, over where your nipple was firm under the fabric and you let out a breathy sound as you nodded. He hooked his fingers under it and dragged it over your breasts, watching them as he raised it up and over your outstretched arms. You shivered, the cool air brushing places no man had ever seen before, and you raised your hands quickly to hide behind them. Baelor didnât say anything, just reached up and caressed your cheek as you clenched your eyes shut.Â
You felt scared suddenly, scared at him seeing such intimate parts of you, parts that you worried would disappoint him. He leaned forward, a soft kiss to your forehead, to your left cheek, to your right, to the bridge of your nose, and when your eyes fluttered open again, he nudged your nose with his.Â
âYou do not have to do anything. You can put your clothes back on and leave. You can leave the bra on and continue. Tell me how youâre feeling.â You gulped and nodded, slowly moving your hands away and resting them on his shoulders instead.Â
âI want to continue. Please. I just⊠Do you think Iâm ugly?â Your eyes were a little teary as you asked it, your lower lip trembling, and his hands tightened on you. His eyes flashed, his brow creasing with concern, and he traced your bottom lip with his thumb.Â
âI think you are beyond beautiful. I think you are stunning, and sexy. But I want you to think that too.â He traced his thumb down, watching your lip bounce back into place before moving it down your chin, to the underside of it and down the middle of your neck. Down it went, over your chest and to the space between your breasts, the flat of your sternum. Then the thumb followed the curve of your left breast, pressing into the underside before pushing up and simply feeling the soft flesh there. âAnyone would be lucky to see you in this way,â he murmured, and you shivered.Â
Baelor leant down and pressed a feather-light kiss to your jaw. His lips pressed another and another along it until he reached your ear. He kissed under the lobe, a soft spot just behind it that reacted to his hot breath like water on hot coals. He kissed down your neck, big, open-mouthed, kisses that had his tongue pressing out and licking the skin. His teeth gently caught some skin between them, rolling it back and forth before letting it go and kissing down.
You allowed him to push you back until you were slowly being laid down, your head settled comfortably against the cushion. Your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on the sensation of his hot mouth on the plush skin of your breasts and his beard rubbing. You felt his lips close around your nipple, wet, the tightening feeling of the skin there puckering with desire. You felt his teeth tease it, felt his tongue lap against it, felt the air begin to cool the saliva there when he pulled away and did the same to your other nipple.Â
Baelor kissed down your stomach, light presses of his mouth to the fluttering skin, and you cracked your eyes open and pushed your head up to watch him. He rubbed his big hands along the sides of your thighs, groping your behind a little, before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties.Â
âOff?â He asked quietly, looking up at you from between your legs. The sight of it, of his blue and brown eye, of his beard, of his mussed hair, all situated comfortably between your thighs and peering up at you had you gulping and pulsing once more. You could feel the slick pouring out of you, hot and slippery, and you felt the cold air there like a kiss.Â
He dragged your panties down to your ankles then pulled them off, tossing them onto the sofa with everything else. Carefully, he had you bend your knees, then reached between them to splay his hands on the insides of your thighs, thick fingers spanning the sensitive skin before he began pushing them apart. You shivered and licked your lips but allowed it, following the press of his hands until your legs fell naturally open.Â
He gazed down at you, eyes fixating on the flushed and wet skin. You looked soft and damp, dewy and puffy in a way that called to him like nothing else. He could see your clit where your lips pulled apart a little, the swollen little nub begging for his tongue and touch. He could see your hole, fluttering a little where you clenched and unclenched with every pulse inside you, the slick and shiny wetness that coated you. He rubbed your inner thighs once before he looked back up at you.Â
âAs it is your first time, itâs always best to have some preparation. Weâll start with my tongue, maybe a finger or two before we attempt anything, alright?â He watched you lick your lips, eyes lighting up, and nod quickly. âThis goes for the future as well. Foreplay and preparation are essential to having a pleasant time. Some can handle penetration without preparation once they become regularly sexually active, but others need preparation every single time. It all depends on how you feel and what you communicate with your partner.âÂ
You nodded eagerly once more. Your mouth was full of saliva no matter how much you swallowed, and your skin tingled everywhere. You wanted to tell him to hurry, that you were desperate to feel him now, but that would not do. He was trying to teach you something. It was not his fault that he was also the reason you were so riled up you couldnât focus.Â
Baelor nodded once then sighed as he shuffled down and lay his stomach on the carpet in front of you. He caressed a finger up the back of one of your thighs and you shivered, your leg twitching at the ticklish sensation. He smiled a little and began moving you around, taking one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder before doing the same with the other. Once they were secure, he shuffled forward until suddenly you could feel him breathing against your core.Â
You clenched your eyes shut, your thighs tightening around his head, but he just shushed you gently and began blowing softly along your hot skin. You shivered, the cold air caressing your hot slick. He curved one arm around and splayed his hand over your stomach, carefully holding you there. The other hand slithered up and his thumb began touching the soft lips of your cunt. He rubbed the slick into the skin, then separated the lips so he could look properly at your clit.Â
He breathed in your small, warm and dewy, and his eyes fluttered shut. He moaned low in his throat then pressed forward, lightly touching the tip of his tongue to your clit.Â
He mouthed at you there until you couldnât tell your body apart from a series of electric sensations. You felt his tongue licking at you, hot rough drags that pushed and pulled at your clit, that made something that was already on fire burn like an inferno. You felt each touch inside you, felt the sparks and the zaps and the tingles like someone was playing the triangle right inside you, hitting the thing that reverberated within you over and over.Â
He groaned against you, his rough beard overstimulating the skin of your thighs. He pressed his tongue into your core and the feeling of it breaching your hole sent you into your first orgasm, built too quickly and crashing fast. You clenched your hands into the carpet beside you and twitched, legs stretching and pressing into the floor beside his ribs. He licked you until you were whining then brought the tip of his index finger to where he had just pulled his tongue from. He looked up at you then, lifting a little between your legs to meet your eyes.Â
His beard was wet. It shined in the light. The sight of it was orgasmic in itself. His lips were shiny too, and he licked them like he had indulged in a delicacy, like he needed to savour it, and you would have twitched into another orgasm right then.Â
âIâm going to push my finger in now. Tell me if it hurts or you wish to stop at any time,â he ordered, and you nodded, your lips parting as you panted.Â
Baelor touched your clit softly with his index finger and your hips jerked harshly, a strangled sound falling from your mouth. You would have whined at him that it was sensitive if you didnât think he did it for that exact reaction. He pressed the back of his middle finger between your lips and dragged up and down, making sure it was wet with your slick before he brought it down to your hole and began pressing in.Â
You closed your eyes again and allowed yourself just to feel the sensation. It was an intrusion, and you clenched and unclenched around it. You were warm and wet on the inside too, but it was ten times as much, like a perfect furnace. The texture of your walls was soft and fleshy, pushing and pulling and pulsing, and he pushed his finger to the hilt then dragged it back and forth.Â
You felt that hot sparkle inside you again, those waves that increased in frequency until it was a frantic up and down. He held your hips steady with his other hand as you writhed and humped against his hand. In and out, in and out. His thumb moved up and dragged against your clit, taking your wetness and smearing it along the swollen nub until you were whining and moaning from your tight throat, calling his name. He pressed another finger in with the first, watching you writhe a little more at the stretch and burn. He pushed and pulled, panted as he watched you twitch and stretch and cum against his hand.Â
This one had been even more intense. It left you splayed out and trembling, melted into the carpet and spinning in the head. You focused on the shadows behind your eyelids, panting and slowly loosening. Baelor caressed your legs, the outside of your thigh and the expanse of your stomach. He watched you carefully, waited patiently until your eyes fluttered open and you were looking at him with amazement. He tilted his head and kissed the inside of your knee.Â
âWould you like to continue or stop here?â He asked quietly, his voice a murmur against your skin. You gulped and wet your lips.Â
âContinue, please,â you breathed out, and he nodded, bringing your knees from his shoulders and placing your feet on the carpet either side of him.Â
He rose onto his knees and pulled down the waistband of his underwear. He dragged it down his thighs then under one knee and then the other. You blinked at the sight of his cock, flushed red at the tip and ready. Perhaps that was your biggest vote of confidence, that he was already hard. Surely that meant you did something right, that he found you even a little attractive. The sight had you both tensing and melting further into the carpet.Â
His cock was flushed red and thick, just the right size all over you guessed. It was shiny with precum and as he reached over for the condom, his other hand dragged over it, rubbing up and down once or twice as he shivered. With shaking arms, you pushed yourself up, leaning back onto one palm as the other began reaching out for his cock.Â
âCan I touch it?â You asked in a ragged whisper, flicking your eyes up to his. You watched him rip the packet of the condom open with his teeth, and you almost threw yourself at him. Why was such a simple sight so frenzy inducing?Â
âOf course,â he answered, shivering when your fingers gently wrapped around his appendage. He was hot to the touch, damp with cum, and softer than you had expected. You werenât quite sure what you had been expecting, but it was nice. You kept your grip relatively loose, not realising how teasing that felt when you traversed it up and down him. His breathing became ragged, his chest heaving at the light touches you dragged along his cock and down to his balls. You touched the skin there too, fascinated by the tightness there, and he huffed and puffed from his mouth, not wishing to stop you but becoming more and more desperate to be inside you.Â
When you had had your fill, you pulled back and leaned on both hands to watch him roll the condom down onto his cock. He did it with practiced ease, slipping it over the head and rolling it down securely. Once it was done, he was quick to lean over you, pressing his mouth to yours. He kissed you, laved his tongue between your lips, rubbed his beard to your chin and cheeks as he pushed forward until you were laying back down and he was hovering over you, his hips encased between your thighs. You could taste yourself on him and his beard, could taste that dewiness as he smashed his mouth to yours until you couldnât breathe.Â
He pressed his weight down on you, your chest to his, your nipples rubbing against his skin and chest hair. Your stomach rubbed his with every heaving breath, and you could feel his cock just touching your cunt. He caressed your cheek with one hand and looked into your eyes.Â
âYou can say no at any point. You can ask me to stop whenever you wish, to end everything without any consequences or questions. Understood?â You nodded hurriedly in response but you were so close now, so desperate despite your fear and hesitance.Â
Baelor nodded once then kissed you as he reached down with his hand and notched his cock at your entrance. He began to push in, groaning into your mouth as your wet heat enveloped him. You felt it press through you, separate places that had always been together. You felt it all the way inside you, heavy and hot and rubbing against those spots that pulsed electricity into the rest of you. He kept a steady pace and kissed you to distract from the discomfort and stinging at your entrance. Your muscles were too spent from the previous orgasms to fight against his cock too much.Â
He paused at the end, panting against your mouth. He felt your hands splay against his back, your nails curling into the skin at his ribs. He felt every shift of your hips, the tightening of your thighs over his waist. The place just above his cock pushed at your cunt and rubbed against your clit, forcing it to pulse frantically and send your brain reeling.Â
He waited for the contortions on your face to loosen a little, for your panting breaths to slow and the way you clenched your cunt around him to become more steady and deliberate. You ran your hand down his back and cupped his waist, just feeling his skin and muscles. He kissed you again, pressed his tongue past your lips, then began to move. You felt it drag through you, as if pulling the pleasure and then pushing it back in.Â
You whined against his lips, head dropping back as your body went weak. One of his hands threaded under your arm and then up to cup the back of your neck, holding you tight to his body as he sped up his thrusts. His other hand held tight to your waist, pulling you up against his thrusts.Â
Every motion your body made felt instinctual, involuntary. Every twitch was wrought from the fiery pleasure that pulsed from the drag of your clit against his skin. Every moan was punched from your throat as he thrust his cock back into you, a little harder than before. You pressed your mouth to his shoulder, biting a little when the drags began to push you higher onto the precipice.Â
âBaelor,â you moaned, turning your head to begin mouthing at the skin of his neck, kissing and sucking at it.Â
He groaned loudly, a low and rough sound in your hair, and his grip on you tightened. His thrusts became quicker, the sound of skin slapping and wet squelching unmistakable now. You whined. The pleasure was a pulse between your thighs. Everything was electric. Your ears were dull thumping rushes. Your fingertips were blunt and twitching. Your nipples taut, rubbing against his chest and zapping your insides with heat. You panted, clenched, pressed into his thrusts. Your fingernails dug into his back, your arms trembling. You trembled entirely.Â
And then the wave washed over, your mouth dropping open on a long moan. It covered you from head to toe, warmth and throbbing and weakness. You were spent, a mass of flesh and skin and pulsing warmth.Â
He bit down on the side of your neck when he came, groaning loudly and huffing and puffing. He held you tightly as his hips twitched, the last drags of his own pleasure swimming out of him. He attempted to roll off of you, but you whined and wrapped your arms around him, whimpering a âstay here pleaseâ at the pleasant weight of him there. He hesitated a fraction, blinked quickly to try and look down at your face, ask if you were sure, but you whined again and pulled him back down and he went with it.Â
He hummed softly as you caressed his back, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder. He murmured little words of praise, how you did so well, how you looked beautiful, how you were utterly perfect. It felt almost like another orgasm, a soft wave of warmth over you, stemming from the whispers that entered your ears.Â
When you had finally caught your breath enough to deem your mind coherent, you caressed a hand through his hair and pressed your lips to his cheek for a chaste kiss before dragging them up to his ear and whispering, âthank you.âÂ
Baelor hummed quietly to himself as he quickly sliced an entire cucumber. âHere Comes The Sunâ by the Beatles played softly in the background just over the boiling of the pasta and the hum of the oven. It would be a late lunch, he thought, as he looked out onto the back garden through the sliding doors, to the lovely sunshine on the green grass and the little table set with plates and cutlery and glasses.Â
He was in a particularly good mood that day. He woke up rather late, slowly and without an alarm blaring to the bright sunshine streaming through the sheer white curtains. He had rolled out of bed, ambled his way to the bathroom and carefully examined the now slowly fading marks of your teeth on his shoulder, the one purplish bruise just above his collarbone. He pressed lightly on them, thought back to how he had been wearing collared shirts and turtlenecks for the past week, and smiled slightly, shaking his head as he hopped in the shower.Â
He was dressed casually, a black polo that Matarys deemed his most âdadâ shirt, and a loose pair of jogger bottoms. He ate a quick breakfast over the counter as he put on the tv in the background, and now here he was, finishing off lunch just in time for his sons to arrive. He had more than one reason to be happy today. He loved Saturdays, because they meant family lunch with Valarr and Matarys, and you had a session booked in for Monday which meant he would get to see you very soon. He was almost scared by how much he longed for itâŠÂ
âDaaaad!â The door opened and then a long call, surely Matarys returning from his hockey practice if the rustling and banging by the door was anything to go by. âValâs here too!âÂ
Baelor smiled brightly, wiping his hands on the dish towel and walking around the counter to head in the direction of the entryway. It was a particularly big day for another reason: Valarr was bringing his girlfriend home for the first time.Â
Baelor rounded the corner, a warm smile already pulling at his lips as he spotted his youngest son, his hair a sweaty mop as he toed off his shoes and turned back to speak quickly to his elder brother. Then Valarr, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, wearing a navy blue button down casually opened at the top and a pair of jeans, smiling softly at the girl beside hi-Â
There you were, standing in a beautiful navy blue dress, lips parted and staring at him like a deer in headlights. Baelor felt his heart stop beating. Your hair was neatly pinned in a half-up half-down style, the dress was respectfully modest, and you clutched a bouquet of flowers and a candle politely in front of you. Baelor couldnât get his body to cooperate. Your hands began to shake, your lips parting as you stared up into his mismatched eyes. Valarr rubbed the small of your back gently looking between you and Baelor, his smile a picture of restrained excitement. He had been telling you non-stop how excited he was for you to meet his father.Â
âDad, Iâd like you to meet my girlfriend, Y/n.â
genuinely do think house hightower is cooler and more interesting than the targaryens, like dont get me wrong i like both but the hightowers take it. easily. their shadowy history of alchemy and necromancy, patronage of westeros' cultural and religious institutions, and big fuckass taller-than-the-wall lighthouse has bewitched me body and soul. dragons, blood magic, and a destabilising obsession with incest is all well and good - but institutional corruption and the delicate mastery of soft power? just too tasty. been on the wrong side of several wars and never lost a head or a penny from their main line because they know how to play the game. one of the richest houses in westeros and they know how to do it right ! funding the arts, sciences, faith. controlling the narrative. every message goes through the maesters, them and septas tutoring little lords and ladies, all roads lead to oldtown, and thats just how its done why would you even question it. how could you question it. and all the while the lord of the hightower sits up in the clouds in a tower built atop an unsettling ancient labyrinth of black stone, burning a flame that can be seen for miles, lighting the city every night. like good luck getting away with shit when theres no shadowy corners to hide in. the metaphor isnt subtle. every other house would wish they were the hightowers if they could conceptualise the higher plane this familys operating on.
this was actually inspired by the beautifully hot thoughts of @katiecat446 (bless your brain cells) and by this fanart specifically, which got me all hot and bothered lol
Pairing: modern!BFF's dad!Maekar x f!reader
Warning(s): modernAU, +18 MDNI, boxing, minor injury, blood mention, sweat kink, semi-public sex (baelor deserves hazard pay), explicit sexual content, adrenaline high
It was Baelor who told you, which was almost certainly not intentional.
You'd dropped by his flat to discuss Daeron's birthday party and he had invited you to stay for a quick drink. You had to admit that there was a particular ease in his presence, the particular comfortable ease of an evening that had become regular enough to stop requiring an occasion â and Baelor had mentioned, in passing, in the tone of a man referencing something he assumed you already knew, that he hoped Maekar's match this weekend went well because he'd been training hard for it.
You had kept your face very still.
"Match?" you asked with a quirked brow.
Baelor had looked at you over his wine glass with the specific expression of a man who had just understood something three seconds too late. "He hasn't told you."
"I'm afraid not."
A pause in which Baelor appeared to conduct a rapid assessment of his options and concluded, correctly, that there were none. "He's been boxing again," he said, carefully. "He did it for years when the children were young, stopped for a while after the divorce, recently went back. I believe his reasoning wasâ"
"Fitness," you tried, already knowing you were right.
"Something like that," Baelor said, in the tone of a man who knew exactly what his brother's reasoning was and found the whole situation faintly, privately amusing. "He has a bout Saturday. A small club event, veteran category."
"Veteran," you tried the word on your lips.
"Over forty," Baelor added. "Seems to be a recognized division."
You had looked at your wine. Then at Baelor. Then you had smiled in a way that apparently concerned him, because he'd added, gently, "Perhaps give him a chance to tell you himself."
"Of course," you said, and had said nothing more about it, and had not told Maekar you knew, and had found the venue online that same evening and noted the time.
You had also, the following morning, texted Baelor: coming to the match. come with me and don't tell him.
Baelor had taken eleven minutes to respond, which meant he'd thought about it. Then: This seems like something that could go several ways.
Yes, you'd sent back.
Another pause. Then: I'll drive.
The gym was not what you'd expected â not a purpose-built arena, just a working boxing club with a ring in the center and folding chairs arranged around it, the smell of sweat and leather and old canvas, strip lighting overhead. You found seats four rows back, close enough to see clearly, far enough that Maekar's corner â the far one, you'd confirmed from the bracket board â faced away from you when he came out.
Baelor sat beside you with the composed neutrality of a man who had agreed to something and was seeing it through, his coat folded over his lap, his eyes on the ring with the mild attention he gave most things that weren't Byzantine history.
"You're not going to tell me this was a bad idea, right?" you asked.
"It may be a bad idea," he answered pleasantly. "I've decided to observe rather than prejudge."
"Very academic of you."
"I thought so," he smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling.
The first two bouts passed without incident. Then the third was announced and Maekar came out of the far corner and your mouth went dry.
You had seen him without a shirt before, obviously, many times, in many contexts â the garden, the bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom... You knew the dragon across his back, the scales at his ribs, the breadth of his shoulders. You knew what he looked like.
You had not seen him like this.
He was wrapped and gloved, moving with the loose economical ease of a man completely at home in his own body, the overhead lights doing something genuinely unfair to the muscle and ink of him. The full back piece was visible when he turned to his corner â the dragon in deep red and black, extraordinary under direct light â and the scales curling around his ribs caught the overhead strip lighting in a way that made your hand grip the seat beneath you of its own accord.
"Be careful," Baelor observed quietly, beside you, "if you grip that plastic any harder you may break it."
"I'm fine," you just said.
"Of course," he looked back at the ring, and you could hear the composure of a man trying not to smile too hard at the situation.
Maekar's opponent was slightly younger, heavier, with the confident set of someone who had done the age calculation and liked his odds. You watched Maekar look at him across the ring with flat assessment â structural problem, tactical solution â and felt something warm and low move through you that had no business occupying a folding chair.
The first round was controlled, economical. Maekar moved with precision, reading the other man's patterns and adjusting, not overcommitting. The second round, his opponent landed a clean hit to the brow â the cut was immediate, small but visible, and the sight of the blood, the way Maekar wiped it without breaking focus or expression and simply moved back in, did something to you that you intended to examine at a later time when you were capable of rational thought.
"That looks like it hurts," Baelor winced and said, very quietly, not looking at you. Clearly unknowing the effect it had on you.
"Kiss it better later," your brain decided to blurt out.
Baelor turned slightly to look at you, brows furrowed but an extremely amused expression dancing in his eyes. "I think I'm beginning to understand why you have my brother in such state."
You added nothing because he had said everything that there was to say.
The corner men worked on the cut between rounds, closure strip applied, and Maekar turned briefly to survey the crowd while they worked â automatic, habitual, the four-minute instinct â and his eyes found you.
You watched it happen in real time. The stillness. The rapid internal recalibration behind his eyes. His face closed back into flat focus almost immediately, but the corner of his mouth had moved first.
The almost-smile. Brief. Gone.
"I think he saw you," Baelor pointed out.
"I know."
"This is about to end rather quickly," Baelor ventured, with the tone of a man who had grown up watching his younger brother and understood certain patterns.
He was right. The third round lasted four minutes.
Maekar came out from the bell with controlled aggression that hadn't been there before â more direct, less patient, the tactical problem fully solved and the solution being forward. His opponent tried to use his reach and Maekar walked through it, inside his guard before the other man had committed, and the combination that followed was short and precise and utterly final. The referee stepped in. The gym made its noise.
Maekar stepped back, gloves lowered, and looked directly at you across the crowd and the three rows of folding chairs between you. You held his gaze and let your face do everything you'd been preventing it from doing for the last twenty minutes.
His expression did the complicated thing. Then he turned back to his corner.
Baelor leaned slightly toward you. "I want it on record," he said, quietly, "that I regret telling you."
"You absolutely don't," you laughed.
A pause. "No," he admitted. "But I'm going to pretend I do for a while." He stood, straightening his coat. "I'll come with you to the back. Someone should probably â manage the situation that is clearly going to happen."
"Manage the situation?" you feigned innocence.
"Ensure the facilities remain available," he said diplomatically, and followed you toward the locker room corridor. "And try not to get you caught."
Maekar came out of the ring room ten minutes later, still in his kit â shorts, no shirt, the wrap still on one hand where the other had already been removed. He was looking for you, and he found you in exactly two minutes, which you had expected.
He didn't say anything when he did. He looked at you â at your face, at the expression on it â and something moved behind his eyes that was complicated and warm and wanting all at once.
"Baelor?" he asked, though you supposed he already knew.
"Baelor," you confirmed.
"Having words with him."
"Mm," you said, because you'd stopped caring about Baelor approximately thirty seconds ago and were currently occupied with the reality of Maekar standing in front of you sweaty and post-fight and looking at you like that, the cut at his brow newly dressed, the dragon visible over his shoulder.
"Locker room's empty," he said. "Everyone else is done."
"Lead the way," you bit your lip.
Baelor, who had been standing at a polite remove, said mildly: "I'll wait here."
Maekar looked at his older brother. Something passed between them that was entirely non-verbal and entirely sufficient. The non-verbal communication between two people who had spent the majority of their lives engaging like that.
"Thank you," Maekar said, which from him was significant.
"Don't thank me. I'm doing this under protest."
"No you're not," Maekar scoffed, and turned and walked toward the locker room, and you followed, and the door closed behind you both.
The room was empty and warm and smelled overwhelmingly of the evening's work â sweat and leather and old canvas and something more immediate, closer, radiating off the man in front of you. He dropped the remaining wrap onto the bench and turned to look at you with his arms loose at his sides and the full weight of his attention.
The overhead lights in here were brighter than the ring, and in them the tattoo was extraordinary â deep red and black spreading across the full breadth of his back, the scales curling around his ribs to the front, the detail of fifteen years of work visible in every line. The cut at his brow. The slight flush of exertion still across his chest and shoulders. The sheer physical reality of him, post-fight, was something that required a moment to simply receive.
You crossed the room and put your hands on him â flat on his chest, feeling his heartbeat still elevated underneath your palms and the sticky warmth of his skin â and looked up at him.
"You thought I wouldn't want to see it," you said.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I thought you would find it barbaric."
"You were so wrong."
Something moved in his face. Then his hands found your waist and he kissed you, hard and immediate, no preamble, and you kissed him back with everything that had been building since the moment he'd walked out under the lights.
You pulled back after a moment and turned your face to his throat. He went still.
You pressed your mouth to the line of his neck and licked, slow and deliberate, tasting the salt of him â sweat and exertion and the specific animal heat of a man who had been in a ring for three rounds and still had adrenaline running in him â and the sound that came out of him was low and guttural and nothing like his usual register.
"What," not a question. More like a word his body had made without consulting him.
"You taste likeâ" you pressed your mouth to his throat again, open this time, your tongue tracing the line of his pulseâ "I can't explain it reasonably."
"Don't fucking explain it," he said, rough. "Do it again."
You did. Dragged your mouth slow up the column of his throat, breathing him in on every exhale, tasting sweat and warmth and something underneath that was purely him, and felt him shudder under your hands with the full-body involuntary quality of a man encountering something he hadn't known he needed.
"That tongue is going to be the death of me," he said, barely voiced.
"I'm sure it'd be a fucking good way to go," you teased and nipped his neck.
He made a decision. You could feel it in the shift of his hands â from your waist to your hips, lifting you with the same casual ease he'd lifted combinations in the ring, carrying you the three steps to the bench and setting you on it without apparent effort, and then stepping back to look at you.
His hands went to the waistband of his boxing shorts. He stripped them off with the same economical efficiency he brought to everything, no performance in it, just a man removing kit â and then he was standing in front of you entirely, post-fight, in the bright locker room light, and your mouth went dry for the second time that evening.
He was extraordinary and he knew it, but not in the preening way â more in the way of a man who had maintained a working relationship with his own body for forty years and trusted it the way he trusted good tools. The dragon across his back caught the light when he turned to drop the shorts on the bench. The scales at his ribs. The size of his hands, bare without the wraps now, the breadth of his shoulders, the particular physical reality of him that the ring kit had been suggesting and the locker room had now confirmed entirely.
His cock stood hard and proud, tip reddened and crowned by the bead of arousal that, Maekar had once joked, seemed to be there permanently every time you were with him. His face sported that devastating almost-smile, and then he closed the distance between you.
He had you against the lockers within the minute, your back against the cold metal, his hands lifting you with effortless certainty â still warm from the fight, adrenaline still running hot, the elevated state making him sharper rather than sloppier. Your legs wrapped around him on instinct and he held you against the lockers with one forearm braced and looked at you like something he'd won.
Outside, faintly: Baelor's voice. Polite and immovable I'm afraid this facility is temporarily unavailable. There's another corridor to your left. A pause. No, I don't have a time estimate. I'd suggest the other corridor.
Neither of you acknowledged this.
"Third round," breathless, his mouth at your throat. "You ended it faster."
"Wanted to be done," he said, against your skin. "Saw your face."
"What was wrong with my face."
"Nothing wrong with it," he said, pulling back to look at you with dark eyes. "That's the problem." His hands moved, efficient and certain, getting your jeans open one-handed while keeping you pinned with the rest of him, which was its own ongoing exhibition of functional strength. "You sat there for forty-five minutes watching me fight."
"Every second," you nodded.
"Thought I was keeping you from something that would bother you," he said, pulling your jeans down and off with the same economical competence he applied to everything. "Instead you wereâ"
"Losing my fucking mind," you breathed when your jeans finally came off with your panties.
"Good," he said, flatly, and his hand found your pussy and confirmed it immediately judging by the complete wetness there, two fingers pressing inside you with devastating precision, his thumb finding your clit with the same focused efficiency he'd used in the ring, and you gripped his bare shoulders â skin warm and slightly salt-damp under your hands â and held on.
He worked you against the lockers with his hand, unhurried despite the adrenaline clearly still running in him, his mouth at your throat, your jaw, the cut at his brow â and you turned your face to his neck and licked again, longer this time, tasting him slow while he groaned at the combination of it.
"You're going to explain this to me later," he said, rough, his fingers working ever so deeper.
"The tasting," you mumbled against his skin, tongue lapping at his neck.
"The whole thing," he said. "All of it. Why the bloodâ"
"Maekarâ"
"Yeah," he nodded once. "Later," and his fingers curled and you stopped being able to form words at all.
Outside, a different voice, closer. Baelor, serene and unyielding: Maintenance issue, I'm afraid. Ongoing. I'd give it at minimum thirty minutes. A beat. Perhaps forty.
Maekar, who had heard every word, made a low sound that was almost a laugh.
You came against his hand with your mouth pressed to his shoulder, breathing him in, salt and sweat and fight-heat and him, and felt his chest rumble with satisfaction against you.
He moved again â adjusting you in his arms with casual ease and carried you to the wider wall at the far end, pressed you against it with your legs around his waist and positioned himself and pushed inside in one deep certain stroke that drew a groan from both of you simultaneously.
"Maekarâ"
"I've got you," his mouth came to your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "You're so â fuck â warm and tight."
He fucked you against the wall with the full strength of a man who had just won a bout and discovered his girlfriend's reaction to it and had a great deal of adrenaline still requiring somewhere productive to go â hard and deep and utterly certain, his hands gripping your thighs, adjusting the angle twice until he found the one that made you cry out against his shoulder, and then staying there, relentless.
"You're going to come to every match," he said, against your ear. Not a question.
"Every one," you breathed.
"Front row," he said, his rhythm driving deeper. "I want to see you when I come out."
"I'll fucking be in the front row for you," you cried out with a moan.
"Yeah," he nodded, with enormous satisfaction, and his hand found your clit and pressed, and the combination had you shaking within minutes, his name the only word you had left.
You came the second time with your face in his neck and your mouth open against his throat, breathing him in on every inhale â the salt and heat of him, the specific animal warmth of post-fight exertion â and felt him follow you with a low broken groan, his hips pressing flush, shuddering through it with your name pressed into your shoulder, coming deep within you.
He held you there a long moment after, your weight entirely supported without apparent effort, both of you breathing hard in the warm close air of the locker room.
Then, gradually, the world reassembled itself.
He set you down carefully, steadied you when your legs proved temporarily uncooperative, and reached for the bag he'd left on the bench â his actual clothes, brought for after, because Maekar thought about logistics even when planning things he hadn't told you about. He handed you a fresh towel, cleaning you as his release came running down your thighs. He dressed with the same economical efficiency he did everything: jeans, plain dark t-shirt, the dragon disappearing beneath fabric, the cuts and wraps and evidence of the ring replaced by the ordinary appearance of a man who looked exactly like himself and had just comprehensively rearranged your guts and altered your evening.
You reassembled yourself alongside him, found your underwear and jeans, ran a hand through your hair, assessed yourself in the small mirror above the sinks and concluded you looked like exactly what you were.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," you nodded and smiled.
He opened the door. Baelor was leaning against the wall opposite, arms folded, coat still immaculate, with the expression of a man who had spent the better part of forty minutes being a bouncer outside a locker room and had used the time to arrive at a state of complete philosophical acceptance.
He looked at Maekar â fully dressed, composed, the closure strip at his brow the only evidence of the evening. He looked at you â flushed, hair not entirely cooperative, a mark visible at your throat above your collar.
He looked back at Maekar. "All clear?" he asked, mildly.
"All clear," Maekar confirmed.
"Good," Baelor said. "I've redirected approximately six people. One of them was quite insistent."
"I appreciate it," Maekar said.
"I'm sure you do," Baelor said, and then, with the serene composure of a man deploying something he'd been saving, "She was rather loud, incidentally, I hope."
"Baelor," you said, heat rising to your face
"I'm simply noting the acoustics," he said, arms raised in defense. He straightened from the wall, adjusting his coat. "I said the same thing recently about a bathroom at a conference, funnily enough."
You looked at the older man's face and noticed a special kind of warmth on his cheeks.
Maekar's eyes moved to his brother with the flat assessment of a man adding things up. Then, "How is she, by the way."
Baelor's composure didn't break. It simply â paused. Fractionally. "I don't know who you mean."
"The new girlfriend," Maekar said. Flat. Certain. "You'll have to introduce her, eventually."
"I don't see how that's relevantâ"
"We've both been redirected lately, it seems," Maekar said. "That conference you came back from looking like you'd had a very specific kind of good time?" He tilted his head very slightly. "Yeah, we both know you're not as academically composed as you want people to think."
Baelor went faintly pink.
It was so unusual, so entirely uncharacteristic of the man, that you actually stared. Baelor â composed, measured, the older brother who had been running gentle commentary on Maekar's situation for months â standing in a boxing gym corridor going faintly pink at the back of his neck because his younger brother had said the quiet part out loud.
Maekar looked at the pink. Looked at you. Looked back at Baelor. The almost-smile appeared. Slow. Devastating.
"Good choice," he said simply, and started walking toward the exit.
Baelor recovered himself in approximately three seconds â remarkable time, honestly â and fell into step beside you both, his composure reassembled, his chin slightly elevated.
"That was ungracious," he pointed out.
"I'm aware," Maekar said, with the smug tone of a younger brother.
"I spent forty minutes in a corridor."
"I know," Maekar said. "And now we're even."
A pause in which Baelor appeared to conduct the relevant calculation and conclude, reluctantly, that this was arithmetically correct.
"Drive home?" you offered to break some tension.
"Please," Baelor said, with great dignity, and walked slightly ahead of both of you into the cool night air, and you fell into step beside Maekar, and his hand found yours and stayed there, warm and certain, the boxing club noise fading behind you.
"He's happy for you," you pointed out, quietly. "Underneath all of that."
"I know," Maekar said.
"And proud. The way he watches you fightâ"
"I know," again, softer this time. His hand tightened slightly around yours. "Same way I watch him when he's got something good."
Ahead of you, Baelor had reached the car and was standing beside it with the patience of a man who had decided to be gracious about the entire evening and was succeeding through sheer force of character.
"Next matchâ" you started.
"Front row," Maekar said. "Already decided."
"You're going to win faster again?"
"Every time," he said, with complete flat certainty, and you believed him entirely.
A.N.: I still have some works from the grateful promt list that I have to finish, i know, i've got that pretty much tied up just to be proofread. this piece was actually written while waiting for my flights (if you're the lady at the pret a manger seated next to me that read pretty much everything while it was being written, no you didn't)
WARNINGS: otto hightower, criston cole being a loser, implied rejection of said loser, angst, gwayne is such a lover boy, arguing, slight allusion to nsfw ig, TW: SUICIDE
AN: â„ïž - this is by far the most heart breaking thing i've ever written. sad sad ending - TW: suicide.
Criston Cole would be the utter demise of the noble Gwayne Hightower.
That knight (if once could even call him that) had a way of turning Gwayneâs goodnatured air into a poisonous one. For the past several weeks, the Dornishman had been on a conquest, one with the sole purpose of spreading his hate and resentment to those under his command.Â
And just when Gwayne thought Coleâs hatred was dwindling down, your dragon flew overhead a small dispute.
That seemed to reignite something inside him. Cole spent hours spewing horrible, slanderous things about you and the Princess Rhaenyra.Â
Gwayne had had a different reaction to the mere reminder of you. Reduced to his ten and five year old self, he spent his time in a daze, daydreaming and the like.
Youâd been a haunting figure in Gwayneâs life for years.Â
The men sat around the fire, eating their horribly disgusting rations, exchanging tall tales. Cole had taken over the light-hearted nature, and forced it to become a slanderous and honestly obsessive speech about the princesses. Heâd moved on from Rhaenyra, now focusing on you. Sweet, beautiful, and kind you.Â
âShe was always a rough one.â His lip quirked, like he was trying to hint at something unbecoming of a true honorable knight. Of course, Gwayne reminded himself, Cole was not a true knight. A true knight knew when to hold his tongue. âHarsh, like that of a terrible storm. She tore through the Red Keep, leaving chaos in her wake.âÂ
No one dared to correct him. Many that sat around the fire had visited court, had seen the notoriously kind and gentle princess move with the poise of a true noblewoman. Some had even grown up with the Princess. They all knew that she was not at all like the Dornishman said, and yet, none of them stood to defend her.Â
Cowards, the lot of them.Â
Gwayneâs jaw twitched as he waited for the man to redeem himself. Heâd snapped at the Hand only a fortnight ago, and thought it would perhaps be wise to choose patience over impulse.Â
âWomen like that are rare, truly.â Cole, unfortunately, continued. âShe was, in no uncertain terms, a cun-âÂ
In an instance, Gwayne rose to his feet, drew his sword, and held it at the Handâs neck. âWatch your tongue, Sir Criston.âÂ
The air stilled, the once jovial men tense with uncertainty. âIt would be wise to lower your sword, my lord.âÂ
âThe mere concept of wisdom is something completely foreign to you.âÂ
âIt seems-â Criston swallowed. âThat your allegiance has shifted.âÂ
âHow dare you.â Gwayne hissed. âMy allegiance is not to be questioned.âÂ
âIt is-â Criston dared to speak again. âWhen you threaten me after my comment about the princess.âÂ
âI am a man of honor.â Gwayne stepped back, allowing his sword to fall from the manâs neck. âAnd as a man of honor, I cannot stand idly by as you insult a lady. If you dare speak another ill word of her, I will strike you where you sit, the Gods as my witness.âÂ
Criston smirked. âI shall not speak of the Realmâs Horror any longer then.â That comment earns laughs from the men.Â
Gwayne fought the urge to slash his throat in one swell blow. Instead, he turned on his heel, stalking towards his tent. He flung his sword on the floor beside his cot before flinging himself onto the cushion in a most undignified manner.
As he fell asleep, his mind drifted to memories of you. Well, to only one. His fondest.Â
Some Years AgoâŠ
He hadn't seen you in ages, the longing in his heart nearly ready to burst. He knew that Rhaenyra and Alicent had gone off to the library thanks to his spies within the household, and he knew that that meant you were left to your own devices. Â
And so there he waited, watching as you walked through the castle garden, soaked to the bone thanks to the aggressive downpour. You'd abandoned your cloak some time ago, realizing there was no stopping your gown from becoming a wet rag.Â
His hand, gentle yet firm, had gripped your wrist, pulling you into the groundskeeper's shed. You knew who it was instantly; his touch was as familiar to you as Rhaenyra's whines (mostly regarding her father's wishes for her to marry). Still, a gasp left your lips.Â
Gwayne's terribly charming grin looked down at you, his face illuminated thanks to the adjacent window. âGwayne Hightower, you cannot pull a lady-âÂ
âI have missed you.â His head hung low, lips closer than they should be. âYou have been busy.â
âSuch is the life of the heir of the realmâs lady in waiting.â You reached up, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. âI have missed you as well.â
âYour gown-â He looked down, shaking his head in faux disappointment. âIt is ruined.âÂ
âIs it now?â You frowned. âWhat a shame.âÂ
âA shame?â He lowered his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing kisses across your chest. Chills ran down your spine, biting your lips to suppress the urge to moan. âMy darling girl, you have never looked as stunning as you have this very moment.â You glared, shoving his shoulder playfully.Â
âDo not tease, Gwayne.â
âI never tease-â He stopped, correcting his statement before he became a liar. âI only tease when I mean to immediately remedy the situation.â
âAh.â Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers delicately playing with his hair. âMight I ask how you will be remedying this situation?â
âOf course, my lady.â He'd been slowly backing you toward the wall, finding satisfaction in your flustered appearance when your back collided against the partition. âI plan to ravish you-â
âRavish?â You gawked, jaw slack. âGwayne, what if my uncle- the guard-âÂ
âIf you do not wish for me to continueâŠâ He whispered, hands squeezing your hips. âI will obey your commands.â
âNo.â You shook your head, nudging your nose against his. âI never said I did not want to.âÂ
âAh.â His hands pulled at the fabric of your skirt, your stomach twisting at the action and what it alluded to. What it implied was something youâd been wanting for quite some time.Â
âYou know-â You tried your best to seem entirely unbothered. âYou have not kissed me yet.â âHavenât I?â His eyes fluttered to your chest, your heart skipping at his actions. âI believe-â
âI would like a proper kiss.â You grumbled. âI am not a piece of meat, my lord, so you may stop eyeing me like one.â
âI do not eye.â He sounded highly offended. âI am simply taking in the vision that is before me. You are a goddess, the Realmâs Beauty indeed.âÂ
âGwayne-â You tugged on his doublet. âPlease.âÂ
âAs you wish, my lady.â He leaned closer, his left hand left your hip to cup your cheek.Â
You nodded quickly. âIt is.â He then pressed you further into the wall, if that was even possible. His lips never left your skin once, worshipping you like a man possessed. Your eyes closed, head tilting up toward the sky. âGwayne-âÂ
âI could hear my name leave your lips for a lifetime.âÂ
âA lifetime?â Your breath caught at the implication. âWhat do you-âÂ
âYou know.â He murmured against your skin, causing chills to run down your spine. âYou must know.âÂ
âThis-â You sounded utterly wrecked. âThis is not a joking matter, Gwayne.âÂ
âI am not joking.â He pulled your skirts up, tugging at your stockings. âYou think me an unserious rake, I am convinced.âÂ
âYou must forgive me.â You gasped as his hand pawed at your upper thigh, thoughts failing to form coherently. âBut your current actions are proving my point.âÂ
âAre they?â His hand then slid up further, toying with the base of your chemise. âWould you like me to stop?âÂ
âNo!â You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with fear. âNo.âÂ
âMy lovely girl-â He pulled your hand away, kissing the back gently. The act was so chivalrous that it almost made you forget he was actively taking part in the social ruin of a young noble lady. âI am asking for your hand this afternoon.âÂ
âYou are only saying that.âÂ
âI am not. I have had this planned since a fortnight ago.âÂ
Your legs tightened around his waist. âHave you really?âÂ
He leaned forward, his nose nudging yours. âI love you, Your Highness. Most ardently, and if you will have me, I will make you the happiest woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.â
âI-â You dove down, kissing him soundly. âI will marry you. I will be your wife.âÂ
Of course, because the gods were cruel, his fondest memory was followed by his worst. Heâd left you to go meet with the King and his father, to ask for your hand, hopeful, happy even.
Heâd walked in calm, held his head high, but humble.Â
Heâd even sworn that Viserys was on the verge of saying yes when his own father cut in, destroying his future in one fell swoop. âMy King, I apologize. My son, he has insulted you gravely.âÂ
âOtto-âÂ
âYour niece is of a higher rank. He is only a second son.â Otto glared at his child. âLeave us.âÂ
âFather-â Gwayne puffed his chest, trying his hardest not to look utterly crushed. âI love her, truly and honestly. I would- I would provide her a loving marriage, one of happiness and peace.âÂ
âBut not one that she deserves. Not one fitting of a Princess, am I right?â Otto raised a brow. Gwayne was speechless.
âLeave us. I wonât repeat myself.âÂ
Gwayne hadnât seen you after that day. His father had forbidden it, going so far as to post guards at his door and at the base of the Princessâs balcony. Heâd sent him back to Oldtown, and sent you into a depressive state.Â
A mere fortnight later, Gwayne had been walking through the streets of his home when a villager whispered about the Targaryen princess who flung herself off the tallest point of the castle.Â
And two days later, his own fatherâs raven had confirmed it. You had died from heartbreak, all thanks to Otto Hightower and his scheming.Â
Gwayne knew that you were gone, and yet, when he saw your dragon, he let himself believe that you were still alive. He dared to have hope. And hope would kill him, just as it did his spirit all those years ago.Â
summary: After the battle at Rookâs Rest all Gwayne wants is you. Hopefully longing just like he is and cherishing his safe return. And yet he is met with an absence that makes his breath hitch and grim remarks he does not appreciate. Despite being a lord and a noble knight he is also nothing but a man, and how long can a man go without the comforting presence of his wife? And especially a wife who is worth worshipping, every battle and every whispered word of blasphemy?
word count: 5.8k+
a/n: or to put it differently gwayne goes âwhere the hell is my mate with whom i can complain about the greens and their overgrown winged lizardsâ
âSer Gwayne?â
He didnât miss the call. It simply felt irrelevant at this moment, too shallow and meaningless to attract his attention.
Backnoise, perhaps even an annoying one that disturbed Gwayneâs thoughts that were turning more anxious with every second. He didnât react, focused on scanning the courtyard with his gaze. He furrowed his brows, then grimaced to eventually run a hand over his tired face.
It turned from expressing irritation and discomfort of the travel to a look of deep worry. He could feel his breath growing heavy, barely rhythmic when his eyes moved from one person to another.
Even though he knew and memorized every inch of your face he kept replaying it in his head as if it could help him through the search. The search that slowly started to wear signs of desperation. He suspected that it was caused by the turmoil in his mind that howled and roared ever since he witnessed the huge winged beast on the ground, lifeless.
The closeness of the dragons brought up worry in him and it wasnât something he cared to be ashamed of.
While brushing through his own hair to stick it back and get rid of the disgusting, sweaty feeling, he thought about your eyes which had a spark in them whenever they found him in a crowd. It was something your husband never got used to fully and it always thrilled him. It was so special that it turned to the main thing he could focus on during the travel back to Kingâs Landing.
It was the first time in your short years of marriage when he had to march to a true battle.
He imagined how youâd smile with your whole face, a shine of relief washing over you. Your lips would curve gently at first, before heâd gather you in his arms and then the soft greet would turn into a heartwarming laugh. Your lipsâŠ
Gods, your lips.
And yet you werenât here.
The second headman of the Hightower army and Gwayneâs right hand cleared his throat again. âMy lord?â He asked louder.
âAh, yes,â he muttered while breaking out of his trance of worry and madness. âYou are dismissed, commander. You did well.â
It was said quieter than he used to speak, not hesitating but not very sure either. He found it hard to focus, only managing to nod at his companion before his gaze shifted to the people gathered around again. Gwayne swallowed a bitter taste on his tongue and straightened his back.
He was falling into unnecessary insanity, surely.
âThe men did well too, my lord,â the commander remarked with pride.
Gwayne clasped a hand on his shoulder like the good leader he always tried to be.
âNaturally. We brought a slain dragonâs head with us, after all. You deserve to rest, my friend.â
He couldnât care less right now if he was honest with himself. You often pointed out his arrogance but lucky for him he also lacked the audacity to mention out loud that the dragon, the victory, the kingâs suffering⊠It all meant very little to him right now.
He spotted the queen with ease. Handing his horse to a stableboy he approached her with his hand clasped behind his back.
âAlicent,â he greeted, probably betraying his outraged frame of mind with the annoyed tone.
He bowed his head. It was respectful enough, he hoped. He had no strength for bending his back, his knees, for ostentatious gallantry and for calling his little sister âqueenâ...
âBrother. Iâm happy to see you unharmed andââ she spoke after having a good look at him.
Gods, she really resembled their mother when her eyes travelled all over him like that. It made him clench his jaw and look away from her, searching for you again. He was turning pathetic in it, he feared.
âWhere is my wife?â He asked, interrupting Alicentâs words. Silence settled between them for a moment. Either she was unused to such savage manners, let alone from Gwayne, or the question troubled her. âSister?â He called again when he was left unanswered.
The queen shook her head.
âI haven't seen her,â she said simply. âShe is⊠Well, she is a woman hard to find these days.â
She clearly didnât grieve that you werenât her. It could be Gwayneâs own sorrow about it that made him so angry at his sisterâs calmness. He breathed in deeply before turning to her.
âYou dislike my wife.â It was a statement, not a question, and also not an accusation. Just a fact he found disappointing.
âNo. I worry, that's all. She is justââ she cut and blinked at her brotherâs unfamiliar expression. The corners of her lips fell further down. âShe is of a peculiar character that I failed to notice before,â she explained, almost diplomatically which earned a scoff from Gwayne.
âYou dislike her,â he repeated sharply.
âBrother,â she said with firmness that could bring an unruly child to peace. âAs I said, I worry. She reminds me of Helaena and that is⊠It isnât a good sign,â she said with a sorry face as if she was informing him of his wifeâs deathly illness.
âYou don't speak about your daughter with much fondness either,â Gwayne pointed out, despite noticing what she tried to say. âMakes me wonder how much of what you see I should put faith inâŠâ
He knew the rationality of your mind. Your wit, your skills and intuition. He would never agree to bring you to a castle so full of viciousness as The Red Keep if he thought you were too fragile to bear it.
âSer Gwayne.â He heard the voice of Criston Cole behind him which made him realize his tone has risen a bit. More than he wanted. The knight wandered next to him, bowing in front of the queen. âCould that be the truth that your marriage is not as cheerful as you described it to be?â He mocked , certainly recalling Gwayne's lectures.
Malicious cunt. In one moment Gwayne regretted ever mentioning his wife in the presence of a man like him.
âSer Cristonââ Alicent almost choked on her breath while trying to scold the knight, but didnât find the right words. She turned to Gwayne with a look that could be taken for understanding. âBrother, I see that you worry. You are excused and forgiven.â
âForgiven forââ Gwayne tried to clarify. Clarify, he told that to himself. In truth he sought an opportunity to argue and release some of his anger.
âTake the queenâs mercy and leave, ser,â Cole said firmly.
It would be below his decency to stay.
Gods, even though you left home with him he wished to see Oldtown as soon as possible again⊠Suddenly he thought that it could be a mistake. Disturbing your peace so much⊠On the other hand, if he never offered you would force him anyway. Of that he was sure.
Three months on the road. Alicent always thought youâre heedless and daring. Childish even. What woman with common sense would take up a travel this hard by the side of her lord husband? It was beyond her comprehension no matter how much he tried to understand your reasons. She could appreciate your devotion for her brother, though, and because of that she would never refuse her hospitality to you. That didnât mean deep sympathy, naturally, and the lack of it was mutual, too.
The queen was faced with her own envy as well when she witnessed you offering comfort to her grieving daughter. You visit in the capital settled on unsteady days full of fear and pain. You were glad that Helaena allowed you to wrap your arms around her gently, even if you had to live under the jealousy of her motherâs gaze.
You felt bad for the dowager queen too. She was too hasty, too expressive in her dislike towards her to make you show compassion. You were also far too well-mannered to show pity.
One way or another, you saw the shadows of vultures that circled over the queen. She wasn't the one with true predatory nature toward the weak perhaps, but you were sure she would gather a harvest of corpses around her anyway. Your only hope was that neither you nor your husband will be amongst themâŠ
You were plagued with the future as much as the past. It was an alliance of both that caused the decision of staying away while the army returned. You should be there awaiting your husband, you knew it but there was this vicious whisper inside youâŠ
Gods, you managed to settle your mind on the matter when you knew it was already too late.
Running through the corridors of the Keep you made a few servants turn after you passed but you no longer cared. You brushed your hair out of your face before leaving the cold walls, stepping into the yard and stumbling onto Gwayne almost immediately.
âHusband,â you mumbled out of breath, too stunned to react properly.
You offered your hand to him, going for a handshake that made him freeze for a moment. It must have been a joke, he thought, but you made no effort to change it. To fix it.
He wanted to move closer, cup your face, smell your hair, remind himself of what true home meant, and here you were offering him your hand to shake.
Gods, no. He was a respectful man, always, but he now almost snatched your hand, leaned down and placed a long kiss on the skin of your knuckles. Not a peck, nothing chaste about it.
You didnât dare to move and couldnât help but look at the people gathered around. No one seemed to mind, save for the queen and the man beside her. You turned away as fast as you met her eyes.
Your breath hitched when Gwayne straightened his back and looked you in the face. Your love, your husband that you begged the gods to see again. He looked tired, that you expected, but he was also annoyed. Perhaps it was a mistake and your longing for him led you in the dark; you should have been more patient, stay in your roomsâŠ
âWife,â Gwayne said with a nod of his head. Only then you noticed he still didnât let go of your hand. âYou look even more delightful than I remembered.â
âItâs only been a few days,â you noticed in a hushed voice.
He grimaced as if you painfully belittled his feelings. Misled by your childhoodâs grim experience you thought that it was your voice itself that angered him further. That he was just proper as always, greeting you because he had to before he would drown the memory of the fight in something of his own choosing.
Gwayne wasnât fond of drinking, he certainly didnât look around for other women nor he gambled, but in that moment you were sure it wasnât you from whom he wanted comfort.
You could live with it. Despite the pained look on his face he made the effort to not flaunt it, to not humiliate any of you publicly, so you could do the same. Play the restrained, good wife until he could walk away from you freely without attracting any attention.
âWas the march hard, lord husband?â You asked in the tone of a stranger who made simple conversation.
His eyebrows twitched up at the sound of the title. It was almost unfamiliar coming from you. You, who knew how his name felt on your tongue whispered, cried out, moaned and in laughter⊠âLord husbandâ felt like an insult when he knew how sweet his true name sounded.
âThe memory of you made it more bearable,â he answered but the smile didnât really get to his eyes.
âOh.â How could you not love him? Even in annoyance and when he wanted to be alone he could play the role of an admirer. âWell, I won't bother you with questions about the battle itself. It must have been horrible.â
He nodded and threw the last look around the yard before offering you his arm. He didnât understand what in the name of the seven hells was going on but he knew he hated it. Perhaps if you stepped away, stayed in the company of each other.
But you didnât jump into his arms when you both left, as he wanted. You allowed him to hold your hand, but that was it.
âIt is behind us now, dear wife,â he explained to your worried voice. At least it was genuine, that he didnât doubt. âThat is what matters.â
âAnd that you are unharmed.â
It was strange, made his head spin, that you muttered such careful, lovable words while walking so unsure behind his side. He didnât fail to notice that you werenât close enough. Whenever you two strolled together you always rested against him, moved more into him than it was necessary and he adored it. It felt right, having you in his arms. He loved calling himself your husband, your lover, but if he was ever stripped from that he would at least want to be named your protector and supported. Thatâs how he felt when you showed him so much trust with your actions.
And now your bodies barely even brushed.
Dark thoughts settled in his mind. Did he cause you any pain? Have you heard a vicious rumor about him? Did⊠Did someone hurt you when he was away?
He called your name quietly, but you spoke up before it could truly get to you.
âDo you wish to have the chambers all to yourself?â You asked, turning your head to look at him. âI can't stay in the garden to offer you some space.â
He matched your gaze slowly, as if he was in pain from his shallow injuries, but it was just the shock. The look on your face seemed small to him, like an intimidated dove, afraid not only of her companion but also her own voice.
You never acted like that.
âI wish for no space,â he declared immediately and couldnât hold back from moving his free hand up to brush your cheek with his fingers. âYou offer strange things, dearest. If it's not too much to ask for, I want my wife's presence right next to me. Caring for me, if she feels strong enough today.â
You nodded and leaned more into his touch.
Gods, so the worry truly blinded you. It was still your Gwayne, after all.
âOf course. I meant no offence,â you explained, partially hopeful he wouldnât question your behaviour any further. Only if you knew how troubled he was by it.
âAnd you gave none,â he assured.
âGood. I would love to care for all of your injuries. It will surely calm my nerves, knowing you are in good health.â
But would it really?, he asked himself.
In his common sin of arrogance he lied to himself that he wasnât easily offended. Yet now he had to admit in front of himself. It struck him painfully.
âYou don't seem happy that I'm back,â he noticed eventually while walking. It was a difficult thing to say, as hard as seeing it.
You stopped in your tracks.
âHow can you say that? Of course I am.â
He hummed, clearly having a thought about it before stepping in front of you. He took both your shaking hands in his and held them, while lowering his head to you. âSpeak to me, wife.â
âBâbut I do, donât I?â
Despite the exhaustion, the dark marks under his eyes and how unruly his hair looked, the lenient smile he put on was honest. There was also a visible fair share of worry in him.
âSomething's happened, hasn't it?â
You shook your head, struck by the fact that he turned even more pale. âNothing, husband, no. You know I would never lie toââ
âThen why are you so afraid?â He asked firmly, never stopping to gently brush your hands.
âI just... I missed you greatly.â
âYou did?â
The question rang in your ears for a while. Your husband wasnât sure if you spoke truthfully about your feelings towards him. You didnât know if falling into laughter or sobbing was more due in this situation.
Your hands moved, not not only laying in his but interlacing your fingers.
âYes,â you repeated. âI lived in fear and I was surrounded by strangers, Gwayne. Only the idea of seeing you again kept me sane.â
âI missed you tooâŠâ
He almost gave in into leaning closer, bumping your nose with his and resting his forehead against your face. Eventually he held back, too disturbed by your behaviour to let it lay unsolved.
âAnd yet I'm welcomed with distance and restraint,â he said. âWhy?â
âDistance? Iââ
But he didnât let you finish. He moved your hands up to his chest. You could feel his warm breath over your skin.
âWhy didnât you kiss your husband when you saw him? Why didnât you bless him with your touch if you missed him so?â
He saw your conflicted expression and he couldnât hold back anymore. Freeing his hands from yours, he moved them to your face. You held onto his wrists gently when he cupped your cheeks like that. Just the way you wanted and dreamed about.
The tears went freely, you no longer tried to stop them when his fingers were placed on your warm skin.
âYou terrify me, wife,â Gwayne confessed in a whisper, brushing away some of your tears. âIs it because you try to hide something? If you've experienced any wrongdoing... Gods, I promise that whoever hurt you will pay. Even if I have to go through this whole castle.â
âNâNo,â you muttered at once, irritated by how weak your voice sounded. âItâs not that.
Heâs never seen you like this before.
âThenâŠâ
âIt's my father,â you snapped eventually, annoyed yet glad you got it out of your throat. It was choking you, suffocating for the well part of the day and you had enough.
It should have been enough a long time ago.
âYour father, dove? What about him?â
âHe hated it when we waited for him after battles. My mother thought it to be proper and I never understood her stubbornness, butââ The words died on your tongue. You felt foolish, a child again. Gwayne didnât let you turn your head away from him. âHe pushed me and my sisters away when we tried to hug him, and only shared a feast with us to not attract whispers. I suppose all he wanted then was to have a cup of wine and a quiet corner for himself. He was embarrassed by the displays of emotions... I thoughtââ
âYou thought I would push you away like he did,â he said slowly and with understanding.
It sounded stupid, you didnât even realize how much. You sniffed and took a deep breath to calm yourself.
âWell, I knew you wouldn't but... I felt it somewhere deep under my skin,â you explained and dried the tears on your cheeks. âI couldn't. The shame I felt back then. The feeling like I did something wrong... I couldn't fight it.â
Your husband nodded, taking in the sight of you with pride, not at all unpleased by how shaken up you were. He wasnât easily annoyed by such things, on the contrary to when he couldnât understand the situation.
âI see,â he said. He was out of words for a moment when you took his hand from your cheek and placed a kiss on it, just like he did to you every day. âI would never do that to you, you have my word.â
âI know. I always knew it, I justâŠâ
âIt is alright, dear. Donât put me through it again, though. Iâm not sure I can take it,â he joked, but there was some true seriousness buried within it. âCan you promise me?â
You smiled at him. Oh, how he missed that. âI can.â
âGood.â
His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. There was no rush in Gwayneâs actions. He touched your hair, took his time in playing with it before brushing it behind. His lips found yours when his hand finally settled at the nape of your neck.
He kissed you like a man who was left without air ever since he saw you for the last time, and yet he still had the strength of his mind to not impose. To not appear desperate, starved, even if all he wanted was to devour every moment of your love that he was given. The thought of pulling back didnât even cross your mind.
His lips werenât as soft as usual. Drier from the harsh wind and sun as well as marked by a bruise and poorly cleaned dry blood. He lingered just over your mouth when he was forced to take a breath.
Gwayne pushed his forehead to yours, resting with his eyes closed as his hand still played with your skin and hair. It made you raise your hand as well, gently touching his face, tracing shallow wrinkles and searching for the familiar feeling of warmth caused by an injury.
âWe shouldnât stand here,â you whispered.
âWhy, will you complain about the way I smell, orââ
âThatâs not what I said,â you cut in and boldly draped your arm around his neck. Gwayne almost purred when you pressed your body against his. âI would never complain about my own husbandâs smell, you know that.â
âGods, you are right,â his voice broke a bit but there was no shame in him. Not in front of you. âYou are right, we shouldnât be standing here. I want you all for myself.â
âAnd that you shall have,â you promised with a bashful smile. âJust later. Allow me to have a proper look first.â
He hummed in displease when you stepped back to look at him. Only now he realized you were shying away from that before, silly girlâŠ
âDonât worry,â he spoke when he noticed how your eyes changed when you set them on a bloodied spot on his doublet, uncovered by the plate armor, âAlicent offered to send her maesters.â
It didnât soothe your nerves and he was a fool if he imagined it would. You only grimaced and nodded in acknowledgment.
âWhat is it?â He asked, spotting the shift immediately.
âHer servants areâŠâ You clasped your hands together in front of you and sent him an apologetic smile. âWell, the queen is very kind but I would prefer to tend to you myself, if that's not of much difference to you.â
But Gwayne shook his head with a small grin and showed you to keep strolling to your chambers.
âIt is a crucial difference,â he said firmly. âI would prefer no other touch than my wife's. The wounds you dress yourself⊠they always seem to heal better.â
âDo they?â You asked, taking his hand in your again. âThen I suppose true care can do miracles. Thank the gods those are not necessary today. Well, at least not in fleshâŠ.â
âStrange times we live in,â he agreed, seeing that you were speaking of the realmâs position.
The realmâs and yours, as those who sat the closest amongst the family of the ruler, either it was Aegon or Aemond now â you werenât sure.
âYou and my sister,â Gwayne spoke up, â didnât find much common ground, I see.â
âWe donât hold love for each other, if that is what you ask about,â you admitted, making your husband chuckle.
âFor that I had no hope. Still, I thought you might have some comfort in the presence of another⊠I believe I was very wrong.â
You tightened the grip on his hand.
âI donât wish to offend you by speaking ill of your sister. She is the queen, after all andââ
âWife,â he interrupted with fondness, as if to make you realize whoâs side he was on. âWhen I first saw your sorrow today I feared it was her who had done something horrific to you. Now tell me all.â
So you did, even if there were no tragic tales or shaking plots to mention. Gwayne could be a great listener when he wanted and to you he was always.
He opened the door to your shared chamber when you reached it and let you pass. He could already feel his insides aching from how hard you made him laugh.
âSo she goes, still not looking at me, now listenââ you cut to clear your throat.
Resting one arm on a nearby desk you clutched the other to the neck of your gown, the way the queen often did, and lowered your voice to match hers.
âI hear you are fond of politics, my lady⊠I said that local politics, yes, but not the capital one. That is... that is certainly too overwhelming for a woman like me.â
âMm.â Gwayne sat on the bed without moving his eyes from you.
âAnd then: Well, Iâm sure you are very grateful to my brother then, she says, for allowing you to be involved in it. Politics, she meant, even the local one.â
âAllowing?â Your husband questioned, still trying to fight the smile brought up by your little act.
âYes! Her words exactly,â you squealed in emotion. âSo I replied that if she knows you well, which I donât doubt she does, then she knows you arenât fond of all your duties. My husband, I went, is gravely bored by the matter of grains and wheat, letâs say, so to be a good wife I free him of this subject and tend to it myself. And then she gives me a look so dirty as if I just confessed I want to slay Ormund Hightower and take the title of lord paramount myself. Or murder one of her sons, whoever is king now, since I lost count in thatâŠâ
Gwayne thought for a while, then waved his hand. âIâm not sure, now that Aegon is⊠Well, the way he is.â
You quickly moved to his side and occupied the spot nearby. You lowered your voice almost to a sound of conspiracy. âHe is not dead, though, is he? People whisper different thingsâŠâ
âNot dead yet, at least,â he admitted indifferently. âThat I can say.â
You frowned for a moment then shrugged.
âYou see my point, anyway,â you continued.
âI do. And I know my sister well, I can imagine her killing you with her gaze.â
You nodded like he described it perfectly. âEven your father is less demanding and, gods, backward, than her.â
âHe is. Yes, Alicent isâŠâ he sighed while looking for a good word, then smiled and turned to face you. âSheâs just Alicent.â
âShe is.â It made you giggle. âNow let me prepare some water and clean clothsâŠâ
He was rather properly cleaned up already but you wanted to have a look yourself and make sure he was unharmed. One of his squires came to help you take off his armor, then bowed to you and left.
âYouâre staring, GwayneâŠâ you noticed while struggling with the laces of his green overshirt.
âI am.â
He really had no shame when it came to the things he felt for his wife.
You were already bent forward to see the strips and belts better, almost resting your head on Gwayneâs shoulder. He barely had to move to cup your lips with his and still he made sure to tug you closer, earning a half-swallowed whine from you. You would have fallen, your body collapsing into his, but he gracefully directed you to his lap, making you laugh at how cheeky he could be sometimes.
You didnât break the kiss nonetheless, and moved against him with matching eagerness. He let out a deep, content sigh and it was the most beautiful sound you have heard in days.
Draping your arms around his neck and shoulders you allowed him to tug you even closer, his own arms caging you, wrapped around your middle. You picked at his lower lip earning a hoarse, pleased groan from your husband. It wasnât hard and still you could feel the iron taste of blood on your tongue.
âForgive me,â you said in worry, pulling away and spotting that the bruising opened again. âIâve forgotten myselfââ
But he didnât care. He tugged you in for another kiss and only calmed down when you rested your chest and head against him. This is where he wished to be ever since they left the camp at Rookâs Rest. Here with your body in his arms.
âYou know I found it harder to pray to the gods with every moment I spend away from you,â he confessed. You felt him shiver at the sensation of your breath over his neck. âI could only think about you.â
He moved one hand from your back to pick at his necklace and raised it to his lip. Where his sister wore a sign of religious devotion, Gwayne wore his reminder of loyalty to you. It was poetic in a way, much more romantic than you would ever imagine him to be. Before Gwayne you thought nothing of gestures like that, thinking you would never find happiness with a man like that.
âStop, husband,â you hushed, brushing the side of his face. Eventually he allowed you to take a wet cloth and slowly run it over his skin. âIt is blasphemy.â
âIt's you,â he argued. âYou are worth every blasphemy.â
What could you possibly say to that? What could you do instead of placing a kiss on his face and making your touch even more gentle? It was bliss, even despite the blood that ran with water and stained your fingers. For a while you could forget about wars, kings and battles that were to come.
The worry laid deeply, though, and the everlasting grim of the Red Keep never made it better. Your husband always noticed it on your face.
âWhat is it that scares you, dearest? I can see it.â
A sigh left you. âThe walls. They have ears and eyes around here. It makes me go mad, husband.â
Some more blood dripped from his lip when he smiled.
âThen I promise to make sure to get you out of here before you start collecting bugs like my niece,â he said jokingly.
âYou mock me,â you pointed out sharply and tapped his chest with your finger. âAnd my worry. too, when it is very adequate.â
âNo, love, not at all. I donât mock you.â
He coughed into his sleeve and made an innocent face. At least he was in a good mood.
âI am only being rational, even if you view it as paranoia. Oh, and trust me, Helaenaâs company sometimes feels like she is one of very few sane people around here.â
Gwayne chuckled. âIt must be bad if you say it.â
âIt is bad. Thatâs why I pray for the war to be finished. So you can take off your armor for good and we can go home.â
âNot so many innocent lives could be spared?â He suggested.
Frolics.
âThat too, of course. And honestly, I never want to see a dragon again. Not close, not far, not at all,â you said with a grimace.
Gwayne sat more comfortably with you in his lap, resting his back on the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment like he was dreaming, and yet it was nothing pleasant.
âThe dragons, love,â he mumbled. When he opened his eyes there was nothing but worry in them, like he could recall the fire and death in its every detail even now. âThey⊠Gods, they are nightmares.â
You watched your husband with carefulness, and dried his skin. âDo you wish to speak of it? The battle?â
You saw the hesitation on his face. The way he was questioning if he should bother you or not. Like he was picking between being a husband or a friend and trustee. Choice you never wished him to make.
âDo not offend me,â you said softly, âwith the idea that I have not enough courage to bear those things you were forced to face.â
He nodded, yet no word of the battle itself left him at once. He needed time, you knew. Whenever something happened you tended to spend long nights talking about it in bed and you didnât doubt it would be similar this time.
âWe brought the head of the fallen beastâŠâ he said.
âSo it's true,â you hummed in awe. âI heard the voices from town. People didnât like it.â
âNo, they didnât,â he agreed. âTruth be told, I donât like it either. It stinks.â
âReeks of a dead dragon? Who would have thought,â you teased ironically, making him stick his fingers more into the flesh on your waist.
âThe only advance this place has over Oldtown,â you spoke up again, âis that rumors seem to be more reliable. To those who know how to understand them they are almost always valid. I find that entertaining.â
âYes? And what did you hear, love?â
âI heard that your cousin is on his way here. And heâs with Daeron, too,â you informed proudly of your discovery. âPeople already whisper about another dragon.â
But Gwayneâs face fell and he sighed like the weight of the world was just dropped on his shoulders. For a moment you thought that it came from worry about his young nephew, but you finally understood when he spoke up.
âAre we not allowed some time away from him?â
It was sharp, annoyed, and âhimâ must have been none other than Ormund Hightower.
âYou havenât seen him in months, Gwayne. There are two of us who donât miss him, butâŠâ
âI see him enough at home,â he remarked then lowered his head to your shoulder. âIâlll have to keep an eye on him when heâs around you,â he muttered.
âWhat? Do you have no trust in me, husband?â
âOh, I have all trust in you,â he promised, feeling something bitter even at the thought of his cousin laying his eyes on you. âI just don't want him bothering you.â
You waved it off. âIt will be fine. There is no need for you to get angry.â
âHim or his menâŠâ Gwayne kept going.
You rolled your eyes and quickly got off his lap to dry your own hands and pick up the bandages.
âAt least weâll see your nephew again.â
With that he could agree.
âYes, at least. You're fond of the boy, aren't you?â
âYes. Heâs⊠âYou merely shrugged. âHe is different from his siblings, you know? Perhaps Helaena⊠Well, the future of house Targaryen, I think, lies in Daeron alone. It's good that he's not cruel like his kinsâŠâ
Gwayne nodded and moved to stand up, slowly growing restless about the absence of your warmth against him.
âIn that you might be just right, my dear. But Ormund⊠I keep no love for my cousin now that I have you to protect,â he confessed.
âI don't needââ
âI know,â he interrupted quietly and leaned to kiss the uncovered skin on your shoulder. âI know but I would go mad if you didn't allow me to be protective and just a little bit overbearing.â
a/n: you noticed that i made all of those hightowers quite crazy about smells, right? RIGHT? you noticed??
imagine you come back to gather your homie i mean wife after having to deal with those incestious bastards and the cunt crispin cole, only wanting to gossip with her and she hits you with a HANDSHAKE because the voices tells her that you'll be annoyed.
strange even for gwayne's life so he literally went:
summary: After the battle at Rookâs Rest all Gwayne wants is you. Hopefully longing just like he is and cherishing his safe return. And yet he is met with an absence that makes his breath hitch and grim remarks he does not appreciate. Despite being a lord and a noble knight he is also nothing but a man, and how long can a man go without the comforting presence of his wife? And especially a wife who is worth worshipping, every battle and every whispered word of blasphemy?
word count: 5.8k+
a/n: or to put it differently gwayne goes âwhere the hell is my mate with whom i can complain about the greens and their overgrown winged lizardsâ
âSer Gwayne?â
He didnât miss the call. It simply felt irrelevant at this moment, too shallow and meaningless to attract his attention.
Backnoise, perhaps even an annoying one that disturbed Gwayneâs thoughts that were turning more anxious with every second. He didnât react, focused on scanning the courtyard with his gaze. He furrowed his brows, then grimaced to eventually run a hand over his tired face.
It turned from expressing irritation and discomfort of the travel to a look of deep worry. He could feel his breath growing heavy, barely rhythmic when his eyes moved from one person to another.
Even though he knew and memorized every inch of your face he kept replaying it in his head as if it could help him through the search. The search that slowly started to wear signs of desperation. He suspected that it was caused by the turmoil in his mind that howled and roared ever since he witnessed the huge winged beast on the ground, lifeless.
The closeness of the dragons brought up worry in him and it wasnât something he cared to be ashamed of.
While brushing through his own hair to stick it back and get rid of the disgusting, sweaty feeling, he thought about your eyes which had a spark in them whenever they found him in a crowd. It was something your husband never got used to fully and it always thrilled him. It was so special that it turned to the main thing he could focus on during the travel back to Kingâs Landing.
It was the first time in your short years of marriage when he had to march to a true battle.
He imagined how youâd smile with your whole face, a shine of relief washing over you. Your lips would curve gently at first, before heâd gather you in his arms and then the soft greet would turn into a heartwarming laugh. Your lipsâŠ
Gods, your lips.
And yet you werenât here.
The second headman of the Hightower army and Gwayneâs right hand cleared his throat again. âMy lord?â He asked louder.
âAh, yes,â he muttered while breaking out of his trance of worry and madness. âYou are dismissed, commander. You did well.â
It was said quieter than he used to speak, not hesitating but not very sure either. He found it hard to focus, only managing to nod at his companion before his gaze shifted to the people gathered around again. Gwayne swallowed a bitter taste on his tongue and straightened his back.
He was falling into unnecessary insanity, surely.
âThe men did well too, my lord,â the commander remarked with pride.
Gwayne clasped a hand on his shoulder like the good leader he always tried to be.
âNaturally. We brought a slain dragonâs head with us, after all. You deserve to rest, my friend.â
He couldnât care less right now if he was honest with himself. You often pointed out his arrogance but lucky for him he also lacked the audacity to mention out loud that the dragon, the victory, the kingâs suffering⊠It all meant very little to him right now.
He spotted the queen with ease. Handing his horse to a stableboy he approached her with his hand clasped behind his back.
âAlicent,â he greeted, probably betraying his outraged frame of mind with the annoyed tone.
He bowed his head. It was respectful enough, he hoped. He had no strength for bending his back, his knees, for ostentatious gallantry and for calling his little sister âqueenâ...
âBrother. Iâm happy to see you unharmed andââ she spoke after having a good look at him.
Gods, she really resembled their mother when her eyes travelled all over him like that. It made him clench his jaw and look away from her, searching for you again. He was turning pathetic in it, he feared.
âWhere is my wife?â He asked, interrupting Alicentâs words. Silence settled between them for a moment. Either she was unused to such savage manners, let alone from Gwayne, or the question troubled her. âSister?â He called again when he was left unanswered.
The queen shook her head.
âI haven't seen her,â she said simply. âShe is⊠Well, she is a woman hard to find these days.â
She clearly didnât grieve that you werenât her. It could be Gwayneâs own sorrow about it that made him so angry at his sisterâs calmness. He breathed in deeply before turning to her.
âYou dislike my wife.â It was a statement, not a question, and also not an accusation. Just a fact he found disappointing.
âNo. I worry, that's all. She is justââ she cut and blinked at her brotherâs unfamiliar expression. The corners of her lips fell further down. âShe is of a peculiar character that I failed to notice before,â she explained, almost diplomatically which earned a scoff from Gwayne.
âYou dislike her,â he repeated sharply.
âBrother,â she said with firmness that could bring an unruly child to peace. âAs I said, I worry. She reminds me of Helaena and that is⊠It isnât a good sign,â she said with a sorry face as if she was informing him of his wifeâs deathly illness.
âYou don't speak about your daughter with much fondness either,â Gwayne pointed out, despite noticing what she tried to say. âMakes me wonder how much of what you see I should put faith inâŠâ
He knew the rationality of your mind. Your wit, your skills and intuition. He would never agree to bring you to a castle so full of viciousness as The Red Keep if he thought you were too fragile to bear it.
âSer Gwayne.â He heard the voice of Criston Cole behind him which made him realize his tone has risen a bit. More than he wanted. The knight wandered next to him, bowing in front of the queen. âCould that be the truth that your marriage is not as cheerful as you described it to be?â He mocked , certainly recalling Gwayne's lectures.
Malicious cunt. In one moment Gwayne regretted ever mentioning his wife in the presence of a man like him.
âSer Cristonââ Alicent almost choked on her breath while trying to scold the knight, but didnât find the right words. She turned to Gwayne with a look that could be taken for understanding. âBrother, I see that you worry. You are excused and forgiven.â
âForgiven forââ Gwayne tried to clarify. Clarify, he told that to himself. In truth he sought an opportunity to argue and release some of his anger.
âTake the queenâs mercy and leave, ser,â Cole said firmly.
It would be below his decency to stay.
Gods, even though you left home with him he wished to see Oldtown as soon as possible again⊠Suddenly he thought that it could be a mistake. Disturbing your peace so much⊠On the other hand, if he never offered you would force him anyway. Of that he was sure.
Three months on the road. Alicent always thought youâre heedless and daring. Childish even. What woman with common sense would take up a travel this hard by the side of her lord husband? It was beyond her comprehension no matter how much he tried to understand your reasons. She could appreciate your devotion for her brother, though, and because of that she would never refuse her hospitality to you. That didnât mean deep sympathy, naturally, and the lack of it was mutual, too.
The queen was faced with her own envy as well when she witnessed you offering comfort to her grieving daughter. You visit in the capital settled on unsteady days full of fear and pain. You were glad that Helaena allowed you to wrap your arms around her gently, even if you had to live under the jealousy of her motherâs gaze.
You felt bad for the dowager queen too. She was too hasty, too expressive in her dislike towards her to make you show compassion. You were also far too well-mannered to show pity.
One way or another, you saw the shadows of vultures that circled over the queen. She wasn't the one with true predatory nature toward the weak perhaps, but you were sure she would gather a harvest of corpses around her anyway. Your only hope was that neither you nor your husband will be amongst themâŠ
You were plagued with the future as much as the past. It was an alliance of both that caused the decision of staying away while the army returned. You should be there awaiting your husband, you knew it but there was this vicious whisper inside youâŠ
Gods, you managed to settle your mind on the matter when you knew it was already too late.
Running through the corridors of the Keep you made a few servants turn after you passed but you no longer cared. You brushed your hair out of your face before leaving the cold walls, stepping into the yard and stumbling onto Gwayne almost immediately.
âHusband,â you mumbled out of breath, too stunned to react properly.
You offered your hand to him, going for a handshake that made him freeze for a moment. It must have been a joke, he thought, but you made no effort to change it. To fix it.
He wanted to move closer, cup your face, smell your hair, remind himself of what true home meant, and here you were offering him your hand to shake.
Gods, no. He was a respectful man, always, but he now almost snatched your hand, leaned down and placed a long kiss on the skin of your knuckles. Not a peck, nothing chaste about it.
You didnât dare to move and couldnât help but look at the people gathered around. No one seemed to mind, save for the queen and the man beside her. You turned away as fast as you met her eyes.
Your breath hitched when Gwayne straightened his back and looked you in the face. Your love, your husband that you begged the gods to see again. He looked tired, that you expected, but he was also annoyed. Perhaps it was a mistake and your longing for him led you in the dark; you should have been more patient, stay in your roomsâŠ
âWife,â Gwayne said with a nod of his head. Only then you noticed he still didnât let go of your hand. âYou look even more delightful than I remembered.â
âItâs only been a few days,â you noticed in a hushed voice.
He grimaced as if you painfully belittled his feelings. Misled by your childhoodâs grim experience you thought that it was your voice itself that angered him further. That he was just proper as always, greeting you because he had to before he would drown the memory of the fight in something of his own choosing.
Gwayne wasnât fond of drinking, he certainly didnât look around for other women nor he gambled, but in that moment you were sure it wasnât you from whom he wanted comfort.
You could live with it. Despite the pained look on his face he made the effort to not flaunt it, to not humiliate any of you publicly, so you could do the same. Play the restrained, good wife until he could walk away from you freely without attracting any attention.
âWas the march hard, lord husband?â You asked in the tone of a stranger who made simple conversation.
His eyebrows twitched up at the sound of the title. It was almost unfamiliar coming from you. You, who knew how his name felt on your tongue whispered, cried out, moaned and in laughter⊠âLord husbandâ felt like an insult when he knew how sweet his true name sounded.
âThe memory of you made it more bearable,â he answered but the smile didnât really get to his eyes.
âOh.â How could you not love him? Even in annoyance and when he wanted to be alone he could play the role of an admirer. âWell, I won't bother you with questions about the battle itself. It must have been horrible.â
He nodded and threw the last look around the yard before offering you his arm. He didnât understand what in the name of the seven hells was going on but he knew he hated it. Perhaps if you stepped away, stayed in the company of each other.
But you didnât jump into his arms when you both left, as he wanted. You allowed him to hold your hand, but that was it.
âIt is behind us now, dear wife,â he explained to your worried voice. At least it was genuine, that he didnât doubt. âThat is what matters.â
âAnd that you are unharmed.â
It was strange, made his head spin, that you muttered such careful, lovable words while walking so unsure behind his side. He didnât fail to notice that you werenât close enough. Whenever you two strolled together you always rested against him, moved more into him than it was necessary and he adored it. It felt right, having you in his arms. He loved calling himself your husband, your lover, but if he was ever stripped from that he would at least want to be named your protector and supported. Thatâs how he felt when you showed him so much trust with your actions.
And now your bodies barely even brushed.
Dark thoughts settled in his mind. Did he cause you any pain? Have you heard a vicious rumor about him? Did⊠Did someone hurt you when he was away?
He called your name quietly, but you spoke up before it could truly get to you.
âDo you wish to have the chambers all to yourself?â You asked, turning your head to look at him. âI can't stay in the garden to offer you some space.â
He matched your gaze slowly, as if he was in pain from his shallow injuries, but it was just the shock. The look on your face seemed small to him, like an intimidated dove, afraid not only of her companion but also her own voice.
You never acted like that.
âI wish for no space,â he declared immediately and couldnât hold back from moving his free hand up to brush your cheek with his fingers. âYou offer strange things, dearest. If it's not too much to ask for, I want my wife's presence right next to me. Caring for me, if she feels strong enough today.â
You nodded and leaned more into his touch.
Gods, so the worry truly blinded you. It was still your Gwayne, after all.
âOf course. I meant no offence,â you explained, partially hopeful he wouldnât question your behaviour any further. Only if you knew how troubled he was by it.
âAnd you gave none,â he assured.
âGood. I would love to care for all of your injuries. It will surely calm my nerves, knowing you are in good health.â
But would it really?, he asked himself.
In his common sin of arrogance he lied to himself that he wasnât easily offended. Yet now he had to admit in front of himself. It struck him painfully.
âYou don't seem happy that I'm back,â he noticed eventually while walking. It was a difficult thing to say, as hard as seeing it.
You stopped in your tracks.
âHow can you say that? Of course I am.â
He hummed, clearly having a thought about it before stepping in front of you. He took both your shaking hands in his and held them, while lowering his head to you. âSpeak to me, wife.â
âBâbut I do, donât I?â
Despite the exhaustion, the dark marks under his eyes and how unruly his hair looked, the lenient smile he put on was honest. There was also a visible fair share of worry in him.
âSomething's happened, hasn't it?â
You shook your head, struck by the fact that he turned even more pale. âNothing, husband, no. You know I would never lie toââ
âThen why are you so afraid?â He asked firmly, never stopping to gently brush your hands.
âI just... I missed you greatly.â
âYou did?â
The question rang in your ears for a while. Your husband wasnât sure if you spoke truthfully about your feelings towards him. You didnât know if falling into laughter or sobbing was more due in this situation.
Your hands moved, not not only laying in his but interlacing your fingers.
âYes,â you repeated. âI lived in fear and I was surrounded by strangers, Gwayne. Only the idea of seeing you again kept me sane.â
âI missed you tooâŠâ
He almost gave in into leaning closer, bumping your nose with his and resting his forehead against your face. Eventually he held back, too disturbed by your behaviour to let it lay unsolved.
âAnd yet I'm welcomed with distance and restraint,â he said. âWhy?â
âDistance? Iââ
But he didnât let you finish. He moved your hands up to his chest. You could feel his warm breath over your skin.
âWhy didnât you kiss your husband when you saw him? Why didnât you bless him with your touch if you missed him so?â
He saw your conflicted expression and he couldnât hold back anymore. Freeing his hands from yours, he moved them to your face. You held onto his wrists gently when he cupped your cheeks like that. Just the way you wanted and dreamed about.
The tears went freely, you no longer tried to stop them when his fingers were placed on your warm skin.
âYou terrify me, wife,â Gwayne confessed in a whisper, brushing away some of your tears. âIs it because you try to hide something? If you've experienced any wrongdoing... Gods, I promise that whoever hurt you will pay. Even if I have to go through this whole castle.â
âNâNo,â you muttered at once, irritated by how weak your voice sounded. âItâs not that.
Heâs never seen you like this before.
âThenâŠâ
âIt's my father,â you snapped eventually, annoyed yet glad you got it out of your throat. It was choking you, suffocating for the well part of the day and you had enough.
It should have been enough a long time ago.
âYour father, dove? What about him?â
âHe hated it when we waited for him after battles. My mother thought it to be proper and I never understood her stubbornness, butââ The words died on your tongue. You felt foolish, a child again. Gwayne didnât let you turn your head away from him. âHe pushed me and my sisters away when we tried to hug him, and only shared a feast with us to not attract whispers. I suppose all he wanted then was to have a cup of wine and a quiet corner for himself. He was embarrassed by the displays of emotions... I thoughtââ
âYou thought I would push you away like he did,â he said slowly and with understanding.
It sounded stupid, you didnât even realize how much. You sniffed and took a deep breath to calm yourself.
âWell, I knew you wouldn't but... I felt it somewhere deep under my skin,â you explained and dried the tears on your cheeks. âI couldn't. The shame I felt back then. The feeling like I did something wrong... I couldn't fight it.â
Your husband nodded, taking in the sight of you with pride, not at all unpleased by how shaken up you were. He wasnât easily annoyed by such things, on the contrary to when he couldnât understand the situation.
âI see,â he said. He was out of words for a moment when you took his hand from your cheek and placed a kiss on it, just like he did to you every day. âI would never do that to you, you have my word.â
âI know. I always knew it, I justâŠâ
âIt is alright, dear. Donât put me through it again, though. Iâm not sure I can take it,â he joked, but there was some true seriousness buried within it. âCan you promise me?â
You smiled at him. Oh, how he missed that. âI can.â
âGood.â
His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. There was no rush in Gwayneâs actions. He touched your hair, took his time in playing with it before brushing it behind. His lips found yours when his hand finally settled at the nape of your neck.
He kissed you like a man who was left without air ever since he saw you for the last time, and yet he still had the strength of his mind to not impose. To not appear desperate, starved, even if all he wanted was to devour every moment of your love that he was given. The thought of pulling back didnât even cross your mind.
His lips werenât as soft as usual. Drier from the harsh wind and sun as well as marked by a bruise and poorly cleaned dry blood. He lingered just over your mouth when he was forced to take a breath.
Gwayne pushed his forehead to yours, resting with his eyes closed as his hand still played with your skin and hair. It made you raise your hand as well, gently touching his face, tracing shallow wrinkles and searching for the familiar feeling of warmth caused by an injury.
âWe shouldnât stand here,â you whispered.
âWhy, will you complain about the way I smell, orââ
âThatâs not what I said,â you cut in and boldly draped your arm around his neck. Gwayne almost purred when you pressed your body against his. âI would never complain about my own husbandâs smell, you know that.â
âGods, you are right,â his voice broke a bit but there was no shame in him. Not in front of you. âYou are right, we shouldnât be standing here. I want you all for myself.â
âAnd that you shall have,â you promised with a bashful smile. âJust later. Allow me to have a proper look first.â
He hummed in displease when you stepped back to look at him. Only now he realized you were shying away from that before, silly girlâŠ
âDonât worry,â he spoke when he noticed how your eyes changed when you set them on a bloodied spot on his doublet, uncovered by the plate armor, âAlicent offered to send her maesters.â
It didnât soothe your nerves and he was a fool if he imagined it would. You only grimaced and nodded in acknowledgment.
âWhat is it?â He asked, spotting the shift immediately.
âHer servants areâŠâ You clasped your hands together in front of you and sent him an apologetic smile. âWell, the queen is very kind but I would prefer to tend to you myself, if that's not of much difference to you.â
But Gwayne shook his head with a small grin and showed you to keep strolling to your chambers.
âIt is a crucial difference,â he said firmly. âI would prefer no other touch than my wife's. The wounds you dress yourself⊠they always seem to heal better.â
âDo they?â You asked, taking his hand in your again. âThen I suppose true care can do miracles. Thank the gods those are not necessary today. Well, at least not in fleshâŠ.â
âStrange times we live in,â he agreed, seeing that you were speaking of the realmâs position.
The realmâs and yours, as those who sat the closest amongst the family of the ruler, either it was Aegon or Aemond now â you werenât sure.
âYou and my sister,â Gwayne spoke up, â didnât find much common ground, I see.â
âWe donât hold love for each other, if that is what you ask about,â you admitted, making your husband chuckle.
âFor that I had no hope. Still, I thought you might have some comfort in the presence of another⊠I believe I was very wrong.â
You tightened the grip on his hand.
âI donât wish to offend you by speaking ill of your sister. She is the queen, after all andââ
âWife,â he interrupted with fondness, as if to make you realize whoâs side he was on. âWhen I first saw your sorrow today I feared it was her who had done something horrific to you. Now tell me all.â
So you did, even if there were no tragic tales or shaking plots to mention. Gwayne could be a great listener when he wanted and to you he was always.
He opened the door to your shared chamber when you reached it and let you pass. He could already feel his insides aching from how hard you made him laugh.
âSo she goes, still not looking at me, now listenââ you cut to clear your throat.
Resting one arm on a nearby desk you clutched the other to the neck of your gown, the way the queen often did, and lowered your voice to match hers.
âI hear you are fond of politics, my lady⊠I said that local politics, yes, but not the capital one. That is... that is certainly too overwhelming for a woman like me.â
âMm.â Gwayne sat on the bed without moving his eyes from you.
âAnd then: Well, Iâm sure you are very grateful to my brother then, she says, for allowing you to be involved in it. Politics, she meant, even the local one.â
âAllowing?â Your husband questioned, still trying to fight the smile brought up by your little act.
âYes! Her words exactly,â you squealed in emotion. âSo I replied that if she knows you well, which I donât doubt she does, then she knows you arenât fond of all your duties. My husband, I went, is gravely bored by the matter of grains and wheat, letâs say, so to be a good wife I free him of this subject and tend to it myself. And then she gives me a look so dirty as if I just confessed I want to slay Ormund Hightower and take the title of lord paramount myself. Or murder one of her sons, whoever is king now, since I lost count in thatâŠâ
Gwayne thought for a while, then waved his hand. âIâm not sure, now that Aegon is⊠Well, the way he is.â
You quickly moved to his side and occupied the spot nearby. You lowered your voice almost to a sound of conspiracy. âHe is not dead, though, is he? People whisper different thingsâŠâ
âNot dead yet, at least,â he admitted indifferently. âThat I can say.â
You frowned for a moment then shrugged.
âYou see my point, anyway,â you continued.
âI do. And I know my sister well, I can imagine her killing you with her gaze.â
You nodded like he described it perfectly. âEven your father is less demanding and, gods, backward, than her.â
âHe is. Yes, Alicent isâŠâ he sighed while looking for a good word, then smiled and turned to face you. âSheâs just Alicent.â
âShe is.â It made you giggle. âNow let me prepare some water and clean clothsâŠâ
He was rather properly cleaned up already but you wanted to have a look yourself and make sure he was unharmed. One of his squires came to help you take off his armor, then bowed to you and left.
âYouâre staring, GwayneâŠâ you noticed while struggling with the laces of his green overshirt.
âI am.â
He really had no shame when it came to the things he felt for his wife.
You were already bent forward to see the strips and belts better, almost resting your head on Gwayneâs shoulder. He barely had to move to cup your lips with his and still he made sure to tug you closer, earning a half-swallowed whine from you. You would have fallen, your body collapsing into his, but he gracefully directed you to his lap, making you laugh at how cheeky he could be sometimes.
You didnât break the kiss nonetheless, and moved against him with matching eagerness. He let out a deep, content sigh and it was the most beautiful sound you have heard in days.
Draping your arms around his neck and shoulders you allowed him to tug you even closer, his own arms caging you, wrapped around your middle. You picked at his lower lip earning a hoarse, pleased groan from your husband. It wasnât hard and still you could feel the iron taste of blood on your tongue.
âForgive me,â you said in worry, pulling away and spotting that the bruising opened again. âIâve forgotten myselfââ
But he didnât care. He tugged you in for another kiss and only calmed down when you rested your chest and head against him. This is where he wished to be ever since they left the camp at Rookâs Rest. Here with your body in his arms.
âYou know I found it harder to pray to the gods with every moment I spend away from you,â he confessed. You felt him shiver at the sensation of your breath over his neck. âI could only think about you.â
He moved one hand from your back to pick at his necklace and raised it to his lip. Where his sister wore a sign of religious devotion, Gwayne wore his reminder of loyalty to you. It was poetic in a way, much more romantic than you would ever imagine him to be. Before Gwayne you thought nothing of gestures like that, thinking you would never find happiness with a man like that.
âStop, husband,â you hushed, brushing the side of his face. Eventually he allowed you to take a wet cloth and slowly run it over his skin. âIt is blasphemy.â
âIt's you,â he argued. âYou are worth every blasphemy.â
What could you possibly say to that? What could you do instead of placing a kiss on his face and making your touch even more gentle? It was bliss, even despite the blood that ran with water and stained your fingers. For a while you could forget about wars, kings and battles that were to come.
The worry laid deeply, though, and the everlasting grim of the Red Keep never made it better. Your husband always noticed it on your face.
âWhat is it that scares you, dearest? I can see it.â
A sigh left you. âThe walls. They have ears and eyes around here. It makes me go mad, husband.â
Some more blood dripped from his lip when he smiled.
âThen I promise to make sure to get you out of here before you start collecting bugs like my niece,â he said jokingly.
âYou mock me,â you pointed out sharply and tapped his chest with your finger. âAnd my worry. too, when it is very adequate.â
âNo, love, not at all. I donât mock you.â
He coughed into his sleeve and made an innocent face. At least he was in a good mood.
âI am only being rational, even if you view it as paranoia. Oh, and trust me, Helaenaâs company sometimes feels like she is one of very few sane people around here.â
Gwayne chuckled. âIt must be bad if you say it.â
âIt is bad. Thatâs why I pray for the war to be finished. So you can take off your armor for good and we can go home.â
âNot so many innocent lives could be spared?â He suggested.
Frolics.
âThat too, of course. And honestly, I never want to see a dragon again. Not close, not far, not at all,â you said with a grimace.
Gwayne sat more comfortably with you in his lap, resting his back on the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment like he was dreaming, and yet it was nothing pleasant.
âThe dragons, love,â he mumbled. When he opened his eyes there was nothing but worry in them, like he could recall the fire and death in its every detail even now. âThey⊠Gods, they are nightmares.â
You watched your husband with carefulness, and dried his skin. âDo you wish to speak of it? The battle?â
You saw the hesitation on his face. The way he was questioning if he should bother you or not. Like he was picking between being a husband or a friend and trustee. Choice you never wished him to make.
âDo not offend me,â you said softly, âwith the idea that I have not enough courage to bear those things you were forced to face.â
He nodded, yet no word of the battle itself left him at once. He needed time, you knew. Whenever something happened you tended to spend long nights talking about it in bed and you didnât doubt it would be similar this time.
âWe brought the head of the fallen beastâŠâ he said.
âSo it's true,â you hummed in awe. âI heard the voices from town. People didnât like it.â
âNo, they didnât,â he agreed. âTruth be told, I donât like it either. It stinks.â
âReeks of a dead dragon? Who would have thought,â you teased ironically, making him stick his fingers more into the flesh on your waist.
âThe only advance this place has over Oldtown,â you spoke up again, âis that rumors seem to be more reliable. To those who know how to understand them they are almost always valid. I find that entertaining.â
âYes? And what did you hear, love?â
âI heard that your cousin is on his way here. And heâs with Daeron, too,â you informed proudly of your discovery. âPeople already whisper about another dragon.â
But Gwayneâs face fell and he sighed like the weight of the world was just dropped on his shoulders. For a moment you thought that it came from worry about his young nephew, but you finally understood when he spoke up.
âAre we not allowed some time away from him?â
It was sharp, annoyed, and âhimâ must have been none other than Ormund Hightower.
âYou havenât seen him in months, Gwayne. There are two of us who donât miss him, butâŠâ
âI see him enough at home,â he remarked then lowered his head to your shoulder. âIâlll have to keep an eye on him when heâs around you,â he muttered.
âWhat? Do you have no trust in me, husband?â
âOh, I have all trust in you,â he promised, feeling something bitter even at the thought of his cousin laying his eyes on you. âI just don't want him bothering you.â
You waved it off. âIt will be fine. There is no need for you to get angry.â
âHim or his menâŠâ Gwayne kept going.
You rolled your eyes and quickly got off his lap to dry your own hands and pick up the bandages.
âAt least weâll see your nephew again.â
With that he could agree.
âYes, at least. You're fond of the boy, aren't you?â
âYes. Heâs⊠âYou merely shrugged. âHe is different from his siblings, you know? Perhaps Helaena⊠Well, the future of house Targaryen, I think, lies in Daeron alone. It's good that he's not cruel like his kinsâŠâ
Gwayne nodded and moved to stand up, slowly growing restless about the absence of your warmth against him.
âIn that you might be just right, my dear. But Ormund⊠I keep no love for my cousin now that I have you to protect,â he confessed.
âI don't needââ
âI know,â he interrupted quietly and leaned to kiss the uncovered skin on your shoulder. âI know but I would go mad if you didn't allow me to be protective and just a little bit overbearing.â
a/n: you noticed that i made all of those hightowers quite crazy about smells, right? RIGHT? you noticed??
