Cam's Writing Corner

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Cam's writing corner

Heyyy welcome to the losers club! 😉

✨A little bit about me✨

I'm Cam

She/her

21 yrs

Bisexual

Masterlist of Masterlists (because there are a lot of them 🫠)

Request Rules updated Nov 23/2025

(REQUEST STATUS: CLOSED)

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

To Have and to Hold Pt.2

Lars Lindstrom x Gn!Reader

Warnings: fluff, first kiss (for Lars), no use of y/n, post-Bianca, cute ending, mutual pining, not proofread (got lazy guys)

Word count: 2.6 K

Part 1 (but can be read separate i think)

a/n: Did this happen because someone commented "computa make them kiss" on the last one? Of course not. 😉 (but also because, yeah, why not make them kiss, guys?)

The sunset colored the sky with hues of orange and pink, reflecting on the surface of the lake in a way that almost made it seem like a mirror. The dying sun did not stop the heat that had been accompanying most days these last few weeks.

Lars could feel a drop of sweat running down his back. He clenched his fists, opting to focus instead on the sight of the grass sprawled out around him. Somewhere overhead, a bird sang, but his eyes did not leave the ground.

Your feet sunk into the soft earth as you clambered up the small hill. You didn’t know quite where to find him, but you knew he had to be around somewhere.

You stopped at the top of the hill for a moment, admiring the beautiful sunset, a soft smile grazing your face as the wind blew through your hair. It was when you looked down that you saw him, blonde hair ruffled by the breeze.

Lars could tell by the tone of your voice that this was not the first time you’d called out to him, but it was the first time he had actually heard you saying his name. He shifted slightly so he could look behind himself, and there you were, making your way toward him effortlessly.

The heat looked good on you.

It was the first thing he noticed.

You were practically glowing.

He was the opposite. He hated the heat, hated the way it made his clothes cling to him. He could not wear as many layers as he usually would when it was cold, but that didn’t mean he had completely shed himself of the layers of cloth that protected him from the outside world.

You knew better than to ask him if he felt hot in his long-sleeved shirt.

Ever since that day where he had offered you a moment of connection, your relationship had taken a shift. You had started to hang out more, which wasn’t saying much considering that you barely hung out at all before. But you could tell it meant something. By Lars' standards, you’d even dare to say that you had become friends.

It helped that you’d gotten a job as a secretary at his nephew’s school. It also helped that a lot of the time Lars was the one who went to pick him up, his way of trying to help Karin with the hundreds of tasks she needed to get done.

The exchanges between you and Lars when he went to pick up his nephew did not last long. A couple of fleeting glances, some soft smiles, and a little wave on your part—not on Lars’. It had been awkward at first, but things had gotten better.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you said, finally making your way to where he sat.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You settled down beside him with a soft grunt.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” you answered with a shrug.

Lars couldn’t help but notice that you’d purposely left some distance between the two of your bodies. He knew it was for his sake, and although he was grateful for it, he had been finding himself wishing you’d stop this habit more and more.

“It’s beautiful here,” you stated.

Lars forced his gaze to leave you and move back to the lake before him. He let out a soft sound of agreement.

Quiet fell over the two of you for a moment.

You shifted, placing your palms on the ground behind you as you settled into the view. Lars’ eyes couldn’t help but shift back to observe you, sprawled out beside him, a soft smile grazing your features as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in.

The last time he found himself here, it had been with Bianca.

The memory floods his mind before he can stop it. He remembered kissing her. At the time, it had felt real. Now, sitting beside you, he found himself wondering what it would have felt like if someone had kissed him back.

The thought startles him a little. He’s never found himself quite so curious to learn what it feels like to press his lips against someone else’s. 

But that was before you.

“Karin and Gus were looking for you.”

Your voice snaps Lars out of his thoughts, causing him to turn and look at you.

“I think the little guy’s tired.”

“Oh.” Lars shifts slightly, beginning to rise from his spot. “Maybe we should—”

“Don’t worry, I told them to go on back without us,” you cut in.

Lars freezes for a second, body hovering off the ground in a way that wasn’t quite standing but wasn’t sitting either.

You turn to look at him, your eyes falling on his slightly confused expression.

“I figured you wanted to stay a bit longer,” you say softly. “I told them I’d drive you back when you were ready.”

Lars’ body fills with a feeling he can’t quite describe.

He’d never felt quite so understood before.

You’d known he needed a minute even without him having to tell you. And you didn’t seem bothered by it at all. You didn’t act as though he were an inconvenience. If anything, you’d gone out of your way to take his needs into consideration.

You turn your attention back to the lake as he settles back down onto the ground, understanding that this is your silent way of letting him know you'll stay here as long as he wants to.

Lars watches you for a moment.

The sunset paints your features in shades of gold and orange. A soft smile still lingers on your face. His eyes dart down to your hand for a moment before he forces his attention back to the water.

His hand shifts against the grass.

Just a little.

He tells himself he's only adjusting his position. That the movement means nothing. His gaze remains fixed stubbornly on the lake as his fingers inch closer to yours.

Until his pinky brushes against your hand.

Your eyes immediately drop to where your hands rest in the grass.

Lars' entire body seems to tense beside you. He keeps staring at the lake. Keeps blinking a little too hard. Keeps pretending he isn't waiting for your reaction.

You lift your gaze from the ground to Lars' face, observing his Adam's apple bob as he swallows dry. A small smile pulls at your lips.

Carefully, you curl your pinky around his.

A soft sound slips from him at the action, his head snapping toward you almost unconsciously.

And you're just beaming at him. Eyes soft in the same way they had been all those months ago when he'd agreed to go hang out with you for the first time.

Lars stares at you for a moment, surprise clear on his face. You half expect him to pull away. Instead, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Lars' gaze lingers on your face. On your eyes. Then, before he can stop himself, his eyes flick downward to your lips. Just for a second. Then they're back on your eyes again. The movement is so quick he isn't even sure you've noticed it.

You did.

Slowly, you turn your body a little more toward him. Your free hand lifts from the ground and moves toward his face. You stop just short of touching him, giving him every opportunity to pull away.

"Is this okay?" you ask softly.

Lars' breath catches. For a moment, he seems unable to do anything but stare. Then he gives a small nod. Carefully, you let your fingertips brush against his cheek.

Lars swallows hard.

You let your hand remain there for a moment before beginning to lean forward. The distance between you grows smaller. Until only a few inches remain.

You pause. 

You're so close to him that he can feel the warmth of your breath. If he wanted to, he could probably count your lashes.

His heartbeat pounds against his ribs.

He knows you're hesitating for his sake, but he doesn't want you to. The distance between you is small, but for the first time in his life, even this closeness feels like a chasm.

So he closes the remaining distance himself.

The first thing Lars notices is the warmth.

You're warm. Not from the lingering summer heat or the sun that still clings to your skin. Just warm. Real.

Your lips are softer than he expected them to be.

Your hand shifts against his cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his skin. Lars lets out a shaky breath through his nose.

It feels nice.

The realization settles over him slowly.

Not overwhelming.

Not frightening.

Nice.

Your lips move softly against his, careful in a way that makes his chest ache. For a moment, he simply lets himself exist in it.

The warmth.

The closeness.

When you finally begin to pull away, Lars feels the loss of it immediately.

The distance isn't large. Barely a few inches. But he finds that he doesn't like it.

The cool evening air rushes into the space between you.

Your hand slips from his cheek as your eyes open slowly, searching his face.

Making sure he's okay. Making sure he isn't hurting.

The concern in your expression sends something warm unfurling through his chest.

You pull back another inch. And Lars follows.

The movement surprises even him.

One moment you're retreating, giving him space. The next, he's leaning forward. Closing the distance before it can grow any wider.

He likes this.

Likes the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. Likes the feeling of your hand returning to his cheek. Likes being this close to you. 

You can tell he’s new to this, but you don’t mind it. Not with the way he settles into you, his body leaning closer as he tries to chase this new feeling.

The kiss is gentle in an exploratory way.

The desire is there, of course it is, but it doesn’t overshadow the tenderness behind it.

And when his hand moves to cup your cheek, trying to mirror your actions, trying to learn from you, you can’t help but smile against his lips.

You let him set the pace, pulling back slightly every once in a while only to breathe, trying to give him space in case he wants to stop. But every time you do, he just comes chasing your lips again.

After a while, Lars finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as the two of you try to catch your breath.

Somewhere along the way, you'd moved closer. Close enough that your knees now brushed against his.

Lars' hand remains cupped against your cheek, while yours have settled lightly against his legs.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

The only sound is your breathing and the distant song of birds settling in for the evening.

Then Lars swallows.

"Did I do it right?"

The question catches you so off guard that a soft laugh slips from your lips. You feel Lars' brows furrow slightly against your forehead.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be asking you that."

"Oh."

You can't help the fondness that swells in your chest.

Carefully, you lean forward and press a small kiss to his lips.

"Yeah," you murmur. "You did great."

The tension immediately leaves his shoulders.

"Oh."

A pause.

"Good."

You lean back so you can look at him fully. Your hand snaps up to push some of his hair away from his forehead.

"How about you?" you ask, catching the way his eyes widen slightly. "Did you like it?"

A blush coats his cheeks, suddenly embarrassed by your attention.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I liked it a lot."

You grin at him, unable to hide the joy his words cause you.

The sight of you smiling so brightly makes him give you a shy smile of his own.

"Good. I'm glad."

Your attention drifts toward the lake, watching as the sun slowly sinks lower and lower behind the horizon. The sky has begun to darken.

Your hand never leaves his. It rests loosely in your lap, fingers still intertwined with his. Lars finds himself staring at them.

At the way your fingers fit between his. At the simple fact that you're still holding on.

"Do you want me to take you home?" you ask softly.

The question catches him off guard.

Home.

The word settles heavily in his chest. Because going home means this ends. It means you'll leave.

Lars doesn't like that thought nearly as much as he feels he should.

A part of him wants to say no. Wants to stay here a little longer. Wants to stay with you a little longer.

But the words never make it out. Instead, he gives a small nod.

"Okay," you say with a smile.

You rise to your feet and dust the grass from your clothes before holding out a hand toward him. Lars looks at it for a moment. Then places his hand in yours. You pull him upright and even when you’re both standing neither of you lets go as you begin walking towards your car.

The drive passes quicker than Lars would like. 

One moment he's watching the trees pass outside the window. The next, you're pulling into the driveway.

The headlights sweep across the garage before the engine goes quiet.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Lars stares straight ahead. His hands twist together in his lap.

He should go inside.

He knows he should.

Instead, he turns toward you.

"Do you want to come in?"

The words leave his mouth before he can second-guess them.

Your eyes widen slightly.

"Oh."

Lars immediately regrets speaking.

"You don't have to—"

"Yeah."

The answer comes so quickly it steals the rest of the sentence from him.

You smile.

"Okay."

A shy smile appears on Lars' face. And somehow that makes yours grow wider.

Before you can even process it properly, Lars is getting out of the car.

You watch through the windshield as he quickly makes his way around the front of the car to where you're sitting.

When he reaches your door, he pulls it open, simply standing there for a moment before offering you his hand.

Your heart does something embarrassing inside your chest.

A smile immediately pulls at your lips.

"Thank you," you murmur.

Lars ducks his head slightly.

You place your hand in his. His fingers close around yours at once.

He helps you out of the car before stepping back so you can straighten yourself.

Only once you're standing does he let go. And even then, only long enough to shut the door behind you. The second he's back at your side, his hand finds yours again. Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You don't point out the fact that a few months ago Lars would have been terrified of this. Instead, you simply squeeze his hand.

Lars' ears immediately turn pink.

You pretend not to notice.

The porch creaks beneath your feet. Lars fumbles slightly with his keys before finally getting them in the keyhole.

As he does, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

The curtains of the house shift.

A shadow. Another.

Karin. Probably Gus too.

Lars immediately knows exactly what's happening. A few months ago, the realization would have made him want to disappear.

Now?

Now he finds he doesn't particularly care.

Not when you're standing beside him. Not when your hand is still resting comfortably in his.

Lars finally manages to get the door open. He shoves his keys back into his pocket before turning to look at you.

You smile at him.

He smiles back.

And together, you step inside.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

To Have and To Hold Pt.1

Lars Lindstrom x Gn!Reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, touch-starved reader, fluff, post-Bianca, no use of y/n, soft ending

Word count: 1.7 K

Part 2

a/n: yes i have fallen into my Ryan Gosling obsession era

You should be inside with everyone else. Out of the cold and surrounded by the sound of music and joyful chatter. But you needed a moment.

It had become too much all of a sudden, the sight of so many happy couples, their hands lingering on each other, fingers touching, heads leaning on shoulders. All of it had become too much.

Because you craved it.

Oh, how you craved it.

The simple contact of someone’s skin on yours.

It’s been a while since you’ve been held. Genuinely held, not just touched in passing or pulled into a hug that lasted no more than five seconds.

You stare at the night sky, arms wrapped around yourself, nails digging at the fabric of your long-sleeved shirt. You should have gotten your jacket. It was quite cold outside, and you were far too little covered to deal with the chill. But it felt good. To feel something other, something that came from outside and not from within you.

Lars’ boots land softly in the snow as he makes it down the last step of the porch. He’s making his way to his car, a soft smile gracing his features, when his eyes catch onto something nearby. He stops once he realizes it’s you.

He looks back at the house before turning his attention back to you. There is a moment where he hesitates, unsure of what it is he should do. And then he sees you’re shivering. It’s so soft anyone else wouldn’t notice it, but Lars isn’t like everyone else.

Before he can think much of it, he starts walking over to you, feet sinking into the snow as he does. He’s so quiet that it takes you a while to realize he’s standing behind you. When you finally do notice, you just turn your head, smiling at him as you let out a soft, “Oh, hey Lars.”

He doesn’t answer you immediately, attention still zeroed in on the way you’re shivering and how your nails dig into your forearm in a way he’s sure must be painful. He forces himself to look at your face, blinking forcefully for a moment before finally speaking.

“You’re cold,” he whispers.

“Oh yes, I suppose a little,” you answer, but make no move to go inside and grab your coat. You just continue looking at him, body spasming every so often from the chill.

Your response is not what he expected, so he just continues to stand behind you, brows furrowing as he clenches and unclenches his hands. You turn your head back up to the sky.

“It’s a full moon out tonight,” you state.

Lars raises his head to look at the moon. You’re right, it is a full moon, and an incredibly bright one at that.

The sound of you sniffling softly pulls Lars’ attention back down to you. He watches you for a moment as you continue to take in the sight of the moon. Then he shifts slightly, stepping forward so you two are standing side by side. He makes sure to keep a small distance between you two, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing to notice your small shivers.

It bothers him that you’re cold and yet make no move to go warm yourself. So he does the only thing he can think of.

You don’t hear the zipper nor listen to the shuffle of fabric as he removes it. You only notice he’s taken his jacket off when you feel it being draped around your shoulders.

The action finally manages to pull you from whatever spiral of thoughts you were getting lost in. You turn to look at Lars, eyes falling on his side profile as he stares out into nothing. You observe the way he breathes in and out a bit more forcefully than most people.

“Won’t you get cold?” you finally ask.

“Oh, it’s okay. I wear a lot of layers.” And then, as if to prove this to you, he raises his gloved hand and pulls his collar slightly so you can see the various shades of different shirts he’s wearing.

You let out a soft hum, eyes moving back to the sky.

“Are you going home?”

“No.”

Lars’ brows furrow.

“Why are you outside then?” he asks.

You let out a sigh.

“I needed a break.”

Lars can understand that. He too could get overwhelmed when there were a lot of people around.

“It’s not the people,” you mutter softly, getting Lars’ attention. “It’s the display of affection.”

Your fingers finally loosen from the fabric of your own sleeves. Slowly, you slip your arms through the sleeves of Lars’ jacket, pulling it tighter around yourself before wrapping your arms around your body once more.

“Or maybe it’s not the display of it that bothers me, but my longing for it. Not that I expect you to understand. You’re not big on touch, right Lars?”

Yes, that was true. Touch was never really his thing before. But it’s been getting better. He’s been working through it with Dr. Dagmar, and she thinks he’s making great progress.

“I’m the opposite. I long for it. Touch. Connection.” You explain, “It’s funny, isn’t it? How people can be different like that.”

The sight of you in his jacket calms Lars a bit. He’s glad you’re no longer exposed to the cold. But at the same time, your words trouble him a bit. Not what you said exactly, more how he should respond.

When everything was happening with Bianca, you’d been very helpful. Much like the rest of the community, you’d taken her in with open arms, often keeping her company while Lars was at work or helping him shop for outfits she might like. You’d been there for him when he needed kind words, so it felt only right to be here for you in your moment of need.

“Do you want a hug?” he whispers.

You turn to look at him, surprise clear on your face.

“You would—” you stop yourself for a moment, trying to figure out the right way to phrase this. “Wouldn’t I hurt you?”

He’s not sure. That’s the truth of it.

In the past, yes, touch had always brought him great pain, but with all the work he’d been putting in with Dr. Dagmar, he doesn’t know just how painless it will be now. A part of him thinks the pain will still be there. Maybe it will just take longer to come, or maybe it will simply be a bit dulled. But he won’t know until you touch him.

And in this moment, his eyes falling on the soft hope in your eyes, Lars thinks that’s a risk he’s willing to take.

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he turns so that his body is facing you completely. You copy him, nervousness settling in your stomach as you wait for what he’s going to do.

He opens his arms and stays like that, waiting.

You hesitate, eyes moving from his open arms to his face a couple of times before you take a step forward. You pause as he takes a sharp breath in. You haven’t even touched him yet.

“Are you sure I—”

“Yes,” Lars answers quickly.

You take the permission, finally stepping fully into his space. Your arms wrap around him with ease, your head resting softly against his chest. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in as his warmth starts to seep into you.

You can hear his heartbeat. It’s going quite fast, but you don’t hold it against Lars. You’re sure this must be hard for him, so you’re just glad to have been given the option in the first place.

You don’t expect him to wrap his arms around you. You know that’s too much to ask, so you just cling to him.

Lars braces for the pain he is almost sure will come. He clenches his face and screws his eyes shut. But it doesn’t come. Not in the way he’s used to. Not in the burning feeling that threatens to eat him alive.

There is some discomfort there, of course there is. But it doesn’t hurt.

Slowly, he allows his eyes to open, head tilting down slightly so he can look at your face. He watches as a single tear slips from the corner of your eye and trails down your cheek. He feels your body breathing against his, can feel your breath against the collar of his shirt.

And then, almost without realizing it, his arms relax. Not staying stiffly at his sides as they used to when Karin would hug him, but moving to wrap around you.

You gasp softly at the action, nuzzling your face into his chest at the feeling of him holding you.

You don’t know how long the hug truly lasts, but time seems to stretch infinitely as you cling to him.

To your surprise, you’re the one who ends the hug, pulling away softly from Lars’ body. He lets you go with no resistance, eyes jumping from one spot to another just so he doesn’t have to look at you.

He feels awkward, but pain-free.

“Thank you, Lars,” you whisper shyly, your hand moving to wipe at your tears.

He just gives you a small nod.

The sudden sound of loud laughter from inside the house pulls both your attentions toward the party. The front door swings open for a moment, music spilling out into the cold night before it shuts once more.

Your eyes drift back to him at the same time his drift back to you. You clear your throat softly.

“Would you maybe want to go somewhere?”

Lars tilts his head slightly, confusion flickering across his features.

“To talk,” you explain quickly. “Or just… hang out somewhere less overwhelming, I guess.”

Lars hesitates.

You immediately shake your head a little.

“You don’t have to—”

“Okay,” Lars cuts in quietly.

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Really?”

He gives you another small nod. The corners of your lips twitch upward into a soft smile.

“Okay. I’m just gonna go grab my things.”

Lars watches you go, blinking forcefully a couple of times. He realizes, as he watches you clamber through the snow, hands tugging his jacket tighter around yourself as you do, that he doesn’t mind the sight of you in it.

Much like he wouldn’t mind if you held him again.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Noise

Ryland Grace X Fem!Reader

Warning: none just fluffy stuff, no use of y/n

Word count: 1.0K

a/n: if i was going on a mission in space i would 100% have to bring music with me

Grace’s hand moved up, his fingers nudging his glasses back into place as he worked. He glanced into the microscope, trying to figure out the components he was supposed to be observing.

Then something caught his attention.

Grace lifted his eyes from the microscope for a second, brows furrowing as he tried to determine whether the noise he’d heard was just a figment of his imagination. It seemed to fade for a moment, but just as he was about to shrug it off and go back to his samples, it sounded again — louder this time.

Grace pushed off from his chair quickly, scrambling around the room as he rushed toward the noise.

You’d told him you were going to repair some things on the ship, and for one dreadful moment, Grace thought perhaps the sound was you crying out for help. But the closer he got, the clearer the noise became, and the more confused he grew.

Grace couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It had caught him so off guard that he just froze at the entrance of the ship’s compartment.

Your eyes were closed as you moved, your body gliding across the floor in a combination of jumps and shuffling of feet.

You were dancing.

Dancing like you were at some random party or bar, not floating in outer space for all eternity. And then, to surprise him even more, you started to sing.

“You are the dancing queennnn, young and sweet, only seventeennnn,” you screamed, slightly out of pitch but still somehow holding the tune.

“You can dance, you can— oh shit!”

Your hand sprang to your chest, eyes wide as you stared at Grace. He had his hands raised as if to tell you he was no threat, and there was a comical look on his face.

You let out a breath of relief, hands moving to brace against your knees as you laughed.

“Fuck, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Grace replied softly, his voice barely able to be heard over the song still blaring.

You stared at him, chest heaving, and Grace just stared back.

Then, because it seemed like the only right thing to do, your hand shot out, palm reaching toward Grace. His eyes widened at the gesture, gaze moving from your outstretched hand to your face. You just gave him a smile.

“Come on, I know you want to,” you said in a sing-song tone.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should accept the gesture or just go back to the lab and leave you to your fun. But you were right, he did want to join. So before he could think better of it, he raised his hand, allowing his palm to touch yours.

The smile that spread across your face could power a thousand suns. But Grace had only a second to admire it before you were tugging him into the dance.

He was a bit awkward at first, movements stiff from nerves or lack of practice. But as the song went on, he found himself relaxing.

You belted the lyrics out with all your heart, jumping and shimmying along with the music, oftentimes making faces or expressions that tugged a smile at the corner of Grace’s mouth.

At one point, you reached out to him again, holding his hands in yours as you shimmied.

“Come on, Grace, sing! I know you know the words.”

“I’m not sure I do,” he muttered.

He totally did.

You gave him a look that told him you didn’t believe him. But you were never going to force him to do anything, he knew that. So he stayed quiet for a second, allowing you to sing on your own as you continued to guide his movements.

And then, just as the chorus began, he opened his mouth and sang.

Grace wished he could have taken a picture of your face and hung it in the lab for when he was having a bad day. The shock didn’t last long, though, because you started singing along with him, your voices blending together as your bodies moved in sync.

You pulled him into a spin, both of you giggling like maniacs as you twirled to the music, the world around you blurring until the only thing you could see was each other.

You took a wrong step, fumbling slightly and causing Grace’s grip on you to tighten.

“I got you!” he screamed over the music.

“I know,” you said, a smile plastered on your face, and Grace couldn’t help but mirror the expression.

Your twirling slowed to a stop as the music faded out. The silence of the ship seemed overwhelming after the loudness of the music.

You and Grace stared at each other, hands still locked together as you panted.

And then, much to Grace’s surprise, you moved forward, hands letting go of his so you could pull him into a hug. He froze for a second, surprised by the gesture. But the hesitation didn’t last long, his arms moving to hold you closer in the warmth of the hug. 

You stood there locked in each other’s arms for a long time, your shared breathing the only sound that could be heard.

“Loud rhythmic human ritual is complete. Question."

Both you and Grace startled violently.

You pulled back just enough to look toward the doorway, Grace’s hands still resting on your waist while one of yours remained tangled in the front of his jumpsuit.

Rocky stood in the entrance of the compartment, mechanical arms clicking softly.

For a second there was complete silence.

Then you burst into laughter.

Grace followed a second later, his forehead dropping briefly against your shoulder as he laughed too.

“Sorry,” Grace called out between breaths. “Did we wake you up?”

“Negative,” Rocky replied. “I was observing.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands.

Rocky tilted himself slightly.

“Observation: both humans appear significantly less sad after rhythmic flailing and loud female warbling.”

Grace looked over at you then, really looked at you, your face flushed from dancing and laughter, eyes bright in a way he hadn’t seen in months.

And maybe Rocky was right.

Because wrapped in your warmth, with your hand still clutching his sleeve and laughter still echoing through the ship, Grace realized he did feel happier.

And judging by the smile you gave him, you did too.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Only ones around

Ryland Grace X Gn!Reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon divergence, no use of y/n

Word count: 1.6k

a/n: PHM has been on my mind a lot lately, and I just wanted to write a little bit of angst, so yeah.

It takes Grace a while to realize you haven't come back yet. He had been so focused on whatever calculations he was making that he had almost forgotten you’d told him you needed a break before quietly exiting the ship’s compartment.

It was only when he turned around, mouth opening to ask you something, his glasses barely hanging onto whatever odd position he’d placed them in, that he noticed you still weren’t in the lab.

His eyes moved to his watch, glancing at the time. He rarely ever looked at it. What was the importance of time when you were floating aimlessly through space? But he seemed to move on instinct, something he had surely picked up when giving classes. He remembered how his eyes often wandered to his watch just to make sure he still had enough time for whatever tangent he was about to go on because of some kid’s question.

The watch blinked to life, reading five o’clock.

The last time he’d looked at it, it had been 4:30, and he was sure — well, almost completely sure — that you’d been in the room then, which meant you’d been gone for thirty minutes.

If it were anyone else, a thirty-minute break wouldn’t seem so out of character, but this was you he was talking about, and you could barely stay five minutes without trying to find a way to fix the world’s problems, much less rest for thirty minutes.

Grace glanced at the lab’s door for a moment before redirecting his attention to the board in front of him. He raised the pen to write something down but paused, eyes moving back to the door, which was still empty.

He should go after you.

Quickly, he jotted something down so he would remember his thought process when he got back and made his way out of the lab.

Your legs dangled off the platform, feet swinging softly without you even realizing it. Your eyes were glued to the screen, gaze trailing over the trees. You were looking, but it would be clear to anyone who saw you that you weren’t all there. Your body was present, but your mind seemed miles away from the forest projected onto the screen.

You don’t realize you’re no longer alone until Grace is settling beside you, the metal railing clanging softly as he sits. He stays quiet, but you can feel his gaze on you, can tell he’s doing a terrible job of hiding the fact that he’s looking at you.

Grace can tell something is wrong, but he hasn’t figured out exactly how to approach this. He doesn’t want to say anything that would upset you further, but this silence is very uncomfortable.

“I miss my dog.”

The words cause Grace’s eyebrows to spring up in surprise. He wasn’t expecting you to start the conversation, much less with something like that. He doesn’t know how to respond, so he just continues looking at you as if waiting for you to go on.

“His name’s Sparky,” you start again. “We’d go on these long walks in the woods behind my house. There was this lake that he loved to play in, and when he got tired, he’d come and sit next to me, and we’d just stay there for hours, watching the nature around us.”

Your shoulders shift as you let out a deep sigh.

Grace isn’t used to this sort of interaction. You’d been holed up on the ship together for days, but you almost never opened up about your lives back on Earth. It wasn’t like you were strangers — you’d met while Stratt was making plans to save humanity, after all — but it had never gone deeper than a quick nod of acknowledgment or a soft-voiced greeting.

It wasn’t like you didn’t like each other or anything. It was more the fact that when you’d first woken up, both of you didn’t exactly have everything in place in your minds. There were things you would only remember as time went on, which also made it hard to talk about the past. How could you speak about something you didn’t quite remember?

Grace is racking his brain over what he should say, but before he can force the words from his mouth, you speak again.

“I didn’t wanna be here either.”

Grace’s eyes widen in surprise, his head snapping to the side so that he can look at you again. When he does, he finds you’re already looking at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. His mouth feels dry, and the look on your face — that melancholic, distraught expression — makes his stomach churn.

Your hand knocks on the wood softly, body shifting back as you wait for a response.

“Come in,” a voice calls from behind the door.

Your fingers grip the door handle, turning it with a soft click before you peek into the room. Your eyes fall on Stratt immediately, her commanding presence impossible to ignore.

You walk into the room, trying and failing to look calm. The chair squeaks against the floor as you tug it out to sit down. Your eyes find Stratt’s, trying to decipher her emotions and failing. Your gaze shifts from her to the empty chair beside you, brows furrowing softly.

“Where’s Grace? I thought he—” you begin.

“I want you to know,” Stratt cuts you off, causing your attention to snap back to her, “that this was not how I wanted it to go.”

Your brows furrow deeper, sudden confusion settling over you.

“What do you mean?”

Stratt’s face twitches, a small movement, but you pick up on it. The twitch sends goosebumps through your whole body.

Something is wrong.

You can feel it — the shift in the room, the way Stratt’s usually blank-slate expression holds a bit of fear in it.

“I am not one to make the same mistake twice, so…” She pauses for a moment, and you almost feel as if she is reliving something in that small silence. Then her eyes snap up to yours, and the moment is gone. The fear in her expression disappears, replaced by what you could only describe as determination.

It makes you shiver.

“I am sorry. I want you to know that.”

“What are you—”

But before you can get the phrase out, you feel a prick against your neck. Your hand moves up to the spot, but it’s already too late. You hadn’t even realized there was someone else in the room.

You stand up, hand still gripping your neck.

“What the hell was that?”

Stratt just stares at you as you continue to repeat the question. Your vision blurs softly, and you can’t help the groan that escapes your lips.

“What is… what’s—”

And then everything goes dark.

Your hand moves to your face, wiping away the tears that have trickled down your cheek. Grace is just staring at you as he takes in the information you’ve just given him.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

He’d known that. Of course he had — he’d met the crew that was meant to be on the mission. And even after the tragedy that had occurred, you had never been presented as an option to use as a replacement. Stratt had told him he was the only option she had, so he had assumed you’d come on your own accord, but that wasn’t the truth.

Because he had run, Stratt hadn’t even given you the decency of knowing what she was about to do.

“I don’t understand. Why did she need you up here?” Grace mutters.

He doesn’t even realize the words have slipped from his mouth. When he finally does, he worries for a moment that you’ll take it the wrong way. He doesn’t mean it rudely; he just can’t understand why you needed to be put on the mission if Stratt had already managed to get him.

Luckily, you understand what he meant.

“I know how to pilot,” you answer. “I think after what happened with Dubois, Stratt got scared about things that could impact the mission, so she planned for, well… a backup.”

You and Grace grimace at the same time, both no doubt remembering the look of your dead companions. Grace had felt so relieved when he found out you were still alive. The sight of your chest rising and falling softly had seemed like a miracle at the time. And when you’d finally come out of your coma, Grace had been the thing that kept you calm as your body readjusted.

You stayed quiet for a moment, both turning your attention back to the screen before you. The tears had stopped streaming down your face, but the moment your eyes found the forest again, something tugged at your chest, and before you could stop it, a sound escaped your mouth.

Grace turned at the noise, eyes falling on your scrunched-up face. Your hands dug into your suit as the tears continued to flow.

Grace hesitated for a moment before placing his hand on your shoulder.

Your head snapped in his direction at the contact, face wet with tears. You looked at each other, and even though neither of you said anything, something seemed to pass between you.

You inched yourself closer, and Grace did the same until his arm was wrapped around your shoulders. You curled into him, hand moving to cling onto his shirt as you cried.

Grace pulled you tighter against him, his head moving to rest against yours as your body shook with sobs. He didn’t know exactly what did it. Had it been your revelation, or the sound of your sobs? Or perhaps it had been the contact of your body against his that caused it.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

The tears were streaming down his face too.

Even though it was horrible, Grace was glad you were here with him. He had no clue how he would’ve managed to do this on his own.

You both stayed like that for a long while, clinging to each other and mourning all that could have been.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Burning

Dunk (Ser Duncan the Tall) X Fem!TravelCompanion!Reader

Warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, no y/n, mutual pining, accidental voyeurism, fingering, unprotected sex, size difference, praise kink ( i think?), one use of “good girl” (I had to guys), knight/lady dynamic, porn with little plot, not proofread

Word count: 5.7K (*does debby ryan hair tuck*)

You lay in bed, your body scarcely covered by the itchy sheets. You were exhausted. This was the first real bed you’d gotten to sleep in for a few days now. It wasn’t the best quality — you were at an inn, so you hadn’t expected fine sheets or anything of the sort — but it sure beat sleeping on the rough ground.

Unfortunately, exhaustion wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. Your hand traveled down your body, tracing over your stomach before slipping between your thighs. Your legs widened softly as you began to toy with yourself, your eyes closing slightly. 

You hadn’t had the luxury of privacy as of late — not with Dunk and Egg sleeping right beside you every night — but now, in a room all to yourself, you found yourself ready to scratch an itch you’d been harboring for what felt like ages.

Your eyelids fluttered as your movements grew more certain, your fingers slipping inside you with ease. Your breathing became labored, your eyes squeezing shut as you allowed images to fill your mind — his hands, his large thighs, the way his blue eyes gazed at you whenever you spoke.

Your free hand moved over the sheets, gripping the rough fabric as your mouth parted softly. The chill nipped at your bare nipples, but you paid it no mind, far too consumed by thoughts of him and the sensation of your own touch to care.

Maybe if you had been paying attention to your surroundings, you would have heard his feet thundering down the hall. He never tried to be loud, but his large size did not make stealth easy. Perhaps if you had been paying attention, you would’ve been able to tug your hand out from inside you before your door came crashing open.

But you hadn’t.

When you heard the door slam against the wall, followed by Dunk’s voice, you startled, your body jerking upright into a sitting position as you quickly yanked the sheets up over your bare frame.

“You hungry? Dinner’s—” Dunk paused, his eyes landing on you on the bed. They widened more than usual.

For a moment, you thought perhaps he could see the flushed state of your face, could notice the way your chest heaved behind the sheets you’d tried to hide yourself with. He stood there in the doorway, practically blocking it with his large frame, his mouth unmoving, his eyes fixed on you.

Then something clicked. He wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring… lower.

Your head snapped down before you could stop yourself, eyes widening as you realized your left breast was completely exposed. In your haste to pull the sheets up, you hadn’t done a very good job.

Your gaze shot back to his just as he finally dragged his eyes up to meet yours. If the embarrassment on your face wasn’t obvious, the deep red flushing Dunk’s certainly was. You tugged the sheets up quickly, covering yourself completely this time, your arms crossing tightly over your chest.

Dunk opened his mouth as if to say something — perhaps an apology for staring so long — but before he could get the words out, Egg slipped beneath his arm and into the room.

“Did the Ser tell you, my lady? The food’s ready, aren’t you—” The young boy paused, the excited tone he’d carried into the room fading as he looked at you. “Oh. Did we wake you?”

The innocent way he asked, as though he were genuinely sorry for disturbing you, made your heart ache. You forced yourself to give him as soft a smile as you could manage despite your embarrassment. But then your eyes flicked back to Dunk’s, and your expression shifted again into mortified horror.

“I’ll be right down,” you managed to squeak out.

Dunk grabbed Egg by the shoulder, guiding the boy back out ahead of him.

“Yes, of course, m’lady, we’ll see you—” His head smacked against the doorframe in his haste to leave, earning a soft ow from him and making you grimace. 

He shook his head as if to clear it, then muttered without looking back at you, “See you downstairs.”

You watched him close the door behind him, your eyes lingering on the spot where he had stood before finally turning back to the bed and burying your face in the pillow to muffle an exasperated groan.

Nothing had been said about that exchange — not at dinner, when you three sat together chewing your food in silence, nor in the morning when you mounted your horses and continued on your journey. 

You and Dunk didn’t avoid each other exactly, but the ease you’d always felt while interacting seemed to have vanished. You only exchanged words when necessary, and whenever your eyes met, you were both quick to look away, faces flushing as you searched for anything else to focus on.

Luckily for both of you, Egg never seemed to tire of talking. When he wasn’t telling you about his family and sharing facts about the kingdoms — according to him, there were nine, not seven — he was singing songs that were pleasant enough, though some carried meanings you weren’t sure he fully understood. 

The journey went well enough despite the lingering awkwardness, and by the time you stopped beneath a tree to make camp that night, you had almost forgotten the ordeal of the evening before. 

You nudged at the fire with a stick, trying to keep it alive. Dunk was off with Egg somewhere, presumably gathering more wood. Leaning back, you watched the flames dance while you waited for them to return.

The patter of feet against leaves sounded to your left, and you turned just as Egg came racing toward you.

“Look at what I found!” he exclaimed, finally reaching you. 

He opened the piece of fabric he’d been using as a sack so you could see the contents. Your eyes widened at the variety of berries he’d managed to gather.

“Well, look at that,” you said softly. “Well done, Egg.” 

You smiled at him, and he beamed in return.

“He wanted to eat them straight away,” Dunk’s voice rumbled from behind him.

You lifted your gaze through the dim light and found him easily in the darkness. Your eyes drifted down to his forearms, catching the way they flexed beneath his sleeves as he shifted the weight of the logs he was carrying. You quickly dragged your gaze back up before your thoughts could wander too far.

“But I thought it best to have you look at them first.” Dunk grunted softly as he dropped the logs beside the fire and dusted off his hands. “Don’t want him poisoning himself by accident.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“Or us, for that matter,” he added with a faint smile.

Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of it. Shaking yourself from your distraction, you turned your attention back to the berries in Egg’s lap.

“Yes, that was wise, Ser Duncan.” You examined the fruit carefully, searching for any telltale signs of danger. “It seems your squire has been paying attention to my lessons. All of these are safe to eat.” You grinned and gently ruffled Egg’s hair.

The boy settled beside you, legs crossed, the bundle of berries resting in his lap. You plucked one from the cloth and popped it into your mouth just as Dunk lowered himself onto your other side. His arm brushed yours as he reached past to grab one as well.

The brief contact made you glance at him. Your eyes met for a heartbeat, and though neither of you spoke, the shared awareness lingered in the air.

Gods, how were you meant to survive this?

After you’d eaten your fill, Egg let out a soft yawn, the day’s excitement finally catching up to him. He settled onto his bedroll with a quiet goodnight and was asleep moments later.

You remained by the fire, watching the flames. Your body was tired, but your mind felt far too awake. Sleep seemed distant.

Beside you, Dunk shifted and pushed himself to his feet. You looked up at him.

“Off to sleep as well?” you asked.

“Oh — uh, not yet,” Dunk muttered. “I’ve got to, uh… take care of something.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for only a moment before you understood. He needed to go to the bathroom. Dunk always seemed oddly shy about such matters around you.

“Alright,” you said lightly. “I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and disappeared into the trees.

It was unusual for Dunk to take so long to relieve himself. Even on the rare occasions he lingered, it was never for this long. You were beginning to worry.

Then the rain started, sudden and heavy, dousing the fire you had been carefully tending so Dunk could find his way back with ease. Without the guiding light, you were certain he would struggle to locate the camp in the darkness.

You stood beneath the tree, trying to shield yourself from the downpour, your hands twisting together anxiously as you searched for Dunk’s large frame in the shadows. You couldn’t just stand there and wait. Dunk was a good knight and knew his way around the wilderness well enough, but your skills were sharper when it came to tracking and foraging.

What if he had gotten turned around? With the rain falling this hard, it would be nearly impossible for him to retrace his steps before daybreak — and dawn was still a long way off.

“That’s it,” you muttered to yourself.

You cast one last glance at Egg, making certain the boy was still fast asleep and sheltered from the rain, before stepping into the trees in search of Dunk.

It didn’t take you long to find him. He wasn’t far from camp at all. Your eyes caught his frame against a tree almost immediately. He was leaning against the trunk, no doubt trying to shield himself from the rain as he waited for it to pass.

You thought about calling out his name, but with the thunder rumbling overhead, you were sure he wouldn’t hear you. Squinting against the rain, you began moving toward him.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the world around you for a heartbeat. You froze, your heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, you wondered if you had imagined it — if the light had played tricks on your eyes. But when another flash followed, you realized you had seen correctly.

Dunk wasn’t simply hiding from the rain. He wasn’t lost.

He was touching himself, his hand wrapped around his length as his head rested back against the tree. His mouth was slightly parted, his movements slow and deliberate despite the downpour soaking him through.

Your breathing quickened. You felt rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

Another crack of lightning struck, closer this time, jolting you back to your senses. You turned and ran, racing toward camp as fast as your feet could carry you.

You dropped down beneath the tree, casting a quick glance at Egg to ensure he was still asleep before squeezing your eyes shut, your head falling back against the trunk. The image of Dunk seemed burned into your mind.

“You’re wet.”

Your eyes flew open, a startled gasp leaving you as your hand flew to your chest. Dunk stood beside you, rainwater dripping from his hair and clothes, strands plastered to his forehead. You forced yourself not to let your gaze wander anywhere but his face. He was looking at you with mild confusion.

“Oh — yes,” you managed. “The rain caught me off guard.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “Wasn’t expecting it either. Sorry I took so long. I was waiting to see if it would ease up.”

The lie slipped from his lips so naturally that it made your stomach twist.

“No problem,” you replied quietly.

“Is Egg alright?”

Grateful for the change in subject, you looked toward the boy.

“Yes, he’s fine. The princeling’s tougher than he looks.”

Dunk grunted in agreement as he lowered himself to the ground beside you.

“We’ll sleep at an inn tomorrow,” he said. “It’ll be more comfortable.”

“Whatever you think is best,” you whispered.

He shifted, turning his back to you as he settled in. “Well… goodnight, m’lady.”

“Goodnight, Ser.”

Sleep would not be finding you anytime soon.

This inn was a bit better than the last one. The sheets were certainly softer. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, dressed in your sleeping gown. You’d learned from last time. A soft knock pulled your attention to the door. 

It seemed you weren’t the only one.

You pushed yourself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Come in,” you called.

There was a brief silence. You wondered if you hadn’t been heard, but before you could repeat yourself, the door creaked open. Dunk’s head peeked inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You caught the flicker of relief that crossed his face. He stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him.

“Is everything alright?” you asked quickly. “Is something wrong with Egg?”

“Oh no,” Dunk replied at once. “Nothing’s wrong, m’lady. I just wanted to… well, I wanted to— uh— I…”

You rose from the bed, your bare feet padding softly across the floor as you approached him.

“What is it, Ser?” You placed a hand gently against his chest. “You’re worrying me.”

“I don’t mean to,” he said quickly. “There’s nothing to worry about. I just— well— I wanted to—”

“Your heart’s pounding, Dunk,” you murmured, concern lacing your voice.

The sound of his name seemed to steady him. He exhaled and lifted his hand to cover yours where it rested against his chest.

“I apologize.”

Your brows knit together. “Whatever for?”

Now it was his turn to frown. “Well… for the other night. In the inn.”

“Oh. Right.” You blinked. “That.”

“I should not have entered without knocking. I know that now. And I apologize for staring. That was not the right thing to do. I should have left as soon as I—”

“I saw you last night.”

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

“I— you what?” Dunk asked, confusion clouding his face.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“I. Saw. You. Last. Night.” You spoke slowly, not to mock him, but to be absolutely clear.

From the way his eyes widened and his brows shot upward, you knew he understood exactly what you meant. The color drained from Dunk’s face before rushing back twice as fierce. His hand slackened slightly around yours.

“You—” he swallowed. “You did?”

You nodded once. There was no point pretending otherwise now. 

“I meant no dishonor,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “I would never— I wasn’t thinking. I just—”

His jaw tightened. He looked away first this time, staring somewhere over your shoulder as if he could will himself out of the room.

“I didn’t know what else to do with it,” he admitted quietly. “With… the wanting.”

Your breath caught, startled by his confession — by how deeply he seemed to be affected by you.

“Dunk…” you whispered, your fingers twitching slightly beneath his hand.

Your heart was beating so loudly you were certain he could feel it beneath his palm.

“If I’ve offended you—”

“You haven’t.”

The answer came too quickly to be anything but true.

His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up again, as though even that fleeting glance felt like too much.

“I am not a man practiced in this,” he said softly. “I don’t know what the right way is. I only know that when I think of you, it feels…” He hesitated.

Your lips parted, your body drifting closer to his without you even realizing it.

“Tell me,” you breathed.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“It feels as if I am burning from within.”

You gasped, your fingers tightening slightly against his chest.

“Dunk…” you whispered again.

He searched your face as though bracing himself for rejection. For command. For dismissal.

“I do not wish you to burn alone,” you said quietly.

His hand flexed around yours.

“You would not ask that of me if you knew what I think when I look at you,” he murmured.

Your pulse fluttered. “Then tell me.”

His jaw worked for a moment, restraint warring with honesty. Then honesty won.

“I think about touching you,” he admitted, voice barely above a breath. “Not in passing. Not by accident. I think about it the way a starving man thinks of bread.”

You slid your hand slowly higher along his chest, feeling the tension there, the strength beneath your fingertips. His eyes darkened at that. At the way you stared at him, eyes full of something not at all innocent.

“Tell me to leave,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “If I stay, I do not know that I will remain a gentleman.”

“I do not want you to leave,” you answered.

His hand rose — slowly, giving you every chance to pull away — and hovered near your cheek before finally, gently, cupping it. The touch was careful, as though you were something precious rather than something he had confessed wanting.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He leaned down then, hesitating only a breath away from your lips — waiting. When you closed the distance yourself, pressing your mouth to his, the last of his restraint broke. His hand wound around your waist keeping you pressed to him.

He kissed you like a man who had held himself back for far too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic as though you needed something solid to anchor yourself. He made a low sound in his throat when you did, the hand at your waist tightening just slightly. You parted only because you both needed to breathe.

“I thought wanting you from a distance was difficult.” His thumb brushed lightly along your cheekbone, almost unconsciously. “This is far more dangerous.”

You felt it too — that edge. The way the air seemed charged. The way every small shift of his hand sent a ripple through you.

Your hands slid from his chest to his shoulders, feeling the strength there. Solid. Steady. Real. He shuddered faintly at the contact, as though your touch affected him more than he had expected.

“I do not wish to frighten you,” he said quietly. “If we go further—”

“You will not frighten me,” you interrupted softly.

You lifted one hand to the back of his neck, guiding him down into another kiss. It was rougher this time, filled with the quiet hunger you both seemed to harbor for one another.

Dunk’s hands slipped lower, his broad frame bending slightly as he grasped your thighs. You gave a small gasp at the sudden movement, but you didn’t resist. Instead, you let him lift you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

His boots thudded softly against the floor as he carried you toward the bed, your lips still fused together. He placed his knee against the mattress, lowering you slowly onto the bed, his large frame remaining above you. Your legs unwound from his hips, moving to rest your feet flat on the bed instead. Dunk's hands moved over your leg, pushing the fabric of your nightgown up as he went. His forehead rested against yours as his hands inched between your legs. You gasped as his fingers grazed your pussy.

“You’re wet,” he murmured.

A faint, breathless laugh escaped you. “Second time you’ve said that.”

His lips brushed yours as he exhaled. “It wasn’t what I meant last time.”

“I know,” you whispered, nipping gently at his lower lip. “But I was wet then too.”

He let out a groan at that, his head moving down to place kisses on your neck. Your body arched off the bed as his tongue lapped at your skin and his hand continued to move against you, not teasing exactly but not touching you entirely either. His head trailed down until he got to your chest. He raised himself enough so he could use his free hand to tug your nightgown down enough to reveal your breast. As soon as your skin was free from the cloth Dunk leaned down, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. Your hand moved to his head, fingers tugging at his hair as you moaned. 

The hand that lay on your thigh tensed at the movement, squeezing your skin between his fingers without him even noticing. The action only heightened the sensation, your back arching softly against the bed. A low rumble escaped Dunk as your body pressed into his. He pulled off your breast with a soft pop.

“Gods…” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

Your fingers were still tangled in his hair, your body still warm and responsive beneath him. You could feel the hesitation settling back into him—the part of Dunk that always tried to do the right thing, even now.

“Dunk,” you said softly.

His eyes flicked back to yours, and even though they were blown wide with desire, you could still see the restraint in his gaze. You could tell he was searching for a reason to stop this before it was too late.

Your hand moved from his curls to his face, a finger trailing over his lips for a moment before your eyes lifted back to his.

“Touch me,” you breathed.

“I am,” he whispered, his voice tinged with confusion.

You shook your head softly, your hair dragging against the sheets beneath you.

“No, I mean—” You grabbed the hand resting on your thigh, lifting it from your skin. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you guided it slowly between your legs. “Here. Touch me here.”

A faint, almost disbelieving smile ghosted across his lips. 

“Here,” you repeated softly, your voice gentler now.

His breath caught, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to your face, searching—always searching—for doubt, for hesitation, for anything that might stop him.

He didn’t find it.

Slowly, carefully, his hand moved where you had guided it, his movements tentative at first, as though he feared misreading you. The moment your breath hitched, his eyes snapped back to yours.

“Is that—” he started, unsure.

“Yes,” you whispered, your grip tightening slightly around his wrist. “Don’t stop.”

That was all it took.

Not for him to lose control—not entirely—but for something to settle. His touch steadied, growing more certain, though never careless. Every small reaction from you seemed to anchor him further, to teach him.

Your head tipped back against the bed, a soft breath escaping you before you could stop it. His name followed without thought, quieter this time, but it made his jaw tighten all the same.

“Gods,” he murmured again, almost under his breath.

Your free hand found his shoulder, then his neck, pulling him closer—not just for the contact, but for the closeness, the shared heat of it. He leaned in without resistance, his forehead brushing yours, his breathing uneven.

“You’ll tell me,” he said, voice low, almost strained. “If it’s too much.”

“I will,” you answered, though your body was already answering for you, leaning into him, urging him on.

 Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck as he slipped his finger deeper, your mouth opening in a silent moan. Your hot breath mingled with his as he continued his movements.

“More,” you groaned.

“You sure? I don’t want to—”

“Dunk. More.”

The way you said it—like a command rather than a question—made Dunk twitch against his breeches.

“As you wish, m’lady.”

As his second finger slipped inside you, you couldn’t help the groan that left your lips. You buried your head in his shoulder, teeth grazing the strong muscle there as he quickened his movements slightly. Your thighs trembled despite yourself, hands clawing at Dunk in desperation.

“Is it good?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “So good, Dunk. Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, m’lady.”

You weren’t sure if he’d meant to say it so confidently, but it did things to you. You’d grown so used to seeing him shrink back—not in fear exactly, but in a way that showed he knew his place. But now, alone with you, his muscles flexing as he continued to pleasure you, that shyness you’d become accustomed to seemed to have disappeared.

He’d said he didn’t know how to do this, but the way he was working you with such ease told you that perhaps he was underselling himself.

And when he found that spot that made you cry out, your nails digging into his skin as you came undone against his hand, you were certain he had lied about just how much he knew.

His breath stuttered when you cried out, your grip on him tightening as if you might come apart without something to hold onto.You sagged slightly against him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath. Your fingers loosened their hold, though they didn’t leave him entirely, as if you still needed the reassurance that he was there.

“I didn’t—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t expect…”

Before he could finish whatever he was thinking, your lips were on his. He groaned against your mouth as you clung to him, your tongue brushing at his lips in search of entrance. He granted it, of course.

The kiss was messy. It was unclear whether it was due to inexperience or overwhelming desire, but you didn’t care.

Dunk shifted, his muscles flexing as he moved. A soft gasp left his lips as his hardness brushed against your thigh. You didn’t pull away, your mouth still pressed to his as your hand slipped between your bodies to caress him through his breeches.

Dunk let out a strained breath against your mouth, the sound catching somewhere between surprise and something deeper. His body reacted before his mind seemed to catch up, hips shifting slightly before he stilled himself again, as though fighting the instinct.

His hand found your wrist—not to pull it away, but to still it, just for a moment. His grip wasn’t firm, just enough to make you pause, to make you look at him.

“We should slow down,” he said again, quieter now, though his gaze hadn’t softened. If anything, it had deepened.

“Is that what you want?” you asked earnestly.

“Gods, no,” he breathed. “But I don’t know if I’ll—”

“Then don’t,” you cut in.

Something flickered in his eyes at that—something close to surrender.

“I want you,” you stated simply, the words making Dunk swallow a groan of need. “And you want me. Well, I assume you do, unless I—”

“Of course I want you,” Dunk cut in, his voice more certain than you’d ever heard it.

You couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your face. You placed your hand on his cheek.

“Then why should we not?”

Dunk closed his eyes, biting into his cheek for a moment before opening them again.

“I don’t—” He stopped himself, the red on his cheeks deepening before he forced himself to continue. “I don’t want to hurt you, m’lady.”

Your heart tugged at the words, and before you could even think about it, you placed a reassuring kiss on his lips.

“You won’t,” you whispered.

Perhaps you should have expected it. He was a big man—it was only natural to assume that all of him was big—but you were still taken by surprise.

When Dunk finally pulled down his breeches, your eyes widened immediately. But before he could see the expression on your face and call the whole thing off, you schooled your features into calm.

Still, the only thing running through your mind as he made his way back to you was: How in the seven hells is that going to fit?

It wasn’t a simple task, but with some patience, you managed. You tried to keep your eyes from rolling back with every one of his thrusts, but he wasn’t making it easy on you. Not only did he hit the right spot every time—how could he not, when it felt like he was reaching so deep—but he was also incredibly vocal.

His head barely left your shoulder as his hips continued to move against you, so every sound that escaped him was heard clearly in your ear. And the praise—gods, it was driving you insane.

“Feels so good, m’lady… taking me so well,” Dunk groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough that you were sure they would leave bruises.

The sound of his voice sent a shiver through you, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you tried to steady your breathing. Every word he spoke seemed to go straight through you, leaving you more unsteady than before.

“Dunk…” you breathed, his name slipping out without thought.

He answered with a low, strained sound, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as if he needed the contact to ground himself. His hands were still firm at your hips, but there was something careful in the way he held you—like he was always just a breath away from pulling back if you needed him to.

“Fuck… could live inside you,” he groaned.

You moaned at that, surprised by the dirtiness of the words slipping from his mouth. Who would have known that beneath Ser Duncan the Tall there was this whole other man?

“Dunk, please,” you moaned.

“What is it, m’lady? What do you want?”

“More,” you whispered. “Give me more.”

“Greedy thing, eh?” Dunk murmured, amusement clear in his voice. “You sure, m’lady? I’m not going to hold back.”

“Ah—ugh—more, Dunk, please.”

“Alright… as you wish.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. As soon as the words left his mouth, Dunk lifted himself off you. You looked at him as he straightened up, brows furrowing in confusion.

Dunk just gave you an easy smile, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs before dragging you closer to the edge of the bed without fully pulling away from you. Once he seemed satisfied with the position, he looked down at you.

“Ready?”

You nodded. Dunk raised a silent brow at you. You flushed immediately, understanding what he wanted.

“Yes, Ser.”

The smirk that graced his face dripped with sin, and before you even had time to process it, he moved again with sudden, overwhelming intensity.

The shift in him stole the breath from your lungs.

Your hands clutched at him instinctively, your head tipping back as the sudden change drew a sharp sound from you. Dunk’s jaw tightened at the reaction, his control visibly fraying at the edges.

“Careful,” he muttered, though it sounded more like a reminder to himself than to you.

You shook your head faintly, your grip on him tightening. “Don’t be.”

That did it.

Not recklessness—but permission.

His movements grew firmer, more certain, no longer testing but knowing. Each shift of him was met with your response, your body answering in ways that made his breath hitch, his composure slipping further with every passing moment.

“Gods…” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “You feel—”

He cut himself off, like even saying it might push him too far.

“Dunk, I’m—I—”

A moan tore through you before you could finish.

“You close?”

You nodded quickly, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto as the sensation became almost overwhelming.

“Yeah? You gonna come all over my cock, huh?” Dunk asked, his movements speeding up. “Gonna make a big ol’ mess, aren’t you?”

“Yes—gods, please, Dunk, don’t—”

“Not going to, m’lady,” Dunk muttered, a groan escaping him before he could stop it. “Go on… be a good girl and come for me.”

That was the tipping point. You cried out his name as you came, your body spasming as you clenched around him. Dunk wasn’t far behind, with one more rough thrust and a groan of your name, he came.

Dunk stilled, a rough breath leaving him as your body relaxed around him, your name still echoing in his ears. Your grip on him slowly loosened, though your hands didn’t fall away entirely, still clinging to him as you tried to steady your breathing.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Dunk finally pulled out of you, a soft hiss leaving your lips as he did. You were still trying to catch your breath when Dunk’s hands slipped beneath you, lifting you with ease before repositioning you in the bed. Once he had you settled, he lowered himself beside you with a soft grunt.

You waited only a second before inching closer, resting your head against his chest. Dunk’s arm wrapped around you in a way that felt natural, almost instinctive.

“Gods…” he murmured again, though this time it was quieter—almost awed.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound muffled slightly against him. “You say that a lot.”

A faint huff of amusement left him, though it was still threaded with something heavier. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant it more.”

That made something warm bloom in your chest, softer than what had come before, but no less intense.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice still rough, but steadier now.

You met his gaze, your lips curving faintly despite the lingering heat in your body. “I am.”

Relief flickered across his face so openly it almost made you smile wider.

“Good,” he said, quieter now.

For a moment, the world seemed to settle around you—no urgency, no rush. Just the quiet aftermath of something neither of you had quite expected, but neither of you seemed to regret.

Your hand found his cheek again, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin.

“We should probably be quiet,” you murmured, a hint of teasing returning. “Unless you want Egg knocking on the door next.”

Dunk let out a low groan at that, his head dipping briefly. “Don’t even joke about that.”

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bonds of Blood Pt.4

Baelor X Wife!Reader, Maekar X Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, penetration (P in V), explicit sexual content, doggy style, multiple rounds (referenced), voyeurism, morally messy relationships, “sharing” dynamics, emotionally complicated dynamics, not proofread, plot with some porn, happy ending, fluff, canon divergence (me not knowing the number of children they have 🙃)

Word Count: 3.6k

Sumarry: When Maekar’s strike leaves Baelor gravely injured, the aftermath reveals more than just the love you bear for his brother.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

His thrusts are relentless. Your arms burn as you try to keep yourself upright. With every powerful movement, your body jolts forward, the bed creaking beneath you.

You hadn’t expected this.

The intensity of it takes you completely by surprise—not because it is unusual, but because, given his recent injury, you had imagined he wouldn’t be able to keep up with his usual pace. It seems you had underestimated just how much he desires you.

Baelor’s hands grip you in a way that will, without a doubt, leave bruises. He isn’t hurting you, but even if he were, you wouldn’t be able to tell him. The only sounds that slip from your lips are whines of his name and loud, breathless moans.

Your arms begin to shake, and you can no longer keep them straight. They give out at the elbows, your weight no longer resting solely on your palms. The movement forces your forehead down against the sheets, your back arching as Baelor continues to pound into you.

His hands move from your hips, trailing down your body—pausing briefly at your ribs—before finally settling on your breasts. He gives them a rough squeeze, pulling a sharp yelp from you. Your walls flutter around him, and the sensation draws a low grunt from his throat.

Months of watching Maekar get to have you. Days of longing for nothing more than to be able to please you properly.

And now that he has his chance, Baelor isn’t going to go easy on you.

It has been hours of this—hours of him touching and teasing you, hours of shifting positions that leave you breathless and exhausted. And somehow, he still doesn’t seem satiated.

And through it all—through every moment, every moan, every scream of his name spilling from your lips—Maekar watches.

His body feels as though it has become one with the chair he sits in.

At the beginning, he had been wary. There had been no need for him to be present anymore. Baelor was well enough—the maesters had told the three of you so themselves—yet Maekar still found himself there, watching the spectacle unfold.

He had complained about it before. Complained about how often he had to fuck you. Mumbled about how exhausted he was from yours and Baelor’s endless appetite.

But this—sitting and watching—this was torture.

And incredibly arousing. 

His dick had been freed from his breeches a long time ago, and he simply hadn’t bothered to put it away.

When your first orgasm had washed over you—your body sagging onto Baelor’s chest—something had told Maekar it wouldn’t be the last.

He had been right.

Now, four positions later, Maekar found his hand aching and his initial embarrassment completely gone. His palm moved over his dick with practiced ease, trying—and failing—to keep up with Baelor’s pace.

The sharp plap plap plap of Baelor’s hips snapping against your ass filled the room, accompanied by your symphony of moans that made Maekar’s cock twitch in his grasp. He was so close, his brows furrowing as he felt the tension coil tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

“Don’t.”

Baelor’s voice cut through the filthy sounds filling the room.

“Not yet.”

For a moment, you thought he was speaking to you. You were so close, your walls fluttering around him with every thrust. You almost begged—almost told him you couldn’t hold it, that you needed release.

But before you could speak, Baelor continued.

“Just a bit longer. She’s close. Hold it a bit longer so that we might—” A grunt tore through him, forcing the rest of his words out through gritted teeth. “Together. So that we might finish together.”

That was when you realized.

He wasn’t talking to you.

He was talking to Maekar.

You forced yourself to turn your head, your gaze finding him. The moment you saw him—his arm flexing as he fisted himself—you moaned, your teeth sinking into your arm to muffle the sound.

The noise drew Maekar’s eyes to yours, his expression twisting as a strained groan left him.

Baelor leaned down, his body pressing flush against yours as he whispered into your ear,

“Come on, love. Call out to him. Make him let go.”

As soon as the words left his lips, his pace quickened again—somehow even faster than before.

“Maekar!” you cried out, your hands fisting into the sheets.

You couldn’t see him clearly anymore, but you heard the strangled sound that left him, followed by a breathless, “Seven hells…”

“You’re close, aren’t you, love?” Baelor asked.

You nodded, dragging your forehead against the sheets.

“Please—let me come, Baelor, please.”

“Fuck,” Maekar muttered.

“Go on, love,” Baelor groaned. “Let go for us.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed into you like a wave. A broken cry tore from your throat—loud enough, you were certain, to echo through the castle—as relief finally overtook you.

You felt Baelor spill inside you just as Maekar’s moan filled the room.

Your strength gave out completely, your knees buckling as your body collapsed onto the mattress. The movement caused Baelor's dick to slip free from you with ease.

His chest rose and fell heavily as he remained kneeling behind you, your spent body lying limp beneath him. Maekar wasn’t doing much better, his head resting against the wall behind him, his softened dick still loosely held in his hand.

For the first time in hours, silence settled over the room.

Then a soft sound slipped from your lips, drawing Baelor’s attention to your face.

“Is she—” Maekar started.

“Sleeping,” Baelor finished, his gaze shifting from you to his brother. “Yes, she is.”

A quiet, amused smile spread across both their faces.

They allowed themselves a moment to simply look at you—to take in the sight of your sleeping form, peaceful despite everything.

Maekar’s gaze lingered a little longer, his chest filling with something he couldn’t quite name.

It was only when Baelor let out a soft grunt, bending down to gather his scattered clothes from the floor, that Maekar finally tore his eyes away.

He watched as his brother pulled on his breeches, tan skin disappearing beneath the fabric. The motion made Maekar realize he was still exposed as well. He quickly tucked himself back into his own breeches, tying the laces with practiced ease.

When he pushed himself up from the chair, his body protested. He groaned softly, stretching his back as Baelor adjusted his tunic.

Once they were both decent, they stood by the bed for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

“We ought to let her rest,” Baelor said quietly.

Maekar grunted in agreement, though he didn’t move right away. He lingered for a moment longer before finally turning toward the door—only doing so after Baelor called his name.

Maekar had been staring at the fire for hours. He had only sat down because his legs had begun to protest standing for so long.

For the first time since you and Baelor had arrived, Maekar felt unsettled. His heart felt heavy in his chest, and even though he had an idea why, he had not allowed himself to admit it just yet.

The sound of footsteps pulled his attention away from the fire. As soon as his eyes caught sight of you standing in the doorway, the ache in his chest seemed to double.

“Hello,” you said softly as you stepped inside, slowly making your way toward him.

“Baelor is in the study.”

It was the first thing that came to his mind. Surely you wanted to know where your husband was—that had to be why you had come.

“Alright,” you replied, your steps never faltering.

Maekar’s brows furrowed at your answer. It was not what he had expected. His eyes moved to your face as you stopped beside his chair, your back to the fire he had been watching.

You held his gaze.

Neither of you spoke.

Then you moved forward, settling yourself onto his lap so quickly he didn’t even realize what was happening until you were already there. Your head came to rest against his shoulder, and his entire body seemed to freeze.

He had seen you do this a thousand times before.

To his brother. To your husband.

Not to him.

He didn’t know what to do. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side as he tried to gather himself. Then you nuzzled closer, your hand coming up to rest against his chest as you let out a soft sigh—and all of his hesitation seemed to melt away.

His palm moved to your arm, holding you there, steadying you against him, as his head dipped to rest gently atop yours.

He couldn’t see it but the action made a small, satisfied smile spread across your face.

Maekar allowed his eyes to fall shut. He tried to preserve the moment in his mind—tried to force himself to pay attention to everything. The way you smelled, the warmth of your skin, the soft brush of your breath against his beard. The way your weight against him did not make him feel heavier—if anything, it made him feel lighter.

He tried to capture it all, every small detail, so that he would remember.

So that even if this was the last time he was allowed to have you like this—close and soft—he would at least have something to hold onto.

A memory to return to, should he ever need it.

“I will miss you.”

The words escaped him before he could stop them.

You shifted, lifting your head from his chest so you could look him in the eyes.

“But I am right here.”

“Yes,” Maekar said quietly. “For now.”

Your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

Maekar let out a frustrated breath.

“Do not pretend to be a fool.”

“I am not,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “I truly do not understand.”

And when Maekar looked at you, he could tell you were telling the truth.

His expression softened at the realization.

Maekar’s hand rose almost without thinking, his fingers brushing along your jaw before settling against your cheek. His thumb traced a slow, absentminded path across your skin, as if committing the feeling of you to memory just as much as the moment itself.

“Baelor is better now,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter than before. “The maesters have all but declared him recovered.”

You watched him closely, your expression still soft with confusion.

“And?” you prompted gently.

Maekar’s jaw tightened slightly.

“And that means I am no longer needed here,” he continued. “I was only ever meant to fill his place. Stand where he could not. Now that he can…” He trailed off, his gaze flickering briefly away from yours before returning. “I will be returning to Summerhall.”

The words settled between you, heavier than he had intended.

Your brows drew together.

“Who said you had to leave?”

Maekar let out a quiet breath, something almost like disbelief flickering across his face.

“That is how this works,” he said. “I cannot simply remain here because I—”

He stopped himself.

Because I what?

His thumb stilled against your cheek.

You tilted your head slightly, studying him.

“Because you want to?” you offered softly.

Maekar huffed under his breath, though there was no real humor in it.

“Want has very little to do with it.”

Your hand moved, covering his where it rested against your face, keeping it there.

“It seems to have had quite a lot to do with things lately,” you murmured.

Maekar’s silence stretched just a second too long. And for the first time since you had walked into the room, something in your expression shifted.

Your hand loosened slightly where it held his.

“Have I been wrong?” you asked, your voice quieter now—uncertain in a way that did not suit you.

Maekar’s brows pulled together.

“What?”

You hesitated.

“Do you not feel for me as I feel for you?”

Maekar stared at you, caught completely off guard.

You swallowed, your gaze flickering for just a moment before returning to his.

“Is it because…” you started, then stopped, as if the words themselves resisted being spoken. “Is it because you do not love me?”

For a heartbeat, there was nothing.

Then Maekar let out a sharp, disbelieving breath, his hand tightening on your face.

“No.”

The answer came immediately. Firm. Certain.

His thumb pressed more insistently against your cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes locked onto yours.

“No,” he repeated, lower this time. “That is precisely the problem.”

You stilled.

“It is because I love you,” he said, the words sounding almost like they had been dragged out of him, “that I cannot stay.”

Maekar shook his head slightly, frustration creeping in.

“You are my brother’s wife,” he continued. “This—whatever this has become—it was never meant to…” He exhaled sharply. “I was meant to leave when he no longer needed me. That was always how this was supposed to end.”

“Has he ever shown any issue with it?” you pressed.

Maekar didn’t answer immediately.

Because the truth was… no.

Baelor had not raged. Had not forbidden it. Had not even tried to stop it.

If anything, he had done the opposite.

You saw the hesitation in his eyes and pressed further.

“Then why are you fighting a battle that does not seem to exist?” you asked.

Maekar huffed under his breath.

“Because there are other things to consider,” he said. “My lands. My children. My responsibilities do not simply disappear because I—”

“Then bring them here.”

He blinked.

You didn’t hesitate this time.

“Bring them here,” you repeated, more firmly now. “Why should they remain at Summerhall if you do not wish to?”

Maekar stared at you as though you had just suggested something impossible.

“This is not their home.”

“And is Summerhall yours?” you countered immediately.

He opened his mouth—

Then stopped.

You shifted slightly in his lap, your hand moving from his to rest against his chest instead.

“My boys would be glad for their company,” you continued, your voice softer again but no less certain. “They are family. Are they not?”

Maekar’s gaze searched your face, as if trying to find hesitation there.

There was none.

“Summerhall will not vanish if you are not standing in it,” you added gently. “But you…”

Your fingers curled slightly against his tunic.

“You would be gone,” you whispered. “And I cannot even bear to think of it.”

Maekar exhaled slowly, his forehead finally coming to rest against yours.

“You make it sound simple,” he muttered.

“It is simple,” you whispered back. “You are a prince. You are allowed to do as you wish.”

He almost laughed at that.

“I almost lost him,” you continued softly. “And the thought of not having him with me pains me just as much as the thought of not having you close… of not being able to walk into a room and see that beautiful scowl of yours.”

Your words struck him. To compare the loss of your husband to the thought of him leaving you to live somewher else seemed wrong. For a moment, he said nothing—just looked at you, as if trying to understand how you could say something like that so easily. As if it made any sense at all.

“You speak as though those things are equal,” he said finally, his voice low.

Your gaze didn’t waver.

“They are not the same,” you admitted. “But the though of both brings me great pain.”

His jaw tightened.

“You cannot have everything,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked, softer now—but no less certain.

Yes… why not?

Why should he return to Summerhall only to spend his days longing for you? Why should you be left aching for his absence? Why should either of you give up the love that had bloomed between you?

Because there were rules, Maekar reminded himself.

But were they not the ones who made those rules? The ones who bent them, shaped them?

And if Baelor showed no anger… if you so clearly did not want him to go…

Then who was he to insist that things must be otherwise?

For once could he not simply choose to be happy?

His hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you there as his thumb brushed just beneath your ear.

“You speak as though the world bends to your will.”

You huffed a quiet breath, something almost like a smile tugging at your lips.

“Has it not, thus far?”

That—unfortunately—was not untrue.

Maekar shook his head slightly, though there was less resistance in it now. Your hand moved again, sliding up from his chest to his jaw, mirroring the way he held you.

“You would have me stay,” he said, almost to himself.

“I would,” you whispered.

Maekar let out a slow breath, his eyes closing for just a moment as if steadying himself.

When they opened again, there was something different there.

Maekar leaned forward, closing the small distance that remained between you. His lips brushed yours, not with the urgency that usually defined him, but with something slower… more deliberate. 

When he pulled back, you didn’t let him go far.

“Does this mean you’ll stay?” you whispered, your lips still close enough to ghost against his.

For a moment, he simply looked at you.

Then a small, rare smile tugged at his mouth—one that softened the sharpness of his usual expression.

“When have I ever been able to deny you?” he murmured.

Relief bloomed across your face, warm and bright. You didn’t bother answering—just leaned in and kissed him again, softer this time, lingering.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you settled back against his chest.

Maekar adjusted without thinking, one arm wrapping around you, holding you close as your head found its place beneath his chin.

The fire crackled quietly in front of you, filling the room with a steady warmth.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content to simply sit there, watching the flames dance.

Your fingers traced absent patterns against his chest, your voice breaking the silence after a time, softer now—almost thoughtful.

“You know…” you began, eyes still fixed on the fire. “I always wanted a daughter.”

Maekar’s brows lifted slightly, his gaze dropping to you.

A faint huff of amusement left him.

“That is convenient,” he said, his arm tightening just a fraction around you. “I happen to have two.”

You smiled against him, something warm and fond settling in your chest.

“Then I suppose it has all worked out rather well,” you murmured.

Maekar didn’t answer right away.

His chin rested lightly against the top of your head, his gaze drifting back to the fire.

“…Perhaps it has,” he admitted quietly.

And just like that, the ache in his chest seemed to disappear, replaced with a quiet hope for what the future might bring. 

— Epilogue —

The courtyard was louder than it had ever been.

Laughter echoed against the stone walls, bright and unrestrained in a way that would have once felt out of place within the Red Keep. Where there had once been formality—distance—there was now movement. Life.

You stood beneath the soft shade of the gallery, a small weight settled comfortably against your hip, your hand absentmindedly smoothing over the child’s back as they dozed. Not far from you, two girls darted across the courtyard, their laughter ringing out as they chased one another, skirts gathered in their hands, completely unbothered by the watchful eyes of guards or servants.

Your lips curved without thought.

It still felt strange, at times.

Not wrong—never wrong—but unexpected.

That something like this could exist at all.

Footsteps approached from behind, familiar enough that you did not need to turn to know who it was. Still, you did, your gaze softening as Baelor came to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“They have taken to it well,” he observed, his voice calm as ever, though there was something warmer beneath it now.

“They have,” you agreed quietly.

As if summoned by the sound of his voice, one of the girls glanced toward you, her face lighting up before she waved enthusiastically. You lifted your hand in return, careful not to disturb the child resting against you.

Another set of footsteps followed.

He did not speak at first.

Maekar simply came to stand on your other side, his presence as steady and grounding as it had become over time. His gaze moved over the courtyard, lingering briefly on the girls before shifting to you—and the child in your arms.

Something in his expression softened.

Not the sharpness entirely—it never truly left him—but enough that you could see it.

For a moment, the three of you stood there in silence, watching.

“You were right,” Maekar muttered after a while, his voice low.

You glanced at him. “About what?”

He huffed faintly, though there was no real annoyance in it.

“That it could be simple.”

Your smile returned, small but certain.

The child in your arms stirred softly, drawing all three of your gazes at once.

You adjusted your hold instinctively, your thumb brushing gently along their cheek as their eyes blinked open—slow, unfocused at first, before settling. One blue, the other brown, the mismatched orbs stared up at you. Your hand moved to the child’s head, where strands of fine, silver-white hair caught the sunlight.

The child made another small sound, entirely unaware of the weight of the moment—of the way all three of you watched, as if seeing something unspoken take shape.

You drew them a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to their temple.

And neither man looked away.

For a fleeting moment, as laughter filled the courtyard and sunlight warmed the stone beneath your feet, it felt as though something had shifted—something fundamental.

The Red Keep, once cold and unyielding, now held something else entirely.

Not just duty. Not just legacy.

But something warmer.

Something chosen.

And somehow, against all reason—something that worked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: this is gonna be the last part, guys. thanks so much for the lovely comments and reblogs ❤️ I’m really glad you’ve been enjoying it, and I hope you like the ending! 🫶🏻

Taglist: @saltycomicsparentingfish @ilyvia @avocadoravenclaw01 @alaeratrrn @fushigurosbabygirl @raynetargaryan2

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bonds of Blood Pt.3

Baelor X Wife!Reader, Maekar X Fem!Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, smut, penetration (P in V), explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, voyeurism, ass slapping (one time), threesome dynamics (kind of), morally messy relationships, emotionally complicated dynamics, targcest (not explicit, but the vibes are there), not proofread, plot with some porn

Word Count: 3.0k

Sumarry: When Maekar’s strike leaves Baelor gravely injured, the aftermath reveals more than just the love you bear for his brother.

Part 1 Part 2

Baelor was a good husband. He has an ability to rationalize things which is admirable.

Maekar was utterly exhausted. He was sure he had never fucked this much in his life.

It had been months since the night when Baelor had walked in on you and Maekar. The conversation had been… odd. You had expected at least some sort of argument, some sort of disappointment, yet none seemed to be found. Instead, what happened was an agreement—and a rather unusual one at that.

Maekar was allowed to fuck you, but he had to do so every time Baelor wanted him to. Which, at the time, didn’t seem like such a bad deal to Maekar, but he had forgotten that you and Baelor were like jackrabbits.

Your breasts bounced up and down while you moved, your head tilted back as you moaned. Beneath you, Maekar was a combination of grunts and soft curses. And as usual, Baelor sat in his chair, his eyes never leaving the sight before him.

Your nails clawed at Maekar’s pale chest, leaving red marks in their wake and making him let out a strung-out, fuckkk. Maekar’s hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements. From the way you were clenching around him, he could tell you were close.

One of his hands moved down to your clit, his thumb moving over the bundle of nerves with expertise. Luckily for him, the action caused your orgasm to come crashing through you.

Your body spasmed, gushing around his cock, and that was enough to make him reach his high as well. With one more lift of his hips, he was filling you up.

You crashed down onto his chest, your sweaty bodies moving together as you both breathed heavily.

“I don’t know how I have six children and the two of you have only had two,” Maekar muttered breathlessly. “Not with the amount you fuck.”

“Perhaps your spend is stronger than mine,” Baelor said, still seated in his chair, looking as nonchalant as ever.

“Gods, let’s fucking hope not,” you said, causing the two men to laugh.

Baelor leaned back slightly in his chair, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed the two of you.

Maekar groaned softly beneath you, one arm falling over his eyes as if he might block the world out by doing so.

“This is absurd,” he muttered.

“You are the one who agreed to it,” Baelor reminded him calmly.

Maekar dragged his arm away from his face just enough to glare at his brother.

“You failed to mention the frequency.”

Baelor tilted his head, considering that.

“I did not think it required mentioning,” Baelor said, rising from his chair for the first time that night. “Not considering how little you seemed to care about facts the first time.”

And there it was—the subtle blaming. Baelor was never aggressive with it. He never placed the blame outright, but it was always implied.

Your husband did not blame you.

All Baelor had ever wanted for you was your happiness. So he understood that you had found yourself in Maekar’s arms because he, as your husband, had not been able to fulfill his duties due to his injuries. He held no ill will against you.

The same could not be said when talking about Maekar.

You understood that Baelor blamed his brother for taking advantage of your situation to, well… get his dick wet.

Or at least that was what Baelor had thought at first.

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

Baelor watched as Maekar’s hand moved up to your face, his palm brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your forehead. You lifted your head from his chest, resting your chin there instead so you could look at him. Your hand moved up, fingers playing with his beard as you gazed down at him.

Baelor observed all of it.

The way your eyes softened as you looked at the man beneath you. The way you seemed so comfortable lying against his chest. And then there was the way Maekar looked at you.

The exhaustion was there—it always was these days—but beneath it there was something else.

Adoration.

As if to confirm it, Maekar lifted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Baelor finally reached the edge of the bed. He stood there for a moment before delivering a sharp smack to your bare ass.

“Baelor!” you yelped, rising from Maekar’s body in surprise.

Your eyes shot to your husband, your mouth still open in shock.

“What?” Baelor said, a smile spreading across his face. “It’s not like I can let him have all the fun.”

You shook your head at his words, the shock finally wearing off.

“Plus, until this is fully healed”—he pointed to his head, still lightly wrapped in bandages but far better than it had been months prior—“I won’t be able to do much other than touch you. Do forgive me if I’m a bit rough.”

“I don’t mind rough. You of all people should know that,” you said with a cheeky smile, causing Baelor to laugh before moving to hold your face in his hand.

“Very true, my love.”

He leaned down and placed a searing kiss against your lips. You bit into his lip, causing him to groan, his body moving closer to the bed until his chest was pressed against your back. His hand let go of your face, but your lips did not part from his.

Baelor’s hand traveled down your body, his palm moving over your sweaty skin. Once he reached your breast, he gave it a squeeze, making you groan before continuing his path downward. When his hand finally reached your ass, he left all hesitation behind, his nails digging roughly into the flesh as his tongue moved against your mouth.

Even with Maekar still inside you, you seemed to have forgotten about him completely for the moment. It wasn’t as if he minded, though. In fact, he might actually be glad for the lack of attention.

Your neck began to ache as you continued to kiss Baelor, and when his hips shifted against your back—his stiffness nudging against you—you couldn’t help but smile against his mouth.

You placed a hand on his chest, pushing softly to signal for him to back off. He listened to your silent command, even though he clearly did not wish to have your mouth leave his for even a moment.

Your eyes found his as he moved back, your smile spreading wider when you noticed the way his chest rose and fell rapidly.

Without moving off Maekar, you shifted your body so that instead of facing the silver-haired Targaryen, you were staring at your husband instead.

Maekar grunted at the movement, his hands gripping your hips softly as your back filled his vision.

“Don’t you want to—” Maekar started.

“I’m comfortable like this,” you said, your head turning to look over your shoulder at him. “Aren’t you?”

All he could do was nod.

Because as much as he liked to complain about how tired he was, his body always seemed to react to yours. So much so that he could already feel himself growing hard inside you again.

“Good,” you said, turning your attention back to Baelor.

As soon as your gaze returned to him, Baelor moved toward you once more, his lips crashing against yours. Your nipples rubbed against his tunic, the sensation combining with the feeling of his tongue against yours and his hands on your hips. His hardness brushed against your stomach, pulling your attention back to the task at hand.

You pulled your lips away from him, revealing the way his mouth chased yours before you placed a palm flat against his chest.

“Undo your breeches.”

Baelor didn’t hesitate for even a second, his hands moving down to untie them. You watched his fingers work, biting your lip at the sight. You had always loved to stare at his hands, and Baelor knew it as well.

The smile on his face made that very clear.

As soon as he was free of his breeches, you leaned down, placing a soft kiss against the trail of hair leading down his stomach before focusing elsewhere.

Maekar’s eyes immediately zeroed in on your ass as you took Baelor into your mouth. He simply stared for a while, but once your head started bobbing—causing Baelor to let out a low moan—Maekar’s hands found their way to your ass, fingers kneading the flesh.

Baelor’s hand rested against your head, more to steady himself than to guide your movements. Your tongue trailed along the vein on the underside of him, making him grunt as his hips pushed forward on their own accord.

Maekar wasn’t faring much better. The sound of your mouth moving against his brother and the soft way your body rocked against his as your head bobbed were doing things to him. Before long, Maekar’s hips began lifting into you in slow, instinctive movements of their own. The motion caused you to take Baelor deeper.

The brothers groaned in unison, and for the first time since you had turned around, they seemed to remember the presence of the other.

Their eyes met, and even though they both expected the other to look away, neither of them did. Their gazes remained locked even as their faces began to twitch, their upcoming release threatening to spill at any moment.

And when it finally came—Maekar thrusting into you before spilling inside you, Baelor giving one last grunt before filling your mouth—they were still staring into each other’s eyes.

They had been so entranced with one another that it was only when you crashed down onto the mattress with a loud sigh that they realized you had moved at all.

They continued to stare for a moment longer before their attention finally shifted to you.

“Gods, I’m exhausted.”

You yawned, your body stretching against the sheets like a cat.

The brothers continued to watch you for a moment, the room settling into a quieter rhythm now that the frenzy had passed. Your breathing slowed as you stretched across the bed, completely unconcerned with the two men still standing nearby.

Then, after a moment, you spoke.

“I think I’ll have a bath.”

Both men blinked at you.

You turned your head slightly, noticing the looks on their faces.

“Alone,” you added.

Maekar huffed softly, running a tired hand through his hair as he pushed himself off the bed. Baelor simply watched you with that same calm expression he always seemed to wear.

You swung your legs over the side of the mattress and stood, grabbing a discarded robe from a nearby chair and wrapping it loosely around yourself.

As you moved toward the bathing chamber, you paused by the doorway and glanced back at them.

“Oh—and do call one of the handmaidens,” you said casually. “I refuse to draw my own bath after all of that.”

Then you disappeared into the adjoining room, the door shutting behind you.

Silence fell over the bedchamber.

Maekar remained standing by the bed, entirely naked, staring at the closed door as if trying to understand what had just happened. Baelor, still only half dressed, slowly turned his head toward his brother.

They stared at one another for a moment.

Maekar exhaled.

“Well,” he muttered.

Baelor said nothing.

Eventually Maekar bent down, grabbing his discarded clothes from the floor and pulling them on with slow, tired movements. Baelor did the same, fastening his breeches with deliberate calm.

Neither of them spoke as they left the room.

A fire burned low in the hearth, casting warm orange light across the stone walls. Baelor lowered himself into one of the chairs near the fireplace, while Maekar remained standing for a moment before dropping heavily into the one opposite him.

For a while, neither brother spoke.

“I can’t wait to be healed,” Baelor started, causing Maekar’s eyes to shift from the flames toward him. “Then I’ll be able to fuck her properly.”

“Am I not living up to your expectations?” Maekar muttered, his voice lacking any sign that he actually expected Baelor to answer the question.

Maekar expected Baelor to brush the comment aside.

Instead, Baelor actually considered the question.

The firelight flickered across his face as he leaned back slightly in the chair, one ankle resting on his knee.

“You are,” he said after a moment. “Remarkably so.”

Maekar snorted softly.

“High praise.”

“It is not meant as praise,” Baelor replied calmly.

Maekar’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying his brother.

“Then what is it meant to be?”

Baelor’s gaze drifted back to the fire.

“An observation.”

Silence settled between them again, heavier this time.

Maekar rubbed the back of his neck, exhaustion still clinging to his limbs. For a moment he thought the conversation might end there.

Then Baelor spoke again.

“You care for her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Maekar looked up sharply.

“That’s not—”

He stopped himself.

Baelor didn’t even turn his head, but Maekar knew that calm expression was still there.

“You do not need to deny it,” Baelor continued mildly. “I have eyes.”

Maekar leaned back in his chair with a frustrated sigh.

“This whole situation is strange,” he muttered.

“Yes.”

“And you’re far too calm about it.”

Baelor finally looked at him.

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Maekar said flatly. “Your wife and your brother—”

“My wife,” Baelor interrupted gently, “is happy.”

Maekar went quiet.

Baelor watched the flames for a moment before continuing.

“I have spent most of my life ensuring that those around me are content,” he said. “It is not a difficult thing to recognize when it happens.”

Maekar had no response to that.

The fire crackled softly between them.

After a moment, Baelor spoke again.

“You did not answer my observation.”

Maekar glanced up.

“Which one?”

Baelor’s eyes met his.

“You care for her.”

This time, Maekar didn’t answer right away.

He leaned forward again, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the fire as if the answer might be hidden somewhere in the shifting flames.

Finally, he exhaled.

“She’s easy to care for,” he muttered.

Baelor hummed softly, the sound neither agreement nor disagreement.

“That is not what I asked.”

Maekar’s jaw tightened.

“You asked if I care for her. Of course I do. I’m not some brute who beds a woman and feels nothing afterward.”

Baelor tilted his head slightly.

“I never said you were.”

Maekar shot him a look.

“You didn’t have to.”

Baelor remained silent for a moment, studying his brother.

“You kiss her,” he said eventually.

Maekar frowned.

“And?”

“You kiss her when you think i am not watching.”

That made Maekar pause.

Baelor continued calmly.

“You brush her hair from her face. You look at her as though she might disappear if you blink too long.”

Maekar leaned back in his chair, clearly irritated now.

“You’ve been paying far too much attention.”

“I tend to,” Baelor said mildly.

Another stretch of silence passed between them.

Then Maekar rubbed a hand over his face.

“You’re her husband,” he said finally. “Not me.”

Baelor’s expression didn’t change.

“Yes.”

“So why are you talking like this?”

Baelor glanced back at the fire.

“Because arrangements have a way of changing people.”

Maekar didn’t like the sound of that.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Baelor looked at him again, his gaze steady.

“It means,” he said calmly, “that what began as convenience may not remain that way forever.”

Maekar let out a short laugh, though there was little humor in it.

“You’re the one who made the arrangement.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re worried about it?”

Baelor considered that.

“No.”

Maekar frowned.

“Then what?”

Baelor folded his hands loosely in his lap.

“I am simply wondering,” he said, “how long it will take before you realize it yourself.”

Maekar’s eyes narrowed.

“Realize what?”

Baelor’s faint smile returned.

“That she cares for you too.”

Maker opened his mouth to deny it but Baleor was quicker.

“And that I don't mind.”

Maekar’s brows drew together. 

“You don’t mind,” he repeated slowly.

Baelor shook his head once.

“No.”

Maekar stared at him for a moment, searching his brother’s face as if expecting the real answer to appear a second later.

“That makes no sense.”

Baelor’s faint smile remained.

“Many things make sense once you stop insisting they must look a certain way.”

Maekar leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re telling me you’re perfectly content watching your wife fall for your brother.”

Baelor didn’t react to the bluntness of the statement. Instead, he looked back toward the fire.

“I am telling you that I see what is happening,” he said calmly. “And that I do not find it unpleasant.”

Maekar scoffed softly.

“That is not a normal response.”

Baelor turned his head slightly toward him again.

“She is falling for you,” he said simply. “Yet she does not love me any less.”

Maekar went still.

Baelor’s voice remained even.

“So I do not see why I should be angry about it.”

The words settled in the room between them.

For a while neither brother spoke.

The fire cracked softly in the hearth, sending small sparks dancing up the chimney. Maekar stared into the flames, his jaw tight, clearly turning the thought over in his mind. Baelor, meanwhile, seemed perfectly at ease, his hands resting loosely on the arms of his chair.

“Perhaps when I am healed, you can take my spot.”

Baelor turned to look at Maekar, and upon seeing his brother’s confused expression, he continued, “In the chair. Watching.”

Maekar glanced toward the corridor, thoughtful now rather than irritated.

The fire cracked softly again.

After a moment, he muttered,

“Gods help us if she hears you say that.”

Baelor smiled.

“Why?”

Maekar sighed.

“Because she’ll start getting ideas.”

Baelor’s smile deepened slightly.

“Would that be so terrible?” he asked, turning to look at Maekar.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Their eyes met across the firelight, and something passed silently between them—an understanding neither felt the need to voice.

Maekar held his brother’s gaze for another second before looking back toward the flames.

“No,” he muttered after a moment. “I suppose not.”

And for the first time that night, neither of them seemed particularly troubled by what tomorrow might bring.

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Part 4

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bonds of Blood Pt.2

Baelor X Wife!Reader, Maekar X Fem!Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, smut, penetration (P in V), forbidden desire, longing, recovery from injury, explicit sexual content, infidelity themes (I do not condone), voyeurism, emotional distress, morally messy dynamics, not proofread, canon divergence (let’s pretend the other brothers weren’t available), and possible inaccuracies (me not knowing the geography of GOT).

Word Count: 4.7k

Sumarry: When Maekar’s strike leaves Baelor gravely injured, the aftermath reveals more than just the love you bear for his brother.

Part 1 Part 3

It was not easy taking care of a hurt prince. Due to Baelor’s condition, the maesters agreed that it was best for him to stay put for a while, so the journey to King’s Landing would not be possible—at least not for you and him.

Lord Ashford had been kind enough to allow you to remain beneath his roof. Not like he had much of a choice—it was expected of him, after all—but you were still glad for him to do it.

It wasn’t that you were happy to remain in Ashford. Without the tourney, the town itself was rather boring, but you would be lying if you said you did not enjoy the thought of being away with Baelor for a while. The circumstances were horrible, of course, but you were trying to find a silver lining.

Being away with your husband for a month without prying eyes sure seemed like a good silver lining.

For you, maybe.

Not so much for Maekar.

Due to his brother’s lack of ability to travel, Maekar would have to step up. Baelor was the king’s Hand, after all, and the king still very much needed guidance. So even though Baelor was not up for it, someone had to be there to give the king the help he required. And of course, as Baleor's closest brother, Maekar was the one people expected to step in in the king’s time of need.

He did it without much desire, but he did do it.

When he had bound for King’s Landing, you had been there to see him off.

Once all of his sons were accounted for, he made his way to you, dismounting from his horse so that he could be at your eye level. 

“Seems like everything is in order.”

“As much order as one could expect,” Maekar said, his eyes moving around, no doubt trying to make sure none of his sons were attempting to escape him.

You grabbed onto his hand, pulling his attention back to you. When his eyes met yours, you gave him a soft smile.

“I hope you have a good journey. We will be there soon.”

Maekar could not get himself to answer with words, so he simply nodded.

Behind him, someone called out that they were about to depart. You let go of his hand, cupping your hands together in front of your dress so as to allow him to get back on his horse.

“Goodbye,” you said softly.

Maekar hesitated for a second, his head moving to look at his horse as if deciding something. Then, before he could stop himself, he turned to face you, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder.

Your eyes widened slightly at the action, your gaze resting on Maekar’s face.

“I—” He stopped himself. “We will miss you.”

And then, before you could even fully internalize what he said, he was turning around and mounting his horse.

You watched him speed off alongside the carriage, a tiny smile appearing on your features as you watched him go. You wrapped your arms around your body, hugging yourself for a while as you watched your family depart.

It was only when they were out of sight that you allowed yourself to go back inside.

It had been a hard month. 

It was not easy to see someone you love in pain, so the sight of Baelor lying on his bed day after day tugged at your heartstrings.

You did your best to entertain him, oftentimes staying with him from the early mornings to the late hours of the night. The maesters had advised you that it was best to leave him to sleep on his own—he needed his rest. Although you knew the maesters were not thinking of anything untoward, the thought of sleeping alone in a cold bed in a place you could not call home was dreadful.

But you did it, because you understood that even Baelor needed his moments of rest.

The first night had been hard. You had practically stayed up the whole evening, your eyes darting to the door, half expecting someone to barge in and tell you that he was gone—that in leaving him, he had died.

It did not happen.

But the fear was still there.

And then one day, as you had risen from your seat beside his bed, placing a soft kiss on his cheek and whispering good night, Baelor’s hand had gripped yours—stronger than it had in the past days.

It surprised you, the strength he held you with, but it was also a good sign. It meant he was recovering well.

“Is everything okay, my love?”

“Stay with me.”

“Baelor, I cannot. I do want to, but the maester said—”

“Fuck what the maesters said.”

“Baelor!” you whisper-shouted, unused to your husband speaking in such a manner. If anything, he sounded like his brother.

“I wish to sleep with my wife beside me,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing your hand. “I am certain that having you with me will not hinder my healing. If anything, your presence will make me heal faster.”

You grinned at him.

Baelor did always know just what to say to get you to do what he wanted.

You let out a soft sigh, your eyes moving toward the door before returning to him.

“Very well.”

Baelor smiled, glad to be getting his wish.

You moved to the other side of the bed, climbing carefully onto it before settling down beside him.

“You need not stay so far,” Baelor whispered. “You will not harm me.”

“Are you quite certain?” The last thing you wanted was to make him worse.

His hand found yours, fingers threading between your own.

“You could never,” he muttered, causing your heart to ache at the certainty in his voice.

You laid your head against his chest, your ear pressed over his heart.

And it was to the sound of his heartbeat—the steady rhythm of life flowing through him—that you finally fell asleep.

Maekar had spent the better part of his morning pacing. You were meant to be arriving in the afternoon, and he had not been able to relax since the message had been given to him.

He longed to be rid of his duties. Longed to not have to sit in on meetings and be expected to be on his very best behavior. His scowl was apparently not something people rejoiced in seeing.

He longed to see how Baelor was doing.

But most of all, he longed for you.

He had missed you in a way he did not know he was capable of. You had not been close before—he had barely interacted with you. With you residing at the Red Keep and him spending most of his days at Summerhall, there had never been a reason for your paths to cross.

So he had never grown close to you.

But after all that had happened at Ashford, he had formed a sort of… attachment to you.

As soon as your eyes fell on the Red Keep in the distance, you could barely contain your excitement. It felt good to be home.

You opened your mouth to share your excitement with your husband, only to realize that his eyes were closed. The journey had tired him, so you were not surprised to find Baelor napping. If anything, the sight made a smile grow across your face.

You had expected to be greeted by the workers, perhaps even to walk in on the boys practicing their sparring.

What you had not expected was the sight of Maekar standing before the doors of the Red Keep, looking like an anxious child awaiting his mother.

The sight caused you as much surprise as it did laughter, and it was the sound of that laughter that pulled Baelor out of his slumber just in time.

“Whatever are you giggling about?”

The sound of his voice startled you, causing your laughter to cease momentarily before beginning again.

“Your brother,” you said simply, gazing out the carriage window.

Baelor leaned forward slightly so that he too could look outside. A grin appeared on his face as his eyes found Maekar.

Despite the scowl on his brother’s face, it was clear that your arrival had been something he was eagerly awaiting.

As soon as you stepped out of the carriage, people were rushing toward you, fussing over Baelor and making sure that he was all right. It was a bit overwhelming, but you were glad to have the support of others to help take care of your husband. So when one of the maesters recommended that he retire to his chambers after the journey, you simply nodded and allowed the guards to accompany him inside.

As soon as you saw his back retreating into the Red Keep, you let out a sigh you did not know you had been holding. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in.

It was only then that you realized just how tired you had been.

A month away had had its upsides, but it felt good to be back where you belonged.

“I trust the journey went well.”

Your eyes opened at the sound of his voice, and you were stunned to see that Maekar was still standing in the same spot he had been when you had watched him through your carriage window. You had expected him to fuss over his brother much like everyone else—so much so that you had not even realized he had not been accompanying him inside.

“Yes. I cannot say it was pleasant, but it was… as I expected it would be, I guess.”

“I am sure you must be exhausted. The journey takes a toll on everyone, not only on those who are injured.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile, glad to see that even though everyone else's eyes were focused on Baelor, Maekar had made it his job to also check on you.

“You are quite right. I have been so worried about him I barely even realized that—”

You stopped talking, shaking your head softly.

“Well, anyway, it is good to be back. I am glad to have… support.”

Your eyes lingered on him a moment as you said the last word, trying to convey that you were glad to have his attention.

Maekar took a step forward, his hand reaching out. You expected him to touch your shoulder as he had when he had departed from Ashford, but instead he reached for your hand, sandwiching it between both of his.

Your eyes darted down to where he held you before moving back to his face.

“I am glad you are here.”

The words shocked you so deeply that you were unable to conceal the feeling. You were sure your face showed just how surprised you were—not only at what he said, but at the way it had come from his mouth. Not in his usual rough manner of speaking, but in a softer, kinder tone that you would be lying if you said did not leave you breathless.

And when his thumb gently caressed your palm, you were reminded that tiredness was not the only thing you had felt this past month.

Your mouth opened to say something, though nothing came out. And when Maekar finally let go of your hand, the only thing you managed to say was—

“I think I should take a bath.”

You did not so much as wait for him to nod before you were turning around, your hands gripping your skirts to lift them as you hurried into the Red Keep.

There was some sort of discussion happening at the table. You could hear the voices, and you understood that there was talk of something important, but you could not bring yourself to focus—not when his hands were resting there on the table, his fingers playing idly with his goblet of wine.

The bath had not helped.

Yes, it felt good to be clean, and you were sure you deserved it, but that had not been the only reason you had decided to take it. You needed to cool down, not only in body but also in mind.

It had been a month since Baelor had been debilitated by his injuries—a month since the two of you had gone through your usual… activities. And you had been so consumed with worry that he might one day end up dead that you had not truly realized just how the lack of such activities was affecting you until Maekar’s warm hands had caressed yours.

It was wrong. You knew it was wrong.

But you could not help it.

Baelor had always been a passionate lover. It had been said by some that the two of you were much like jackrabbits, and the analogy had never bothered you. You did not care if people knew that you and your husband were intimate with each other—is that not what wives and husbands are meant to do?

It also did not help that the two of you were not very discreet. You were sure the rumors had come from someone inside the Red Keep who had seen you in the heat of the moment one way or another. The rumors were not lies, either, so you could not truly find yourself bothered by them. At least people were not spreading misinformation.

Your hand moved up to your mouth, nibbling softly at your nails, your eyes continuing to stare at him. It was not very ladylike, but you could not find it in yourself to care enough to stop.

You were doing a good job of keeping yourself under control.

But then Maekar flexed his hand ever so slightly, the ring he wore flickering in the light—and you were not able to contain yourself any longer.

You stood up from your chair, the wood scraping roughly against the stone floor below, causing many people to turn their attention toward you.

You looked at their startled expressions, taking a moment to clear your throat before declaring,

“I think I should retire. I am rather tired after our long journey.”

You walked over to the edge of the table, placing a soft kiss on Baelor’s cheek before making your way to your room.

Your private room.

Not the one you shared with Baelor.

You did not want to risk him walking in.

As soon as the door closed behind you, you began pacing. Your skin felt hot, your breath coming in short bursts. The desire that seemed to seep through your body was the worst you had ever felt it.

You were so incredibly horny.

You could, of course, take care of yourself. When Baelor went away for days, it was usually what you did. But the truth was, you were not sure that would be enough this time.

You let out a grunt of annoyance, fanning yourself desperately with your hands as you tried to cool down. But no matter how much you tried to think of anything else, Maekar's hands kept making their way into your mind.

Gods how you wished to have his hands on you.

You shook your head roughly, trying to will the image away.

Your hands clawed at your clothes, and although you could remove them, you did not try to. You feared what would happen if you did.

There had been a knock on the door, but you had been so consumed by the fire that seemed to rage through your blood that you had not heard it. It was only when the door opened, the sound of it softly creaking, that you realized you were no longer alone.

Maekar had been worried about you. It was not like you to be so quiet. You were always the chatterbox at dinner, and although he was not particularly interested in the discussion that had been taking place, it seemed unnatural for you not to at least pitch in.

Then, when you had suddenly declared that you wished to retire and hurried away from the dinner table, he had assumed something was wrong.

He did not know what exactly.

But it was not as if his brother was in any state to take care of whatever was troubling you. Otherwise, he was sure you would have told Baelor.

So it was up to him to check on you and make sure everything was all right.

He had expected you to be feeling ill. Perhaps you had retired to your chambers because your head hurt, or you were tired from the journey. Maybe the sudden attention after a month away from the chaos of the family had simply been too much.

What he had not expected was the flushed sight that stood before him.

He entered the room quickly, closing the door behind him so that no one else could see you in the state you were currently in.

Your eyes widened when you saw him, and you began pacing around the room, your hands clawing at yourself in a way that was almost concerning.

“Are you—are you all right? Is something the matter? Do you—”

His eyes tracked your movements as you stumbled from one corner of the room to the next. He was not even sure you were listening to him, but he did not know what else to do but ask.

“My lady, is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

You shook your head.

So you were listening to him.

“Something clearly is the matter. Why do you not just let me—”

“You cannot help!” you shouted suddenly, stopping your pacing.

He stared at you with wide eyes.

“You cannot,” you whispered more softly.

Maekar’s gaze  was drawn to the way your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared at him.

“As much as I want you to… you cannot. We cannot.”

Maekar’s brows furrowed at your words.

Then it was as if something sparked inside his mind—as if suddenly all the signs you had been displaying made sense.

It was not some mysterious illness. It was not something plaguing your mind.

It was simply desire.

How had he not realized until now?

Had it been this obvious the entire time? Or was it that now, standing before you alone in a room, he had finally allowed himself to see it?

“You…” he started, but forced himself to stop and think before continuing.

“How long has it been?”

Your brows furrowed, and despair crossed your face as you realized that he understood what was going on.

“A month,” you whispered, a bit ashamed.

“Of course,” he answered, his eyes downcast.

Because it was obvious. Of course you had not been with anyone in a month. With Baelor battling between life and death, he was sure you had had other things on your mind.

“I did not really even realize,” you continued quietly. “I have been so preoccupied with everything else. And it was only when you—”

Maekar’s head lifted at that, his eyes boring into yours.

“When I…?” he asked.

“When you touched me.”

And it was that which snapped the last shred of control Maekar had been holding on to all this time.

In two strides he was before you, his hand rising to cup your throat as he tilted your head up so that you were forced to look at him. Your eyes were dark with desire, and when his lips crashed into yours, you were certain you were not the only one who seemed to be affected by the feeling.

You should have pulled away.

You knew that.

But instead your fingers curled into the front of his tunic, gripping the fabric as though you needed something to steady yourself against the rush of heat that flooded through you.

Maekar broke the kiss first, though he did not move far. His forehead hovered close to yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“This is a mistake,” he muttered quietly, though there was little conviction in the words.

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Neither of you moved.

Your hands were still clutching his tunic, and his thumb had begun tracing slow circles against the side of your neck without either of you seeming to realize it. Your eyes searched his face, as if hoping to find some reason to stop, some reminder strong enough to break whatever strange spell had settled between you.

“You should go,” you said softly.

Maekar let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“Yes,” he agreed.

But his hand did not leave your throat.

And neither of you made any move toward the door.

Your breaths mingled as you both remained frozen in place.

“I do not want you to,” you muttered.

“What?” Maekar asked.

“I do not want you to go,” you repeated, your voice breathless.

Maekar let out a groan. As much as he knew he should leave, as much as he knew you were only longing for something and that your mind was not fully clear—or else you would not be saying things like that—he could not find it in himself to let you go.

His fingers twitched against your throat as he leaned his head closer to yours, your noses now touching. And when you did not pull away, he allowed his lips to press against yours again.

You moaned softly against his mouth, the sound shooting through him in a way he had not expected.

The kiss deepened quickly, neither of you bothering with the careful restraint that had existed only moments before. Your fingers slipped from his shoulders into his hair, holding him there as though you feared he might disappear.

Maekar pulled back softly—not to stop, but to be able to look you in the eyes as he spoke.

“Get on the bed,” he whispered, his voice low.

You were quick to do as he asked, practically running to the bed before sitting at the edge. Maekar’s hands began to move against his clothes, his gaze catching on the way you bit your lip as he made his way toward you.

Your hands moved up to his chest, fingers sinking into the bare skin that was now visible.

Maekar’s hands found the edge of your dress, tugging it upward, his hand slowly caressing your skin as he lifted the fabric. His eyes never left yours as he moved to kneel before you, but you grabbed at his shoulder, making him stop.

He froze for a moment, worried that you had come to your senses.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to. Seven hells, I want you so bad it’s killing me, but I… I feel as if I’m starving, and I don’t simply want a taste. I want the whole meal.”

Maekar’s brows furrowed at your words, clearly confused.

You rolled your eyes softly.

“I want your cock, Maekar,” you said simply.

Maekar’s eyes widened a fraction before he let out a laugh.

“No wonder you two were always at it. You are rather blunt.”

You smiled softly.

Maekar nodded at you. You held onto your skirts so that he could undo his trousers.

And when he finally revealed himself to you, his dick standing proud before you, you could not help but whine. As soon as he stepped forward, your hand shot out to pull him toward you. You widened your legs, allowing him to slot himself between them.

Maekar hesitated for a moment, his eyes trailing down to your wet core.

“Maekar, please.”

That was enough to make him act. He grabbed onto his dick, lining it  up before pushing himself inside you. You clawed at his back as he entered, your body lifting off the mattress at the feeling.

He did not even wait for you to grow accustomed to him before he started moving. His thrusts were rough and demanding, your body shifting against the sheets as he continued to piston into you. One of his hands moved to hold your leg higher so that he could reach deeper, and you keened.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on as though the moment itself might slip away if you loosened your grip. The two of you moved together in a rhythm that felt both frantic and inevitable. The wet sound that filled the room with every thrust would have been shameful if both of you had not been so consumed by pleasure. Makers grunts mixed with your moans forming a symphony of sounds that were like music to your ears. You could feel the pleasure building. After so many days without it the feeling was growing quickly.

“Maekar faster. Please go faster.”

He listened, his body straightening so that he could stand to his full height before he grabbed onto your hips and began to move quicker. Your hands clawed at the sheets, your mouth opening in a silent moan.

You were so close, and by the way Maekar twitched inside you, he was not far off himself.

And then, just as the thread was about to break, you heard the door creak open.

You both froze, your heads snapping toward the door, eyes full of fear. You did not know who to expect, and no matter who it was, the sight would be mortifying enough.

But nothing could have prepared you.

Baelor stood at the door, his face lacking any emotion.

You and Maekar did not move, both of you like statues on the bed. The shock was far too great.  You had not even managed to think of what to possibly say. You felt Maekar beginning to pull away, but just as he started to move, a voice broke through the silence.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Baelor said, his hand moving to close the door behind him.

Your eyes followed him as his long legs carried him to a nearby seat. He settled into it as if preparing for a show.

Neither you nor Maekar took your eyes off him.

“Well,” he said, “go on.”

Maekar’s gaze moved to you, the uncertainty clear in his eyes. But even with that uncertainty, you could still feel him twitch inside you.

Your eyes darted back to Baelor, your gaze moving over his face as you tried to find some sort of emotion.

Rage. Disappointment. Anything, really.

But when his gaze met yours, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Your lips parted softly in surprise, and when he gave you a small nod, your body could not help but relax.

You turned your attention back to Maekar, who was still staring at you.

“Keep going,” you whispered.

Maekar hesitated for a second before he began moving again. It was not hard to fall back into the rhythm, your bodies practically begged for each other. And there was something about knowing Baelor was there, silently watching it happen, that took away the hesitation you had been carrying.

Without even realizing it, your body began moving against Maekar’s as if to put on some sort of show. You didn’t know if it was your movements and newfound confidence or if it was Baelor’s eyes on you that caused Maekar to lose himself in it, but before long the coil in your stomach was close to snapping once again.

Your nails clawed at Maekar’s back, your moans growing higher pitched until finally the tension broke. You cried out, your body going limp against the bed.

Maekar was right behind you. With one final thrust, his body locked up, his release following close after yours. His body collapsed onto yours, both of you struggling to breathe.

Maekar shifted his head, allowing him to place a kiss on your cheek. It was an unexpected gesture, but a welcome one.

And then, as if remembering there was someone else in the room, Maekar lifted his body off yours slightly, his head turning to where Baelor sat.

Your head moved against the sheets so you could look at your husband as well.

Baelor’s eyes moved from Maekar’s face to yours, a smile gracing his features as he took in your still blissed-out expression. You could not help but return the smile.

“It seems we have a lot to talk about,” Baelor said, his gaze focusing on his brother now.

The way he said it—so nonchalant, so lacking any aggression—made hope flutter in your chest. Maybe this could be a civilized conversation. Maybe you could all come to some sort of understanding.

“Would you kindly take your cock out of my wife before we start?”

Maekar grimaced at the words.

Perhaps this would not be such a calm conversation after all.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bonds of Blood Pt. 1

Baelor X Wife!Reader

Warnings: non-canon (he lives y’all), injury, head trauma, canon-typical violence, some angst (nothing too bad), emotional distress, some fighting, Maekar x Reader (there’s a bit of a vibe there guys), no use of y/n, happy ending

Word Count: 3.1k

Sumarry:When Maekar’s strike leaves Baelor gravely injured, the aftermath reveals more than just the love you bear for his brother.

a/n: Honestly, I don’t even know what this is. I just started writing and somehow ended up here 🤷‍♀️

Part 2

Your eyes were glued to the trial, much like everyone else’s. Yet there was something different in the way you watched. While others rooted for one side or another, the only thought running through your mind was for them both to make it out alive.

Why had the two fools chosen to fight on opposite sides?

You restrained yourself from biting your nails. It would not do for the wife of a prince to look so nervous before so many people. Or perhaps it would. It would certainly show the people how much you cared for your husband. But you had never needed theatrics to prove that. The expression on your face made it perfectly clear—you loved him, for you looked utterly terrified at the thought of losing him.

It was not hard to find them in the mud. Both tall, both armored, both bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen upon their chests. Both fighting with everything they had to turn the trial in their side’s favor.

And yet the idiots were fighting each other.

They could have chosen anyone else, but the fools had gone for their own blood. Perhaps because neither wanted their brother at the mercy of another man. A foolish thought, but one you could understand.

What you could not understand was how hard they seemed to be trying to kill each other.

You forced yourself to remain seated, heart beating wildly in your chest as you watched the two Targaryen brothers. But you were not sure your silence would last long.

“Maekar!”

Your body rose before you could stop yourself, shouting his name and drawing the attention of those nearby. You did not care about them. You only hoped he would hear you.

Hear you and understand that you were not calling out in worry for him—but in anger. He had struck Baelor far too hard, and you loathed him for it. He was not to hit Baelor with such force again. That was what you wished your shout would convey.

Unfortunately, the only thing it did was cause his head to snap in your direction. His helm lifted slightly as he looked toward you—though you doubted he could truly see you through it from where you stood.

That brief moment of distraction was enough.

Baelor struck.

Your hands flew to cover your mouth as your husband launched himself at his brother, sending him crashing into the mud. Perhaps you should have been glad—your husband had the upper hand, at least for the moment—but you could find no joy in it when they were fighting each other.

You only wanted it to end.

Just as time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl, your attention was pulled away by the cry of Aerion yielding.

You rushed down onto the trial grounds as fast as your legs could carry you, ignoring the protests of the Kingsguard as you pushed through the crowd.

Your eyes quickly found Maekar, his white-silver hair impossible to miss.

You hurried toward him, barely sparing the maester tending his wounds a glance.

“Where is he?”

“Who?—Ah, seven hells, be careful!” Maekar grumbled as the maester adjusted something, muttering a quiet apology.

“Baelor, Maekar. Where is my husband?”

“Off speaking with the hedge knight, I presume.”

“Where?”

Maekar hissed softly as the maester continued his work.

You grabbed his face, forcing his eyes to meet yours, ignoring both his groan and the maester’s protests.

“Where?” you demanded through gritted teeth.

Maekar vaguely pointed in a direction, and your head had barely turned before you were already moving.

You found Baelor Targaryen standing before Ser Duncanl, speaking quietly. His back was to you as the young Fossoway limped behind him, reaching to remove Baelor’s helmet.

“Don’t!”

Your shriek startled all four men.

You hurried toward them, eyes wide with worry. Raymun stepped aside as you approached, allowing you to come close. Your hand rested on Baelor’s shoulder as you stepped into his line of sight.

“My love,” he murmured, a soft smile appearing when he saw you. “Was that you shouting just now?”

Your eyes were full of concern as you met his gaze. Your hand lifted, moving to cup what would have been his cheek, only to stop when you realized the helm would not allow you to touch his skin.

Baelor’s eyes flicked to your slightly raised hand, understanding instantly what you had meant to do.

“Just let me get the helm off, my love,” he said simply, his voice soft with affection. “Then I will hold you properly.”

His hands moved to remove the helmet himself, but you were quicker. You grabbed both of his hands, holding them firmly in yours. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you clutched at them almost frantically.

Baelor’s brow furrowed beneath the metal, confused as to why you would not allow him to remove the constricting piece from his head.

What he did not know was that as you had made your way toward him, you had seen the dent in the steel. Your mind had raced, trying to remember what could have caused such damage.

The realization had struck you almost immediately.

Maekar’s mace.

It had been when you shouted his name that the blow must have landed. That was why you had been so furious with him.

You did not know the full extent of the damage the strike might have caused, but you knew one thing—you would not allow Baelor to do anything that might make the injury worse.

He would not remove that helm. Not without a maester beside him. And even then, only if you were certain he would be alright.

“My love,” Baelor called again, gently tugging his hands against yours.

You did not answer him, only shaking your head softly as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

“Dear, why are you crying? I’m—”

“There’s a dent, Baelor,” you whispered. “A large one.”

You forced yourself to take a slow breath.

“I don’t… I’m not sure if it’s—if it could be…” You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “You can’t remove it without a maester. I won’t let you.”

“There is one tending to Prince Maekar.” Dunk’s voice pulled your attention toward him. “M’lord told us himself.”

You gave Dunk a small nod, as if remembering that yes, there was indeed a maester caring for Maekar. As if you had not just come from speaking to him moments ago and had simply been so focused on reaching your husband that you had forgotten the maester would be responsible for tending to both Targaryen brothers.

“Yes, well then that is where I’ll take him.”

You looked at the three men around you.

“Thank you, Sers.”

They bowed their heads as you moved to Baelor’s side, taking hold of his arm and carefully guiding him toward where you had last seen Maekar.

Unfortunately for you, you were right.

The dent had been worse than you feared.

You stood before the closed door of the small chamber where the maesters worked, your hands clasped so tightly together your knuckles had turned white. From inside came the faint murmur of voices, the clatter of metal, the occasional command spoken too quietly for you to make out.

Every sound made your heart leap into your throat.

Was he alive?

Were they helping him?

Or were they only trying to decide how to tell you that your husband was dead?

You stared at the door as if willing it to open.

Footsteps sounded behind you.

You knew who it was before he spoke.

“Have they said anything?”

The voice of Maekar was lower than usual, stripped of its usual hardness.

You turned on him instantly. Your hands struck his chest before you could stop yourself, the blows weak but furious. Maekar did not move at first, letting you hit him as though he deserved it. 

“You almost took him from me!” you cried, striking him again. “He is mine! Do you hear me? He is mine! You cannot take him from me—I will not let you!”

Maekar’s hand shot out, catching your wrist mid-strike. His grip was firm as he forced your arm down, silver hair falling loose around his face as he glared at you.

“He is my brother!” he shouted back. “He was mine long before he was ever yours!”

The words struck like another blow.

For a moment the two of you simply stared at each other.

His hand still held your wrist.

our chest rose and fell rapidly with anger and panic. His jaw was tight, his eyes blazing—but there was something else in them too. Something you were certain was reflected on your own face as you continued to glare at him.

Fear.

Your face twitched, the mask of anger breaking to reveal something far more vulnerable. Your breath caught in your throat, and when you finally managed to release it, it came out as a sob.

Your body lurched forward.

You expected Maekar to release your wrist, to push you away and leave you to cry alone.

Instead, he surprised you.

Your body collided with his chest as he pulled you forward. Your face buried itself in his tunic as your sobs broke free. Maekar’s hand moved to the back of your head, stroking your hair as he shushed you softly.

Your fingers clawed at his clothes, desperate to draw a deep breath but unable to do so through the force of your crying.

“H-he can’t die, Maekar—if—what will I do? I can’t live without him,” you hiccupped against him.

Maekar’s grip tightened, his brows furrowing at your words.

“He won’t die. He is strong. He will be fine,” Maekar whispered.

But the words were not meant to soothe you.

They were meant to reassure himself.

Because much like you, he did not know how he would go on if Baelor was gone. How could he live knowing it had been his own hand that struck down the man who had shown him more love than anyone else in the world?

You did not know how long the two of you waited.

At some point the frantic edge of your sobbing faded into quiet sniffles, then into silence. The exhaustion from the day—the fight, the fear, the crying—settled heavily over you.

There was nothing left to say.

Your eyes began to close despite your efforts to keep them open. Your head slowly tipped sideways until it rested against Maekar’s shoulder.

You did not even realize you had fallen asleep.

The sound of the door opening woke you.

Your eyes snapped open immediately, heart leaping into your throat. For a moment you were disoriented, your cheek still pressed against Maekar’s shoulder, but the sight of the open doorway snapped everything back into place.

“Baelor.”

You were on your feet before anyone could say a word.

The maesters had barely stepped aside before you were already moving past them, rushing into the chamber.

Behind you, Maekar remained where he stood.

One of the maesters lingered in the doorway, his expression grave.

“My prince,” the old man said quietly.

Maekar turned his head toward him.

“The blow was… severe,” the maester continued carefully. “We have done all that we can for him. The swelling of the head is dangerous.”

Maekar’s jaw tightened.

“Will he live?” he asked bluntly.

The maester hesitated.

“We cannot say. If he survives the night, his chances will improve. But for now…” The man lowered his voice. “Now it is in the hands of the gods.”

For a moment Maekar said nothing.

Then he gave a short nod.

“Thank you,” he said.

He stepped past the maester and entered the room.

Inside, the chamber was dim and quiet.

You were already at the bedside.

Baelor lay motionless on the bed, his head wrapped in clean white bandages where the dented helm had been removed. His usually proud face looked pale against the pillows. You sat beside him, clutching his hand tightly in both of yours as if afraid that letting go might cause him to slip away. 

“I am here, my love,” you whispered, your voice raw from crying. “I am here.”

Maekar watched as you lifted Baelor’s hand to your lips, placing a soft kiss against his palm. Baelor’s expression did not shift at the gesture, and it was clear from the look on your face that his lack of movement frightened you.

“He’s so cold.”

Your eyes flicked up to Maekar as you said it, the concern plain on your face.

“The maesters said it is up to the gods now,” he replied quietly, avoiding your gaze as much as he could. He could not bear to look at your grief-stricken expression any longer.

Baelor was alive—but Maekar did not know how long that would last.

It was possible he would die during the night. And then Maekar would have to be the one to hold you back as you thrashed and screamed for your husband.

He did not want to do that.

But he would.

Gods, please let that time never come.

You had already turned your attention back to Baelor, your eyes fixed on his face—or at least the parts that could still be seen beneath the bandages.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Maekar said, already stepping toward the door. “I’m sure you—”

“Stay.”

Your voice stopped him.

You rose slightly from your seat, and Maekar looked at you in surprise. After your earlier outburst, he had been certain you would not want him anywhere near his brother.

After all, it was because of him that Baelor lay in this state.

“I do not wish to be alone if—” You stopped yourself, drawing in a steady breath, your gaze hardening with determination. “I do not wish to be alone.”

Maekar hesitated only a moment before walking back toward you. 

He settled beside you, his eyes finally moving to take a proper look at his brother. Shame flickered across his face. But it quickly shifted into surprise when your hand reached out and grasped his.

You had not taken your gaze from Baelor.

Maekar stared at you for a moment before glancing down at your joined hands. Slowly, he adjusted his grip, allowing your fingers to weave between his. You gave his hand a small squeeze.

And the two of you settled into silence, your eyes never leaving Baelor.

A sharp cry shattered the quiet.

Maekar jolted awake the morning light shining through the room as he was pulled out of slumber.

For one terrible moment his heart dropped into his stomach. Your voice had been full of panic, and his mind leapt instantly to the worst possible thought.

Baelor was dead.

He pushed himself upright, dread already clawing its way through his chest.

But then he saw you.

You were leaning over the bed, eyes wide with disbelief rather than grief.

“My love,” you breathed.

Maekar’s gaze snapped to his brother.

Baelor’s eyes were open.

They moved slowly, unfocused at first, before settling on your face. Then they shifted, drifting past you until they found Maekar standing behind you.

Baelor let out a faint groan.

“My love, I’m here,” you said quickly, squeezing his hand. “I’m here. We’re both here.”

Baelor’s brow twitched slightly as if he were trying to understand. His lips parted, clearly attempting to speak, but the effort only drew another weak groan from him.

“No—no, don’t,” you said immediately, panic and relief tangling in your voice. “Don’t try to speak. I will fetch the maester.”

You pressed a hurried kiss to his hand before rushing from the room.

The door shut behind you.

Silence settled over the chamber.

For a moment neither brother moved.

Then Maekar slowly lowered himself into the chair beside the bed.

He reached out and took Baelor’s hand, gripping it tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

The words seemed to scrape their way out of his throat.

Baelor’s fingers shifted weakly in his grasp.

Maekar swallowed hard, his voice rough when he spoke again.

“I did not mean—”

Baelor’s hand tightened faintly around his.

It was a weak grip, but it stopped Maekar’s words all the same.

Baelor’s eyes met his.

“…don’t,” Baelor murmured hoarsely.

The effort clearly cost him, his breath uneven as he spoke.

Maekar shook his head slightly, blinking hard.

“Don’t cry,” Baelor managed, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips despite the bandages around his head.

The door opened again before Maekar could answer.

You hurried back inside with the maester at your side.

The maester worked quietly for several minutes, checking the bandages around Baelor’s head while asking him a few gentle questions. You hovered nearby, barely breathing as you watched. After a moment, the maester glanced toward you and Maekar.

“If you would give us a moment.”

You nodded immediately, allowing Maekar to guide you out into the corridor. The door closed softly behind you.

Neither of you spoke while you waited.

It felt far too much like the night before.

After a few minutes the door opened again and the maester stepped out, carefully pulling it shut behind him. You straightened instantly.

“Well?” you asked, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

The old man gave a small, reassuring smile.

“This is a good sign. His mind is clear, and he has woken far sooner than I feared he might. The swelling must still be watched carefully, but if he continues to improve at this pace…” He paused slightly. “Then the prince should recover fully in time.”

“How long?” Maekar asked.

“Months, most likely. But he will live.”

The words seemed to lift a weight from the air itself. You let out a breath you had not realized you were holding.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Maekar inclined his head. “You have our gratitude.”

The maester bowed slightly before taking his leave down the corridor.

For a moment you and Maekar simply stood there.

Alive.

Baelor was alive.

Maekar turned toward you, clearly about to say something.

“Well,” he began quietly, “I am certain he will wish to—”

You cut him off by throwing your arms around him. The hug was tight and sudden, catching him completely off guard.

“Thank you,” you whispered breathlessly, though you were not entirely sure what you were thanking him for.

Perhaps for standing with you through the night. Perhaps simply for sharing the moment.

Before he could respond, you pulled back just enough to press a quick kiss against his cheek. Then you were already hurrying back toward the chamber. The door closed behind you once more.

Maekar remained standing in the corridor. For a long moment he did not move. He could still feel the brief warmth where your lips had touched his cheek.

He was not entirely certain what to make of it.

Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against the spot, as though trying to decide whether it had truly happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Beneath the Elm

Dunk (Ser Duncan the Tall) x Fem!Baratheon!Reader

Warnings: Oral (f receiving), penetration (P in V), unprotected sex (obviously), smut, creampie, lots of cuteness, Dunk being the ultimate gentleman, reader is Lynoel’s baby sister, no use of y/n, cursing, kissing, size difference (because come on, this man is a giant), Lynoel and reader being little menaces (in a good way), porn with plot, sibling rivalry (in a healthy, funny way), take a shot every time i use the word unbefitting 🙃

Word count: 5.8k (Seven hells.)

Your throat burns as you swallow another goblet of wine, hand moving to wipe at your mouth as the maroon liquid slips down the edges of your lips. It might be seen as an unbefitting action for a noble lady by others, but this was your tent and you would do as you pleased.

Plus, anything you did near your brother would be considered noble, given that he was always acting unbefitting of his title enough for the both of you.

Your eyes scan the crowd, smiling as you watch people enjoy themselves. You’re just about to ask for someone to refill your glass when your eyes find him.

It’s a miracle you’ve only seen him just now, his head peeking a shoulder over everyone else’s. You gape, unable to control your lust-filled gaze at the sheer size of him.

“Seven hells,” you mutter.

You force your hand to move, hitting your brother’s arm without taking your eyes from the man you’d just found. Lyonel is far too busy talking to a handsome squire to feel your hand on his arm the first time. But when you hit him again — harder this time — he lets out a yelp, turning to look at you with a scowling gaze.

“Sister, what in the devil are you doing!”

“Look,” you whisper, your eyes still glued to the mystery man.

Lyonel’s head whips around. “Where?”

You roll your eyes, your hand moving to grasp at your brother’s chin. With his beard in your grip, you force his head to move in the direction you want him to look.

“What exactly am I—oh.”

Somehow the small oh that escapes his lips describes exactly how you feel inside.

“Oh indeed, brother dear.”

You both gape in unison for a moment before turning to face each other. Lyonel gives you a look — one you know the meaning of immediately. You begin shaking your head.

“No.”

“Sister…”

“I saw him first!”

Lyonel gives you another look, different from the first but still immediately recognizable. You let out a groan.

“It’s not fair,” you huff, your voice low but heated. “I’m the one who found him.”

“It’s my tent,” Lionel replies immediately, lifting his chin as if that alone settles the matter.

You open your mouth in shock, staring at him as though he’d just insulted your blood line. 

“It’s our tent,” you correct, your tone sharp.

“Oh yeah?” he shoots back, leaning forward in his chair, eyes narrowing in defiance. “Did you set it up?”

You scoff loudly, folding your arms.

“No. But neither did you, you buffoon.”

“I gave the command,” he says smugly, reclining back like a lord passing judgment.

“Yes, of course,” you mutter dryly, rolling your eyes. “Because that counts.”

You both stare each other down for a moment, as if to see which will break. Normally Lyonel wins — not because he’s the last to break, but because you don’t have it in you to fight him for the mere pleasure of sharing a night with the man you’re fighting over.

But this one. This one is different.

Something about him makes you want to let him linger. You want to have him for more than just one night.

You give your best pout. “You’re not being fair.”

Lyonel, being the good big brother that he is, hates to see you pouting, so despite himself he sighs, sinking into his chair.

“Fine…” he mumbles, and you give him a grin, your mouth opening to say thank you when he continues talking. “We can share him.”

The grin he gives you is not befitting for a Baratheon. If anything, the mischief behind his eyes should belong to a Targaryen. You swat at his arm and he feigns pain.

“Lyonel,” you whisper-shout, hitting him one more time.

“Ow, will you stop that?” He finally manages to grab at your wrist, stopping you from swatting him again. 

You tug your arm from his grip as you pout. Lyonel lets out an exasperated sigh as he watches you cross your arms against your chest, sinking into your chair. He lets you mope for a while before speaking up.

“How about he chooses?”

Your brows quirk up, moving to look at him.

“How exactly would he do that?” you question

Lyonel gives you his signature grin.

“We dance, and whoever he favors in the dance gets to have their fun with him.”

This was a good proposition. If there was something you and Lyonel shared, other than your taste in men, it was your ability to dance.

You gave him a wicked smile.

“You’re on, brother.”

Dunk had never had so much attention on him. It was kind of… overwhelming. When he’d been called over to talk to the owners of the tent, he’d thought he would be kicked out immediately, but that had not been the case. He had kept his attention on Lyonel Baratheon as he spoke, but it was impossible to ignore your lingering gaze on him.

Dunk’s eyes had fluttered briefly to you at the feeling of your stare on him, and when your eyes had met his, you let out a soft smile. Dunk’s heart hammered in his chest at the sight.

And when Lyonel had asked him if he enjoyed dancing, a wide grin appearing on the lord’s face as he answered yes, he couldn’t help but notice the glance both of you exchanged at the words.

Dunk wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he said yes to dancing, but this was certainly not it. He had never seen people move in the way you and Lyonel did.

Your movements were fluid and strong, like the current of a river, while Lyonel’s were rough and commanding, like the wind on a storming day. Despite the difference between you, they were both beautiful to watch.

Lyonel chased after Dunk, his movements seeming like a challenge, and Dunk responded in kind, mirroring the lord’s intensity. You lingered around them, flowing undisturbed by the exchange between the two men.

Dunk tried to pay attention to the man before him, his feet thundering against the ground as he playfully fled Lyonel’s advance, but as soon as he saw your dress flitting by, your hair a wild mess as you continued to spin to the rhythm of the song, his attention couldn’t help but shift to you.

You were an absolute sight.

He’d heard of you, of course — the lady of House Baratheon. Everyone in the realms knew of your beauty and fiery tongue. The confidence seemed to be connected to your blood somehow, because Dunk could tell Lyonel had it too, that same sense of unfazed energy that seemed to seep out of you.

Lyonel caught Dunk’s interest in you almost immediately, his own eyes moving to follow your movements as you danced. You hadn’t even noticed Dunk’s eyes on you yet, far too connected to the feeling of the dance to care about much else.

The sight made Lyonel smile.

He wasn’t bitter about losing, because it was clear from the way Dunk’s eyes lingered on you that something about you had clutched at the giant’s heart. And you weren’t even trying so hard. While Lyonel was actively chasing Dunk, you had been lost in your own world, and even so, you’d managed to get Dunk’s attention.

It was a shame he would not have his fun with Dunk, but he was glad to see the reverence for you in the large man’s eyes.

“Don’t just stand there, big man. Go dance with her,” Lyonel shouted softly, trying to be heard over the sound of music mixed with people’s joy-filled noises.

Dunk’s head snapped toward him at the words, wide blue eyes finding his in what Lyonel could only describe as panic.

“What?” the giant questioned, his jerky dance movements faltering for a moment.

“Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite,” Lyonel said, already gripping at Dunk’s shoulders — as best he could, anyway — and guiding him to face where you stood. “Unless you ask, of course.”

And with that, he gave Dunk a push and a pat on the backside, thrusting the giant closer to you.

Your eyes snapped open as you felt something graze you softly, your head lifting to glance at Dunk. His eyes were wide and his expression clearly nervous. You wondered if perhaps the uneasiness in his gaze was a constant in his expression. It certainly seemed to be, given that in the few moments you’d interacted, he was always looking at you with those blue orbs filled with worry.

“Sorry, m’lady, your brother—”

“Never mind that,” you cut him off, your hand moving to grab him. “Dance with me.”

You waited for a moment, smiling at Dunk’s frightened face before he gave you a small nod.

That was all you needed to tug him along with you.

You weren’t sure how long the dancing lasted. Long enough for your lungs to burn and your hair to cling to your temples. Your feet ached inside your shoes. 

You let out a breathless laugh as you stumbled toward a nearby chair, nearly collapsing into it. Your hand immediately reached for your goblet, fingers curling around the cool metal before lifting it to your lips. The wine tasted sweeter now.

A heavy thud sounded beside you.

Dunk dropped into the chair next to yours, the wood creaking in protest under his weight. His chest rose and fell quickly, broad shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment neither of you spoke. 

You turned your head slowly. He was already looking at you.

His cheeks were flushed, curls damp with sweat, blue eyes bright in a way that made something warm curl low in your stomach. There was still that nervousness there — but it had softened. Changed. Replaced with something almost… awed.

You smiled first. He followed a second later, slower, smaller — like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to. Your heart skipped.

You glanced around then, suddenly remembering the reason this had begun in the first place. Your eyes searched for Lyonel.

You found him easily.

He was leaning against a table across the tent, already deep in conversation with a pretty lordling, laughing loudly at something that had been said. He did not once look your way.

Not once.

A slow understanding settled over you. He had seen it too.

You turned back to Dunk, studying him openly now. He shifted slightly under your gaze, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“That was… ah…” he started, still catching his breath.

“Exhausting?” you offered lightly.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Aye, m’lady.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice just enough that it felt like a secret.

“Would you care to step outside, Ser Duncan?” Your fingers traced idly around the rim of your goblet. “For some air.”

His eyes widened slightly at the use of his name.

For a moment you wondered if he would refuse.

Then he nodded.

“I would like that.”

And the way he said it — soft, sincere — made your chest tighten.

The night air was cooler outside the tent. The noise of the feast dulled behind you, replaced by distant laughter and the rustle of wind through the trees. Dunk walked half a step behind you at first, large hands clasped awkwardly behind his back as though he were escorting a queen instead of simply walking beside you.

You noticed.

“You may walk next to me, Ser Duncan,” you said lightly, not looking at him.

He hesitated — only for a second — before moving to your side.

“Yes, m’lady.”

You hummed softly at that.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You seemed content, breathing in the night air, skirts brushing against the grass. Dunk, however, looked anything but content.

His shoulders were tense. His gaze flickered around as if waiting for someone to shout at him for daring to walk alone with a noblewoman.

“You look as though you are marching to your execution,” you said at last.

His head snapped toward you. “I beg your pardon?”

You smiled.

“You’re frowning.”

He hadn’t realized he was.

“It isn’t proper,” he admitted after a moment, voice low. “Me walking alone with you. I wouldn’t want talk to start.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“Let them talk.”

That surprised him. You finally looked at him fully then, brows lifting slightly.

“Do you always care so much about what others think?”

His jaw tightened faintly.

“I care about not overstepping.”

The answer was honest. Painfully so. Something in your expression softened.

“And do you believe walking beside me is overstepping?”

He swallowed.

“You are a lady of House Baratheon.”

“And you are Ser Duncan the Tall,” you replied easily. “I asked you to walk with me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

The silence that followed was lighter now. After a few more steps, curiosity tugged at you.

“So where is it you sleep?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He blinked.

“Sleep, m’lady?”

“Yes. Your lodgings.”

His expression shifted — just slightly — but you caught it. A flicker of embarrassment.

“I’ve no tent of my own,” he said carefully. “There’s an elm not far from the edge of the grounds. I bed down beneath it.”

He kept his eyes forward as he said it, bracing himself. Waiting. For disgust. For polite pity. For distance.

Instead, you stopped walking.

He halted too, confused, looking down at you.

Your eyes were bright.

“You’re a real hedge knight, then?” 

It wasn’t really a question, more of a quiet observation. There was no repulsion in it either — if anything, Dunk thought he heard a bit of astonishment in your tone. You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place.

“Would you show me?”

For a moment, he simply stared.

“Show you?” he repeated, as if he’d misheard.

“The elm,” you clarified, stepping closer. “You make it sound… rather nice.”

He felt something shift in his chest.

“Yes,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “Yes, of course, m’lady.”

And when he started leading you toward the tree, he did not walk behind you this time.

The elm wasn’t far.

Dunk slowed as they approached it, suddenly aware of every crooked branch and every patch of worn grass beneath it. What had always seemed perfectly fine to him now felt… small.

He stopped a few steps away.

“This is it,” he said, almost apologetically.

You stepped forward without hesitation.

Dunk remained where he was, large hands clasping and unclasping in front of him as he watched you take in the space. There was little to see — a thick elm with sprawling roots, a worn patch of earth where he laid his cloak, a saddle resting against the trunk.

You walked slowly around the tree, fingertips brushing lightly over the bark. Your skirts whispered against the grass. You tilted your head back to look up through the branches, following the way they stretched wide into the night sky.

Dunk shifted his weight.

He had seen noblewomen wrinkle their noses at far less.

“It is quite large,” you said softly.

He blinked.

You turned then, looking at him over your shoulder. There was no disgust on your face. No thinly veiled pity. Only something thoughtful. Curious.

“Though perhaps not for you,” you said with a soft smile, referring once again to his large stature. Dunk smiled to himself as you turned back to the tree, your head lifting as you continued to glance at the leaves above.

“It must keep the rain off well enough.”

“Aye,” he answered quickly. “It does.”

You moved closer to the trunk, crouching slightly to inspect the ground where he slept. Dunk’s stomach tightened. Your fingers grazed against the dirt before you pressed your palm into the grass, eyes closing for a moment.

“I’ve slept in worse places,” he added, as if needing to defend it.

You glanced up at him again.

“I’m sure you have.”

There was no mockery in your tone. Only fact.

You rose to your feet and walked back toward him, your expression thoughtful rather than disturbed. You stood there for a moment, your head tilting slightly to the side. It was clear you were thinking about something, but Dunk could not tell exactly what.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” you said after a moment.

That caught him off guard. His eyes widened, his head moving slightly to the side as he looked at you. Your face remained forward, eyes never leaving the elm tree. It was almost as if you had not spoken the words, almost as if Dunk had imagined them.

But then you spoke again.

“It’s okay if you have. There is no shame in it.”

His mouth opened and closed, his brain trying to understand what it was he was supposed to do in this situation.

“I have,” you said simply, and Dunk’s brows raised even more. You finally turned your attention to him, catching his comical expression. “Been with men, I mean,” you clarified.

He didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t. Why in the Seven Hells were you telling him this? Where had this conversation come from? One moment you were talking about a tree, and the next you were asking him if he’d ever been with a woman?

“Have I upset you?”

The worry in your voice made Dunk’s attention snap fully back to you. His eyes trailed over your furrowed brows. Your lips parted softly as if realizing something.

“I have, haven’t I?” you whispered before letting out a soft tsk. “Seven hells, what was I…” You began to turn around, muttering something about being far too direct and perhaps a sort of apology for your outspoken nature.

But Dunk heard none of it.

The only thing he could think of was the sight of your grinning face as you danced with him. The feeling of your hand on his arm as you guided him along. Your soft panting as you struggled to catch your breath after. And your question — Have you been with a woman? — echoed in his head.

You were beginning to move away from him, no doubt embarrassed due to his lack of response. The thought that he might have shamed you — and the realization that you were slipping away from him — finally pushed him to act.

His hand reached out, gripping your arm with ease. You were farther from him, but his large size allowed him to reach you without difficulty.

Your head snapped toward him at the feeling of his hand on your wrist. Your eyes moved from where he held you to his face. You blinked at him, the moonlight casting a soft glow onto your features.

Your mouth parted as if to say something, but before you could, Dunk spoke.

“I have.”

He watched your lips part even more.

“Been with women, m’lady.”

The sigh that slipped from your lips sounded more like a gasp, and Dunk couldn’t help but flush at the sound.

You stepped forward, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. You stared into his eyes for a moment before your gaze flitted down to his lips.

Gods, you wanted to kiss him so badly.

You stepped closer, close enough now that he could smell the faint trace of wine lingering on your breath.

For a moment, Dunk could not speak. His heart thundered against his chest. The hand he held onto you with was damp with sweat — he was sure you could feel it — but you didn’t seem to mind.

You had never hesitated before. Not like this. You had never needed permission. Never needed reassurance.

And yet…you suddenly felt unsure.

Not because you didn’t want him, but because you dreaded the possibility that he would not want you.

“Would you…” Your voice almost caught, and that alone startled you. “Would you want to be with me?”

Of all the things he had expected you to say, it had not been that. Not with that small, uncertain note in your voice. Not when you were a Baratheon. Not when you had carried yourself all night like a storm no man could stand against.

And here you were, looking up at him as though he held the power.

It felt absurd.

His hand lifted before he could think better of it. Large and warm, it came to rest against your cheek, rough thumb brushing just slightly along your skin.

Your eyes closed at the touch.

He exhaled shakily.

“It would be an honor,” he said, and he meant it. Every word.

Your eyes opened slowly.

And then you grinned.

“Good.”

You surged up on your toes and kissed him.

It was not tentative. It was heat and wine and breath and hands fisting into fabric. His other arm wrapped around your waist instinctively, pulling you closer, as though afraid you might disappear if he did not anchor you there.

You kissed him like you had decided something. Like you had chosen him.

And for a moment, Dunk forgot every rule he had ever tried to live by.

When you pulled back, breathless, you did not give him time to recover. Your hand slid into his, fingers lacing tightly.

“Come,” you murmured.

He followed.

Of course he followed.

You led him back toward the elm, toward the worn patch of earth and the cloak laid carefully against the roots. Your heart was pounding now, not from dancing but from anticipation.

Dunk slowed.

“Here?” he asked, voice rough.

You turned to him, brows lifting slightly.

“Yes. Why not?”

He glanced at the ground, then back at you.

“It isn’t… befitting,” he managed.

You laughed softly — not cruelly, but genuinely amused.

“I don’t care.”

And the way you said it — so certain, so unbothered — made something inside him finally loosen. 

You stepped closer again, hands finding his chest.

“Do you?”

His answer came in the way he kissed you this time.

Your fingers gripped his tunic at the intensity of the kiss. The soft hiss you let out as your back struck the elm’s bark was swallowed by Dunk’s eager mouth. You didn’t know where his sudden confidence had come from, but you were enjoying this new side of him.

One of his hands moved to brace against the tree as he crowded you, his other hand gripping your chin, guiding your mouth to stay fused with his. He stepped closer, and the movement made you feel him against you.

Gods. He was already hard.

You were about to slide your hand down when he suddenly pulled away.

You stared at him, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. And before you could utter so much as a word, he had dropped to his knees before you.

His hands found your waist, caressing you through the fabric of your skirts as he looked up at you — not hesitant, but intent.

“May I?”

“Yes…” you breathed, your head falling back against the tree as Dunk’s hands began to gather your skirts in his grasp.

His movements were swift, the worry and hesitation you’d seen him display all evening now completely gone. You barely had time to adjust to the cold air against your skin before Dunk was leaning in, his tongue moving to lick at you. You gasped, a hand gripping at his hair immediately. 

One of his hands pressed against your stomach, keeping your skirts lifted as he continued his ministrations. Your hips bucked against him unconsciously, chasing the pleasure and causing his nose to brush against your most sensitive spot. You let out a moan, your head twisting to the side at the sensation, the rough bark digging into your cheek as you did.

“Ser Duncan,” you whined, the use of his title causing him to twitch beneath his clothes. Even so, he forced himself to pull away enough to speak.

“Just Dunk, m’lady,” he whispered against your skin, his face still partially concealed by your skirts.

“What?” you whispered, prompting him to lift his head so he could look at you. His mouth was slick, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip to keep quiet.

“It’s just Dunk, m’lady,” he said simply. “For you, I’m just Dunk.”

The way he said it — so completely devoid of pride, so ready to lay himself bare for you — made your brows furrow. Your hand rose to his cheek, a soft smile touching your lips.

“My Dunk,” you sighed.

Dunk let out a low groan at your words, his eyes locked on yours as his hand inched higher along your leg. He watched your mouth fall open in a quiet cry as his fingers slid into you.

Your walls fluttered around him, your body unaccustomed to the sudden intrusion. But as soon as he began to move his fingers, the initial flicker of discomfort on your face melted into pleasure. He continued to watch you as he quickened the pace, soft grunts leaving him while you moaned his name.

Your hand moved to grip his hair, gently guiding his face back to where it had been before. Dunk didn’t hesitate, his tongue joining his fingers as he continued to draw you closer to your high. It didn’t take long — not with the steady rhythm of his touch and the heat of his mouth against you.

When his free hand left your stomach to lift your leg over his broad shoulder, shifting you to a deeper angle, you were undone. You cried out his name, nails digging into the bark behind you and into Dunk’s scalp as pleasure crashed over you, juices covering his face as it did.

You sagged softly against the elm, your breath coming in short bursts. Dunk remained beneath your skirts for a moment longer, his hand moving slowly up and down your thigh in a gentle caress.

Once you had managed to steady your racing heart, your hand drifted to Dunk’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze meant to signal for him to rise.

Dunk understood your request, his hand moving to set your foot gently back on the ground before pulling your skirts down from over his head. He rose with ease, one hand coming up to brace against the tree beside your head as he looked down at you.

You offered him a satisfied smile, one of your hands lifting to his face. Your finger brushed at the wetness smeared along his chin before you brought it slowly to your mouth. Dunk watched the motion, his body visibly shaking at the sight.

You grinned up at him then, your gaze dropping pointedly to the unmistakable tent in his trousers.

“Your turn.”

You had barely moved an inch before Dunk’s hand gripped you. You looked up at him, face wide with confusion.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to,” he began, desperately trying to keep his thoughts in order. “It’s just that… well… I don’t think I’ll last much if you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his confession.

He gave you a shy look. “And I’d… uh… well, I’d much rather be inside you.”

Your brows raised in surprise. Dunk caught the reaction immediately, already beginning to stammer.

“If—I mean—if you’d let me, of course.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from your mouth. The sound made Dunk’s brows shoot up. But you were quick to reassure him.

“Yes, Dunk. Of course I’d let you,” you smiled, hand caressing his cheek. “Actually, I was hoping you’d ask.”

“You were?” he questioned, clearly surprised.

Instead of answering him, you pushed yourself up and pressed a kiss to his lips. Dunk groaned against your mouth, large hands moving to hold your waist. Once you broke the kiss, your foreheads rested against each other for a moment before Dunk pulled back. His hand moved to grasp yours, slowly inching toward where his bed lay.

“Where are you going?” you asked softly.

Dunk looked at you, then at his cloak.

“I thought you ought to lay down.”

You followed his gaze, a look of amusement flashing over your face before you looked back at him.

“No need. Here is fine.”

Dunk glanced at the ground beneath your feet, scattered with roots and broken branches.

“Here, m’lady?”

“No, Dunk,” you answered with a laugh, your hand lifting his head so he was looking at you. You let go of his hand and leaned back against the elm’s trunk. “Here.”

Dunk began to shake his head.

“But, m’lady, it’s—”

“Unbefitting?” you interrupted. “And your tongue inside me wasn’t?”

Dunk’s mind froze for a moment, the bluntness of your words catching him off guard.

“But… you—”

“Yes?”

“You’re a lady. You should be treated as—”

“No, I’m not,” you cut in, making Dunk’s brows furrow even more. You stepped closer to him.

“If, to me, you are just Dunk and not Ser Duncan the Tall, then to you I am just me, not a lady of House Baratheon.”

Dunk continued to gaze at you, uncertain.

“Lust knows not the bounds of titles, Dunk,” you said simply. “Nor does love, for that matter.”

Dunk took in your words. He wasn’t certain he fully understood, but now was not the time to dwell on meaning — for him or for you. There would be time later.

For the first time that night, Dunk’s resolve steeled. He stepped forward, the movement lacking any hesitation. Once he was close enough, his hands moved to your waist, pressing you gently against the bark so he could lean down and give you a searing kiss. When he lifted you with ease, your legs wound instinctively around his waist.

Dunk shifted, one of his hands moving to wrap around your body as the other worked on untying his breeches. You continued to kiss him as he did, your arms wrapping around his neck, your tongues brushing together.

Dunk pulled back just enough to free his mouth from yours, his forehead resting against yours as your breaths mingled.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” you sighed back.

That was all he needed. With one swift movement Dunk lined himself up and began pushing himself inside you. Your brows furrowed, nails clawing at his shoulder at the intrusion. He was thicker than the men you had been with before so the pressure was overwhelming. Even so the pain didn't last. 

Dunk moved slowly, trying his best not to hurt you. Every gasp you let out made him want to pull away, but the way you clawed at him stopped him from doing so. With one last shove he settled completely in you, his head moving to rest on your shoulder as he willed himself to not cum too soon. 

“Gods you… fuck you’re so warm,” Dunk muttered, more to himself than anything.

All you could do was whine softly, your fingers threading into his hair as you adjusted to the size of him. Your walls fluttered around him, making his job of staying still a lot harder. 

“Dunk,” you sighed, voice barely audible over your beating heart “Move.”

So he did. He tugged back slightly, pulling back as much as he could without leaving you fully, before plunging back in. You back hit against the bark as he began to thirst into you. He started off slow at first, perhaps afraid of hurting you but it did not last. Soon enough Dunk was practically pistoling into you. 

You had lost the ability to talk, the only sounds that left your mouth were gasps and moans. Dunk wasn’t much better, with each powerful thrust a grunt escaped his throat. But that didn't mean he couldn’t talk too. If anything the longer he was inside of you the more he talked.

“Gods… you feel incredible.” “That’s it… let it out. Sound so lovely for me.” “Gods, what have I done to deserve this?”

The praise seemed endless, and all you could do was bask in it. Dunk was barely holding on, you could tell by the way he twitched against you. Despite your own scattered thoughts, you forced yourself to lean closer, pressing your mouth near his ear.

“Cum Dunk,” you whispered.

“I shouldn't," he reasoned. “Not inside.”

“Please. I want it,” you murmured against his ear, nose nudging softly on his cheek "It's okay I promise."

He knew he should not do it. It was unwise. Dangerous even. But you had asked him, and he would give you the moon if you asked.

“Okay,” he sighed. “I need you to cum first though, are…are you close?”

“Just cum Dunk.”

“But you’ll-”

“If you do, I swear I will too…just…please” you groaned.

Dunk nodded, his hands shifting so he could better hold onto you before he sped up his movements. His mouth dropped open in a silent groan as he came. You followed after him, the feeling of his seed spilling into you triggered your own orgasm. A shout of his name slipped from your lips before you sagged against his body, locked limbs finally relaxing. 

Dunk's seed seemed never ending, it kept flowing out until it started to spill down your thighs. It didn't surprise you though, not with his stature. Once it seemed to have finished, Dunk’s dick softening inside you, he pulled out. You whined softly as your feet hit the ground, thighs aching from having been locked against his large waist for so long. 

Before you could even think about what had just happened, Dunk pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You accepted it, hand splaying across his chest as you kissed him back.

“Can I stay with you?” you asked once he pulled away.

“I… I don’t think that would be wise, m’lady,” he whispered shyly. “People will come looking for you, and I’m not so sure they’d be kind if they found you—”

“Tangled in the arms of a hedge knight?”

Dunk smiled at your tone, his nose brushing against yours as your foreheads stayed pressed together. You let out a sigh, hand moving to tangle your fingers with his.

“Then come back with me,” you said softly. “Sleep in my tent with me.”

Dunk pulled back at the words, looking at you with unfiltered surprise.

“What?” you asked. “It’s not like my brother would care.”

Dunk opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“And don’t dare say it’s unbefitting. I couldn’t give less of a fuck.”

The laugh that escaped Dunk was unexpected. It caused a large grin to spread across your face. He moved his free hand to your cheek, thumb brushing over it as he continued to stare at you.

“Alright.”

He could not deny you anything. If you’d asked him to walk to the ends of the earth, he would follow without hesitation — if only to see the beautiful smile plastered across your face.

“Good,” you said, moving toward where you had come from, your hand still clasped in his. “Come on, then.”

And with that, you both walked back to your tent, hands tightly entwined. For the first time that night, Dunk couldn’t be bothered with what others thought. All that mattered was your hand in his, and the promise of something more lingering in the air.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

GOT Universe Masterlist

Masterlist Key

Fluff=🥰

Smut=🫣

Angst=🥲

House of the Dragon

Alicent: Secret touches🫣

Alicent: Sworn protector 🥰 (request)

Helaena: A mothers pain🥰🥲

Aemond: Sweet Caresses 🥰🥲

Aemond: An olive branch 🫣🥰

Aemond: The cowardly king🫣🥲

Aemond: Words of comfort🥰🥲

Aemond: Two side of the same coin 🥲

Aegon: A shoulder to cry on 🥰🥲

A knight of the Seven Kingdoms

Dunk: The seventh sword 🥰

Dunk: Beneath the elm 🫣🥰

Baelor: Bonds of Blood Part 1 🥰🥲 Part 2 🫣🥰 Part 3 🫣🥰 Part 4 🫣🥰

Dunk: Burning 🫣🥰

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

The Seventh Sword

Dunk (Ser Duncan the Tall) X Fem!Reader

Warnings: blood, wounds (nothing graphic), physical combat, battlefield violence, female knight reader, canon divergence (Baelor did not offer to help), badass reader, no use of y/n, no spoilers (i think...)

Word count: 3.6K

a/n: Guess what show i just watched guysss 😊 this series has consumed my soul and this man will forever have my heart

That was it, then. He was done for.

With one man down, there could be no trial. It seemed rather foolish, though. Dunk had been prepared to fight with one less man—something that would no doubt give his opponents an advantage—and yet they would not allow him to do so. Perhaps the Targaryens did not wish it to be an easy defeat. Perhaps they wished to make an example of him.

There was nothing else to be done now.

Dunk could only accept that there would be no trial. He would have to accept that the loss of one of his limbs was in his near future—if death did not somehow find its way to him first.

He was just about to lower his sword and accept his grim fate when a voice rang out through the crowd.

It was not desperate, but it was loud. It boomed across the arena and drew every eye toward the great doors.

Dunk did not know what to expect. There were no other men who would fight by his side. He would be surprised if any who did not know him would offer their aid in such a trial—especially after the embarrassment the Brute of Bracken had caused mere moments prior.

But what he did not expect—what he could never have expected—was that when he turned toward the sound, he would not find a man standing there.

He would find you.

You stood before the crowd, clad in armor he did not know you possessed, yet he could tell it had been crafted especially for you. Your movements were precise, the steel that surrounded your body allowing you to move with such ease that it was clear it had been forged to your measurements.

When had you had this made? With what coin?

The questions entered his mind and left just as quickly.

It did not matter how you had gotten the armor.

It mattered that you were here. In the middle of a trial.

You — not born to silk or banners, yet somehow still too fine for a place like this.

The arena fell silent as you walked toward him with unhurried, deliberate steps. Dunk’s eyes widened as you reached his horse. Your face tilted upward to meet his gaze. He was taller than you—taller than practically everyone—but mounted atop his destrier, the difference was almost cruel.

“You need to knight me,” you declared, your tone filled with nothing but conviction.

“What?” The word escaped him before he fully understood what you had said. Surely he was dreaming. Surely you were not standing before him, asking such a thing.

“You need to knight me. You cannot fight with six. I’ll be your seventh.”

He stared at you, gaping.

Seven hells.

“You are asking me to—”

“Yes, that is exactly what I am asking,” you cut in sharply. “And do not you dare say no because I am a woman. I trained with Ser Arlan the same as you.”

Dunk swallowed.

It was true. You had been at his side through his entire journey with Ser Arlan. The old knight had never treated you differently because you were a woman. At times, Dunk had thought it cruel of him not to grant you some small kindness—but you were no delicate noble lady. You were a gutter rat, just like him. And gutter rats were far tougher than most gave them credit for.

“There is no rule,” you pressed. “They said there must be seven knights. You already knighted Ser Raymun. So knight me as well.”

“I cannot.”

You fixed him with that stern look—the very same look you always gave him when he had done something foolish.

“You would rather lose your limbs,” you asked quietly, “and perhaps your life, than knight me?”

The irony was not lost on him.

But it was not only the desire to keep you from danger that made him refuse. It was because he truly could not. Only a knight could make a knight. And he was not one.

No one knew that. Not even you.

You had not been there when Ser Arlan died. You had been off gathering berries you had spotted along the path when it happened. When you returned, rain was already splattering against Ser Arlan’s freshly buried body. You did not know he had never knighted Dunk.

And when Dunk began calling himself a knight, you had no reason not to believe him.

But yes—even if he had been a true knight, he would not have agreed to knight you.

He would rather lose his life than place you in danger.

And that was precisely what knighting you would do.

A murmur began to ripple through the stands.

“This is a trial,” someone called. “We have not all day!”

“Seven knights,” another voice added sharply. “If you have not the number, yield!”

Dunk’s jaw tightened. You did not look away from him.

“If you will not knight me,” you said evenly, “I will find someone who will.”

His head snapped back as though you had struck him.

“You will do no such thing,” he whispered, his voice as stern as you had ever heard it.

For a moment, he reminded you of Ser Arlan. It was the same tone the old knight would use when either of you had misbehaved.

“And why not?” you asked, head raised in defiance—the very same way you had done when Ser Arlan had spoken to you in such a tone.

“Because any man who does will find himself in my bad graces,” Dunk growled. “I will not forget it.”

A flicker crossed your face. Amusement. Challenge.

“Oh?” you said lightly.

And before he could stop you, you turned. Your gaze swept across the gathered knights and settled—of course it did—on Ser Lyonel Baratheon.

The Laughing Storm himself.

He stood broad and imposing in his armor, dark hair stirred by the wind, watching the exchange with open interest.

“You,” you called. “Ser Lyonel. You’ll knight me, won’t you?”

A hush fell over the field.

Lyonel looked at you.

Then at Dunk.

Then back at you.

One brow lifted.

“You are a lady,” he said mildly.

“I am a fighter,” you corrected.

His mouth twitched.

Dunk could feel his pulse hammering in his throat. “Baratheon,” he warned.

Lyonel’s eyes slid to him. There was hesitation there—only a moment’s worth.

Then he shrugged.

“Well,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the arena, “if the lad will not have the sense to secure his seventh, I see no rule that forbids it.”

“Lyonel—” Dunk began.

But it was too late.

“Come here, then,” Lyonel said.

You did not hesitate. You dropped to one knee before him, head bowed, hands steady. Dunk felt something twist painfully in his chest.

This was wrong.

This was not how it was meant to be.

Lyonel drew his sword.

“In the name of the Warrior,” he said, resting the blade first upon one shoulder, then the other, “I charge you to be brave.”

A pause.

“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

Steel glinted in the sun.

“In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.”

He tapped the flat of the blade lightly against your head.

“Rise, Ser.”

The word echoed through the arena, sending a ripple of shock through the crowd.

Dunk’s hands clenched around his reins as he watched you rise to your full height, a faint glint of a smile touching your features as you gave Ser Lyonel a nod of thanks.

Aerion Targaryen, ever eager for spectacle, leaned forward in his saddle. His eyes were like slits as he stared daggers at you.

“This is absurd,” he called coolly. “A woman knighted in the midst of a trial? This is not befitting. The Seven will not look kindly upon such mockery.”

You turned your head toward him.

There was no hesitation in you. No fear.

“Then perhaps you should pray to them,” you said, your voice ringing clear across the field.

You paused, glancing toward the great doors through which you had entered. Lifting your fingers to your lips, you let out a sharp whistle.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then the sound of hooves thundered against stone.

Your horse burst into the arena, already armored for battle. It charged toward you without faltering, slowing only when it reached your side, stopping in an act of complete loyalty.

You stroked its face once before stepping beside it and pulling yourself into the saddle with practiced ease.

Once settled, you cast one last glance toward Dunk, who was still quietly seething.

Then you turned back to Aerion. From your new height, you met his gaze evenly.

“And when you are done,” you added, drawing your sword in one smooth motion, “shut your mouth and ready yourself to bleed.”

A stunned silence followed.

Then, somewhere behind you, a laugh broke free.

Lyonel’s, of course.

Dunk did not laugh.

He had never been so furious.

And never so afraid.

His eyes did not leave your frame. As he watched you tug the helm over your head, your eyes found his one last time before you lowered the visor.

He could no longer see the girl he had grown up with. The stubborn, fiery thing who somehow still managed to be tender and kind whenever he needed it most  was gone. In her place stood a knight, prepared to plunge into battle.

He had to force himself not to lean over his saddle and retch.

The trial begins with practically no warning.

At first, you manage to hold your own. The other knights are used to delivering blows with as much brutality as possible, but they do not expect you to be fast. You survive by outrunning them. By swerving at the last possible moment. By letting them charge at you and shifting direction just before impact.

It works.

For a time, you remain unscathed. But it does not last.

They learn.

They begin to adapt, and from that moment on, it is all downhill.

If there had been any hesitation in striking you, it is gone now. They no longer see you as anything other than a foe to be defeated.

You are almost glad for it.

You do not want them to go easy. You want the challenge. You want to prove that despite the odds stacked against you, you can endure.

It is not easy.

At some point, you are launched from your horse. Your body crashes into the mud before you can brace yourself. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs.

You push yourself up as quickly as you can—

Only for something to slam into your arm.

You cry out despite yourself.

Dunk hears it, even from across the field.

He turns. His eyes track the way your arm hangs useless at your side. Your helm is slightly twisted. He can tell your vision is not completely clear.

And to make it  worse a knight is charging at you from your blind side.

Dunk wants to reach you, but he is still locked in combat with his own opponent. He would never make it in time. So in the few seconds he manages to steal, he shouts the one thing he knows only you will understand.

“Watch out below!”

His voice cuts through the crash of steel.

He sees your head jerk slightly—you heard him.

The instant your mind seems to grasp his meaning, you drop.

You throw yourself into the mud. Wind rushes past your helm, followed by the desperate neigh of a horse and the sickening sound of something heavy striking the ground.

The knight who had aimed to strike you has been thrown from his mount.

You lift your head, blinking through blurred vision. One of the opposing knights lies twisted in the mud. From the unnatural angle of his leg, you know it is broken.

You force yourself upright, groaning as your wounds shift beneath steel. You limp toward him, your sword dragging behind you and carving a thin line through the mud.

When you reach him, you stand over him.

His helm is cracked, allowing you to see half his face. His eyes are wide with fear.

“What kind of coward attacks from the back?” you spit, lifting your sword.

“Please,” the knight whispers.

“Oh, now you want mercy?”

Your gaze drops briefly to his leg. He will not stand again today. There is no need to finish him.

But you want him to remember.

You lower the blade and press the tip of the sword into his stomach.

He gasps as steel pierces through leather and skin—not deep enough to kill, but enough to draw blood. Red seeps into the mud beneath him.

You watch his face twist in agony for a moment before pulling the sword free and sheathing it. Your hand moves to your helm, trying to adjust it as best you can with only one working arm. After a few clumsy attempts, you manage to line the slits with your eyes.

Just in time to see Dunk dragging Aerion by the leg.

For a heartbeat, you wonder what in the Seven Hells he is doing. But the thought vanishes when you spot a knight charging straight at him.

Your eyes widen.

Dunk isn’t looking. He’s far too focused on hauling the Targaryen prince through the mud to notice the danger rushing toward him.

You start to run.

There is no plan. No strategy. Only one clear thought: you have to reach the assailant before he reaches Dunk.

Your injured arm dangles uselessly at your side, lightning bolts of pain shooting through it with every step. You ignore it.

You run faster than you ever have. You barely have time to brace yourself before you slam into the charging knight.

Luck is on your side—his leg is already badly damaged. The moment your body collides with his, he loses balance and tumbles to the ground. You go down with him, crashing into the mud for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

Your groan is swallowed by his grunt of pain.

You do not allow yourself to feel it.

You shove yourself upward and drag your body over his, straddling his injured legs. He yelps sharply as your weight presses down, thrashing beneath you, but you clamp your legs around him as tightly as you can. He will not be escaping.

His hands fumble at your helm. You try to twist away, but with one arm useless, you cannot stop him.

The helmet comes free.

Cold air hits your face. You suck in a full breath, unrestrained.

Only when you draw your sword and press the blade toward his throat do you truly see him.

White cloak.

Polished armor.

Kingsguard.

A grin spreads across your bloodied, mud-streaked face, teeth flashing white.

“Bet you never expected this, hm?” you taunt.

You drag the edge of your blade lightly across his skin—just enough to break it. A thin line of red spills down his throat.

You’re about to press harder, when a voice cuts through the chaos.

“I retract my accusation!”

Your head snaps toward the sound.

Dunk stands in the mud, gripping Aerion Targaryen by the collar, holding him fast.

Aerion’s face is pale beneath the grime.

“I retract it!” he gasps again.

For a moment, no one moves. Then Dunk lets go of the princes collar allowing him to crash into the ground. 

And somehow, that is what makes it real.

Your shoulders drop before you even realize they have. The tight coil inside your chest loosens. The roar of blood in your ears begins to quiet.

It’s over.

You look down at the man beneath you. Your blade still rests at his throat. His breath comes sharp and shallow, waiting for the final cut.

Instead, you exhale.

A slow, steady breath.

“Seems the Seven are on your side,” you murmur.

You withdraw the blade.

With effort, you push yourself off him. Your leg protests. Your arm screams. You ignore both as you rise, swaying slightly before finding your balance.

Behind you, the Kingsguard clears his throat.

“You fight well,” he says. 

There is no mockery in it. Only respect.

You turn your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“I know,” you say with a grin.

And with that, you limp away from him.

Each step is heavier than the last, but you keep moving toward Dunk. You reach him just as his knees finally give out. He sinks into the mud like a felled oak, exhaustion finally overtaking adrenaline.

Dunk barely feels the dirt beneath his knees. Everything hurts. There is mud in his mouth. Blood, maybe. His ears ring so violently it feels like silence. The sound is muffled and far away but he swears he can hear someone calling his name.

For a moment he thinks perhaps he is going to die. Maybe it is his mother who is calling out to him. But then something grips at his shoulder. He turns his head slowly toward the touch.

And sees you.

Your helm is gone. Your hair is matted with sweat and mud. There is blood on your cheek—some of it yours, some of it not. Your arm hangs wrong at your side. Your breathing is shallow, uneven.

You look like you’ve been dragged through hell.

But you are smiling.

Not wide. Not wild. Just tired. Soft.

“We made it,” you murmur.

For a second, he just stares at you. At the dirt smeared across your face. At the way your eyes are still burning despite the exhaustion dragging at you.

You’re alive.

That thought lands heavy and warm in his chest. He tries to say something.He doesn’t manage it. The world fades at the edges. 

The last thing he sees before darkness takes him is you.

When Dunk wakes again, the world is quieter. He tries to move and a groan tears from his throat before he can stop it. He blinks, eyes falling on you.

You’re sitting in the mud in front of him, legs folded awkwardly beneath you. Your good hand rests limply on your knee. Your head is bowed, eyes closed. You’re still. 

Too still.

You’re hurt,” he rasps, as if the realization has only just struck him.

He tries to reach for you. His body gives out halfway, and he drops back with a pained sound.

Your eyes open at that.

“Stay still,” you mutter. Your voice is rough, worn thin. “The maesters are coming.”

Then your eyes close again.

He frowns.

“…Don’t,” he says, panic creeping into his voice. “Don’t you dare—”

Your brow twitches in irritation before you even look at him.

“Oh, shut up, you big lug,” you murmur. “I’m fine.”

A faint smirk ghosts across your mouth.

“Just resting my eyes.”

His jaw tightens. He stares at you like he doesn’t believe a word of it.

But you’re breathing.

Slow. Steady.

Relief washes over him so hard it nearly hurts.

He lets his head fall back against the wall with a soft exhale.

“…Fool,” he mutters, and he sees your lips quirk at the edges.

You open your eyes, your gaze finding his blue one. It is wide with worry that seems out of place on his boyish face.

“For you?” you whisper. “Always.”

Your eyes flutter, exhaustion plain on your features, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. You watch as something shifts in him at your words. His face—still streaked with dirt, one eye nearly swollen shut—softens into something so profoundly tender that it makes your chest ache just to look at him.

You plant your hand against the ground, groaning as you force yourself onto your knees.

“What are you—” Dunk starts, lifting himself from the wall in immediate alarm.

“Calm down,” you murmur, beginning to crawl toward him. It’s awkward with only one good arm to hold you up, but you manage.

You drop down beside him with a quiet sigh, shifting until your head can rest against his shoulder.

Dunk’s body relaxes at the contact. For a moment, he almost forgets the pain shooting through him. The weight of you against him becomes the only thing that matters.

His eyes fall to your hand resting against your leg. Before he can think better of it, his fingers reach for yours.

You don’t hesitate.

Your fingers curl around his large hand, and a soft sound escapes you as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. He can’t help but smile at it.

He turns his head slightly, pressing a careful kiss against your hairline. He’s not even sure you can feel it, but the faint hum you give tells him you can.

“I—” He hesitates, suddenly unsure. Afraid, perhaps, of saying it at the wrong time.

Then he remembers the hell you’d just endured. The way you didn’t hesitate to put your life on the line for him.

And that is enough.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper back.

His brows furrow comically, confusion flashing across his face. Your eyes are closed, but it’s almost as if you can sense it. A small smile curves your lips before you lift your head to look at him.

He gives you a puzzled, almost wounded look.

You just keep smiling.

“I love you too,” you murmur.

Your lips brush his first — barely there, a whisper of contact — before you close the distance fully.

And there, covered in blood and dirt, battered with wounds that may never heal quite right, leaning against a mud-streaked wall—

That is where you and Dunk share your first kiss.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

What if i was?

Cassie Mckay X Fem!reader

Warnings: aggressive patient, physical intimidation, non-consensual physical contact (arm grabbing), brief physical confrontation, strong language, kissing, no use of y/n, suggestive content, allusions to smut, no season 2 spoilers

Word count: 3.3K

a/n: this women makes me go feral

“God, I need to get laid.”

“You offering?”

The words come out before you even realize you thought them, much less said them out loud. It takes an extra three seconds for your brain to internalize the fact that you had indeed just spoken. The face Samira is making doesn’t make things much better.

Your eyes widen instantly, and even though you don’t really want to see the look on McKay’s face — because no doubt it will be one of at least shock and at worst outrage — you force your eyes to move from Samira to her.

To your luck, McKay’s eyes seem to be as wide as yours, if not wider. Shock. Great. Shock was good. Definitely better than outrage.

“Shit, I’m—”

“McKay, a little help here!”

And of course Dana had to need her just as you were about to apologize for being incredibly inappropriate. You watch McKay’s back disappear as she enters one of the rooms. It’s only when she’s completely out of sight that you let your mouth close and move to lean your head on the counter with a soft, “fuck me.” You can feel Samira’s eyes on you even without looking at her.

“Save it, I already know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You let out a sigh, raising your head to look at her.

“You didn’t have to. Your face said it for you.”

And before she could deny it, you walked away, moving to deal with anything else other than what had just happened.

You’ve known McKay for a while, and it had been obvious from practically the moment you met that you had a raging crush on her, but you’d never done anything about it — or nothing obvious at least. Sure, you’d flirt and you’d banter. You'd ask her about her son and her love life and little things that shouldn’t really matter to anyone else but somehow did to you.

But you were sneaky about it. You always slipped it into conversations, something casual that a friend might ask another friend because they cared — not because they’d been contemplating how to finally get the guts to confess their feelings.

So when the opportunity presented itself, your brain decided to do your job for you and unfortunately led to a very embarrassing situation.

You spend the rest of your shift desperately trying to get out of McKay’s way while contemplating what would be the best opportunity to talk to her and sincerely apologize for how absolutely inappropriate you had behaved. You think about the speech a thousand times over in your head.

You meant nothing by it. You’re sorry for being inappropriate. You shouldn’t have said it, but you had been surprised by her words and your brain kind of went into default mode — the one that used that’s-what-she-said jokes to cope — and that’s why you said what you did.

Except that of course it was all a lie. And if she had meant it as an invitation, you’d be super willing to accept. You’d leave that part out, of course. You didn’t really want to freak her out more than you probably already had.

Luckily for you, you seem to stay out of each other’s way for most of your shift, which meant you’ll probably only have to deal with the awkwardness once you’re clocking out — which would be a great opportunity to drop the bomb of an apology that’s probably going to suck and then leave and pretend none of it happened until the next shift, where the awkward energy would be super obvious.

So yeah. Not really a possibility.

You definitely have to confront this problem because you don’t want it to keep going or make it worse to the point where you’d not only lose any chance you had with McKay — you’d also lose your friendship.

You’ve been so focused on your internal monologue that you barely realize there was someone in front of you until you basically crashed into them.

Unfortunately for you, that person is the very person you were desperately trying to talk to.

None other than Cassie McKay herself.

Your mouth opened to apologize — not only for bumping into her but for the words that had stumbled from your mouth earlier that morning. But before you could even manage to get any words out, McKay’s hand grabbed onto your shoulder, turning your body in the other direction as she began to guide you to walk beside her.

“Perfect, I need some help with a patient and I can’t find Robby anywhere.”

“Oh, maybe you should find Samira or something. I’m not really equipped to—”

“It’s not medical help. It’s just a vibe check.”

“A vibe check?” you questioned, brows raising as your head turned to the side to look at McKay.

Her head snapped to meet your eyes and your heart nearly combusted in your chest. Your hands felt clammy and you were suddenly very aware of Cassie’s hand still clasped onto your shoulder.

“Yeah, I think something’s off, but I need a second opinion.”

Your brows raised higher, if that was even possible. And Cassie interpreted the action as a why me?

“You’re always attentive. You always seem to ask the right questions. The ones that matter. And I…”

She let out a sigh, rolling her eyes a bit before continuing, “Robby says I tend to imagine the worst.”

“Well, that’s normal considering what you’ve been through.”

Cassie’s eyes moved to you, a bit of surprise clear in them as she gazed at you. She hadn’t expected you to validate her. If anything, she expected you to say something in agreement with Robby’s observation.

A soft smile made its way onto her lips before she could help it.

“Thanks,” she whispered softly, and you had to force yourself to swallow despite the dryness in your mouth. Because the sound of her voice was going to kill you.

“No problem,” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze for a moment.

“It’s right over here,” she said, finally stopping you both in front of the room. Her arm moved off your shoulders and as soon as it was gone, you missed the feeling. You moved your eyes from the room door to Cassie as she called out your name.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just stay with me while I ask some questions, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Cassie grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

And then before you could say anything, she let go and pushed the door open. You stumbled in behind her, barely hearing her introduce you to the patient. Your hand tingled where she’d held it. You shook your head, forcing yourself to snap out of it.

Cassie needed your help.

You couldn’t disappoint her now.

After a brief conversation with the patient, you and McKay exit the room side by side.

“Yeah, there’s definitely something off about him.”

McKay lets out a relieved sound. “Oh thank God. I knew I wasn’t imagining it. He has this—”

“Macho vibe.”

McKay turns to look at you as if you had ripped the words directly from her brain.

“Exactly!”

“And it’s not even the obnoxious macho vibe. It’s the ‘active danger’ macho vibe.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

You sigh, already annoyed at having to deal with this. As if working in the ER wasn’t bad enough without having to worry about your safety.

“I think we need to let Robby know. Or at least one of the other residents.”

“Yeah, that’s probably best.”

You can see a bit of hesitation in McKay’s expression, and before you can even think it through completely, you’re grasping her shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry. Robby won’t be able to just rule it off now. Not with both of us telling him together.”

A small smile of relief spreads across Cassie’s face, causing you to mirror it.

“Come on, let’s go find him.”

It takes you a while, but you finally manage to get Robby away from the chaos of one of the many patients he’s taking care of. You tell him about your opinion on the patient’s energy and ask what could be done about it. Robby scratches his beard as he thinks, his eyes scanning the crowded ER.

“Okay, this is serious. Don’t think for a second I don’t believe that, okay?” He turns to look at McKay as he says it. “But I’m swamped with a bunch of other patients, so I won’t be able to hang around as much as I’d like.”

You continue to stare at him as he rubs his face, obviously trying to figure out what could be done.

“Alright, let’s do this. From now on, you two treat the patient together. No one goes in there alone.”

You and Cassie nod at his words.

“And if it gets too weird and you think there’s some sort of danger and you can’t find me, call Langdon or Danny. And if you can’t find them, there’s always Ahmad, okay?”

“You got it, boss.”

Robby gives you a nod, clearly glad to have found at least some sort of solution. Dana calls his name, causing him to leave you and Cassie alone.

You turn to face her, clearly noticing the way her body is still coiled tight.

You grab onto her hand, making her eyes fall onto your face.

“Don’t worry. I’m right here with you.”

“Thanks.”

You give her a small smile before releasing her hand.

“I’m gonna go check on some other patients. Come find me when you need to deal with him, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

And with that, you go your separate ways.

When the time finally comes to check on the patient, you and McKay meet up in front of the door. It’s clear from your body language that neither of you really wants to do this. But sometimes you need to do hard things.

You grasp the door handle, giving McKay one last look that says, You ready? Which she answers with a soft nod. And then both of you step into the room as if marching into battle.

It starts off okay. Even though the danger feeling is still there, the patient isn’t actively doing anything bad. But it takes a turn quickly.

You start to notice the impatience in his tone. Start to see the way he shifts in the bed, grimacing as McKay continues doing what she needs to. But the worst comes when McKay moves to check the IV and his hand shoots out, gripping her arm in a bruising manner.

McKay’s eyes widen with fear, but before she can even think of what to do next, you’re there beside her.

You grab onto the man’s wrist, your eyes so full of anger it’s a miracle you even manage to get the words out without screaming.

“Let go of her right fucking now.”

McKay gapes at you, but your eyes don’t move from the man’s face. He gives you a look that’s supposed to be threatening, but you don’t back down. McKay almost thinks she hears you let out a snarl.

And then something seems to move over the man’s face — a sort of realization that you were not going to back down, because you weren’t scared of him.

The moment that realization passes through him, he releases McKay’s hand. She springs back on instinct, clutching her arm to her chest.

You don’t remove your hand from the man’s wrist, your eyes continuing to bore into his until you see a twitch of fear in them.

“Everything okay in here?” Langdon’s voice filters into the room, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” you answer, your tone unwavering.

Langdon lingers a bit at the doorway, his eyes flitting from McKay to you. He can tell something’s happened, but he doesn’t want to invalidate you in front of this patient. He knows that stepping in now will only make you seem less threatening, and that wouldn’t do anything. So he just lets out a soft nod and disappears from the door.

“You gonna behave, or am I gonna have to ask them to cuff you to the bed? Because believe me, I will.”

The patient shakes his head.

“I need words.”

“No, ma’am.”

You stare at him for a beat longer before finally letting go of his arm.

“Good. Now apologize to her.”

“Oh, that’s not—”

You turn to glare at McKay as she starts to speak. It’s not the glare you were giving the patient. It’s not that I’m the one in charge here look. It’s a look that tells her that this is absolutely not alright and that you will not allow her to pretend it is.

“I’m sorry,” the patient mutters.

McKay barely registers the words. She’s far too busy looking at you.

And when you move closer to her, your arm wrapping around her shoulders as you lean in and whisper in her ear—

“Go take a breather. I’ll find you when I’m done with this asshole.”

Her whole body feels like it’s caught fire. All she can do is nod, her feet dragging on the floor as she makes her way out of the room.

Everything inside you wants to just hand this guy over to someone else. But you know that if you do, it will look like you’re running, and the last thing you want is for this guy to think he can get away with shit like this.

So instead of letting him get to you, you open the door, popping your head into the hallway as your eyes scan for Langdon. Once they land on him — watching as he stares at the board — you call out his name.

Not with fear. Not with despair. Just calling to get his attention, your voice steady and sure.

He comes over immediately, his head tilting slightly in question.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah. I just need a second pair of eyes.”

“You sure you don’t want someone else to take—”

“Langdon.”

Just your tone makes him shut up, because he can clearly see you know what you’re doing.

“Alright. Second pair of eyes it is.”

“Thank you,” you say as you walk back into the room.

As soon as McKay steps out of the room, Dana’s eyes are on her. She notices the way Cassie’s hand moves over her wrist, caressing the skin softly.

Dana gets up from her spot and moves toward McKay. Cassie flinches a bit as Dana’s arms wrap around her shoulders.

“You okay?”

McKay blinks at Dana for a moment before shaking her head. Dana had expected it, of course.

“Alright, let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

She leads McKay to the doctors’ lounge, forcing her to take a seat at the table before settling down in front of her.

“What happened?”

Talking about it feels like going through it all over again, and even though it sucks, McKay forces herself to tell Dana what went down. And Dana, of course, is pissed.

“That motherfucker,” she says, standing abruptly, the rage clear on her face. It’s quickly replaced with worry as she glances down at McKay.

“You want me to handle it? Want me to put someone else on—”

“No, it’s okay. She’s handling it.”

Dana gives her a look of who is? just as you step out of the room, Langdon trailing behind you.

From her seat, McKay can see you clearly, and her heart jumps a bit at the sight of you being alright. Dana follows her gaze, finding you immediately.

“Looks like she knows what she’s doing.”

“Yeah…” Cassie whispers, eyes still trailing you until you move away from her field of vision.

As soon as you’re gone from her line of sight, McKay seems to snap out of it. She gets up from her seat.

“I should check on my other patients.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything, hon.”

McKay gives Dana a soft nod before jumping back into the ER.

Cassie tries to keep her focus on her patients, but every time she sees you walk into that dreaded room, her heart tightens. And every time she sees you walk out with your head held high, clearly unscathed, she feels like she can breathe easier.

There’s something about the fact that you not only defended her but didn’t back down that makes her stomach fill with butterflies.

She desperately wants to talk to you, but it seems she won’t get a chance to before the end of the shift. So she just grits her teeth, forcing herself to stop glancing at the clock every five seconds and focus on what needs to get done.

You’re exhausted by the end of your shift. After everything that happened, you’d forgotten all about the awkwardness from this morning. It seemed so silly now. You let out a sigh, your hand moving to put the code into your lock so you can finally get out of here.

“Hey.”

McKay’s voice causes you to turn your head toward her. A bit of relief fills your chest at the mere sight of her, her hair a mess from the day’s work.

“Hi.”

You both stare at each other for a moment, not really knowing what to do.

“Is he… I mean, did he get discharged?”

“No, he’s still here,” you sigh, opening your locker. “I put Parker on him. She’ll whip him into shape. I’m sure of it.”

McKay can’t help but laugh. The sound surprises you, your eyes snapping to look at her.

“Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

You shrug.

“Relief, I guess.”

McKay gives you a questioning look.

“That he’s not our problem anymore,” you explain.

“Oh. Well, yeah. I guess.”

Silence takes over again. And then, because you know it’ll keep you up at night if you don’t say something, you start talking.

“About earlier…”

McKay immediately interrupts you.

“You were amazing. Thank you, seriously.”

“For what?”

“For defending me.”

“No, I— I mean this morning.”

She frowns slightly. “This morning?”

You huff out a quiet, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Yeah. The whole ‘you offering?’ thing.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Oh.” McKay’s brows lift faintly, like she’s just remembered. “That.”

Your cheeks feel warm. Great.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” you rush out. “It was inappropriate and stupid and you were clearly joking and I just— my brain works faster than my filter sometimes and I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

McKay just watches you.

You finally force yourself to look at her.

“So yeah. I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head slightly.

“And what if I was?”

Your brain short-circuits.

You stare at her, certain you misheard.

“I— what?”

“What if I was offering?” she repeats, a little softer this time.

Your heart slams against your ribs so hard you’re surprised she can’t hear it.

She’s watching you carefully now.

Your mouth goes dry.

“Well?” she asks.

You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking down to her lips before you can stop yourself.

“If you were offering,” you say carefully, “then I would most definitely take you up on that.”

Her lips part slightly.

“Yeah?”

You nod, finally finding your footing.

“Yeah.”

A small smile curves at the corner of her mouth. She steps closer.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

She holds your gaze.

“Nothing, I guess.”

And that’s it.

Her hand slides into the front of your scrub top, fisting the fabric just enough to pull you forward, and she kisses you. It only lasts a few seconds — long enough to make your brain short-circuit — before she pulls back, her forehead hovering just inches from yours.

You’re still trying to remember how breathing works when she speaks again.

“You wanna go to my place?”

“Fuck yes,” you say, pulling her into another kiss.

You feel her smile against your lips, and in that moment it seems like the world around you fades away, leaving only the feeling of McKay’s lips on yours and your hands gripping her hips.

You never would have expected this to be how your shift would end.

But you weren’t complaining.

Especially when you knew there was more to come.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Our something blue

Rabbot X Gn! reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, stalking & kidnapping (very little description), blood/injury, hospital setting, ghosting/miscommunication, polyamory, no use of y/n, reader has blue hair (because it was requested)

Words: 1.7K

The Pitt masterlist

requested by: @everything-was-dark

You knew your love life had taken a toll when you decided to download a dating app. You’d done it as a bit of a last hope, not really expecting much from it other than a couple of bad dates and possibly—although you thought the possibility was quite small—finding your someone special. What you hadn’t expected was to meet not only one but two wonderful men.

Jack had come into your life first. You’d talked a bit through the chat feature on the app and realized you two didn’t have much in common, but somehow it felt like you could spend hours talking to him. You finally managed to get enough courage to invite him out for a drink, and things had just gone from there.

You weren’t exclusive. Both of you had made it very clear that you were just exploring your options, and you were okay with that. Even so, you found yourself not wanting to hang out with anyone other than Jack—and unbeknownst to you, Jack felt the same way.

And then Robby came into the equation.

He’d been the one who reached out to you, and at first you’d been a bit wary about answering him. In a way, you felt like you were betraying Jack, but when Jack started being busy every night and your plans began happening only in the mornings, you found your nights wide open for Robby to occupy. It fit like a glove. Soon, your life was filled with stolen moments in your busy schedule to hang out with each of them.

Eventually, things started to get more serious. You weren’t in a relationship with either of them, but you’d been to their homes and they’d been to yours. Pieces of their clothes found their way into your wardrobe, and small things that belonged to you started to litter their spaces.

The most noticeable thing was your hair. Little pieces of blue clung to Jack and Robby wherever they went—little pieces of you that lingered on them so noticeably that people in their lives found themselves commenting on it.

Robby wandered into the ER for his shift like normal, a soft smile gracing his features as he remembered your peaceful expression tucked into his sheets when he’d left his home early that morning. He moved on instinct, barely thinking about what he was doing.

“You should really invest in a lint roller.”

Dana’s voice snapped Robby out of his daze, his brows rising in curiosity as he turned to look at her. Dana barely raised her eyes from the screen she was looking at.

“What are you talking about?” Robby asked.

Dana’s eyes flitted to him over her glasses. She stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to make the connection himself. When he didn’t, she sighed and pushed herself up from the chair. Her hand moved to his hoodie, fingers gripping a piece of hair before tugging it free and lifting it up for him to see. The small strand glinted in the light, the shade of blue impossible to ignore.

Robby smiled before he could help it. Dana caught it—because of course she did.

“Oh, you’re down bad, aren’t you?”

Robby just shrugged. “No idea what you’re on about.”

Dana squinted at him as she watched him walk away from the nurses’ station. “Yeah, sure you don’t.”

The funny thing was that despite you hanging out with both men so much and knowing so much about their lives, there were still things that stayed off your radar. Not because they were hiding anything exactly, but because it just hadn’t seemed to come up. For example, you didn’t know Robby and Jack knew each other. You knew they were both doctors who worked in the ER, but you never really dove deep into the specifics. You didn’t even know which hospital they worked at.

Robby and Jack didn’t talk much about you to each other either. Sure, they both knew the other was seeing someone, but neither of them had felt the need to show pictures or give much more information than your name. And as funny as it was that they were seeing someone with the same name, they chalked it up to a coincidence. After all, how many people in the world shared a name?

Things were wonderful. You were the break in their day, and they loved spending time with you. Practically not a day went by without hearing from you.

And then, all of a sudden, it stopped.

At first, they both chalked it up to you being busy with something. But when hours turned into days, and then eventually a month of no contact, they both started to feel the weight of it. It was obvious to anyone who looked at either of them that something had happened. The joyful part of them that could be seen every day was gone—because you were gone.

Ghosted.

That’s what they thought it was.

You’d ghosted them.

And even though it didn’t seem like something you would do, they realized they didn’t really know you. Not entirely, anyway.

The truth was that you hadn’t ghosted them. Not on purpose.

Before you met Jack and Robby, you’d been on a couple of other dates, and one of them had led to a deeply uncomfortable situation. It had taken you a while to notice that you had a stalker. You were so consumed with your interactions with Jack and Robby that you didn’t realize the strange things happening around you until it was too late.

You’d just stepped out of your car when something hit you hard in the back of the head. You lost consciousness, and when you awoke, you were sitting at a candlelit table, a plate of food in front of you and your bad date sitting across from you. Fear consumed you instantly. You tried to lift your hands, only to realize they were tied to the chair. From that moment on, your only thought was that you had to make it out of this alive.

It had been a struggle, but you’d managed to get out—not without getting hurt. A kind soul found you running through the streets and took you to the hospital, where you were treated for your injuries and spoke to the police. After that, you lost a bit of yourself.

You didn’t want to stand out. You didn’t want people’s attention on you. So for the first time in years, your trademark blue hair was painted back to your natural color.

You moved somewhere new and didn’t contact the boys anymore. You felt guilty, even though it hadn’t been your fault. You didn’t want to burden their already hectic lives with your problems. So you made yourself disappear, and even though you missed them, you told yourself it was for the best.

Robby moved through the ER, eyes scanning the place as he went. The emotionless expression that had become constant in his life since you’d disappeared was plastered on his face. Jack wasn’t much better off; his eyes stared at the screen in front of him, but his mind wasn’t absorbing a single word. Both men were a wreck. You’d gone away and, with you, taken the peacefulness your presence had once given them.

“I’m gonna head out,” Robby said as he stopped near where Jack stood.

Jack nodded, forcing his eyes up. “Alright, brother. See you tomorrow.”

Robby gave Jack’s shoulder a squeeze, turning toward the lockers just as the emergency doors swung open. Paramedics rushed in with a gurney.

“I’ve got someone in their twenties, knife wound to the side. They’ve lost a good amount of blood. They were conscious in the ambulance but lost it just as we wheeled in.”

The words faded as Robby’s and Jack’s eyes landed on the gurney—because there you were. Lying there with your eyes closed, your blue hair now a dark shade of brown.

Your name slipped from their mouths before they could stop it.

Their eyes met, realization crashing into both of them at once, before they jumped into action.

You awoke with a soft groan, blinking slowly against the harsh lights. You lifted your hand to wipe at your eyes, only to realize there was a tube sticking out of it. It took a moment for it to sink in that you were in a hospital bed—then your eyes found him.

“Jack?” you croaked, your throat drier than it had ever been.

Jack turned at the sound of your voice, relief flooding his expression as he rushed to your side. “You’re awake.”

Before you could answer, he was already pulling you into a hug. You groaned as he brushed your wounded side, but your arms tightened around him instinctively. Tears sprang to your eyes as Jack clung to you, the feeling of him there almost overwhelming.

Then your gaze drifted to the doorway.

Robby stood there, frozen in place, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up to his heart.

“Robby,” you sighed, giving him a tearful smile as you reached out for him.

Jack lifted his head from your shoulder just as Robby reached your bedside. They shared a look before turning back to you. Your eyes moved from one of them to the other, and before you could stop it, a sob broke free as your arms wrapped around both of them.

They understood immediately, leaning down to pull you into a double hug.

For the first time in a long while, you felt complete. In their arms, you felt safe. Like this was exactly where you belonged.

You’d tell them everything. You’d explain why you disappeared. You’d tell them how you ended up bleeding in the ER. But for now, all that mattered was that they were both there, holding you.

Not one or the other. Both.

Because you loved them both equally. And as terrifying as that truth was, something told you they’d understand. That there would be no judgment, only understanding, and that the three of you would figure things out as you went. 

Because all that mattered was that you were together again.

And nothing would ever tear you apart.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

A family affair

Langdon X Fem! Nurse! Reader

Summary: You’re married to Frank, and Robby is your uncle, but people in the ER don’t know this and it ends up causing some problems

Warnings: kissing, workplace romance, false cheating rumors, family relationships, workplace rumors, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.0K

Requested by @thecranberrypineapple

a/n: finally managed to get some writing done! I haven’t had much free time with the holidays, traveling, and everything else, but I promise I’ll get to all the requests in my inbox...eventually 🫠

You’ve known Frank for a long time—long before you ever stepped into the ER. You met in college, both bright and eager to learn. From the moment you first talked to him, you knew you wanted to keep him around, wanted to make him a constant part of your life.

Luckily for you, you managed to get your wish. 

Years of friendship slowly shifted into something more romantic, and before you knew it, it had turned into a lasting relationship. And when Frank finally got down on one knee, there was only one answer you wanted to give him.

That answer was yes.

You loved being Frank’s wife—loved knowing that at the end of the day, he was the one coming home with you. But there was one small issue: you both worked together.

Even though you’d started working in the same hospital back when you were just dating, and there was nothing that explicitly prohibited coworkers from being in a relationship as long as it didn’t interfere with their work in the ER, you and Frank had decided to keep your relationship quiet.

Not a secret exactly—more like something you simply didn’t mention at work. The moment the two of you stepped into the ER, you both slipped into your “professional mode,” only interacting with each other in ways that could be seen as two coworkers who happened to be friendly.

People knew you were married. Frank wore his ring on his finger every day, and you always had yours hanging on a chain around your neck—so yes, people knew you were married. They just didn’t know it was to each other.

It was kind of funny, actually. You and Frank had turned it into a sort of game. He would talk about his wife, always praising her, knowing you were close enough to hear. His eyes would find yours, giving you that knowing look that never failed to make you smile. And you did the same—talking about how amazing your husband was, your eyes often catching the soft smirk that would grace Frank’s features as you did. 

It was the way the two of you had found to still give each other love during your shifts without alerting the rest of the people at work that you were actually talking about each other.

But that wasn’t the only thing people didn’t know.

Frank turned off the car engine, the silence in the interior taking over for a moment. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath—this would be the last moment of peace and quiet you’d have until another twelve hours had passed, and you wanted to savor it.

Frank grabbed your hand, causing your eyes to open as you turned to look at him. You gave him a soft smile as he gazed back at you.

“Ready to march into battle?”

You nodded, giving his hand one last squeeze before reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, you’re forgetting something.”

You gave Frank a confused look, which made him pucker his lips, exaggeratingly tilting toward you.

“My goodbye kiss.”

You knew what he’d said, but with his puckered lips it sounded more like, “Mu gubye kisth.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby before leaning over the center console and giving Frank a quick kiss.

“Come on, Langdon. We’ll be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As always, you and Frank walked in together. Nobody questioned the fact that you always arrived with each other—you’d given the bullshit excuse that you lived close by, and that it was easier for Frank to give you a ride than for both of you to drive to work. Plus, it was better for the environment. One less car on the streets.

Of course, people believed you. You gave them no reason not to.

When you made your way over to check the board, Robby caught sight of you. He smiled and made his way over with ease. You let him tug you into a quick side hug, your arm wrapping briefly around his waist.

“Hey, Honey. How you doing today?”

You pulled back so you could look him in the eyes.

“I’m doing good. How about you, Robby?”

Your eyes caught the bags under his eyes, and you immediately knew he hadn’t slept well the night before. But Robby hated people worrying about him, so when he said he was fine, you pretended to believe it.

“You searching for a target?”

At Robby’s question, your gaze flicked back to the board, briefly catching Frank disappearing into one of the rooms with Mel before settling on the writing on the screen.

“Gonna start easy, I think. A kid with a nosebleed might be ready for discharge. I’ll go check on him.”

“Alright then. The kid’s in good hands. See you around, Honey.”

You smiled as Robby gave your shoulder a soft squeeze before heading off, leaving you to make your way toward your first patient. You didn’t even notice the glances, didn’t hear the whispers as you moved through the ER. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

See, here’s the thing—people in the ER love to gossip. It keeps them entertained, helps keep the pain and sadness at bay as you all try to make it through your shifts. And when people don’t have all the information, they can come up with some pretty wild rumors.

The most recent one was that you and Robby were secretly married to each other. Which was absurd—not only because of the age difference, but because Robby was family. Literally family. He was your uncle. Biologically. As in, your father’s brother.

But people didn’t know that. Only a select few did—people who mattered, like Dana and Jack and the higher-ups. They knew either because they’d seen you grow up, in Dana and Jack’s case, or because they’d been responsible for hiring you and were aware of your family ties to Robby.

But everybody else?

Oh yeah. They had no clue.

Which ended up causing some… issues.

Because the Robby rumor was bad—but the Frank one was so much worse.

It started harmlessly. Frank bringing you coffee during a lull. Leaning against the counter beside you while you charted, shoulders brushing. A hand resting briefly at the small of your back as he passed behind you in a crowded hallway.

Normal things. Small things.

Things that meant everything to the wrong people.

They started noticing it one by one. Santos clocked the way Frank’s voice softened when he spoke to you. Javadi caught the way Frank’s eyes followed you across the ER when you laughed at something a patient said. Whitaker saw Frank step a little too close when you were visibly shaken after a bad case.

And then, to make matters so much worse, someone saw you and Frank in a very private moment.

You hadn’t thought anything of it—ducking into an empty break room, adrenaline still buzzing through you after a rough trauma. Frank followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, hands already finding your waist. “You did good in there.”

You exhaled, leaning into him, fingers fisting in his scrub top as he kissed you—slow at first, then deeper. Familiar. Safe. His hand slid up your back, grounding you.

You were so caught up in Frank that you didn’t hear the door hinges open slightly. Didn’t hear the soft gasp, or the door shutting a little too quickly.

Someone had seen you with Frank. And because they thought you were married to Robby—and didn’t know Frank was married to you—the speculation took a sharp turn, fast.

An affair. A scandal. A nurse cheating with a married attending.

And somehow—somehow—people thought they’d finally figured out the truth.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

And because you had no idea these rumors even existed, you ended up unintentionally feeding into them.

When a tough case got to you, Robby had pulled you to the side, giving you a bear hug as tears swelled in your eyes. And when he left the room to keep working, and you started to take a breather, Frank had slipped in, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke comforting words.

And people saw it. They saw these small, soft moments—and twisted them into something they weren’t.

But like everything in life, there was a final straw.

It came as an accusation.

You were hunched over the chart, scribbling notes after checking on your patient, when a voice from the nurses’ station broke the quiet.

“You know… you should really own up to it.”

You froze, pen in midair. “Excuse me?”

They leaned a little closer, a smirk playing at the corner of their lips.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be coy. We all know you’re… you’re cheating on Robby.”

Your hand dropped to the counter. “What?!”

Someone else, leaning over nearby, snickered. You blinked, utterly confused.

“Cheating? On… Robby?”

The first person shrugged, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah. I mean… it’s obvious. You and Frank, right? We see it all the time.”

You held up a hand. “Okay, whoa. You need to relax. You’ve got this all wrong. Completely wrong.”

By that point, movement in the hallway caught your attention. Robby and Frank had both emerged from different rooms, strolling in the general direction of the nurses’ station. Their heads tilted slightly, noticing you animatedly talking to someone, lips moving, hands gesturing.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath. “This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

As they approached, you straightened, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay,” you said, raising your voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear, “let’s get something straight. For everyone.”

The staff fell quiet, leaning in curiously.

“I am married—to Frank,” you said slowly, letting it sink in. “Robby is my uncle. I am not cheating on anyone. And yes, we all work together, but none of what you’re imagining is actually happening.”

A pause. Some eyes widened. Some shifted awkwardly.

And then there was Dana.

Dana had appeared quietly, arms crossed, a grin spreading across her face.

“Oh my god,” she said, barely holding back laughter. “This is gold. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Robby calls you ‘Honey’ nonstop. What’s the deal with that?” the accuser jabbed.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. God, people really liked grasping at straws.

“‘Honey’ is my middle name. Robby’s been calling me that since I was a kid.”

The accuser froze, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, go back to work.” You turned to glance around at the people still gawking at you. “Everyone, back to work.”

The staff reluctantly returned to their tasks, whispers and smirks lingering just a little longer than usual. And Dana? Dana lingered a little longer too, clearly planning to tease you about this for weeks.

That’s when Frank appeared beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, smirk fully in place. 

“Well,” he said, glancing around at the still-whispering staff, “guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling. “I guess so.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone.

“So… what’s stopping me from kissing you right here? In the middle of everybody?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Decency.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly offended. “Decency? Since when have I ever been decent?”

Before you could answer, he tugged you gently toward him. Lips met yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. You laughed against his mouth, and he grinned against yours before pulling back just enough to whisper:

“See? We should have told them about us ages ago.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours, “but you love me anyway.”

And you did.

You and Frank exchanged a look—quiet, silly, and utterly yours.

“Get back to work, Dr. Langdon.”

Frank gave you a mock salute. “Yes, Mrs. Langdon.”

You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head as he walked away. When he was finally out of view, you turned and stared at Dana.

“I hate you.”

She gave you a smile and pulled you into a hug.

“No, you don’t.”

You couldn’t hold back the smile that crept onto your face. Because yeah—you didn’t.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hello! Could you write something with Dennis Whitaker (she/her reader) where the reader calls him in the middle of the night because she's stranded somewhere and doesn't have anyone else? Like a fluffy / sweet vibe, please? 💙💙💙

Knight in shinning armor

Dennis X Fem!Reader

Warnings: bad friends (not Dennis), fluff, mild swearing, minor injury (nothing graphic), no use of y/n, friends with feelings, mutual pinning, Santos makes an appearance, reader is a barista, soft ending

Word count: 2.2K The Pitt masterlist

It was official. You had the worst friends ever.

You probably should’ve dumped them a long time ago, but they were basically the only people you had in Pittsburgh—people you’d met during college, people you’d thought you’d keep in your life forever. That illusion had been cracking for a while now, but tonight? Tonight was the final straw.

You stood outside the bar, rubbing your hands together as you tried to ward off the cold. You were supposed to have left with one of the girls you’d come with. It had been arranged. Promised.

Apparently, that hadn’t meant a damn thing.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and when you came back, scanning the crowd for her familiar face, she was gone. Your stomach had dropped as you pulled your phone out, eyes landing on a string of messages.

Sorry!!! Met a cute guy. Going home with him. You understand, right?

You let out a humorless laugh. She’d left you for a hookup and hadn’t even bothered to check if you had a ride home.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered.

You opened the Uber app, fingers hovering over the screen—only for your phone to shut off completely.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You hadn’t brought your charger. You hadn’t been paying attention to your battery. You hadn’t thought you’d need to. You’d been promised a ride home.

Apparently, promises didn’t mean shit anymore.

You dragged a hand over your face, letting yourself feel defeated for exactly five seconds before forcing yourself into problem-solving mode. That’s when you noticed the phone at the back of the bar—old, clunky, straight out of another decade.

You asked the bartender if it still worked. When he confirmed it did, you dug a quarter out of your purse and fed it into the slot.

There was only one number you knew by heart.

The phone rang three times before you heard his voice.

“Hello?”

“Denny—hey. It’s me.”

That was all it took.

You currently found yourself standing in the cold, eyes glancing down the road as you waited for Dennis’s car to pull around the corner. The headlights finally cut through the darkness, and your chest lifted a little. Relief surged as the car slowed, pulling up to the curb.

Dennis leaned out the window, already scanning the street for you, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips when he spotted you shivering on the sidewalk.

“Hey,” he said softly as he stepped out. “Cold?”

“Freezing,” you admitted, trying to hide how rattled you actually felt.

Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders. The warmth hit immediately, and you couldn’t help but breathe a little easier, the tension in your shoulders melting just a bit.

“You okay?” he asked again, eyes studying you like he wanted to make sure nothing had happened while you waited for him.

You nodded, though your lips quivered. “Yeah… better now.”

“Good,” he murmured, offering a hand to help guide you to the car. “Get in. Let’s get you home.”

The drive was quiet, the city lights blurring past, but it was the kind of quiet that felt safe, not awkward.

You’d known Dennis for a couple of years. You had first met when you’d stumbled into the ER with a large gash on your hand—the knife had slipped while you were making lunch, and before you knew it, you were bleeding.

Dennis had been helping in the chairs when you walked in, his eyes moving from your slightly panicked expression to the red-stained cloth you pressed to your arm.

He had moved immediately, weaving his way through the room until he was beside you. You jumped slightly when he spoke, but relaxed almost instantly when you realized he was a doctor.

“Can I have a look?” he asked, his hand moving to hold your arm.

You nodded, removing the cloth from your wound so he could examine it. Your eyes trailed over his features as he gently moved his fingers against your skin. He looked about your age, and he was… very handsome. That was the first thing that came to your mind.

“Oh, it’s not so bad. Nothing a couple of stitches won’t fix. Come with me—I’ll get you patched up.”

You still remembered how gently he had stitched you up. You still remembered the way your heart had fluttered when he finished, covering your wound with a soft smile and a quiet, “All done.”

You’d left the ER that day hoping to see him again, but knowing it would probably be unlikely.

It turned out that sometimes, you do get what you wish for—because about two days later, he walked into the coffee shop you worked at.

You started with your usual greeting, focused on the screen in front of you as you spoke, but when you finally raised your gaze to look at the customer, your eyes widened slightly as you caught sight of him. His expression shifted into one of recognition as well, and you couldn’t help but feel a thrill run through you.

“Hey,” you let out, a little too breathy.

Dennis smiled. “Hi.”

You both just stared at each other for a moment, until you remembered you were at work and that there was a line of people waiting behind him. You shook your head and snapped out of it.

“So… uh, what can I get for you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah—” Dennis’s eyes moved from yours to the menu above his head, scanning quickly. “I’ll have a cappuccino and a black coffee.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

You put his order in, giving him a soft smile as you watched him step away to wait for it. It was only when he was already at the pickup counter that he realized he hadn’t given you his name. He was about to walk back to the counter when someone called out his name.

He made his way over, sure he was probably mistaking himself for someone else, but there on the counter lay a cappuccino and a black coffee.

You had remembered his name.

The smile that spread across his face was soft and genuine.

He wanted to say something to you, but the line was already huge, and if he didn’t get going now, he was sure to be late for his shift. So he just let the feeling linger in his chest, hoping he would have another chance to talk to you.

He made his way over to where Santos stood waiting for him. He handed her the black coffee and took a sip of his cappuccino as they began making their way to the ER.

A few blocks from the ER, Santos tilted her cup, squinting at the writing on it.

 “Huh… I think you messed up our orders or something,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Dennis frowned. “What do you mean?”

Santos held up the cup, revealing a scribbled phone number along the side. She smirked.

“Looks like someone put their number on my cup. Maybe the cute barista had a little crush or something. I can’t believe she thought you were a black coffee drinker… Unless she meant this for me, which, you know…”

Dennis blinked, a little flustered. “Pretty sure she didn’t mean it for you.”

“Hey,” Santos said, nudging him lightly, “you never know.” She grinned, obviously enjoying teasing him.

When they arrived at the ER, Santos handed the empty cup back to him, her grin widening.

“Make sure to save it on your phone, Huckleberry.”

Dennis shook his head at her, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He took a quick picture of your number before tossing the cup in the trash and diving into his shift.

By the time they got home, both of them were exhausted. Dennis glanced at the clock, a frown forming as he realized it was probably too late to send you a message. Santos, as usual, seemed to be able to read his mind.

“You should text her,” she said, smirking. “You already kept her waiting all day. The poor girl probably thinks she scared you off.”

Santos was right. It was probably best to say something, even if it was late. After all, you knew he worked at the ER—it was where you’d met—so you wouldn’t be surprised by a late-night text.

He pulled out his phone, saved your contact, and sent a simple, “Hey, what’s up?”

And the rest was history.

“How was your shift?”

Your words pulled Dennis’s attention away from the road for a moment, his eyes moving to you in the passenger seat, his gaze softening at the sight of you in his jacket.

“Long,” he admitted, a small sigh escaping him. “Busy, like always.”

“Any interesting cases?”

Dennis rubbed his eyes with his hand, trying to remember if anything had stood out during his shift. His brain was tired from all the hours of work, but he wanted to keep the conversation going.

A small yawn escaped his mouth before he could stop it, the sound making you glance over at him.

You felt bad all of a sudden—he had probably just gotten home when you’d called him. Shit. You hadn’t even stopped to think about that.

“Actually… there was this one case today that reminded me of something. A chef came in—still in his uniform, with a deep cut on his hand. He was worried about getting back to the lunch rush, kept apologizing for the disruption. It made me think… about the day we met. His gash was worse than yours, though.” 

He smiled softly as he said it, and your chest tightened even more. From the moment you’d met, Dennis had always been the one you knew you could count on to come to your rescue.

You swallowed, a little ache of guilt creeping in. 

“Sorry for calling you. I didn’t even think about the time… you’re probably exhausted, and I just made you come out here to get me.”

Dennis shook his head immediately, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he reached over to gently grab your hand. 

“Hey. You can always come to me, you know. Doesn’t matter what time it is. You’ve always got me in your corner.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words. 

“Thanks,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand back.

He smiled at you again, glancing briefly at the road, and the rest of the drive passed in a comfortable, easy quiet.

When you finally pulled up to your house, Dennis killed the engine, and before you could tell him he didn’t need to, he was already stepping out of the car to open the door for you. You accepted his hand as he helped you get out.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Even once you were standing on the sidewalk, Dennis didn’t let go of your hand right away. You stared at him for a moment, your heart fluttering with that familiar feeling that always lingered whenever he was around.

“I need better friends.”

The words escaped before you realized it, maybe because the quiet was making you nervous.

Dennis let go of your hand and ran it through his hair, and you already missed the warmth of his fingers.

“I could introduce you to some of mine, if you want.”

Your eyes widened at the offer. It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about how much Dennis wanted you in his life.

“The girls from the ER are really cool. I’m sure you guys would get on great,” he said, giving you a sincere smile. “And they’re really reliable too.”

“I guess being reliable is kind of a need when you work in the emergency department,” you said, a small laugh escaping you.

Dennis chuckled, making you smile in return. You let out a sigh, eyes drifting toward your building.

“Well, I should probably let you go. I’m sure you need to rest before your shift tomorrow.”

Before you could think much of it, you shifted forward, placing a soft kiss on Dennis’s cheek.

“Thanks for rescuing me… again.”

Dennis flushed, his cheeks stained pink. He hoped you couldn’t see it in the moonlight.

“Anytime,” he said softly.

You turned, making your way to the door. Dennis stood by his car, watching you go. When you paused before heading inside and gave him a small wave, he returned the gesture.

You closed the door to your apartment and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a sigh and smiling softly to yourself.  What would you do without Dennis Whitaker?  You hoped you’d never have to find out.

Something told you you wouldn’t.

You pushed yourself off the door and headed inside, the apartment quiet and warm around you. Your phone sat on the counter, still dead, but for the first time that night, you didn’t feel unsettled anymore.

Because no matter how bad the night had gone, no matter how unreliable people could be, you knew one thing for certain. If you ever found yourself stranded again—cold, overwhelmed, unsure—you had someone who would always answer.