the majority of my content is 18+ and 100% not for minors to read at all. do not interact with my content or my account if you are a minor.
general warnings and tags: dark themes, depictions of unhealthy relationships, fluff sometimes
matt murdock
headcanons
nsfw/sfw alphabet
buck cashman
nursing on a poison
you wake up to a new pill on your tray, and when you refuse to any of your pills, your aid threatens to tell buck. he comes home that night and finds you in his bed wearing his shirt. he makes sure you take all your medication.
we all love crazy dom!ormund but i believe heād also be the type of guy who would get an instant boner if you slapped the shit out of him like for a second youād see this fiery anger spark in his eyes but it would dim out a moment later just for him to fall to his knees and get under your skirts to kiss your legs all āiām sorry, iām sorryā¦ā¦ā¦ forgive me my love, forgive meā
Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!mermaid!reader [no use of y/n]
Word count:Ā 9k
Summary:Ā Fix-it fic in the aftermath of 03x01.
You do not know whatās bringing you so far from your home, across the Narrow Sea, but you stumble upon a beautiful, injured young man and decide to save him.
Warnings:Ā description of violence against women (mermaids), physical and emotional hurt/comfort, reader is insecure about her appearance as a mermaid.
a/n:Ā How are we coping guys? Iām in such deep denial I decided Jace doesnāt die :) I really hope youāre going to enjoy this story, I hadnāt been so productive writing non-fiction since I started my masterās dissertation.
feedback is welcome and appreciated <3
(images are taken from pinterest)
You could not tell how long it had been since you had last ventured so far from your cave.
You had not needed to, after all. Why would you leave the warm shore and its idyllic light blue hues to face the dark, deep waters of the Narrow Sea and its violent tides? There was nothing of value there; the fish were too bitter, the currents too strong ā you were built for shallow waters, carved to enjoy the softness of the laced patterns made by the sun rays on the clear sand, to feast on urchins and relish in the colours of corals. To live far from mariners and their boats, near the surface without reaching it, if not for the thrill of slithering your upper body out of the water to feel the hot air against your skin before plunging back into your realm.
And yet, something ā someone ā had called you on the other side of the Narrow Sea. A shiver that had run through your entire body from your hair to your tail fin. The feeling was not painful per se, at most uncomfortable: the urge that had taken over you made you believe you were going to die if you did not go, like you were a bubble about to burst. There was no sensible explanation for this overtaking compulsion, no legend mentioned foreseer merfolk, but you did not care for rationality. You cared for action.
In a heartbeat, you were gone from your cave with nothing but your talisman necklace, an opalescent seashell, the last connection to your people after you elected a life of loneliness ā of tranquillity, you argued. As soon as you had crossed the border of your lagoon, you had been reminded of your nature as a shallow-water mermaid. You were maladapted for the cold and abyssal sea: your thin tail lacked power, and the current made every push a fight; your fins were too long and made you an easy prey to catch for the predators of the place; your pupils werenāt adjusted for such darkness and turned your travel into a haphazard route.
You were careful not to go too deep, afraid of what you might encounter there, but you could not rejoin the surface, where navigating would be easier because of the boats. You had not seen them, couldnāt identify how many there were, but they stirred the water from miles away. That was the one rule you had been taught from your birth ā stay away from men and their rumble. As a child, you used to run back to your sisters the moment you sensed the smallest ripple above your head.
Men were trouble.
You had heard many tales growing up, and they had gotten more graphic as you had gotten older. Stories of mermaids hunted, harpooned and captured outside of the water. Sailors laughing at their helplessness and degrading them in every possible way. Laughing at their āfishy smellā while they reeked of alcohol. They found the girls horrible. Repulsive. Abominations that should have been exterminated long ago. That did not stop them from grabbing them by the hair and-
Apparently, mermaid fins were worth enough to turn the poorest man into a king.
You shuddered, and you could not tell if it was from the coldness of the sea or the images your mind had conjured. The roar of the boats was endless, stretching on for miles as you kept on fighting your nature. You had closed your eyes to save energy, not that they were very useful at such a depth. You did not need to see anyway. Something greater was guiding you ā instinct, premonition; you were not sure of its nature. All you knew was that the fire in your stomach was growing stronger with each wag of your tail. And, as your brain was telling you to turn away and regain the safety of your cave on the spot, you kept going towards the havoc.
As you struggled towards your destination, something strange happened ā the sea calmed down. The overwhelming yet regular rhythm of the oars decreased before completely stopping as you reached shallower water, relief flooding your system.
You remained careful. An absence of boats did not equate to an absence of men. They could be malicious and cowardly, creating a trap and waiting for you to rush into your demise. You skidded between the misshapen rocks as low as you could, your tail caressing the sand, your hair gently haloing around your head. Something was off with the water, and not in the same way as the sea. The sea was scary; it was unfamiliar and destructive. But this? This should have felt good, the same clear water you were used to, if not for a little colder.
It was not clear enough, though. Some sort of haze was forbidding you from seeing as acutely as you should have, and when you opened your mouth and let it flood down your throat, its taste was bitter and metallic. Without dropping your guard, you hurried up. The faster you would find whoever called you, the faster you could leave this mess.
You kept weaving along the sandbank, exiting the thin passage you had entered to reach a wider space. There was no trap awaiting you at the end of the narrow crossing, but what you faced was not any better. In front of you was laying the grimmest, most desolate landscape you had ever laid eyes upon. A morbid, macabre, distinctly man-made spectacle.
Ships were broken down into pieces, sinking under the weight of the wet wood, torn flags sadly waving with the current, bitter symbols of the failure of their houses. Engraved swords, decorated armours, every statement of wealth now revealed its true nature as tokens of hubris, that of the men now floating. Mouth agape, eyes widened with terror, their skin had turned into a gradient of grey and blue, if not for the red holes and scratches that scattered their bodies. From those injuries emerged dark clouds of blood that tainted the water around them and blurred your sight, already affected by the dust and embers floating across the sea.
Overwhelmed by your surroundings, you stayed still. You felt dirty, like the muddy water was sticking to your skin and tainting you with the horrors it carried. There was nothing to salvage in this desolate landscape, yet your guts were telling you to keep looking for something, anything. Perhaps one of the wrecks contained a rare treasure, a beautiful pearl, a sacred companion. Beauty in the midst of disaster.
You dove a little deeper, where the sand was still whisked into pale curls. There was a shiny shape a little further which you couldnāt quite make out even as you squinted your eyes. It was partially hidden by the sand and wooden planks, but you were sure it was organic. The way it reflected the light reminded you of your own tail and its thin scales, which seemed to almost change colours as you glided underwater.
Carefully, you made your way towards the mass that grew bigger with each wag of your tail. The creature was still, though you did not want to assume its death and be surprised by an attack ā these foreign waters might be home to some strange scavengers that would mistake you for a part of the carrion left by the disaster that had occurred. And, based on its size, it could kill you in one powerful bite.
The creature never moved. As you got a better look at it, an insidious doubt crept along your spine. The scales had led you to assume it was a marine creature, but as you saw its tail, you couldnāt help but notice the lack of fins. There was something distinctly terrestrial about it.
That was when you saw them.
The wings.
You had never seen a dragon before, but the elders had recounted tales of those giant apex predators terrorising the land, catching cattle with their claws before charring it by spouting fire. Formidable hunters and mounts, masters of the air and of the land, even the sea could not protect you from them ā the heat of their flames could burn you as you lay under the surface. That was the second rule that you had kept from your people: when those titans would come again to scorch the earth, dive as deep as you can.
That dragon, however, did not look ferocious. It looked weak, powerless, dead. What a strange sight that was, to see a terrifying creature lie helpless on the sand with glassy eyes. Even in this state, there was a certain wild majesty to it. Whichever god had created them had done it with great care, shaping them to be as ferocious and yet as elegant as possible, all soft edges and sharp lines. Its stillness was uncomfortable; such a powerful brute was fashioned for movement.
There was something uncanny about its lifeless gaze and shocked expression. You had never assumed dragons could show emotions, but you would be blind if you missed the suffering and fear in this creatureās eyes. You repressed a shudder. What could have possibly scared the one beast at the top of the food chain? Clenching your jaw, you followed its gaze, unsure of what to expect. A giant, bloodthirsty monster? A legendary being that spawned from the gods? Something that had to be bigger, eerier, something that would perhaps be the last vision before you met your inevitable end.
Definitely not a man afloat.
You knew it when you saw him. That calling that had brought you here had materialised into this frail frame drifting in the soiled water, leaving wreaths of blood in its wake. Time slowed around you as you observed the gentle motion of his hair, the spasm of his fingers, the bubbles that escaped his mouthā¦
Wait.
You rushed towards the man, throwing away all of your doubts and anxieties. If a miracle had protected him so far, every second counted towards his survival. You werenāt even sure why you were so eager to save him in the first place ā he was a man, like all others, feasting on blood and dominance. But he looked so fragile at this moment, soā¦ human, in all of their weaknesses. The awkwardness of their legs, the limits of their lungs. You pressed two fingers against his wrist; his skin was cold and wrinkled by the water, but you could feel it, a faint, almost nonexistent pulse. You rushed him out of the water.
The fresh air smelled like smoke, and you choked on the thick, grey mist left by the battle that had taken place. You furrowed your brows, shrugging away your own unease as you watched the man expectantly. His mouth opened on its own, his face still unconscious, and you stared at the shape of his throat as his Adamās apple bobbed up and down. A glimmer of hope shone in your eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it came. The man was not breathing, at least not breathing clearly. Instead, he let out a gargling sound as blood spewed out of the side of his neck, where an arrow was stuck.
The head of the arrow was not lodged too deep, but it was in a compromising spot. Near the jugular, without piercing it totally ā otherwise heād already be dead. The pressure from the water had slowed the bleeding down, but now that he was out in the open, you had to think fast and act even faster.
Your options were limited: you needed to properly bandage his neck, which wouldnāt be too hard if you were back home, where you knew every medicinal plant and alga like the back of your hand. Here, it would be more uncertain. However, you doubted you could reach your cave in time to save him. The current should push you in the right direction, but the additional weight of the man and his thick and soaked clothes would slow you down.
You settled on a compromise, patching him up well enough for him to survive the journey to your cave and properly tending to his injuries there. Yeah. That sounded perfect, that was going to work.
Gathering your strength, you hauled him up on a rock, careful not to push any of the arrows deeper. He had been lucky; two of the arrows had been stopped by his elegant leather clothing, and you could dislodge them with little difficulty. They left behind holes in the luxurious fabric ā such a shame when they had been sewn with visible care ā but had not reached the skin beneath. The third arrow, the one that had pierced the skin of his throat, represented a bigger threat. You could not remove it yet; that would be a death sentence: he would bleed out in a matter of minutes. Your best shot was at shortening its shaft to ease travelling and sealing the wound as tight as you could.
You plunged, trying not to let panic get the best of you. You took deep breaths to slow your frantic heartbeat, which had the opposite effect as you gagged on the bloody water. Tears prickled your eyes and you ignored them, reaching the soft sand and searching for seaweeds long enough to bandage the man. You had to be quick; you did not enjoy leaving him on his own, exposed and vulnerable. The leaves in the area were annoyingly short ā sea life here was nowhere near as lush as it was back home, and you were quick to blame humans for this ā but you managed to gather a small harvest. You also grabbed a sharp stone to cut the shaft of the arrow.
Praying you had not taken too long, you rushed back to the surface. You could see that the manās chest was barely rising and falling, but the wheezing sound he made meant he was still breathing. With steady hands, you got to work. This was not your first time tending wounds ā you had had to assist some of your people after they escaped fishermen. You had seen ugly injuries, broken bones, punctured tails; you had seen despair and pain in the eyes of your peers; yet you had never felt so helpless. You had never been on your own to carry the responsibility of saving someone, especially a human. Humans were so fragile, an intricate assembly of bones so small you did not understand how they could stand and walk without breaking into two.
The man did not fight back against your foreign touch. You saw the muscles of his face twitching as you cleaned and swathed his skin, but it was not enough to stir him into consciousness. Back when you were stitching up merfolk, you remembered wishing for them to stop fighting back and hissing at you, but you found yourself wishing the man was more expressive. You could not tell whether you were hurting him or not, whether you were aggravating his state or helping. He was still breathing. You took it as a good sign.
The world around you had gone still. The sun was setting towards the horizon, piercing through the light grey clouds that formed a lid above your head, adding to the oppressive feeling that reached you whenever your bust left the water. Seagulls were hovering, their screeches piercing the silence and raising goosebumps along your skin. You wanted to reach your cave before nighttime.
Next to you, the man groaned. A muttered āsorryā escaped your lips before you could repress it, but you received no answer. You sighed as you closed your arms around the man; his weight less bothersome once you immersed his body, trying to find a position that allowed you to keep his head out of the water while swimming comfortably.
The current was going in the right direction. That was the only positive element you could find in the journey back home. Carrying a human while speeding through the waves was tedious and exhausting; it forced you to dance with the surface of the sea, an awkward rhythm you failed to find. As the sky turned to liquid lava with beautiful and vivid shades of red and orange, the tide grew stronger. Your arms and your tail were sore, begging for a break you could not afford to take, not when you could see your bandage peeling off, not when the water was getting colder and the manās lips bluer. If you did not hurry up, all of your effort would be reduced to nothing.
You kept pushing.
Relief flooded over you when the waters turned calm at once. Softer. Warmer. You were back in your lagoon and its shallowness had never felt more comforting. Gathering the last bits of energy in your body, you rushed and laid the man on the white stony islet that stood in the middle of your cave before plunging into the water and shaking the atrophy of your muscles away. Today had been surreal, and you needed this moment of immersion to ground yourself. You could have slept for a full day, perhaps two, but you had to tend to your unconscious patient first.
It was much easier here. You could have found everything you needed with your eyes closed ā medicinal plants, spots of clean water, oysters and urchins for the moment the man would wake up and need to regain his strength; you even took the time to collect large seashells and fill them with clear water. You felt serene, acting almost instinctively. You did not need to overthink; you just let your meticulous hands cut, cleanse, bandage, and skim. His skin was cold and smooth, ashen if not for the dark, deep red of the wound.
It was not a pretty injury, but it seemed clean. There were no signs of infection, and you hoped it would mean a quick recovery. You had not really considered the after; you assumed the man would stay here until he would feel ready to go his own way, find a connection to civilisation, a hamlet he would call home. For now, he was still asleep, breathing more easily now that you had removed the arrow from his neck and some layers of heavy, soaked fabric. His hair was drying, small curls falling on his forehead.
Without noticing it, you gently pushed his hair behind his ear. The man shuddered and you plunged back into the water, observing him through the ripples, but he did not wake up. You lifted your head up in the air again, keeping your distance. Bathed in the cold, soft light of the moon, you realised that he was pretty. Very pretty. Actually, you did not know men could be pretty.
Fair to say, you had not seen many of them, but all of the ones that had crossed your path had been carved by the salt of the sea with hollowed cheeks, raw skin and scruffy beards. They reeked of sweat and alcohol for miles. This man was the opposite. Everything in his appearance felt neat, from the opulence of his clothes to his shaven jaw. His features looked like carved marble with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. There was something regal, almost holy about him. Was this why you had felt drawn towards him in the first place, to save an emissary from the heavens?
He slept during the entire following day, undisturbed by the warmth of the sun that infiltrated the cave from the small gaps between the rocks. You checked on him from time to time, making sure his neck was healing nicely ā and sighing with relief when you saw that the wound was looking better ā and leaving him some fresh food and water in case he woke up while you were away. He was a beautiful sight, surrounded by coral formations and reeds, seashells and moss. You took pride in how you had turned your cave into a peaceful haven, and for the first time, you considered the fact that your hard work could be appreciated by someone else.
Other than your regular visits, you tried to go through your day as usual. You removed undesirable seaweeds from your underwater garden and collected seashells to make jewellery. You were remarkably inefficient. No matter how you tried to keep your hands busy, your mind wandered back to the man in your cave, your beautiful stranger, your mysterious envoy. Blush crept up your neck; never had you been in such a state of frenzy, and for what, a human? Those who forced you to hide in caves, who treated you as exotic goods, those you had sworn never to approach.
This one was not a huge threat, though.
You were standing at the entrance of the cave when the sun set. It had always been your favourite moment of the day, the moment the sky and the sea merged into honey, golden and shiny. You wished you could freeze time and leave the world bathed in this warm light ad vitam aeternam, when everything was softer. Lying lazily against a tall rock, you did not realise you had started singing.
Singing was part of your nature. How could it not be, when you were surrounded by the slow murmur of the waves, the high shriek of the birds, the foreign tune of the whales? The universe was an orchestra and you were one of its most willing instruments, harmonising seamlessly with the wilderness, reaching highs and lows effortlessly. Your voice was not a danger, at least not in the way it was presented in myths. It was tantalising, perhaps, but it did not drive men insane ā they did that part on their own. They could enjoy your art if only they set aside their lust for flesh and for glory.
Singing meant harmony. It meant grounding, painting the big picture, being aware of the world around you. You forgot yourself a little in those moments; you were one with the rock you rested your elbows against, with the gentle rhythm of the waves against your tail, with the softness of the sand under your fins.
A disturbance broke the moment. It was faint, you probably would not have heard it if you had not been so keenly attentive to your surroundings, but it was here; the rolling of gravel beneath feet at an unsteady rhythm. You plunged. He was awake.
āHello?ā His voice was hoarse, and you heard him clear his throat with a painful, high-pitched inspiration. āI- I heard you.ā
You stayed hidden, in apnoea. The footsteps became louder, and you could visualise the man reaching the edge of the ground, contemplating the endless stretch of water in front of his eyes and the rocks that emerged from it to form abstract statues. And you, pressed against one of them, just out of his sight. He muttered some unintelligible words.
āThank you for the bandage and for the food. Iād just like to know where I am. Guess thatās all I wanted to say.ā
And with this, he walked back into the depths of the cave.
You breathed out with relief. Relief that he was alive, of course, but also relief that he had not spotted you. That was silly; you had never thought youād care about a humanās opinion of you. But everything about him was so perfect, it made you painfully aware of all of your differences, everything about your appearance which you had considered normal, until you had not. The words your people had reported back to you after their escape.
How your tail was grotesque. Your scales, sticky. Your fins, monstrous. You were a rotten fish, a terrifying creature. A freak.
You did not want to see the weight of disappointment in the manās eyes when he would lay eyes on his saviour.
You started acting differently. You stayed underwater, paying close attention to the sounds coming from the cave ā the echo in the place had never proven more useful. You waited for silence to fill the space to check on his injury and bring him food and water, careful not to linger for too long. You took care of your lagoon. You settled back into a routine, a strange routine, granted, one that gave you the feeling you were tiptoeing in your own territory, but a routine nonetheless.
You kept on singing every evening. That was one concession you could not make, giving up on this moment for the sake of being discreet. You stayed hidden behind your rock, but your voice did not falter once. You knew he was listening; you could hear the crush of pebbles under his footsteps, which were getting firmer and more self-assured every day. You did not mind his presence; you were not trying to make him believe he was alone; you were just avoiding his gaze.
Heād thank you for the food after your song. That was the only form of communication you shared. A melody and an acknowledgement. You did not ask for more.
Your cat and mouse dance went on for about a week. Then, on one of those nights when the heat seemed thick and sticky as treacle, your little bubble of comfort burst.
Everything had started the same as usual: you had waited for the moon to rise to tend to your guest. It was remarkably dark, the orb of night forming but a thin crescent, like a slit of light in the navy blue sky. Had you not known your cave by heart, you would probably have stumbled upon one of the irregularities of the sandbank. You placed oysters with delicacy alongside something new, a couple of fruits you had found a little further along the coastline. It had not been easy harvesting them, but you hoped it would prove a welcome change of diet for the man.
You looked away for a second. Just a glance outside the cave, alerted by an unexpected noise. When you turned back to the man, his eyes were on you.
āI finally got you,ā he whispered, barely audible above the sound of your heartbeat pulsing.
You tried to rationalise your racing thoughts. You back against the little light that had penetrated the obscure cave, he could not see you. At best, he could perhaps make out your frame, but nothing else. Hell, you could barely see the glint of his eyes, and you had heard many times that humans had particularly weak night vision.
āI was beginning to think I had made you up,ā he added. His voice was soft, confessional. āMy mysterious saviour.ā
āYou donāt want to see me,ā you murmured back in a voice you did not recognise. āIām glad to see youāre healing nicely.ā
āThe more you hide, the more curious I get.ā A thin smile brightened his features. āWhere am I?ā
āA cave, somewhere in the Narrow Sea. Iām not exactly familiar with human geography.ā
āSo thatās true?ā His voice got a little louder. āMermaids really do exist? And here I thought it was all a myth created by sailors going crazy.ā
You scoffed. āWell, unless youāre going insane, Iām very much real.ā
āWho knows. Maybe Iām dead, and Iām hallucinating you.ā There was an edge to his voice, a tint of bitterness. āI really thought my time had come.ā
You kept quiet. What were you supposed to answer to this? āOh, actually, you survived because I felt drawn towards you with no explanation and I decided to save youā? Heād think you were a madwoman. Plus, you werenāt exactly comfortable chit-chatting with your guest. You were desperate for some privacy and some sleep.
āI guess it was notā, you finally said under your breath. āI should go.ā
You started swimming towards the entrance of the cave in a hurry, spraying foam around you, when you heard the man again.
āWait.ā He had not been loud or demanding, yet you felt compelled to stop and look at him over your shoulder. It was fascinating to see how he could speak with both authority and gentleness. āI donāt even know who you are. My name is Jacearys.ā
You nodded and told him your name. It would have been silly not to, at this point. It was just a name; it did not mean anything.
He repeated your name softly, and you could not help but shiver as you heard it roll off his tongue so easily. It had been so long since anyone had called you by your name that you had thought it would feel strange, alien. It did not. In fact, it felt like he was meant to say it.
āThank you,ā he repeated your name and waved. āFor everything.ā
You waved back and plunged into the water.
You were ready to rule this off as a one-time incident, a night of insomnia on his part, a lack of care on yours. Instead, it became a ritual. Almost every night, you would find him awake, his gaze lingering to decipher your shape as you carefully insisted on turning your back to the moon. He kept on making small talk, trying to understand how he had ended up here and, more importantly, who you were. Your short, enigmatic answers did not discourage him. If anything, he seemed to relish this little game. He was growing more curious with every shrug and monosyllabic sentence.
He started to grow on you, and you hated that. Hated that you began looking forward to nighttime, to the intimate moment youād share in the dark. Hated that you were charmed not just by his regal appearance, but also by his bright personality. Hated that you actually wanted to learn more about him and began shooting back questions. And as he wore you down, you opened up like a pearl oyster. And so did he.
Jace ā he had told you to call him like this ā was a prince. An actual, real-life prince. Well, it was a little more complicated. He told you about the ongoing war, the usurper, and how he had been fighting for his mother on this dreadful day. In exchange, you told him about the seaweeds that you had used to bandage him, and all of the medicinal plants that grew underwater. He listened to you with attention, picking up on your explanations to learn more. It was strange, to be heard in such an intense manner, to feel like what you said mattered to someone.
āCould you show me your garden one day?ā He asked
You froze. You wanted to say yes, you dreamed of it, of entangling your hands and guiding him through the clear water of the lagoon and teaching him everything you knew. You almost said yes, but the words died in your throat. āI donāt know if this would be safe for humans,ā you answered instead, the words leaving a sour aftertaste in your mouth.
That was a lie. Most of your crops required a lot of light and were buried in remarkably shallow spots where Jace could probably walk. You had spoken with enough conviction, however, for him not to notice your dishonesty, and he accepted your answer without insisting. He was sitting at the edge of the islet, mindlessly dipping his fingers in the water, drawing abstract shapes, unaware of the way he was hypnotising you.
Days went by. You talked about your respective families, surprised to see that Jace could one-up your large, bizarre family lore. He told you about Aegonās conquest of Westeros and his heirs, about his mother and how much he admired her and wanted to keep her safe, about his brothers. His gaze saddened when he mentioned Luce, and you took his hand without even realising it. It was warm under yours, slightly calloused but soft where it mattered. He did not rebuff you.
In exchange, you told him about your folk, how family meant more than bloodline. Babies were carried from arm to arm, every member of the clan acting as a sort of aunt or uncle. Days were joyous, filled with games and songs. It was a peaceful way of growing up, so different from Jaceās grim, dark castles.
āSo why did you leave?ā He asked after a moment of silence.
āWhen I grew up, I started to feelā¦ I donāt know.ā You sighed. āMaladjusted? I wanted calm and silence, and to do things at my own pace. They did not like my tendency to solitude, and I did not like how dependent they all were. Having to rely on others made me feel weak.ā
āYouāre never going to go back?ā
You shrugged. āIām not sure. I would probably be welcomed if I did ā maybe not at first, but merfolks are not resentful. Perhaps one day Iāll miss their antics. For now I enjoy my tranquillity.ā
āNot too bothered that I came along to disturb it?ā
āNo,ā you answered a little too quickly to your own liking. You had grown accustomed to Jace so easily it had altered your view on your life on a fundamental level. You used to think of yourself as a lone wolf, but a feeling of dread would creep up your spine when you considered the possibility of Jace leaving. The loneliness you had cherished for years now had an acidic aftertaste, and you werenāt certain you could go back to your routine without the sound of his feet against the gravel and your late-night conversations. You knew he would leave one day; he wasnāt your captive. You just tried not to think about it too much.
Maybe he understood the trouble that weighed your silence, because he came a little closer ā though not close enough for you to flinch and retreat further in the darkness ā and whispered, āgood, then. Iād feel bad if I was overstaying my welcome.ā
One night, you finally gathered the strength to ask him the burning question which had been quietly on your lips for the whole time since you had seen him in the water, above the gigantic, scaly creature.
āDid you have a dragon?ā
You already suspected the answer, and the sadness that struck his features made you regret you had not bitten your words.
āYes,ā he eventually whispered, falling promptly into silence.
You were about to apologise for your prying when he opened his mouth again. āHis name was Vermax. Iāve known him since I was a child; itās like heās always been part of my life. He was incredibly beautiful and so smart as well. You should have seen him gliding in the air and searing the sky.ā
He kept on talking, and you did not interrupt him. He told you about the adrenaline rush heād feel when he went for a stroll with his dragon. How he had taught him to obey his very order. Describing in great detail the intricate lacing of his scales, the fire in his eyes. Admiration showed through his voice, but the trembling notes at the end of his words revealed something deeper.
āMaybeā¦ I canāt help thinking that maybe if Vermax had not listened to me so well during the battle, if he hadnāt changed course the moment I told him not to attack the other dragon, heād still be alive.ā He explained how Vermax had been trapped underwater, leaving no choice but to abandon him to the depths of the Gullet. You did not comment on the tears that prickled his eyes, but your hand found his.
That was the only form of physical contact between the two of you. Your hand dampening his, your coldness calming down his heat, fire and water finding a middle ground instead of destroying each other.
āThose few seconds between the moment I let go of Vermax and the moment I got shot were the most horrible of my life,ā he confessed. āA Targaryen is nothing without a dragon. People love saying we are closer to gods than to men, but thatās because we have them. Without dragons, we are just power-hungry maniacs.ā He let out a humourless laugh. āAt that moment, I thought I was a disgrace, that maybe death was my best shot. That if I made it out alive, my mother would kill me upon my return.ā
āThatās not true,ā you said under your breath.
āI know. I knew when I felt that arrow piercing my skin. She would be angry at me, of course, but I realised how ludicrous I had been thinking death would be some kind of deliverance. She would have to mourn yet another son, and it was all my fault. Fate works in a funny way, donāt you think? I spent what felt like an eternity waiting for death to hit me, and itās only when it did that I realised how much I wanted to live.ā
āAnd you did.ā
Jace nodded and lightly pressed your hand. āAnd I did. Thanks to you.ā
Silence settled between you two. It seemed that it always found its way to slither inside the cave. It did not feel awkward, though. Silence was a blanket wrapping around you, comfortable and familiar. In these moments, you just took in Jaceās presence ā the speed at which his chest went up and down, much faster than yours; the warmth that emanated from his skin. You could feel his gaze on your shadowy frame, trying to make sense out of your features without ever deciphering them.
āWhy do you always come by night?ā He finally broke the stillness in the cave.
Your stomach dropped, and you removed your hand instantly, like the contact had started burning you. Turned out, your desire to know the other better could lead you both to make a faux pas.
You considered lying. It was easy, tempting, a low-hanging fruit. Only, you could not think of a single excuse that he would not see right through. It had been easier to lie by omission when you were two strangers, but now that you had grown accustomed to one another, you were convinced he could read your voice like an open book. It felt wrong, too, lying to him after he had shown so much vulnerability and talked to you about the deepest, darkest feelings that had haunted his heart. He deserved to know.
āI donāt want you to see me.ā
He arched his brows, a thin wrinkle appearing on his forehead. A chuckle escaped his lips. āAnd why is that?ā
āI donāt want you to think Iām a monster,ā you answered after a pause.
āWhat?ā
You werenāt sure if his question came from disbelief or from the fact that you had slurred those words at a remarkably low tone. You cleared your throat and repeated your answer so that he could hear it. His frown deepened.
āYouāre a mermaid, arenāt you? I was always told mermaids were beautiful.ā
You sighed, trying to keep your composure. āMen love saying this until they see one and decide sheās so ugly they should kill her.ā The more you spoke, the less control you had over your voice, which trembled with anger. āOh, donāt get me wrong, they find us attractive enough to violate us, but that doesnāt stop them from degrading everything about our appearance. Weāre nothing but goods to men, goods to use and to sell for glory. A good mermaid is a dead mermaid.ā
Jace kept quiet as you continued your rant. āIād rather keep you from the horrible vision I would offer, so you can keep on picturing me however you want. Make me perfect, make me your fantasy, ignore the disappointing truth. I think itās better for both of us.ā
The manās Adamās apple bobbed up and down as he took in your words. The cave was colder now; the light of the moon that used to embrace you with tenderness had turned unforgiving, too harsh, too white, too impersonal. You wanted to leave and hide underwater until your skin had forgotten the caress of its rays.
āI had no idea you were treated like this.ā
You huffed, arms crossed over your chest. āJace,ā you sounded more cutting than you wanted to, but his question had opened the valves to the rage that had built up within you since you had first heard of one of your sistersā fates. āReally? Arenāt you a Velaryon?ā
If you hurt Jace on this evening, he did not hold it against you. You did not hold his words against him either. You stood a little further from the ground, he sat a little further from the water. There was no contact, no hand-holding, but no thick, palpable awkwardness either. You both knew which subjects to keep off the table.
Part of you wished youād stayed angry at the man. It would have been easier to deal with him if the blood pumping in your veins whenever you saw him came from resentment rather than infatuation. Because, yes, that was what it was. Infatuation, a stupid, almost teenage crush which you could not get rid of.
You wondered if he had noticed your feelings ā if he did, he did not let it slip. He was effortlessly charming, listening to your stories with interest and blowing you away with his tales. And he made you laugh ā though you did not know if he was really funny or if you were desperately head over heels, pathetically giggling at his words.
He was doing better every day. His wounds were turning into thin, red scars that shone under the moonlight but did not threaten to bleed or reopen, and he was recovering his strength. You could sense he was craving more movement, limited by the little islet of the cave. He was pacing back and forth for hours, sometimes risking an arm into the water, but he never plunged into the lagoon.
Until he did.
It happened on a drizzling afternoon. The clouds were hanging low and heavy, painting your entire world with shades of grey. You loved the rain. You loved floating right under the surface of the lagoon and watching the droplets of water fall into small, harmonious ripples and soft music. But, on this day, you could not afford the leisure. Invasive seaweeds were threatening your garden, and you could lose years of hard work if you did not intervene on the spot.
You heard him before you saw him. Your hands were buried in the dampened sand, brows furrowed with focus, when the distinctive sounds of a body splitting through the water got your attention. You did a full body turn, apprehension taking over you, when you ended up face to face with Jace. He had left his armour in the cave and was standing there, waist deep in the lagoon and messy, soaked hair trickling down his toned, bare chest.
He opened his mouth and then closed it, like a fish out of the water. Your first instinct was to hide, but the water was too shallow, too clear, too revealing. It was too late.
āI- Iām sorry, I didnāt mean toā¦ā Jaceās words hung in the air. He kept looking at you, taking in every little detail ā the way your scales changed colours with each gentle wag of your tail, the see-through lacing of your fins and the way they emerged from your body like mountain ranges. The way your skin merged in chaotic patterns with your animal features, like the two parts were fighting a chaotic battle for dominance. You crossed your arms over your chest as if they would protect you, hide any part of you to the man. You had never felt more naked or vulnerable than at this moment.
This simple movement brought his eyes up to your torso, and he stopped there for a second before reprising his ascension, cheeks reddening. When his eyes reached your face, the expression he read there made him wince, and you gritted your teeth.
āI asked you for one thing, Jace, one thing,ā your voice was sharp, unforgiving.
āI did not know you were there,ā he protested, his gaze still fixated on your face, unreadable.
You scoffed. āYou could have closed your eyes. Looked away. Swam in another direction.ā
Guilt softened his features, and he let go of the view you offered to stare at the water around his waist, the little ripples he made with each movement, the blur of his legs underneath the surface. This should have been simple, yet it seemed like tearing his eyes away from you was the most taxing action heād ever performed. He did not move further, and neither did you. Gently, the rain stopped, as if the clouds did not want to stand witness to the scene.
āYouāre nothing like a monster,ā he finally said, his words starting a fire across your body. You did not answer ā you did not know what to say. His eyes still on the water, he kept going. āI think sailors are scared, but not because you are ugly. You are too majestic.ā
āSoā¦ā You spoke carefully, making sure you heard him right, āare you scared of me?ā
He did not move his face, but his eyes flickered back to you, brightened by a glint which took your breath away. A smug smile stretched his lips when he answered.
āIām a prince, not a sailor.ā
You swam towards him without even realising it, until he was within reach. He raised a hand near a patch of scales on your arm, silently asking you for permission. You gave a quick nod, and his fingers brushed the zone. His hands were warm, softened by the sea, but they raised goosebumps along the rest of your skin.
āDo you know what you remind me of?ā He whispered, his eyes studying your arm. He took your silence as an answer. āOf a dragon. The way your scales reflect sunlight is identical to theirs. The colour is impossible to pin down.ā
āMaybe Iām the closest thing the lagoon has come to a dragon. Iām prey in the deep ocean, but Iām the apex predator here.ā
Jaceās smile grew and he met your eyes. āShould I fear for my life, then?ā
You marked a teasing pause. All of your anger had receded under the ardour of his gentle scrutiny, leaving only a lingering warmth in your stomach. His fingers were gentle on your arm, applying barely any pressure, and you whined when he let you go.
āDonāt,ā you said, both as an answer to his question and an order to his hand, which found yours instead, his eyes darker than you had ever seen them, pupils so dilated they almost entirely masked the rest of his irises.
Thatās when the realisation washed over you like a cold shower, which put out the fire under your skin.
The adoration you could see in his eyes was perhaps even worse than if you had scared him off. Because now, you had to come to terms with the fact that the man who got your heart racing, who could reduce you to a babbling mess in one look, felt the same.
He was a man. A prince. An heir to the Iron Throne, even. He should be leading armies and political councils, instead of playing in the water with you. He was destined for greatness; you were yearning for anonymity.
You could not keep him here. It was egoistical. Your folks had always reproached you for it, your tendency to do things on your own, to follow only your own flow when everyone was always acting as a shoal. That was why you had left, at the end of the day. Your desire for calm was only the consequence of your own selfishness, in their eyes.
That was your one opportunity to prove them wrong and make things right.
āYou can swim,ā you stated, words heavy on your tongue. He chuckled, surprised.
āNice observation.ā
You shook your head, panic gnawing at your insides. āNo, I mean. You can swim, you can reach the coast, you can find a boat to Westeros.ā
Jace frowned, eyes travelling over your face to read your expression. āDo you want me to leave?ā
āNo!ā You answered just a second too fast. āI meanā¦ Iām not saying I want you to, but you have a war to win, duties, your mother, a betrothedā¦ā
The confusion and hurt on his face shut you up.
āThey all think Iām dead.ā He said. āTheyāre grieving me, I donāt know if I can justā¦ come back like this.ā He snapped his fingers. āItās so much more complicated than that. Plus, I need to be careful, supporters of the usurper are everywhere and would be more than pleased to bring him my severed head.ā
āOhā¦ā
He let his arm go limp by his side, apprehensive. āAre you sure you are alright? Have I done something wrong? Iām really sorry, like I said, I did not mean to-ā
āJace,ā you stopped him. āYou did not do anything. I mean, you did, but obviously my fears were not founded.ā You let out a shy chuckle.
āWhat is it then?ā He inquired.
You blinked slowly, as if in a dazed state. As the evening settled, the world slowly turned golden around you, the lagoon shimmering around your bodies. You fiddled with your hair, trying to put some order in your thoughts to no avail. Jace was still waiting patiently, eyes inquiring but not prying.
āIā¦ā The last dam in your mind broke down, and words started flowing out of your control. āI didnāt stumble upon you like I said I had. I canāt explain why, but I swam all the way to the Gullet not knowing what for until I saw you. Thereāsā¦ Thereās a connection, like a thread that was linking me to you. And I like you, Jace. I know itās wrong because youāre a human, and youāre a Prince, and you deserve better than what I can offer, but I still like you. I should have told you earlier; you deserved to know, but I was so scared of ruining everything.ā
Your voice died in your throat. For a moment, you could not bring yourself to look at him, but when you did, you did not see the disappointment or the disgust you expected to find. Instead, Jace seemed to be in awe, mouth agape, eyes just a little too wide open, like a form of mania had taken over him.
āI called for you.ā He said. āWhen the arrow struck, when I realised I didnāt want to die, I called on the Gods, all of them, any of them, begging to be saved. And you came. Iā¦ I donāt know which of the Seven decided to access my request, but I know they sent you; I knew it from the first time I heard you sing. It was written by the Gods.ā
You looked up at him and softened at the glint of mischief in his eyes. He pushed back a strand of hair that was falling in front of your eyes, and you melted in his gentle touch.
āAll this time,ā he kept going, his voice barely over a whisper, āI was hoping that you were feeling this link.ā
A giggle escaped your lips, drawing Jaceās eyes towards them. āSo you had not noticed I was blushing like an idiot all the time,ā you answered.
āTo be fair, you made it really hard for me to see your face.ā
You bit your lip. āIām sorry, Iām sorry Iāve been so difficult, but I was so scared from the moment I caught feelings towards you. I couldnāt undo all this stuff I had learned as a kidā¦ā
āShh,ā Jace interrupted you. āItās okay. I get it.ā
Silence settled between you, familiar and serene. You were mere inches away from each other, not touching, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
āMaybe one day, when the war is over,ā he whispered, face serious, voice barely audible above the sounds of the sea, āif you feel like going on an adventure, I could show you where Iām from.ā
āIāve travelled far from my lagoon to reach you; I could do it again.ā He crossed the invisible border that stretched between you two as his hand cupped your cheek, and you covered it with your own to keep it there. The ghost of a smile lingered on his lips before he answered.
āBut, in the meantime, I could stay here for a while. If you donāt mind.ā His thumb stroked your skin. You tried to ignore the intense sound of your heartbeat, so loud it seemed determined to burst out of your chest.
āI think I donāt mind. I think I donāt mind at all,ā you smiled back, reaching a little closer, until your noses almost touched. You looked at him through your half-lidded eyes, shivering under the intensity of his brown gaze that set your blood on fire. āIn fact,ā you whispered against his lips, āI think Iād like you to stay.ā
He kissed you as an answer. His lips were salty and soft, pressing gently against yours. You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, only letting go when you both needed to take a breath.
You looked at each other, cheeks flushed and stupid grins splattered on your faces. He kissed you again with more urgency this time, like he was trying to learn every curve of your lips and of your body.
āAre you sure you donāt mind staying here?ā You murmured as he let go of your lips to assail your jaw with kisses. You took him in, the last rays of sunshine painted his face with pure gold, and gathered the last bits of self-control in your body to say, āYouāre a Targaryen, Jace. You are made out of fire and blood.ā
He stopped his manoeuvre to look at you with intense, hungry eyes. āIām a Velaryon first. I was shaped by salt and sea.ā
Summary : Dex finds a getaway bag under your side of the bed and assumes the worst.
Pairing : Benjamin Poindexter x reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, abandonment issues, obsessive attachment, codependency, established relationship, obsessive devotion, implied suicidal ideation, protective!reader, clingy!Dex, anxious attachment, happy ending. (let me know if I missed anything!)
Word Count : 3.3k
Requested By : Anon
Notes : First Dex fic with a taglist! Please let me know if you would like to be added, but remember, the taglist only applies to fics over 2k words! My 1000-something word short stories won't have the taglist on them. This fic title is inspired by a Hozier song of the same title. Enjoy!
Dex accidentally found your getaway bag hidden under your side of the bed on a random Tuesday.
He wasnāt snooping. He was looking for the knife he knew had slipped under there this morning when you clumsily knocked it out of the dresser in your hurry to go to work. He was reaching blindly beneath the bedframe with one hand, already annoyed because it was out of place, because he hated when things were out of place, because every missing thing became a hook in his brain until he found it and put it back where it belonged.
And then his fingers brushed canvas.
Huh. Whatās that?
Because Dex didnāt believe in minding his business if his business was you, he dragged out the duffel bag from under the bed.
The second he unzipped it, he was frozen in horror.
There was cash inside, and not a cute little emergency envelope. Not āoh, I have some spare money in case someone hacks into my bank account.ā It was some serious running money in bundled notes, probably half your life savings if he remembered correctly. It was enough to disappear for a while if you needed to.Ā
And because Dexās brain was not a calm place, because Dexās brain was basically a locked room full of alarms and broken glass and every person who had ever left him whispering see? see? see?, he did not think: oh, thatās a lot of cash. I'm gonna ask her later what itās for.
He thought: She has an exit plan. Sheās going to leave me.
He tried to shake the thought off his head, because it could be anything, right?Ā
Nope, didnāt work.Ā
Of course. Of course. Of course she was going to leave. Look at you. Look at what you are. Did you really think she would stay?
Fuck.Ā
He stood up and left the duffel bag there. He didnāt tear it apart. In fact, it stayed mostly intact, sitting open on the floor like a confession. He was careful with it, because some awful part of him needed the evidence preserved. Needed to look at it and hate himself.
But he destroyed the room though.
He didnāt do it violently, but instead he did it frantically. Drawers were yanked open. Your nightstand emptied. His hands were under the mattress before flipping it, shoved them into the insides pillowcases, behind books, between folded clothes. He was looking for more proof. Looking for the backup bag, a hidden note, a passport he knew had to exist, something to confirm that he wasnāt going insane and you were actually going to leave him.Ā
But the more he searched, the worse it got.
Every drawer he opened made another mess. Every shirt he threw aside landed in a place clothes shouldnāt be. The lamp was crooked. The blanket was hung by the door. The floor was covered. His breathing got too loud. The room started closing in around him, cluttered and wrong and bad, bad, bad!
And then that became his next spiral.
Great.
Fucking great, he thought as he looked around.Ā
Now the outside matched the inside of his head.
A ruined room for a ruined man. A mess for a mess.
Dex stood in the middle of it, shaking, staring at all of it like he had done it from outside his own body.Ā
This!!!! This is why sheās going to leave you!!!!!
He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his eye, breathing through his teeth, but it was too late. The mess was everywhere. The thought of you leaving was everywhere. He couldnāt put it back from wherever the hell it came from. He couldnāt make the bed right. He couldnāt get the image of you walking out of his life with that stupid fucking bag to stop replaying behind his eyes.
By the time you came home, he was a shell of himself.
Your keys were still in your hand when you stepped in and stopped cold.
The room was destroyed, but not smashed walls and broken glass and violence for the sake of violence. It was searched, gutted, turned inside out.Ā
And in the middle of it was Dex, on the floor, his back against the bed.
The duffel was halfway open near his knee, untouched compared to the rest of the roomā¦ and he had a gun.Ā
He had a gun in his hand, pointed at himself, on the underside of his head.
And he hated that too. He hated the neediness. He hated that even now, even like this, some starving part of him hoped you would come home and stop him. Which was pathetic. Which was manipulative. Which was exactly the kind of thing someone should leave him for.
Your blood went cold.
āDex,ā you said, trying to sound harmless; it almost sounded like a coo.
His eyes snapped to you, and it was red and wet with tears.Ā
It was difficult to imagine him as Bullseye like this, because Dex had always been frightening to most people who knew. You had seen him after bad nights, after adrenaline.Ā
But you had never seen this before.Ā That was different.
Dex didnāt wreck rooms. Dex didnāt leave chaos behind him like some sloppy, careless animal. Even at his worst, he was controlled. So seeing your bedroom torn apart was not just frightening.
It just meant something was very, very wrong.
āYouāre home,ā he said, and his voice sounded scraped raw, like he had been arguing with invisible people for hours.
You didnāt move too fast even though you wanted to. Your heart was throwing itself against your ribs so hard it hurt. But you looked at him, at the arguably most dangerous man in New York sitting in the wreckage of your bedroom with a weapon turned inward, and all you could think was:
Sweetheart
Your sweetheart of a murderous boyfriend, terrified out of his mind.
āIām home,ā you whispered.
His eyes flicked to the duffel, then back to you, and whatever fragile little thread had been holding him together snapped. āYou were going to leave.ā
The words came out so broken they barely sounded like an accusation.
Your gaze dropped to the bag and saw the cash peeking out.
Oh.
Oh, Benjamin.
āDexāā
āYou were going to leave me,ā he said again, louder this time, but it cracked halfway through. āYou had money. You had a bag. You hadāā He sucked in a breath that sounded like it hurt. āYou had a life under there.ā
You took one slow step forward. He flinched.
āYou werenāt supposed to find it like this,ā you said softly.
His face fell. āSo itās true.ā
āNo.ā
āYou just saidāā
āNo, baby.ā Your voice shook, but you kept it gentle. āNo. Not like that.ā
He gave this horrible little laugh.
āDonāt. Please donāt.ā His hand tightened around the gun, not threatening you, but himself. āYou canāt make it sound sweet. Please donāt stand there and make it sound sweet when youāre planning to run.ā
āI wasnāt planning to run from you.ā
āYou had a plan.ā
āYes.ā
His eyes squeezed shut. āFuck.ā
āYes,ā you said again, stepping closer, careful, so fucking careful. āI had a plan. But not that one.ā
He shook his head hard, like your words had reached a convinced resistance in his brain.
You looked around the room again, really looked this time, and understood.
He hadnāt destroyed it because he was angry. He had looked for evidence until the room became evidence of him.
It was a ruin made wrong by his own hands. An excuse to hate himself because the alternative was hating you. And Dex could never stomach that.Ā
Dex followed your gaze and his face collapsed into shame.
āI fucked it up,ā he said, barely audible. āI fucked everything up. Itās everywhere. Itās all wrong. I canātāā His breathing hitched. āI canāt fix it. I made it worse. I always make it worse.ā
āOh, Dex.ā
āDonāt,ā he snapped, then immediately looked wrecked by his own voice. āYou were going to leave me.ā
The gun shook.
āI wasnāt.ā
āStop lying to me.ā
āIām not lying.ā
āYou had a plan.ā
āYes,ā you said, frustrated now because he didnāt leave you space to get your point across. āI had a plan. So for once in your life, sweetheart, please listen to me!ā
And that shut him up.
Horrible choice of words? Maybe. But you needed him to listen.
You lowered yourself slowly to the floor, not too close yet, keeping your hands visible.
āDex,ā you said. āHave you even looked in the bag?ā
āI did.ā
āNo,ā you whispered. āReally.ā
He didnāt move.
So you reached for the duffel yourself and pulled out the first burner phone.
āOne,ā you said. Then the second. āTwo.ā
What?Ā
You pulled out your fake passport. āMine.ā Thenā¦ a second one. āYours.ā
Dexās face changed in stages.
Confusion first. Then disbelief.
Then a feeling of devastation made him want to crawl across the floor and cover you with his whole body.
You kept going, because he needed facts. He needed as much proof as you can give.
āTwo sets of clothes. Two toothbrushes. Cash for both of us. Medical kit.ā Your voice went small, almost sheepish. āIā¦ fuck, Dex, forgot to tell you. You know how I am when I get distracted.ā
He blinked. He knewā he knew more than more people what you were like when one too many things were in your mind. Sometimes the details just slipped, and he would never use it against you.
āI made it a week ago when you were out,ā you explained. āI made it because one day you might come home and say you have to run. And I know myself, Dex. I wouldn't ask questions while you bleed on the carpet. Iām grabbing the bag and going wherever you need to go.ā
He stared at the ID that you opened. It had his face on it.
You looked up at him from the floor, surrounded by all the proof he had misunderstood.
āI wasnāt planning to run from you, Dex.ā You reassured. āI was planning to run with you.ā
Dex stared at you. And his whole body justā¦ gave up, like whatever rage had been keeping him upright finally dissolved and left nothing underneath but panic and shame and love so whole it made him sick.
The gun dipped, his wrist going slack like all the strength had drained out of him at once.
You put your open palm gently on his lap. āLet me have it, baby.ā
Dex stared at your hand. You were asking for his gun as if it wasnāt a weapon turned inward, as if it wasnāt the shape every horrible thought currently chewing through his skull made real.
His fingers tightened once, and not because he wanted to keep it. It was because letting go meant trusting you with the part of him that was still trying to punish himself.
You kept your voice soft.
āPlease, baby,ā you whispered. āIām going to put it on the table. Thatās all.ā
His eyes flicked to yours then, wet and ruined.ā You shouldnāt come closer.ā
āI know.ā
āIām notāā His lips trembled. āIām not right.ā
āI know.ā
Fuck.Ā
You werenāt arguing. You werenāt denying that this behaviour wasnāt normal. You knew he was dangerous. And still, your hand stayed open.
āGive it to me, Dex.ā
His breath hitched.
The room was still a mess around you. Dexās eyes kept catching on it, dragging over every displaced object like each one was proof of his failure to be a good boyfriend.Ā
You saw the thought move through him and softened your voice even more.
āDonāt look at the room right now,ā you murmured. āLook at me.ā
He tried. Eventually, his gaze dragged back to you like it physically hurt.
āThatās it,ā you whispered. āGood. Thatās good.ā
Dex made a sound so small it almost disappeared in his throat.
You put your hand closer, not snatching, not treating him like a threat, even though your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
āLet me put it down,ā you said. āThen we can sit. Okay?ā
He stared at you for another breath. Then, finally, his fingers loosened.
You took the gun from his hand with the gentlest touch you had ever used on anything in your life. You turned and placed it on the table behind you.
It was far enough away now
Then you came straight back to him.
The second your hands were empty again, Dex collapsed forward like the weapon had been the last thing holding his body upright.
You caught his face in both hands. āOh, baby.ā
His eyes squeezed shut.
āIām sorry,ā he choked. āIām sorry. Iām sorry. Iām sorry.ā
āI know.ā
āI thought you were leaving.ā
āI know.ā
āI thought so little of you.ā
His voice barely sounded like his own anymore. It was scraped thin and torn open.Ā
āBaby,ā you whispered. āBreathe.ā
āBut I did.ā His hands caught you frantically, gripping your waist, your hips, the fabric of your shirt like if he let go, you would disappear right there in front of him. āI did. I saw it and I thoughtā¦ I thought you were like everyone else. I thought you were going to get tired of me. I thought you finally realised.ā
Your throat tightened. āRealised what?ā
His eyes āWhatās wrong with me.ā
Oh, fuck.
You took his face in your hands, like you could hold the thought inside him still enough to kill it. āNothing is wrong with you that makes me want to leave.ā
Dex flinched.Ā
His eyes squeezed shut, and the first real sob shook out of him, helpless and so human it made your heart ache. Because Dex could handle cruelty. Dex could handle being hated. Dex could handle people looking at him like he was a monster.
But this, he never knew how to handle.Ā
āI love you,ā he said, breathless now, panicked by his own need. āI love you. I love you. I love you so much. Please donāt leave me. Please. Iām sorry. Iām sorry, Iām sorryāā
āShut up,ā you whispered, and it came out a little mean because you were crying too now. Because how dare he? How dare he look at you like leaving him was something you could physically do? āPlease donāt say things like that.ā
You kissed his forehead first.
āIād never leave you.ā
Then his temple.
āNever.ā
His cheek, still wet with tears.
āNever, Dex.ā
You gave more fluttery kisses to the bridge of his nose. The corner of his mouth. His other cheek, peppering small kisses one after another, until his breathing caught and his face tipped helplessly into your hands. Even now, even wrecked and ashamed and shaking, some part of him still wanted more.
He needed more.
So when you kissed the damp track beneath his eye, he grabbed you.
His hands caught your waist and dragged you closer, desperate and clumsy with it, and then his mouth was on yours.
It wasnāt a pretty kiss. It was too broken. Dex kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside you. Like your mouth was the only thing keeping him from slipping back into the horrible void his mind had made for him. His breath stuttered against your lips, his hands gripping your shirt, your side, your hip, anything he could touch.
And you let him.
You kissed him back with both hands in his hair, holding him there while he made that ruined little sound into your mouth.Ā
His hand tightened at your waist.
āOw, Dex,ā you breathed, but it came out with a tiny chuckle against his mouth. Of course this man was having one of the worst breakdowns of his life and still holding you like a claw machine.Ā
He froze for half a second, lips still parted against yours.
āSorry,ā he whispered immediately, voice rough.
But he did not pull away. He just loosened his grip, palm spreading wide and careful over the spot instead, like he could smooth the hurt away.
āToo hard?ā he asked.
āA little.ā
His forehead dropped against yours. He breathed out shakily, almost laughing, still crying.
āThere,ā you murmured, kissing him again. āGentler.ā
He tried. Fuck, he tried so hard it almost broke your heart. His palm opened against your side, broad and shaking, still possessive and needy, still Dex, but careful now.
Then he folded into you.
He put his face against your chest like he was trying to disappear there. As if he pressed close enough, he wouldnāt have to see the room behind you. Wouldnāt have to see the drawers, the clothes, the crooked bed, the evidence of everything he had done while his head was eating itself alive.
Fuck.
This man could kill half the city if you asked him sweetly enough. He could put a fork through a random person on the street if you only pointed. He could turn anything into a weapon.Ā
But with you, he was on the floor, hiding his face in your chest because he couldnāt look at the mess he made.
Because you were so, so special to him, that the idea of losing you had gutted him thoroughly.
āIāll fix it,ā he whispered into your shirt.
You stroked his hair. āBaby.ā
āIāll fix it.ā His voice caught. āIāll put it back. Iāll clean it. Iāll do it right. Iāll fix it.ā
āI know you will.ā You kissed the top of his head. āBut not tonight.ā
He went tense immediately, panic sparking under your hands.
āI can. I can do it.ā
You shook your head gently before he could spiral again.
āListen to me. Weāre going to get a hotel tonight, yeah?ā
Dex blinked at you, breath hitching like the idea of stepping out of the ruined room had not occurred to him.
āAnd tomorrow,ā you continued, keeping your hands on his face, āIāll get a cleaner in here.ā
His eyes flicked past you to the room, panic flashing. āNoāā
āBaby,ā you said softly. āListen. Iāll get a cleaner in here tomorrow. Theyāll do the big stuff.ā
His throat worked.
āAnd then,ā you said, kissing his cheek again, āafter theyāre gone, you can make a second pass at everything.ā
Dex went still.
You saw the compromise land in his brain.
āYou can put things back how you like them,ā you whispered. āYou can check the drawers. You can fix the bed. You can make it feel right again. But tonight, we have to leave the room alone.ā
Thatā¦ was a good idea.
āOkay,ā Dex said finally.
It came out muffled against your chest, hoarse and exhausted. He nodded once, like he was trying to make his body accept it too.
You stroked his hair back from his damp forehead.
āThere he is,ā you whispered.
His eyes fluttered shut.
His arms tightened around your waist, but only for half a second before he remembered himself and loosened his grip. He looked up at you, eyes red, cheeks wet, mouth swollen from kissing you. Still wrecked. Still ashamed. But quieter now. Softer around the panic.
āYouāll be with me in the hotel?ā he asked.
You cupped his cheek. āOf course.ā
His breath left him shakily. āOkay.ā
You kissed his forehead one more time. āCome on.ā
You helped him stand, reaching out. The room was still messy around you, but he didnāt look at it this time. He kept his eyes on you at the door, his hand hovered near yours.
āIs this okay?ā he asked, poking at your fingers while the duffel bag sat on his shoulder. Tonight was gonna barely make a dent on your stash, so thereās no reason to worry about anything, really.
You smiled and opened your hand. āOf course.ā
He slid his fingers through yours carefully, like he was afraid of holding too tight again. Then he lifted your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles.
walk with me on this one . . . DDBA!Dex has erectile dysfunction. for sure. at least a little bit. that man was on so many medications, they had him on enough benzos to drop an elephant for 8 years and then Vanessa Fisk cuts him off cold turkey, heās suicidal, depressed, and anxious. sometimes he just canāt get it up ok?
this does not bother him so much because it gives him an excuse to finger you until you come and then curl up against you and fall asleep without worrying about performing himself. heās inexperienced and a little insecure about it, and I headcanon him to be on the ace spectrum, so heās more than happy to just give you three orgasms and hear you tell him how good he makes you feel. he honestly does not need you to return the favor. he just wants to be useful to you.
however. when he is in the mood to come, or when youāre in the mood to make him come, itās a very intimate experience that almost overwhelms him. you never pressure him to perform when he canāt or doesnāt want to. you never make him feel inadequate or disappointing when he struggles to get hard. you work him up slowly, gently, letting him take as much time as he needs and showering him in praise and affection. you kiss the tears off his cheeks when he finally does tip over that edge.
in the crucible of war, tying the two strongest houses in a holy matrimony is a scheme easier than any other. youāve known ormund hightower your entire life, but he is also the man who has broken your heart... in a play of power and game of love, how will you protect your heart from him?
genre/warnings:
suggestive, marriage of convenience, unrequited love, slight enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, yearning, age gap, mentions of pregnancy, kidnapping, fluff, tyrell!reader (reader is ormund's second wife), takes place during the dance of dragons, spoilers! from house of the dragon season 3
notes:
gif by @/alysmond. wc. 5.5k ! so ormund hightower makes an appearance, james norton is hot and i just watched house of guinness... so here's some brainrot concocted in my brain <3
They said... the best fairytale is the one that begins with a wedding.
The lady of the roses and the lord of the high tower. There was no union more perfect in the eyes of the Reach as the drums of war began to echo across Westeros. You were the vision of genteel grace and elegance while Ormund stood beside you as a stalwart protector.
Men mourned the loss, for the fairest maiden of Highgarden was no longer theirs to dream of, while women looked on with envy, wishing for a husband with the strength and stature of the Lord of Oldtown.
If only they have knownā¦
Had it been ten years past, you would have been the happiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
And if fairytales begin with a wedding, then yours was doomed from the startā because long before the day you wed him, your story had taken root in heartbreak of your own making.
You had known Ormund Hightower all your life, loved him when you were young and foolish enough to believe that your innocent heart mattered to him. For years, you had molded yourself into his idealāyou kept yourself pretty, perfected your manners, and stayed up late reading tedious books just so you could casually strike up a conversation on subjects he cared about.
āOnly you would throw yourself in the studies of the arts of war. What a charming young lady you are.ā He would smile and be amused, and you would bite the inside of your cheek, genuinely believing you were winning him over.
You had carefully crafted your image as a prim, intellectual lady, dedicating every ounce of your grace and intellect to a singular, desperate goal: enticing him.
And you really thought you were at the forefront of his thoughts tooā
āI present my victory to you, my lady. And at my behest, name you as the queen of love and beauty.ā
The day you were crowned by the dashing heir of Oldtown right after he won the tourney before the entire court was the day you truly believed your girlhood dreams had come to life.
However... Ormund Hightower was apparently a man of distinct tasteā and the young flower of House Tyrell was not on his list of potential brides, despite his fondness of you.
āAny good man would be delighted to be the object of your affections, no more so than I.ā
It was the night after the news had broken of him asking for the hand of the vivacious Lady Tarly. He had a crooked smile, even as you stared at him with heartbreak shining in your eyes.
āAlas, I am a man soon to be wed. We must cease these meetings, so I ask you not to call on me any longer.ā
Your heart died then, and stayed cold for the next ten years.
But fate, working its cruel irony, returned Ormund to you just as the war of succession for the Iron Throne began to tear the realm apart. Although the man before you was no longer the posh new lord of Oldtown, but a seasoned man hardened by politics and a wife who died in childbed.
āDeclare Aegon the rightful heir and commit five thousand of your men. In exchange... my protection and the hand of the Lady Tyrell.ā
Your good sister, the Lady of Highgarden, who was the regent for her infant son, had wished to remain neutral amidst the ongoing civil war. But the Hightowers were kin to the queen dowager and had been fiercely loyal since ancient times. Confronted with Ormund Hightowerās formidable host and the threat of dragonfire, she simply could not refuse his offer.
However, you had not forgotten the man who had broken your heart.
. . .
āWho would have thought that you would remarry? Your poor wife must be weeping in her grave.ā
That was the first thing you said to his face after ten years, and he was entirely unfazed and amused instead.
āOf course, no one is more delighted than I to accept this most generous proposal,ā you followed, your voice dripping with sweet venom as you paced before him. āBut I wish to settle an arrangement first.ā
Ormund leaned back, an intrigued glimmer in his dark eyes. He had a small smile and gave you a nod, gesturing for you to continue. āAnd what might that arrangement be, my lady?ā
āI wish to maintain my freedom. I expect to be allowed to live on my own terms, and that includes being permitted to keep my own counsel, travel as I see fit, and take my own companions.ā
Ormundās lips twitched, as he tilted his head. āCompanions? Do you mean lovers?ā
You lifted your chin and looked down at him with haughty defiance. āI suppose so. Because frankly, I cannot see either of us engaging in romance in our otherwise unfortunate union.ā
How was it that the man who once meant the world to you be the one you felt nothing for when fate twisted its narrative so you could become his wife?
āThe rose has grown rather sharp thorns, I see.ā
For the first time, you saw how Ormundās eyes lit with distaste, even if he was ever amused. āAs much as I could imagine, I couldnāt possibly allow that. At least for old timesā sake, shouldnāt you grant me the grace of fulfilling the role of your lord husband?ā
āLet us speak freely here. If I recall correctly, it is my houseās bannermen you seek, and ten years is a long time,ā you scoffed. āWe might have been fond of each other once, but we are, at present, not.ā
āOh, but I am,ā he countered smoothly, āstill very fond of you, Lady Tyrell.ā
Ormund finally rose from his seat and approached you with ease. His blue eyes narrowed, and a wicked, knowing smile curled his lips.
āAnd I have no intention of sharing what is mine, least of all with men lesser than I am. If it is a lover you want, then you will find I am more than sufficient.ā
He stepped into your space, a particular yet pleasant smellāfrom his collection of pomander, no doubtāfilled your senses. Leaning down, he whispered directly into your ear:
āAt least let me prove to you that we donāt need romance to findā¦ a common ground.ā
This man was far more cunning than you had ever given him credit for, seamlessly crafting a trap for you to fall into.
But if he thought he could effortlessly master you like a piece on a chessboard, he was sorely mistaken.
He might have broken your heart a decade ago, but now, you held the shards.
Ormund Hightower, however, seemed intent on making good on his word.
He lavished you with his wealth, stood beside you like a devoted and gallant husband, and before long, even the smallfolk began singing praises of your matchāutterly charmed by the sight of their Lord and the new Lady Hightower.
And he wanted the exclusive rights to your bed? Fine. You would grant him lordly dues, butā
āseven hells, you would have never expected that sex with him would be this great.
One time, it had started with him pinning you against the walls of your chambers, devouring your lips like a man in heat. The other time he took his time, worshiping every inch of you until you were weeping his name into the silk pillows, begging for a release he purposely delayed.
And nowā
āHaah...ā
The breath hitched in your throat as you sank down onto him, the heat and friction from where the two of you were joined striking like a sudden fever. You sat astride his hips, your skirts pooled around you, anchoring him beneath you.
Ormundās calloused hands were gripping your waist as he let out a grunt, trying to steady himself against a shifting tide. He looked up at you, his blue eyes hooded, blown wide with a hunger that melted away the facade of composed lord from the war council.
This was him entirely at your mercyā
You rolled your hips with a fluid, agonizing grace that drew a ragged groan from deep within his chest. You kept your chin tilted high, meeting his lustful gaze with a mocking smile.
āIs this all it takes to render the Lord of Oldtown into submission?ā you taunted, your voice trembling slightly with the pleasure of him, though you forced the words out like a dare. āA womanās touch?ā
Ormundās jaw clenched, a breathless grin on his face. āSince when... have you become so sharp-tongued?ā
āSince I realized pretty words are wind and noble lords are fickle liars,ā you provoked, leaning forward until your tangled hair brushed his cheek, your breath hot against his ear. āNow, are you content to let me rule your bed just as Highgarden rules over you?ā
Crafty little lady. That was his breaking point.
With a low roar, Ormund seized control. He didnāt unseat youāinstead, his hands locked onto your hips like iron clamps, guiding your body into a bruising rhythm that completely shattered your cool. He drove up into you with fierce thrusts, proving with every deep stroke just how formidable he truly was.
The smug defiance bled out of you, replaced by needy gasps of pain as he chased your peak, drowned in his carnal dominance until the world blurred into a haze of white-hot heat and mutual ruin.
. . .
When it was over, the heavy silence of the chamber returned, and you woke to find yourself tangled in his arms.
Ormund lay with his eyes shut, his broad, bare chest pressed against you, holding you fast.
His hair was disheveled, his eyelashes were long, and for a moment you saw your first love again, who stood tall amidst the rose gardens.
How is a man well-known for his faith luring you into thinking of sins?
You immediately tried to pull away as your pride demanded that you re-establish your distance. However, when you moved to swing your leg off him, a sudden ache between your thighs made you wince slightly.
Ormund noticed instantly as his eyes fluttered open. He shifted beside you, his voice unusually soft in the dim light. āAre you sore?ā
āI am perfectly fine,ā you snapped, brushing his arm away as you reached for the sheets to cover yourself, trying to regain a semblance of independence.
You had expected him to either offer an argument or wear that infuriating smirk. He did neither. Instead, he quietly rose from the bed, and you watched him, expecting him to leave you be.
However, a moment later, Ormund returned to the bedside. He gently pulled back the linen sheet and before you could protest, the soothing, comforting heat of a warm towel pressed against your inner thigh, wiping away the slick remnants with tenderness.
You froze, the sharp retort dying in your throat.
His touch was gentle, devoid of the lust from moments ago and completely stripped of the smugness he wore by day.
āDo not coddle me, Ormund,ā you croaked, your voice tight as he pressed another clean, warm towel gently over your lower abdomen for comfort, before pulling the sheets over you.
āYou ride like a wanton, yet you are far from used to it,ā he sighed softly, as if lamenting. āI would have been gentler, if I had known.ā
You fell silent as shame coiled in your chestāa mirror of when you were just a young girl vying for his attention only to face the news of his impending wedding to another woman.
But he is taking care of you now, and you have become his lawfully-wedded wife. And in this quiet gesture, a dam broke in your memoryā of a young man who draped his coat over your shoulder as you basked amidst the roses of Highgarden.
āYou must be cold. Go inside already,ā he would say, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
You used to dream of his touch, his love, his everything. It was bittersweet how he was yours now, but you were torn between heartache and a desire to pay him back in full for what he had inflicted on youāthe bitter, humiliating pain of not being chosen.
āMust you hate me that much?ā
You blinked up at him, caught off guard. Ormund met your gaze with a certain sternness you had rarely seen from him.
ā...to the point of hurting yourself?ā he went on, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. If you were bold enough, you would presume that it was concern that you saw in his eyes.
Yetā¦ it only made that part of your heart clenched instead.
Why now? Why only after you had hated him enough to last a lifetime? Why only after you had spent nights crying yourself to sleep that he finally turn his eyes on you?
It was so fucking unfair.
āYou presume too much, Ormund Hightower.ā
Your response was biting cold, yet so soft and whispery. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.
āRest assured, in this very contractual marriage of ours, I have no intention of feeling anything for you,ā you continued, your lips curving into a cruel smile. āOther than with my body.ā
To your relief, not a single muscle in his jaw twitched, burying whatever thoughts your words had stirred in him.
He shook his head lightly, finally breaking your gaze, a ghost of a smile returning to his lips, though it never reached his eyes.
āSo be it then,ā Ormund murmured, his voice dropping to a low baritone that carried no warmth, only the absolute finality. āHow regrettable though. One may mistake you as the rose, whereas you have long since become its thorns.ā
Without waiting for your answer, he straightened, turning his back on you to dress, leaving you alone in the quiet wreck of the bedsheets.
You have done it. You had ensured that his affection would forever remain beyond your reach.
That may be so, but it did not mean the physical hunger between you regressed in the slightest
You had laid with him a few more times afterwards. Each encounter in his chambers was an exercise in numbing heartsā he took you with a demanding dominance that left you breathless and slick with sweat and pleasuring you as if you were the only woman he worshipped.
Yet, as soon as the sun rose, Ormund was back to his cynical self, his crooked smile and calculating gaze ever keen on you. He kept you at an armās length though since that night, strutting through the halls of the Hightower as the proud lord he was.
You truly believed you could kill that fragile part of your heart that still yearned for him, matching his coldness with your own pride.
Until the turn of the moon, at least.
āMy lady... this is strange.ā
The pale morning light filtered through the arched windows of your solar as your maid, Ellyn, tugged firmly at the laces of your corset. You stood before the tall silver mirror, waiting to be cinched into your dress.
āWhat is?ā you asked, feeling how her fingers slipped on the laces.
Her hands smoothed over the small of your back as she tried once more to force the edges of the bodice together. āThe laces simply wonāt meet. It is as though it has shrunk.ā
āDo not be foolish. Pull harder.ā
āI am pulling, my lady, but...ā
Ellyn hesitated, her eyes shifting to your reflection. Slowly, a realization dawned to her as she stepped to the side. āOh, my...ā
You looked at your reflection then, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
There, beneath the unlaced corset, your normally slender waist held an unmistakable curveāa slight protrusion in your belly that had not been there a moon ago.
āBless the Mother,ā Ellyn whispered, her hands dropping away as a smile broke across her face, entirely unaware of how your breath had caught in your throat. She beamed at you, asking:
āMy lady... your coursesā when did you last bleed?ā
. . .
āWe will march for Tumbleton.ā
You were pulled from your daze at the dining hall when Ormundās voice broke your thoughts.
āYou, however, are to remain in Oldtown,ā he continued, adjusting the signet ring on his finger. āYou know the city and the ledgers. I need a steady hand to rule it in my stead.ā
His words passed by at first.
āIām bringing my ward Daeron and his beast. I have also arranged for the merchant boy to have his hair dyed to stand in his placeāā
āA double?ā you asked, almost in disbelief. āIf anyone notices the deceptionāā
āThey wonāt,ā Ormund interrupted smoothly, a cold smile touching his lips. āPeople see what they expect to see. Silver hair, a fine cloth, and the right escort would do to make one a prince. It keeps the boy safe, and more importantly, it keeps our leverage intact. Iād wager sooner or later theyāre going to demand his head.ā
It was this exact cunning that had captivated you. He was a man who saw the board three moves ahead, possessing an intellect forged for the cruelties of war. The fact that your child would have him as father brought a wave of reassurance, somehow.
But at the same time, dread creeped inā with the news of his departure, the secret beneath your skirts suddenly felt twice as heavy.
Ormund paused, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught the hollow look in your eyes. His lips crooked.
āNo counsel to give? You already wear the expression of a widow grieving a husband lost to the war.ā
The barb pierced through your fog, sparking a sudden flash of ire as you gave him a look. āDo not flatter yourself.ā
āThatās more like it.ā He rose from his seat with a low chuckle. He didnāt see the ghost that seemed to settle over you, nor the way your hand instinctively wanted to press against the fabric of your skirts.
There were barely two days before his banners moved out, and somehow you didnāt have it in you to let him go without any parting words.
āMay the Seven guide your path.ā
The hollow blessing tasted like ash in your mouth, but it caught his attention. Ormund paused and turned back to face you.
However, there was no warmth in his expressionāonly an expressionless stare that bore straight through your soul.
āI thank Her Ladyship for her blessing,ā he said, his voice dropping into a formal cadence. āThough I find it unnecessary.ā
Three weeks had passed since then, and even the air in Oldtown was thick with the apprehension of war.
With Ormund riding out to lead his host, the governing of the city fell upon your shoulders. While it was your first time doing so, you found that you possessed the head and patience for it.
And thankfully, it kept you busy enough to keep the ghost of him out of your thoughts.
Yet at the same time, unbeknownst to you, your devotion to the city made you a conspicuous target.
It happened on a gray morning while you were overseeing the distribution of rice near the harbor. Before your household guards could even draw their steel, men in dark cloaks had surrounded you and cut down the soldier closest to youā
āLay down your swords!ā you screamed, trembling as the smallfolk were sent into a cries of horror after the manās blood splattered across the cobblestones.
The crowd erupted into a panicked frenzy, scattering like birds before a hawk. Your remaining guards hesitated, their blades shaking in their hands as the cloaked men closed the circle around you.
From the shadows of the docks, a man stepped forward. He wore a dun-colored cloak, his brigandine bore the banners of Targaryen black and red. Men loyal to the Queen Rhaenyra.
āYes, yes...ā the leader sneered, his voice cutting through the screams of the fleeing smallfolk. āTell them to keep their steel sheathed, Lady Hightower, or we will turn these docks into a slaughterhouse.ā
āYou dare bring violence to Oldtown?ā you demanded, your voice finding its steel despite the frantic pounding of your heart. āLord Ormund will have your heads on spikes before the moon turns.ā
The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. āOh donāt you know, my lady? Lord Ormund bit off more than he could chew. Even as we speak, he lies dying in a pool of his own blood in Tumbleton.ā
The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet, leaving you hollowed out by an icy shock. Without thinking, your hand flew to your abdomen, your fingers pressing firmly against your velvet gown, trying to find something to hold.
Dying. The word echoed in your mind like a funeral knell. The fortress of ice you had built to protect your heart shattered. For all your vows of indifference, the thought of him bleeding into the dirt tore a jagged wound through your chest.
Your captain of the guards stepped in front of you, his sword raised. āMy lady, we can take them. Run for the gates!ā
āIf a single blade is drawn, my men will cut these peasants,ā the leader warned. āWe will burn these docks, and every innocent soul on them will die because of your pride. Come with us quietly, or watch Oldtown bleed.ā
You looked at the terrified faces of the very people you had spent weeks watchingā the women holding their children close, the old men trembling behind the grain carts.
For years, Ormund had protected them as their lord. Even if he is nowā No matter how, you couldnāt let his city fall.
You placed a firm hand on your captainās arm , forcing his blade down. āLower your sword,ā you commanded quietly.
āBut my ladyā!ā
āI said, lower it.ā You stepped past him, lifting your chin, refusing to let these dogs see you tremble. Looking at the leader in the eye, you spat, āI will go with you. Spare the city, and let these people go.ā
He gave a mocking bow. āA noble choice, Lady Hightower. The realm will remember your piety.ā
A rough hand seized your arm, dragging you towards a waiting carriage. The smallfolk of Oldtown wept aloud as they watched their ladyāthe sweet rose who had looked after them these past few weeksāspirited away into a cage.
Only when the heavy door slammed shut and the iron bolt clicked into place did the stark reality finally crash over you.
Tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you cradled your belly and struggled to breathe under the crushing weight of the very possibility that the man you had once again fallen in love with might well be dead.
There were many things, in truth, that Ormund favored in you.
You always smelled of sweet rosesā out of everything, that was probably what he liked the most.
The vast gardens of Highgarden suited you, and he remembered the girl you used to be, the one who had been too timid to look him in the eye at first, but who had beautifully worked herself up to be able to do so.
He knew of your affectionsā he has always known. It flattered him, though none but himself and the Gods would ever know that he, too, harbored a quiet fondness for the innocent Lady Tyrell.
His little rose. In truth, he had believed that someone so young and sweet as you shouldnāt be bound to a man like him. His late wifeārest her soul, for he had been fond of her too, though it was never a blind, consuming loveāhad been different. She had been compliant, and more than ready to submit herself to her wifely duties, and she was who he needed when he first took on the mantle of the Lord of Oldtown.
The Gods are cruel, as all men know, especially when his dutiful wife died in a tragedy and he had to turn to House Tyrell to aid his house in its conquest for the throneā only to find you, his rose, still very much beautiful and unwed.
However, that sweet rose has grown thorns. So sharp the thorns that he has almost forgotten how soft the petals are.
You no longer stuttered and conducted yourself with pride that both vexed and captivated him. In the beginning, he had been intrigued by the woman you had become because he was convinced that the gentle little lady of his memories was still there, waiting to be coaxed out.
That was why on the day he took you to his bed and realized the truthāthat you were merely performing and he had been anything but gentleāhe drew the line.
But you merely looked at him with eyes as cold as winter.
āRest assured, in this very contractual marriage of ours, I have no intention of feeling anything for you.ā
Every time those words echoed in his mind, it felt as though a dagger were piercing his lungs.
. . .
āLord Ormund! My lord! Thank the Gods youāre back!ā
Tumbleton had been a bloodbath, and he barely survived it himselfāa blade having pierced his armor and a hairās breadth from his heart. But the market city had fallen, the Blacks had been broken there with the betrayals of two of their own dragonriders, and in the grand game of thrones, that was all that truly mattered.
However, the moment he stepped his foot back at Oldtown after six weeks, the atmosphere in his own home were grimā his household servants were openly relieved, some almost weeping, as if he was a ghost returned from the grave.
āThey told us you were dead, my lord,ā the head guard told him somberly. āWe thought all was lost.ā
āA blatant lie made to weaken our morale,ā Ormund hissed, his hand dropping to the pommel of his sword as his wound ached. āTumbleton has fallen, and Iām far from the grave.ā
Still, he sensed something dreadful had occurred by how mournful the maidservants wereā
āMy lord!ā
Before Ormund could demand what had happened in his absence, a shrill voice cut through. Ellyn, your faithful handmaiden, pushed past the other servants, her eyes were red-rimmed from days of crying.
She fell to her knees, clutching desperately at the hem of his traveling cloak.
āYou must help her, Lord Ormund! You must bring her back!ā
A cold knot of dread coiled in his stomach. He looked down at the trembling girl, his brow furrowing deeply.
And the words she uttered next, as she looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks, made his blood run colder than when he saw dragons burning Tumbleton.
āThe lady! Three weeks ago, while the city was fooled by the news of your death, the false queenās men took her away!ā
They had taken you to Tumbleton.
The market city was ravaged beyond repair. For three weeks now, they had held you hostage in a makeshift holdfast. They gave you barely enough bread and water to keep you alive, and as the days bled together, your hope withered to nothing.
Your unborn child, who grew heavier by the day beneath your heart, was the only thing left to give you the strength to survive this madness.
And as if your situation werenāt desperate enough, through the timber door of your cell, the muffled voices of your captors reached your ears. They were conversing in frantic, hushed tones.
āThe smallfolk are rioting in Kingās Landing. Theyāre storming the Dragonpit. The Queen is fleeing!ā
āThen what of us? What of the woman?ā another rasped.
āLeave her. If the Hightowers find us here, theyāll flay us alive. Set the fire. Let the ashes cover our tracks.ā
Alarmed and struck by a sudden, feral terror, you flung yourself against the door.
āLet me out!ā You screamed for help, your voice raw, hitting the wood until your knuckles bled.
But the only response was a thud, followed by the crackling of fire and pitch. Smoke and heat began to seep through, as the chamber was slowly being consumed. You were trapped.
Realizing you would soon meet your demise, the strength left your legs, and you collapsed into the dirt, trembling with tears.
I would die, Ormund already did, and I have never told him.
You bitterly regretted never telling him that you were with his child.
As the heat grew unbearable, your mind drifted away to the sun-drenched rose gardens of your home, where you and Ormund Hightower had first met.
He is devilishly handsome and gentle. Your first love who had broken your heart once, but still owns it to this very day, when you would breath your last.
The black smoke filled your lungs, choking the breath from your throat. Your vision began to tunnel, the edges of the room blurring into darkness as you surrenderred to the Stranger.
Then, through the flames, a sudden, violent crash echoedā the sharp ring of steel slicing through. Through your fading, tear-blurred sight, a figure burst through the burning doorway.
You could have sworn you saw the shimmering edge of Vigilance cleaving through the smoke, its blade gleaming. That was the Valyrian steel your husband wielded.
Was it a cruel figment of your dying imagination?
But then, the heat of the fire was eclipsed by the fierce, solid weight of heavy arms wrapping around you, lifting you from the ground. And right against your ear, came a trembling voice you recognized:
āI have you,ā Ormund whispered, his voice cracking with a raw emotion you had never heard from him before.
āHold on to me. I have you, dearest.ā
The next time you awoke, you were in his bedchambers in the Hightower.
The suffocating stench of smoke and pitch was gone, replaced by the familiar, comforting scent of the crisp sea breeze blowing off the Whispering Sound. The moment your eyes fluttered open, you saw him.
He was staring down at you, his dark eyes ringed with exhaustion, but shadowed with a profound relief. He was only in a loose linen tunic that showed the bandages wrapping his chest.
āOrmund...?ā your voice was a broken rasp. You reached out a trembling hand, terrified your fingers would pass right through him. āAre you... are you truly here? T-they told me you were slaināā
His eyes softened, and he smiled. Not the crooked one or a smirk, but the sincere, tender smile you had fallen in love with ten years ago.
āIām here,ā he assured, his deep voice and scent wrapping around you as he took hold of your hand.
Your first tear fell, and your voice broke into a sob then. Ormund pulled you gently but fiercely into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin, and you clung to him, burying your head into his chest, weeping for the horror you had survived and the miracle of his embrace.
Slowly, he pulled away. His hand moved from your hair to cup your jaw, tilting your face up. The sorrow in his eyes flared into something primalā and he pressed his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss.
He drank you in as if you were the only life-giving water in a world reduced to ash, and you kissed him back with everything you had left. You had the man you loved returned to you, and he had the sweet rose he cherished safe in his arms.
When he finally pulled away, both of your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The tender silence stretched between you, but then Ormundās gaze drifted downwards.
His large, warm palm rested against your belly, a knowing look in his blue eyes.
āMust you hide so many things from me?ā he asked softly, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.
āI... I wasāā
āWould you continue to do so if I told you that now, it is you who holds my entire heart and soul in the palm of your hand?ā
You didnāt even dare to blink, and he held your gaze and a bittersweet smile touched his lips.
āI have always longed for that lady amidst the field of roses,ā he murmured, his voice dropping to a rough, impassioned whisper. āEven though she knows nothing of it, even though I know she is too pretty for the likes of me, and even though I have broken her heart... I still selfishly wished I could have her for myself.ā
āOrmund...ā Your lips wobbled, ingesting every word as the tears pooled fresh in your eyes.
āSo know that even if roses bear thorns,ā he continued, his thumb brushing a fallen tear from your cheek. āI would gladly suffer a thousand cuts from now on, so long as I am the only one who gets to hold you.ā
That was everything you needed to hear. You surrendered yourself to his embrace again, letting him kiss the crown of your head.
Dragons might continue to dance and the kingdoms would burn, but in that fleeting moment within the walls of the Hightower, the bloodstained game of thrones ceased to matterā
For the lord had reclaimed his lady, and their story might lead to a fairytale after all.
"Promise me, Adam. That no matter what happens, even when the power looses itself from you. Never give up, and never forget that we all love you..."
"Come with me. Don't say no. Just come away with me."
PAIRING: He-Man x Reader
SUMMARY: Unknown
NOTE: This is just something that I came up with on the spot. It just popped in my head like POOF! hope you like it!
Ah. Eternia.
You know, there was a time when no one believed that a placeāa world, a planetācould be born from the hands of a mighty celestial being descending from the heavens above. It sounded like nothing more than a beautiful legend, a tale whispered among dreamers and stargazers beneath the night sky.
Yet against all doubt, it came to be.
With extraordinary precision and purpose, every mountain was raised, every river was guided, and every star-lit horizon was carefully imagined long before it ever existed. The celestial creator poured patience into its foundations, wisdom into its design, and an endless measure of love into every corner of its growing world.
What emerged was something far greater than anyone could have imaginedāa realm both mighty and magical, vibrant and true. A place where wonder lingered in every breeze, where light danced among hidden treasures, and where countless bright and beautiful things flourished within. It was not merely a planet, but a living masterpiece, crafted with heart, hope, and a touch of celestial magic.
Within this extraordinary world lived creatures and wonders beyond imagination. Animals spoke with wisdom, humor, and hearts all their own, sharing stories passed down through countless generations. Ancient objects carried celestial gifts and mysterious powers, each holding fragments of a greater magic woven into the fabric of existence itself.
Witches and spellcasters studied the hidden arts, shaping the world with enchantments, knowledge, and carefully crafted spells. Majestic dragons soared across endless skies, guardians of forgotten secrets and timeless legends. Elves, graceful and enduring, walked among ancient forests and shining kingdoms, preserving the wisdom of ages long past.
Yet none of these marvels existed by chance. Every spark of magic, every mystical creature, and every extraordinary gift had been nurtured with purpose and care by a higher existence. It was a power beyond mortal understandingāa guiding force that lovingly shaped the wonders of the world, ensuring that magic was not merely something to be wielded, but something to be cherished, respected, and passed on through the ages.
But through all the wonder, the magic, and the countless legends that filled the world, there was one boy.
Small in stature and easily overlooked, he seemed no different from anyone else at first glance. Yet beneath that humble appearance was a heart filled with determination and a spirit that refused to give up.
And on this particular day, as the sun rose over the horizon and a new chapter waited to unfold, he knew exactly what it meant.
He had been waiting for this day for a very long time.
Curled comfortably on the soft carpet beneath the bed, Cringer rested peacefully in the shadows of the room. His ears twitched every so often as he listened to the quiet sounds of the early morning. Above him, the boy tossed and turned beneath his blankets, unable to settle despite the calm stillness that filled the house.
Outside the window, the world was beginning to awaken.
The first birds greeted the dawn with cheerful squeaks, chirps, and melodic songs, their voices carrying through the cool morning air. Golden rays from Eternia's morning sun stretched across the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of yellow, white, and soft orange. The warm light slowly crept into the room, spilling across the floorboards, climbing the walls, and reaching toward the bed.
Cringer lifted his head and blinked sleepily as the sunlight touched the edge of the carpet. Another chorus of birdsong drifted through the open window, brighter and livelier than before. The day had arrived at last.
And judging by the restless turning of the boy above him, he had been waiting for it all night.
The boy suddenly gasped awake, sitting upright in bed as though a burst of lightning had shot through him. His eyes sparkled with excitement, shining brighter than the morning sun pouring through his window. In an instant, he threw aside his blankets and practically launched himself from the bed, his bare feet landing softly against the floor.
A cheerful giggle escaped him as he hurried across the room, unable to contain his excitement. Every step seemed lighter than the last as he made his way toward the closet.
Knock. Knock.
The sound stopped him in his tracks.
Frozen halfway across the room, Adam turned his head toward the bedroom door. A familiar voice filtered through the wood, softened and muffled by the closed barrier.
"Adam? Are you awake?"
The young prince couldn't help himself.
A quiet chuckle slipped from his lips as he drew his hands together in front of him, tryingāand failingāto hide the grin spreading across his face. His excitement bubbled within him like a secret waiting to burst free. He knew exactly what day it was, and no amount of pretending could conceal how eagerly he had been awaiting its arrival.
Once his hands met, they clasped together instantly, locking like the two halves of a cherished keepsake. A bashful grin tugged at one corner of his ruby-rose lips, unable to be held back despite his best efforts. The smile widened ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as excitement danced across his features.
His bright eyes sparkled with anticipation, and though he tried to stand calmly, the eager energy bubbling inside him was impossible to hide. Every part of him seemed to radiate happiness, as though he were holding onto a wonderful secret that he could scarcely wait another moment to share.
The grand bedroom doors, adorned with intricate carvings depicting the legends and histories of Eternia, slowly swung inward. Their polished metal hinges groaned softly, yawning with age and dignity as the figure on the other side pushed them open.
Standing tall and regal, the newcomer carried themselves with the quiet confidence of royalty. Their head was held high, their posture elegant and poised. Yet the moment the doors fully parted and their eyes fell upon the young prince, their expression softened. Their chin lowered gently, a fond smile touching their features as they looked down at the child before them.
They stepped into the room, their heels clicking rhythmically against the beautifully decorated marble floor. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows, catching on the polished stone and making the entire chamber glow with warmth.
Across the room, Adam did his very best to appear calm and composed.
He failed spectacularly.
His hands remained clasped tightly together in front of him, and although he tried to suppress it, excitement continued to bubble within him like a kettle on the verge of whistling. The grin threatening his lips refused to leave, no matter how hard he attempted to hide it.
The figure approached until they stood directly before him, their smile never wavering.
"Adam?"
Their voice was gentle and warm.
Bending gracefully at the knees, they lowered themselves to meet him at eye level, allowing the intimidating presence of their height to melt away. Their dark forest-green royal gown flowed elegantly around them, embroidered with delicate golden patterns that shimmered in the morning sunlight. Precious gemstones rested along the neckline like tiny stars, while their beautifully styled hair framed their face with effortless grace and meticulous care.
For a moment, the prince simply stared back, his anticipation nearly impossible to contain.
"Yes?" Prince Adam replied, his voice carrying a mixture of innocence, curiosity, and barely restrained excitement.
The figure's smile widened ever so slightly, warmth and affection shining in their eyes as they looked upon the young prince.
"My love," they asked softly, their voice as gentle as the morning breeze, "do you know what day it is today?"
Remaining gracefully kneeling before him, they reached up with a delicate hand. Their right index finger brushed lightly against his forehead, carefully sweeping a loose strand of golden bangs away from his face where it had fallen across his left eye. The touch was slow and tender, one born from countless moments of love and care.
Their hand lingered for only a heartbeat before lowering once more, their smile never fading as they patiently awaited his answer, already suspecting they knew exactly what it would be.
Adam could no longer contain himself.
He bounced eagerly on the balls of his feet, rising and falling with infectious excitement as a bright, joyful grin spread across his face. His eyes sparkled like polished gemstones, and a delighted laugh escaped his lips before he answered.
"Yes, I do!"
The words burst out of him with cheerful enthusiasm, his excitement impossible to hide. Every little bounce seemed to say what he could barely put into wordsāthat he had been waiting for this day with all his heart.
...
Adam eagerly reached for the Queen's hand, his smaller fingers slipping into hers without hesitation. She welcomed the gesture with a gentle squeeze, her smile softening as she glanced down at the young prince walking faithfully at her side.
Together, they crossed the chamber in unhurried steps before coming to a stop at its center. Adam stood tallāat least as tall as he could manageāwhile the Queen remained beside him, her hand still wrapped reassuringly around his. She gave his hand another gentle squeeze, drawing a slow, quiet breath as anticipation settled over the room.
Then, the great stone doors began to move.
With a deep, resonating groan that echoed through the grand hall, the massive slabs slowly pulled apart. Ancient hinges rumbled beneath their weight, the sound rich and commanding as daylight spilled through the widening entrance.
Silence followed.
Two distinguished figures stepped through the opening with measured grace, their footsteps echoing across the polished marble floor. Standing proudly near the entrance, the gatekeeper struck the butt of their staff against the stone, the sharp crack ringing throughout the chamber before announcing the newcomers in a clear, powerful voice.
"Their Majesties..."
The two figures came to a graceful halt before the Queen and the young princeāa man and a woman, each carrying themselves with quiet dignity and unwavering confidence.
The man stood tall and proud, his presence commanding the room without a single word. He was clad in a finely crafted suit of polished silver armor, every plate meticulously maintained until it gleamed beneath the morning light. His boots shone with the same careful attention, their mirror-like finish reflecting the colors of the grand hall around him.
Delicate chains draped across portions of his armor, chiming softly as a gentle breeze wandered through the open doorway. At his side, he carried his helmet beneath one arm, revealing a calm yet resolute face shaped by honor and experience.
Emblazoned across his breastplate was a striking emblem, freshly restored in a rich, vibrant green. Its color had been carefully brewed from the rare sap and pigments of the sacred Ofresoot Tree, giving it an almost living brilliance that shimmered whenever the light caught its surface. It was more than a crestāit was a symbol of loyalty, courage, and the sacred duty he had sworn to uphold.
Golden-silver trim framed each plate of the armor, binding the intricate pieces together while lending it an air of regal splendor.
The sharp cry of the gatekeeper echoed across the grand hall from atop the towering stone ledge, instantly commanding the attention of every noble, knight, and servant gathered below.
"Their Majesties..." he proclaimed, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vast chamber. "His Majesty, King (F/N), and Her Majesty, Queen (M/N) of Leomia!"
A hush swept over the crowd as every conversation came to an abrupt halt. Heads turned toward the towering entrance, anticipation thickening the air as the massive doors slowly began to part. The arrival of Leomia's royal rulers was enough to silence even the most restless of souls, and for a fleeting moment, the kingdom itself seemed to hold its breath.
Walking in perfect unison, the King and Queen of Leomia made their way down the crimson carpet, every graceful step measured and dignified. The grandeur of the hall seemed to pale in comparison to their commanding presence as the eyes of every guest followed them in respectful silence.
Waiting at the end of the carpet, the Queen of Eternia's face lit up with unmistakable joy. Releasing Adam's hand, she stepped forward with her arms spread wide in welcome, her radiant smile growing brighter with each step she took toward the royal couple. The warmth in her expression spoke louder than any greeting she could have offered, making it clear that this was far more than a formal receptionāit was the heartfelt welcome of cherished friends.
"Welcome!" Marlena laughed, unable to contain the delight in her voice as the King and Queen of Leomia approached.
Without a second thought, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around (M/N), pulling the queen into a warm embrace. A soft, contented sigh escaped her lips as she held her close, her excitement evident in the way she smiled.
"Welcome, (M/N)," she murmured warmly before reluctantly pulling away.
Turning to (F/N), Marlena's smile only widened.
"(F/N)! It's so wonderful to see you again!"
She drew him into an equally heartfelt embrace, greeting him with the same affection. There was no trace of royal formality in the momentāonly the unmistakable warmth of dear friends reunited after far too long apart.
āWeāve been awaiting your arrival,ā Marlena said with a small, polite nod, her tone steady but carrying the weight of practiced diplomacy.
There was a brief pauseājust long enough for the quiet tension in the room to settle into something almost uncomfortable.
āI do apologize for the Kingās late arrival,ā she continued, smoothing her hands together. āHeās currently occupied with matters of great urgency.ā
The words hung in the air like a carefully placed excuse, the kind everyone in the room understood without needing to say it aloud.
King (F/N) let out a quiet breath, breaking the stiffness with a casual wave of his hand as if brushing the concern away entirely.
āNo matter,ā he said, voice calm, almost reassuring. āAs long as heās safe on his journeys, Iām sure heāll be back before long.ā
He leaned slightly forward, gaze softening with something like familiarityālike this wasnāt just a political arrangement or formal meeting, but something rooted deeper, something lived-in.
āI know him,ā he added after a beat, a faint hint of certainty in his tone. āHeāll be fine.ā
For a moment, it almost felt like he was saying it more to himself than anyone else.
And just like that, the tension in the room didnāt vanishābut it eased, as if his certainty alone made it easier for everyone else to breathe.
āYou speak with such kindness, (F/N),ā Marlena said gently, her expression softening as a small smile touched her lips. There was something almost relieved in the way she looked at him, like his words had eased a weight sheād been quietly carrying. āThank you,ā she added, the gratitude in her tone sincere rather than formal.
Marlena brightened for a moment, as if something had suddenly clicked in her mind. āOh, I almost forgot!ā she exclaimed, her voice lifting with sudden energy.
She quickly turned around, her attention shifting across the room until it landed on Adam, who stood quietly with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, observing in silence.
Marlena coaxs Adam to come forward. "It's alright, dear. Come on!" She encourages. Adam slowly steps forward, taking a couple of steps and raises his hand in greeting. "Hello."
