— pairing : pope cody x fem!reader content: biting, scratching, nsfw mdni!
pope cody who loves fucking you in missionary, loves staring at the mascara running down your face, loves feeling as close to you as possible. he especially appreciates missionary because he can watch you, watch the way you take him and the way you react when he pushes into you.
the best part about it, though, is when you dig your nails into him, completely overstimulated and needy and absolutely desperate to get as close to him as possible.
pope cody who doesn’t ever mind the feeling of your nails scraping down his back. it only makes him drive into you harder, pressing your entwined hands deeper into the mattress. he actually laughs cruelly, “yeah…? you — haah — you like that, love?”
you usually don’t even respond with more than a whine, you can’t even if you want to. he fucks you so deep, so right, knowing exactly what’s good for you. so you just keep scratching him.
pope cody who is out by the pool with his brothers one morning, just twenty minutes after sleepily fucking you into the mattress. you, completely satiated, decided to go back to sleep, so he went out for a nice swim. as soon as his brothers see him, they immediately notice the angry red lines along his back and shoulders, looking like he’s been attacked.
baz whistles, “jesus, pope. you fucking an animal or something?” and the others laugh while your boyfriend just rolls his eyes. he really doesn’t mind the marks; they just show everyone you love him, and they really aren’t that different from the dark purple marks he often leaves on your neck for everyone to see.
pope cody who doesn’t let his brothers comments deter him. infact, when you wake up, he just hands you his card, grinning, “go get your nails done for me, pretty.“ he kisses your cheek before whispering, “get them long.”
Thinking about how Cregan Stark fucks you in a bear hug… walk with me
His go to position is missionary because he needs to make sure his seed takes. He wants to see his wife’s face as you cum and hear all your whimpers as he fills you up.
It’s late, the roar of a feast has long been silenced well into the night. You both can barely hear it through the stone walls, wood doors, and most of all over your heavy panting and moans.
He’s big enough to loom over you and there’s nothing to look at but him, he makes sure of it when his hand slides up the side of your neck. His paw warm and heavy against it, his thumb rubbing soothing circles behind your ear. It almost remind you of the circle he was rubbing into your clit mere minutes ago, prepping you take his cock.
A particular thrust has you digging your nails into his shoulder and bitting your lip but a soft moan still breaks lose. He wants to hear more, needs to hear more. Needs to be closer to you, being inside of you not close enough to his liking.
His arms enclose around you, his hand now fully encompassing the back of your head in his palm. The other along your back, fingers pressing into your ribs. He hangs his head, burrowing into your neck, hot panting brushing along your collar bone.
His weight has you pressed into the feather filled bed, unmoving while his hips piston back and forth the sound of your obvious desire almost louder than him by your ear.
You hiccup back a moan, the sound so lewd you feel and extra layer of heat rub up your cheeks knowing he had to have heard you. He presses a soft kiss to the side of your head.
“I want to hear you, wife.”
His voice is on the brink of broken, fractured, you think. Your continued whines and moans push you over the edge, clenching around him with nothing to hold onto but his meaty shoulders and back, nails racking down trying to find solace.
So...dragonriders generally ought to enjoy riding; they should feel comfortable with the dominance that entails. That’s not the case for our Targ!wife, though. She adores the sight of her husband’s massive chest—covered in that thick, solid muscle that makes him strong yet soft in all the right places—but actually moving herself up, down, forward, and back for more than two minutes? What is she, a common laborer? No, she isn't doing that; it’s a thousand times better just there and let her huge, masculine, and attentive husband take care of her just the way he knows...besides, his ancestor bent the knee to Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys, so now he’s just a lord while she is the Princess of the Crown; so since she wants their marital activities be that way, she outranks him and she’s still the dominant one, right?
Cregan Stark, who—with his hand resting on his wife's back—is certain he is being the most romantic and demonstrative person in Westeros...
...his Targ!wife, sad because her lord husband doesn't desire her and doesn't love her even a little bit.
Cregan Stark, who only calls his wife... well, "wife"—that’s what she is; he likes that she’s his wife, he loves his wife—did I mention she’s his wife? She’s his wife...!
...his Targ!wife, who doesn't think he seems very interested in her...mother and Daemon were always being lovey-dovey in High Valyrian back home; doesn't he have a single sweet nickname or a pet name for her?
Cregan Stark, who considers acts of service the greatest show of affection and does everything to ensure she is comfortable...
...his Targ!wife, who just sees him rushing from place to place all day, convinced that he simply doesn't want to spend time with her or offer her a caress
spoiled wife!reader and cregan stark have the cutest, chubbiest babe in all the land, with soft, stubby little legs, chubby cheeks, a pudgy tummy, and the cutest plump fingers, who gurgles and nurses all the time and wants to be held and cuddled 24/7, which makes spoiled wife!reader threaten cregan's life every day.
"i hope the frost befalls you on the morrow's hunt!!! these are YOUR genes!!! you have forsaken me!!! look at the babe!!! fat and cute!!!"
"and isn't that good, sweet wife? it's healthy!!"
"and heavy!! and greedy!!
cregan pretends to nom, bite, and eat at the plump little legs, and it makes the babe gurgle and coo and grab at his hair, patting his face cutely. he's obsessed with the adorable little thing and always nuzzles the soft tummy and chubby cheeks, pressing a flurry of kisses all over until the babe squeals with delight.
spoiled wife!reader tries REALLY hard to seem mad but melts at the sight. her whole world in one place, happy and safe. what more could she want?
summary: Robby’s daughter works for PTMC as a social worker and has a…complicated history with former golden boy Frank Langdon. Langdon is back from rehab after ten long months and is looking to make amends. Robby finds out a few things about his daughter that he never wanted to know.
word count: 1.5k
pairing: frank langdon x reader
a/n: bedtime scenario so good i had to put it in writing
part two
Y/N was not happy with her father. Shocker.
When he told her that his sabbatical was approved, she was ecstatic. He hadn’t taken proper time for himself in years. She had fuzzy memories from her youth of her father joining week-long family vacations, taking days off on a whim because she wanted to go watch the sharks at the Pittsburgh Zoo, or even taking off to visit old colleagues in Chicago. That changed after her parents separated. Now, most of her memories hold an undercurrent of wishes that her father was there. But he chose to throw himself into the Pitt.
He’s finally pulling himself out, and of course it’s for that stupid motorcycle. She gives him maybe three hours on the open road until he can’t handle being alone with his thoughts and turns back. Hell, he’ll probably be back in the Pitt before the end of July. She can only hope that it’s of his own accord, and not laid out on a gurney.
All that said, Y/N was avoiding the Pitt as much as her job would allow. At least that’s the excuse she was giving people. They didn’t need to know that her avoidance was really because she wasn’t ready to find out if the rumors were true. That Dr. Langdon was making his grand return to the Pitt today.
She hadn’t seen him since PittFest. Since she found out second-hand that he was stealing drugs from the hospital. Since she woke up in his bed that morning, only to take separate cars to the hospital and pretend to be no more than acquaintances. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Whatever he had to say to her, she wasn’t ready to hear it. Thankfully, dodging emotional conflict was in her blood.
Things were going well for most of the morning. She was able to successfully dodge the few consults coming their way from downstairs, thanks to a colleague who owed her one. Just when she started to think she might actually get away with her plan, Caleb asked for her specifically, and she was promptly dragged out of her tiny office to make the descent into the Pitt.
It was absolute chaos, as usual, as Y/N plunged in, trying simultaneously to keep her head down and on a swivel at the same time. Robby caught her eye from across the nurse’s station, and her eyes landed on Fra—Langdon’s—back in an effort to avoid her dad’s gaze. He was turned toward a patient, nodding along as Mel spoke. Deciding it was easier to face the more familiar of two evils, she turned her attention back to her father, thankful to find him being pulled away by Whitaker and a new face that looked to her like a taller, bizarro Whitaker.
Her shoulders dropped in relief as she continued to the family room, where she could now see Caleb and Javadi huddled by the closed door.
“You know you’re gonna have to talk to him eventually.” Dana sat at her computer, looking up at Y/N over the rims of her readers.
Y/N’s steps faltered, her mouth open, about to ask how do you know about that? Before Dana continued, “He’s leaving soon—you don’t want him to go on bad terms.”
Oh, right. Dad.
“If he cared more about his wellbeing, we wouldn’t be on bad terms in the first place.”
Dana scoffed. “Last I checked, caring about his wellbeing has never been his thing. Hasn’t held you back before. What’s the point in letting it now?”
Y/N returned the scoff, angling herself back on track, “I’ve got a patient waiting on me.”
“Don’t we all,” Dana turned back to the computer, dismissing Y/N, “think about it, kid.”
Y/N practically teleported over to Caleb and Javadi. “What we got?”
———————————————————————
“Well, that went great.” Y/N rubbed a hand across her forehead after the door to the family room closed gently behind them.
“Could’ve been worse—at least we got a family history.” Caleb closed his notes with a sigh and checked his watch. “I have to go check on a few things. I’ll be in touch about this.”
Y/N gives him a curt nod and Javadi a tight smile before walking away, “let us know if his condition changes.”
Okay. Now get out. Quickly.
She’s almost to the elevator, and she feels the weight of his gaze before she sees him, his eyes locked onto her as he walks alongside a sunburnt man on a gurney.
“Dr. Santos, you can take care of Mr. Jones here.” She hears his voice. Distracted. Distant. Maybe even fearful? Maybe she’s projecting.
“You’re kidding me, I’m no—“
“Thanks.” Footsteps approaching, his voice gently calling out her name.
She quickens her pace, pretending she didn’t see him. She’s almost there.
His hand on her arm. Hesitant. The elevator door closing in her face before she can slip through. The ghost of her name on his breath. Looking up now. His deep blue eyes looking back at her.
“Can we talk?”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Dr. Langdon,” she swallowed with a shrug of her shoulder, not fully facing him. Not being able to.
Anyone else but her wouldn’t have noticed his posture tightening at the moniker. His hand remained on her arm, however, testing the waters with a slight tug at her elbow. Her body betrayed her racing mind, too attuned to giving in to his direction.
She still hadn’t said another word as the door to an empty exam room closed behind them. At least he didn’t shove her into a supply closet, as he was accustomed to do when no one was around. She might’ve thrown up if he had.
Now that they were alone, she let herself look at him—really look at him. There was no trace of his old bravado, his usual self assuredness replaced with something different, something that softened him around the edges. She wasn’t used to that, and didn't really know what to do with it.
“I’ve spent a lot of time these past few months thinking of what to say to you,” he hesitated, “I thought of a lot of different ways to do this, and I realized that I don’t want to beat around the bush with you. Not anymore.” He swallowed thickly, and Y/N felt the lump in her own throat double in size.
“I’m sorry. For everything. For betraying your trust, for hiding you away, for taking advantage of you—”
“I’m a grown woman, Frank. I’m not stupid. I’m very aware that this,” she gestured between them, “was never supposed to mean anything.”
Her chest tightened at the hurt that flashed across his face.
“Do you really think that? That it didn’t mean anything to me?”
Her response was barely above a whisper, “I’m not really sure what to think anymore, Frank.”
“Y/N, I care about you. A lot. More than I was willing to admit to myself at the time. To admit to you.” A sharp inhale, “and I understand if you want nothing to do with me. But I want to try—actually try. If you’ll let me.”
His hands were warm, his grip on her clasped hands gentle. “You can tell me to fuck off, and I’ll leave you alone forever. I just need to know.”
Her hands moved to cup his face seemingly on their own accord, and his found their home on her hips.
“Frankie, I—”
“What’s this?”
The venom in her father’s voice sent a chill down her spine. They were too wrapped up in their own world to notice him opening the exam room door.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Frank’s body angled slightly in front of hers, as if he could protect her from the daggers shooting from her father’s eyes.
“Robby, listen—” He was silenced by Robby, who held his open palm in front of him.
“No,” he pointed at his daughter, “Y/N, how long?”
It felt like her voice was coming from someone else as she held her father’s gaze.
“A while.”
His jaw clenched as he turned his glare back to Frank.
“How long.”
“A little over a year,” Frank’s voice was small, “if you don’t count the past ten months.”
“Jesus, Y/N, it’s bad enough that he—” his voice broke off, a hand rubbing down his face, “but you?”
She took a step around Frank, toward her father, “Dad, could you just—”
“No.” He was backing out the door before she could stop him.
“I can’t do this right now.” He paused for just a second, “I just—no.”
And he was gone.
Tears were blurring Y/N’s vision, and she barely registered that Frank was still behind her until she felt his touch ghost across the small of her back.
“Y/N,” he used the soft tone that was reserved only for her.
She looked at him, back to the door, to him again, sniffled, “I’m sorry.”
She was pushing through the door before she could think. What felt like hundreds of people bustled around her, but she couldn’t see a single trace of her father’s retreating figure. He was gone again; swallowed by the Pitt.
summary ⸝⸝ Jealousy is never flattering. But sometimes it's exactly what two stubborn people need.
warnings ⸝⸝ inappropriate workplace relationship, MDNI, implied age gap but reader’s age is not specified, insecure reader, jealousy (obviously!), bit of angst, mention of exes (noelle), explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, fingering, happy ending. No use of Y/N.
notes ⸝⸝ first serious Robby fic, amazing gif by my darling @bodeckerhedron 🥹 he looks so pretty there!! wanna smooch
⟡ READ ON AO3 ⚚ PITT MASTERLIST
Robby left.
Every single time. Didn't matter if the shift had spit him out, be it one in the morning or two in the afternoon, soaked through with somebody else's blood or just bone tired from twelve hours — he got his fill of you and then he got up.
You used to think that was the safest part of it. No staying meant nothing left to lose. You'd actually said that out loud once, alone, brushing your teeth, like saying a thing into a bathroom mirror could make it sound convincing.
It wasn't safe. You're aware of that now, eleven months in, thinking about stuff you have no business thinking about at 2 AM. How many times he's actually said your name versus just grunted it into your collarbone like a reflex he doesn't have control over.
You weren't insecure. You were not someone who rereads texts looking for a tone that wasn't there. Not a tear was shed when you'd found out your college boyfriend had cheated on you. You just changed the locks and ate an entire rotisserie chicken by yourself in front of the TV and felt, weirdly, fine.
People used to call you unflappable. You liked being unflappable. It felt like a skill you'd built on purpose, brick by brick.
That went right out the window when it came to Robby. Now you're someone whose ribs go tight the second he so much as looks sideways at a woman he might actually like instead of just being decent to.
There's a difference, and your body grew an awful radar for telling those two things apart when it came to him. It happened sometime around month four and never really left.
The radar pinged when you were bored out of your mind, chewing on the end of a pen that might have once belonged to Whittaker.
He was at the nurses' station with Noelle. Her hand was close enough to his, on a chart neither of them was actually reading anymore.
He laughed. Head tipping back a little, eyes doing the crinkle thing, the laugh you maybe get twice on a generous month, handed over to somebody else like it was nothing but easy.
"Ouch." Santos appeared out of nowhere with an iPad on one arm, completely without the instinct most people have for reading a room, or she did but just didn't care. "That's rough. Watching your guy's ex flirt with him in broad daylight, front row seat and everything."
"He's not my guy."
"Sure." She wasn't even looking at you, eyes still on the iPad, chewing gum leisurely. "They dated. Robby and Noelle. Year and a half ago, give or take, before whatever you two have going on.” Her hands did a vague gesture spanning the two of you. “Mohan told me. Mohan doesn't lie about gossip. She lies about how much sleep she's getting but never gossip." Dropping the iPad on the rack, she actually looked at you, gum still going. "You good? You're holding the pen kinda tight there."
You put the pen down.
You didn't say anything to him for the rest of the shift, which felt like the mature call, right up until it didn't.
Somewhere around hour four, it started feeling a lot more like a slow leak behind your sternum that nobody else could see.
Robby texted you at eleven. You up?
Same two words he always sent, and you typed back yeah before your brain got a vote. Maturity apparently left you as you'd entered your building.
He showed up still smelling like the hospital underneath his cologne, antiseptic and something warmer you stopped being able to separate from the actual him months ago.
Chapped lips met yours in your doorway, like it was nothing but routine, and you let him. Even if Noelle's laugh was sitting in your chest, a fish bone you hadn't managed to cough up yet.
Hands went under shirts before you'd even cleared the hallway, clothes dropped on your living room floor, his shirt on the couch, yours over his.
You told yourself you weren't going to think about her. Genuinely tried, with his mouth dragging down your throat and his hand already working your pants open.
For maybe four minutes it actually worked, his teeth scraping just hard enough at your clavicle to scatter every thought that wasn't more, now, please.
Without conscious effort, you found yourself on your bed and his fingers inside you, curling at the exact angle he's had memorized since the first time.
Somewhere underneath all the noise your brain went and sabotaged you.
Did he do this with her too? Did her thighs shake like this under his hand? Did she get the real laugh in bed the same way she gets it at the desk?
"Where'd you go?"
You hadn't even noticed your hips had stopped moving until his did too, both of you stalled in a strange suspended quiet that only happens when somebody's head leaves the room without bothering to take the rest of them along.
"Nowhere." Nowhere good.
"You went somewhere." If it was any consolation, Robby didn't pull his fingers out. It unfortunately wasn't. They stilled there, full and aching, which felt a little something like cruelty. "Tell me."
"It's nothing. Keep going."
"Not until you tell me what it is." His thumb found your clit , barely moved, like he could multitask being patient and torturing you in the same breath. "What happened?"
A lie was loaded and ready, something about being tired, a bad case. But his fingers curled again, reaching deeper than it had any right to at this moment. Your whole body betrayed you with an arch and a moan that had no performance in it at all.
Right on the heel of the moan came the truth, ugly and completely unplanned. "I saw you with Noelle." Your voice trembled. "Laughing like that. And Santos told me you two used to date. I know I have zero claim to feeling anything about that, we never called this anything, but I felt sick. Standing there. And now you're —" you gestured to the situation, "— and I'm still thinking about her instead of you and I think that makes me fucking insane."
With the amount of hurry it took to stumble into the bedroom, neither of you had the slightest thought to turn on a light, not even the bedside lamp. So whatever his face did was between him and god, you remained oblivious to anything but his hands frozen in your cunt.
"That was a year and a half ago."
"I — I know. That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"You — you laugh like that with her and you've never once laughed like that with me. Not one time, Robby. I— I just lie here every single time wondering if I'm just what you do because the real thing already happened with her and ended… and you haven't bothered looking for anything else since." You turned your face into the pillow, mortified at the sound of your own voice saying it out loud. "You leave every time. You don't even turn the light on so you don't wake me. But I'm always awake. I just lie there and pretend, so I don't have to watch it happen in real time."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't know that."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." He pulled his fingers almost to the edge, and pushed them right back into you without warning. You gasped at the sudden fullness of it, his voice dropping into a rougher tone than you'd heard from him before. "I laugh like that with her because there's nothing left. It's easy because none of it means a damn thing anymore. Because you're the one person I actually —"
You felt the sentence die in the air between you, felt your stomach drop through the mattress in the silence that followed. "Actually what?"
Without answering, Robby pulled his fingers free and lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressed against you, teasing, his body needing a job to do while his mouth caught up to whatever it was trying to say.
"Care about," he said finally, and pushed into you in one slide that knocked every other thought clean out of your head. "That's the word. Care about."
"Robby —"
"I've been leaving because I didn't know how to stay without telling you why I wanted to." His hips bottomed out and went still, both of you frozen there, joined, neither one pulling apart even though this conversation had clearly outgrown the bed it started in. "Didn't want to say it out loud. I'm fifty two. Buried more people than I can count and most days I couldn't tell you what I had for breakfast. Not exactly a catch."
"I don't care about any of that."
Hips stilling, he dropped his forehead to your temple, breath fanning the side of your neck, the slight tremble in him giving away how hard it was for him to stay perfectly still. "That's the part that scares me. I — That's the thing — I've been leaving so I wouldn't have to say."
"Say what?" Your own words were a breath lost in cold air.
"I love you."
Three words.
You'd built entire personality traits around not needing to hear stuff like that from men, had a whole bit you did with your friends about how love confessions were basically a review nobody asked for.
Flat on your back with this man's hips locked against yours, none of that seemed true, completely unable to produce a single clever thought about it. Even though you knew it lessen the burden of the thing that's been eating at you for months.
"You love me?" Buying time, the way your brain used to stall during viva in med school, repeating the question out loud while you scrambled for an answer.
"Yes."
You'd expected a nervous laughter to soften the landing, you'd even braced for it, but it didn't come.
"Was that why you left everytime?"
"If you say it like — yes. Yes, that was why."
That was so completely him, agreeing to a version of events instead of supplying his own, like the truth was easier to hand you secondhand than to actually build from scratch. If the two glasses of wine you'd had before he'd texted didn't make your chest loose, this definitely did.
He kissed you before you could ruin it with whatever your mouth was about to attempt. Slow at first, and then not slow, his hips finally moving again. You felt the difference in your bones. Heavier somehow, like he'd been holding something back this whole time and had only just now set it down.
You thought, stupidly, your mother's voice from years ago, some lecture about how men who can't say things outright will show you instead. You'd rolled your eyes at the time because it sounded like a fortune cookie. It didn't sound like a fortune cookie right now.
Then came Noelle again, all the other times where they could've been like this. Wondered if he'd said the same thing about someone else to her.
You knew it wasn't fair. He wasn't some monster gaslighting you into believing he's a good guy.
The thought evaporated with Robby's hand sliding up to rest against your throat, like he needed somewhere to put his hand. "Don't think about her," he said against your mouth. "Not while I'm inside you."
"Hard not to," you admitted, and immediately hated yourself a little for saying it out loud. It was ugly.
But his hips snapped forward right then, your honesty earning a reaction out of him he hadn't planned on giving.
"She never had me like this." His voice had gone rough. The headboard started its soft, steady complaint against the wall, the same sound you'd heard a hundred different times over the past few months, but none of them felt like this. "Never had me saying the things I'm saying to you right now."
You wanted to ask what things he'd told her specifically, still room left in your brain for petty curiosity. But when his mouth found your jaw, the question dissolved somewhere between your teeth.
"Every time you see her face," he went on, breath hot against your ear, "I want you remembering whose bed I keep coming back to."
Somewhere distant, you knew what he was doing. Saying with his hips what he couldn't get out standing up in a hallway with the lights on. You'd have called it sad on anyone else. But you'd thrown a whole tantrum over a laugh mere minutes ago, you didn't have an upper hand.
Even without being fair, your body had completely overruled whatever your brain was attempting to negotiate, as you clenched around him without meaning to.
The small, helpless noise that came out of you was something he clearly enjoyed. "There it is." You could hear the satisfaction crawling into his voice even through the strain of it. "You like hearing it."
"Say it again." No more point pretending it didn't matter.
"Yours." He bit down at the curve of your shoulder, enough for you to find the mark tomorrow. You'd find in the shower and touch it on purpose, the way you did with every other one he'd left over the months, a little private inventory of evidence of his body on yours. "You're the only one I want."
You broke as the words left him, his name tearing loose from your chest mid cry.
Robby cared enough to notice, but kept going right through your aftershocks with none of the restraint you'd gotten used to from him, the confession having used up the last of whatever discipline he usually operated on. "Look at me. Look at me when I —"
You forced your eyes open through the blur, to find his, even though every nerve in your body was begging you to just shut them and float. "I'm here."
He came with his mouth pressed to yours instead of buried in your neck the way he usually finished, a monumental leap.
Your name broke apart between his lips in pieces, hips jerking through it before his arms finally gave out and his whole weight dropped onto you.
Robby was careful even falling apart, catching his own weight at the last second so he didn't crush you completely.
Somewhere in the haze, you thought that there was probably an entire personality you could write about a man based solely on how he chose to fall on top of someone.
His mouth found your shoulder as he left open mouthed kisses all over it. You could hear both your heartbeats slowing down at slightly different speeds. It was oddly endearing how his stayed a little fast even after yours settled down.
You half expected the scramble even now. Pattern recognition came easy too you, part of your brain already listening for the rustle of him finding his jeans in the dark.
It didn't come though.
Robby's breathing evened out near you, one arm slung heavy over your stomach, settling in instead of lunging towards the exit.
You thought about asking what time it was. An old habit you didn't even fully understand the function of anymore — maybe to give him an easy excuse if he wanted one, maybe just to confirm he was choosing this on purpose and not simply losing track of the clock the way exhausted people do after a double shift.
"You're not leaving," you said eventually, voice muffled into his chest.
You felt him laugh, more breath than sound. "Said I wasn't going to."
"You say a lot of things."
His arm tightened slightly, pulling you closer in against him, his chin coming to rest against the top of your head. "Well, get used to this one."
You thought about Noelle, briefly, one last unwelcome flicker. You wondered if she ever got this, the staying part, the arm that didn't pull away, and decided, almost immediately, that you didn't actually care anymore, not the way you had three hours ago.
It felt less like jealousy now and more like a story that had already ended, one you'd just happened to read the last page of tonight.
"For the record," you said, "Santos has a big mouth."
"Santos has always had a big mouth." His hand was drawing idle shapes against your hip, only aimed at staying connected to you. "Glad she does, though. Wasn't sure I was ever gonna get around to saying it myself."
"You weren't?"
"Was planning on being a coward about it indefinitely." There was no real shame behind it, not really. "You kinda forced my hand."
"I had a mental breakdown over your ex. That's not forcing anyone's hand, that's just embarrassing."
"Didn't feel embarrassing though." His mouth pressed against your hair, brief, almost absent, like he wasn't even thinking about doing it.
You didn't have a comeback for that, which was rare for you. You let the silence sit there instead of filling it, listening to the quiet of your own bedroom at — what, one in the morning? Two? You genuinely didn't know anymore. Hadn't looked at a clock once since he walked through your door, actually, and it took you a second to even notice that about yourself.
a princess wed to a dashing knight should be living a fairytale... but gwayne hightower is also the son of the schemer who would soon plunge the realm into civil war. in a dance of dragons and throes of fire and blood, where will each of you stand when your sisters are pitted against each other for the iron throne?
genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, yearning, jealousy, mentions of injury & blood, romance and fluff, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, political drama, targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister), pregnancy, childbirth, spoilers! from house of the dragon and fire & blood
:: MASTERLIST ::
001 — to court a princess
a princess wed to a dashing knight should be living a fairytale—but gwayne hightower is also the son of the schemer who would soon plunge the realm into civil war. how long can you resist his charms... when he proves time and again that his affection is as genuine as his honor?
002 — light the hightower
ser gwayne hightower may be known for his chivalry, but beneath his courtly smile is a man of steel and blood. vows have made you his lawfully wedded wife, and when his most peculiar cousin starts weaving his traps for you to fall into… you will see another side of him you have never seen before
003 — bundle of joy
pious, devout and charming, your knight is hopelessly in love more than ever when you are expecting your first child! however, not everything is smooth sailing...
004 — the princess and the knight
(synopsis coming soon...)
:: DRAMATIS PERSONAE ::
you — princess of the realm. younger daughter of king viserys i targaryen and the late queen aemma arryn, sister to princess rhaenyra, and a dragonrider bonded to grey ghost. strict and reserved, you mostly keep to yourself. as a young girl, you harbored feelings for the dashing ser gwayne hightower—the brother of your and your sister’s childhood companion, lady alicent. but the moment your father took her as his second wife, you buried those feelings deep, well-aware that it’s the design of the power-seeking lord hand. however, in an attempt to tie the blacks and greens together, a betrothal binds you to the knight you have long admired, dooming you both as the house of the dragon fractures
gwayne hightower — noble knight of house hightower. the son of the hand of the king, and brother to queen alicent hightower. gwayne was left and raised in oldtown, and despite his estrangement with his father and sister, he has deep familial love for them. honorable, noble, yet possessing a touch of highborn arrogance, he has quietly carried a flame for the younger princess of the seven kingdoms ever since you offered him grace following his defeat by your uncle in the heir’s tourney, but was hesitant to act on his affections until his betrothal to you. his love for you is pure and genuine, but conflicts against his duty towards his house
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