Haz :3

Haz - she/her - 20🗡️ NH 13 & WCPS 2 ᯓ★ Letterboxd: Hazoroki Finn Bennett + Gwayne Hightower luvr 🎬🎶

[woothangg]

I need a spider man ryul fic like rn. Like NOW. LIKE AS IN THIS VERY MOMENT.

[jxerv]

could I ask for a Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader- where the reader is on team black and he is obviously on green, And he sees her on dragon back during one of the battles he’s apart of ?

back to you | g.h

Pairings: Gwayne Hightower x Wife!Reader

Summary: at Rook’s Rest you find more than battle

WARNINGS: angst, hurt to comfort, reader is team black, reader is Rhaenyra’s sister, reader is mentioned to have silver hair, my man is desperate in this one

A/n: bring back men yearning pls

masterlist | wc: 6.3k

THE ROAR of dragons tore violently through the sky, and you felt it vibrate in your bones even before Cannibal spread his immense black wings over the battlefield of Rook's Rest. The air was so thick with smoke it burned your lungs with every breath, heavy with the acrid stench of ash, freshly spilled blood, and the metallic tang of clashing weapons. Beneath you, the battle stretched to the edge of the forest like a vast open wound carved into the earth: thousands of men fought amid agonized screams and frantic neighing, tattered banners whipped through the flames, while shattered catapults and overturned wagons littered the ground with splintered wood and lifeless bodies. From the sky everything seemed small, and yet you could make out every detail, every knight struck down, every blade sinking into flesh. Cannibal let out a low, rumbling growl, his massive body trembling beneath you, eager to descend into what, for him, was nothing more than a feast.

Your eyes were fixed on Rhaenys Targaryen. She had fought like a queen, like a legend destined to be remembered for centuries, and even from that distance you could see the fierce elegance with which she guided Meleys through smoke and fire. You had arrived too late. Fate had already chosen for her. You watched the enormous jaws of Vhagar close around the red dragon's neck with a brutality that stole your breath, the sound of bones breaking blending with Meleys' desperate roar, and for a moment time seemed to slow to a halt. Then the dragon fell. It dropped like a star devoured by the sky, crashing into the castle walls below in an explosion of stone, fire, and dust. The impact made even Cannibal shudder, and a towering column of flames surged upward, swallowing everything. You gripped the saddle so tightly your fingers ached, as a dull, savage pain tore through your chest.

Cannibal roared, and his cry echoed across the mountains and over the battlefield, forcing men and horses alike to pause for a fleeting instant. Even Vhagar seemed to stiffen. Atop the oldest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond Targaryen slowly turned his head toward you. His single eye narrowed, immediately recognizing the dark shape of Cannibal emerging from the clouds like an omen of death. A faint, almost amused smile touched his lips. He knew you. He could read the fury consuming you better than anyone, because that same fury ran in his blood as well. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Brother and sister remained suspended above an army that continued slaughtering itself, watching one another like two predators deciding which would devour the other.

Below, Gwayne Hightower, the man who had become your husband only a few years earlier, found himself unable to breathe. He saw you emerge from the sea of smoke with a determination he had never forgotten, Cannibal's vast wings spread like a shadow capable of blotting out the sun itself. For a moment, the clash of swords, the cries of the wounded, the noise of armor, and the crackle of flames all vanished. The world seemed to shrink until it held only you. You, who had once shared his bed in the silent chambers of Oldtown. You, who in rare moments of peace had spoken his name with softness. You, who laughed so quietly that he had to lean closer just to hear you. You, who now rode toward death. His fingers tightened unconsciously around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He had spent the past weeks trying to convince himself he had forgotten you, that he had buried every feeling along with your broken marriage. He had told himself the war had erased everything, that oaths mattered more than love, that you now belonged to different worlds. And yet one glimpse of you was enough to shatter every lie he had so carefully built.

He still loved you. He understood it with brutal clarity as he watched you lean forward in the saddle, completely fused with your dragon. He could still remember the warmth of your skin against his, the scent of your hair when you fell asleep on his chest, the way you would look away whenever he tried to kiss you first, only to make him chase you with a laugh. In truth, he had always been the desperate one. He was the one who sought your lips with impatience, who chased every small gesture of affection as though it were a privilege. You never denied him, but you always made him earn it, and that was what he missed most. Not the caresses, not the kisses, but the constant need you had created within him, that hunger for your presence that no other woman had ever been able to satisfy. He looked at you now, smeared with ash, infinitely different from the girl he had married and yet exactly the same. Still capable of breaking his heart with a single glance. He wanted to meet you in the ashes of your yesterdays when life was easier, waiting where the light used to fall, recalling what you had when present felt empty. Learning how to miss you.

He understood it completely the moment Cannibal lowered his head and plunged into a dive toward Vhagar. The sky itself seemed to crack under the force of the impending collision. Gwayne stepped forward without even realizing it, as though reaching out a hand might somehow touch you up there. "Don't do it..." he whispered, but his words were swallowed by the chaos of battle, lost to the wind and the thunder of dragons. No one heard him, not even you. Perhaps that was for the best, because he knew you well enough to understand that you would not have stopped anyway.

You faced your brother without the slightest hesitation. There was no fear in your movements, no doubt, not even the faintest trace of mercy. Only fury, fueled by the grief of Rhaenys's death and years of smoldering resentment. Cannibal opened his jaws, revealing rows of enormous, jagged teeth, and his roar made the air tremble before a torrent of black and red flame engulfed Vhagar. Aemond's dragon answered at once, unleashing a blaze so vast it resembled a burning wall. The two infernos collided in the sky, creating a storm of sparks and ash that rained down upon the battlefield like fire. Below them, men screamed and scrambled for cover, while terrified horses broke ranks, trampling friend and foe alike. Aemond guided Vhagar with precision, every command delivered through the slightest shift of his body, while you responded with equal instinct, as if Cannibal were an extension of your own will. The two dragons crashed into each other with devastating force, claw against claw, wing against wing, locking together in a violent dance that seemed to shake the very air.

It was an impossible battle. Gwayne knew it. Everyone did. Vhagar was the oldest, the largest, the most powerful of the living dragons. Every battle she had fought had carved scars into her immense body, shaping her into a creature that seemed made for war. Cannibal, for all his ferocity and wildness, was still younger, smaller, forced to make up with speed what he lacked in strength. And yet he did not yield an inch. He continued to assault Vhagar with relentless determination, forcing even the colossal dragon to recoil beneath the violence of his attacks. Gwayne followed every movement, his heart clenched in a vice. He saw you lean from the saddle as the wind lashed your ash-streaked hair, saw blood running down your temple without you seeming to notice, saw your eyes burning with rage. It was the same expression you had worn the day of your separation, the day he had spoken the words that destroyed you both, confessing that he would fight for Aegon. He still remembered the silence that followed, far more painful than any scream. In that moment, you had understood that something between you had broken forever.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Cannibal seized a fleeting opening in Vhagar's guard and lunged at the massive dragon's neck with savage ferocity. His jaws snapped shut with a terrifying crack, sinking his teeth into the ancient armored scales until they pierced through. The roar that erupted from Vhagar's throat was so powerful it made the sky tremble, a sound filled with pain and fury that echoed for miles and brought the battle to a stunned, fleeting halt. Dark blood streamed down the old dragon's neck, evaporating almost instantly in the heat of the flames. Vhagar writhed violently, trying to break free from the grip, while Aemond pulled hard on the reins, shouting commands in the tongue of Old Valyria. Cannibal did not let go. He tightened his hold with relentless determination, intent on tearing flesh down to the bone. Below, Gwayne held his breath, unable even to blink.

Vhagar crashed to the ground with brutal force. Her enormous claws sank into the blood-soaked earth, shattering stone, wagons, and bodies alike without distinction, while a wave of dust and debris rose all around her, forcing men and horses to retreat in panic. The thunderous beat of her wings swept away already-tattered banners, feeding the fires that devoured Rook's Rest, and her roar echoed through the broken castle walls. You did not hesitate for even a moment. You pulled sharply on Cannibal's reins, guiding him with the weight of your body, and the dragon understood your command before you spoke a single word. With a powerful beat of his wings, he soared back into the sky, leaving behind the black smoke and flames that reflected across his dark scales. You were finally satisfied.

Below, Gwayne Hightower followed your every movement without even noticing what was happening around him. The screams of soldiers, the clash of steel, the shouted orders, all of it reached him as though muffled and distant, as if he were submerged underwater. Only you existed. His eyes could not leave your figure as you slowly pulled away above the battlefield, higher and higher, closer to the smoke-blackened clouds. That was when something caught his attention. A short distance away, among the charred remains of a collapsed tower, an archer stood as still as a statue. He was filthy with dirt and blood, his face smeared with soot, his hands trembling so badly it seemed impossible that he could still draw a bow. And yet his gaze was steady, fixed on you. The arrow was already nocked, ready to fly. For one terrible instant, Gwayne saw clearly the path it would take. His body made the decision long before his mind did.

It was as if he moved on instinct alone, adrenaline suddenly surging through his veins. In a few strides he reached the man, slamming into him hard enough to make him stagger. But the archer's fingers had already released the string. The arrow flew regardless, slicing through the air with a thin, deadly whistle, so fast it was almost invisible. Gwayne lifted his gaze at once, unable even to breathe. He felt his heart pounding so violently it hurt, as he followed that slender line of death climbing into the sky.

The arrow that would have surely struck your heart hit your shoulder instead. Even from that distance, he saw your body jolt from the impact. Blood splattered across Cannibal's black scales, staining the already dirtied fabric of your clothing, while your face twisted in a sudden grimace of pain that made his stomach tighten. Your body wavered dangerously on the dragon's back. One hand reached desperately for purchase on the saddle, the other instinctively grasped the wound. For a long, endless moment, it truly seemed as though you might fall.

Gwayne felt a scream rise in his chest, but he could not release it. It remained trapped there, choked into nothing more than a broken breath. "No..." he managed to whisper, his voice so weak it was swallowed instantly by the wind.

Then he saw you react. With sheer stubbornness, you clenched your teeth and slowly straightened in the saddle. Your hand trembled as it grasped the shaft of the arrow lodged in your flesh, but you did not try to pull it free. You simply pressed your palm against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the blood that continued to run down your arm. Cannibal, sensing your pain, let out a low, uneasy growl, but continued to climb, obedient to your commands. Gwayne released a trembling breath he had not even realized he was holding. He had saved you. He had changed the course of that arrow. He had betrayed his men, his oath, his very house. He had done it for you. He had chosen you. He watched you grow smaller and smaller against the gray sky, his chest rising in uneven, ragged breaths, unable to find a rhythm.

And then he saw you fall.

Your hand slipped. Your fingers, weakened by blood loss, slowly lost their grip on the saddle. Gwayne's eyes widened. For a moment, he convinced himself you would recover once more, that you would seize the reins again, that Cannibal would correct his flight. You were strong, the strongest woman he ever knew. But it did not happen. He watched you slip from the dragon's back in slow motion. Your body separated from the saddle and hung suspended in the void for a fraction of a second before being swallowed by the sky.

"No." This time the word left his lips with more force, but it was still too small, too fragile to reach you.

His heart seemed to stop. Gwayne took a step forward, then another, without even knowing where he was going. He kept staring at the sky like a madman, reaching out a hand in your direction, as though the distance between you might suddenly vanish, as though wanting it enough could make it so. But you were too far away, too high above him. And he was only a man, with a sword too heavy in his hands and too much love in his heart, bound to a ground that would never let him reach you. He watched you fall, powerless to do anything at all. Your hair scattered in the air, and from that distance your face seemed strangely serene. At peace, as if the war and all its suffering had suddenly been stripped away from you. Then your body disappeared beyond the veil of smoke and low clouds, swallowed by a void Gwayne could not see.

The noise of battle returned all at once, crashing over him with unbearable force. Everything felt too loud, too close. Gwayne stood frozen in the chaos, his eyes still fixed on the place where you had vanished. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and his sword nearly slipped from his grasp, held only by a strength that was no longer there. He could not move. He could not even think. He saw the moment again and again in his mind. He had tried to save you. He had seen the arrow. He had acted without hesitation. If he had not struck that archer, the shaft would have pierced your heart and killed you instantly. And yet it had not been enough. He had only changed where the wound landed. Only delayed the inevitable.

A cold, unbearable emptiness began to consume his chest, hollowing him out from within, stealing the breath from his lungs. His knees nearly gave way beneath him, and he had to drive the tip of his sword into the ground to keep from collapsing. He felt his heart tightening more and more, as though an invisible hand were crushing it without mercy. All his life, he had tried to be the man others expected him to be, a good knight, a worthy son of his house, a man faithful to his oaths. And he had failed. He had tried to be a good husband too, when he had still had the chance, but he had failed at that as well. Every choice he had made, every sacrifice he had endured, seemed to have led him inevitably to this exact moment. You had fallen anyway. The arrow had reached you anyway. And he had not been able to stop it.

He slowly raised a hand to his face, brushing at his eyes as though wiping away the tears threatening to fall might also erase the image of what he had just seen. But the memory of your body falling into the void remained etched behind his eyelids with brutal clarity. The more he tried to push it away, the more vivid it became, the heavier the weight of guilt pressed against his chest. Perhaps this was his punishment. For the selfishness that was planted in the human body. Perhaps the gods were punishing him for his greed. He had wanted both, had demanded to keep the honor of his house and, at the same time, the love of the woman he had lost. He had believed he could serve two masters without losing anything. And the gods, as they always did, had claimed the price of that illusion.

Night fell slowly over Rook's Rest, swallowing everything in its darkness, erasing every trace of the battle. The last cries of the wounded had faded one by one, replaced by the low crackling of fires lit among the ranks of the victorious army. Tongues of flame flickered in the night wind, casting brief light upon exhausted faces smeared with dried blood, soot, and dirt, eyes reddened by fatigue and war, hands still unable to stop trembling after hours spent gripping a sword. The acrid smell of smoke lingered everywhere, mingling with that of burned flesh, worn leather, and blood soaking into the ground. Here and there someone laughed; others drank in silence, staring into the void with hollow gazes, too drained even to speak. The crows had already begun gathering in the trees at the edges of the battlefield, patient and still, waiting for morning to claim their feast.

Among the soldiers, the same words passed from mouth to mouth, whispered beside the fires. They said the battle was over, at least for that day. They said Vhagar had survived, though gravely wounded, and that Cannibal had vanished into the sky, never to return. But above all, they said that you were dead. That after falling from your dragon's back, you had plunged into the lake beyond the forest, swallowed by the black waters without leaving a trace. Some even claimed they had seen your body disappear beneath the surface. Others swore no one could survive such a fall. Each time your name was spoken, it was followed by a satisfied laugh. To many, you had been nothing more than a traitorous princess who had met the fate she deserved.

Gwayne Hightower, however, could not believe a single word of it. He simply could not. Sitting a short distance from the others, his back resting against the rough trunk of a great oak at the edge of the encampment, he stared straight ahead without truly seeing anything. His cloak was still stained with mud and dried blood, his armor scratched in several places, barely reflecting the flickering light of the nearest fire. His hands lay motionless on his knees, as still as those of a statue. Around him, the camp slowly drifted to sleep. Some soldiers continued recounting moments from the battle, their voices thick with exhaustion and wine. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else wept, believing no one was watching. The blacksmiths gradually extinguished their makeshift forges, the stablehands checked on the last surviving horses, and little by little every sound seemed to fade, becoming muffled and distant. Gwayne had the distinct sensation of standing behind an invisible barrier that separated him from the rest of the world. His body was present, but his mind remained suspended in the sky, in the exact moment he had seen you fall.

No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, it took only the briefest closing of his eyes for it all to begin again. He saw the archer. The arrow leaving the bowstring. The moment he struck the soldier in a desperate attempt to deflect the shot. Then he saw the bolt reach you anyway, burying itself in your shoulder with a violence that stole his breath. He saw the blood staining your dress. Your hand clutching desperately at the wound. Your fingers slowly losing their grip on the saddle. Your body tilting ever so slightly. And finally, the fall. Again, and again, and again. Each time, his stomach twisted painfully, forcing him to bend forward. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his eyelids until it nearly hurt, as if physical pain might erase what tormented his mind. But it did not work. The image remained there, seared behind his eyes with unbearable clarity. The more he tried to push it away, the more vividly it returned, as though the Gods liked the way it devoured him from within. All he could do was relive it and hope, somehow, to earn forgiveness for his sins.

A long, trembling breath slipped from his lips as he slowly ran a hand over his weary face. Beneath his fingers he felt skin caked with dirt and dried blood, and the cut he had taken across his cheek during the fight. He was exhausted, but he knew he would not sleep. Around the fires, some soldiers drank to their victory. They had accepted your death with a readiness that made him sick. They called you a traitor. They laughed, imagining your body dragged to the bottom of the lake. Someone even claimed that Cannibal had abandoned you, unable to save his own rider. Gwayne had clenched his jaw until he tasted blood, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to tear it, just to keep himself from rising and striking the first man who dared speak your name with such contempt.

Dragons fell, and their riders died. It had always been so. Ever since the Dance of the Dragons had begun, every battle had claimed its toll of fire and blood. It was the fate of those who rode such creatures, everyone knew it. Everyone accepted it. But that simple truth did nothing to comfort him. Because to him, you had never been merely a rider. You were not just a Targaryen princess. You were not simply a name destined to appear in the songs of bards.

You were his wife. The woman before whom he had spoken vows he believed eternal. The girl he had learned to love long before politics, war, and the duties of your respective houses forced you apart. You had been his home, his refuge, his greatest weakness and even greater undoing. Even after your separation, even after finding yourselves on opposing sides, he had never stopped thinking of you. He had tried to convince himself otherwise, of course. He had told himself that time would heal every wound, that distance would extinguish that feeling that picked at his chest. But every attempt had failed miserably. You had remained his greatest regret. His ruin. And, despite everything, you were still his only love.

When the last fire in the camp dwindled to a bed of reddish embers and even the final conversations faded into silence, broken only by the snores of sleeping soldiers, Gwayne knew he could not remain still a moment longer. He rose slowly, careful not to make a sound. His joints protested from the strain of the day, but he did not notice. He adjusted his cloak over his shoulders, left his sword sheathed, and walked away without looking back. He moved between the tents like a silent shadow, avoiding the sleeping men and the sentries who watched the forest with heavy eyes. Each step carried him farther from the camp and closer to the place where you had vanished. He did not truly know what he was searching for, perhaps only a body to mourn, a grave before which he could kneel. Perhaps he needed to see with his own eyes the final proof of your death, because a part of him stubbornly refused to believe it.

The forest welcomed him with silence. The trees towered high above his head, turning the moonlight into thin blades of silver that barely pierced the dense weave of branches. The ground was damp, covered in leaves and moss that muffled his steps, while the wind stirred the treetops, producing a constant rustling like an incomprehensible whisper. Now and then a broken branch cracked beneath his boots, or a nocturnal creature fled through the underbrush, but otherwise the forest seemed to hold its breath with him. The air was far colder than in the camp, damp and heavy. Each breath filled his lungs with a painful sensation, yet he kept walking without slowing. His heart beat faster with every step, feeding a hope he desperately tried to smother, for fear it would destroy him.

When at last the trees began to thin and the lake appeared before his eyes, Gwayne stopped instinctively. The water lay still as a black mirror, so dark it seemed bottomless. The moon reflected upon its surface in trembling fragments, barely disturbed by the wind, while a thin mist began to rise from the shore. No sound came from the water. No ripple. No sign to tell what had happened only hours before.

Gwayne swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Please..." he whispered hoarsely, not knowing whether he was praying to the gods, to the lake, or to you. It was a desperate plea, spoken without even realizing it.

He began to walk slowly along the shore, his eyes darting frantically from one point to another. He searched every reflection, every log carried by the water, every dark shape lying among the stones and reeds. His hands trembled so violently that he had to clench them repeatedly to keep from losing all control. The farther he went, the more despair grew within him. He was ready to throw himself into the lake without a second thought if only he glimpsed a fragment of your cloak beneath the water. He did not care about the depth, nor the cold. He did not even care about dying. He only kept searching for you, with the same stubborn determination he had always had when it came to you.

Then, suddenly, his gaze stopped. You were there, lying on the shore, motionless, just a few steps from the dark water. Your hair, still wet, spread in disarray over the damp grass like threads of silver in the moonlight. Your clothes were soaked with water and blood, clinging heavily to your body, while one of your arms lay abandoned at your side. For a long, endless moment, Gwayne stood completely still. His heart nearly stopped, and terror seized his throat so tightly he could not even breathe. From that distance he could not see the rise and fall of your chest. He could not tell whether you were breathing. And his greatest fear, the one that had driven every step he had taken toward the lake, rose up once more to devour him. He feared he had arrived too late. He feared the gods had made a mockery of him.

Gwayne lunged forward, breathless, running along the uneven shore of the lake without regard for the slippery stones, the low branches that scratched his face, or the mud that slowed his steps. The only thing he could see was you. Every beat of his heart felt like a blow struck directly against his ribs, so fast it stole his breath. When he finally reached you, he dropped to his knees beside you, splashing water and mud across his cloak. For a moment he remained completely still, unable to convince himself that you were truly there. He stared at you with a terrified expression, as if a single wrong movement might make you vanish before his eyes. Then his hands, trembling uncontrollably, moved slowly toward your face. He brushed your forehead gently, as though he feared even the pressure of his own fingers. He caressed your cold cheeks, still damp with lake water, tracing the line of your jaw down to your neck in a desperate attempt to feel a pulse. A strand of silver hair, stuck to your skin, covered part of your face. He moved it aside with infinite care, letting his fingers linger briefly in your hair in a gesture so familiar it almost hurt him. How many times had he done the same in your chambers in Oldtown, when you fell asleep beside him with your face hidden against his chest? How many times had he watched those strands spread across the pillow, convincing himself that such happiness would last forever? Now that same hand trembled too violently to even touch you.

He was already sinking into the abyss of despair when it happened.

A faint breath, barely perceptible, slipped from your parted lips, breaking the silence of the lake. It was the slightest whisper, so weak that another man might not even have noticed it. But Gwayne felt it, felt it with every fiber of his being. His eyes flew open in disbelief as the world seemed to halt around him once more. He remained motionless for a few seconds, almost afraid he had imagined it. Then your chest rose slightly, in a slow, labored movement, but enough to shatter, in a single instant, all the pain that had suffocated him until then.

A broken sound escaped his lips before he could stop it, something between an incredulous laugh and a choked sob. Tears stung his eyes, but he made no attempt to hide them. "You're alive..." he murmured softly, as though he feared that speaking the words too loudly might frighten the gods into taking back what they had just spared him. He was definitely a selfish, selfish man. "You're alive..." he repeated, this time with his face bent close to yours, as if he needed to hear the words from his own lips to truly believe they were real.

Urgency immediately replaced his astonishment. Gwayne roused himself, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and without wasting another moment he seized the edge of his cloak. With a sharp tear, he ripped a long strip of fabric from it, ignoring the sound of the cloth splitting. His fingers were clumsy, made awkward by fear and cold, yet he tried to press the makeshift bandage gently against the wound still bleeding on your shoulder. The arrow was gone, likely broken during the fall or lost in the waters of the lake, but the blood continued to seep slowly, soaking your already drenched clothes. Each time the fabric darkened with red, Gwayne's heart seemed to tighten further. He lifted you with the utmost care, slipping one arm behind your back and the other beneath your legs just enough to move you away from the shore. He drew you against his chest, trying to shield you from the cold night and the damp ground. At once he felt the weight of your body yield against him as he had never felt before. Your breathing, weak but present, broke against his armor and passed through the fabric of his tunic to reach his skin. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"Stay with me..." he whispered, his voice breaking as he lowered his head until it brushed against your forehead. "Please... stay. Don't leave me now."

For several endless moments, he feared you had not heard him at all. Then your lashes began to tremble softly. Your eyelids lifted with agonizing slowness, as if even that simple movement required immense effort. Your eyes, still clouded with confusion and pain, wandered aimlessly before finally settling on his face. You looked at him for a long time in silence, your expression lost and distant. It was as if you were trying to remember where you were, or perhaps simply trying to understand whether he was real. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Gwayne held even his breath, terrified that this fragile connection might shatter.

You continued to stare at him. Your lips parted slightly and, in a voice so faint it nearly blended with the wind through the trees, you asked: "Am I dead?"

Those words pierced his heart. Gwayne shook his head immediately, leaning closer to you. One hand remained firm behind your back, the other still cradled your face as if he feared you might vanish at any moment. "No." The answer came too quickly, broken by emotion. "No... you're here. You're alive." He swallowed hard, but the words poured out of him uncontrollably, dragged forth by weeks of silence and a guilt he could no longer contain. "I'm sorry..." he whispered, lowering his gaze briefly before searching for yours again. "I'm so sorry. I... I didn't mean— I saw that man. I thought that if I could stop him..." His voice broke. He drew a deep breath, but it did nothing to steady the tremor in his chest. "If I hadn't intervened, maybe... maybe the arrow would have taken a different path. Maybe you wouldn't have fallen. I—" He closed his eyes for a moment, unable to continue. "I can't stop thinking about it."

His hands instinctively sought yours. They always sought your. When he finally managed to lace his fingers with yours, he was almost startled by the contrast between the warmth of his own skin and the cold that had overtaken yours. They were freezing, so cold it frightened him. He held them with the utmost care, as though afraid of hurting you, then slowly brought them to his lips. He pressed a long, trembling kiss upon them, just as he had done countless times during your marriage. It was a gesture that had become an involuntary reflex of his love. Every time you were sad, every time you were afraid, every time he returned from a long ride and found you waiting for him, he would take your hands and kiss them in that exact same way. Now he did it again, his eyes shining with unshed tears, his heart in pieces.

You were so pretty even like this. His pretty girl.

"It's my fault..." he whispered against your skin, almost unable to look at you. "You fell because of me. I made you fall. I don't even know how to ask for your forgiveness, my love."

You watched him for a long time without interrupting. There was no anger in your eyes, only an infinite weariness, made deeper still by the pain of your wound. Slowly, with an effort that broke his heart just to witness, you freed one hand from his grasp and lifted it toward his face. Your fingers trembled visibly as they reached his cheek. You touched him lightly, with a caress so gentle it felt like the brush of a feather. Gwayne remained completely still, holding even his breath. It had been so long since you had last sought his face. "You need not to apologize..." you murmured, your voice barely audible. A faint smile appeared on your chapped lips. "You were only protecting your family. Just as I do."

He lowered his gaze slowly, letting his forehead rest against yours. What an angel you were, he thought not even the fairest maiden could ever hope to be like you. What monster he was to ruining you like this, rotting you until your core. "It shouldn't be this way..." he whispered bitterly, gently stroking your still-damp hair. His fingers moved through those strands with the same tenderness as before, as if every gesture might carry you back to when you had been happy. "We shouldn't be on opposite sides. We shouldn't be forced to choose." He lifted his eyes again to meet yours. "You too are my family."

His hand lingered on your face for a few moments more, caressing you hesitantly. It was as though he were touching you for the first time, and yet as if his body remembered perfectly every line of your face. His fingers traced slowly along your cheek, the curve of your jaw, until they came to rest near your lips. The most beautiful lips he so loved kissing. For a moment, it felt to him as though he were back in your chamber in Oldtown, he could almost hear the rain against the windows, smell the burnt candles and the warmth of the sheets. For a few heartbeats, the war ceased to exist. There was only the two of you.

He leaned down toward your face, and finally he kissed you. That kiss carried every unspoken word, every night spent longing for you, every wrong choice that had led you both to that lake. His lips trembled slightly against yours, as though he feared it might truly be the last time he would ever be able to do so. They were soft despite being chapped by cold and exhaustion. And you, despite the pain coursing through every part of your body, let yourself fall into him, into his arms, against his chest. That was where you belonged, in his arms. Gwayne held you a little tighter, one hand finding your waist, careful not to touch your wound.

How he loved kissing you. How he loved when you clung to him as he was your savior. His heart always exploded in an hundreds of sparkles, making him dizzy with your taste. He felt so drunk of you, feeling you everywhere. Yet Gwayne wanted to feel you even more, merge his body into yours, flesh into flesh. He wanted to burn into you. He wanted you to kiss him forever.

He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. Why he wanted so much? Is he allowed to wanting?

It’s was so hard not to when you touched him so, looking like the prettiest dream.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a few inches. Your breaths still mingled in the cold night air, your foreheads nearly resting against each other, lips still chasing. His eyes could not leave yours, as though he feared that looking away might cause him to lose you again. He remained there, motionless, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. He could not let you go. After believing you dead, after watching you fall from the sky, after thinking he would never hear your breathing again, separating from you now felt simply impossible.

[rikisluv]

Read this while listening to ethel cain and oh my GOD TRANSCENDING THE GAME

[orgxnas]

Gwayne Hightower on his hike of Doom and Despair with Criston Cole

[rahwle]

who's that diva? Lyonel, move over

[7adymaria]

ITS NOT A HEAR ME OUT ITS A HOLD ME BACK

[aemondssapphire]

He’s so miserable, I need him.

[bookishpower]

Ser Gwayne finally realizing that Crispy Cole doesn't intend to survive this war.

[helaenasfavoritechicken]

He looks like a house cat turned stray

[jorkingtodjo]

#whoremeber

[rikisluv]

🧘‍♀️🧘‍♀️🧘‍♀️ i think abt this everyday

[velvetciders]

thinking about gator who’s fallen for the local farmers daughter 5k+

Since Roy was the way he was, he wanted the finest, freshest meat and dairy produce that was in town, taking Gators patrol time away to go fetch them.

He didn’t meet you the first few times he visited, only handing money to your father and collecting what he paid for.

It was always early in the morning, messing his schedule, and setting him in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.

He finally met you one morning where he had nothing to do, so he decided to get it over with. The sun was starting to rise and he felt a twisted feeling in his stomach, and not the good kind. His body was always guarded up regardless.

He pulled up in his big and flashy truck, hat firm on his head and eyes direct.

The tires skidded across the dirt when he turned and looked at the porch of the farmers house. White wooden walls, plants in the front, and a nice yellow bench swing just in front of the windows.

And you.

His eyes only widened slightly, mostly out of shock because he never knew the only well farmer in town had a daughter. One that looked close to his age, that was.

He started to fumble with the wallet on his lap, wanting to just drive away when he realized he was way too early. He didn’t want to talk to some girl. You probably didn’t know much about the farm, probably spent all day flipping through magazines like you were doing just now.

He cleared his throat and started to take off the thigh holster that had his gun. He didn’t want you scared, didn’t want you annoyingly screaming this time of morning. He didn’t care. He still bit the inside of his cheek.

His feet dragged as he hesitantly walked over to the front porch, leaning over the wood and peering over what you were doing. He tried not to smile smugly at how you didn’t even look up at him.

“Hello.” He says.

You look up, see his uniform and his badge, and blink your eyes back down.

“My daddy’s not here.”

He was taken aback by your voice. Well, not really. It was soft, gentle and practically laced by innocence- and you looked like the type. That morning you wore fuzzy socks, short and small plaid pj shorts that was peeking through your silk sleep shirt.

“Looks like it.” He mumbles, “can’t I just tell you what I ordered and ya grab it?”

You looked up at him again, eyes finally meeting his. You saw how they were hazel and filled with tension and rigidness. Like they’ve looked that way for years, never released or calm.

“I don’t know where he keeps his things.” Your eyes flickered back and forth with his. He did the same. “He’ll be here around lunch.”

“Fuck.. fine. Yeah. Just let him know I’ll be here round that time.”

“Okay.” You say before looking back down, flipping a page.

He stayed quiet and glared at you, watched you in a certain way. He didn’t know if it was good or bad. You were pretty, sure, your body and face so soft that it made him question the type of girl he desired. Something along the lines of you, he imagined. He watched you some more, expecting maybe a glance, maybe another chance for him to insist on getting his order.

This was all his dads fault, wasting his time and energy instead of working.

Gator huffed and quickly went back to his truck after that, not bothering to look at the porch again when he drove away. He didn’t know what to think, his mind clouded, but he for sure wasn’t expecting a girl like you.

——

A few months passed and Gator was convinced his life was changed for good. Some bad moments shined into his life, though, like always.

He found himself arriving at your farm while the sun rose, so he could see the lace curtains of your bedroom open and your warm lamp flicker on. He’d quietly wait for you just outside, leaning against the white wood while you routinely sat down on the bench across from him.

Conversations flowed about nothing, quiet but calming as your voice coaxed him from morning sleepiness.

You would talk about stupid things. What you two liked, sweet memories, and it was easy to joke around with him. Your friends painted a picture of Gator, a guy you needed to stay away from and who’s heart was stone cold. They were wrong, apparently. Because the Gator in front of you was smiling up to his eyes, his laughs a bit more high pitched.

It was hard at first, earning his way into your life. He was still snarky in some moments, still full of attitude. It slowly started to leave. But you never seemed to mind. It confused him.

He quickly learned the girl you were, and for the first time, he didn’t batter up his walls and pretend he didn’t care. Because he cared so much that it hurt his heart. Gator knew you didn’t deserve him. With your cute little socks and your babydoll dresses, compared to his rough hands and gun hiding in his truck.

He learned the sensitivity that always lingered in your personality, how you preferred quiet over loud, warm over cold. He stopped scowling like he usually did, and he didn’t think you were weak for being soft and codependent.

Deep down, he knew he wanted someone like that. He wanted someone to love and to come home too, kissing tears and comforting them to sleep. He’d never felt that before.

Some nights where his mind was clouded with his dad, he thought back to you. To the day something shifted.

It was early morning again. The farm felt still, the soft chimes on the patio singing delicately into the summer air. He saw you like usual, curled up in a ball, your lips parted and smushed to your knee. You were asleep.

Somehow you fell asleep with a book in hand, your pretty pajamas still on.

You stirred awake to the noise of his boots crunching on the ground, face flooding with embarrassment when you realized he saw how you looked fresh from slumber.

“Mornin’”. He said.

You blinked tiredly.

He only chuckled and gave you a smile that didn’t seem malicious.

When he said gruffly bye to you with bags in his hands, it seemed like he already forgot. He never mentioned it again days after, didn’t tease. Your heart settled at that.

He honestly surprised himself. It took almost years for someone to finally make Gator feel a tinge of happiness, of contentment outside of his job. He tried to stay tough every day though, regardless of this change. He knew his harsh demeanor wasn’t for attention, for pity, it was for himself.

He didn’t know how to navigate without it.

He was still stubborn when he wanted to be. It quickly escaped him the moment you fluttered your eyelashes up at him and gave him the most delicate smile he’s ever seen. For once, Gator Tillman’s cheeks turned pink.

“Hey honeybee.” He mumbles with a small smirk, when it was really a smile in disguise.

He managed to escape his afternoon patrol, something he would rather die than do, so he could drive over to the farm and see you. If his dad ever found out, he’d never let it go, yelling that he had gone to soft for some girl who never even left the house. He didn’t even have produce to pick up. He got it that morning.

He started to ask Roy about the orders, what time, how many days of the week. Gator cherished every given moment.

He knew why he was doing all this, waking up every early morning to the thought of you, your voice, how his voice changed around you.

He liked you. Deeply and scarily. Even after knowing you for 3 months.

Gator didn’t know what it was that brought you and him to this relationship, so close. Your different personalities clashed so beautifully and easily that it exploded into one.

“Hi Gate.” Your smile was so wide, it made your face glow.

He was leaning against the doorframe of your house, your dad not home because of some other business with property. Your father enjoyed the deal he had going on with Roy, and he found Gator respectful. But he’s obviously noticed the string between you and Gator, and it wasn’t rare when he reminded you over dinner to watch out for him. You’d agree and tell him empty promises, only for you to go up to your room and call Gator over the phone.

He would tell you he was thinking about you, and at first it was hard to believe, maybe he was just messing around with you out of boredom.

But the calls would extend late into night, simply listening to your breathing or your whispered goodnight.

It felt like he’s known you his whole life.

“Hm, I smell cinnamon.” He looks behind you.

You nod and shyly let him in.

“M’ startin to think you just come here for food.” You teased but you had a pout, “and my daddy’s gross meat.”

He chuckles. “Ya know damn well that’s not why I come here.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He spins around. Gator hums in response and laces his arm around you, skin warm against his. You two have had close touches like this, hand holding and hugging. But it was never out in public, out for others to see. It was on your porch early in the morning, just outside his truck, or moments like these. When no one was around expect him.

His fingers thread with your baby blue dress, slipping just under the strap.

“Bought this the other day.” You admit quietly after some seconds.

But he wasn’t even looking at the dress, not the way it clung perfectly to your hips like he’s always imagined you. He was looking at your face, your plumpy pink lips and your eyes blinking up at him.

“Looks real pretty on ya.” He hums again.

You couldn’t pinpoint what this tension was. It always lingered between you two, but your grasp escaped his whenever it felt too close. Too real.

“You know… I’ve actually never seen you outside of your scary uniform.”

He tilts his head and smirks.

“You sayin’ you want it off?”

Your face turns red and you gently shove him off you. “Shut up, weirdo.” Your hand was still laced with his as he followed you to the kitchen.

Quiet romantic music played on the radio in your kitchen, the dishwasher was running, and you sat on the counter with Gator standing right next to you. There was silence between you two as you ate your cinnamon buns, his fingers gently tapping to the music on your knee.

He was talking about his morning and how an officer spilled coffee on him, earning the sweetest laugh out of you. Gator thought it must’ve been physically impossible to look away from you.

“Holy hell, your smile hon.” He whistles, still a little shy. “Cutest I’ve ever seen.”

It grew wider.

“I like yours. The way your lips look when you do.”

“Nah, I look dumb as shit when I smile.”

“Not possible, Gate.” You peck his shoulder that was close to your mouth, “You’re very handsome.”

He looked down at the counter and bit the inside of his cheek to stop another smile creeping in.

It was always like this over the phone, or in real life even if it was just for five minutes. He cherished every word you said rather than ignoring it and denying. You two continued to talk here and there, mouths full with frosting and thoughts stormed your mind with him. How he smelled like deep piney wood, a strand of hair slowly falling over his forehead, eyes shinning instead of it’s dullness.

“When’d ya get this?” He feels your finger gently trace a bruise just under his jaw.

His eyes flicker to yours and he saw your frown. He usually didn’t feel bad when someone cared about him, because he never allowed it to happen. Somehow, he wish he never got hurt so he didn’t have to see the way your eyes fell at the sight.

“Just last night. Dad got me jumbled up with some guys on this case.” He says, “doesn’t hurt though.”

The lie was only proven wrong when he softly winced at how tender it was, even under your light touch.

“Does he work you a lot?”

“…No.” He huffs and looks down at his purple knuckles, stretching out his hand and squeezing air, “he doesn’t put me on enough. I want more.”

“I feel like you get hurt every single time.”

“Comes with the job, bee. Can’t do anything bout it”

You stay quiet, too quiet, so he looks back at you. Your eyes seemed to never leave his figure and he wasn’t sure how to react. All this time, he’s bottled his rage about his father, about how he desired to be admired and accomplished. He felt like expressing it made him seems like a daddy’s boy, following around his orders. Somehow, the way you seeped your way into his heart made him forget the reasons why he was like that in the first place.

That afternoon he left before your father got home, walking with you to his truck.

That was the first time you kissed him. Well, not on his lips, but a part of him wished it was. He pushed the feeling away. You kissed him just below his bruise so it didn’t press, and then another one just above it, your feet tipped in reach.

He was painfully aware of his tense shoulders and neck, unaware that a moment like this meant he could relax. He still didn’t, but god he wished it did. He wanted to be good for you.

His cheeks felt warm but you didn’t seem to notice.

“Just know that someone cares, Gator.” You whisper, reading his mind. “Call me like ya always do, okay? Don’t be stubborn and hold back.”

He smiled faintly at that because how could an innocent girl like you know him better than himself?

“I’ll try.”

Your frown from a few minutes ago was still there, but it slowly curved up, although it was hard to believe him. He knew you were a concerned, that’s just how you were when you cared deeply about someone. He felt lucky thst specific someone was him.

“…Okay. Be safe.”

He nods, squeezes your hand one last time before hopping up into the drivers seat. You give him a small wave as he drives off and he let out a shaky breath he’s been holding the moment he arrived.

He knew right then that he was done for.

——

It happened so soon, over whispers along town and discussions over the dinner table. That Gator Tillman was flirting with the farmers pure hearted daughter. That he was corrupting her and changing her path for the future, that he was too violent and snarky to be hanging around you.

Eventually, your dad found out.

You tried not to think about the night where he yelled at you like never before, banning you completely from Gator. Your dad called off his arrangement with Roy, little to know explanation being told to him, but he did it coldly.

You cried into your pillow that night, a warm lamp on and your door locked. Why’d it feel like a piece of you was ripped away? Had you fallen that easily, gotten so attached? It felt silly in a way, but so very right, because he was the one who truly understood you. The one who made you squeal like a little girl.

There was no possible way you could be seen with him again. The whole town was looking out for you, while they looked away from him. You felt helpless.

Your eyelids grew heavy when your phone started to ring. You quickly answered it and you heard it.

Gator’s breath shuddered.

In his room, out on the ranch, he felt a new feeling of devastation. Roy took his anger out on him, like always, and Gator did what was normal for him now. Call you. He just wished it was for different reasons.

“G-Gator.” You whine in desperation and you two knew what this was about.

“I hate this stupid fuckin’ town, always talkin bout other peoples business.” He immediately said, “I mean, w-who the fuck cares about us? We should only care.”

You stayed quiet on the other end and he noticed it, but he was so upset about the ties cut loose that he couldn’t stop. He took breaths in between, his fingers stained with salty tears that were slowly escaping him.

He didn’t know it’d hurt this much, especially since you two weren’t even dating. Hadn’t even confessed.

“I’m sorry.” You hiccup.

“What are ya sorry for, bun? Don’t be.”

“I- You were just a… a customer and I b-brought myself into your l-life. I feel awful.”

“Hey hey, no.” You heard his sheets shuffle and you knew you two paralleled.

Messy bed, tears staining the cotton, looking out the window for what could’ve been.

“Don’t think like that, ever, okay? I- hell… I’m glad how we turned out, ya know? I like what we have.”

He admits with hesitance in his voice. He’s never openly said he liked the concept of you and him, and it made your stomach turn inside out.

“You do?”

“Course’ I do. It’s the best moment of my day, seeing you sittin pretty on the porch with that smile, all for me. It makes me feel better, not like I got dragged in.”

You let out a sob at that, not even feeling embarrassed that you were crying over being separated like a teenage girl. Something in your gut told you that your daddy was wrong.

“You make me so happy, Gator. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

He groans.

“Shit, honeybee, don’t say stuff like that. Not right now.”

His mind couldn’t wrap around what was happening. He had this girl on the phone, sobbing her eyes out because she missed him. He missed you so badly, even if it’s been a day, but it made his heart ache and burn.

You seemed to have wanted him, needed him like air, just like he needed you. It was new and it suddenly washed over him way too fast. He felt like crying again.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say weakly. “D-Daddy’s got me stayin’ here. I can’t even go outside cus of us.”

He thought for a split second, already grabbing his keys that rested on his nightstand. He changed into some quick, not his uniform, and he didn’t even bother to slick back his hair. He felt raw, exposed, but in the best way.

“We’ll figure something out, I promise.” He says sternly, “Stay in your room. I’ll be there in 10.”

“Gator wha-” He hung up and you stared at your blank screen.

When he got to your house in five minutes, it was dark inside, except for the familiar orange light that peered just inside your room upstairs. It seemed like you’ve been waiting this whole time, lace curtains pushed back to see him. You’ve never snuck out before. This was wrong. Dangerous. Your dad’s reputation of being the best farmer could get ruined by a reckless daughter who snuck out with the sheriffs son.

You reached for your phone and texted him.

‘Meet me at the back door.’

You saw bubbles appear and disappear, only for him to respond with a thumbs up emoji. Despite your heart racing out of your body, it seemed to calm you down. It was Gator, after all. Your feet gently padded against the wooden floors as you tipped downstairs, wearing nothing but small shorts and a big shirt, shivers running down your spine.

“Hey- okay, okay.” He lost his footing when you rushed and lunged towards him, sobbing uncontrollably into his neck.

You’ve never been this close. With your bare legs brushing against his jeans and his warm hands sliding under your shirt. He breathed into your neck and he stiffened, trying to stay strong. He tried so hard.

“Don’t cry, bun, the world ain’t ending.” He pleas.

It seemed like his desperation wasn’t helping, so he gently tugged you to start walking, pressing his lips to the side of your head.

“Let’s go to my truck, yeah? I’ll take us somewhere quiet.”

You nodded and hiccuped between tears, his arm around you while wiping your wet cheeks with his thumb. You felt like your body was weighing down on you, like the whole world just collapsed over a boy. But he wasn’t just that, and you knew it. He was an opening to a life you’ve always wanted, romantically free.

——

It was quiet, still, cold. Gator brought you to a far expanded creek that was just on the edge of town, covered in trees and seeping into the moonlight. He’s told you about this specific spot the first month he knew you, confessing he’d often go at night to clear his clouded head.

Your legs were draped over his lap, feeling the gruffness of the denimn. His fingers trailed up and down your legs like feathers, gulping down all the words he wanted to say. That he’s gained feelings for you that he’s never felt before, that his heart flipped when he saw you.

“Was your dad upset?” You whisper timidly.

“That the deal cut off? Yeah. He was too disappointed to talk about… us, so he just ignored me.” He says, “Your daddy didn’t hurt ya, did he?”

“No.”

“…I’d go right now and end all of ‘em, the ones spreadin rumors bout what we got.”

You turn your head and look at him, the straight line of his nose and how it glowed under the moon. You wanted to ask him, tell him, what did you two have? It sure felt intimate right now, with his fingers trailing just under your shorts but never more. You noticed his two little moles that paired close to each other, his hair falling foward.

After looking at him, you said, “You’re not in your uniform.”

He wore normal dark blue jeans, a dark plain shirt over him with a brown jacket on. He looked soft, comforting. It made your lower stomach feel funny, legs pressed together.

He smirks faintly and gently squeezes your thigh, turning to look at you.

“M’ supposed to wear it anytime I go out. Doesn’t really bother me, it’s Roy’s rules. Heavy as shit, though.”

But from the gleam in his eye, the way his frown stayed, told you otherwise. Your eyebrows furrow at his response, slowly leaning foward and running your fingers through his hair, crusty and raw from day old gel. His eyes fluttered shut and his light touches stopped, like he became completely undone by you.

“You don’t regret it?” You whisper.

“What?”

“Comin’ back every morning. Before my daddy was even up.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, eyes opening again and squinting towards the water.

“Look at where were at right now.” He says softly but firmly, “I don’t have a damn regret. Haven’t had one these past few months.”

You sit there for a while. “I don’t regret it either. Getting- getting to know you.”

He hummed.

“I remember you said I was scary the second time I saw ya. Almost broke ma heart, bun.”

You swat his arm and he chuckled at that, his eyes flickering to yours. You two held eye contact for a split second, before you rolled them shyly and looked at the trees.

“That’s because you had a gun against you.”

“Ah, that stupid thing.” He mumbles, “I don’t really have a choice in this type of place.”

You two played and fidgeted with each others hands, listening to his soft voice as he recalled memories of childhood at that very creek. You could hear his small smile when he talked. You never looked away. He knew he needed this, needed his mind to be filled with the sight of your face and past stories that made him lighter.

It felt like it all happened in one second. The jacket that he here wore was eventually wrapped around you, his smell bringing a comfort you didn’t understand. He could still tell that you were upset, your hands tense like you needed something closer.

You ended up on his lap.

His nose brushed against your jaw as your face grew inches apart from his.

“So that’s where you got this from?” You giggle at the little scar just under his chin when he recalled an accident.

“Oh god honeybee, thanks for lettin’ me know you’ve noticed it this whole time.”

“No it’s not bad! It’s small but very… manly?”

He laughed at that, a genuine one, and his fingers twisted with yours. You wish you could stay in this moment forever, where your eyes danced around his in a long tensioned dance.

“I was the stupidest kid, really, whole town laughed at it. Still am.”

You shake your head and gently lean foward to cup his cheek, facing his gaze towards you.

“You’re anythin but stupid, Gator Tillman.” You whisper. “It’s the total opposite of that. I’ve seen it with my very own eyes.”

“Damn pretty eyes.”

“Gator, m’ serious!” You giggle, hair fallen foward to which he tugged behind.

“Fine, serious girl. Maybe I got the smarts from you.”

You roll your eyes and bury yourself in him, your shorts riding up and allowed his hand to rest there. You’ve never felt someone this warm. This good. He was like a blanket, and you were melting into it by the second. He seemed to notice the subtle shift, his demeanor growing quiet and soft, fingers tracing your thigh.

You slightly pull away to look at him, nose nudging his.

“You’re so warm.” You hum.

“My serious girl is warm, huh?”

“Mhm.”

For once in a while, he didn’t doubt you. Because he could see it in your eyes, the way you looked and sounded. You were actually craving his touch, actually tugging him closer because you liked it and wanted it.

He liked it too. He wanted it, wanted you. It scared him.

Before he could even respond, you dipped your head and started to place tender kisses along his jaw. They were deep and lasting, making a quiet sound each time you pulled away. All over his cheeks, his jaw, near his eyes, whispering what you wished you said before about how much you liked his face.

It was like he couldn’t take it anymore.

He slightly nudged his face away, scanned your features, and moved your hair away. Then, his lips met yours.

You let out a soft noise in surprise but quickly melted in his arms when you realized that this was very real. That Gator was breathing in through his nose by how deep he was kissing you, latching your upper lip into his mouth and softly sucking. It felt new to him, kissing someone with actual purpose and gentleness. But with you, it felt like he’s done this a thousand times.

“Fuck.” His voice vibrates down your throat.

And it felt physically impossible for him to stop. He kissed all along your jaw and around your face, your eyes fluttering shut in the pure pleasure of his warm lips on you. Your back arched beneath his hands and he tugged you closer, fingers just etching under the back of your shorts.

You two finally pulled back, and he almost wanted to cry.

You were glowing.

The moon was just perfectly behind you, but shinning you at the same time, highlighting the glisten of your lips. You looked kissed stupid, which you were, your chest heaving up and down. It was a soft, intimate moment, and he craved to press against you.

You slowly leaned forward and gently pushed back a loose strand of his hair, kissing his forehead in the process.

That’s when his eyes started to swell. So he quickly tugged you closer and kissed you again.

It was so slow. His lips slotted like a puzzle to yours, pillowing against you and purely taking his breath away, hands sliding deep into your hair. And when you continued to kiss him back, you tasted a mix of him and salt, your cheeks starting to feel slick.

You pulled away with furrowed eyebrows and saw it. His eyes were glossy and his face was wet.

“Oh, Gate.” You whisper, wiping them away with your thumb, “it’s just me, don’t worry.”

He started to sniff again at your understanding for him. He’s never felt something so real, so pure, and you could tell how deeply it was affecting him.

“Shit, I- fuck.. sorry.” He mumbles, “I’m not cryin’.”

“You don’t have to hide it, it’s okay.”

He shakes his head like all he’s ever done was wrong. “No it’s not. We’re over here kissin and ‘m actin like a baby.”

You stayed quiet and let his last tears fall down his pink cheeks. He hated when people saw tears, and just watched him as he grew more upset and emotional. It didn’t seem to wrong when you did, the way your eyes were gentle and patient.

“Let’s stay here tonight. Okay?” You whisper and all he does was nod, his bottom lip slightly sticking out.

“…Thank you.”

He stayed quiet for a long time, replaying all those sweet moments where you actually enjoyed when he was around. He remembered the way it made him feel seen, like him being there wasn’t something to scowl at.

It escaped him faster than light.

“I like you a lot.” He whispers gruffly.

You blink at him.

He takes a heavy deep breath, knowing that you were letting him continue. “And it… it scares me. I’ve never felt this safe round anyone before, like I can finally relax. I spent my whole damn life isolating myself to focus of work, on my dad. Now I have you, a part of you, and I’ve never wanted to be around someone more. I just… I wish I could take all those years back when I buried myself alone- and I.. I wanna open to you. I’ll try my damn hardest because you deserve that. I’ll try so hard for you.”

Tears started to form in your eyes now, and you looked away out of embarrassment. He just opened his heart out to you, his view, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

“Gator…” You whisper proudly.

He gives you a flat, shy look. “I said something dumb, didn’t I.”

“No no god, no. You said everything just perfect.”

“Then why you cryin?” His lips reach to kiss them away.

“Cus I like you too.” Your voice shakes, “a lot lot.”

He chuckles quietly at that, his smile reaching his eyes and with his ears turning pink. He couldn’t strain his eyes away from you and you curled up like a flustered little girl.

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Doing that! Staring at me.”

“You wanna know somethin?”

“Oh no.” You bit back your smile.

He leans foward and gently cups your ear, his lips brushing against it, “…You’re pretty.”

The gesture, his rough voice, was so dear that you wondered if this was even real. You never imagined something this romantic would happen to you after staying at the farm. But there was Gator, looking untouched and himself all because of you.

With the nerve wracking confessions finally done, it was only left with one ending. Sealing the whispered words off with a kiss, so tender that he felt like the world was given to him right then and there.

It was around midnight when everything started to settle, when the summer heat turned mild and breezy. He was emotionally exhausted, filled with feelings for you, and it wore him down. You reassured him a lot after that, and he kissed you in between each word.

Eventually you fell asleep with your face nuzzled into his neck, wrapped in his jacket and listening to the sounds of crickets and gentle water. He held you tighter, eyes trained on the ground as he just thought. You were here, in his arms, away from all the drama at home that was slowly forcing him away from you. He kissed your forehead one last time. He lulled to sleep shortly after, making sure you were completely safe and sleeping against him, like he couldn’t relax until you were.

Gator Tillman knew you. He had you.

And he was finally ready to love.

——

𖦹 holy shit i genuinely reached a flow state because i just love gator so much like pleaseeee i need him

i also miss stranger things so much i tear up anytime i think about it come back to me

[rikisluv]

I dont play abt this fic oh my days

[lilacorchidmoon]

There is a lack of ryul fics…and that’s a massive problem

[grettski]

Diva down, rest in peace Simon Strong.

[justformyjames]

i’m just gonna assume it’s korean coers and when they come to america they’ll see how people really have fun.

I’m so sad tho like eomseong is my bias bc that boy has NO filter and you can see how annoyed he is by the audience. My baby.

It’s actually disrespectful and proves you aren’t a real fan, like yes record a few songs okay whatever but let’s be real people aren’t just recording for 20 seconds it’s the whole time. ALSO they’re not getting hype! like they’re too insecure to jump and have a good time like fuckkkk bro no one is looking at you!!! except cortis and if you want them to notice you that bad GO CRAZY BRO.

And idgaf when ppl defend it by saying they spent their hard earned money or whatever Like I don’t give two fucks bro genuinely. You want to remember it and truly experience it then FUCKING EXPERIENCE IT AND PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN.

[alicenthightcwer]

some gwayne hightower jaw clench™ for @sansaorgana 💞

[rikisluv]

IM GONNA EAT HIS FINE AH

[theghooligan]

gwayne after five minutes in harrenhall:

[gabriellelioncourt]

hbo put him in the forge now 😭

[ciccadablue]

I made a list of Ethel's story in order based on my own interpretations and others as well as the facts I've managed to gather - feel free to discuss ur own in the comments <3

I also made a spotify playlist for this -