๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluff, Pope choking Smurf, mention of a firearm, mention of past miscarriage, Smurf being a bitch ( no suprise there. )
๐ท๐๐๐๐๐: Pope x fem reader, Getting Pope's initial on your middle finger when you get your nails done. (for @strangegirl26sff )
Pope was in a shit mood; he had been for quite a while. With no surprise who made him angry, his mother. Smurf hates you, hates you in the way she hates anything that makes Pope happy, but a few months ago, when she held her gun up to your face. He'd surprised himself, suddenly now across the room from where he was, grabbing her by the throat, squeezing til she dropped the nine millimeter onto the wood floor with a thud. She'd never see him like that, never seen that look in his eyes that screamed he'd do it, the red pulsing that screamed he'd crush her throat like a styrofoam cup.
"She gets shot...she gets stabbed. Hell, if she has a heart attack, I will fucking end you." The words that came out of his mouth shocked everyone, including him, but he stood his ground, narrowing his eyes as he shoved her back and she nearly tripped onto the floor. She's quit bothering you since, scared that Pope might smother her in her sleep if you so much as get the flu. Instead moved to target Lena.
Uh, Poor little Lena, how you and Pope love her like your own. Even more after a few years ago when you'd accidentally gotten pregnant. Pope went into prison and the stress of it all...your body just couldn't shake it. He still blames himself to this day, thinking about it often, how he lost so much taking the fall for Baz. No one knows about the loss but the both of you, the trauma making Pope even more protective like a Rottweiler protects its person even if it occasionally goes into a rabid state.
Lena had been taken away by CPS but came back home cause Smurf had pulled some strings. Oh, did Pope see the gears turning in Smurf's brain to get you both so easily back under her thumb? But he saw it, giving her back to her foster family, much to his discontent, but it's what's best for her.
He's been so quiet, daily like clockwork. As soon as the clock beside his bed turned to four thirty, he'd get up, kiss your forehead, get his hands taped up, and he'd hit the punching bag in the garage over and over, causing blood to seep through the white fabric. It's hard to see him so angry like this, so closed off so hard when he won't even come to you for help, the only person who understands him and doesn't try to use him as some sort of object or pawn in a scheme that he doesn't even know the pattern to.
Today is your day off, so of course you didn't have much to do, but I wanted to do a couple things for him: grocery shopping so he didn't have to, making him his favorite dinner even though you had to cook outside because Smurf doesn't allow anyone but herself to cook in the kitchen but "family." Oh, how that pissed him off as much as it did you, but you listened and got yourself a very nice portable flat top grill a few months ago.
You'd seen a trend online recently about women getting their boyfriend's first initial printed on one of their fingers, and you know exactly how much that man loves getting head scratches; if he was a cat, he'd purr every night. His head finding your breast and your nails gently scrape his scalp. Oh, the noise he'd let out, something so heavenly.
It's been two weeks, and normally you'd go for a refill right now, but of course you had other plans, white with little hearts and the letter "A" so perfectly placed on your middle finger. Perfect for showing off who owns your heart even when you're pissed.
"Pope...Babe? Andrew?" He doesn't notice as he's busy smashing the red brick oven he'd spent all of last month assembling, but one- just one brick was off center, and he NEEDS to redo it when he'd been fine with it weeks ago. You're used to this, when his OCD gets bad due to stress, and you know not to push it, deciding to slightly jest to help ease a little tension. "O Romeo, o Romeo. Where art thou Romeo?"
He stopped as he heard you, feeling your soft hand press to his sweaty back, causing the skin to whiten to the touch. How long has he been out here stuck inside his own thoughts, blaming himself as if every issue that happens is directly his fault?
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." He'd read Romeo and Juliet in prison, a gift from you...his lips twitch just a little with a smile as he responds before trying to push any happiness down, as he fears he doesn't deserve it. The sweat in his hair causes his curly brown hair to stick slightly to his forehead. "I need a shower. I'm sorry, Doll." He moves almost robotically, like he usually does when he's realized his hygiene is poor, like he can't do anything else but clean himself up.
You entered the kitchen, grabbing the groceries you bought for yourself and for Pope, definitely not side-eyeing Smurf as she cooks dinner for everyone in the house, including Pope but excluding you. "In case he doesn't like what you make." Oh, you could shove your foot so far up her ass she'd taste your toenail polish. You take a breath, heading outside to the grill to cook a few nice steaks and some sautรฉed green beans for you and Pope.
"What's the A stand for?" Craig asks, sitting at the little bar area, crunching on a frozen grape. "Heh, if it was Smurf's idea, it'd stand for asshole." He jokes even as his mother stands there peeling potatoes; everyone knows she hates you, so there's no point hiding it.
"Very funny." Flipping him off with the roll of your eyes, annoyed with his dense nature and his clear praising of his mother to get an advance on some money so he could probably go snort some snow off of sone hookers ass cheek before the day's over. "It stands for 'Andrew.'" Smurf scoffs but doesn't say anything as if your voice was only an annoying memory she wished to discard like spam mail.
You head out to the grill, cooking to pass the time as Pope showers. Smurf had tried to present him dinner as she had for the last few months, but again with a straight face as if she hadn't spoken he'd find his way to you. Andrew's hands find your hips, roughly pulling you to him and burying his face in your neck breathing in your perfume, his chest pressing against your back as he peered over at whatever mouthwatering food you're preparing. God, he smells so fucking amazing, but you can't even think about it, he speaks.
"Hmmm, what's that?" His right hand finds yours, the one that's wrapped around the metal spatula, swallowing deeply when he sees it. Even if so temporary as a set of nails, it makes his heart race, kissing your neck and his grip becoming tight by accident. He closes his eyes and again takes a deep breath. "Is that for me?"
"You know anyone else that could be my letter A?" You ask him, tending to the food on the cooktop.
Pope's mind starts to wander but he stops himself, you don't even know anyone else with an "A" name and if hits him like a shotgun blast the chest, he's more than just a little shocked as he always is by the little things you do to show him you love him but somehow this feels more than all those other attempts, like you're showing him off. Like "yeah, that guy Pope that everyone's afraid of. He's mine, my man." He closes his eyes, breathing you in, like you're too good to be true, and if he lets go, then maybe you'll disappear, or maybe this is all just a dream.
"Holy Shitfuck!" His eyes snap open at your exclamation, and he sees the small burn on your wrist, and he goes into doctor mode, grabbing a cool rag, tying it around your wrist, pushing you into a seat beside the grill without a word. His eyes find yours with an expression that says, "Sit down, I'll cook...and don't fuckin question it." to which you aren't stupid enough to question him.
Making dinner and eating it passed without much fuss, his eyes finding yours occasionally to make sure that his sweet girl isn't hurting in any way. His eyes found that damn letter over and over; why'd it matter? What's so important about it? It's just a letter, why's it mean so much?
"Babe, you're staring." You tell him as he sits in bed beside you, stiffer than a board, watching your face and the expressions the book elicited, then your hand as you turn another page of a romance novel he bought for you cause you had, in his words, "looked at it in a certain way at the store."
"Can I ask you why? I- I'm not mad, but I just wanna know what this means for us."
"It means that you're mine and everyone else should know it, Andy." Looking over at him, clenching and unclenching his fists with worry. Your hand reaching over to help unfurl the aching hands of his, his knuckles still painted with blood that sits as small scabs in the tiny wrinkles.
His lips quiver just a little, and he flutters his lashes to make sure he doesn't cry; no, he never cries even when he wants to. Pope's hand moves your book from your hands, pushing his way over to you to lie down like always, but his head finds your stomach instead of your chest, his fingers drumming along your belly again, thinking about the past. "Do you think I'd've been a good dad?"
"The best, Honey. I've seen you with Lena, and she loves you to bits, and honestly, if we ever got away from your fucked up family...I'd be willing to maybe entertain the idea of this or adopting, I mean, so many kids need homes and guidance, and we could do that, we could be their stability the way we never had." He listens to you speak, his cheek only getting more flushed with your shirt as your nails rake through his curls, gently moving across his scalp, and he lets out that one noise that you're always looking for, curling around you like a cat.
"Do you think we can do it? That I can?" He asks, and you know what he means; it's not money or you but his own willpower he's worried about. He loves his mom and his family, but this isn't a life being told what to do and when. Craig got his independence regularly, Baz was doted on, and Deran had finally gotten away from the house. If they could do it, maybe he could too?
"Andrew, you've changed so much, and I don't think you're done doing so. You deserve a life, not a constant struggle to keep your head above water. Just look to me okay?"
"Like a lighthouse..." He whispers as he picks at the already fraying end of your top.
"Like a lighthouse, Baby." Your fingers still weaving through his hair, nails moving over his back gently until you hear a soft snore of him, you smile and turn the beside lamp out seeing his sleeping pill for the night still on it...he fell asleep for the first time since you've known him without the help of a pill, just kind true words and the feeling of your brand new acrylic nails.
๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluff, family related angst, mentions of Ormund Hightower, SKIPABLE nsfw section (look for the clovers to skip โ๏ธ), pnv, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving) fingering, riding him, virgin reader
๐ท๐๐๐๐๐: Gwayne x fem reader. You're Rhaenyra's daughter, and you become a "prisoner" of Gwayne; he's sweet and gentle.
๐พ๐๐๐ ๐ช๐๐๐๐: 2,285 w/o nsfw, 4,227 with nsfw
Gwayne was exhausted from the past couple days waking regularly to keep you safe, that's why you're in front of him with the reins in your hands leading the horse. After a while he awoken slowly, opening his eyes from a nap. His arms tightened around your stomach as you both approached Tumbletown, his stomach feeling heavy with worry for you as the city got closer.
"Cover your hair; no one needs to know the Princess is here, especially now that your mother's on the throne." Mother, that word hits you like an arrow to the chest. She's never really tended to you as much as the boys, just sent you off to be Daemon's squire essentially. Your uncle was rather fatherly to you, even if he wasn't particularly to his own daughters, but you push the negative thought away, enjoying the comforts of Gwayne's closeness.
"I thought I was a prisoner; don't you want to parade me through the city?" Projecting your voice back to him, jesting slightly but a clear pang of worry is obvious about how the next few days will unfold. He gently moves your hood up over your face, hiding any sense of your identity from any possible Green men who would see you or anyone else seeing the blood that's now dried in a spatter on your face.
"Parade you around like a man who's caught a large fish or something?" He laughs and presses his chin to the top of yiur head. "No, I know someone here who will allow us to clean ourselves up before going to my cousin. Ormund doesn't take kindly to smell, no matter who you are and his fuse is short, always had been even when we were kids."
As the horse neared into the outside of the city, his hands moved over yours to take the reins guiding you to a more secluded house on the outskirts. A rather average man outside chopping wood and piling it between two trees.
"Eythan, you still owe me that favor." Gwayne calls out and you turn your gaze down so the hood of your black cloak covers any obvious characteristic of your identity. Eythan doesn't seem to notice, as he's more surprised to see his old buddy Gwayne. Etythan sees the small burns on Gwayne and laughs.
"You never cease to get uglier and uglier as time progresses, do you? Let me guess, you're here to make good on the favor I owe you. What do you need? Coin? Food?" Eythan sets down the axe and looks up at the man behind you, prompting you to cover your face even further. Gwayne's chin still resting upon the top of your head.
"As far as I can remember, you're always the one in need of coin, Eythan...No, I need lodging for me and my companion and the sack I left here a few years past."
"Well, good thing I plan on going out hunting tonight. My cabin will be empty tonight for you and your...companion." He wags his eyebrows at Gwayne, teasing him. "And your sack is just above the bookshelves where you left it."
You blush as you hear him insinuate more; it's not that you wouldn't, it's just that you haven't had much time to think about it, even if your brain occasionally did daydream about him, unbeknownst to him.
"You're incorrigible, you know that, Eythan?" He tries and fails not to imagine your skin against his, your body moving above him as he lies on his back watching you move like a goddess. "By the Gods, Gwayne, get your head out of the gutter."
"I'll see you two later." His eyebrows wag as he heads inside to grab his sack, his cloak, and his bow and something rather odd: a silver sword but you shake your head since Gwayne seems to have no reaction to it. Eythan starts towards his horse, swiftly leaving like it's an emergency. So strange?
Gwayne dismounts his horse, making sure to be careful of his burns, lifting you off of it without even asking if you needed help. "Just in case your leg is still bothering you."
"You know it isn't. You just want the chance to touch me." A cocky smile on your cheeks.
"Do I? I don't think so." He says as his hands linger against your hips, watching your lips as you speak.
"Clearly you do."
"Are you alright, or are you just seeing things?" An even wider smile graces his cheeks, and he puts his hand to your forehead just to check your non-existent temperature, laughing once you carefully slap it away.
"You're an arsehole, Hightower."
"I've been called worse, you know? Hells, you could be calling me worse in your High Valyrian." Walking backwards as he speaks to you before he swiftly turn and holds the cabin's door open for you to enter behind him.
"It's not-"
"Just a moment." Heading back outside to stable the horse in the small covering of Eythan's so it doesn't wander and can get hay and water.
The place isn't massive, and it's definitely not luxurious, but it smells like home, and it feels like it too; the fireplace is now only smoldering but shouldn't be too hard to relight. There's a cot in the corner; it's not entirely too big, but it beats the rocky ground that both you and Gwayne have been suffering for the last few days; you'd be warm. Turning your head, you see a small washtub, probably easy to fill with the well outside; the both of you could use a bath, definitely having smelt much better...your mind wandering to what's he might look like in the tub, but the thought gets cut short by the door opening behind you, Gwayne with wood in his arms, putting them in the fireplace himself.
"You know- I can help. I'm more able-bodied than you currently." Pulling him away from the fire so he's not liable to reburn himself.
"It'll be getting cold soon, Princess So unless you like being pressed up against me, leaving another wet patch on my arm of slobber, I'd suggest we get moving."
"What- I- I DON'T DROOL!" You're embarresed cause you did indeed drool on his arm the other night and you do like sleeping beside him. You'd hoped he hadn't noticed the small wet patch upon his sleeve the night before, but it seems he did even with the commotion. Before you get the opportunity to fully say anything else, he grabs his bag off of the top of the bookshelf.
"I've been thinking about it, and I'm really not wanting to see your head separated from your body, and I don't believe your cousin or uncle or whatever the hell he is to you, but Daeron does either. I have this bark colored dye paste stuff you can use for your hair, I put in here years ago...Now I know how particular women usually are about their hair, but it's exceedingly unimportant the color of it if it keeps you alive, right?" He puts the paste that's been encased in a bit of leather on the table before getting up and heading outside to get water for the bath. Gwayne moves so quickly you don't even remotely have a moment to process what the hell is going on, utter whiplash. It's clear he knows this cabin better than you do, and he works efficiently to get the washtub filled with water. You follow him out there, grabbing a pail of water and putting it above the now burning fireplace to warm it for the bath. The both of you need a you need one badly, it's even more obvious in the stagnent room free of wind.
"You'll tell no one of your true nature come the morrow, Alright?" He carries the last pail of water in, standing there almost uncertain of how to continue the night. Feeling shame due to making you subdue who you are and how things have turned out thus far.
Everything's all in one room, and he can't offer you the privacy that in most places he would have giving a person of your nobility. He looks over at you seeing how spaced out you are. Before you know it or you can answer, he's moved across the room, his hand gently finding your cheek to help pull you out of your thoughts. "Do you need help undressing? I know you princesses usually have handmaidens and such."
"Huh? Yeah- Yeah, Yes, please, this corset kills even if I did take all the boning out." Your hands move to hover over his shoulder wondering if it's okay to help him as well. He doesn't say anything, but he nods, letting you know it's okay to undress him as he does the same for you. His hands move to the tie under your chin to remove your cloak, then behind you to help undo the laces of your corset. Your hands mirror his, removing his laces just as carefully as he removes yours, His breath finding your neck as the piece of fabric falls from under your bust.
He looks up at you just as you look up at him, causing a blush to fall upon your cheeks as well as his, a small smile and a neverous chuckle leaving you both. Your cheeks turn bright red, you've been naked infront of others before but mainly handmaidens and one time your Uncle Daemon came in your room without knocking, cleared his throat and eyes and promptly left never speaking of it again. Gwayne backs up a bit to make some space between you both, unsure if he should be getting so close to someone he's supposed to hate. He moves over to the fireplace and he pours the hot water into the rest of the washtub.
You take a breath and move your pale hair out of the way, untying your dress causing it to pool at your feet, He tries to keep his eyes to himself as he strips his shirt off, then his trousers but his eyes wander of their own volition causing his breath to catch behind you, catching himself biting his lip as his eyes move across every curve, every freckle, every scar, the curve of your hips and the shape of your backside. Even more as you bend over and grab a rag, wiping the dried blood from your face.
โ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธ start of nsfw here, if you wish to skip it, find the other clovers below โ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธ
An accidental groan leaves his lips as he feels how hard he's already becoming in his trousers; a blush reaches your cheeks at the noise. He's embarrassed, but before he can process it, you turn to him with a blushy smile. His eyes find your tits and work their way down to your pearlescent pubes. I guess the carpet does match the drapes. He thinks to himself, cursing his occassionally dirty mind. He swallows, causing his adams apple to bob just a little, his eye flitting back up to your face.
Your eyes flicker down to every ounce of skin he has, his arms, his hands, the scars on his chest and the very sparse chest hair that peppers it, along with the deep v line that disappears under his small clothes, the growing tent under the thin fabric. Fuck. Me. Ugh, he's more beautiful than you had expected, your body already starting to heat up.
Questions and worry flooded his mind, Should he be doing this? Was this allowed? Fucking the princess? Is this shameful? Will this shame her? Abruptly he feels pressure on his lips bringing him back to reality. She's kissing me? Holy fuck she's kissing me. What- What do I do? Should I kiss her back or?
Suddenly, You've pulled away, brows furrowed and your lip slightly pouty without realizing you were doing it. "Gwayne, I- I assumed and I- I'm so incredibly sor-" You melt as his left hand finds your arm pulling you towards him, the other moving into your white long hair gently scruffing it at the back of your neck causing your knees to want to buckle cause it feels so nice. His mouth finds yours once then again, and he begins kissing you with an open mouth and zero thought as to what might happen if things go wrong tomorrow when you meet Ormund, just desire and pent up tension needing its release.
"Gods be good, you put the stars to shame." He pulls your hips to his, wrapping his arms around you picking you up, growling softly as your legs wrap around him, your arms around his neck to stable yourself. He feels a slight wetness against his undergarmets where your thighs meet and smiles, "You're just as needy, aren't you princess. Have you been bed before? I want to do this right." Seeing your expression makes him realize the unspoken truth and he softens his approach. "You are aren't you? Don't hide from me...there's no shame in it. It just means I need to go slow with you." Setting you on the cot softer than he had initally intended earlier, pulling your hands from your red and very adorable face.
He kisses the valley of your neck, taking his hand in yours as he runs his thumb over your knuckles to keep you out of your head, to keep you from worrying so much.
"I don't wish to disappoint you." Your breath catching as you squeeze his hand a little as he lays you down and even more as he kisses between your breasts caauing your throat to catch with a small gasp.
"You have to breathe I'm afraid it's necessary for human function, Beauty." He chuckles at how your face is so red, you're nervous and it's entirely endearing, nipping at the skin softly, his hand palming your soft breast, kneeding it. Your head falls back onto the pillows, unbelieveably flushed.
"How about once I've got your cum on my tongue, I let you take over...Let you take the lead, is that better? I'd let you take the lead now but no way in the Hells am I fucking you before I've stretched you out a little. First times shouldn't hurt you know? Entirely a myth that they should, made up by 'lesser men.'" He gloats just a little feeding his own ego even as he keeps it in check. "If anything hurts or you want to stop, tell me. This is all about communication and comfort. Alright, My Princess?" He moves his head, licking over your nipple as you nod, sucking softly, your hand squeezes his again as you try not to make noise.
"You don't have to be quiet, you know? No one can hear us but maybe the birds and the bees." Gwayne's left hand moves down your skin and his thumb brushes over your clit and your hips jump, so responsive to the new sensation of someone other than yourself touching such a sensitive little thing. He chuckles as a gaspy "fuck" leaves your lips.
"Good girl, just like that. I have to know what makes you feel good if I am to give you what you need. Right?" He smirks wider as he gains another nod.
"I can't hear you."
"Yes." Your voice is shaky already and he can feel how warm you already are as he resumes the movement against your bud.
"Yes, Ser Gwayne." He says with a cocky tone as another jerk of your hips happens, pinning them down with his other arm, careful of his burns even if they are in the back of his mind now. He swirls his tongue around your nipple, sucking softly.
"Oh, Ss Jaes jehikahon bฤ nyke! ...Fuck." (essentially the gods bless me) He was going to smirk at you for just repeating back what he said but the High Valyrian is much more pleasant from your lips even if he doesn't know what you're saying.
"Oh since I have you here..." Moving his kisses down, lower and closer to where you want him making you whine and whimper, trying to jerk your hips at his hand. "What's that word you keep calling me?"
"Oh, go fuck yourself." You breathe out the words trying not to moan, not even remotely in the mood for words. He lets out a hum of approval of your bratty energy and slips a finger inside your warm soaked walls causing you to gasp but he doesn't move it. Your walls clenching around the single digit wanting more as a growl leaves your perfectly colored lips.
"Tell me or I stop right now." He doesn't wish to stop, you both know that and his hardened cock is already weeping a bit of precum inside his small cloths dapening the fabric, he's just aching to push inside you and fuck you until his name is the only word you know how to say. "What. Does. It. Mean?"
"It's a term of endearment, it means- Fuck, Gwayne..." Trying to even remotely keep your thoughts straight with his finger inside your virgin halls, Whining as he adds another finger, pumping them carefully into you as he removes his thumb against your clit and replaces it with his mouth, swiping his tongue around it, and you almost forget to speak... "Mฤซsio! It- It means protector."
As he hears your answer, he curls his fingers just enough to reach exactly where you want him. The room quiet except your moans and the soft sound of him sucking your clit like a sugar cube.
"What's the word for beautiful?" Lips brushing against your soft bud, looking up at you between your thighs, up your belly, between those beautiful breasts to your flushed face...His blue eyes sparkling like seaglass.
"Gevie." You huff out as he pumps his fingers inside you a little quicker, whispering a very poor version of the word, feeling your walls clench around his fingers, almost ready to cum already when he removes them and pushes his tongue in with no time to even whine about the loss of his fingers. He groans as he tastes your sickeningly sweet pussy, so lovely. Groaning as your thighs tighten just a slight, with his eyes closed and his ears covered, his other senses removed, he can enjoy just the taste of your sweet sweet slickness, his tongue lapping in need like you're the very water he needs to survive.
Your hips shake, and your walls clench around his tongue, squirting warmth onto his tongue, which he accepts with pure and utter pride. Kissing up your belly and up to your mouth, letting you taste your own climax. Letting you breathe him in to come down from the high as you leak onto the sheets he'd have to change after this. You reach up and wipe the shine from his chin, almost as if to make sure he's real.
"You want to be up top, Princess? I'll help. Don't worry." He crawls up the bed, lying next to you, letting you catch up as he undoes his undergarmets. "Do me a favor, keep your eyes up here." He knows he's not super massive, about average but most definitely thicker than most, and he doesn't want you to tighten back up now that you're relaxed. Gwayne props his feet against the bed, pulling you ontop of him, leaning you back against his thighs, hovering slightly over him. "Eyes up here, Gevye." Trying again to speak your hidden, language.
"Gevie." You correct him as your eyes stay on his dilated with pure love, widening a bit as his cock nudges your slick folds open and you nearly look down, but he grabs your chin to keep you looking at him as his other hand guides him up into your plush cunt, perfectly sized for you.
"You were saying?" He's smirking again, such an asshole, and so you bounce your hips to replace the smile on his face with an open mouthed look of suprise. Fuck, that feels good, even better when he fucks up into you from below. The both of you using a rather perfect rhythm to get things going. It doesn't feel like how everyone says their first is; This feels nice, like you were a glove made for him. It's not only his cock, but the level of understanding you both have for one another without anying anything verbally.
One of his hands finds your breast, kneading it as he looks at you from under his lashes with those ocean eyes of his. "Kiss me, Princess." He's begging, whimpering as you purposefully tighten around him as you rock your hips against his, his cock so happily moving back up inside you as you lean down and kiss him. A white heat has been building making you want to come undone around him already, but you wait for him even though it's hard. He groans and whispers against your lips. "I'm close and I- Fuck...I can tell you are so come for me."
Another wave of pure ecstasy leaves the both of you as you come together as one, groaning into eachother's mouths, smiling as you feel the mix of eachothers climaxes mingle inside you. Of course you'd need moon tea, but at this moment you don't care a bit. Where's this man been all your life? Like you're whole with him here. Tears prickle your eyes, one of them falling onto his chest, and he starts to worry.
"What- I? Are you alright? Did I hurt you? I told you you could tell me if it hurt, Beauty."
"No, it's just...I'm happy? I'm- I'm like weirdly happy? Like I'm not scared of anything right now. It's- It's so strange, It's like- I feel whole?...I-"
"Shhhh...It's alright. It's alright. Let's get you into that bath before you start feeling tension in your back, huh?" He's not trying to rush but distract you cause no woman's ever cried after sex with him, and right now he's more than a little confused.
โ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธ END OF NSFW โ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธ
He grabs the brown paste to dye your hair; he's sad to see the white go, of course, but he doesn't need Ormund knowing he's got THE princess at his side, he'll have to come up with a purpose to why you're with him.
"You know, I'm still unsure what to tell Ormund when he asks about your identity." He guides you into the bath, stepping in with you, setting the paste to the side, grabbing a small cup to wet your long locks careful of his own burns.
"I was something like a squire for my Uncle Daemon, I mean you could tell him if was your sister's idea?" You say as he takes the paste in his hands and starts to cover any sign of your targaryen nature.
"I'd say he wouldn't believe it but my sister is rather odd in the way she asks of things, it just might work."
"Do I get a fake name like- Hmmm." Your lips moving to the left side, scrunching as you think. "It's should be simple and unassuming, Rose Edgewater."
"Do Rose's always smell so awful?" He jests, massaging your scalp carefully.
"Oh go fuck yourself, Hightower. I'm Gwayne, I'm a Ser and I have a sword." Doing a shitty impression of him, teasing him. Gwayne smiles and runs the dye through your hair, turning white strands into normal browns. He kisses your throat softly wishing tomorrow wouldn't come.
"Muted or not, you're still more beautiful than any other woman I've crossed paths with. I know you didn't get to choose your side in this war anymore than I did but...If you wished, I'd hide you until the sun stopped shining."
You thought about it, no one would miss you, not except to use you as a piece on their large war table. A life with Gwayne flashes in your mind, you're away from all this, watching your daughter gladly tie her father's hair up into messy short ponytails all over his head... Who she'd make him read her bedtime stories as he most definitely "did not" sneak her a honey cake before dinner earlier. Simple seems so extraordinary, so full of normalcy and domesticity. So wholesome.
After the bath he strips Eythan's sheets for a new set for you both to sleep on, he tends to his small burns and the small cut on your throat from Ser Criston. Your fingers having dipped into the salve to apply it to his burns, caring for eachother like it's as subconcious as breathing or blinking.
He gathers some of Eythan's sisters old clothes for you to sleep in, lying out a green dress for you to wear tomorrow with your newly chocolate hair. After adjusting everything for you and himself. He lies down and pulls you to him, gathering you both under a warm blanket for the first time in a week, much longer for him.
"My 'Rose', you should get some rest or you'll wilt, Little Flower." His lips press to your forehead and he sleeps for the first real time in quite some time, able to not worry about the cold or that you might be stolen from him.
i hate that when you try and look up shit for writing purposes it starts linking suicide hotlines and addiction advice articles like bro i just wanna know the information im not killing myself i promise. now tell me what i wanna know
Quite Soft & Too Nice's next part might be a few days, I'm trying to write in advance for y'all so you can get them consistantly but I might be busy this weekend, idk. Thank you for your support and paitence. Im so in love with this story and I'm glad you all are as well.
Ask to be on the taglist of youd like. โก
SNEAK PEAK
still proofreading & writing (it's long asf rn dw its worth the wait. ESTIMATED WORD COUNT : 2,055 without NSFW, With is 3,776)
Gwayne was exhausted and that's why you're infront of him with the reins in your hands. Slowly he'd awoken, opening his eyes from a nap, His arms tighten around your stomach as you both approach Tumbletown, his stomach feeling heavy with worry for you as the city gets closer.
"Cover your hair, no one needs to know the Princess is here, especiallly now that your mother's on the throne." He gently moves your hood up over your face, hiding any sense of your identity from any possible Hightower men that would see you or anyone else seeing the blood thats now dried in a spatter on your face..."
It will have NSFW but it will be skippable. โ๏ธโ๏ธโ๏ธ
๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluff, angst, mention of Ormund Hightower, dragom fire, other men being assholes, blood, dragon fire (if i missed any lmk)
๐ท๐๐๐๐๐: Gwayne x reader. You're Rhaenyra's daughter, and you become a prisoner of Gwayne; he's sweet and gentle
After a while, he realized he had no choice but to bring you to Ormund, against every wish in his heart and in his very being that there was any other way. Still, he's not going to set you free in lands crawling with people who want your head; he just hopes he can keep control of the situation once he meets up with his cousin. The trek has been long and slow, the nights are unseemingly and bitterly cold, and most of the men are tired and hungry. They've been irritable, arguing and bickering incessantly, and they all need a break.
Gwayne's just as tired; his hands are sore from holding the reins so long. Of course it's not nearly as bad for him having a beautiful woman's arms wrapped around him as he listens to her softly hum a tune, her fingers drumming softly against his stomach. Even though the days are cool, the sun still beats down on him, turning his pale face a slight bit red, which only makes your heart clench with worry for him, but each time you try to help, he just politely moves your hand back to his stomach, letting his hand linger over yours for quite some time.
"Let's stop here for the night. We'll see if we can't gather supplies and get some rest. Don't overwork yourselves. Bundle together tonight; it may be uncomfortable, but temporarily uncomfortable is better than frozen to death. You'll sleep better and feel better by the morning."
You slowly go to get off the horse after he does, but his hands find your hips, strong hands moving to help guide you carefully down. Your leg had stopped hurting nearly as much, and so much of that can be equated to him helping you down whenever you needed. He's been toothachingly sweet; he watches your back while you relieve yourself, he keeps the men a decent distance from you even if they haven't said anything, he sees how their eyes wander to your breasts without any sense of remorse. Worried furrows his expression temporarily, but your hands find his to ground him a bit and pull him back from wherever his mind had wandered. "You're stressing yourself, Mฤซsio. (Protector)"
He didn't know what that word meant but knew it's High Valyrian for something nice and strong, the way you say it so certain, like the word belongs to him. He can't tell, but you're slowly becoming so attached to him; your mind constantly wanders when you press your face to his back pretending your bother normal commonfolk on a stroll, courting one another.
Tonight, he had started a fire for the men; it was to be only a single fire, but they began complaining yet again, mostly because they didn't want to cuddle up next to another man, so a single fire became several. All Gwayne can do is hope the smoke stays low, but it doesn't; the smoke blows up into the night sky, blowing out the moon like a lingering fog, a beacon calling to anyone who could see it now. All he can do is hope that no one comes to investigate.
He wakes to an ear splitting shrill scream, you screaming as a few of the men pull you off him. "It's time for you to have some fun with us." Gwayne had hoped he had left Ser Criston with the lesser men, but he sees now that he's wrong. Grabbing his sword, he swings at one of them, neither of them seeming to notice that he's awoken, as they're too focused on you, that is, until he chops off one of their hands. Blood spatters across your face, but you don't have time to process the shock as you run to him.
"Touch her again, and I'll put this blade through your belly. Treating a woman like she's some object for you to pass around? You both disgust me."
Several of the other men have awoken due to the commotion and stand to fight, but then they hear it: a loud flapping in the sky followed by an ever louder roar, most of the men fleeing for their lives, scattering like roaches, especially as the flames began.
The adrenaline allows him to realize it quickly: whoever is riding that dragon, your family or not, does not know you're here, and you'd likely be turned to ash before they realized their mistake. He promptly grabs you and pulls you behind a tree, the flames licking his skin, but still he keeps his arms around you, especially as your expression turns to fear.
"It's alright, It's alright, I'm here, Princess." He moves his face close to your neck as he whispers in your ear, trying to ignore the smell of iron that lingers on your skin, closing his eyes as the both of you wait for the flames to stop, which feels like forever but in reality is only a few scorchingly hot minutes.
"Are you alright?" He whispers in your ear softly; he feels the way you tremble. Out in the open is now even more dangerous with dragons about, but traveling as a pair instead of a group has its advantages. Gwayne puts your hood up. No time to wash the blood away, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the woods with haste, leaving the burning bodies in the field.
Your leg burns, but you have no choice but to run. You don't know whose dragon that is and even more so who their rider is; you're worried not only for yourself but the man beside you. Haven't you even had time to process it all? Your eyelashes fluttering as you try to piece it all together. He'd just cut someone's hand off for you; did that just happen? You're covered in blood. You let out a small noise of surprise as he pulls you into a bush, suddenly hiding from everyone, soldier or otherwise.
After a while, once the dragon seems to have fled with a few flaps of its wings, you both come out, looking around at the carnage around you as the sun just barely begins to crest. You look around the forest, seeing the dead men in the clearing before swiftly turning to him as the sight of bodies makes you sick.
He's burnt slightly, but dragon fire is vastly more painful than that of a normal burn; his face has small burns, as do his arms. It's not the worst you've seen, but it definitely looks painful, and as the adrenaline coasts off, he will start to feel it.
"We should get to Tumbleton. You're hurt; we can worry about my fate later, Gwayne. You hurt and your- your sweet face..." Your brows furrow and the pads of your fingers find the small burns that cover his left cheek, flinching from you as you touch him.
"I'm sure I can't look any worse, Sweetheart..."
"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd assume you're smitten with the way you call me so many kind names." Teasing him to help maybe lessen the shock and the tension that was so graciously created by the overgrown cat that just flash cooked about twenty men at lease.
"Smitten? I'd rather walk back out there and let the dragon finish what it started; I am rather undercooked." He jests and tries to smile, but it's clear the pains starting to set in; soon it'll be you taking care of him instead of the other way around. Gwayne sits down, his head pounding and the burns aching now as the adrenaline starts to shift out.
"I- I'll find us a horse." You're rather frantic as you look around for a horse, spotting a tan one still tied to a tree nearby, slowly moving towards it. The horse, spooked by not only the dragon but the woman approaching, covered in dried blood. "Lykiri...Shhhh...Lykiri. Nyke won't ลdrikagon ao. Iksฤ ศณgha." ("Calm down, shhh, calm down. I won't hurt you, you are safe.") Reaching out a soft hand even as the horse whinnies with worry, her worries slowly fading as you speak to her in High Valyrian. "Lykiri...shhh...lykri." Slowly so as not to startle her once more, you untie her lead from the tree, carefully and slowly leading her to Gwayne as you whisper "lykiri" over and over like you had done with the dragon you once had when she would get spooked.
"I thought maybe you'd run off on me." He opens his eyes and speaks as he sees you begin to emerge from the trees that surround him; it's clear pain has set in.
"I was going to, but I felt so bad about leaving you here defenseless like a puppy." Teasing him as you offer him a hand to get up, now only worried about him and his burns. "Let's get you to your cousin, Mฤซsio."
๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluff, angst, Criston Cole, Criston Cole being an asshole
๐ท๐๐๐๐๐: Gwayne x Reader. You're Rhaenyra's daughter, and you become a prisoner of Gwayne and Criston Cole. Criston's being a dick; Gwayne's much more gentle.
The sun beats down on your face, causing a red sheen on your closed eyelids, waking you from your slumber. Somehow, all the other men were already up and hadn't woken you, which was rather odd, but it seems you slept quite deeply. Gwayne? Where was Gwayne? You went to look around and abruptly realized your neck ached from how you slept, your brows furrowing as you squinted in the sun's rays, looking around to get your bearings. Realizing a stick is in your hair, so dark against the pale white strands, removing it, and your eyes finally find him.
There he is, arguing with Ser Cole? A confused expression furrows along your brows. You can't make out what they're saying, but every few seconds he looks over at you. Are they arguing about you? They couldn't possibly be, right? Your ears perked as you catch Gwayne's tone. He sounds so frustrated; they must've been arguing for quite some time now.
"You can't possibly want us to swim across it? And her?" Gwayne makes a slight gesture your way as his eyes briefly find yours; he sounds protective, like an animal protecting his injured mate, even if he tried to make himself seem unbiased.
"I don't give a damn about her, if I'm quite honest. She can die with the rest of us, you knew your path before it was even laid out before us, I will die my way, not Green, not Black, my own!" Criston's voice rose; he was angry and unjust. It's clear he doesn't care about the men he's leading; he doesn't care that he will certainly lead them to their deaths. He views them as expendable, pawns to be removed with little care or need.
"I am leaving, I'm taking her with me." Gwayne's jaw clenches, and he speaks in a certain tone, one that gives Criston no other option. You're not going to die because he wants to uphold some suicide mission he has planned in his head that he believes will bring him glory.
"She's a prisoner, why's it matter?"
"MY prisoner, Criston. You said it yourself, she is my burden to carry, not yours. You will leave her be." Making sure to say the word my as its own, so that maybe Criston might finally get it in his thick skull of his even if it is wishful thinking. He turns to head your way but again is stopped by Ser Criston's voice.
"Do as you wish with your stupid princess; take your men with you. You'll need them for when they catch you, running like the cunt you are."
"I'd rather be a cunt than a self-sacrificing arse, whose death will serve no purpose." Gwayne speaks, entirely fed up and surprisingly rather sassy and tired of Criston's mindset, which earns a slight smile to pursue your cheeks without even your own notice.
"My death will be in songs." Criston yet again tries to justify leading all these men to their deaths.
"Any man who wishes to cross the river by any means, please by all means stay with Ser Criston! If you choose to turn back and fight another day or you trust me and my nature, follow me. Neither has shame in it; you just deserve the right to decide where and how you die. I will not match to a battle where we will be slaughtered like cattle." A surprising number of men turn his way; they know their lives mean something. Most of them have wives and children who have no one else to provide coin if they should die.
"So be it." Ser Criston grumbles to himself in irritation, an incredulous expression befalling his face as if it makes no sense to do what Gwayne is proposing. He huffs and turns his back, his voice becoming inaudible as Gwayne makes his way back to you.
"You're coming with me; we should make haste before Ser Criston's irritation turns violent. I'm not leaving you here to die in the river crossing or- I'm not leaving you with anyone I don't trust, and if I'm honest, the only person I trust is myself."
You carefully put your cloak back on, grabbing his bedroll, swiftly rolling it up, grabbing the ropes your hands were bound in, attempting to give them to him. Gwayne shakes his head, almost like telling you "no and don't ask again." He's quiet, clearly not wanting to take the anger he has for Ser Criston out on you. Helping you to his horse, so careful of your leg still even as it's feeling a world better due to his help and patience.
Gwayne leads the men in the opposite direction of where they had been going; he has no idea what to do. He doesn't wish to bring you to his cousin in Tumbletown; he knows how cruel he can be, but he has few options. He doesn't trust the men here not to open their mouths about who you are, even if he wished to hide your identity. As nice as the scenery is and your warm arms wrapped around him, he has to decide what to do and how it might affect not just the war but you as well.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
