warnings: (former?)sex worker!oc, mentions of sw, violence, suggestive and aggressive comments, adult content, nudity, unprotected sexual activities, discrimination (there'll be a happy ending tho 🤧)
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summary: There are many ways to be conquered, but not all of them are on the battlefield. And Thorin Oakenshield is about to learn just that within the presence of the most eccentric member of his company—a lady of the night brought up as Gandalf's apprentice.
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also available on:
ao3 (find me as vvanadis, i couldn't provide the link)
Can you please write a headcannons where Maekar is in an arramged marriage with a younger second wife who is very beautiful and gets a lot of male attention.
a/n: he’s a jelly-man, your honor. i rest my case.
maekar and his popular wife headcanons ˚｡⋆
he’s possessive that’s for sure. and a jealous man.
because why are people staring at his wife? he should only be the one who gets to look at you, but he doesn’t say that out loud.
before you two were married, you had been already the talk amongst the nobles. your beauty, as they described, were said to be the gift from the gods. that it shouldn’t be that hard for you to find a possible suitor, a son of a lord from one the great houses possibly. and they were right-
you did get a proposal- from a prince of house targaryen. though, your family expected one of prince baelor’s or his younger brothers’ sons. yet it was from the widowed prince maekar’s request for your hand.
but… the fact that it was not directly prince maekar’s word that betrothed you to him. the king, his father, alongside the small council decided that for him. and the reason? appearances, he concluded. but he did not need to wed again, he handled his children well enough after dyanna died… he can’t see himself marrying again, and he’s absolutely furious. but he complied, no less.
of course your family would accept his proposal.
when you first met him, he was intimidating as expected. he paid no attention to you at first, only a chaste greeting and kiss on your knuckles. the different eyes staring at you both made you unnerved that you wanted to hide away.
maekar did not lie to himself that the talks of your beauty and grace were real. everyone seem to want to catch a glimpse of you when you arrived in the red keep. but that didn’t change his view of not wanting to remarry, he merely tolerated you.
he was glad both of you seem to agree to not pressure yourselves in continuing to talk one another in private, away from prying eyes. you were slightly disappointed that he did not seem to notice or pay mind to you at least. but you reminded yourself that this marriage wasn’t your say in the first place. and that breaks your heart.
when the wedding came, maekar was annoyed at the amount of people who wanted to witness this union. he was so upset that you could tell he was seething as he glared at the people who gave their thanks and support to you both. you guessed he didn’t like being the center of attention… but he married you.
not only was he pissed off with the amount of people that attended, he’s vaguely aware of his growing anger seeing men alike go forward to compliment you in front him. a sudden wave of jealousy flew over him that these disgusting men, some married, had the audacity to talk to his wife like they wanted a piece of you.
the anticipating wedding night soon came. you could already tell maekar was not liking every second of it based on his scowl. but the bedding ceremony was to be done, unfortunately.
hands pushed you inside, men alike seem to want put a hand you and others carried you after the banquet. the women pulled maekar with giggles as he watches you being carried to his private chambers. the chants of “to bed, to bed, to bed” made you nervous as you’re suddenly face to face with maekar in the bedroom.
it’s silent at last as the doors closed. you’re left in your undergarments, a sheer chemise, and maekar in his loose drawers. you stare at each other for a beat, there’s a tension that you can’t quite place.
he stares at you, assessing your form, the thought of those men undressing you sets a flame within him as his jaw tightens at the thought of it. you too observe him, seeing that scowl on his face still made you feel disappointed.
he suddenly took the first step forward towards you. you stay still, watching his every movement. he’s handsome, you think, staring at his broad chest that’s full of scars. and those shoulders you guess were sculpted from the amount of times he swung his weapon. a true warrior.
you blink back to reality when his fingers grasp your chin. you’re met with the most striking blueish-violet eyes that seem to wander from your eyes to your lips, then to your body.
“husband…” you utter out, a little confused if he wanted to continue this. “it is fine if we don’t… don’t- uhm, tonight.”
“they can’t keep their filthy hands off you.” he muttered, still fuming at the thought. “they just can’t stop staring at you, did you know? i should have their eyes and cut their cocks out for that.”
you’re taken aback at his possessive and cruel words. you blink, dumbfounded. maekar leans outwards, and sighs. “dress yourself and get some sleep, i will sleep in the other chamber for tonight.”
you rush to stop him, grabbing his wrist. for all the times he was indifferent to you, and suddenly saying those words now- you did not want him to go.
you kind of liked it he’s showing this new side of him.
“please… stay here.” you utter out. maekar’s eyes widened slightly. he lets you pull him towards the bed as you sit him down. “do you… do you still want to do this, husband?”
he’s now the dumbfounded one. he can’t help but wait and see what you’ll do as you take his subtle nod as a yes. you lean forward, kissing him. a primal urge takes him over as he kisses you back, his hands grab your waist, pulling you forward, and settling you on his lap. like he wanted to erase the way those filthy men who dared to lay their hands and eyes on you when you’re his. you’re now his.
after that, you can say your marriage with the scowling prince went… well. and the fact that men and others alike finally stirred away when they know your husband is just lurking behind you.
he’s like a direwolf stalking behind its master. except you have a dragon that’s lurking behind you. ready to spew fire whoever dares to be bold with you.
i imagine people would scurry away from wanting to talk to you because of his sharp gaze and his infamous scowl. lol.
sometimes, male servants and the knights would be too nervous to even utter a greeting to you because of this.
but sometimes he’ll get insecure, thinking you deserve better than big old him. and you remind him that you grew to love each other despite your marriage being arranged.
in the end, i fear maekar would be so smug in the inside when you’re by his side. people would look, and they can only look. he’s the one who gets you all to himself, anyway.
Summary: After a very boring and lackluster date, you swallow your pride and call Jax, your ex, and ask him to pick you up. Instead of being obnoxious and mean about it, he surprises you by not only coming through and helping you out, but also revealing a few things that have you questioning how you and he ended up where you were before tonight.
Word Count: 5.5k | I do not give consent to having my work republished or posted to any other platform or profile other than my own.
Warnings: slight angst, fluff, swearing, a rude date, protective jax, mentions of smut, mentions of injuries, jealousy, that may be all, see i can write more than just smut.
It had been quite a while since you tried out the dating scene, and while it hadn’t been all that great a few years ago when you were actively exploring it, you assumed it must’ve gotten at least slightly better as the years went by.
You were quite wrong.
It actually felt like it had gotten worse, if that was even possible, if the bland man sitting across from you right now was anything to go off of. You would normally feel bad for judging someone you didn’t really know, but this guy has been judging you since the minute you walked in the door, and his backhanded compliments told you that you were very much wasting your time.
‘Oh, you’re ordering a beer? Most chicks don’t,’ followed by a laugh that made your skin crawl.
‘What’s your perfume? It has kind of a cheap smell to it,’.
And your personal favorite,
‘You sounded prettier on the phone,’ which was quickly followed by, ‘You know how our voices can sound different over the phone? You just sound kind of different.’
And you started to lose interest extremely quickly after that, especially since those were said within minutes of each other, and he’d only been saying more things like that as the date went on.
It also didn’t help the fact that you kept comparing him to your ex. Your ex isn’t a good guy by any means, he’s actually pretty fucking vile and reckless and dangerous, but at least he didn’t hide behind a fake smile and a pretty face.
No, Jax’s smiles were genuine, and his pretty face was part of his personality.
Would you ever be able to go on a date and not compare him to Jax? You weren’t sure, though you were hopeful… but you feared the answer was absolutely not.
Because even though yours and his relationship had its ups and downs, like any relationship does, at least he kept shit real. He had no filter at all, and he never made you feel like you had to impress him like this guy is. Jax accepted you for who you are and all you are, and apparently that was rare since the last date you went on, you found yourself putting on a show as well.
You were sitting by the door of a local fast food place you’d been to countless times before or after work or whenever you weren’t in the mood to cook something healthy, much rather preferring to pig out and live on the couch for a few hours.
It was definitely not first date material, more like the type of place couples go to once they’ve established a real relationship and are no longer trying to impress or spend a fuckload of money on each other. But you weren’t surprised your date suggested this place. He looked like the cheap type, despite his critique of your ‘cheap perfume’, so you weren’t shocked in the slightest.
He was kind of right though, which annoyed you a lot. You had to go through your collection of perfumes and sprays in search of one that you hadn’t worn throughout the years you were with Jax so you didn’t compare this date to the ones you went on with him - that clearly didn’t work.
But you wore all the ones you have around Jax, or he bought them himself. So you bought some cheap knock off version of one from Sephora you found at the drug store, and you were also kind of annoyed that you’d actually gone out and bought something for this piece of shit.
At least you can say you put in more effort than Derek did. Or is it Darin? Or Darius?
“I’m sorry, what is your name again?” you shamelessly asked, pitching your voice a little higher to make it sound like you were genuinely curious. You honestly didn’t care about holding back and not being rude after sitting with this guy for the last hour and a half. “My memory is horrible. I’m so forgetful.”
He cleared his throat, his overly confident smile he was wearing before you asked that disappearing. “Um, it’s Darin,” he answered, sitting up a bit straighter.
“Right,” you nodded, “I’ll remember that, I promise.”
You were sitting right next to the door that leads out to the parking lot, and you didn’t bother repressing the shiver that went through your body as someone opened the door and left, your arms coming up to cross over your chest.
If Darin noticed your lack of coat, and the fact that his was draped over the back of his chair, he didn’t say anything about it as he stood up and shot you a smile. “Gotta run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” he said, and you nodded, letting out a huff as he walked past you and towards the hall where the bathrooms are.
You weren’t sure why you’ve stayed and put up with him for this long. Maybe you were just tired of being fucking lonely, but the more time you spent with Darin, the more you wanted to be alone.
Slumping back in your chair, you pursed your lips as you let your eyes wander around the room. Not a lot of people were here since it was so late, and you weren’t sure why Darin had suggested you and he grab dinner at ten at night, but that was the first red flag anyway.
Your gaze drifted down to the table, and you looked at your half-eaten burger and the few remaining fries in the box before looking at your phone that was placed face down next to it. Suddenly you were having a rather intense inner debate with yourself.
No. Fuck no, you’re not calling him. There’s no way you’re calling your ex and asking him to come rescue you from this terrible fucking first date. No way.
But the longer you waited, the more you weighed the pros and cons.
Pros; Jax had always made it known that if you were ever in trouble and needed someone, you call him and he’ll take care of it for you. You knew he meant it when he said it, and you’d like to think he still meant it now, even though you and he are broken up. So you were confident that he’d come get you if you asked. And you’d be far away from Darin and would probably never have to see him again.
Cons; you’d be asking your ex, who you had a very messy and very upsetting breakup with, to come help you, when the last time you saw him, you told him you never wanted to see him again.
Fuck it. Luckily, your ego wasn’t as big as it used to be, and you’d rather hear the smug teasing you were sure you’d get from Jax than stay here with this snoozefest any longer.
You picked up your phone and had another brief inner debate before clicking on the first contact on the list of numbers. It may seem pathetic to most that Jax is still listed as your emergency contact, but you’d quickly learned after being with him for so long that he was a pretty good guy to have during an emergency, even if he caused most of them himself.
Slumping back even more, you crossed one arm over your chest, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. What if he didn’t pick up? God, you hoped he picked up, because it would be really fucking embarrasing if he didn’t. He had no reason to pick up though, and you knew that, but still. You wanted to think he still cared even a little about you to pick up the phone when you call at eleven at night.
Before you could get too lost in the endless amounts of what if’s you knew your head could come up with, the call connected not long after the second ring, and you tried to not feel a little giddy about that as you sat up in your seat.
A few lingering seconds passed before you heard the voice you used to hear every single day and night, and one you hadn’t realized you’d missed hearing this much. A hesitant, “Hey,” made your face heat up, and you suddenly weren’t as cold as you were before.
“Hey,” you replied a little too quickly, and you cursed yourself for never having been able to act normal around this man. You looked over your shoulder, making sure Darin wasn’t on his way back yet, then you furrowed your brows. “Shit, sorry, did I wake you up? You sound half asleep.”
A short, breathless laugh was heard on his end as you turned back around, suddenly not caring if your date caught you on the phone with another guy. He’d been distracted by his phone for a good portion of the evening anyway, so at least he’d know how it felt. “Yeah, I think most people are asleep when it’s almost midnight,” Jax said, and you felt your face heat up again, any quick response lost to the back of your throat. Thankfully, he picked it up again with a quiet, “You alright, darlin’?”
You pressed your lips together, looking down at the table once more. “Course. Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked back, then cursed yourself internally since something was obviously wrong if you called him out of the blue like this.
“We haven’t talked in a while, you know,” he pointed out, but it wasn’t mocking or teasing. Just genuine. “Everythin’ okay?”
You blew out a breath. “No, not really,”
The sound of something creaking was heard on his end before he spoke up again, “What’s wrong?”
You winced at the slight raise in his voice, his normal tone coming out rather than the soft, raspy one from before. “Nothing, it’s just…” God, were you really about to ask him to come get you right now? You weren’t shy by any means, and you weren’t soft, but you didn’t know how to get away from this guy without acting like a total bitch, and you had a feeling that if you told Jax you needed him to come tell a guy off, he’d be more than willing to deliver that blow for you. “I’m… on a date right now, and the guy is really fucking boring and kind of an asshole. I was just wondering… hoping, that maybe you’d be willing to come get me? I don’t really feel like wasting more money tonight on a ride home.”
It was quiet for a few seconds, and you were preparing yourself for the rejection, but then Jax broke the silence. “You askin’ me to come rescue you, darlin’?” he clarified, and the name he called you again made your heart clench in your chest. He used to call you that all the time early on in your relationship, but then he became fond of calling you babe instead. Both made your head spin in the best way. “From a date?”
Now he was teasing you, but you also noted the way he sounded a bit tense now, in the way he sounded whenever he told one of the guys off for hitting on you or trying to flirt with you.
You were sure you were imagining that though, because why would he be jealous that you were with another guy after all this time? You didn’t want to think about all the girls he’s been with since you and he broke up, so you didn’t see a reason for him to get all pissy with you for going on a date with another guy.
“Yes,” you answered, then looked out the window next to you at the dark parking lot, nearly void of any cars at this point. “Please.” you added, though you didn’t raise your voice like you normally do when you beg for something.
“Why are you askin’ me? You gotta lot of friends you could ask instead,” he said, “Knowin’ you, you’ve probably gained ten since the last time we spoke.”
Your shoulders dropped, because it was clear now that he was trying to get you to admit something you weren’t going to, at least not over the phone. “Well, you’re the one who told me how dangerous Charming is during the day, let alone at night,” you said, “And I thought you might be up to tell this guy off for me since I’m too polite to do it myself.”
Jax laughed at that, “You ain’t that polite,” he muttered, then a few seconds of silence passed, and you were about to tell him to not worry about it when he spoke up again, his voice back to being raspy. “I’ll come get you, darlin’. Where are you?”
You sat up a bit, not really expecting him to actually agree after all that. “Oh, um…” you held your phone a little tighter as you looked out the window at the big, neon sign. “That burger place we went to after we got back from Oakland a few years ago.”
“Seriously?” Jax scoffed, and you heard some shuffling, “That’s a pretty fuckin’ sad first date.”
That had you letting out a laugh of your own, and even though you agreed with him, your mind went back to your first date with Jax - if you could even call it that. “More sad than our first date?” you asked, feeling oddly nostalgic that you and he had already fallen back into your usual light banter you used to toss back and forth everyday.
“What, a trip to St. Thomas isn’t more romantic than some cheap fast food place?” he asked, a hint of humor in his tone as you heard more shuffling on his end, then the sound of keys jingling before a door opened. “I thought it went pretty well.”
You rolled your eyes, remembering that night quite fondly. After weeks of endless and relentless flirting, you and Jax finally said fuck it and decided to go out on a date, except that was also the night he pissed off a member of another club in Charming, and ended up with a pretty nasty cut on his arm from a knife.
He still picked you up and was prepared to go out with his arm poorly wrapped up in the shitty bandages he had at his house, but when you saw the red starting to seep through the white, you told him to go to the hospital instead of wherever he planned on taking you.
You stayed with him the whole time, of course, and had to watch nurses and doctors alike flirt with him and send him the fuck me eyes, but Jax was either oblivious to it - doubt it - or he was simply ignoring them, his attention remaining on you for the entire night.
He took you back home after he got stitched up, thanked you for staying with him, then apologized for a shitty first date, but you ended up going on many more after that, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.
“I don’t know, at least I didn’t have to watch people eye fuck my date all night during this one,” you said, then looked over your shoulder again when you heard footsteps approaching from behind you.
“I had no control over that,” he said smugly, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “And I still got you anyway.”
Your heart clenched at that, because yes, he did get you. And after this, you were pretty sure he still very much has you. “I guess,” you mumbled, then lowered your voice even more. “He’s coming back, I have to go.”
“I’ll be there soon, darlin’,” Jax promised, and you quickly hung up before setting your phone down on the table, giving Darin a forced smile as he sat back down across from you.
He nodded down at your phone as he settled in the chair, a timid smile on his lips. “Was that important?” he asked, as if he just expected you to sit and do nothing while you waited for him to come back from the bathroom.
And you thought he couldn’t get on your nerves even more than he already is. “Uh, yeah. Kinda,” you answered, hoping Jax would get here soon. He’s pretty fast on that bike of his, and if you were right in thinking he was a little jealous that you’re on a date with another guy, you had a feeling he was going to be even faster.
“Cool,” Darin nodded, and you were once again forced to listen to more backhanded compliments that sounded a lot more like complaints and pathetic attempts at getting you to sleep with him despite him pretty much insulting you all night.
‘I’m surprised you finished almost all the fries. The other dates I’ve been on, the chick barely ate anything,’
‘I didn’t mean to say you weren’t pretty earlier, by the way. I was just surprised to hear how you sound in person compared to over the phone,’
‘Do you live around here? I would like to continue getting to know you somewhere a little more… comfortable, if you’re up for it,’
You are, in fact, not up for it, but you didn’t get a chance to say that as the door swung open, and you felt your shoulders drop when you heard his voice. “Wow, you weren’t kiddin’,” Jax said as he sauntered over to you, his usual, effortless swag in everything he does never failing to stir something in you. He placed one hand on the back of your chair, and you already felt so much better now that he’s here, you couldn’t stop the way you leaned back towards him. “Hate to cut things short, but I believe this one and I have our own date to get to.”
Your face flushed at that, and you quickly looked down at the table as Darin sat up comically straight. “Um, what? Sorry, dude, but I think you have the wrong-”
“No, I don’t,” Jax said, wrapping one hand around your arm and guiding you up and out of the chair. As soon as he touched your bare skin, he quickly looked down at you with narrowed eyes. “Shit, you’re fuckin’ freezin’.”
You stand up all too willingly, looking up at him with a small, genuine smile you didn’t bother trying to hide as he shrugged out of his jacket and slid it around your shoulders. Jax’s own lips curved up in a small, rare smile right back at you as he zipped the jacket up halfway before Darin spoke up again, this time trying to sound more intimidating.
“Dude, do you mind?” he asked, and Jax looked over at him again, his smile now gone, and that annoyed you as you looked over at Darin as well. “We were kinda on a date here? And we were just about to head out and go back to her place, so-”
“I highly doubt that,” Jax laughed, draping one arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Darin’s pathetic attempt at coming off as the more powerful man out of the two, which was to be expected. In the years you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jax be genuinely intimidated by anything, let alone some cheap dude who still expected you to fuck him after this horrible date. “Let it go, man. She’s not fuckin’ interested. Cover the bill, yeah?”
He didn’t give Darin a chance to respond as he turned and guided you out the door and over to his bike, and you were kind of surprised you didn’t hear him pull up. You’d been trying to drown out everything around you after you got off the phone with him, and apparently it worked.
You stopped next to the bike, subtly cuddling into the warm fabric of his jacket as Jax let you go and reached for his helmet. “You got here really fast,” you observed, looking up at him as he moved towards you again.
“What, you thought I wouldn’t?” he asked, placing the helmet on your head and tightening the strap for you. “You needed me. I was just messin’ around on the phone, babe. I’ll always be here when you need me.”
Babe.
You weren’t sure if he meant to call you that, if it had just slipped out, but you froze as soon as he said it, and your body heated up at the same time.
He must’ve been able to tell, and you were grateful when he took it upon himself to place his hand on your lower back and guide you onto the bike. Once you were situated behind him, Jax waited until your arms were securely banded around his middle before he looked over his shoulder at you. “You wanna crash at mine? It’s closer,” he asked, raising his voice so you could hear him over the sound of his bike.
Spending the night at Jax’s house didn’t seem like the best idea, especially considering everything he’d made you feel already since he picked up his phone. But then again, having him drop you off at your own house and leave you alone sounded really fucking miserable.
“Yeah,” you said back, holding onto him a little tighter. “Sure.”
And that was how you found yourself standing in Jax’s entryway after one of the worst dates you’d ever been on in your life. His house looked pretty much the same since the last time you were in it, which was about six months ago. You still could hardly believe that it had been half a year since you and he broke up, and yet he was still able to make you feel all the things he used to without even trying or meaning to.
“Um, I don’t have anything to wear to bed,” you said, playing with the sleeves on his jacket as he shut and locked the door behind you, falling into his routine of kicking off his shoes and putting his keys on the table beside the door. When he looked at you, then let his eyes trail you up and down, you shook your head, “It’s fine. I can sleep in this.”
Jax huffed out a laugh and shook his own head. “Relax. It’s not like we’re strangers,” he said, starting to walk down the hall towards his bedroom, and his nod had you following after him. “You can wear somethin’ of mine, like you did before.”
Before, meaning when you would steal his shirts to sleep in and wear as you lounged around the house. You couldn’t be blamed, though. His shirts were big on you and unbelievably, and kind of annoyingly, comfortable.
When you got to his room, you abruptly stopped in the doorway while Jax walked over to his dresser and opened one of the drawers. Your eyes were glued to his bed, his very much made bed, and your mind went back to when he picked up the phone and sounded like he had just been sleeping.
But it was obvious he wasn’t sleeping here in his bed, and the thought that you’d woken him up after he just got done fucking a girl and falling asleep in her bed made you feel gross and unjustifiably mad.
You didn’t expect him to not find relief in other girls after the breakup; you knew he definitely did. But you never had to see the proof of it, unlike how you are right now.
A sick feeling crawled up your throat as Jax grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweats from his drawer then turned to you, but when you didn’t take them from him, his brows furrowed. “What?” he asked, and you swallowed harshly.
“I can wear this,” you said, gesturing down towards your skirt and his jacket that was covering up your crop top. You hated thinking that he was having a great night before you called him and practically begged him to come pick you up, and you hated that you kind of wanted to know who he was with before he had to leave.
Jax narrowed his eyes, moving towards you as he held onto the offered clothing. “What?” he asked again, trying to get you to meet his eyes, but you just looked over at his bed - the bed you had a strong amount of fondness for since you spent countless nights in it with him.
Even though you had no right to, you still asked, “Were you with someone tonight? Before I called you?” you finally looked up at him, your body tensing up a bit at your own series of questions. “Like, were you sleeping with someone when I asked you to come get me?”
Jax’s eyes narrowed even more, and he briefly looked over his shoulder at his bed before looking back at you. A few seconds passed before he huffed out a laugh, “You were just on a date with some cheap asshole, and now you’re askin’ me if I was with someone else?” he asked back, and you felt your face heat up in embarrassment.
You knew you had no business or right to ask him that, and you were a hypocrite for doing so. He was right. Tonight wasn’t the first date you’d been on since the breakup, and it wasn’t your first attempt at trying to move on from him. Who were you to get upset that he might’ve been with someone else tonight too?
“I’m sorry,” you quickly say, looking down at the carpet. “That was fucking stupid of me to ask.”
Jax shook his head, holding out his clothes to you and waiting until you finally took them. “I had a long day, alright? I crashed on the couch as soon as I got home,” he said, and you felt a strange feeling of relief wash over you. “I wasn’t with anyone else, okay?”
You nodded at that, not trusting yourself to say any actual words as he moved past you and left the room, leaving you to get changed. After you slipped his shirt over your head and tied the sweats as tight as possible, only for them to still be loose on you, you wandered out of his room and down the hall, finding Jax sitting on the couch.
Now that you’re looking at it, the crease on the pillow from his head and the blanket that was half on the couch and half on the floor made it extremely obvious that he had been asleep there when you called, and you felt that embarrassment from before come back.
“Thank you for picking me up,” you said, wanting to move past it as quickly as you could. “You saved me. I owe you one.” You weren’t sure what you could give him or do for him in return, but you meant that nonetheless.
Jax didn’t say anything to that, he just gave you the same soft smile from before as he remained sitting on what you assumed you were going to be sleeping on. But then he kicked his feet up on the coffee table, seeming to not be in any hurry to move. “You can sleep in the bed. I’ll crash here again,”
That had you shaking your head quickly, a protest leaving your mouth just as fast. “No. You said you had a long day and you’re tired. You can sleep in your own bed, Jax,” you said, “I’ll take the couch.”
But Jax just scoffed, shaking his head, “I ain’t letting you sleep on the couch, babe,”
There was that name again, and you fought off another smile as you both fell back into the familiar way you used to argue about nothing at all. Like where you were going to sleep, when there was a very simple answer to that.
That was how you both ended up in his bed, him on his side and you on the side that used to be reserved for you. There was a slot of space between yours and his body, and even though you knew you shouldn’t, you found yourself wanting to close it.
Jax seemed to want that too, because when he looked over at you and met your gaze in the darkness of his room, a lazy smile formed on his lips, and his arm lifted just slightly. It was enough to have you say fuck it, and you moved closer to him until you were cuddled up against his side, and his arm was wrapped around your waist.
It felt just like before, when you and he would lie in bed together just like this before one of you would pass out and the other would follow, and usually moments like this would follow after sex, but would feel just as intimate. Maybe even more.
That’s exactly what this felt like. Intimate. Comfortable. Safe with a man who was anything but.
As you laid your head on his chest, Jax’s arm wrapped a little tighter around you, like he’d been missing this just as much as you had. The breakup was messy, explosive and irreversible, or so you thought, and even though you swore to both yourself and to him that you’d never see him again, here you are, in his arms like no time at all had passed.
And you wanted to see him after this. You wanted to keep seeing him, because fuck, you missed him. And you hated not being with him.
“So,” Jax spoke up after a while, clearly not in the mood to go to sleep despite his long day. It was fine, because you didn’t want to waste being with him like this by sleeping anyway. “You wanna tell me why you were wastin’ your time with that fuckin’ loser tonight?”
You let out a soft laugh, your hand coming up to rest next to your head. “I was trying to get over you,” you confessed, your fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt as his curled around your hip, almost possessively. Protectively. “Took me months to finally go out with another guy. The last three dates I’ve been on have been so fucking bad though. It does feel like I’m wasting my time.”
Jax hummed, and it vibrated your cheek. “Tryin’ to get over me, huh?” he teased softly, and a smile grew on your face. “Doesn’t seem to be workin’ out so well, babe.”
He squeezed your hip, and the fact that the reason you’d only dressed up and gone out tonight was to try and get over him, only to end up in his shirt, in his bed, and in his arms by the end of it not lost to either of you.
“No, I know,” you agreed, breathing in his familiar scent and letting your eyes flutter shut. “I suck at this. I pick the worst people to take a chance on. It’s just… I miss you, Jax. All the time. And I didn’t let myself admit that until now. Until tonight.”
You opened your eyes again and propped your chin on his chest, finding him already looking down at you. His expression was unreadable to most, but you’d always been able to read him like a book, and you knew what that look meant.
“You didn’t have to come get me tonight. You had no reason to,” you pointed out, placing your palm flat against his chest. “And yet you still did.”
Jax lifted his other hand and placed it over yours, the gesture so natural and simple, yet it had you aching for more of it. “Of course I came and got you. I already told you, I’ll always be here when you need me,” he said, then his lips flickered up into a lazy smirk. “Guess I miss you too. Real fuckin’ bad, babe.”
You melted into him at that, your head dropping to his shoulder as you moved impossibly closer to him. You breathed him in, let his scent fill your senses, and let his warmth seep into you.
It was scary, because you could already feel yourself getting used to this again, and you had no idea what tomorrow was going to bring. It was obvious you and he needed to talk, but it was also obvious neither of you wanted to do that right now, too afraid to ruin the moment and drive each other away again.
But then he spoke again, “I still love you, you know,” he said, his voice muffled against your hair when he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Always will.”
And suddenly it felt like that conversation didn’t really need to happen anymore, because it was obvious that, while the two of you had lost your way for a second there, there was no doubt of your love for each other. There was no doubt you still belonged to each other.
You laced your fingers with his, letting your eyes close once again now that you were a little more confident in what tomorrow will bring. “I know,” you said back, smiling against his skin. “I love you too.”
-
Happy birthday to the man himself. I actually like this quite a lot, and may even make a part 2 where these two officially get back together, if you know what I mean...
summary: Ser Duncan's charming sister is always happy to help out an injured stag.
wc:1.2k
tag list: @halerune @littlemisssscar
tags: explicit content. mdni. piv, spanking, lyonel is wrapped around readers finger, drinking, lyonels calls reader ‘his doe’,a bit of an internal conflict which left me rooting for a part 3
a/n: omfg look at his hand in the gif ☝️
——
You told yourself you were doing this for your brother and for your brother alone. And that whatever happened between you and the Stag that night remained that night.
But the thing was...your heart was quite adamant on rebelling against your head.
During the Trial, for example, you weren't only worried on your brother's behalf, but also on the Stag Lord's. More than it was acceptable for a woman who publicly had no ties to him.
Your eyes suspiciously followed his antlered helm, heart skipping a beat whenever a Targaryen mace or Kingsguard blade was swung too close to his head.
You had the vivid memory of your fingers clenching in your lap when he was thrown off his horse, his loud groan making you gasp with a wife's concern, only your brother's direct combat with Prince Aerion making you unglue your eyes from him.
Countless times after that you tried to deny your feelings, excusing them for desire or obsession, but you could not lie to yourself any longer—you held certain affections for him. One could say so just by the sight of your lips parting longingly whenever he is near. Or over the way you would wet them with your tongue, trying to keep it all to yourself as the pit of yearning in your stomach grew to an abysal depth, waiting to swallow you whole.
You tried to keep your distance, you really did, but it didn't last long—a word or two from your brother who claimed the Lord had an incapable Maester already did all your thinking for you.
That's how you found yourself lying to Baratheon guards at the entrance of his tent once more, announcing that Lord Baratheon has again requested your services while looking around subtly as if to make sure that no one you knew saw you and pondered, or worse, told your brother of your ongoing business with Lyonel (you could call him that after you had him balls deep inside you, right?).
You were glad Duncan, as half-witted as he was, suspected nothing. What would you have told him if he started asking questions? 'Hey, I just fucked the most powerful ally you have so he'd risk his life for you in a deadly trial'?
Or 'Hey, did you know Lord Baratheon traded his life for your sister's—'
Your thoughts were interrupted by the guard finally stepping aside, opening the tent flap for you to enter, as your hands were holding your small healing satchel.
You flashed a smile his way, but quickly wiped it of your face and tore eye contact, forgetting he'd might mistake you for a lady of much more exclusive services than healing.
Ignoring his blatant smirk, you stepped inside, shoulders still tense.
With the precision of a cat, you paced forward towards his sleeping quarters. From the sound of the emptying pitcher you supposed he was there, already deep in his cups. Your brother's rejection didn't probably sit well with him, you realised. Only if he'd ask you to come with him to Storm's End... your thoughts began swirling once more before snapping out of it.
Go there and do what? Be his mistress? You shook your head and paced forward, once more the heat in your belly leading you to him like a moth is drawn to a flame.
You found him draped over two chairs at his table, dragging a flagon of wine to his lips with disinterest. One of his lazy hands would go under his loose tunic to scratch his belly, his wounded foot, perched up on a cushion, shifting.
You cleared your throat.
"Dunk said you have a shit Maester" you blurted, shifting your weight from one leg to another and rising your chin. "But I see you're patched up rather well" you took a step back, clutching into your satchel and mimicking the act of leaving.
As you hoped he would, Lyonel clumsily jumped up from his seat. “No-no..don't-don't leave!” he stumbled, his hands, still strong, finding the edge of the table to prop himself while reaching for the antler clutch nearby.
You turn back to him mockingly and rise a brow, beaming inside as he stopped you, because either way, you were staying, asked for or not.
He took long, pained strides to meet your eager figure, rubbing together the pads of his fingers.
“There’s…this ache in my fingers I feel like-like…” You furrowed at the description of his pain, panic settling in your chest before…
SMACK.
You yelp, his hand bringing you closer to him by your behind after just having slapped it. Your satchel falls into the ground, forearms finding his steady chest.
Still strong, your stag…
“Already feeling better I see...” you say drily, yet enjoying the feeling of his fingers fondling the fat of your arse.
“Yes…mhm…definitely helps” He buries his head into the crook of your neck, munching at the skin.
“My pretty, pretty lady” he continued. That was his last comprehensive compliment that he mumbled into your neck. By this time, he began rocking his hips against you.
The hand at your behind kept you steady against him as he swore sweet nothings.
Your hands found his curls, giving him tugs of your own. Clutching them, you removed his adamant lips from your neck and brought them to yours, where they continued their relentless attack.
Whilst in the kiss, you felt his clutch hit your ankles, signaling you to his bed. You could help but oblige, but compared to that night, it was you who led him there, helping him sit as he sunk into the mattress.
Any restraint or doubt flew away easily, clothes flew away easier.
You mounted him—quick and wild as he did to you, furs smoothing and bed groaning under your weight.
Lyonel groaned with it, hands finding your ass once more. You use his stretched hands to stabilize yourself, the pleasure making your body run hot. The slick ridges inside you grated him with every thrust, threatening to tighten around his twitching length.
“Always so good to me” Lyonel began blabbering once more, wine doing most of the talking for him. He thrusted up his hips to meet your circling ones.
“Lyonel.” You moan at his implication, pleasure on the verge of snapping.
“Yes, my doe!” he hollers, one of his wandering fingers finding your glistening clit. “Take what you need” he wet his hand with the slick around your joining.
His other did not leave your behind, it kept teasing and pinching and spanking. “Gods, you’re a tempest!” he roared.
“That-that thing with your hips” you mewl “do it again!” you request, too deep in your pleasure to realize your hands are digging into his bruised chest.
He gladly obeyed, grinding into you repeatedly while his right hand teased your clit. You bit your lower lip and while trying to keep yourself on the edge longer you voluntarily squeezed your walls.
He groaned, his wounded leg shifting, forcing himself to keep the pace as he felt himself spurt inside you.
“To hell with the dragons! I’d fight seven more trials just to have you ride me like this every night” He half-laughs, riding up his high longer enough to make you moan and your insides pulse and clasp before embracing his softening length.
You whimper and collapse on top of him, his last comment making freeze, now more troubled than you entered.
your husband comes back from a tourney that was supposed to be some thirteen year old girl's nameday and you cannot understand how he got so battered. he swears he's fine and to prove it, would very much like to make an heir.
wordcount: 2k
content: SMUT, post-akotsk, canon divergence, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v, no first name mentioned, english is not my first language i apologise in advance
a/n: lyonel fucking speaks and suddenly i want a man and kids, anything for you fine shyte
─────────────── .✧. ───────────────
You were there at the gates of the inner courtyard when his caravan returned. The Baratheon flags billowed in the wind, trumpets sounding his arrival. It was warm for a spring day, the morning slowly drifting into an afternoon meant for reading in the gardens or taking a walk through the woodlands.
Such luxuries you could not afford at present.
You waited patiently as pages, courtiers, and knights got down from their mounts and began unpacking all the effects Lyonel had taken with him and most likely brought back. He often made you an offering of some sort, a trinket or bauble, that would come to decorate your library. It was his way of showing you that he thought of your time apart.
Your husband was the last person to come into view, and for good reason. He looked as though he'd been trampled by a horse. Or multiple horses. Multiple times.
You gasped, hands flying to cover your mouth at the sight of him. The excited smile that had adorned your face until then dropped into one of horror. He could barely hold himself up and that was not even mentioning the state of his face. The skin was purple and black, littered with bruises and cuts you didn't have the heart to count.
And he had the brazenness to smile at you. A wide toothy grin of utter joy and satisfaction. You thanked the Gods that he'd kept all his teeth.
"My darling wife! You look like you've swallowed a lemon."
"I look like-- Lyonel your face is battered!", you shouted back, rushing towards him.
"Ah yes, that... Has it turned you off me?"
He wrapped you in his arms with a wince and a groan, his clothing no doubt hiding even more of the atrocities doled on his person. His lips pressed a quick kiss to the crown of your head as his free hand rubbed your shoulder. You could feel him leaning on you for support even as he tried to disguise the gesture as affection. Every time he crossed the threshold of your castle, you worried yourself sick that he wouldn't come back. And every time he proved your worries right in some form or another. You would age twice as fast if the stress did not let up.
"Did you enter the list?", you accused, brows furrowed.
You pushed away from him to take a better look at his face. He laughed but did not respond. There was an edge of mischievousness in his warm brown eyes, a slight darkening there. Whether that was anger brewing or something else, you were yet to say. Your fingertips traced the cuts at his cheekbone, the purple arch of his eyebrow, the split lip. So much damage. You sucked your teeth at him and took another step back, arms crossed. Resolute. If he thought he could use his charms to buy your silence and quiet your questions, he had learned nothing.
"I demand to know what's happened to you!"
Lyonel rolled his eyes and made for the doors as you scurried after him. His stride had always been much quicker than yours, even wounded it seemed. Nevermind the fact that he moved with the grace of a dancer and the pace of a warhorse. Your husband might have been a force of nature, but you were the mountain his storm would break upon today.
"Some fucking hedge knight got into a fight with one of them Dragon boys, I forget which one, so I lent a hand."
"You... You defended a hedge knight against House Targaryen? Have you lost all senses? You could have been killed!"
You were this close to giving him a beating of your own. It seemed 'suicidal' needed to be added to the ever growing tally of his least desirable adjectives. You hadn't even been married a year! If this was the sort of tomfoolery he expected you to put up with for the rest of your years, he would soon find out the consequences. You had married him out of choice rather than duty, the offer impossible to refuse since you had both been so besotted with the other. The courting had been fast and decisive. The first few months of your marriage was a blur of parties, sex, and laughter. And it was still the case, minus his lapse in judgement similar to this one.
Lyonel tossed his caplet onto a chair by the fire burning in the hearth, the crutch he had been using long forgotten by the door. You followed him like a vengeful bee and paced about. Your initial anger had been completely replaced by worry. But there was little you could do about it when he got his hands on you, pressing you close to his chest and letting his hands wander across your sides and back. He was drawn to the laces of your dress like a moth to a flame. Your home had seen much worse than his curious hands though. It seemed your husband's privacy extended to every room of the castle he saw fit for lovemaking. There weren't many surfaces left for him to defile with you... You were still surprised each time the mood struck him, however. It seemed almost random, whatever you wore that day, your mood or energy levels, he simply wanted you.
"It sounds so noble coming from your sweet lips.", your husband smiled, tongue caught between his teeth.
"Do not try to charm your way out of this, Lyonel."
"I rather think I'm succeeding."
"Get off of me!", you batted at his chest.
Your attempt at freeing yourself only served in tightening his iron grip on you. His hands were already busy undoing the laces of your dress while his face was buried in your neck. There was no stopping him once he was set in motion. Only a firm, stern hand could have discouraged him and you did not have it in yourself to protest when he so clearly desired you. There was a desperate hunger, a heat, a need to his voice and feverish hands on your skin. His bearded lips scratching upon the column of your neck seemed to quiet almost all thought in your head... almost.
"I haven't had anyone in well over two weeks, I couldn't wait to be home and--"
"I must send for the Maester at once.", you continued, ignoring his rambles.
Your head might have been spinning from his lust, but your first priority remained his wellbeing. If it meant he had to wait a moment and nurse his stiff cock for an hour more, then so be it. He'd been able to do so for two weeks, or so he said, a moment longer would not kill him. He deserved a bruise to his ego as well.
"Are you even listening to me, woman?"
Clearly, he thought otherwise. You stilled as he clasped your hands at your side, leaning down so that your faces were inches apart. His eyes were glued to your lips as he spoke.
"I'd like to have you flat on your back so I can put a babe in you this instant, so stop fussing over me."
"What?", you blinked at him.
"Take that fucking dress off, go on."
You took a beat to stare at each other while the fire crackled beside you. Whether he meant those words or not, whether the intention to have a child was as alive in his mind as it was in yours, you didn't care. Simply saying it was enough.
You caved instantly.
Grabbing his neck, you urged his lips onto yours. You wouldn't have admitted to the noises that left you under threat of torture, too lost in your need of him to care who heard you. You were vaguely aware of a servant hurrying past and leaving the room. Your mind quieted down as soon as your dress was past your shoulders, your husband pushing you back onto the large table nearby. You tasted blood in the kiss. A cruel reminder of the state of him.
"Gods, I missed those tits."
He had both hands on them, pressing them to his face and bruising the skin with love bites and kisses. Your back arch off the surface of the table at the feel of his thumb tracing your nipple, teasing it to a peak. His tongue came to replace the digit quickly, teeth grazing the surrounding skin teasingly. It was almost impossible not to squirm against the thigh he had lodged between your legs, yet he held you firmly in place by the hips. This was torture. You chased after the friction regardless. Burying your hand into his curls, you pleaded softly. For him to stop or for more, you weren't certain. He seemed content to let you ride against his thigh and dampen his garments while he toyed with you. It was only after he felt your nails against his nape, hard enough to draw blood, that he revised himself.
"Where are my manners?"
Pulling you to the very edge of the table, your husband dropped to his knees in front of you and draped your legs across his shoulders. You played with his hair as he worked kisses from your knee to your slit. Your hips bucked at the first feel of his tongue on you, crying out his name. If there was one thing Lyonel could be cocky about for a good reason, it was this. His skill with his tongue upon your flesh was undeniable. He could have you squirming, begging for release within seconds. Just as he was doing now.
He seemed utterly drunk on your small, whimpering sounds, his hands gripping at the flesh of your ass as he drank you in. The expert push of his tongue against your entrance had you grinding against his face, chasing your climax. Lyonel moaned as your grip tightened on his hair, the vibration sending you over the edge. You steadied yourself against the edge of the table, body shaking with the effort of holding still.
It didn't take long for your husband to rise and unfasten his pants, the head of his cock already lining up with your entrance. He let out a sound between a moan and a grunt as he pushed in to the hilt. Lowering himself to your chest, he buried his face in your neck once more as his hips began to rock into yours. You wrapped your arms around his back and found more fresh cuts there. A thorough inspection was due, when your brain was less addled by sex and the delicious grind of his cock inside of you.
"Fuck, you take me so well...", he praised.
"Missed you... so much...", you gasped between his thrusts.
"Yeah?"
His pace picked up, one hand reaching up to grip your chin and tilt your face up towards his. Your own hand came to join his and clutched at his wrist desperately. He could get drunk on the way you looked. With your full lips parted, your hair whiled, your pupils swallowing the colour of your eyes, you looked like a goddess.
"Lyonel, please..."
You had barely caught your breath when you felt his release inside you, an overwhelming sensation of warmth and fullness. He continued to desperately seek more relief, his hips snapping at a slower rhythm while you soothed your hands along his spine and dug your fingers into a bruise there. He hissed at the sharp pain, finally pulling out. The look on his face was one of amazement and glee.
"I won, if you'd care to know.", Lyonel said smugly.
"I gathered on account of you being alive, yes."
He sighed fondly, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. You chuckled giddily and stretched your limps out. You would soon find yourself with matching bruises, it seemed.
"I pray to the Mother we'll have a daughter just like you, my love."
do you guys think Thorin gets cuddly when he's drunk? I think he becomes a real loverboy the second his cups catch up with him.
He's open about his affections for you! Of course he is, he would sing your praises to the entire mountain if he could. But he keeps public affection chaste when he's sober.
When he's drunk he's shyly wrapping his arms about you. Kissing his way down your jaw until his beard scratches your shoulder and you're giggling, pushing him away. He's watching you with heart eyes as he takes another generous sip from his drink, his hand never truly straying from you in one way or another. Will loudly sing along to any songs the group starts to sing but obviously changes the lyrics to be about you. Twirls your hair around his finger, gets lost in your eyes when you speak.
Hauling him back to your rooms, the king three sheets to the wind hammered and he's babbling on about your beauty and your achievements. Repeatedly telling you how he adores you. Maybe starts crying because he feels bad for other dwarves who won't ever get to bask in your glow and love you like he can. Silly dwarf.
summary: It wasn't Ser Duncan's squire that got Lyonel to fight in the Trial of the Seven, but his charming sister.
wc: ±1.6k
tags: suggestive content, mdni, blackmailing (not really), lyonel is all laughs, reader's unimpressed by lyonel's antics, no use of y/n, part 1 maybe?, no physical description of reader
a/n: tried my best for my first ever one-shot. enjoy
——
You hadn't believed the rumours at first. Nobody officially informed you of Duncan's condition after he was imprisoned, so you tried not to agitate yourself further with the gossip thrown around.
Someone like your brother wouldn't even think to suggest a trial by combat in the first place (even though his physical advantage was clear) and now, the oaf successfully got himself challenged to a Trial of the Seven.
You swore you were going to lose your mind. He barely had a squire, let alone six other knights to support him.
Taking idle steps around the bustling streets of the camp, you searched for solutions. The night air did not help as you hoped it would—to calm yourself and finally see reason.
What was going on in his head, attacking the Princeling like that?
You loved your brother more than anything in the world. Though in truth, he was the last thing you had left to love as an orphan who grew up in Flea Bottom. You could not let him die, not over this madness.
You sighed and rearranged the cloak on your shoulders. It wasn't necessarily a cold night, but the pit in your stomach made your knees buckle and covered your skin with goosebumps.
It hadn't been long since you last saw Dunk. You talked to him about half an hour ago and little Egg—or should we say, Prince Aegon—swore that he would find your brother the help he needed.
You, too, had to do something, anything. But who would listen to you, a low-born, a woman, a convict's sister?
Your eyes scanned tents and passers-by—none even dared to raise their eyes to find yours. You pressed your lips together in a thin line, desperation clear on your face.
And suddenly, like lightning, the idea struck you. You scoffed at this idiocy at first, then looked up at the night sky and caught a glimpse of the moon.
Dawn shall come before you know it and no changes were added to your situation.
You were losing time.
Swallowing the knot formed in your throat, you took one dreaded step after another towards a familiar grand tent, draped with the black and yellow banners of House Baratheon.
——
The night was still young for Lyonel Baratheon, it seemed. A dense atmosphere, dipped in mirth, filled the Lord's tent. Food and drink was passed around while dancers entertained the nobility seated at the long table.
Everything looked just like you left it some nights ago when you and Dunk were first introduced to him. You were tired and starving and Raymund Fossoway was kind enough to sneak the two of you in Lyonel's tent for dinner.
You wouldn't have been discovered if it wasn't, of course, for your brother's indiscretion and the Lord's drunken curiosity. Even now, something in your gut told you that he wasn't sober enough to care about what was happening to you.
Why would he? He danced with your brother once and checked you out twice. And since when did the noble Houses of Westeros worry for commoners?
Still, you paced forward, passing by dancing ladies and tipsy lords, the hope behind your eyes matching a child's. Not that you were overly optimistic, but the urgency of saving your brother made your heart thunder against your chest swiftly.
You had a chance and you knew it.
The Stag was taunting, but not cruel. If he, himself would not help, he'd surely introduce you to someone capable and willing.
With the precision of one who'd already been inside this draped chaos, you deliberately walked towards his table. Your cheeks were flushed, yet you successfully calmed yourself before you stepped into his line of sight.
He did not notice you yet; he was too deep into his wine to do so. Therefore, it took great courage to approach him without being summoned and ignore lords and ladies alike who took note on your insolence.
If you hadn't been so stiff, you would have even confused him for the man from that night—all laugh and banter, with a dangerous gleam in his eye that made your heart falter and composure melt away.
But now it wasn't the case.
Knowing the way you were about to demean yourself before him made you feel almost disgusted.
Key word: almost.
Times were hard and you were desperate—desperate for his help, and perhaps for those stormy eyes to linger upon you longer than necessary...
The Stag was too handsome and too charismatic to hate.
Yet, reluctance was wrapped like a thin veil around your temples. You wanted to strike a deal, but weren't so sure if you owned the right bargaining chip.
Had you been wrong in your assumptions about him? What if, in truth, he finds you repulsive? No, it couldn't. Not after the way he looked at you the other night...right?
Your breath shuddered, the heat of the party turning your stomach turn.
Lyonel was mid-laugh, a flagon of wine halfway to his lips, when his piercing gaze found your approaching form.
"Ah!" He drew away the flagon instantly, the sudden wave making the liquid spill all over the advisors surrounding him. "If it isn't just my favourite girl!"
The stained men gave him queer looks, but did not dare to question him, as they themselves recognised you, sour grimaces settling on their faces.
"Lord Baratheon," you found yourself greeting with great care, limbs trembling with anticipation. "Parties have become tradition, I see"
Lyonel grinned in response and adjusted the antler crown on his head while leaning closer in his seat. Under his gleeful eyes, your bravado began to crumble.
What do I say now? Your heartbeat began thundering in your chest when the truth spilled right out of you.
"I would entertain you further with small talk, m'lord, but-uh...it is a favour I came for" your voice dropped by the end of your sentence.
"And what would I have to offer to a woman like you?" Lyonel raised his brow, still waving his flagon around dramatically, a familiar passion coating his tone. He bit his lip and crinked his nose while he waited for a response.
Your throat was dry, a breath having caught in your throat.
Whereas the distance between you should make you more comfortable, it bothered you. You wanted to speak closely, more quietly, only for him, not also the courtiers around him.
As if sensing this, Lyonel made a dismissive sign with his fingers for the courtier in his right to empty his seat for you.
With a thankful nod you rushed over his side of the table and sat down rigidly. Before attempting to stumble over your words again, Lyonel leaned awfully close to you until you smelt the alcohol in his laboured, heavy breath.
"The lady is in trouble..." He whispered teasingly
You met his eyes boldly and leaned closer yourself "Would you be my shining knight?"
Lyonel's eyes lit up. He did not say anything yet, which was odd. He just smirked and stared, the gleam in his eye not faltering one bit.
"Would you be my brother's shining knight?" you did not realise how that sounded until you voiced it.
Mentally-slapping your face you began blabbering.
"Knight! Just knight! Without... without shining..."
Lyonel laughed, not a mocking laugh, but one of awe. Even if he had a habit of doing that you would've guessed that anyone would probably laugh at the look on your face.
You were so concentrated on his reaction that you did not notice his hand creeping up on your thigh.
"So this is about your brother?" He tilted his head in faked disappointment, "I had hoped it was about me."
You breathed deep and polished your tone with sultry so it matched his "I came to the only man bold enough to say yes."
"To what, pray tell?"
"To participate in a trial" your hand slyly came to rest over his "a Trial...of the Seven"
For the first time you felt him tense slightly, only to regain his mocking composure in the moment after "What shit did that oaf manage to sink that deep in?"
You felt the tips of your fingers twitch while holding tightly into his hand as if hoping to leech into it.
"Prince Aerion requested it, denying him a simple trial by combat" your hand continued to squeeze his gingerly.
“A Trial of Seven…" he tasted the challenge's gravity on his tongue "and the Kingsguard stands among the seven, I’ll wager.”
You nodded "The Prince's father and several members of the Kingsguard"
His fingers started moving in a circular motion over your thigh, slow, teasing. "And how did you plan persuading me into blooding up the fucking Kingsguard?"
You paused and blinked slowly for a few times, as if to pin him down with your sparkling gaze. Then, your hand flew away from his as you opened your cloak and let it fall on the chair's backrest, leaving the top part to your garment exposed. The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you measured your next words.
"The next layer is yours to remove" you stated breathlessly, your insides twisting with heat as your hand lowered to his again, more boldly this time.
Lyonel grinned from ear to ear—a plaguing smile— and let you crumble under the intensity of your own words for several moments before answering.
"Then I am your most humble servant, sweet cheeks" he cradled your hand in his and finished the wine in his cup in a long sip.
He then hit the table with his empty cup and rose, letting go of your hand and grabbing everybody's attention in the process. "OUTTT! EEEVERYBODY OUTT!"
You looked down, feeling people disperse around you. Your shoulders shuddered—from embrassement or excitement, you did not know.
Sleeping with the most beautiful man you've ever seen and saving your brother at the same time? A feat you never thought you'd achieve.
"Party's over! For you, not for me, obviously!" Lyonel was still mumbling drunkenly to the disappearing crowd as you collected yourself.
He cleared his throat as if to sober up and once everyone was out he led you out of your chair, arm gently wrapped around you upper back. "Now, about that layer, sweetness..."
Nothing satisfies me more than watching an entitled punk get his bitch-ass handed to him. Aerion, I hope your ability to chew your own food has been knocked outta you, you fuck-ass Targaryen prick. Haven’t felt that good since Joffrey choked.
