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in which gwayne hightower leaves his wife asleep before the battle, and you worry over his return
PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader
WARNINGS: allusions to nsfw, angst, gwayne is down bad, old friends, hurt/comfort, arguing (not actual arguing, just reader letting out her worry), fluffy ending
WORD COUNT: 3.08k
🎶 : old money - lana del rey
AN: 🩵💛💗 - this fic will always have a special place in my heart as it was the very first gwayne fic i ever wrote... enjoy!!
Your emerald green dress flowed with the wind as you stood on your shared balcony, staring at the town below.
Gwayne always admired you from afar. In his eyes, you were angelic. Walking up behind you, he let his arms snake around your waist, a gentle touch that he hoped spoke volumes about how much he treasured you. “Come to bed, my love.”
You hummed, letting your head fall back against his chest. “If I come to bed, this night will end, and that will mean you are leaving.” You shook your head, your resistance palpable in the air. “So I will not.”
He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Will you truly deny your lord husband the pleasure of your company before he goes into battle?”
You laughed, twisting in his hold. “Is this a request or a demand?”
“It is a plea.” He leaned down, inches away from your lips. “I do not wish to leave on bad terms. This battle will be one for the histories.” He shivered, pulling you closer. “Indulge me.”
You leaned forward, cruelly teasing him. Quickly, you pulled back, escaping his hold with ease. You smirked as you skirted past him. “If we must.”
He grabbed your wrist, spinning you back into his arms. You gasped, your knees weakening under his piercing gaze. Gwayne had always had a hold on you, even long before you were promised to each other, and you were just the Dowager Queen’s childhood companion. “You know I would never force myself on you, my lady. But I must confess…” He leaned down, whispering. “If I do not kiss you, I will surely die.”
You giggled, reaching for his lips. “We cannot have that, can we?”
He collided his lips with yours, groaning. “My darling girl…”
“Take me to bed, Gwayne.” You murmured, attaching your lips to his once more. “Please.”
“Whatever you wish, my love.” He grabbed your thighs, wrapping your legs around him with ease. “Whatever you wish.”
The sun peeked through your wide-open curtains, stirring you from your otherwise peaceful sleep. You rolled over, reaching out for your husband.
But your touch never met his skin. You raised your head, heart breaking as you realized that his side of the bed was still warm. You sat up quickly, calling for your maid. “Help me dress.”
The young girl nodded. “Which dress would you-”
“It does not matter!” You snapped. “I am sorry, truly. Any dress will do; just do it quickly.”
The maid threw on your frock, a simple green velvet slip that you typically wore when exploring the woods surrounding Old Town. Smiling gratefully, you raced through the halls, not caring about the looks that followed you.
The doors to the courtyard burst open, and you scanned quickly for your husband. The Dowager Queen stood alone in the center, staring at the gate with a sort of faraway look on her face. Gathering yourself, you approached, curtsying. “My Queen.”
Alicent smiled lightly. “No need for such formalities. We were once friends, if you remember.”
You ignored the request. “Has your brother-”
The queen nodded. “He just left, I’m afraid.” She put a comforting hand on your shoulder. “He did not want to wake you.”
“I-” Tears began to well, and you felt bile begin to rise up your throat. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Alicent called out your name. “Wait!”
You had already dashed up the stairs, tears now fully streaming down your cheeks.
It had taken over a month before you'd received word that the battle was over and the surviving soldiers would be returning home.
In that month, not one letter from Gwayne had graced your room or, more accurately, your cell. The Red Keep was a prison now, though if Gwayne did indeed return, you would not tell him. He loved his family dearly, especially his sister, and learning of your distaste for them would surely cause animosity.
You closed your eyes, trying to remember what had only been twenty years ago, when you, Alicent, and Rhaenyra would sit in the gardens, jesting about tutors and gossiping about knights of the realm.
When Alicent left to attend to her father, Rhaenyra would look at you with a mischievous look on her face, teasing you about your budding feelings for Alicent’s brother.
You had not seen Rhaenyra in years.
Now, your nephew by law had usurped her throne, and there was nothing you could do but watch. You had no dragon, no power of your own. All of which you had been contemptuous of before your husband had been dragged into this whole mess.
Thanks to your nephew, he might never return. All you could do now was count down the days until the horns blew, and you stood in the courtyard, raking over the faces in the crowd until you found Gwayne's.
A knock rang through your chambers; your guard's voice slipped through the door. “My lady, the Dowager Queen would like to see you.”
You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I will be out in a moment.”
Alicent rarely called on you anymore. The last time had been when Viserys had died; a letter arrived in Old Town. Not for her own brother, the Lord Paramount, but for you. For you to come.
You had not; after all, you'd just given birth to your second child and were too frail to walk. Gwayne had refused to even allow you to entertain the notion, insisting that your health came before his sister's, even if she was the queen.
Her chamber doors were wide open, and Alicent sat at her table, tea and two glasses in front of her. When you entered, she smiled, waving away her servants and guard. “Leave us.”
“But my lady…”
“My sister-in-law is no threat, Sir Rickard.” The older man nodded, ushering the servants out of her chambers and closing the doors soundly behind him. “Are you well?”
“As well as I can be, my lady.” You smiled politely. “And yourself?”
“As well as one can be, I suppose.” You sat in an awkward silence, sipping your tea. The fire crackled behind you, and your mind began to wonder what exact moment caused the unfixable rift in your friendship.
“I must tell you something.” Alicent looked torn, like she was fighting herself. “You must not tell anyone, not even my brother.”
“Of course.” You nodded quickly. “Of course, Alicent.”
“I made a mistake.” Her face was ghostly white. “Aegon–” She gasped, a sob wracking through her body. You froze, unsure of what to do. “He was never supposed to be king. I misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood?”
“Viserys, he was spouting nonsense about Aegon the Conqueror, and I thought-” She scoffed. “I misunderstood.”
You sat back in your chair, staring into the fire. “You mean to tell me that this entire war started because of a misunderstanding?” Alicent remained silent. “Alicent, you must tell Rhaenyra. Before it’s too late.”
The queen laughed. “It’s already too late. Her son is dead; my own grandson was viciously murdered in his own bed. She would not see me. You remember as well as I how stubborn she is.”
You knelt in front of Alicent, taking her hands in yours. “Alicent, for the good of the realm, you must meet with Rhaenyra and come to an agreement. Atrocities have been committed by both sides, but if you tell her this…” You shivered. “It would save thousands. It would save your brother, Helaena, your…guard.” You tightened your hold on your old friend's hands. “Please, I am begging you.”
“I-” She nodded, not trusting her voice to stay collected. You stood, dusting off your dress, and sat back down.
“Have you heard any word of your brother?”
“None.” It was Alicent’s turn to hold your hand. “He will return to you, I am sure. He is a great knight and a skilled warrior.”
You nodded. “He is; that is what worries me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He would never leave his men behind. Even if that meant…” You trailed off. “You understand.”
Alicent nodded, her heart at the bottom of her stomach. Her old friend had always been melancholy since childhood. Your parents had perished in a horrible accident, and you'd been a ward of the crown ever since. She could not bear to be the cause of any further grief.
“How are the children?”
“Well. Daeron writes that Arthur is practically as talented at the sword as he is. Emma is still just a babe, but she grows larger by the day.” You mumbled. “As far as I’ve heard.”
“You will be back with them soon; I promise you that.” Alicent smiled. “I understand what it is like to miss a child.”
You nodded politely, but you knew Alicent could never understand. How could she? She had never been forced to leave her children to come and serve a usurper of a king.
The horns had blown at midday only two days later.
Your worry for your husband had quickly turned to anger over the past months, anger that he did not say goodbye before he went off to war. You'd been sitting on your balcony when the deep sound blared through the city, rousing you out of your stupor.
Even if you were angry with your husband, that did not mean your heart did not yearn to be in his arms, to be kissed as if it were the last moment you would live. Your dress billowed behind you as you ran, once again not bothering to acknowledge the prying eyes that followed. You slowed as the two guards opened the courtyard doors.
Gracefully walking down the staircase, you tried to keep your composure when you could not find Gwayne immediately in the crowd below.
Your heart dropped, and you clenched your fists, nausea bubbling in your stomach. You were too young to be a widow, too young to raise two children on your own, too young to-
“My lady.” You turned around, almost sobbing at the sight. There stood your lord husband, in all his glory. His hair was dirty, his skin broken, but all you saw was your love standing before you, alive.
You curtsied, making no movement to embrace him. “Lord Husband. I am most grateful for your return.”
His eyebrows rose, a smirk gracing his delicate face. “How formal of you, my dear.”
You huffed, spinning on your heels and walking back into the castle. Gwayne followed behind swiftly, entirely confused as to why he did not have you in his arms. You walked in silence to your chambers, servants stilling at the sight of Gwayne. “Leave us.” He ordered, not sparing a second glance. They promptly scurried out, shutting the doors behind them.
He stared at you curiously. “My love-”
“Let me dress your wounds.” You sighed, walking over to your wardrobe. “It seems you have many.”
He nodded but made no movement to sit or remove his armour. “Darling-”
“Turn for me, my lord. I need to remove your armour.”
He nodded once more, turning as requested. The tension was palpable, but neither of you made any effort to break it. You quickly removed his armour, setting it delicately on the table beside you. “Sit.”
You stood in front of him, leaning down to dress his wounds. His hands ached to reach out and pull you into his lap, but he made no effort; he simply stared. The memory of when you first met played over and over in his mind as you spoke. “Was the battle difficult?”
He nodded, hissing as you disinfected a cut. You mumbled a quiet apology. “It was quite the scene. A dragon’s fight is something I hope you never witness.” You simply hummed, concentrating on the cut. “Did you fare well while I was away?”
You tensed, nodding quickly. “As well as one can when their husband leaves without a word.”
Ah. So that is why you had not jumped into his arms when he'd arrived. Gwayne had wondered why he was not making his wife sigh and gasp from his delicate touch. “I thought it was best if-”
“You thought wrong,” You murmured, walking over to the bowl of clean water. He couldn’t fight it anymore, reaching out to grab your hips. You gasped but made no effort to look down.
“Please forgive me.” He tightened his hold, dropping his head against your stomach. “I did not want to wake you.”
“So I was told.” He looked up, and you explained. “Your sister.”
“You looked so peaceful; I did not wish to see you cry.”
You laughed humourlessly. “And who said that I would waste any tears on you?”
He sat back, clutching his chest playfully. “You wound me, wife.”
You scoffed, squirming in his hold. “You cannot charm me into forgiving you.”
“I made no such claim.”
“Yes, well.” You sighed, pulling out of his arms and rinsing the rag. “You thought it. Of that, I am sure.”
He smiled. Your spirit had always drawn him in. From the first day you met, you had not withered at the sight of a lord. You held your ground, standing strong. “Withering is for flowers,” You told him. “I am no flower.”
He laughed, placing a daisy behind your ear. “No. But you are as pretty as one.”
How he wished you could go back to then, when everything was simpler. When the thought of dragon fire didn’t threaten your very lives- your children’s lives.
You found your way back in front of him. This time, he put his hands on your hips, pulling you into his lap. Your cheeks grew hot as your gaze fell to his neck, discovering a rather nasty bruise. “My love, please look at me.”
“I cannot.” You shook your head defiantly. “I am angry at you.”
He whispered your name before holding your cheek, caressing it gently with his thumb.
“Don't!” You yelped like you'd been burned, jumping up. “You do not get to touch me like that. You left me!” You pointed at him in an accusatory manner. “I woke up, and you were gone. No note, no kiss goodbye. What if you had died?” You scoffed. “But no, ‘I looked too peaceful to wake.’ That is a horrid excuse. You are a coward, Gwayne Hightower. A coward.”
Gwayne stood up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Now, wait just a moment-”
You hit his chest, tears streaming down your face. “How could you? Do you know how worried sick I was? Do you?”
“Stop this.”
You shook your head, continuing to beat at his chest. “Don’t ever do-”
He grabbed your wrists, stopping you. “Stop this madness.” His voice was gentle, with not a trace of anger or annoyance.
You sobbed, shaking in his hold. “You mongrel. Let me-”
“I understand that you are upset, my darling. But surely you realize this is not the solution.” He lowered his head, your lips inches apart. “I wanted to remember my happy girl. No tears. Surely, you cannot blame me for that.”
“I wouldn’t have cried,” You murmured, still fighting against his hold.
“As opposed to what you are doing now?”
You glared at his chest. “You are without a doubt the most-” Releasing one of your wrists, he brought his hand to your chin, raising your head. When you still refused to look at him, he leaned down, peppering your face with soft, gentle, affectionate kisses until you finally gave way to his love.
“I have to admit, I was rather disappointed at the reception I received.”
“If only you had left a note,” You mumbled. “Never do that to me again. Promise me, Gwayne.”
He nodded, kissing each of your knuckles gently. “I swear to you.”
You wanted to take him to bed, admire his form, and thank the gods, old and new, that he was with you and not dead on a battlefield. In reality, he still had many cuts that had to be tended to, not to mention the stench of the battlefield that still stubbornly clung to his skin.
“You need a bath.”
“Are you insinuating that I smell?” Gwayne tilted his head, a jesting look on his face. You nodded, giggling.
“Terribly.”
He groaned, releasing you from his hold. “Very well.”
You couldn’t help but wince as you watched him peel off his shirt. “Let me help you.”
“I can do it-” You glared, and he gave in immediately. “Fine, fine.”
You smiled, carefully untying the top before lifting his shirt. Your cheeks grew hot; his torso was still as muscular as the day you were married. Throwing his shirt on the ground, your breath caught. His eyes were piercing yours once more, drawing you in. You took a shaky breath, kissing a cut on his chest gently. “Does this hurt?”
It was his turn for his breath to catch. He shook his head, words failing. Another cut, another bruise; you followed the trail until it stopped at a cut on his lower lip.
“My noble boy.” You kissed his lip lightly, sending shivers down the brave knight’s spine. This time, when he gave you the look, you couldn’t resist it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to yours. “I missed you so.”
He groaned, pulling you flush against him. “I’m so sorry, my darling. Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I was acting a fool.” You sighed as he nipped at your neck. “Gwayne, the bath…”
“I promise you I will bathe, but if I do not have you this instant, I will simply combust.”
He walked you to the door (more like stumbled), locking it whilst trying to kiss you.
“Take me to bed, Gwayne.”
“I will, I will, but first…” He turned you around, undoing your laces quickly. “Good god, woman, how many laces can a dress have?”
You laughed, throwing your head back. “Woman?”
“Forgive me. My lady, light of my life, darling, love-”
Now you were fully cackling, spinning around so you could smother his face with affection. “Let us retire, please.”
He nodded, the laces finally coming undone. You stumbled backward, drawing him in with your spell.
He tapped his chin, tilting his head. “I was about to do something.”
You raised your eyebrows. “I believe, my lord husband, you were about to ravish me.”
He grinned, stalking towards you like a lion to its prey. “Thank you, my lady, for reminding me.”
AN: 🩵♥️💗 - I read "chose me" by @entitled-fangirl and had to write something similar for gwayne!! this could also be read as part of the come back to me universe, but you do not have to read any other fic to understand the context!!
You watched from the dark hall, your heart fluttering as your husband leaned back in his chair, exposing his neck and upper chest. Pregnancy awoke a dangerous animal inside you, one that craved Gwayne to be near you at all times.
Instead, he sat in his office.
You could not necessarily blame him; it was hard work, taking care of Old Town in place of his uncle’s absence. Seeing as his cousin had died recently and his other cousin was off at court, Gwayne would now stand second in line to inherit the Hightower title, and he all but jumped at the chance to begin training.
But as of late, it seemed as if you needed him more than he needed you. Mere thoughts seemed to drown out your happiness; every attempt to block them futile. The larger your stomach grew, the closer you got to the inevitable.
You cleared your throat, making yourself known to your husband. “Gwayne?”
He looked up, smiling brightly. “My love! You should be in bed.” He stood up, ushering you over to a cushion. You couldn't help but glare, allowing him to coddle you for the time being.
“I am not inept.”
“I know, darling.” He knelt in front of you, kissing the back of your hand gently. “But you also know that I cannot help but worry for you.” He caressed your stomach, whispering. “And how is our little one?”
“You have no need to worry, I assure you. The Maesters say the babe is perfectly healthy; there is no cause for concern.”
“And you?” He kissed your hand once more, his tone softer than before. “How do you fare?”
You were taken aback by that question, avoiding a direct answer entirely. “You must not worry about me.”
“That is my job as your husband.” He walked back to his desk, putting out the flickering candle. “And Maesters are not always correct.”
“That is a rather skeptical view.” You grabbed the chair's armrests and pushed yourself up. Gwayne glared.
“Please ask for my aid next time you plan on standing.”
“Shall I ask you to help me relieve myself as well?” You glared back. “I love you; you know that I do. But I am not a frail piece of straw. I will not break from a mere gust of wind.”
“You are carrying the future heir to the Hightower name, my dear.”
Terms like that make you uneasy. That is all you heard all day. ‘Future heir,’ ‘Hightower name,’ ‘a boy.’ You'd heard them a hundred times, and it never failed to make you feel like a mere vessel for the House of Hightower, instead of a person, instead of a mother.
You simply wanted a moment of peace where you weren't reminded how little you mattered in this situation. A tight smile graced your lips, and all humor once held in your tone vanished. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”
He grabbed your hand, walking slowly out of the office. “All I ask is that you take care. If not for me, then for the sake of our child.”
“I am careful.” You glared. “You know this. It’s not as if I go looking for things to hurt the babe. Do not treat me like a child to be watched over.”
He rubbed a thumb over the back of your hand. “I do not mean to upset you-”
“Well, you have.” You scoffed. “You have somehow managed to insult my care for your future line and my child in one blow. It is astonishing, truly. I applaud you.”
“You know that was not my intention.” He shut your bedroom door, removing his shirt. You tried to keep yourself from blushing at the sight, but when he looked like that, it was hard not to. He knelt in front of you, holding both of your hands in his. “I am sorry.”
You hummed, walking away and sitting in front of your vanity. He followed after you like a lovesick fool. “Yes, well, I suppose I forgive you.”
He grinned, dropping his head to leave a gentle kiss in the crook of your neck. “I am glad of it.”
The woods were peaceful, a nice retreat from the bustle of Old Town. Your velvet green dress dragged behind you as you strolled along the frequently traveled path. You hummed, closing your eyes and listening to the sound of the trees swaying.
There was a lake nearby that you desperately wanted to swim in. Since your marriage to Gwayne, you'd found yourself here more often than not, letting yourself float in the water and stare into the sky. Pushing the tall grass out of your way, the clearing stretch out before you, the lake at the center. You grinned, joy coursing through your veins as you ran down the hill.
Gwayne called out your name, breaking through the quiet tranquility of the forest. “Where are you?”
Your smile fell, remembering the entire reason you'd even been ‘allowed’ to go on this excursion. He’d only let you go if he came along. You sighed, turning around and walking back up the hill. “Coming, my love.”
The auburn-haired man smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Where did you run off to?”
“The clearing.” Your hands made their way to his chest, tracing shapes on his doublet. “I was thinking, perhaps you could join me for a swim. It is the perfect day for it.”
“I woul-”
“My lord.” Your guard’s voice echoed through the forest. You groaned, letting your head fall against your husband’s chest. Gwayne kissed the top of your head, smiling sympathetically. “Another time, I swear to you.” His finger hooked under your chin, his eyes as serious as you'd ever seen them. “You look far too melancholy, my love.”
You frowned. “Well, perhaps if-”
“My lord, I’m sorry, but it is most urgent.”
Gwayne sighed, intertwining his hand with yours as he trudged back to the horses. “What is it?”
The Maester’s Wing was dim, with just a few candles keeping light. Gwayne had been summoned to settle a squabble between the townfolk, leaving you to visit the old man yourself. You tapped your foot against the stone floor, waiting for the Maester to ask you the questions you'd been dreading.
But those questions never came.
“My lady.”
You smiled. “Maester Jon, it is wonderful to see you.” Your hands gently held your stomach. “Tell me, any developments my husband or I should be aware of?”
“Unfortunately, yes, my lady.” He sat down. “It seems, from what we can tell so far, that the birth may result in a breech pregnancy.” Your blood ran cold, and your breath caught. “A breech pregnancy may result in a choice needing to be made.” He leaned forward, a sympathetic look on his face. “Do you understand what this means, my lady?”
You nodded, standing up quickly. “I do. Thank you, Maester Jon. I shall relay the news to my lord husband.”
You gave one last glance at the dark corner before practically running out of the wing. Bursting through the hall doors, you were glad to see that dinner was in full swing. No one paid attention to you as you walked in, and you were thankful for it.
There, at the head of the hall, sat Gwayne, eyes drooping, visibly exhausted from his duties.
Who were you to worry him anymore than he already was?
You sat beside your husband, kissing his cheek. “How was your day, my love?”
“Infinitely better, now that you are here.” He smiled. “How was the visit?”
You took a large sip of wine. “Well. All is well.” You reached out, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. “I love you.”
His cheeks turned pink as he squeezed back. “I love you much more, my darling.”
You laughed, your eyes watering ever so slightly. “I do not think that is possible.”
Your heart clenched as you looked into his eyes, searching for a hint, a sign that calmed your nerves. If he chose the babe, you would die of heartbreak before you bled out on the childbed.
Since learning of the news, you'd been restless, barely sleeping, and often waking before the sun.
Its bright rays peeked through the curtains, illuminating your skin. The warmth soothed you for a moment, but it was just that, a moment.
The babe kicked harshly, a quiet groan leaving your lips. You stared at the ceiling, thinking that in just a few short weeks, you'd be giving birth in this very bed, staring at the very same ceiling.
It had always been described to you as horrible and painful beyond recognition. And now that you were carrying an heir, which could possibly result in a breech birth, you almost wished you could go back to when you first met Gwayne and stop yourself. When you didn’t have to worry about what you did or where you went, you could just be free.
He would be pressured into choosing the child over you; you knew this. Sometimes, when the need for an heir was strong, women had been carelessly cut open, left for dead. It had been done numerous times, most notably in your life, by King Viserys. Rhaenyra had told you of his actions: how he’d carelessly cut Aemma open, of how her mother bled out on the bed without ever getting to hold her babe.
You looked at your husband, fast asleep and dead to the world. His hair covered his eyes; his face shoved into the pillow haphazardly. You let out a watery laugh; he’d always slept like there was no tomorrow; it was heartwarming, to say the least. You leaned over, pushing the hair out of his face and kissing his forehead gently.
Rolling to your side, you stood, careful not to wake him. Pulling on your deep green robe, you wiped the tears that had formed at the corners of your eyes. If anyone were to see that you had been crying, they would immediately tell Gwayne.
You made your way to the dining hall, eager to eat something of actual sustenance. After learning the news, you'd picked at your dinner, telling Gwayne it was because the babe made you nauseous. In a way, it had.
That was days ago.
The smell of bacon and eggs flooded your senses, and you rounded the corner, the doors of the hall wide open. Greeting the occasional servant who passed by, you sat down, eagerly piling food onto your plate.
“My lord.”
Your attention was drawn to the threshold of the hall, smiling at the sight of your husband. He looked angry. He stalked toward you, not even bothering to acknowledge the man who had greeted him.
Odd, he normally slept as long as he could before starting his day. No matter, you told yourself as you smiled brightly. “Good morning, my love.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is it a good morning?”
“Quite.” You tilted your head. “Why? Is something amiss?”
He nodded, crossing his arms. “I awoke, and my wife was gone. Imagine my surprise.”
You felt horrible leaving him; you could admit it. Fighting would only give him more cause to choose the babe over you. “I am sorry if I scared you.”
“You should be. And another-” He stopped, shock adorning his features. “You are sorry?”
“I should have woken you. It was my mistake.” You gestured to the chair next to you. “Please, join me.”
“I'm afraid I cannot. I must meet with the steward this morning.”
Your heart clenched. “I can join you if you’d like-”
“It is not necessary. I will only bore you.”
You murmured, reaching out to grab his hand. “You have never bored me.”
“You are kind, but I’m sorry; I cannot be distracted.” He grabbed a plate, haphazardly placing a biscuit and two pieces of bacon on top.
You scoffed, glaring at your lord husband. “I did not realize I was such a distraction.”
Your name left his lips, quietly begging for a chance to explain.
"Perhaps I should stay in my chambers for the remainder of my pregnancy. To keep you from further distraction.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
You stood, your eyes cold. “I know nothing of the sort.” You gazed over his shoulder, beckoning a servant. “Please move my things into the adjoining room. I will be sleeping there-”
Gwayne set his plate down, whipping around to glare at the servant. “Do not move her things.”
“My lady?” The young girl looked frightened, scared of the argument she was caught in the middle of.
You sighed, waving your hand in a dismissive motion. “It is all right.” You pushed out of your chair, stalking past your husband and out of the hall. “I shall do it myself.”
Gwayne yelled your name, abandoning his plate to run after you. “Come back here at once.”
You ignored him, walking faster. The stairs proved to be a challenge, holding the railing tight. Gwayne placed a hand on your back. “Let me-”
You flinched, pushing him away. “Don’t.”
He mumbled under his breath. “You may hate me all you want after this.”
“After what-” He hooked his arm under your legs, carrying you up the remainder of the stairs. “Gwayne Hightower! You put me down right now!”
The top of the stairs had not come soon enough; you practically leaped out of his arms. Bursting into your joint chambers, you filled your trunk with as many of your things as it could carry. Gwayne sighed, watching from the doorway. “Will you please just-”
“I will leave you to your devices, my lord. I hope your meetings prove well spent.” With one final drag of the trunk, you huffed, standing tall as you slammed the door in his face.
That had been three days ago. Other than the meals you shared or meetings you were both forced to attend, you had steered clear of your husband.
For the better part of today, he would be in a meeting with the patrons of Old Town, or so you'd heard from your servant, who'd been giving you information on his whereabouts.
You took that as an opportunity, racing out of the castle’s gates. Squealing with utter glee, you cut through the tall grass once more, racing down the hill towards the lake. You threw your dress off, your petticoat barely concealing your modesty. Not that anyone would see; this part of the wood was only known by the Hightower family.
The water did wonders for your nerves, cooling your skin and calming your mind. Your hair had grown past your waist, and so it flowed in the water like the tall grass that surrounded the oasis.
You floated for what seemed like hours; the babe had not stirred once. You hummed, caressing your bump gently. “It is quite peaceful here, is it not?”
A kick.
You grinned, your eyes tearing up. “Please, try your best to make this an easy birth. It would break my heart not to meet you.” Your voice grew thick. “But if that is the case, do not worry. Your father’s a good man; he’ll raise you well.”
No kick.
You laughed, scolding the babe. “Do not ignore your mother. It’s quite disrespectful.”
A kick.
You nodded in agreement. “I miss him too, my love.”
A voice broke through the silence. “Miss who, exactly?”
You jumped, standing in the water. “My lord, I did not expect you-”
“I was in a meeting when a guard informed me you were running out of the castle gates.” His face looked conflicted, like he'd heard more than you intended. You did not wish to address it, so you remained silent. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
So he had heard.
You smiled, trying your best to act as if nothing was wrong. “I do not know what you are referring to, my lord.”
“Stop.” Gwayne's jaw clenched, his hand twitching. “You have not called me that since our courting days, and I do not wish for you to begin again.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Please come out of the lake.”
You huffed, walked past his hand to your dress, every attempt to retrieve it proving futile. Your stomach had grown too large to bend over, and your legs were too weak to squat. “Here.” Gwayne knelt down, retrieving it from the stump. “What exactly would you have done if I hadn’t been here?”
“I would have found a way, thank you very much.” You glared, pulling the frock over your head. “Do you not have another meeting to attend?”
“I canceled them.” He let out a humourless laugh, stepping forward. “After I heard my wife was running away from our home, I thought it best to tend to the matter myself.”
“How wise of you.” You crossed your arms.
“Shall we go to bed?”
“I am not tired.” You walked up the hill, leaving him behind. “I hope you have a restful night, my lord.”
You slammed your bedroom door shut, leaning against it.
You had lied to Gwayne; exhaustion had crept into your bones long before he had offered to retire for the night.
You walked over to the window, placing the bouquet of wildflowers you'd picked on the mantle. A reminder of the freedom you once had. A reminder of life before you faced death itself.
A knock pulled you from your thoughts. “May I come in?”
You tensed. “If you must.” You did not face him as he entered, too scared to show him your true feelings. If you looked at him, truly looked at him, his eyes boring into yours, you knew you would begin to cry. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I have to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly.”
You nodded, walking away from the window to place your cloak back in your wardrobe. “Ask it, then.”
“Do you still love me?”
Your heart stopped. “I-”
Gwayne stepped forward, wrapping a singular arm around your waist. He drew you in, his scent engulfing your senses. You fought yourself not to fall for his spell, but as he leaned his head down and his breath hit your neck, you knew that you would not last much longer. “If you do not, speak it plainly because I- I cannot go on like this any longer.”
You turned in his hold, placing your hands on his chest. “I do not believe I could ever stop loving you. Trust me when I say this.” Your smile was weak. “I’m afraid it is terminal.”
“Ah.” He let out a deep sigh of relief. “Then what is it that troubles you so?”
“I do not know what you-”
“I beg you, do not finish that sentence.” He tilted your chin up, worry in his eyes. “What ails you, my love?”
“I am simply nervous.” You could not be in his arms any longer. The more you lingered in his embrace, the more compelled you would feel to tell him. “It is nothing, I swear to you.”
He raised his eyebrows, pulling your hands from his chest and kissing them gently. “Please do not lie to me.”
Seven hells, you were weak. “The night I visited the Maester; he told me something.” He nodded. “He said that, with the way the pregnancy is progressing, it is possible that the babe will be born breech.” Your voice grew quieter the longer you spoke.
“That’s not all, is it?”
You pushed out of his hold, putting as much distance between the two of you as the room would allow. “I’m so sorry, Gwayne. Truly, I am. Please forgive me-” A sob racked through your body. “But I want to live. Please.”
Gwayne's skin turned pale as he tilted his head. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I know I have been acting irrationally as of late, and I apologize; I just thought-” You hiccuped. “I thought it would make your choice easier.”
“What choice, darling?”
You whispered. “Between me and the babe.”
“Why would I-” It dawned on him. Had you really been dealing with this all by yourself? “Oh, my sweet girl. Why did you not tell me?”
“I didn’t want to cause you any further stress.” You hugged yourself. “Please, Gwayne. I swear I will give you another heir if this pregnancy-” You shivered. “Just don’t cut me. I beg you.”
He dropped to his knees before you, grabbing your hands in his. “Listen to me well. I could sire a hundred children, but you. You are one of a kind, the absolute love of my life, and I will always choose you.” He kissed the back of your hands once more. “Irreplaceable. You must know this.”
“No one is truly irreplaceable, Gwayne.”
He stood, his eyes dark. “Do not say such things about yourself ever again. Swear it to me.”
“I-”
“Swear it.” He whispered your name.
“I swear.” You replied, your cheeks hot. “I swear to you.”
He nodded, smiling lightly. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For coddling you.” He stepped closer, caressing your bump. “I am scared as well. My own mother had many a difficult pregnancy, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“I am sorry as well.” You placed a hand on his cheek. “I should have come to you with my worries. I did not want to burden you. And I will make sure you have your heir. I promise you that.”
“I do not care if the Hightower name crumbles away into nothingness. As long as you are content, I will be as well.” He leaned down, your foreheads touching. “There would be no point to any of this without you. I fear I could not rule if you were not by my side.”
“You have been doing perfectly fine as of late.” You gulped. "I truly am sorry.”
“No more of that.” He whispered, staring at your lips. “May we please go to bed?”
You nodded, knowing that if you tried to speak, words would fail. You lay on the bed beside him, tracing the freckles on his cheeks. “Sleep, my love.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, humming contentedly. “I will be here when you wake, I promise.”
I was wondering (since the narnia requests are open) if you could write something about Edmund x fem!Reader 🥹. Like in their teenage years when the Pevensies just started ruling Narnia, reader could be a villager or something like that! Whatever you feel like writing -🛸
HELLO!!
loved this request sm that it has inspired me to write a series of blurbs about edmund.
edmund pevensie falls in love at first sight - drabble #1
💗 - pining, edmund is a #dork, banter, FLUFFFFF, love at first sight trope, peasant x king trope, and just a tad of forbidden love, edmund pevensie x fem!reader (i'm thinking of writing a bunch more blurbs that span the course of their relationship, so stay tuned!)
word count: 785
"The king is visiting today."
You hummed, uninterested in anything other than your job at hand. "How wonderful."
"I wonder which one it will be." Your little sister, Melina, giggled. "They are both terribly handsome, so it really does not matter which-"
"Do you not have a list of chores to do?" You dusted your hands off, settling them on your hips. "Or was that something I dreamt up?"
"You are no fun." She frowned. "Dreaming of chores sounds dreadfully boring. Do you not ever dream of anything fun?"
"I do." Your smile was tight. "But I find that I do not have much time for fun between managing the bakery and you."
"Well, if I marry a king, you wouldn't have to manage the bakery any longer." She obviously felt no guilt about avoiding her chores. You couldn't help the glare that formed as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"I assure you, my dear girl, that neither of the kings will fall in love with you at a single glance."
"You never know-"
"You are but ten years of age. They are both more than six years your senior. Now please run along and start your chores before the king arrives. We don't want them thinking we live in a pigsty, do we?"
"Certainly not." She shot out of her chair.
You hoped the kings would visit more often. Then you wouldn't have to put so much effort into convincing your sister to finish her chores.
...
The villagers of Cair Paravel gathered in the streets, eagerly awaiting their moment with the king.
You wished for this to be over, in truth. The sun beat down on you harshly, and you could feel the sweat building up on your brow.
"Have you changed?" Melina whispered.
"No." You scoffed. "I have not."
"You have." The little girl smirked. "And you fixed your hair. And you-" She gasped, laughing at the top of her lungs. "You put something on your cheeks."
"Lina, stop it." You hissed. "Please-"
"You like the king, you like the-" You slapped a hand over her mouth, borderline mortified as the boy approached.
Melina's eyes widened, dropping into a deep curtsy. "Your Grace."
You followed suit, murmuring a greeting.
"Ladies."
You stood, taking in his features. You had met the High King once, long ago. He used to buy sweet buns every day, claiming they were for his sister. You'd always catch him eating them out of the corner of your eye.
This was not the High King.
"It is wonderful to make your acquaintance, King Edmund." Melina's smile was the brightest you'd ever seen.
"And yours as well." King Edmund laughed. "Are you the owner of this bakery?"
Melina shook her head, pointing up to you. "That would be my sister, sire."
"Ah." He turned his head to you, his cheeks dusted pink. "You are beautiful."
You tilted your head. "I'm sorry?"
"I did not mean to say that out loud." Melina giggled at the flustered boy in front of you. "I- Let me start again."
"Of course, Your Grace."
"You- you are the owner of this shop then?"
You nod slowly, almost feeling sorry for him. "I am."
"My brother, he has often talked about your pastries. He says they are 'perfection itself.'" At that comment, you blush. "He has always had a flair for the dramatic."
"He was one of my best customers." You smiled. "I remember him well."
An unrecognizable look flashes across the king's face, but you pay it no mind. Who are you to assume things about a man you'd just met?
"One of your best?" He tilted his head.
"I have not seen him in some time."
Edmund frowns. "We will have to remedy that."
"That would be wonderful, Your Grace."
"Will you be coming with him?" Melina whispers.
Edmund's eyes do not leave yours as he speaks. "If that would please you."
"Very much." Melina clings to your arm so tightly you think it will fall off from lack of circulation.
"My King." The king looks over his shoulder, smiling at the faun. "We have many to greet, and very little time."
"Yes, Mr. Tumnus. I am coming." Edmund almost sounds disappointed.
"Your Grace." You nod.
"My lady." The king smiles, pulling your hand to his lips; he leaves the gentlest kiss you've ever felt on the back of your hand. "Until we meet again."
"Until we meet again." You whisper, heat rising to your cheeks at a rapid pace.
Melina waits until the King is out of earshot to tease you. "Perhaps you shall marry a king."
"Lina!" You gasp, looking around to make sure no one has heard her. "You are a menace!"
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in which gwayne's wife misses her friends, and he remedies that by visiting during their nephew's second name day
PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader
WARNINGS: tension between childhood friends, fluff, reuniting, allusions to nsfw, FLUFF GALORE
WORD COUNT: 4.3k
🎶 : birds of a feather - billie eilish
AN: 💗 - this could also be read as part of the come back to me universe, but you do not have to read any other fic to understand the context!!
Your stomach twisted with excitement as the ever-familiar view of King’s Landing came into view. After two years, you'd finally returned to the place you'd called home for fourteen years.
You nervously fidgeted with the fabric of your dress, eager to leave the carriage and reunite with your friends. As much as you loved your husband, you'd missed your friends more than you thought possible, and when Gwayne had mentioned you'd been invited to your nephew’s second name day, you had begged him to accept on your behalf.
He smiled, admiring you with a tilt of his head. “You seem eager.”
You grinned; your husband’s teasing would not place a damper on your happiness. “I am. I’ve missed them more than I care to say.”
He raised an eyebrow, laughing. “Do I really bore you so?”
“Yes. You are quite boring.” You smirked. “If only I had a handsome, younger husband to entertain me. Instead, I am stuck with-” His lips attacked yours, and you cackled, throwing your head back in an attempt to escape his affection. “You know I adore you.”
“And I you.” He whispered, nuzzling his nose against yours. “I believe that we have arrived.”
You squealed, straightening your dress. “After you, husband.”
Gwayne descended the carriage steps before extending his hand towards you. “My lady.”
You smiled, silently thanking the gods for such a dutiful and kind husband. With him by your side, you felt like a princess, and the way he looked at you never ceased to weaken your resolve to mush. “Thank you, my love.”
Alicent, Viserys, and Otto stood at the foot of the castle doors, smiling as you paid your respects.
“My lord.” Gwayne nodded.
“Your Grace.” You curtsied. “It is most gracious of you to have extended this invitation.”
Viserys laughed. “Nonsense. I’ve considered you part of my family for many years now.”
“That is very kind, thank you.”
Alicent smiled, stepping forward to take your hands into hers. “I have missed you so.”
“I’ve missed you as well, Your Grace. It has been far too long.”
Alicent's smile faltered at the use of her title, but she made no mention of it, simply nodding in agreement. “Please, come. We have much to celebrate.”
“Yes, indeed.” You hooked your arm through hers. “How is little Aegon?”
Alicent’s smile did not reach her eyes. “Well.”
You lowered your voice. “And you? How are you?”
“I am-” Viserys waved his hand, summoning her from across the room. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
“Of course.” You nodded. “I’ll be here.”
“So?” Gwayne popped up beside you, wrapping his arm loosely around your waist. “How goes my dear sister?”
“She’s-” You frowned, leaning into his hold. “She seems well.”
Gwayne hummed. “Perhaps we should go fawn over the young prince.”
“I believe I will take a walk around the grounds.”
He buried his face in your hair. “Would you like me to come with you?”
You shook your head. “Stay. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your family.”
He laughed. “You are my family now.”
Your cheeks grew hot. You often forgot that fact. “I love you.”
“I love you much more, my dear.”
A melodic tune echoed down the hall, enticing you toward the Godswood.
You followed the voice until the familiar red leaves came into view. A young man sat at the foot of the tree, stroking the strings of his guitar softly. Not far from him sat a girl with silky white hair falling to her waist. You grinned, grabbing your skirts as you walked through the grass. “Rhaenyra!”
Your friend's head whipped towards the call, a menacing look in her eyes until she realized just who had called her name. Practically jumping to her feet, she ran to you, colliding into your arms. You laughed as you both fell to the ground. “I’ve missed you.” Her voice was thick with emotion as she hugged you. “Are you well?”
You nodded, pulling away so you could look at her, truly look at her. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you were smiling. “Very. I feel as if it’s been decades.”
Rhaenyra’s face looked melancholy. “It is selfish of me to say, but-” She sighed. “I wish you would have stayed.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Has something happened?”
She opened her mouth to speak before she huffed, turning to glare at the musician. “Did I tell you to stop playing?”
“No, Princess.”
“Again, from the beginning.” She stood up, pulling you along with her. “I feel as though I am utterly alone here.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true, Rhaenyra,” You whispered. “Have you spoken to Alicent?”
The princess scoffed. “I would rather fling myself off of the tallest tower.”
You glared playfully, smacking her arm. “Rhaenyra!”
Rhaenyra giggled, sitting against the tree's trunk once more. “What?”
You settled just below her, staring at her earnestly. “You mustn’t say such things.”
“Are you going to run and tell her?”
“You know that I would never do that to you. Just as I know that you still hold great love for Alicent." You smiled sympathetically. “You were once great friends.”
She nodded. “Yes. Once. Before she married my father. But enough about me. You must tell me of your adventures.”
You laughed. “There’s not much to tell other than the fact that I am inexplicably happy. He is kind to a fault and truly respects me and my opinion.” You smiled, leaning against one of the many pillows that surrounded you. “It is quite refreshing to know such a soul compared to the men we encountered in our youth.” Rhaenyra hummed, staring at her book, and you smirked, nudging her. “And has the princess found interest in anyone as of late?”
She laughed lightly, flipping a page. “The men brought before me are insulting. I want-”
“Your Grace.” The singer stood, bowing.
Rhaenyra didn’t bother looking up from her book. “Did I say to stop? From the beginning.”
Your eyes widened, but you made no comment. You were severely outranked, and there was no possible way that you could come out of this situation unscathed if you spoke up. The man continued yet again.
“Rhaenyra?” Alicent's gentle voice called out.
The princess huffed. “Yes, my queen?”
“Your presence is wanted in the outer courtyard. The royal hunt readies to depart.”
“I’ve decided to stay here and read instead.”
You placed a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “I only accepted the invitation because I knew you would be attending.” You whispered. “Please.”
Alicent had evidently had enough of the man's singing, because she excused him from the clearing. “You may go, Samwell.”
“You are to stay by order of the princess.”
You felt as if you should leave. It was uncomfortable enough being stuck between the two when Alicent was first promised to Viserys, and now, two years later, the tension was practically visible between the two former friends. You began to stand, and Rhaenyra hissed, pulling you back down. “Don’t.”
“The queen commands you to leave the Godswood at once.” Samwell nodded, leaving without another word. You sincerely wished to thank Alicent; his voice was quite annoying once you heard the same song three times over. “The king wishes for you to join us.”
“The king has much to celebrate; he does not need me.”
“He wants for us all to be together. Perhaps the hunt could be… fun.”
You nodded, looking back at Rhaenyra. “Together again.”
The princess sighed, looking up from her book. “Is it the king’s command?”
“Yes, but it-”
She huffed, standing up. “Then at once, Your Grace.”
“But it needn’t be.” Alicent looked positively miserable. “None of it needs be this way in truth, Rhaenyra.”
The blonde girl looked at you once more, nodding. “I shall see you at the hunt.” Without sparing so much as a look at the queen, she retreated out of the Godswood, her hair swishing as she stepped.
You linked your arm through your sister-in-law’s. “Let me help you to the courtyard. I’m sure, being this far along, things have begun to hurt.”
Alicent smiled. “It is easier the second time, but I would appreciate the company nevertheless.”
“Have you thought of any names?”
“I must admit, I haven’t put much effort into that as I should.”
“I’m sure you have a busy schedule.” You smiled sympathetically. “If you’d like, we can conjure some up while we attend the hunt.”
“I’d like that.” She leaned her head on your shoulder. “I’d like that very much.”
The royal carriage pulled into the campsite, the courtesans gathering around to greet them. Viserys exited first, followed by Alicent and Aegon. You tilted your head, leaning over and whispering in your husband's ear. “Where is Rhaenyra?”
He simply shrugged, clapping loudly. His uncle grinned. “Hail, hail, Aegon the Conquerer Babe, second of his name! Here’s to his grace on his second name day!”
Viserys smiled brightly, raising his son into the air. Thunderous applause echoed through the woods, but you could not bring yourself to be quite as enthusiastic.
It seemed as if everything was off, entirely different than how you'd left it. Minutes later, the crowd dispersed, but you had stayed, approaching the royal carriage. “May I come in?”
Rhaenyra nodded, staring at the ground. “I will never understand why Father has forced me to come along.”
You placed a comforting hand over Rhaenyra’s. “Your father has always wished for his family to be happy and together.” You laughed. “Although he has a rather odd way of showing it.”
Rhaenyra sighed, leaning her head back against the carriage wall. “Must I really go into the lion's den and entertain these lords and ladies?”
“It is the life of being a princess, I imagine.” You frowned empathetically. “One day, you will be queen, and you will be able to attend things at your leisure.”
“When I am queen, we will not have hunts like these; I can assure you.” She smirked, looking out the open door. “I suppose I should leave the carriage.”
“It would be wise, Princess.” You grinned, nudging your friend. “If you need me, send word, and I will come.”
You stood, curtsying when Rhaenyra called out. “I need you.”
You laughed. “Shall I accompany you, Your Highness?”
“Yes.” Rhaenyra stood, linking her arm with yours. “You shall.”
You walked down the steps together, entering the large red tent directly in front of you. You leaned over, whispering in your friend's ear. “It is quite extravagant for a second name day. I doubt your brother will remember this.”
The princess nodded, walking further into the tent. Voices could be heard gossiping, but one, predictably, stood out amongst the rest. Ceira Lannister’s proud tone interrupted Lady Redwyne’s. “Lady Johanna was reported to have been abducted when one of Lord Swann’s ships sailed through the Stepstones.”
“What will happen to Lady Johanna?”
“She’s to be sold to a pillow house in the Free Cities if you believe the rumors.”
A man’s voice spoke. “I fear the gods did not make me for hunting. Might I sit with you, my ladies?”
“But of course, please join us.” Alicent smiled. She had always been kind-hearted. “Larys Strong, youngest son of our master of laws, Lord Lyonel.”
“My lord husband says that no king has been able to tame the Stepstones for long. It’s an inhospitable place suited only for savages.” You and Rhaenyra rounded the lobby, peeking in through the curtains.
“Perhaps the Princess…” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, almost groaning at the prospect of having to interact with these ladies. “Could provide us with some insight.”
You stepped through, smiling. Rhaenyra laughed. “I’m not sure how I could; I’ve never been to the Stepstones.”
“Your dear uncle is the great mind behind this war. Is he not?”
You smiled condescendingly. “Are we so quick to relate family members to their relatives' wrongdoings? I seem to remember, Lady Lannister, not long ago, your own son, Lord Jason, almost burned the city’s sept to the ground.” You tilted your head in faux curiosity. “Were you the great mind behind that exhibition?”
Lady Lannister huffed. “I say, that is most-”
Rhaenyra tensed. “I have not spoken to Daemon in years.”
The older woman's face turned sour. “Since you supplanted him as heir, I imagine.”
Alicent’s eyebrows rose. “Daemon made his choices, Lady Ceira. The princess was more suited to the role.”
Lady Redwyne sighed. “He’s made a mess, and the King must put an end to it. Send fleets and men and clear out the triarchy for good.”
You murmured. “I was not aware you were the master of war.”
Rhaenyra tilted her head. “But the crown is not at war.”
“The crown is at war, Princess. Though your father refuses to admit it, we’ve been dragged into it by your Uncle and the Sea Snake.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but Rhaenyra beat you to it. “And how have you served the realm as of late, Lady Redwyne? By eating cake?”
Rhaenyra waited for no response, dragging you outside as you laughed. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere but here.” She rolled her eyes. “None of those ladies have any idea what it is like to rule. What makes them think they can speak as if they do?”
“It is just what they do, Your Highness. And no one is a better gossip than the ladies we just encountered.”
You came to a stop by the fire, staring into it as you became entranced. “I wonder, Princess-” You fought the urge to groan. You were already annoyed with the members of court, and you had only been in King's Landing for a day. You now completely understood why Rhaenyra acted the way she'd been acting as of late. “Was your own second name day as grand as this?”
“I honestly don’t recall, and neither will Aegon.”
The man stood, bowing before her. “Lord Jason Lannister.”
Rhaenyra smiled politely. “I gathered that from all the lions.”
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He snapped, ushering over his servant. What a pompous man, you thought to yourself. You pitied the poor woman who would have to marry him. You began to pull your arm out of Rhaenyra’s when she tightened her grip, sending you a subtle cry for help. You would have laughed if your company were not present.
“Your twin serves on my father’s council.”
“Tyland is frightfully dull; Gods love him.” He handed the pair of you cups, smiling proudly. “The finest honeyed wine you’ll ever taste. Made in Lannisport, of course.”
Rhaenyra smiled back sarcastically. “Of course.”
“The Kingswood, it’s fine hunting ground. But the best spot is to be found at Casterly Rock, near my home.”
You raised a brow. “I beg pardon, my lord, but I believe you are mistaken. The woods surrounding Old Town have been known for centuries as the kingdom's best hunting ground.” Your smile was sickeningly sweet as you spoke. “King Jaehaerys himself often visited for the very same purpose.”
The Lannister man smiled politely, whispering to Rhaenyra. “Might we talk alone, Princess?”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “Lady Hightower is a good friend, my lord. Anything you wish to say may be said in front of her as well.”
He sighed, going back to his obviously (over) prepared speech. “Have you been to Casterly Rock?”
“Once, on tour with my mother when I was young, and I honestly cannot recall much of that either.”
“The Rock is thrice the height of the Hightower in Oldtown.” At this, you had rolled your eyes. “Taller still than the Wall in the North. It’s been said that if one were to stand in the tower on a perfect day, one could see clear across the Sunset Sea.”
“It must be quite something.”
“I don’t have a Dragonpit, of course, but I do have the means and resources to build one.”
Seven Hells. Your heart dropped as realization set in. He was proposing to Rhaenyra. The Princess tilted her head. “Why would you need a Dragonpit?”
“To house Dragons, of course.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d do anything for my queen or lady wife.”
You whispered. “Rhaenyra, perhaps we should-”
Rhaenyra smiled, handing him back your cups. “Thank you for the wine.” She stalked back to the tent, practically dragging you along with her.
“I think I’ll go find Gwayne for a moment,” You murmured. “I would prefer not to be stuck in the screaming match between you and your father.”
The princess simply nodded, letting go of your arm. You searched the room, a soft smile blooming on your lips as your husband came into view. “My love.”
He kissed the back of your hand. “Having fun?”
“I forgot how exhausting it is to be her companion.” You frowned. “It must be horrible to be put on such a high pedestal.”
Gwayne mumbled. “Imagine being the queen.”
You looked over at Alicent, who looked lost in a sea of vipers. “Imagine.”
Viserys’s voice carried above the rest, and you sighed, leaning your head on your husband's arm. “It’s starting.”
He looked puzzled. “What is, my dear?”
You lazily gestured over to the King and Princess, who were in a heated discussion for all to hear. “That is the reason I came to find you. I knew they’d start arguing. I cannot tell you the number of disagreements I was stuck in as a girl.” You shivered. “Targaryens have the blood of dragons in their veins, and it is quite evident when they are angry.”
The tent fell quiet, the whole of its inhabitants looking at the royals. Rhaenyra ran off, and Gwayne leaned down, whispering in your ear. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”
You shook your head, smiling sadly. “She always does best when she is by herself, given time to think.” You looked up, wiggling your eyebrows. “Besides, I’d rather be here with you.”
“Oh?” He smirked, his eyes dark. “That is nice to know.”
“It is, isn’t it?” You stood on your tiptoes, reaching for his lips. “I live to serve you.”
He rolled his eyes. “We both know that’s not true. Quite the opposite, really.”
“Gwayne.”
"Hmm." He hummed.
“Stop talking and kiss me.”
“Yes, my lady.” He leaned down, kissing you deeply, your neck bending back to make more room for his kiss. “Shall we retire early?”
You gasped, hitting his chest in faux disgust. “It is only half past two.”
“And?”
“Lady Hightower.”
You broke apart, smiling, albeit humiliated, at the King. “Your Grace.”
He grinned. “How have you been, my dear?”
“Well, my king.” You placed a hand on Gwayne’s chest, smiling up at him. “I have been very well.”
“Shall I be hearing news of a babe anytime soon?”
Your cheeks flushed, losing the ability to speak. Gwayne laughed. “Hopefully, Your Grace.”
Viserys laughed along with your husband. “Perhaps you could tell Rhaenyra how rewarding marriage has been for you.” He failed to hide his annoyance with the girl. “She is quite stubborn about the idea.”
“I’m sure she will come around in time, Your Grace.” You smiled. “Rhaenyra understands the importance, and with a kind match, she will be more than happy to fulfill her duties. I am sure of it.”
Viserys nodded. “Enjoy the hunt.”
“We will. Thank you, Your Grace.” The king walked away, and Gwayne whispered. “Do you really believe she will be so willing?”
“Seven Hells, no,” You laughed. “I doubt she will marry willingly.”
He smiled. “Were you once that way?”
“I recall rejecting your first proposal.” You raised an eyebrow. “I never thought I would marry.”
“I'm surprised.”
“And why is that?”
He pulled you closer, a horribly loving look in his eyes. “I'm surprised that you did not have a line of suitors out of the castle.”
You laughed, kissing him on the cheek. “How sweet.”
Gwayne laughed at the Lords who were shoving food down their throats like it was their last meal. “I thank the gods every day that I am not Lord of Hightower.”
Your legs laid across his lap as you plopped a grape into your mouth. “And why is that, husband?”
“I would have to go on those dreadfully long and unfair hunts.” He mumbled. “You know as well as I that hunting in Old Town is just that: hunting. We do not strap the beast down; we actually track the animals.”
You smiled. “What a kind man you are.”
He glared. “Are you jesting?”
You gasped, holding a hand to your heart. “What would make you say such a thing? I am simply telling you how kind you are.”
“For some reason,” He leaned over. “I do not believe you.”
“Well, perhaps, dear husband.” You reached for his lips. “You should.”
“We should retire.” He whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “They do not need us.”
“I would love nothing more than to retire.”
He sighed. “But?”
“But I feel horrible leaving your sister by herself. Her husband…” You whispered. “Seems more preoccupied with his wine than her well-being at present.”
He dropped his head into your neck, groaning. “Must you be so considerate?”
“Yes.” You raked your fingers through his hair, kissing his temple. “I must. Now remove your head. I want to sit with your sister.”
He sat up straight, pouting. “You take the fun out of everything.”
“That’s not what you said a fortnight ago.” You smirked, a chill running down his spine. “After I spend some time with her, I will be yours and yours alone. I promise.”
“I look forward to it, then.”
You left his side, approaching her friend. “My Queen. May I sit?”
She nodded eagerly. “Please.” The cupbearer bowed before pouring her a glass. “Would you like some?”
“I believe if I have any more, I will not be able to walk.”
Alicent laughed. “Is my brother treating you well?”
“He is a good and gracious husband,” You smiled. “I wish you could have attended the wedding.”
“I do as well.” She sighed. “I fear I have less freedom than one would think a queen is allowed.”
“Surely Viserys understands your need to see family.” You lamented. “Perhaps we could convince him of a trip to the country.”
“Perhaps.” Alicent did not look hopeful. “He is rather preoccupied.”
“You have the ladies at court to keep you company, I hope?”
“Yes…” She sighed. “But I find that I have few true friends at the moment.”
“Alicent…” You held her hands, squeezing them tightly. “You have me.”
Her eyes watered. “I miss when we were girls, the three of us. Is that wrong to say?”
You shook your head. “Not in the slightest. I feel the same. Not a day goes by that I do not wish I could go back.”
“Does Gwayne not-”
“I love your brother, truly. But friendship, true friendship, is important. Good for the soul.”
Alicent grinned, tears falling as she leaned her forehead against yours. “Please write to me.”
“Of course.” You nodded. “Of course I will.”
“Sister?” The young queen sat up, smiling at her brother. “Are you all right?”
“I have missed your wife’s company.”
Gwayne grinned. "She is certainly something, isn't she?"
You blushed. “I’m glad we made the trip.”
Your husband stepped back. “I shall leave you two-”
His sister shook her head. “No need. I am retiring for the night.” She looked at you once more. “I will miss you.”
“I will miss you just as much.” Alicent walked away, and you practically jumped into your husband's embrace. “You have made me a very happy wife, Gwayne.”
“Well, I live to serve you.” He smirked. “You are my pride and joy.”
“You flatter me.”
“It is true. I am not a liar, as you well know.” He slung an arm across your shoulders. “Let us go to bed.”
“I am not the least bit tired.” You grinned mischievously. “Are you?”
“It would seem that I am not.” You giggled, racing out of his grasp towards the tent's exit. He ran after you, sweeping you off your feet once you were out of sight. You sighed contentedly, leaning your head against his chest.
“I'm glad we understand each other, my lord.”
He pushed through your tent's entrance, dropping you on the cushion as he hovered over you. “Have I told you how much I long for you?”
You shook your head.
He looked like a wolf about to pounce as he leaned down, whispering in your ear. “Let me show you.”
“Rhaenyra!” You called out, racing towards your friend. You hugged her quickly. “We were worried.”
“We?” The princess smirked. “Or my father?”
You frowned. “I will miss you dearly.”
“Have you not heard? I’m being sent on a tour to find a suitor of my choosing.”
“That’s wonderful. I knew your father would come around.”
She squinted. “My father said it was your words that made his mind.”
“I said that you would be more inclined to marry if you found a kind match.”
“Well, whatever you said, I am glad of it. One of the stops is Old Town.” She grinned. “I will see you in just a few short months.”
“I am counting the days.” Gwayne waved you over, and you hugged the girl quickly. “Princess.”
You ran into your husband's arms, grinning when he began to twirl you around. “You are quite bubbly this morning.”
You blushed, whispering in his ear. “I had a rather productive night.”
“Productive?” He raised an eyebrow. “I would say romantic.”
You nodded. “Yes, that too.” You walked up the steps of the carriage, gasping when he slammed the door behind him. “Perhaps I should show you the meaning of the word.”
You bit your lip, leaning back into your seat. “Yes. Perhaps you should.”
in which gwayne hightower meets his future wife, and his timing is most unfortunate
PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader
WARNINGS: fluff, young love, friends fighting, creepy viserys, horrible timing
WORD COUNT: 3.8k
🎶 : moonlight - ariana grande
AN: 🩵💛💗 - this could be read as a prequel to come back to me, but does NOT have to be read to understand any context!!
You were sitting on Rhaenyra's left, eagerly watching the tourney. The first two matches had finished rather similarly, with Sir Criston Cole being the winner.
What you'd been highly anticipating was Prince Daemon’s match. It was all Rhaenyra had talked about for days, and the fact that he’d gifted her a necklace of Valyrian steel, a rare and precious token that many in the realm could not afford. Of course, Rhaenyra and her family were the exception, as they were one of only two remaining great Valyrian houses left.
The knights of the realm lined up before the Prince, the Master of Revels, announced the man himself. “Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent.” The prince rode down the line, inspecting each knight briefly. He quickly settled on Alicent’s brother, Ser Gwayne. “For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King.”
Alicent immediately grew restless, picking at the skin surrounding her fingers. You wished you could comfort the auburn-haired girl yourself, but Rhaenyra grabbed your friend's hand quickly, stopping her from further injury. The two men lined up on their respective sides, racing towards each other.
Ser Gwayne released the first blow to the shock of the stands. You beamed, though you could not begin to understand why. You hardly knew the knight, only hearing of him through Alicent when she recalled her childhood.
The second round was quick, and at the last second, Prince Daemon lowered his lance in front of the horse's legs, causing it to topple over, taking Ser Gwayne down with it. You gasped, a hand covering your mouth. You mumbled, knowing that Rhaenyra would not stand for any untoward talk of her uncle. “By the Seven.”
Ser Gwayne did not move, and Alicent grew more anxious by the second. This time you did comfort your friend, squeezing her hand tightly. “He will be alright, Alicent, I know it.”
The squires lifted him from the ground, escorting him to the medicinal ward. You were sure that after he'd recovered from his rather urgent wounds, they would transfer him to the sept. You reminded yourself to visit the sept during his stay.
Prince Daemon approached the Royal apartment, and Rhaenyra jumped out of her seat, approaching her uncle excitedly. “Nicely done, Uncle.” You and Alicent followed suit, still squeamish from the horribly immoral act.
“Thank you, Princess.” Daemon acknowledged you with a nod. “My lady.”
“My Prince.”
He turned to Alicent. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.” Alicent walked away, and Daemon smiled at you once more. “Next tourney, my lady, I shall ask you.”
You laughed, knowing that his words were hollow. “I look forward to that day, my Prince.”
Alicent returned swiftly, placing her favor on the Prince’s joust. “Good luck, my Prince.”
The tourney had turned sour soon after, with three fights breaking out, all ending in death. The knights, who had never seen battle, were bloodthirsty and desperate to prove themselves. Or so you assumed.
You grew nauseous quickly, begging Rhaenyra for leave so you would not grow sick. Rushing out of the royal apartment, you decided to visit Ser Gwayne while you still had the nerve.
The tent was quiet, with the exception of a few masters concocting ointments. You peeked around the corner, coming face to face with Alicent’s brother. You curtsied quickly, bowing your head. “My lord.” He tried to sit up, and you tsked, stopping him. “Please, there is no need to further harm yourself.”
He smiled gratefully. “I must ask for your forgiveness, my lady; I do not recall meeting you.”
“I hail from House Hawthorne. I am a ward of the crown and a friend of your sister’s.”
“A pleasure, my lady.” He tilted his head. “Has she sent you here, then? To check on me in her stead?”
“Alicent remains at the tourney. I-” Heat rushed to your face as you realized how foolish your reasoning was. “I saw your joust. It was unfair what the Prince did to you, and I wanted to see that you were well. For Alicent’s sake.”
He nodded, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “For Alicent, of course. I must say, I have not heard of House Hawthorne.” You smiled, sitting beside him.
“We are located in the Westerlands, my lord, and are sworn to House Lannister.” You looked closer at his wound, wincing. “The gashes still look rather agitated. Would you mind if I-”
“Please. I would be most appreciative.”
You stood, sneaking a cloth and an herb you knew caused numbness. Wrapping it carefully, you dipped the cloth in water, tapping it lightly on his skin. “This should numb the pain, for now, my lord. I’ve also known this herb to speed the healing process along quite nicely.”
He hummed, closing his eyes. “How did you become so educated in the ways of medicine?”
“My mother was a trained healer, my lord.”
“Please call me Gwayne.” He peeked through his eyelids, giving you a kind smile. “You’ve all but earned it.”
“Very well, my lo- Gwayne.” You nodded. “If I can call you by your name, it is only fair that you call me by mine.”
He scoffed. “Hardly. That would be highly improper.”
You raised an eyebrow, still delicately tapping the cloth. “Opposed to what you have asked of me?”
He nodded, steadfast. “You are a lady. You should be addressed as such.”
Dipping the cloth back in the water, you laughed. “Hardly.”
“Using my own words against me.” He laughed with you. “My, you are a wonder.”
Alicent's soft voice rang through the tent, calling your name.
You froze, turning around quickly. For some reason that you could not currently decipher, guilt began to seep through your veins. You stood instantly, facing Alicent. Your friend's face was as pale as the winter snow, as if she had seen a ghost. You dropped your cloth and rushed to her side. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“The Queen. She’s-” Alicent leaned closer, whispering in your ear. “She’s dead.”
“I-” You turned back to Gwayne, waving goodbye. “It was wonderful to make your acquaintance, my lord.” With that, Alicent pulled you away, leaving the knight thoroughly confused.
“Call me-” You'd left the tent before he could finish his sentence.
The funeral was a somber affair, as to be expected.
You and Alicent stood close to Rhaenyra, staring with glassy eyes at the covered bodies. Syrax, Rhaenyra's dragon, stood at the top of the hill, waiting for its orders.
You stood in silence for the better part of an hour before Prince Daemon whispered in the princess's ear, no doubt telling her that she would have to be the one to give the order.
A shiver ran down your spine as Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice cracking as she choked back a sob. “D-Dracarys.”
The yellow fury let out a great blast, effectively burning her mother and brother’s corpses. Rhaenyra turned away, unable to look. Soon after, the crowd dissipated, leaving you, Rhaenyra, and Alicent standing by the fire.
You stayed back as Alicent approached your grieving friend.
“My lady.”
You looked over your shoulder, smiling at the Hightower. “My lord.”
“I believe last we met, I requested you to call me by my name.” He smirked. “Or am I mistaken?”
You laughed quietly. “I believe the herb I applied made you hallucinate, my lord. You never said anything of the sort.”
He laughed. “I’m sure you would never lie to me, so I shall take your word for it.”
Your eyes drifted back to your friends, your heart aching with grief. Queen Aemma had always been kind to you, and you would miss her warm presence greatly around the otherwise cold Keep.
“She is an unlucky Princess,” Gwayne muttered.
“Yes, indeed. Losing a parent is never easy.”
“I am sorry.” You turned back to the young knight, confusion etched on your features. “It is just- I assumed that with you being a ward of the crown-”
“You would be correct. But it has been so long, I hardly remember what it was like to have parents.”
He frowned. “I lost my own mother just a year ago.” He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you tried to ignore the shock that ran through your body from his touch. “It is never easy.”
You shook your head, placing your own hand delicately over his. “You are, unfortunately, correct.”
A cough broke the pair apart. You jumped, pulling yourself away from the boy. “I could use some company on Dragonback.” Rhaenyra practically whispered. “Would you care to join me?”
“Of course.” You turned back to Gwayne, curtsying quickly. “My lord.”
Alicent waited until you were out of listening distance to question her brother. “What are you doing?”
He whipped around, laughing. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I only meant to say you’ve taken a recent fascination with her.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “And your point?”
Alicent smiled, shaking her head. “It is merely a statement, brother.”
You'd always found comfort in the palace gardens.
Specifically, in the secluded southeast corner, which contained a quaint fountain and an outlook of the ocean.
You and Rhaenyra frequented this spot often in your youth, whenever you needed respite from the high tensions at court.
You'd been stuck on the same page for what seemed like hours when a voice broke through your focus. “We meet again.” Gwayne bowed his head, grinning much too widely. “My lady.”
You made no effort to stand, raising your eyebrows. “I am beginning to think, my lord, that you have been following me.”
“Not that I am…” He started, sitting at the end of the cushioned chair that you were currently occupying. “But if I were, it might have something to do with the fact that you are still not calling me by my name.”
You laughed. “Is it that simple?”
He nodded. “Quite. But do not worry yourself; I’ll wait.” His eyes sparkled dangerously. “You'll find that I am quite patient, my lady.”
You welcomed the challenge; you could sit there for hours, reading and ignoring any handsome knight that came your way. You were sure that Gwayne would not break you.
You glanced back down at your book, ignoring his devilishly handsome smile. He waited a moment before addressing you once more. “You’ve read that page three times since I've sat beside you.” You glared over the top, and he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”
You looked back down, flipping the page to prove a point. He sighed, stood, and walked over to the daisies that bordered the fountain. Picking the prettiest one he could find, he stopped in front of you, holding it out. “May I?”
“I must make you aware that I am not like that thing you hold in your hand." You stood, closing your book. “I will not wilt at the sight of you because of your status."
He nodded. “You are not.” He raised the daisy, tucking it gently behind your ear. “You are, however, as pretty as one.”
Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. “You flatter me, my lord.”
“And why shouldn’t I? One should always flatter a beautiful woman when given the chance.” He smiled. “I believe calling me by my name shall suffice as thanks.”
You scoffed, smacking his chest with the novel you held in your hands. “You are quite confident, Gwayne.”
“You’ll find-” His smile brightened tenfold as realization set in. “You said my name.”
You nodded, walking away. “I did.”
He followed after, like a lost puppy. “What shall you do with the rest of your day, I wonder?”
You shrugged. “I do not know, but it will most certainly be out of your presence.”
He gasped, holding his chest. “My heart rings with pain when you say such things.”
You laughed, halting your steps as you pretended to check him over. “However will you survive?”
“I think it is terminal, my lady.”
“And what affliction have you caught, Ser Gwayne?” You forced a giggle back, trying your hardest to behave seriously.
“Lovesickness.” He sighed. “I’m afraid there is no cure.”
You stepped closer, a pink dusting your cheeks. “I shall mourn you then.”
“Well, I’m sure we could find a remedy-”
Rhaenyra's voice shot out through the garden.
Gwayne had never hated the princess more than in that very moment. She was a generally tolerable girl and a good friend to his sister, but in that moment she stood between you and him, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her to leave.
But he could not. And so, he stepped away from you hesitantly, bowing. “Princess.”
The Targaryen made no effort to hide her humor at the situation. “I apoligize for the intrusion. Alicent and I were about to go to the Sept, and I did not want you to think we left you behind.”
You smiled, a mixture of disappointment and mischief in your eyes as you walked away. “Feel better, my lord.”
Alicent tilted her head, yelling back at her brother. “Better? Are you quite well, brother?”
You found yourself in your corner of the gardens for the fifth time this week. This time, however, you were here for the sole purpose of seeing your beloved knight.
You'd gone so far as to wear your best dress, and you'd asked your maid to put your hair up intricately. She'd even suggested adding hint of rouge to your cheeks. “Not too much,” she'd commented. “We don't want him to get the wrong impression.”
Sitting carefully on the cushioned chair, you positioned yourself towards the entrance, waiting for the familiar mop of auburn hair to peek through the bushes.
You'd begun to lose hope when his familiar tenor broke through the tranquil silence.
“My lady, I thought I would find you here.” You lowered the book slowly, your stomach fluttering when his eyes went wide. “You look-”
“Gwayne, I-” You both stopped, laughing at your unfortunate timing. “It seems that we cannot find a moment of peace.”
He nodded. “I have wanted to tell you something for quite some time now. I cannot seem to summon the words to leave me.” His nerves were evident as he laughed to break the tension. “It is just…”
“Yes?” You smiled, hating how nauseous you felt.
“I've wanted to say that, for weeks now, I have-”
A loud sob rang through the garden, pulling you out of your haze. Gwayne drew his sword, in case the sob was because of something unseemly. You tried to round the corner before him, but he shook his head, leading you carefully through the hedges.
“Rhaenyra?” You quickly left your place behind Gwayne, rushing to your friend's side. “Are you alright?”
“She’s betrayed me. I cannot- I can’t-” The princess looked up, glaring at the knight. “Can we go some place else?”
You nodded, your face drained of all the hope it had just been full of. disappointed. As you walked Rhaenyra out of the gardens, you spared Gwayne one last look, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry.’
The castle had been thrown off its axis by the sudden shift within its walls. Rhaenyra was no longer speaking to Alicent, which meant that you were no longer speaking to Alicent, and that the once close-knit group of friends was no longer close-knit.
You not speaking to Alicent meant that you could not speak to Gwayne, or so you assumed. You were too afraid to talk to Rhaenyra about it, as she had not brought up the topic since it had been announced. In fact, since that day, Rhaenyra had nearly gone mute, hardly ever talking about anything.
You wished Rhaenyra could forgive your friend for something she had no control over. She was well aware of the complex politics that came with marriage alliances.
Rhaenyra had insisted that you walk in with her to the Royal Wedding, even though you weren't family. When you'd told her that, she'd scolded you. “My father has insisted, I’m afraid. You are his ward, and he has grown to think of you as his own.”
So there you were, sitting beside Rhaenyra while the ceremony took place, sneaking glances at the bride's brother.
Rhaenyra had picked out your dress herself, saying that you needed something worthy of a princess. You were not one to argue, and you let the Princess do whatever she wanted as long as she was distracted from the events of the day.
Arm in arm with the Princess, you dreaded the moment when you finally reached the hall and had to offer your congratulations to the ‘happy’ couple.
Poor Alicent, being married off at fifteen, was not something you wished on your worst enemy. Especially to a man twenty years your senior. The doors opened wide, the crowd quieting at the sight of the princess and her companion. Among that crowd was Gwayne, staring at you with desperate eyes.
Your cheeks grew hot, quickly dropping your gaze to the floor. Chatter soon after filled the hall as Rhaenyra reached the top of the steps, curtsying quickly. “Congratulations, stepmother. Father.”
You winced. Rhaenyra's tone was as cold as the Wall. You wanted to curse your friend for making you go after that display. You bowed your head, sinking as low to the floor as you could. “Many happy returns, My Queen, My King.”
Viserys smiled gratefully. “Thank you, my dear girl. You have been a loyal friend to my daughter and wife. I shall not forget it.”
You nodded, equally disgusted and horrified at what the king had just said. Surely he realized how ridiculous this was. “Of course, Your Grace. I live to serve and provide assistance to my Princess.”
You released a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, sitting beside Rhaenyra. “Could you at least have tried to be nice?”
“I was.” The princess raised an eyebrow, and you almost laughed before realizing that she was being serious.
“Of course. A jest, my lady.”
Rhaenyra laughed. “So formal.”
“We are at a wedding, Rhaenyra. It would be inappropriate for me to call you anything other than my lady, by the court's standards.”
“Well I am the princess, and I say you call me Rhaenyra.”
“Very well.” You smiled, taking a large sip of your wine. “This will be an entertaining night.”
Besides the occasional snide comment thrown at the obviously overwhelmed bride, the night had been peaceful. You tried your best to persuade Rhaenyra not to attack the queen outright, and so far, you'd been successful.
So far.
You'd been in the middle of listening to Rhaenyra’s adventure of gathering the stolen dragon egg from her uncle when a cough interrupted.
“Excuse me, Princess.” The pair turned to see Gwayne staring not at Rhaenyra, but at you. Odd. He had addressed Rhaenyra, not you. “May I ask the lady for a dance?”
Your eyes grew wide as you looked between the two. You were sure Rhaenyra would say no or burst into flames from having to talk to Alicent’s brother, but she simply nodded her head, going back to her meal.
Gwayne extended his hand, leading you to the dance floor. He whispered as you moved through the crowd, keeping in mind the intruding ears that surrounded you. “I have missed your company, my lady.”
You smiled sweetly. “I have missed yours as well.”
“I know much has happened since we last spoke, but it has not deterred me. If anything, it has made me realize that I cannot stand to be apart from you.” He turned around, taking his place before the dance began.
Your cheeks grew hot for the second time that night. “You are very kind, Gwayne.”
“Yes, well, it is not hard when you are the one I compliment.” His own cheeks were pink as he put one hand on your waist, and the other intertwined with yours. “I am returning to Old Town soon. In two weeks time, after my sister settles into her new life.”
Your heart fell, eyes watering. “I hope your journey is swift.” You swallowed back the tears, mumbling. “I shall miss you, in truth.”
He tilted his head, smiling. If you were not in a public place, you would admonish him for smiling at your pain. “What I mean to say is, I am infatuated with you. And I would like to seek your hand in marriage. From the king, of course.”
You gasped, your eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”
“I would like to marry you.” He spoke softly, now fully grinning. “If you will have me. You do not have to say yes, but I assure you that if you agree, your affection for me will grow with time.”
“With time? Gwayne, I-” You whispered so quietly you weren't even sure you'd spoken. “I have already grown to admire you. Much more than a friend should. That is no concern of mine.”
“Ah.” The knight nodded. “Well, that settles it then.”
“Settles what?”
“We are to be married.”
“Yes, well…” You sighed. “You cannot propose to me at your sister’s wedding. It would be improper.”
“Damn impropriety.” He hissed, twirling you as the dance required, your gown swaying side to side. “Pray tell, when would be a proper time?”
“Any other day, my love.”
He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, heart pumping wildly as you felt the court's eyes land on you. “Gwayne, people are looking.”
He did not, seemingly, hear you. “My love.”
“If you are going to tease me-”
“You called me, my love.”
“Gwayne…” You whined, gesturing to the lords and ladies around you. “May we please leave the floor? People will start to wonder…”
“I want to kiss you.” He pulled you closer by the hold he still had on your waist. “Desperately.
“I want to kiss you.” He pulled you closer by the hold he still had on your waist. “Desperately.”
Thank the Seven that the dance ended then. You smiled quickly. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.” Rushing back to your seat, you stared at the table in shock.
“He proposed, I take it?”
You whipped your head so quickly that your neck hurt. “You knew?”
“Of course I knew.” You glared at your friend. “I’ve known he was going to propose since I saw him approach you at my mother’s funeral.”
“Rhaenyra.” You felt as anxious as a startled mare. “I am so sorry.”
“Whatever for?”
“I do not want you to feel betrayed. I had no intention of-”
“Do not apologize to me.” She placed her hand in yours. “I am happy for you, truly. He is a good man, and he will treat you well. I know it.”
“And how do you know he will treat me well?”
“Because you are my dear friend, and I have a dragon.”
“Rhaenyra!” You laughed. “I haven't said yes.”
“Yet.” The princess smirked. “You haven’t said yes yet.”
in which your husband leaves you with unsavory company (ormund hightower), and you are forced to feign tolerance whilst you wait for his return
PAIRINGS: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x wife!reader, daeron targaryen x aunt!reader
WARNINGS: yearning to the max, angst, ormund hightower, pregnancy, protective!reader, simp!gwayne (when is he not), gwayne being sad, daeron being sad, reader being super sad, arguing, the slightest fluff ending
WORD COUNT: 4.6k
🎶 : sailor song - gigi perez
AN: 🩵♥️💗💛 - my sweet gwayne. this was so much fun to write!! also daeron is a perfect little angel wafe. happy reading!!
The sun shone through the curtains, and you hummed, rolling over into your husband’s chest. “Save me, Ser.”
“From whom shall I save you from, my lady?”
Your hand pointed towards the window, mumbling. “It has offended me.”
“You expect me to slay the sun?” Gwayne’s laugh filled the room, and you couldn't help but smile into his soft skin. “How else will your beloved garden continue to grow?”
“That is your beloved garden, not mine. Is what I have asked such an impossible request?” You looked up, attempting to manipulate him with your feminine wiles. “Your lady wife has asked you a question.”
“You are spirited this morning.” His smile was almost as bright as the sun. “Did you sleep well?”
“With you by my side, how can I not?” You pulled yourself to his lips. “Promise me that you will come back to me.”
“Always.” He whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “I shall never leave your side. Not for a moment.”
“Lies.” You smirked. “Thought I would not insult you and pretend that I do not appreciate the sentiment.”
“I am glad that my promise suits you.” Gwayne’s hand shot out, pulling you close to him. Your stomach flipped, wrapping your leg around his waist. “How fares the babe?”
“She is eager, as always.” You grabbed at his wrist, guiding his hand to your stomach. “She wants her father.”
“Soon, my love.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling when your eyes fluttered shut. “Soon.”
“My lady.”
You hummed, your hand shooting out to Gwayne’s side as you attempted to bury your face into the pillow. So he was gone. You frowned, another terribly life-like dream. Your maid, Lila, completely unaware of your melancholic state, laughed before attempting to wake you once more. “I hate to disturb you, but it is urgent. From Lord Hightower.”
You shot up, heart beating faster than it should. “Gwayne has written?”
“No, my lady.” Lila frowned. “It is from the Lord Hightower.”
You huffed, letting yourself fall back into the comfort of your warm bed. “Read it to me then.”
“He requests your presence in Tumbleton. He says he wants to-” She scoffed, and you pretended not to hear. “He wants to present a united front for the future king, Daeron.”
You shot up once more. “Daeron? King?”
“That is what he says, my lady.”
“Is there anything else?”
“He- he asks that you arrive as quickly as possible.”
“I do not see how that will be possible, seeing as the roads are thick with thieves and Hightower enemies.” Your hand gravitated toward your swollen stomach. “I will not put my child in harm’s way for Ormund Hightower’s sake.”
“He says that Daeron will come fetch you by Dragonback.”
“Seven hells.” Your heart sank. “How will I bring my things-”
“I will ensure everything is taken care of, my lady.” Lila rushes to rid you of your worries. “You must rest, and prepare yourself.”
“Well said, Lila.” You stood, rounding your bed to don Gwayne’s robe. It still smelled ever so slightly of him, bringing you comfort in his absence. “I will break my fast in the gardens today.”
“An excellent choice, my lady.”
Daeron had grown since you last saw him.
Since Ormund took him away from the one home he had ever known to risk his life for the sake of glory. When you had last seen him, he had been three and ten, nearly four and ten.
His voice was deeper, his eyes were sadder.
You wanted to kill Ormund.
Ever the gentleman, Daeron helped you on and off of the Tessarion, his hand providing proof of you and Gwayne’s guidance, to always be kind, to always stay true to his heart.
You kissed his cheek, smiling brightly when his face turned bright red. “Have I embarrassed you, nephew?”
“Compared to Uncle Ormund’s actions, it is nothing.” He quipped, linking your arm through his as he escorted you into the Tumbleton estate. “I have missed you.”
“And I you, sweet boy.” You pulled him closer. “How have you fared since your departure?”
“Well enough.” His smile was tight, secretive. “Others have it far worse than I. Others in this very city-”
“I am well aware of other’s troubles, Daeron. We shall remedy that soon enough.” You stopped just before the door you assumed would lead you to Ormund, whispering. “I asked how you fared?”
“I am fine.” He nodded, straightening his posture as if that would comfort you. It did not. “All is well.”
“If you insist.” You huffed. “Shall we face the beast?”
“Aunt!” Daeron’s eyes widened, collecting himself before he motioned to the guards to open the door.
“Cousin!” Ormund stood behind a great oak desk. “How good of you to join us.”
“My lord.” You curtsied quickly. “How could I refuse such a kind invitation from the Lord of Oldtown?”
“Still…” Ormund had caught your obvious disdain for him the moment you entered the room. You were glad of it, if he had not, he would have been far stupider than you thought him to already be. “Is the babe-” You almost laughed at his attempt to show care.
“Fine. Thank you.”
“I am sure after such an arduous journey, that you would like to rest.”
“That would be most appreciated, my lord.” You squinted, wary of his sudden kindness. Ormund was not known for his consideration of others.
“I have had the maids fix the finest room they could find. Daeron shall escort you.” He sat at the table, plopping a grape into his mouth casually. “And I shall see you in the morrow.”
You curtsied once more before bidding him goodbye. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
Had Ormund broken?
Yes, he had.
This very morning, he, in the same breath, denied Lord and Lady Footling their bedchambers, threatened to end their lives, and swore that his men would be on their best behavior, all whilst bare as the day he was born.
Now, he asks that you come along to deal with a diplomacy issue.
Lady Footling is as fierce as she is proud, stepping forward to confront the intruder of her home once more. “You said your men were honorable. This one-” She pointed to the Hightower knight standing to her right, his face bloodied and beaten. “Has sinned.”
“I was billeted at the smithy, my lord. But the smith didn’t like it. Mayhaps he resents the imposition or mayhaps he is loyal to Rhaenyra. But he struck me.”
“My lord.” The smith stepped forward. “Now, if it please you, we bear you no ill will. But this man went to ravish my sister and then broke my wife’s arm when she tried to stop him. She is a weaver. We need what little she earns.”
“Is this true?” Ormund looked at the Hightower knight with a look of neutrality. You do not trust him for a moment.
“No, my lord.” The knight replies.
Cries break out as a result. The women look utterly fearful, on the verge of tears when Ormund raises his hand. “I will have calm. What is your name?”
“Garrick, my lord, of Whitegrove.”
“Garrick of Whitegrove. You have violated guest right. You have debauched yourself upon a woman and injured another. Your punishment will fit your crime. You will be gelded, and you will have your own arm broken. You may remain in my service, but trespass again, and you will hang.”
The knight’s face was white. “My lord. I have a wife.”
“You should have thought of that then,” You stepped forward. “Before you attempted to defile a woman’s virtue. The House of Hightower will not allow this dishonorable act to go unpunished.”
Ormund said nothing, simply signaling the knights to take him away. “See them home. Have a maester tend to their wounds.” He waited until their ears were out of reach to address Daeron. “We must keep a firm grip, tensions are high. Lawlessness and disorder claw at our gates.”
“Yes, sire.”
“And your aunt is right.” He smiled firmly. “House Hightower will not allow its honor to be questioned.”
“She is quite beautiful.” You whisper, caressing Tessarion’s snout sweetly. “Sweet too.”
“Is she much different from the dragons you have known in the past?” Daeron pressed his forehead against her scales. “I have none to compare her to, it would seem.”
“In stature, no. She is very similar to your-” You gulped, wondering how you might rephrase your answer. “To your sister’s dragon.”
“Dreamfyre?” Daeron’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I have heard she is of a similar color. Kind too.”
“Yes.” You pursed your lips. Thank the gods you did not mention Syrax. “Has she been out since you escorted me here?”
“No.” He frowned. “She longs to fly. We hardly ever have the chance as of late.”
“She will feel the wind beneath her wings once more, I am sure of it.”
Tessarion purred from the loss of his touch. He smiled, leaning his forehead against her once more. “Patience, my girl. It won’t be long.”
A high screech left the dragon’s mouth, startling you. “I have warned you against indulging in affection for that beast.”
Tessarion grew restless, bellowing at the Hightower lord. You fought the smirk that was forming on your lips: even the dragon could sense how dismal his presence was. “Lykiri.”
“Have you come down here to try and dull his longing to ride?” Ormund addressed you.
“Quite the opposite.” You smiled tightly. “He is a Targaryen, he should want to bond with his dragon.” You stepped forward, pulling your robes closer. “Or would you deny him his birthright?”
Ormund chose not to respond, simply ignoring your act of defiance. “You are a good boy. You speak kindly, and you say your prayers. I have raised you in the light of the Seven, and the Father smiles upon you. But there is a taint in your blood. The Targaryens are a savage race, poor in intellect, but rich in cunning. With dark spells, they created abominations to subdue what was rightly ours. We are the superior men. But against that, we could not stand.” Tessarion growled as Ormund placed, or at least tried to, his hand on Daeron's shoulder. “The gods have put you to divine purpose, my boy.”
“What purpose, sire?”
“The brutes raise a woman to the Iron Throne. A desecration!” You held your tongue, deciding not to remind the man that Alicent had sat the throne for years in Viserys stead. “It was a blessing that you came to ward in Oldtown. Your brothers are lost, but you remain a Hightower, raised in the shadow of the Citadel, in the light of the Starry Sept. Now, you must be king.”
Amongst other unfortunate virtues, your cousin (by marriage) was overbearing and intense. He could not lose, and he could not admit any wrongdoing. When his mind was set on a path, there was no changing it. You had witnessed many a passionate speech from the man, and this was shaping up to be one that you wanted to leave.
And you would have, if not for Daeron’s sake.
“You would not wish, surely, for me to turn cloak against my brothers.”
You stepped forward, grabbing Daeron’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze as Ormund walked up the stairs and motioned towards the door.
Your eyes widened as Ormund’s right hand man dragged in the smith from earlier, whose wife had been assaulted. A hand subconsciously fell to your stomach, fear coursing through your veins. “I thought you let him go.”
“A righteous king must demonstrate he upholds many virtues. Honor, wisdom, justice.”
“He only acted when our man attacked a woman.”
“He laid hands on a Hightower.”
“You speak of justice yet you punish this man for something you yourself condemned.” You stepped forward, putting yourself between Daeron and the madman. “You are committing a grave mistake.”
“Quiet, woman. That soldier is an extension of you, of the crown. Justice must be done.”
“Is not mercy a kingly virtue?” Your heart swelled with pride at Daeron’s argument.
“That sounds like something your father would say.”
You pushed Daeron back, glaring as Ormund took a step closer, and drew his sword. “He is a boy, Ormund.”
“He is the king.”
“He is not the king!” You yelled. “He is sweet, and he is kind, but he is not a king. You cannot force him to carry out your ventures. It is not right.”
“What is not right is you speaking out of turn-”
“I beg your pardon?” You clenched your hands into tight fists. “He will not do it.”
“Aunt-” Daeron whispered. “It is alright, truly.”
“I will do it in his stead-” Your eyes welled up. “He’s just a boy. My boy.”
“Aunt-” Daeron stepped around you, grabbing the sword from his uncle’s hands. “It must be done.”
“Daeron, please-”
He stood tall, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he stared at the smith. “Do not look. It will only upset you more.”
Your sleep was plagued with visions of Gwayne, both real memories and falsified. Your longing for your husband had gotten to the point where you considered sleeping forever so you could at least see him there.
You lay on your lounge chair, staring out the window of your chambers. If you could not sleep, perhaps you could daydream. Tumbleton was loud, louder than Oldtown ever was, even on its busiest day. You could not leave the estate, courtesy of Ormund’s lockdown. Not leaving the estate ruined your plans to explore the city, hand out food to those less fortunate, and roam the woods.
All things you could do freely in Oldtown. All things you could be doing with Gwayne if his cousin had simply bent the knee and left this mess alone.
Instead, you were stuck here, like a prisoner in a dank cell.
A cell that had its own maid and delicious food, courtesy of the Footly’s chef, Mrs. Allen.
You were much more well off than most, you reminded yourself.
That didn’t stop you, however, from storming out of your room, your skirts swishing side to side, as you prepared to confront your cousin. Ormund sat behind his obnoxiously large desk, staring at a paper like it had personally offended him.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Daydreaming would have to wait for another day. “I’ve been awake for hours, thank you.” You scoffed. “If you must know, I have been avoiding your presence.”
“What have I done to upset you this time?” He sat back in his chair, smug as ever.
“Other than refusing to let me return home and be at peace?”
“Yes.”
“You treat that boy-” You pointed to Daeron, who was dead silent, most likely in fear of being punished by his tyrant of an uncle. “Like a prize to be won. Not like the child that he is-”
“He is six and ten.”
“I believe you yourself were nine and ten when your father finally let you enter a tourney. Interesting, how you are permitted to shy away from the complexities of court, yet Daeron is forced to entertain your kingly notions.”
He glared. “Get to the point.”
“You must see reason and relinquish this city. Go back to Oldtown in good faith, and try to reach an agreement with the Queen.”
“The Queen?” Ormund smirked. “Are you implying that Aegon, and by association, his younger brothers, are not the true line?”
“I am implying that she is currently the Queen. Aegon and Aemond have fled.” You crossed your arms. “Do not twist my words. Surely, you see that-”
“Uncle Gwayne!” Daeron's face lit up. “You've returned!”
Your breath catches as you whip around. Perhaps, you reason with yourself, this is all part of another of your terrifyingly realistic dreams. You pray that the auburn-haired knight in front of you is not a trick of the light. He looks worn to the bone, but you do not care. Your eyes well with tears, and Gwayne's face falls into an ever deeper pit of despair. “Are you alright, my love?”
Stalking forward, you grab his face in your hands, squeezing his cheeks lightly. “Are you real?”
“My girl.” His hands grab at your hips, pulling you close. “I have missed you so-”
You pull your hands from his face, shoving at his chest between each word. “You left me!”
“What is the meaning of this?” A deep frown forms on his weary face.
“You left me with him!” Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. “Do you have any idea the things-”
Ormund cannot help but glare. “Watch your tongue, woman-”
“Shut your mouth, Ormund.” You hiss.
Gwayne grabs your wrists, halting your attack and perhaps, in the process, saving everyone from the wrath of his cousin. “I have craved your touch for two moons now. Surely, you can wait to reprimand me until after I have bathed.”
“You-” The tears released in steady streams. “I worried you were dead.”
He pulled you close, kissing your lips gently. “Do not cry, my love, please.”
“I cannot help it.” You huffed. “You did this to me.”
“Did what exactly?” He laughs. You stepped back, motioning to your stomach. He raised an eyebrow, visibly confused. “I-”
You turned to the side, letting the shape of your gown give him an indication as to what you could be implying. “Gwayne-”
“Are you-” He grinned, stepping forward. “Are you with child?”
“As much as I hate to interrupt this touching reunion-” Ormund cleared his throat. “You must tell me why you are here. I believed you to be in the woods with Criston Cole.”
Gwayne’s smile faltered, and you frowned, caressing his cheek gently. “Are you alright, my love?”
“Ser Criston stayed to fight the Tully army with our remaining men.”
“And so, he fights on, and yet you have returned. Because…”
“Because fighting on is madness.” When you really look at your husband, you see sadness, a broken man whose values had been proven extinct long ago.
“Do you think me mad, Your Grace?” Ormund looks at Daeron expectantly.
“No, sire.”
“You mean to fight on?” Gwayne scoffs. “With what? There’s a dragon sitting on the hill above us, and five more not thirty leagues away.”
“Rhaenyra will not burn her own subjects. She is a woman, squeamish.”
“If your host leaves these walls, they burn.” Gwayne’s jaw tightened. “Aemond has fled, and Rhaenyra holds my sister hostage. The River army draws closer by the day. You have put these countless peoples lives in jeopardy, my wife and unborn child’s lives in jeopardy. What possible course is there to remedy this?”
“Your uncle lacks imagination as well as courage.” Gwayne squeezes your hand, noticing when your eyes ignite with a dangerous look. Daeron smiles at the quip, and you can’t help it when your heart breaks just a little. “I would take one Hightower sword over three Tully mudmen. When the usurper’s host comes here, we will fight on our terms, our grounds. We have the clear advantage. The great houses cannot help but come to our side.”
“Have any yet come?” A laugh leaves your lips, and you slap a hand over your mouth, looking away.
“The patient hunter gets the kill. Something our most craven must learn.”
“I have marched a long road, fought and killed, and suffered my comrades to be killed about me.”
“Yes, you have endured much.” Ormund leans against his desk, a sly smirk etched on his lips. “I’m sure you found solace in your brothers at arms.”
“I am fatigued.” Gwayne does not give way to his cousin’s taunts. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen a feather bed, and months since I’ve held my wife. By your leave.”
“You might escort your Aunt and Uncle to their quarters, Your Grace. Make sure he bathes.” He laughs, calling out after you. “Oh, and mind yourself. Keep your back to the wall.”
You see red as you reach out, gripping Daeron’s wrist. “We’re leaving. Do not listen to that craven man.”
Gwayne waits until they’ve turned the corner to speak. “He calls you Your Grace?”
“I’m sorry, I had to get through it.”
“And this is your way? Fawning?”
You whisper, wary of being watched. “Daeron knows how to deal with the man. Ormund has reached a new height of madness, one you and I have never seen.”
“He has styled you the bloody king,” Gwayne grumbles.
“Well, you left me alone with him. You know what he is. I do what I can.”
“You have done as well as anyone can, my boy.” You kiss the back of his hand. “But you know as well as I that your Uncle had no choice but to leave.”
“It certainly didn’t grieve him to ride away.” Daeron ripped his hand from your hold, standing in the middle of the hall.
Gwayne scoffed. “Mind yourself, Daeron.”
“Gwayne-”
“I hate who I am with him, and you- you don’t understand. He wants me to be the king. It is his greatest ambition.”
“Then tell him you won’t do it.”
“Who will protect me then?”
“You could cast him down.” Gwayne smiled. “If you were king.”
“A merciful and noble king. You would be even better than your father.” You reassured. “I know it.”
“I will never be king, Aunt.”
“I must-” Gwayne groaned. “I must bathe. Bath and lie down.”
“You will stay?” The boy sounded hopeful for the first time in months.
“And do what? Bear witness as Ormund marches our house to its doom? I’m second in line. I shall return to Oldtown and prepare to pick up the pieces.”
“Don’t leave me again.” Daeron cried. “Please.”
“You would be more than welcome to come with us, my sweet.” You look at Gwayne, whose face is blank.
“He’s Ormund’s treasure now. He’ll be safer here.”
You scoffed. “Surely, you do not mean that. Daeron, do not listen to-” But Daeron had left, and all the joy you’d felt when you’d seen your husband turned to anger. “Why would you say that to him?”
“Darling-”
“I cannot begin to describe the anger I feel towards you at this very moment.” You hissed, stalking around him.
“You must understand-”
You whipped around, your eyes fiery as you spoke. “I understand nothing. And seeing as you refuse to talk to me about the hardships you have faced-”
“I have not had the chance.” He stepped forward. “If you recall, I’ve only just arrived.”
“And what an impact you have made.” You scoffed. “Destroying what was left of that boy’s happiness.”
“You cannot meant to imply-”
“And yet I have.” You shoved past him. “Do not speak to me for the rest of the evening.”
Gwayne’s eyes had not left you since your disagreement, bearing into your soul. You hated him for it: he had found the loophole in your request.
You never said he couldn’t look at you.
It didn’t help you in the slightest that, as angry as you were with him at the moment, your heart screamed for him, your skin craved his touch. Still, you glared. “Could you look elsewhere?”
“I seem to recall a time when you begged for me to look upon you.”
You stared at the ceiling. “Do you think me vain?”
“Not at all.” The water splashed as he sat up in the bath. “I find you to be a perfectly well-balanced lady.”
You squinted, wary of his kindness. “Do not try to blind me with your false niceties.”
“You know as well as I that the things I tell you are not false.” He pauses for a moment, trying to catch your eyes. When you refuse to look at him, he continues. “Do you know how miserable it truly is to be fighting, to be away from one's home?"
You shake your head, and he nods. "I thought as such."
"That does not serve as an excuse to- to act a villain."
"Is that what you think of me?" When you do not respond, he looks away, eyes dark. "What a sad revelation."
"Gwayne-"
"Do you know what I thought of when I was away?” You shrug, your heart pumping wildly. “I thought of you. Only you-”
“I cannot-” Your voice gave out, and so you stood, leaving his side to give yourself some respite.
“I thought of-” His voice broke. “You in the morning, when I’d wake before you and watch as you laid there, not a care in the world. The peace you had, the soft smile your lips carried. You turned your back to him, staring out the window as silent tears fell down your cheeks. “I would remind myself of that image, of your image, every time we went into battle. I love you so intensely that it hurts my soul.” In the middle of all the emotion, he had left the bath, appearing behind you with the stealth of an assassin.
You leaned your back against his chest, eyes shut as his hands wrapped gently around your waist. “You are my whole world, my whole life. Do not think for a moment that I too did not want you by my side every waking moment you were gone. When I learned I was with child, I sobbed for days. All I did was wail for you from our bed, wishing that you would survive this bloody war.” You turn in his hold. “Never doubt my love for you. Never.” His forehead fell to lie against yours, his eyes falling to your lips with every breath. “I am upset with you because I know the man you are. And the man you are would never address that darling boy the way you have today.”
“I am sorry-”
“It is not I that you must apologize to.” Your hands shamelessly drifted up his bare chest, heat rising to your cheeks. “Please talk to him. Before it is too late. Before we-” You gulped. “Before we inevitably-”
“I swear on the old gods and the new that nothing will happen to you or the babe. You will be safe from whatever we face here.” His chest heaved as his hands drifted up and down the side of you. “I made a vow to protect, and I would rather die than see you breathe your last breath.”
“You are terribly dutiful.” You stretched your neck, delicately kissing the corner of his mouth. “But you do admit that you were callous with Daeron.”
“I will apologize to him on the morrow; this I swear to you.” He nudged his nose against your jaw, tilting your head to make way for his affection. Slowly, his lips leave feathery kisses down your jaw and neck, stealing your breath away.
“Gwayne-” You gasp. “I- you-”
“What?” He teased, knowing your mind was struggling to form coherent thoughts. He knew this because he reacted the same way whenever you touched him. “I cannot begin to decipher what you are thinking if you cannot tell me-”
“You are cruel.” Your voice sounded utterly wrecked. “So terribly cruel.”
“I hoped my wife would never utter those words.” He laughed. “But under these circumstances, I will allow it.”
The sun shone through the curtains, and you hummed. Your hands rose to your eyes, rubbing the sleep away. They slowly opened, an immediate sense of dread settling over you, the worst racing through your mind.
Had Gwayne truly returned, or had you dreamt it in order to deal with the pain that came with being apart? Your head whipped to the other side of the bed, a soft laugh leaving your lips.
Gwayne looked utterly exhausted. His mouth was open ever so slightly, his hair a mess from tossing and turning. You slide his tunic up, planting sweet kisses on the bruises that were still blooming on his perfect skin, still in disbelief that he was really, truly with you.
His hand wrapped around your waist, his eyes still closed as he pressed a kiss to your temple, grumbling a quiet good morning.
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in which you realize that you and beau maxwell have never been just friends
PAIRINGS: beau maxwell x fem!reader, dean heyward-di laurentis x bestfriend!reader (platonic)
WARNINGS: avoidance of feelings, oblivious reader, golden retriever beau (little bit of i-can-pay-for-it mentality), smug dean (isn't he always), dramatic confession, dean being a beauxreader truther!!
WORD COUNT: 5.2k
🎶 : 3:15 - bazzi
AN: 🩵💗♥️ - oh beau. this is based off of a 'what i would wear in off campus' thing i did on tiktok. this is my baby, i love it so dearly. please enjoy!!
At the age of eight, Beau Maxwell was the bane of your existence. He was loud, obnoxious, and distracting to a fault. He walked into a room and people actually cheered. It also didn’t help that his smile could actually brighten anyone’s day.
At the age of twenty one, Beau Maxwell was your best friend slash secret conscience-eating crush.
You quickly grew fond of all the things you’d originally found him annoying for. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you had become best friends, all you knew was that his friendship was something you couldn't lose.
Even if you had a horrible, almost disgusting, crush on him. You had to push it way down, down so far that even you sometimes forgot about it.
You’d been in the middle of staring blankly at your computer screen, thinking about all of this, when a medium vanilla latte with oat milk and cold foam popped up in front of your face.
The person holding it? Beau Maxwell.
You looked up slowly, scowling at your best friend’s smirk. “Are you happy about my miserable state?”
“A little.” He teased, setting the latte beside your computer. “Here.”
“How did you-”
“You posted about it. On your private story.” He shrugged like he hadn’t just done the most romantic thing on Planet Earth. “Figured you needed a pick-me-up.”
You knew what story he was referencing. It had said something along the lines of a typical college student wallowing in self misery instead of working on their big project that would determine if they got to graduate or not. You took a large sip of your coffee. “It wasn’t exactly clear about where I was.”
“I had time on my hands.”
Not only had he bought you a coffee, he had also searched the entire library for you.
“Stalker,” was all you could come up with.
“I’ve been called worse.” He smiled. “Why don’t we get out of here? You don’t seem to be getting much done-” You glared. “And it doesn’t help anyone if you sit here and wither away.”
“What a caring gentleman you are, worrying about my wellbeing.” You shoved your things in your bag, walking side by side with him towards the library doors. “Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
You cursed your good nature.
Offering to grab drinks for your friends, you forgot just how slow the line moved at Briar Block parties, and just how lonely it got when you stood there for what seemed like hours by yourself. You’d finally gotten to the front, face to face with your savior, the one person who could quench your thirst.
You actually grinned when they called you up, relaxing your arms against the metal bar on the outside. “Three Dr.Peppers, one Coke, and one Diet Coke. All medium, please.”
“Would you like a drink tray?”
“That would be wonderful, thanks so much.”
“Of course.” The girl flashed a smile. “Will that be cash or card?”
“Card.”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you turned to face your best friend. “Hello to you as well, Beaumont.”
“My government name.” He shuddered. “Consider me spooked.”
“Are you still paying with card?” The girl had lost her slight smile, opting for a more annoyed and honestly disinterested look. You couldn’t blame her.
“Yes.” Beau tapped his card before you could even reach for your purse.
You frowned. “Beau. None of these are for you.”
“I’m aware.” He smiled. “Can’t a man pay for his best friend’s drinks?”
“As long as I’m the only one you’re buying drinks for.” You joked. Or maybe you weren’t. You hoped he took that comment as just that: a comment, and not a soft launch of your feelings.
He laughed, nudging you lightly. “You know you’re the only woman in my life.”
You let your brow quirk ever so slightly. “So now you’re blatantly lying?”
“Excuse me.” Beau looked highly offended. “I would never lie to you.”
“Yeah?” You took a step forward, almost challenging him to lie again. “I don’t believe you.”
His hand clutched his heart. “You wound me. Really, you do.”
Your order was placed on the counter, and the worker cleared her throat. “Is everything correct?”
You ripped your eyes away from Beau’s, nodding quickly. “Yup. Thank you so much.”
Beau grabbed the drink tray, walking diligently beside you. “You really are the only woman in my life.”
You scoffed. “Don’t patronize me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means to treat others in a way that shows you see yourself as better. You say things in a condescending manner-”
He smirked. “Now who’s patronizing?”
“I have eyes, Beau.” You wave at the girls, Dexter, and Sean. “I see how everyone looks at you.”
“Just because they look at me doesn’t mean I’m looking back.” He frowned. “No one takes precedence over you. No one.”
“Your future girlfriend isn’t going to like that mentality.”
He raised a brow. “What was that?”
You coughed. “Nothing, Maxwell. Thanks for carrying our drinks.”
“Anytime.” He flashed his ever charming smile at Allie and Hannah. “Ladies.”
Allie and Hannah grabbed their sodas. “What a gentleman.”
You just smiled, not trusting yourself to say anything remotely normal back to them.
“It’s nothing. Enjoy.” Beau's eyes drifted to you, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do you have a jacket?”
“I-” You laughed lightly, his attention causing your nervous system to crash out. What was happening to you? “No?”
“Do you have a death wish?” Your eyes lit up with mischief, and he shook his head, shrugging off his jacket. “Forget I asked. Here, take mine.” Before you could even protest, he’d placed it around your shoulders and walked away.
“You’re so performative!” You yelled at his back, heat rising to your cheeks when he spared you one last look.
“You know you love me!”
“Oh my god.” Dexter whispered. “What sort of mating ritual is this?”
“Dexter!” You squeaked. “Oh my god!”
“You know I’m right.”
Allie nodded in agreement. “They’ve been like this for as long as I’ve known them. It was cute.”
“Was?” Your eyebrow rose.
“Now it’s just frustrating.”
“Oh?” Hannah laughed. “How so?”
“Because you can’t believe they’re not together yet.”
You groaned. “Someone please change the topic.”
“All I’m saying-” Allie hooks her arm through yours, leading you toward the stage. “Is that he likes you. Like a lot.”
“We’re just friends, Allie.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” She whispered. “He’s staring, by the way.”
Heat rose to your cheeks as you forced yourself not to meet his gaze.
One day, you were listening to your friends compare the hockey boys to cretons, and the next, you were watching Hannah stare at Garrett Graham with this scary look of admiration. This had been going on for weeks, since the beginning of the school year.
Allie would say it was horrifying. You would opt for something kinder. They were weirdly endearing to watch.
Hannah wiggled her brows, gesturing to your coat. “Still haven’t returned it, I see.”
“Hannah.” Sometimes they weren’t endearing. Sometimes, they teamed up on you in order to get information.
“Returned?” Garrett smirked. “Whose is it?”
“It’s-”
“No one’s.” You cut in, hoping that would deter your best friend from outing you. “Don’t listen to her-”
“It’s Beau’s!” Hannah blurted out, cackling in satisfaction.
Garrett’s face lit up, and you groaned. “Don’t make it a thing, Graham.”
“I think I might have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything-”
“Nah, sometimes you do.” He laughed, pointing at the picnic tables you were approaching. “You’re wearing his coat, and you’re blushing about it. It’s totally a thing.”
You pulled the denim jacket closer to you, smiling as Beau spoke in a British accent. “I’m ignoring you.”
“I’m not shocked.” Garrett teased. “Your thing is making his big birthday announcement. If you were paying attention to me, that means you wouldn’t be paying attention to him. The world might explode if that were to happen-”
You shoved his arm, scoffing when Hannah just laughed. “Watch your back, Wells. You’re a traitor, and your pesky boytoy isn’t helping matters.”
“Boytoy?” Garrett cackled.
Beau’s eyes lit up when he saw you watching below. He waved quickly, and you waved back, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
Your entire life their birthday announcements had been extravagant, and you could honestly say that this was one of their tamer ones.
For their sixteenth, Beau and Dean did a series of water-based stunts (jetski flips, tubing, skiing, etc) and you had been recruited to record and edit the clips. It was then sent out to the entire school.
“Having fun?” You shouted.
Beau grinned. “Always.” You laughed, and Beau’s heart couldn’t help but skip when he realized that you were still wearing his jacket.
Curse the disgustingly talented woman that was Joanna Maxwell.
She was supposed to be your dynamic duo partner (Anakin and Padme, in case you were wondering.)
Then she got a last minute contract and had to ditch the party.
You texted her from the corner, pretending to be angry by sending the infamous scene of Anakin screaming ‘I hate you’. She emphasized your message with a ‘haha’.
You tucked your phone back into your fanny pack before walking over to the guys. “Anyone fancy a game of pong?”
“You're talking my language.” Tucker grinned. “Wanna team up?”
“Of course.” You nodded. “You really think I’d want to team up with Goose or-” You tilted your head. “Birdman?”
Logan scoffed. “Tucker and I are the birds and the bees, thank you very much.”
“My bad.” You laughed. “You two are made for each other, you know. You’re both bird-things.”
“Well put.” Beau teased. “How many of those have you had?”
“Enough so that I can still kick your ass and remember it.”
“Oh yeah?”
You nodded, jutting your hip sassily. “Yeah.”
“Let’s go, Logan. Her ego needs to be checked.”
“Oh, my ego?” Your eyes widened in faux offense. “Bring it on, Mr. Birthday Boy.”
Tucker leaned over, whispering in Logan’s ear as they followed after you. “This is some weird type of foreplay, right?”
Logan nodded. “You never know with those two.”
Of course you won.
It was insane how well you played when you were a little tipsy. There had to be some sort of science behind it, the loss of overthinking thanks to the alcohol coursing your system allowed you to trust your instincts or whatever.
It also helped that Tucker was actually good at pong.
When he sunk the ball into the winning cup, you screamed, jumping as you hugged him tightly. Beau just laughed, shaking his head in faux disappointment. Logan leaned over, speaking at a volume he knew only Beau could hear. “You look like you want to eat her, dude.”
Beau scoffed. “Insane choice of words, J.”
“Just stating the obvious.” Logan held his hands up defensively. “Are you ever going to tell her?”
“Someday.” He nodded. “Just not tonight.” Beau left his partner’s side, walking over to you with his hand outstretched. “Good game, Padme.”
“I’d say the same to you-” You giggled, shaking his hand. “But it really wasn’t your night.”
“Oh.” Beau’s eyes widened, taking advantage of your interlocked hands to pull you closer. “That’s pretty unsportsmanlike.”
“Thank god I don’t play sports.”
“I seem to recall you playing soccer in middle school.”
Your jaw went slack. “Are you actually gonna go there-”
“The Thunder Roses, right?”
Tucker and Logan laughed. You tore your hand out of his grasp, trying to silence him. He smirked, dodging your pathetic attempts. “Your jerseys were neon pink and orange.”
“Shut up!” You squeaked.
“Make me.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Allie appeared, saving you from potential disaster. “Come do shots with me.”
“Okay.” Your eyes were still wide, staring at Beau with utter shock and surprise.
“That was-” Allie looked suspiciously at the football player. “Surprisingly easy. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.” He murmured, his eyes stuck on you.
“Sure.” Allie nodded slowly. “Alright, well, say goodbye.” Hooking her arm through yours, she led you to the bar. “What did he say?”
“I-” You sighed. “I told him to shut up.”
“Okay?” Her eyebrows furrowed.
“And he said make me.”
“Oh my god.” Allie giggled. “Is it wrong to say my stomach just flipped a little bit?”
“Allie!” You gasped. “Control yourself.”
You may have overindulged.
Keywords: may have.
As of right now, you felt fine. Seconds away from vomiting, but otherwise fine. After Allie had pulled you away from Beau’s side, you’d taken shots. Then five minutes later, another round. Then another. Then you played YMCA flip cup.
So yeah, five seconds away from puking.
“Allie!” No response. Your best friend was jumping around, dancing erratically to the music as Sean tried to match her energy, but was failing horribly. “Allie!”
“Yeah?” She spun around, a large grin on her lips. She looked perfectly in her element. “What’s up?”
“I’m gonna go get some water.”
“Water?”
You nodded. “I just wanted to let you know so you don’t panic.”
“Thanks babe!” She hugged you quickly. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I don’t want to interrupt your fun.” You laughed.
“You are my fun.” She frowned. “Don’t think I don’t want to hang out with you.”
One thing about Allie: when she was drunk, she was super kind and super wise. It was like normal Allie turned up to thirty. Your eyes watered as a result of her comment, hugging her once more to hide your emotions. “You’re the best, Al. I’ll be back!”
You let go, waving over your shoulder as you tried to find your way to the kitchen. Every lift of your foot was met with resistance thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol that coated the floor.
The mixture of dancing and open containers were disastrous, something that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. You hoped that Beau had hired the best cleaning crew in the Upper East Coast, because his mother did not play when it came to her pristine wood floors.
The kitchen was in view when it happened.
Someone elbowed you, and thanks to your drunken state, your reaction time was non-existent. You immediately fell to the ground. The party-goers around you gasped, and tears started to stream down your cheeks.
To make it even worse, no one moved to help you. They just stood there and stared.
You sat there for a moment, collecting yourself. Wiping your hands off on your white pants (which were now ruined thanks to the previously mentioned floor), you prepared to pick yourself up when Beau’s voice rang over the music.
“Where is she?” You felt like you were floating on air when the crowd parted, and Beau stepped through. He knelt down, whispering your name so softly that your heart clenched. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Beau.”
“You don’t look fine. Have you-” He frowned, reaching up to wipe away your tears. “Were you crying?”
“Maybe a little.” You can’t help but lean into his touch, laughing softly. “I’m being dramatic, it’s really okay.”
“Let’s check you over, just in case.” In one fell swoop, he picked you up off the ground, wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you towards his room.
“You really don’t need to do this.” You gesture to his hold on you. “I can walk.”
“Just let me take care of you.” He smiled. “You fell so quickly it looked like a cartoon.”
“Hey!” You gasped. “Aren’t you supposed to try and make me feel better?”
“My bad.” He grinned, opening his bedroom door. “You looked so dainty, like a princess.”
“Well now you’re overdoing it.” You grumbled, pulling out of his hold to sit on his bed. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t say that.” He yelled from the other room. “You’re not stupid. You’re drunk, and you fell. It happens to the best of us.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen if someone didn’t shove me.” You grumbled.
“Wait a second.” Beau pops out of the bathroom, his hands full of supplies. Makeup wipes, a wet wash cloth, the works. He even brought moisturizer out. “Someone shoved you?”
“Yup.” You laid back, staring at the ceiling. He still had his One Direction poster up, the one that you gifted him when you were in middle school. “It was definitely an accident, but it still sucked.”
“How do you know it was an accident?” Beau frowned, pulling out a makeup wipe and unfolding it. “What did they look like? I’ll go back down there and-”
“Relax, Maxwell. I’m fine.” You smiled when the makeup wipe touched your skin, letting your eyes fall shut. “You know, I can take my own makeup off.”
“But why do that when I’m here and offering?”
“Fair point.”
“What kind of makeup did you use? It looks nice.”
You felt your stomach flutter. He had no idea how his compliments affected you. “I- I used some mascara, concealer, bronzer, blush, lip stain, lip gloss, and eyebrow gel.”
“Hmm. Do you remember the brands?”
“I normally get my makeup from IPSY. But the lip gloss is Elf, the lip stain is Covergirl, and the eyebrow gel is Maybelline.” You hadn’t realized that you’d been holding your breath. (It was most definitely because of how close he was to your face). “Beau?”
You heard him scoff as he wiped away your eyebrow gel. “Yea, sweetheart?”
“Do you ever think about that night?”
The makeup wipe stills, and your eyes shoot open. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I-”
“All the time.” His cheeks were pink. “I think about it all the time.”
“Oh.” You gulped, realizing just how close you two were.
“It’s alright.” His jaw was tense as he stood, throwing away your used makeup wipe.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He practically spat it out as he searched through his dresser for a hoodie. “I don’t regret it, and we did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“Okay.” You felt so stupid, so small as you watched him walk up to you with that same kind look. “Goodnight, Goose.”
He smiled softly, handing you the hoodie before he left the room. “Goodnight, Padme.”
Your head felt like it was about to explode.
It didn’t help that the sun had found a convenient spot to blast your face with its rays. You groaned, rolling over and shoving your face into the pillow. What time was it?
You didn’t hear any music or shouting, so you knew that everyone had gone.
You forced yourself to open your eyes, your stomach churning. “Oh my god.”
Your hand slapped around the bed, a feeling of impending doom blossoming when you couldn’t find it. Whipping the covers off, erratically searching his entire room. Beau. Memories of last night flashed before your eyes, the feel of impending doom growing worse.
Bzzz.
You huffed, turning around to find your phone plugged in on the bedside table. Three texts.
One from Beau, from only an hour or so after you fell asleep. I brought your overnight bag in, it’s in the bathroom.
One from Dean. Your friend Allie is hot.
And one from your friend, Allie. Are you alive?
Barely, you responded as you walked into the bathroom, staring at the overnight bag like it had personally offended you. Damn Beau and his relentless loyalty and kindness.
Two voices, distinct and comforting, echoed through the otherwise empty house. Beau and Dean, bickering about who knows what. You descended the stairs, rounding the corner with your head down.
“Sleeping Beauty.” Dean giggled. “Thanks for joining us.”
“Shut up, gremlin.” You slip into an island seat, letting your head drop onto the cool marble countertop. “How long have you been up?”
“About ten minutes.” Beau spoke. “How did you sleep?”
You felt like you were going to vomit from nerves. You kept your head down, mumbling. “Wonderfully, thank you.”
“Of course.”
Dean nudged you. “Did you see my text?”
“I did.” You dared to sit up, clutching your stomach. “I know she’s hot. Thank you for stating the obvious.”
“Are you gonna do me a solid and-”
“No.” You shook your head, reaching for a mug. “She has a boyfriend.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.” You tease. “Guess you can’t sleep your way through the entire Briar population.”
“Speaking of sleeping-” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “What were you two up to last night?”
You coughed, choking on the sip you’d just taken.
Beau hissed. “Dude.”
“What?” Dean looked much too happy. “Can’t a guy ask his two friends if they hooked up?”
“You have no shame.” You pressed a hand to your chest.
“Neither of you have answered my question.”
“We didn’t hook up last night.” Beau turned back towards the pancakes he’d neglected. “Enough with the interrogation.”
“Jesus.” Dean leaned over, whispering in your ear. “He’s pissy.”
“I can hear you, Dean.”
You should have gotten in the car with Dean.
You shouldn’t have brought up last night’s events.
You should have drank less.
These are all things you thought about after you destroyed the best friendship you’d ever had.
Things that you should have taken into account before you did them.
The car ride back from Beau’s summer house had been fine, almost tranquil in a way. He’d had the music at the perfect volume, you grabbed Dunkin on the way back, there was hardly any traffic.
Then you decided to break that peace minutes before you got back to your apartment.
“I wanted to say thank you for not telling Dean about last night. Or, you know-” You gulped. “The other thing.”
His reaction caught you totally off guard. “Do you really regret it that much?”
“No, of course not.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “I just didn’t want to trap you in some awkward situation with us being best friends and all.”
“That’s all we are to you?” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Just best friends?”
“Beau.” You frowned. “I didn’t mean to imply-”
“You can’t even say it.” He scoffed. “You can’t even admit that we had sex.”
“We agreed not to talk about it.”
“Do you have any idea why I crawled through your window that night?”
You gulped. “I-” That night made shivers erupt all over and your heart race. “To hang out?”
“You have to know.” He sounded so hurt it almost made you cry. “Do you seriously not know?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I can’t spell it out for you.”
You turned in your seat, fully facing him. “I’m not a mind reader, Beau.”
He put the car in park, staring at you with desperation in his eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Well neither do I.” You huffed.
“Fine.” He looked back towards the road. “Then I guess we have nothing more to talk about.”
“Fine.” You unbuckled, your eyes threatening to spill over as you grabbed your things. “Thanks for the ride.” Everything in you screamed to look back, to stop and tell him everything. What you were thinking, what you felt, what you had always felt for him, but had been too scared to say.
But you didn’t turn back.
Beau didn’t have the same resolve as you, he never had.
So he watched as you slammed the door in his face and stormed into your apartment building with your head held high. He watched as his heart walked away, and he did nothing to stop you.
Coward.
You were good at wallowing.
If you put your mind to it, you could make it a profession.
On the first day, you’d skipped all your important classes and laid in bed.
On the second, you’d gone to class, but in possibly the ugliest outfit you owned. Bright green sweatpants from highschool, a teal hoodie from your best friend’s a cappella group, and the greasiest hair you’d ever had in your life.
When you walked into the class you shared with Garrett and Hannah, Garrett had physically winced at the state of you, and Hannah gave you the most pitiful look she could muster.
On day three, Allie staged an intervention.
“I haven’t seen you eat an actual meal since you got back from the birthday party.” You opened your mouth to speak, and she held up a finger. “And no, celery sticks and cream cheese doesn’t count.”
“There were chocolate chips.” You muttered.
“Not helping, babe.” Hannah whispered from behind her best friend. “We want to make sure you take care of yourself.”
“I don’t feel like it.” A lump grew in your throat at the mere thought of why you felt like this. “Can you just let me go back into my room and-”
“No.” Allie looked like a stern mother. It almost scared you. “You don’t have to leave the apartment, but you need to eat.” She sat beside you, grabbing your phone and opening DoorDash. “Now, what do you want?”
On the fourth day, you’d started to feel like a human being again. You’d gotten up at a normal time, made yourself a coffee, and put on a relatively cute outfit.
The fresh air blew through your hair, and the leaves were the perfect shade of orange.
You’d almost taken your phone out and posted the cutest instagram story of all time.
Then you’d spotted Beau.
Your heart stopped as your mind raced for a solution that didn’t lead to you having to talk to him. You’d taken too long, because Beau had spotted you back.
Your eyes went wide, and you stumbled backwards, walking as fast as you could to your next class. The long way, of course.
He hadn’t followed after you.
This wallowing period lasted for six days before you were forced to confront something you told yourself you would never give life to again. All thanks to Dean Di Laurentis.
Him and Allie would be perfect for each other. The pair of them were meddlers of the highest degree.
You were doing your homework in the living room when he walked in.
“Excuse me.” You glared. “What happened to hello?”
Allie scoffed. “Or knocking, for that matter?”
“This is important.” Dean sat on the arm of the couch. “No time for knocking.”
“That entire explanation took the exact same amount of time that knocking would have taken.”
“Not helping, Wellsy.” The boy muttered. “I came here to talk to you.”
“Okay.” You closed your laptop, leaning back into the couch cushion. “I’m all ears.”
“Something is up with Beau.”
“And you expect me to know what-”
“I know it was because of you.” He looked serious, like he genuinely was in pain seeing his best friend miserable. “And you don’t need to tell me what happened, but you do need to fix it. Both of you.”
Your eyes watered. “I’m scared, Dean.”
“I know.” He smiled. “But think about it this way- if you confess first, you can hold it over his head for the rest of your lives.”
“Oh my god!” You gasped. “Way to ruin the mood.”
“Wait a second-” Allie leaned forward. “You said the rest of their lives.”
“They’re meant for each other, Al.” Hannah sighed wistfully. You didn’t think your cheeks could grow any hotter than they already were. “The way they look at each other, the way he looks at her when she isn’t looking-”
“Where is he?”
“His apartment?” Dean raised a brow. “Why?”
“I-” You shot up, grinning widely. “I have to go!”
“I didn’t mean right now!” Dean yelled. “That might not be the best-”
You raced down your building’s stairs, jumped in your car, and sped towards his apartment. You most definitely broke about thirty traffic laws, but you didn’t care. You parked your car haphazardly and jumped into the elevator.
Which held a girl you had a bio class with during your freshman year. “Hey, Cathy.”
“Hey.” She flashed a smile. “What’s up?”
“I-” What were you supposed to say, you were here to confess your love to your childhood best friend? “Am visiting a friend.”
“Ah.” The elevator dinged, and she stepped off. “Nice to see you.”
“You too.” You tapped your foot, nervously waiting for the elevator to go up one floor, one singular floor. Why did it feel like the elevator was moving in slow motion right before your stop? Why did- It stopped, and your heart skipped, jumping out to get to his apartment. You flung open his front door, breath heaving.
About twelve pairs of curious eyes landed on you. The door shut quietly behind you, and you huffed. “Do you know where-”
“Hey.” God, he looked handsome. Beau stood across the room, holding an overflowing bowl of chips. “What’s up?”
“I didn’t know that-” You gulped. “That people would be here.”
“Sorry?” He tilted his head as he handed off the bowl to one of his brothers. You scanned the crowd, smiling when you found Tucker.
“Hey, Tuck.”
“Hey.” Tucker smiled back.
“Are you alright?” Beau questioned. “Did something happen?”
“I’m fine.” He visibly relaxed at the statement. “I just- I have to finish our conversation.”
“I really don’t think that here is the best-”
“I love you.” You blurted it out like it was nothing. “That actually came out wrong. I wanted it to be more-” You wiped your temple, sweat building up from the adrenaline. “It’s just that I- wanted it to be a little more grand but I-” You laughed. “I really love you. I have for a while now.” Beau was wide-eyed, his face unreadable. “And I’m so sorry for everything. For ignoring it mainly. For ignoring us.” He stepped towards you so quickly, you hadn’t even registered it. You just kept rambling. “I can’t lose you, and I can’t stay just friends. So I understand if you-”
Beau’s hands clenched tightly around your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Stop talking for a second.”
“Okay.” Your hands subconsciously slid into his hair at the nape of his neck as his lips dove down to meet yours. The room collectively gasped, teasing and shouting out words of encouragement. Shiver ran down your spine as his touch made its way up your back.
Beau pulled away just barely, and you found yourself whining for more as he flipped his friends off. “Screw off.”
“Well, technically, she invaded our brother’s night.” A voice, you didn’t know whose, interrupted. “So you screw off.”
“I’m sure they will.” Another quipped.
Beau’s eyes never left yours once though. “I love you too, you know.” He grinned, nudging your nose with his. “This was really dramatic of you.”
You shrugged. “Had to get your attention somehow.”
“You definitely did. Will you excuse me for one second?”
You nodded. ”Sure.”
He pecked your lips quickly, turning to the guys who were watching the two of you like their own personal soap opera. “Thanks for coming, everyone. But I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” He cleared his throat when no one moved. “Now.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Tucker jumped up, making a beeline for the door. “Congrats, by the way.”
“Thanks, Tuck.” You waved. “Goodnight.”
“Did I miss it?” You groaned, dropping your head into Beau’s chest. “Did I miss it?”
“Yes, Dean.” Beau laughed, rubbing comforting circles into your back. “You missed it.”
🩵💗 - (i pictured this taking place during the fall time), simp!beau, FLUFF GALORE, idiots in love, KISSING GALORE, beau maxwell x fem!reader
here is the first part if you're interested!!
word count: 584
Asking your best friend to be the one to give you your first kiss was messing with your heart.
On one hand, it was Beau. On the other hand, he was really handsome.
Reflecting back on your initial idea, you realized how void of logic it was.
You didn't think your heart would race this fast and your mind would become this clouded when you got this close to your best friend.
"Relax, Trouble." He had this lazy sort of confidence about him that really (typically) irked you. Right now, though, it calmed you in a way that only he could. "It's just me."
"I know." You frowned. "I know it's just you."
"Then come here." He patted the spot next to him on the couch. "I won't bite. This time. That'll be part of your next lesson."
"Are you sure that your family won't be home soon-"
"I told you my parents are on vacation and Joanna has her own apartment." He gave you a reassuring smile, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "No one is going to interrupt."
"Okay." You turned toward him, looking between the space that still existed between you. "I feel like this would be an awkward way to kiss, no?"
"I mean-" His cheeks grew pink. "I guess."
"Can I-" You gestured to his lap. When he didn't instantly respond, you recoiled, stammering. "Sorry. What do I know about-"
"It's okay." He gulped. "It's alright." You let out a shaky breath as you straddled his lap, letting yourself relax into his hold. His hands were soft on your hips, grabbing at them like he was scared you would disappear.
"Is this alright?" You whispered.
"More than alright." He smiled quickly. "You're doing great, Trouble."
"We haven't even kissed yet." You leaned forward, your eyes fluttering to his lips every so often. "I'd be concerned if I was doing poorly."
His laugh sent shivers down your spine. "Put your hands on my chest."
"Okay." You felt your stomach flip.
"And I'm gonna- I'm gonna lean in, and-" His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer. "Is this-"
"Kiss me, Maxwell." You murmured, your lips brushing his.
He was softer than you were expecting. Gentler too. You'd heard stories about Beau; everyone had. The stories you had heard were a little more aggressive.
You were still enjoying it, though.
His hands found their way under your shirt, tracing shapes as his lips softly pressed against yours. You gasped when he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. "Oh-"
He pulled back, his cheeks now bright red. "Was that good?"
"It was great." You smiled, nudging his nose with yours.
"Good." He dove back down, and you grinned. This kiss was much more like the ones you'd heard tale of. Your hands drifted up to his hair, pulling lightly.
Now it was Beau's turn to gasp. "You are uh-" He gulped as you tentatively kissed down his neck. "Gonna kill me, Trouble."
"Sorry." You pulled back. "Am I-"
"You have no idea what you're doing to me." His thumb and pointer finger grabbed your chin. "No idea."
You wiggled your eyebrows. "You could give me one."
He laughed. "If you're down, then I'm-"
"Yes!" Your voice echoed through the apartment, and you slapped a hand over your mouth.
"What an enthusiastic reply." He smirked, standing up with you still in his hold.
"Beau-"
"Shh." Your legs squeezed his waist as he walked up the stairs. "I got you."
🩵💗 - (i pictured this taking place during the fall time), simp!beau, FLUFF GALORE, hopeless romantic!reader, besties in love, idiots in love, cutest little blurb i've ever written, beau maxwell x fem!reader
here is the second part if you're interested!!
word count: 750
Being in the city with Beau was the best. He knew where to go, what to eat, what to watch, and which parks to visit. It was like having your own little tour guide.
But every so often, when you had a longer subway ride, you would space out and fall into a state of deep reflection and self-pity.
Your eyes drifted from each person, wondering about their story, about how their day was. And then eventually, your eyes would land on a couple.
Happy, content, in love. It made your own heart clench with want. Today had been the millionth time this had happened to you. You watched a hopelessly in love boy, around you and Beau's age, blissfully unaware to the outward eye, plant the softest, sweetest kiss you'd ever seen on his girlfriend's lips.
Her smile widened as she returned the kiss quickly, mumbling something about people watching. The boy just laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into his side.
Your expression fell ever so slightly, and Beau frowned, following your gaze. This was not the first time he'd found you staring wistfully at couples, nor would it be the last.
He cleared his throat, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Trouble? You alright?"
"Yeah." You nodded. "For sure."
"Really?" He raised a brow, stretching his arm out over your shoulders to whisper in your ear. "So you weren't daydreaming?"
"Yes?" You were much too confident for someone who was so obviously lying. "Sorry. Did I ignore you?"
"Nope." He smiled. "Didn't miss a thing."
"Cool." You grinned. "Wanna get pizza?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
...
You waited until after he'd taken a large bite to ask the most out-of-pocket question in the world. "Can you kiss me?"
Beau choked, eyes practically falling out of their sockets as he tried to catch his bearings. You look guilty, wincing every time he coughs. "What brought this on?"
"You've kissed a lot of girls, right?"
"Are you trying to slut shame me right now?"
You've never looked so embarrassed in your life, and Beau is living for the way you shift under his gaze. "No, no! I would never, you know that."
"I'm just teasing you." He took a large sip of water.
"You have, right?"
He nods.
"So you could say you're-" You huff. "Experienced?"
His ego, unfortunately, has never been larger. "I can give you a list of references."
"Oh, shut up." You push his arm, leaning back against the booth. "Forget I said anything."
"Nope. Can't." He leans forward, making it impossible for you to avoid him. "You want me to kiss you. Why?"
"I-" You groan. "This is so embarrassing."
"It's just me, Trouble. I promise this isn't embarrassing." He mumbles, taking another sip of his water. "It's kind of endearing, honestly."
"Endearing!" You let your face fall into your hands. "Kill me now."
"I'll kiss you. Free of charge and everything."
"Well, gee." You scoff, letting your hands fall into your lap. "Thanks, pal."
"You never said why you want me to do this mind-blowing kiss."
"I never said mind-blowing." You glared. "I trust you, okay? I want you to be my first kiss."
"First?" His heart skipped a beat. "As in-"
"Yes, Beau." You were back to glaring at him. "I've never been kissed. I've never done anything." His jaw was slack, and you wanted to curl up in a hole and die. "See? I told you it was embarrassing."
"Stop saying that." He look almost annoyed. Almost. "It's not, I promise you. I'm not judging you, and that's really the only opinion that matters anyway."
"You really need to get your ego checked, Maxwell."
"Yeah, yeah." He tried to deflate it, but he couldn't help it. You'd just asked him to be your first kiss. He was on top of the moon, and not even one of Sabrina's classic humiliating roasts could bring him down.
"I can ask someone else-"
"I'll do it." Pull it together, Maxwell.
"Geez." You smirked. "Try not to be so eager."
"So when do you want this thing to happen?"
Your nose scrunched up in disgust, and Beau can't help but feel the need to kiss the creases away. "Don't call it a thing. And I was thinking ASAP. Maybe when we get back to your apartment?"
"I can make that happen." He grinned. This was either going to be the best or the worst decision Beau would ever make in his life.
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what is that irritating, grating, voice?!? it's spiderman - drabble #4
🩵♥️💗- AND ANOTHER ONE (thor-core)!!, angst/fluff, banter, team cap, enhanced!reader, basically wanda with purple powers lol, peter parker x fem!avenger!reader,peter parker x maximoff!reader
word count: 502
You watched from the shadows as Steve tried to talk Tony down. This wasn't exactly what you signed up for when the Avengers promised to take care of you and train you like one of their own. "Wanda-"
"It'll be alright, Angel." She whispered, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.
"Underoos!" Tony's little sidekick swung out of nowhere, pulling Cap's shield from his hands and flipping around in the air. You stepped out, hands glowing, ready to take it back. "Nice job, kid."
"Thanks! I could have stuck the landing a little better-"
"Excuse me." You cleared your throat. "That doesn't belong to you."
"Harsh." He sounded as young as you. You glared, focusing on the shield. "I'm Spider-Man, by the way. What's your name?"
"Your distraction tactics will not work on me." You scoffed, wiggling your fingers. "Stand down, and I won't throw you around like a little rag doll."
"Alright." Tony rolled his eyes. "I don't know if this is some messed-up way of flirting or something, but we have an agenda."
"I wasn't-" The Spiderman was a blubbering mess, as far as you could tell. "I- Yeah, won't happen again, sorry, Mr. Stark."
"Tony-" You frowned. "Please, let us go."
"Aren't you supposed to be in time out?" The billionaire jutted his hip. "I left you at the compound, if I'm not mistaken. You and your sister."
"Funny. We would have stayed, but we didn't enjoy the whole prison vibe."
"Don't sass me, young lady." He was visibly growing frustrated. "I was trying to keep you safe, to keep Cap here from tearing the Avengers apart."
"You did that yourself." You spat out. "You took the one family I ever-"
Steve placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back before you made it worse. "Let me take it from here. Follow the kid."
...
The Spiderman had a knack for annoying people.
"Leave them alone, Spider-ling!" You flew after him, almost giggling when his eyes widened.
"Mr. Stark's orders, so-"
You raised one hand, pulling him off of the information pole like it was nothing. "Woah, what's going on?"
"I'm using my powers." You answered like it was obvious. "Would you like a soft or hard landing?"
"Soft!"
"Too slow." You flung him through the glass terminal ceiling, allowing yourself to laugh as he screamed. "Stupid little spider."
"Are you gonna free us?" Bucky grumbled. "Or are you gonna keep talking to yourself?"
"I-" You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "You should be grateful."
"I would be-" Sam interjected. "But your timing is horrible."
You stalked over, your fingers glowing purple as the web fluid melted from their wrists. "Требало би да те оставим овде да трулиш."
"What was that?" Sam squinted. "That's not fair; you know I can't speak Sokovian."
You smirked, walking away. "That is not my issue, Sam."
"Hey!"
"She said, I should leave you here to rot." Bucky almost laughed for the first time in decades. "I would if I were her."
🩵💗💛♥️ - AND ANOTHER ONE (thor-core)!! angsty, fluffy, hurt/comfort, just talking about life, enhanced!reader, basically wanda with purple powers lol, peter parker x fem!avenger!reader,peter parker x maximoff!reader
word count: 1,039
You'd been in the living room binging your favorite sitcom (Superstore) when you'd heard it: your window opening in the other room. Your bedroom.
God forbid a girl relax in her own home without imminent fear of an attack.
You wanted to groan. You'd just brewed a pot of tea and settled into your corner of the couch with your heated blanket on its highest setting.
In other words, this was an extremely inconvenient time to be attacked. Getting up from your spot, you grabbed the nearest weapon, planning your defense strategy.
Then you'd heard a thud, a pained gasp, and cursing. Your eyebrows furrowed as you walked carefully toward your bedroom door, pushing it open slowly.
"Hey, Angel." Spider-Man sat on your floor, clutching his side. "You look comfy."
"It is two am." You put your knife down on your bedside table. "How'd you know I lived here?"
"I-" He pulled his mask off the rest of the way, allowing you to see his eyes (full of guilt, by the way).
"Ah." You nodded in understanding. "You stalked me after I stalked you."
"Something like that. Sorry to barge in like this, but-" He gasped again. Your heart clenched, your mind racing for why you felt the way you did. You'd seen countless injuries, and you'd never batted an eye.
You were weirdly comfortable with Spider-Man.
Peter. You had to remember to call him Peter.
You were weirdly comfortable with Peter. In this specific situation, it felt like you'd been through it a million times before.
Except this was the first time he'd ever done this, as far as you could recall.
"It's bad, isn't it?" He nodded, and you instantly dropped to the floor, trying to examine the wound. "It's hard to see with the suit mostly covering it. Can-" You gestured to his chest, and his cheeks grew bright red. (It was definitely from the pain and adrenaline, and definitely NOT from the fact that you were touching him for the first time in years).
"Yes." He sounded tense. (Again, probably the pain).
Using your powers, you pulled down his torn suit, stopping at the waist. "Tell me when it hurts."
He was quiet for a while, his head leaning back against the mattress, the only indication of pain being his clenched jaw. If you hadn't noticed that, you would have never known he was in pain. He never complained, never told you that it hurt. That made you worry even more. "Can I ask what happened?"
"I was off tonight." He took a shaky breath in. "There was too much going on, too many people in trouble, and I- I got distracted."
"You could have called me, y'know." You looked up, a soft smile on your lips as your glowing hands hovered over the gash. "I would have been there."
"Yeah?" He smirked. "I thought you only dealt with large potatoes."
"Hey!" You were almost offended. "That's Yelena's thing, not mine. I- I want to help. I need to help."
You didn't have to say why; Peter knew. Of course he knew - after Wanda kidnapped an entire town, people were quick to turn on her younger sister, even though you hadn't been involved at all.
"Next time."
You frowned, refocusing on the wound, which was healing nicely. "Hopefully there isn't a next time."
"Of course." He nodded. "I just meant-"
"Relax, Peter." You giggled. "You're so tense."
He wanted to scream. This was all too much: your touch, your laugh, your smile. After years of denying himself of knowing you, he was now diving headfirst into all things you. Instead of screaming, he asked a stupid question. "How do your powers work?"
You raised a brow. "Do you actually want to know?"
"Yeah." He looked down at his side, which was now considerably less bloody than it was when he'd arrived. "It's cool. Glow stick hands - I wish I had that power."
"Glow stick hands?" You squeaked. That was a new one. "I was given these powers by HYDRA."
"In Sokovia, right?"
"Right." You nodded. "Wanda and I are actually very similar in that sense. We both have glow stick hands-" You wiggled your fingers. "And we can both move things with our minds. We can read minds too."
"How are you different, then?"
"Her powers are more-" You gulped. "Destructive in a way. I always thought it had something to do with the age they were given to us. She was a teenager, angry and brooding. I was a kid. I still had hope, I guess. Maybe I was just naive." You pulled your hands away, reaching for the first aid kit in your bedside table drawer. "I don't know if that makes any sense, now that I've said it out loud."
"I think it makes perfect sense," Peter murmured. "Do you miss her?"
"Every day." You felt your eyes water. "She was the closest thing I had to a mother. I hardly remember my own. Who I miss the most, though, is my brother."
"Your brother?" Peter had only heard rumors of a third Maximoff, but he thought they were just that: rumors.
"Pietro." You carefully placed a gauze sponge over his injury before wrapping his side with tape. "He died ten years ago, I think. Maybe twelve." You sat back, admiring your work. "It's hard to remember anymore."
"It's hard." Peter sat up, his cheeks still pink. "Losing a loved one so young."
"It is." You sat beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder. "You lost your Uncle Ben, right?"
"You-" He nodded slowly. "Your memory is improving."
"I've been searching."
"Searching?" His body tensed. "Searching for what?"
"For you in my memories. Sometimes it hurts to keep digging. But I think-" You sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I think it hurts more not knowing all that we were, you know?"
"Have you found anything else?" You shook your head, too scared to say. That conversation was for another day, one where you hadn't just finished patching him up, and he wasn't shirtless in your room at four am. "Let me know if you do find anything else."
"I will." You hummed, leaning into his hold. "I promise."
