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WARNINGS: otto hightower, criston cole being a loser, implied rejection of said loser, angst, gwayne is such a lover boy, arguing, slight allusion to nsfw ig, TW: SUICIDE
WORD COUNT: 1.7k
🎶 : hymne à l’amour - édith piaf
AN: ♥️ - this is by far the most heart breaking thing i've ever written. sad sad ending - TW: suicide.
Criston Cole would be the utter demise of the noble Gwayne Hightower.
That knight (if once could even call him that) had a way of turning Gwayne’s goodnatured air into a poisonous one. For the past several weeks, the Dornishman had been on a conquest, one with the sole purpose of spreading his hate and resentment to those under his command.
And just when Gwayne thought Cole’s hatred was dwindling down, your dragon flew overhead a small dispute.
That seemed to reignite something inside him. Cole spent hours spewing horrible, slanderous things about you and the Princess Rhaenyra.
Gwayne had had a different reaction to the mere reminder of you. Reduced to his ten and five year old self, he spent his time in a daze, daydreaming and the like.
You’d been a haunting figure in Gwayne’s life for years.
The men sat around the fire, eating their horribly disgusting rations, exchanging tall tales. Cole had taken over the light-hearted nature, and forced it to become a slanderous and honestly obsessive speech about the princesses. He’d moved on from Rhaenyra, now focusing on you. Sweet, beautiful, and kind you.
“She was always a rough one.” His lip quirked, like he was trying to hint at something unbecoming of a true honorable knight. Of course, Gwayne reminded himself, Cole was not a true knight. A true knight knew when to hold his tongue. “Harsh, like that of a terrible storm. She tore through the Red Keep, leaving chaos in her wake.”
No one dared to correct him. Many that sat around the fire had visited court, had seen the notoriously kind and gentle princess move with the poise of a true noblewoman. Some had even grown up with the Princess. They all knew that she was not at all like the Dornishman said, and yet, none of them stood to defend her.
Cowards, the lot of them.
Gwayne’s jaw twitched as he waited for the man to redeem himself. He’d snapped at the Hand only a fortnight ago, and thought it would perhaps be wise to choose patience over impulse.
“Women like that are rare, truly.” Cole, unfortunately, continued. “She was, in no uncertain terms, a cun-”
In an instance, Gwayne rose to his feet, drew his sword, and held it at the Hand’s neck. “Watch your tongue, Sir Criston.”
The air stilled, the once jovial men tense with uncertainty. “It would be wise to lower your sword, my lord.”
“The mere concept of wisdom is something completely foreign to you.”
“It seems-” Criston swallowed. “That your allegiance has shifted.”
“How dare you.” Gwayne hissed. “My allegiance is not to be questioned.”
“It is-” Criston dared to speak again. “When you threaten me after my comment about the princess.”
“I am a man of honor.” Gwayne stepped back, allowing his sword to fall from the man’s neck. “And as a man of honor, I cannot stand idly by as you insult a lady. If you dare speak another ill word of her, I will strike you where you sit, the Gods as my witness.”
Criston smirked. “I shall not speak of the Realm’s Horror any longer then.” That comment earns laughs from the men.
Gwayne fought the urge to slash his throat in one swell blow. Instead, he turned on his heel, stalking towards his tent. He flung his sword on the floor beside his cot before flinging himself onto the cushion in a most undignified manner.
As he fell asleep, his mind drifted to memories of you. Well, to only one. His fondest.
Some Years Ago…
He hadn't seen you in ages, the longing in his heart nearly ready to burst. He knew that Rhaenyra and Alicent had gone off to the library thanks to his spies within the household, and he knew that that meant you were left to your own devices.
And so there he waited, watching as you walked through the castle garden, soaked to the bone thanks to the aggressive downpour. You'd abandoned your cloak some time ago, realizing there was no stopping your gown from becoming a wet rag.
His hand, gentle yet firm, had gripped your wrist, pulling you into the groundskeeper's shed. You knew who it was instantly; his touch was as familiar to you as Rhaenyra's whines (mostly regarding her father's wishes for her to marry). Still, a gasp left your lips.
Gwayne's terribly charming grin looked down at you, his face illuminated thanks to the adjacent window. “Gwayne Hightower, you cannot pull a lady-”
“I have missed you.” His head hung low, lips closer than they should be. “You have been busy.”
“Such is the life of the heir of the realm’s lady in waiting.” You reached up, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. “I have missed you as well.”
“Your gown-” He looked down, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “It is ruined.”
“Is it now?” You frowned. “What a shame.”
“A shame?” He lowered his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing kisses across your chest. Chills ran down your spine, biting your lips to suppress the urge to moan. “My darling girl, you have never looked as stunning as you have this very moment.” You glared, shoving his shoulder playfully.
“Do not tease, Gwayne.”
“I never tease-” He stopped, correcting his statement before he became a liar. “I only tease when I mean to immediately remedy the situation.”
“Ah.” Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers delicately playing with his hair. “Might I ask how you will be remedying this situation?”
“Of course, my lady.” He'd been slowly backing you toward the wall, finding satisfaction in your flustered appearance when your back collided against the partition. “I plan to ravish you-”
“Ravish?” You gawked, jaw slack. “Gwayne, what if my uncle- the guard-”
“If you do not wish for me to continue…” He whispered, hands squeezing your hips. “I will obey your commands.”
“No.” You shook your head, nudging your nose against his. “I never said I did not want to.”
“Ah.” His hands pulled at the fabric of your skirt, your stomach twisting at the action and what it alluded to. What it implied was something you’d been wanting for quite some time.
“You know-” You tried your best to seem entirely unbothered. “You have not kissed me yet.” “Haven’t I?” His eyes fluttered to your chest, your heart skipping at his actions. “I believe-”
“I would like a proper kiss.” You grumbled. “I am not a piece of meat, my lord, so you may stop eyeing me like one.”
“I do not eye.” He sounded highly offended. “I am simply taking in the vision that is before me. You are a goddess, the Realm’s Beauty indeed.”
“Gwayne-” You tugged on his doublet. “Please.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He leaned closer, his left hand left your hip to cup your cheek.
You nodded quickly. “It is.” He then pressed you further into the wall, if that was even possible. His lips never left your skin once, worshipping you like a man possessed. Your eyes closed, head tilting up toward the sky. “Gwayne-”
“I could hear my name leave your lips for a lifetime.”
“A lifetime?” Your breath caught at the implication. “What do you-”
“You know.” He murmured against your skin, causing chills to run down your spine. “You must know.”
“This-” You sounded utterly wrecked. “This is not a joking matter, Gwayne.”
“I am not joking.” He pulled your skirts up, tugging at your stockings. “You think me an unserious rake, I am convinced.”
“You must forgive me.” You gasped as his hand pawed at your upper thigh, thoughts failing to form coherently. “But your current actions are proving my point.”
“Are they?” His hand then slid up further, toying with the base of your chemise. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No!” You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with fear. “No.”
“My lovely girl-” He pulled your hand away, kissing the back gently. The act was so chivalrous that it almost made you forget he was actively taking part in the social ruin of a young noble lady. “I am asking for your hand this afternoon.”
“You are only saying that.”
“I am not. I have had this planned since a fortnight ago.”
Your legs tightened around his waist. “Have you really?”
He leaned forward, his nose nudging yours. “I love you, Your Highness. Most ardently, and if you will have me, I will make you the happiest woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“I-” You dove down, kissing him soundly. “I will marry you. I will be your wife.”
Of course, because the gods were cruel, his fondest memory was followed by his worst. He’d left you to go meet with the King and his father, to ask for your hand, hopeful, happy even.
He’d walked in calm, held his head high, but humble.
He’d even sworn that Viserys was on the verge of saying yes when his own father cut in, destroying his future in one fell swoop. “My King, I apologize. My son, he has insulted you gravely.”
“Otto-”
“Your niece is of a higher rank. He is only a second son.” Otto glared at his child. “Leave us.”
“Father-” Gwayne puffed his chest, trying his hardest not to look utterly crushed. “I love her, truly and honestly. I would- I would provide her a loving marriage, one of happiness and peace.”
“But not one that she deserves. Not one fitting of a Princess, am I right?” Otto raised a brow. Gwayne was speechless.
“Leave us. I won’t repeat myself.”
Gwayne hadn’t seen you after that day. His father had forbidden it, going so far as to post guards at his door and at the base of the Princess’s balcony. He’d sent him back to Oldtown, and sent you into a depressive state.
A mere fortnight later, Gwayne had been walking through the streets of his home when a villager whispered about the Targaryen princess who flung herself off the tallest point of the castle.
And two days later, his own father’s raven had confirmed it. You had died from heartbreak, all thanks to Otto Hightower and his scheming.
Gwayne knew that you were gone, and yet, when he saw your dragon, he let himself believe that you were still alive. He dared to have hope. And hope would kill him, just as it did his spirit all those years ago.
WARNINGS: otto hightower, criston cole being a loser, implied rejection of said loser, angst, gwayne is such a lover boy, arguing, slight allusion to nsfw ig, TW: SUICIDE
WORD COUNT: 1.7k
🎶 : hymne à l’amour - édith piaf
AN: ♥️ - this is by far the most heart breaking thing i've ever written. sad sad ending - TW: suicide.
Criston Cole would be the utter demise of the noble Gwayne Hightower.
That knight (if once could even call him that) had a way of turning Gwayne’s goodnatured air into a poisonous one. For the past several weeks, the Dornishman had been on a conquest, one with the sole purpose of spreading his hate and resentment to those under his command.
And just when Gwayne thought Cole’s hatred was dwindling down, your dragon flew overhead a small dispute.
That seemed to reignite something inside him. Cole spent hours spewing horrible, slanderous things about you and the Princess Rhaenyra.
Gwayne had had a different reaction to the mere reminder of you. Reduced to his ten and five year old self, he spent his time in a daze, daydreaming and the like.
You’d been a haunting figure in Gwayne’s life for years.
The men sat around the fire, eating their horribly disgusting rations, exchanging tall tales. Cole had taken over the light-hearted nature, and forced it to become a slanderous and honestly obsessive speech about the princesses. He’d moved on from Rhaenyra, now focusing on you. Sweet, beautiful, and kind you.
“She was always a rough one.” His lip quirked, like he was trying to hint at something unbecoming of a true honorable knight. Of course, Gwayne reminded himself, Cole was not a true knight. A true knight knew when to hold his tongue. “Harsh, like that of a terrible storm. She tore through the Red Keep, leaving chaos in her wake.”
No one dared to correct him. Many that sat around the fire had visited court, had seen the notoriously kind and gentle princess move with the poise of a true noblewoman. Some had even grown up with the Princess. They all knew that she was not at all like the Dornishman said, and yet, none of them stood to defend her.
Cowards, the lot of them.
Gwayne’s jaw twitched as he waited for the man to redeem himself. He’d snapped at the Hand only a fortnight ago, and thought it would perhaps be wise to choose patience over impulse.
“Women like that are rare, truly.” Cole, unfortunately, continued. “She was, in no uncertain terms, a cun-”
In an instance, Gwayne rose to his feet, drew his sword, and held it at the Hand’s neck. “Watch your tongue, Sir Criston.”
The air stilled, the once jovial men tense with uncertainty. “It would be wise to lower your sword, my lord.”
“The mere concept of wisdom is something completely foreign to you.”
“It seems-” Criston swallowed. “That your allegiance has shifted.”
“How dare you.” Gwayne hissed. “My allegiance is not to be questioned.”
“It is-” Criston dared to speak again. “When you threaten me after my comment about the princess.”
“I am a man of honor.” Gwayne stepped back, allowing his sword to fall from the man’s neck. “And as a man of honor, I cannot stand idly by as you insult a lady. If you dare speak another ill word of her, I will strike you where you sit, the Gods as my witness.”
Criston smirked. “I shall not speak of the Realm’s Horror any longer then.” That comment earns laughs from the men.
Gwayne fought the urge to slash his throat in one swell blow. Instead, he turned on his heel, stalking towards his tent. He flung his sword on the floor beside his cot before flinging himself onto the cushion in a most undignified manner.
As he fell asleep, his mind drifted to memories of you. Well, to only one. His fondest.
Some Years Ago…
He hadn't seen you in ages, the longing in his heart nearly ready to burst. He knew that Rhaenyra and Alicent had gone off to the library thanks to his spies within the household, and he knew that that meant you were left to your own devices.
And so there he waited, watching as you walked through the castle garden, soaked to the bone thanks to the aggressive downpour. You'd abandoned your cloak some time ago, realizing there was no stopping your gown from becoming a wet rag.
His hand, gentle yet firm, had gripped your wrist, pulling you into the groundskeeper's shed. You knew who it was instantly; his touch was as familiar to you as Rhaenyra's whines (mostly regarding her father's wishes for her to marry). Still, a gasp left your lips.
Gwayne's terribly charming grin looked down at you, his face illuminated thanks to the adjacent window. “Gwayne Hightower, you cannot pull a lady-”
“I have missed you.” His head hung low, lips closer than they should be. “You have been busy.”
“Such is the life of the heir of the realm’s lady in waiting.” You reached up, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. “I have missed you as well.”
“Your gown-” He looked down, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “It is ruined.”
“Is it now?” You frowned. “What a shame.”
“A shame?” He lowered his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing kisses across your chest. Chills ran down your spine, biting your lips to suppress the urge to moan. “My darling girl, you have never looked as stunning as you have this very moment.” You glared, shoving his shoulder playfully.
“Do not tease, Gwayne.”
“I never tease-” He stopped, correcting his statement before he became a liar. “I only tease when I mean to immediately remedy the situation.”
“Ah.” Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers delicately playing with his hair. “Might I ask how you will be remedying this situation?”
“Of course, my lady.” He'd been slowly backing you toward the wall, finding satisfaction in your flustered appearance when your back collided against the partition. “I plan to ravish you-”
“Ravish?” You gawked, jaw slack. “Gwayne, what if my uncle- the guard-”
“If you do not wish for me to continue…” He whispered, hands squeezing your hips. “I will obey your commands.”
“No.” You shook your head, nudging your nose against his. “I never said I did not want to.”
“Ah.” His hands pulled at the fabric of your skirt, your stomach twisting at the action and what it alluded to. What it implied was something you’d been wanting for quite some time.
“You know-” You tried your best to seem entirely unbothered. “You have not kissed me yet.” “Haven’t I?” His eyes fluttered to your chest, your heart skipping at his actions. “I believe-”
“I would like a proper kiss.” You grumbled. “I am not a piece of meat, my lord, so you may stop eyeing me like one.”
“I do not eye.” He sounded highly offended. “I am simply taking in the vision that is before me. You are a goddess, the Realm’s Beauty indeed.”
“Gwayne-” You tugged on his doublet. “Please.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He leaned closer, his left hand left your hip to cup your cheek.
You nodded quickly. “It is.” He then pressed you further into the wall, if that was even possible. His lips never left your skin once, worshipping you like a man possessed. Your eyes closed, head tilting up toward the sky. “Gwayne-”
“I could hear my name leave your lips for a lifetime.”
“A lifetime?” Your breath caught at the implication. “What do you-”
“You know.” He murmured against your skin, causing chills to run down your spine. “You must know.”
“This-” You sounded utterly wrecked. “This is not a joking matter, Gwayne.”
“I am not joking.” He pulled your skirts up, tugging at your stockings. “You think me an unserious rake, I am convinced.”
“You must forgive me.” You gasped as his hand pawed at your upper thigh, thoughts failing to form coherently. “But your current actions are proving my point.”
“Are they?” His hand then slid up further, toying with the base of your chemise. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No!” You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with fear. “No.”
“My lovely girl-” He pulled your hand away, kissing the back gently. The act was so chivalrous that it almost made you forget he was actively taking part in the social ruin of a young noble lady. “I am asking for your hand this afternoon.”
“You are only saying that.”
“I am not. I have had this planned since a fortnight ago.”
Your legs tightened around his waist. “Have you really?”
He leaned forward, his nose nudging yours. “I love you, Your Highness. Most ardently, and if you will have me, I will make you the happiest woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“I-” You dove down, kissing him soundly. “I will marry you. I will be your wife.”
Of course, because the gods were cruel, his fondest memory was followed by his worst. He’d left you to go meet with the King and his father, to ask for your hand, hopeful, happy even.
He’d walked in calm, held his head high, but humble.
He’d even sworn that Viserys was on the verge of saying yes when his own father cut in, destroying his future in one fell swoop. “My King, I apologize. My son, he has insulted you gravely.”
“Otto-”
“Your niece is of a higher rank. He is only a second son.” Otto glared at his child. “Leave us.”
“Father-” Gwayne puffed his chest, trying his hardest not to look utterly crushed. “I love her, truly and honestly. I would- I would provide her a loving marriage, one of happiness and peace.”
“But not one that she deserves. Not one fitting of a Princess, am I right?” Otto raised a brow. Gwayne was speechless.
“Leave us. I won’t repeat myself.”
Gwayne hadn’t seen you after that day. His father had forbidden it, going so far as to post guards at his door and at the base of the Princess’s balcony. He’d sent him back to Oldtown, and sent you into a depressive state.
A mere fortnight later, Gwayne had been walking through the streets of his home when a villager whispered about the Targaryen princess who flung herself off the tallest point of the castle.
And two days later, his own father’s raven had confirmed it. You had died from heartbreak, all thanks to Otto Hightower and his scheming.
Gwayne knew that you were gone, and yet, when he saw your dragon, he let himself believe that you were still alive. He dared to have hope. And hope would kill him, just as it did his spirit all those years ago.
PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x targaryen!reader
WARNINGS: otto hightower, criston cole being a loser, implied rejection of said loser, angst, gwayne is such a lover boy, arguing, slight allusion to nsfw ig, TW: SUICIDE
WORD COUNT: 1.7k
🎶 : hymne à l’amour - édith piaf
AN: ♥️ - this is by far the most heart breaking thing i've ever written. sad sad ending - TW: suicide.
Criston Cole would be the utter demise of the noble Gwayne Hightower.
That knight (if once could even call him that) had a way of turning Gwayne’s goodnatured air into a poisonous one. For the past several weeks, the Dornishman had been on a conquest, one with the sole purpose of spreading his hate and resentment to those under his command.
And just when Gwayne thought Cole’s hatred was dwindling down, your dragon flew overhead a small dispute.
That seemed to reignite something inside him. Cole spent hours spewing horrible, slanderous things about you and the Princess Rhaenyra.
Gwayne had had a different reaction to the mere reminder of you. Reduced to his ten and five year old self, he spent his time in a daze, daydreaming and the like.
You’d been a haunting figure in Gwayne’s life for years.
The men sat around the fire, eating their horribly disgusting rations, exchanging tall tales. Cole had taken over the light-hearted nature, and forced it to become a slanderous and honestly obsessive speech about the princesses. He’d moved on from Rhaenyra, now focusing on you. Sweet, beautiful, and kind you.
“She was always a rough one.” His lip quirked, like he was trying to hint at something unbecoming of a true honorable knight. Of course, Gwayne reminded himself, Cole was not a true knight. A true knight knew when to hold his tongue. “Harsh, like that of a terrible storm. She tore through the Red Keep, leaving chaos in her wake.”
No one dared to correct him. Many that sat around the fire had visited court, had seen the notoriously kind and gentle princess move with the poise of a true noblewoman. Some had even grown up with the Princess. They all knew that she was not at all like the Dornishman said, and yet, none of them stood to defend her.
Cowards, the lot of them.
Gwayne’s jaw twitched as he waited for the man to redeem himself. He’d snapped at the Hand only a fortnight ago, and thought it would perhaps be wise to choose patience over impulse.
“Women like that are rare, truly.” Cole, unfortunately, continued. “She was, in no uncertain terms, a cun-”
In an instance, Gwayne rose to his feet, drew his sword, and held it at the Hand’s neck. “Watch your tongue, Sir Criston.”
The air stilled, the once jovial men tense with uncertainty. “It would be wise to lower your sword, my lord.”
“The mere concept of wisdom is something completely foreign to you.”
“It seems-” Criston swallowed. “That your allegiance has shifted.”
“How dare you.” Gwayne hissed. “My allegiance is not to be questioned.”
“It is-” Criston dared to speak again. “When you threaten me after my comment about the princess.”
“I am a man of honor.” Gwayne stepped back, allowing his sword to fall from the man’s neck. “And as a man of honor, I cannot stand idly by as you insult a lady. If you dare speak another ill word of her, I will strike you where you sit, the Gods as my witness.”
Criston smirked. “I shall not speak of the Realm’s Horror any longer then.” That comment earns laughs from the men.
Gwayne fought the urge to slash his throat in one swell blow. Instead, he turned on his heel, stalking towards his tent. He flung his sword on the floor beside his cot before flinging himself onto the cushion in a most undignified manner.
As he fell asleep, his mind drifted to memories of you. Well, to only one. His fondest.
Some Years Ago…
He hadn't seen you in ages, the longing in his heart nearly ready to burst. He knew that Rhaenyra and Alicent had gone off to the library thanks to his spies within the household, and he knew that that meant you were left to your own devices.
And so there he waited, watching as you walked through the castle garden, soaked to the bone thanks to the aggressive downpour. You'd abandoned your cloak some time ago, realizing there was no stopping your gown from becoming a wet rag.
His hand, gentle yet firm, had gripped your wrist, pulling you into the groundskeeper's shed. You knew who it was instantly; his touch was as familiar to you as Rhaenyra's whines (mostly regarding her father's wishes for her to marry). Still, a gasp left your lips.
Gwayne's terribly charming grin looked down at you, his face illuminated thanks to the adjacent window. “Gwayne Hightower, you cannot pull a lady-”
“I have missed you.” His head hung low, lips closer than they should be. “You have been busy.”
“Such is the life of the heir of the realm’s lady in waiting.” You reached up, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. “I have missed you as well.”
“Your gown-” He looked down, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “It is ruined.”
“Is it now?” You frowned. “What a shame.”
“A shame?” He lowered his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing kisses across your chest. Chills ran down your spine, biting your lips to suppress the urge to moan. “My darling girl, you have never looked as stunning as you have this very moment.” You glared, shoving his shoulder playfully.
“Do not tease, Gwayne.”
“I never tease-” He stopped, correcting his statement before he became a liar. “I only tease when I mean to immediately remedy the situation.”
“Ah.” Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers delicately playing with his hair. “Might I ask how you will be remedying this situation?”
“Of course, my lady.” He'd been slowly backing you toward the wall, finding satisfaction in your flustered appearance when your back collided against the partition. “I plan to ravish you-”
“Ravish?” You gawked, jaw slack. “Gwayne, what if my uncle- the guard-”
“If you do not wish for me to continue…” He whispered, hands squeezing your hips. “I will obey your commands.”
“No.” You shook your head, nudging your nose against his. “I never said I did not want to.”
“Ah.” His hands pulled at the fabric of your skirt, your stomach twisting at the action and what it alluded to. What it implied was something you’d been wanting for quite some time.
“You know-” You tried your best to seem entirely unbothered. “You have not kissed me yet.” “Haven’t I?” His eyes fluttered to your chest, your heart skipping at his actions. “I believe-”
“I would like a proper kiss.” You grumbled. “I am not a piece of meat, my lord, so you may stop eyeing me like one.”
“I do not eye.” He sounded highly offended. “I am simply taking in the vision that is before me. You are a goddess, the Realm’s Beauty indeed.”
“Gwayne-” You tugged on his doublet. “Please.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He leaned closer, his left hand left your hip to cup your cheek.
You nodded quickly. “It is.” He then pressed you further into the wall, if that was even possible. His lips never left your skin once, worshipping you like a man possessed. Your eyes closed, head tilting up toward the sky. “Gwayne-”
“I could hear my name leave your lips for a lifetime.”
“A lifetime?” Your breath caught at the implication. “What do you-”
“You know.” He murmured against your skin, causing chills to run down your spine. “You must know.”
“This-” You sounded utterly wrecked. “This is not a joking matter, Gwayne.”
“I am not joking.” He pulled your skirts up, tugging at your stockings. “You think me an unserious rake, I am convinced.”
“You must forgive me.” You gasped as his hand pawed at your upper thigh, thoughts failing to form coherently. “But your current actions are proving my point.”
“Are they?” His hand then slid up further, toying with the base of your chemise. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No!” You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with fear. “No.”
“My lovely girl-” He pulled your hand away, kissing the back gently. The act was so chivalrous that it almost made you forget he was actively taking part in the social ruin of a young noble lady. “I am asking for your hand this afternoon.”
“You are only saying that.”
“I am not. I have had this planned since a fortnight ago.”
Your legs tightened around his waist. “Have you really?”
He leaned forward, his nose nudging yours. “I love you, Your Highness. Most ardently, and if you will have me, I will make you the happiest woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“I-” You dove down, kissing him soundly. “I will marry you. I will be your wife.”
Of course, because the gods were cruel, his fondest memory was followed by his worst. He’d left you to go meet with the King and his father, to ask for your hand, hopeful, happy even.
He’d walked in calm, held his head high, but humble.
He’d even sworn that Viserys was on the verge of saying yes when his own father cut in, destroying his future in one fell swoop. “My King, I apologize. My son, he has insulted you gravely.”
“Otto-”
“Your niece is of a higher rank. He is only a second son.” Otto glared at his child. “Leave us.”
“Father-” Gwayne puffed his chest, trying his hardest not to look utterly crushed. “I love her, truly and honestly. I would- I would provide her a loving marriage, one of happiness and peace.”
“But not one that she deserves. Not one fitting of a Princess, am I right?” Otto raised a brow. Gwayne was speechless.
“Leave us. I won’t repeat myself.”
Gwayne hadn’t seen you after that day. His father had forbidden it, going so far as to post guards at his door and at the base of the Princess’s balcony. He’d sent him back to Oldtown, and sent you into a depressive state.
A mere fortnight later, Gwayne had been walking through the streets of his home when a villager whispered about the Targaryen princess who flung herself off the tallest point of the castle.
And two days later, his own father’s raven had confirmed it. You had died from heartbreak, all thanks to Otto Hightower and his scheming.
Gwayne knew that you were gone, and yet, when he saw your dragon, he let himself believe that you were still alive. He dared to have hope. And hope would kill him, just as it did his spirit all those years ago.
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in which otto hightower returns, disrupting the peace his son and wife have built in Oldtown
PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, father!gwayne hightower x oc!children, mother!reader x oc!children
WARNINGS: otto hightower, fluff, gwayne is such a lover boy, disrespect, arguing, slight allusion to nsfw ig, kissing, fluff ending
WORD COUNT: 3.9k
🎶 : space song - beach house
AN: this could be read as a sequel to i wanna be yours (before their marriage) also you have two daughters: the eldest is Fiona, the youngest is Daenora
Your newborn babe was as quiet as a mouse, swaddled in the softest cloth you'd ever felt. That cloth, as your husband reminded you constantly, had swaddled countless Hightower babes, spanning from the very beginning of his house to now, your second child.
“She is perfection itself, is she not?” His strong arms wrapped around you from behind, whispering so he would not wake the precious girl below you. “The spitting image of you.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Look at her wisps, my love.” You brushed her cheek, smiling at the way her face squeezed and legs stretched. “She has your hair.”
“Perhaps.” He lowered his mouth to your neck, kissing gently. A bolt of shivers ran down your spine. “She has your eyes.”
“Perhaps.” You turned in his hold, pushing a wayward hair out of his handsome face. “It is much too soon to tell. She is just a babe, Gwayne.”
“And yet she is exactly as I said. Perfection itself.” He leaned down, your lips inches apart. “Just like her mother.”
You scoffed, smacking his chest playfully. “You flatter me.”
“That is my duty.” He looked offended. “Have I not made that apparent?”
“You have.” Since your courtship, Gods, since before your courtship, Gwayne had made it his mission to compliment you at every turn. You found it annoying, incessantly so, but he did not care. You telling him to cease his constant flattery only worsened his affliction.
“You are quite beautiful.” He placed a finger under your chin, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “The Maiden herself does not amount to your-”
You slapped a hand over his mouth, glaring. “You must not say such things.”
He peeled your hand away, smirking as he kissed the back. “I will say whatever I like.”
You scoffed, pulling yourself out of his hold. “You will wake the babe.”
He followed after you, sparing one last look at your newborn daughter before shutting the door. “Will I now?”
You nodded, eyes full of love and admiration for your husband. “What have I done to deserve you?”
He reached out, grabbing your wrist and spinning you into his arms. “I was about to mention the same thing.” In less than a second, he grabbed your waist, throwing you over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold into your shared chambers.
You gasped, smacking his back. “Gwayne Hightower! This is unbecoming of-”
“I do not care.” He laughed. “You are my wife, this is my estate.”
You raised an eyebrow, finding it difficult not to completely melt from his touch. “What has gotten into you?”
He grabbed your waist once more, lowering you onto your bed as if you were a fragile doll. “Can a man not take pleasure in the fact that he has two lovely daughters and the most beautiful wife in the seven kingdoms?”
You felt as if you would combust into flames. “You are too good to me, my love.”
He shook his head, arms on either side of you, as he lowered his frame. “I do not believe I am good enough, for a lady such as yourself deserves all the riches, all the love, all the fame this world has to offer.”
“Gwayne-” You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck and closing the distance between you, giggling as he tumbled toward you. “Just kiss me.”
“My lord?” A knock echoed through your chambers, and Gwayne’s head dropped into your neck.
You frowned, running a hand through his auburn hair. “I believe that is for you, my love.”
“My lord?” The servant’s voice rang out once more. “I was told this letter was urgent.”
Gwayne groaned, peeling himself away from you. “Do not move.”
You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes, my lord.”
He smirked, muttering under his breath. “You are incorrigable.” Throwing open the door, he fought the intense urge to glare at the young servant before him. “What is it?”
“I do not know, my lord.” He held the letter out. “It has the Hightower sigil.”
Gwayne frowned. “Very well. Thank you.”
“Good night, my lord.”
You tilted your head as Gwayne walked back over, scanning the contents of the letter. “What does it say?” Your husband’s face dropped, his mischievous nature replaced with something far darker. “Gwayne?”
“My father.” He crumpled the letter, throwing it into the fire. “My father is to return to Oldtown.”
“You should be resting.”
You raised a brow, your youngest cradled in your arms. “I am not inept.”
“I know-”
“Besides, I should like to be here to greet your father.”
“I wish you would take more care.” He whispered, wrapping an arm around your waist, Daenora now settled between you. You understood his concern; his own mother had died from childbirth and its aftereffects.
“You know I would not do anything to endanger myself or our children.” You reached up, kissing his cheek gently. “Trust me.”
“You know I do.” He held a finger above Daenora’s face, smiling when she playfully batted it away from her. “May I hold her?”
“Gwayne.” You sighed. “It is not prop-”
“I do not care.” He snapped. “You are my wife; she is my daughter. The world will not crumble into ash if a man shows care for his family.”
You knew this sudden outburst had nothing to do with your family, but entirely about his father’s return and his actions toward Gwayne and Alicent when they were children. Otto was cold, everyone knew this.
In some instances, being cold was helpful, necessary even. When it came to raising a family, it was not. The one redeeming feature Otto had was his deep and passionate love for his wife, the late Lady Hightower.
When she died, Gwayne said that the light in his father’s eyes left, that he found it difficult to look at his children, saying that they reminded them too much of her. He left for King's Landing and took Alicent with him, leaving Gwayne behind to deal with his grief alone, at a mere fourteen years of age. Who were you to deny him the joy of holding your daughter during this trying time?
“Very well.” You nodded, passing your daughter over. “It will be alright, my love.”
His smile did not match his eyes. “I admire your optimism.”
Your eldest ran around the courtyard, chasing the chickens that ran amok. You fought the urge to laugh, shaking your head as you called your daughter over. “Fiona, come here, my darling!”
The little girl, all but five years of age, scurried over, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. “Mama!”
You spun her around as she collapsed into your arms. “My little wild one.” Setting her down, you brushed your fingers through her hair, trying to make it look somewhat presentable. “Promise me you shall be on your best behavior this weekend.” You whispered.
“I promise.” She whispered back. “Mama?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Is Papa sad?”
You frowned. “Why do you think Papa is sad?”
“He is frowning.” She looked up at her father, who was still cooing at her younger sister. “He never frowns, Mama.”
“Papa is nervous, that is all.” You straightened her dress, dusting off the dirt that clung to the green cloth. “He has not seen his own father in quite some time.”
“Is he not excited to see him?”
“He is.” You smiled, finding some solace in the fact that your children do not hate their father as much as he despises his own. Your daughter, who had been brought up in a home full of love and warmth, would never come to know the cold, harsh nature Gwayne himself had been brought up in. “He is both excited and nervous.”
“Ah.” She stared at the ground, kicking the pebble in front of her, obviously becoming bored with this conversation.
Gwayne cleared his throat, shoulders tensing as the ornate carriage pulled through the gates. “He is here.” You kissed Fiona’s temple quickly, taking Daenora from your husband’s hold, babbling back at the newborn. “He is here, and I wish he were not.”
“Try your hardest to be civil, for all our sakes.” You muttered, straightening your posture.
The carriage came to a stop before you, the valet hopping off the back and opening the door. “Ser Otto Hightower, hand to the King.”
Daenora began to whine, and you frowned, bouncing her gently on your hip. “It’s alright, my darling, it’s alright.”
Gwyane leaned toward you, whispering so quietly that even his father, who had now stepped out of the carriage, could not hear him. “He has upset Daenora without uttering a word.”
Your eyes widened, elbowing him in the side. “Quiet.”
“Gwayne.” He nodded, not even bothering to hug his own son. He stood in front of you, eyeing the babe in your arms with curiosity. “Is a wet nurse not available?”
You could feel the anger radiating off your husband in waves. “I thought you would be eager to meet your granddaughter, my lord.”
“Another girl?” He looked over at Gwayne, not even bothering to acknowledge your presence. He had been highly against your union, even going so far as to ask the King to reject his son’s request.
Viserys had grown angry, shocked at how harsh a father could be to his own son. Otto eventually saw the advantage to this marriage; the fact that you were rumored to be a Targaryen bastard could be helpful for his family’s status. “Are you not concerned?”
“Concerned?” Gwayne feigned innocence. “Concerned with my two healthy daughters? No, Father, I am not.”
Otto huffed. “Very well.” He turned back to you, looking closer at Daenora. Her eyes were now wide open, staring back at her grandfather. “She has violet eyes.”
You nodded, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and hide from his harsh gaze. “She does.”
“Interesting.” He muttered. Gwayne, sensing your discomfort, settled a hand on your lower back. You looked over, smiling gratefully.
Otto settled in front of Fiona, kneeling before her with a slight smile. “And you are Fiona.”
“I am.” Her voice was confident, unbothered by the man before her.
“I have a present for you.” Snapping his fingers, his valet ran over, a small rectangular box in his hands. “Do you like dolls?”
She nodded, eager excitement brewing in her tiny body. “I love them.”
“Well, that is good news.” Otto’s smile was bright, kind, even. You smiled at the sight, much to Gwayne’s displeasure. Placing the box before her, he pulled the bow loose, removing the lid. “I chose one based on your father’s description of you.”
Fiona giggled, cradling the porcelain doll the very same way you held Daenora. “I love her.”
“What do you say?” You whispered, gesturing to her grandfather.
“Thank you.” She spoke shyly, hugging the doll tightly. “Thank you very much.”
“Could you at the very least pretend to be happy your father is here?” You sighed, trying to reason with the man now pacing around your room. “Your daughter is noticing.”
“I highly doubt Daenora has noticed how I look at her grandfather.”
You crossed your arms, growing increasingly annoyed with his stubborn nature. “Do not feign ignorance, Gwayne Hightower.” You sat in front of your vanity, removing your jewelry. “He is trying.”
“Is he?” Gwayne raised a brow. “In one fell swoop, he managed to not only insult you, but ignore and belittle you.” He practically growled, watching in fascination as you undid your hair. “I will not stand for it.”
“Well then, by all means-” You smirked. “Take a seat.” He stuck his tongue out, remaining standing. “It is in his nature. Would you be entirely happy if Fiona brought home a suitor whose parentage was in question?”
“That is different.”
You laughed, turning around to face him. “How so?”
His face was gentle, warm. “That suitor is not you.”
You shook your head. “There is no getting through to you, is there?”
“I’m afraid not, my love. Not when it comes to you.” He took the brush from your hand. “Turn around.”
You smiled as he carefully brushed your hair, leaning into his touch. “You must not get upset at what I am about to say.”
“Why would I be upset?” He scoffed. “I am not upset.”
“You are much too protective of me.”
“If that is the worst thing I have done in our marriage, I would consider our union a success.” You sighed, smiling gratefully when he extended his hand. “If I am too protective, then you are entirely too forgiving.”
You removed your robe and settled underneath your bedding. “I am trying to ensure that our daughters do not experience the same Otto you did.” Gwayne wrapped a hand around your waist, pulling you into his side. “They deserve better than what you endured.”
“On that much,” He kissed your temple before blowing out the candle on his bedside table. “We can agree.”
Your day had been the very picture of peace, deciding to escape to your favorite picnic spot with your daughters, away from the bustle of Oldtown. Unfortunately, Gwayne could not accompany you, so you and your guard made the trip yourself.
‘Trip’ was an exaggeration. For Fiona, it was a trip; for you, it was a mere five-minute horse ride. Daenora had slept soundly while on horseback, something that would never cease to amaze you. When Fiona was a babe, the slightest movement would cause tears to leave her eyes.
“Fiona!” You yelled out, laughing to yourself as she tripped over herself. “Be careful!”
“I am, Mama!” She was so much like her father, courageous and headstrong. You told Gwayne countless times that if women were permitted to be knights, Fiona would outrank him in a fortnight.
Daenora, you knew in your heart as you stared at the peaceful babe, would be more like you, a reader with a wild imagination. More reserved, but fiercely loyal and deeply loving.
“My lord.”
So Gwayne had made it out of his day of meetings. You made no effort to turn around, gesturing to the open area beside you. “My love, how was your day?”
“Gwayne is still otherwise occupied.” You were sure that if you could burst from embarrassment, you would have done so that very moment.
“My lord. If you would like-”
“No need.” Otto quickly cut you off. “I will not be staying long.” He looked wistfully at the lake before you, an island in the very center of it all. “Gwayne’s mother would take the children for picnics here as well.”
You smiled, looking back at your youngest. “It is quite the view.”
“Quite.”
A comfortable silence fell over both of you before you spoke again. “He misses her terribly.”
Otto’s voice was weak, vastly different from his normally stoic, stern tone. “As do I.”
“I’ve found him-” You waved to Fiona from across the lake, your smile falling as you reminisced. “I’ve found him admiring her portrait from time to time. He is the spitting image of her.”
He cleared his throat, bowing quickly. “Excuse me.”
You nodded, watching as he practically ran away, too overwhelmed with emotions to continue. “My lord.”
“Father is requesting a private dinner.” Gwayne groaned, shoving his face further into your neck. “Tonight.”
You laughed, enjoying the way his voice shook against your skin. “I believe we can fulfill this one request, my love.”
“I do not wish to.”
You sighed, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “He is your father, your blood. You cannot begrudge him forever.”
“Oh, but I can.” And you truly believed him. When someone wronged your husband, or Gods forbid, wronged you, it took him ages to forget. Ages. “And I will.”
“You will not.” You scolded. “We will attend this dinner, whether you want to or not.”
“Do you truly hate me so?” He whined, peaking out from his hiding place. “You made a vow-”
“A vow I have not broken.”
“A vow to love and cherish me.”
“I have.” You raised an eyebrow. “Rather dutifully, I would say.”
“And to think…” He sighed, looking wistfully out the window. “I thought you loved me.”
“You are, without a doubt, the most dramatic man I have ever met.” You shoved him away from you, jumping out of bed and donning your robe. “If you agree to attend, I will wear your favorite gown.”
His entire demeanor changed, eyes growing dark as he admired you from the comfort of your bed. “Consider it done, my love.”
“Men are simple creatures.” You laughed to yourself. “Rhaenyra was right after all.”
“What was that?”
You shook your head. “Nothing, darling.” Opening your wardrobe doors, you pulled out the very dress Gwayne had mentioned, holding it against your frame. “This is rather ornate for a private dinner.”
His eyes were dark as he stared. “Have I mentioned how ravishing you are?”
“Control yourself.” You tutted, hanging the dress against your mirror.
You had yet to eat a single bite of your meal, simply watching in horror as your husband and father-in-law slung skillfully concealed insults at each other. They were now on the topic of Alicent, a touchy subject for both men.
“Ah, yes. My dear sister.” Gwayne took a sip of his ale. “How does she fare after years of taking care of her dying husband?”
“That husband you speak of is the King.” Otto glared. “You will do well to remember that.”
“Perhaps-” Your voice was quiet, testing the waters. “We should retire, my love.”
Gwayne laughed. “Nonsense. I have barely eaten.” He looked at your plate, frowning. “Neither have you. Is the food not to your liking?”
“It-” You sighed, trying to signal to your husband that he should cease this intricate game of chess immediately. “It is fine.” The table was silent for a moment, something you found yourself grateful for.
“Fiona is the spitting image of your sister.”
Gwayne shrugged. “I like to think she takes after her mother-”
“Your second daughter, however.” Otto opened his mouth before closing it again. “It is quite curious.”
You took the bait, setting your fork down. “What is curious, my lord?”
“From whom did she receive her violet eyes?” He looked at you with a false sense of curiosity. “Your mother was known for having violet eyes, yes?”
You had made a vow to Viserys before you left, to never speak of her. To never allude to the fact that you were a Targaryen bastard. It seemed, as you stared at the Lord Hand, that you were about to break that solemn vow. “Yes, my lord.”
“Did your father?” Your gaze dropped to your hands, and Otto’s voice grew sinister. “Ah, I forget. You never knew the man. How could you-”
“That is enough.” Gwayne cut his father off. “We will not speak of this any longer.”
“I am simply asking-”
“You will not insult my wife, belittle her because of her mother’s unfortunate actions.” His tone wavered as anger dared to seep through. “I will not sit by and watch as you disrespect her.”
“Is it disrespectful, my dear son, to point out a woman’s parentage?” Otto scoffed. “Her mother-”
“Was a princess of the seven kingdoms. I am not sure the King would be pleased to hear that his hand so freely shames his late aunt.” He laughed, although there was no humor in his tone. “I believe you have outstayed your welcome.”
“What-”
“You will leave. On the morrow.”
“Gwayne-” You whispered, your hand lying over his. “Do not act in anger-”
“This is an outrage.” Otto scoffed. “A scandal-”
“No!” Gwayne yelled, the noise echoing through the hall. “The scandal is you insulting my wife, my family. I have let it go on for far too long, but no more.”
“Gwayne!” Your voice was sharp, shocking your husband with its lack of sweetness. “You will wake the entire estate with this nonsense.”
“Then let me lower my tone.”
“No.” You shook your head. “I believe it would be best if you retired for the night.”
“My love…” He whispered. “He has just-”
“I know what he has done.” You ripped your hand away from his, your voice stern. “I will be right behind you.”
The older man waited until his son had left to address you. “Thank you for your support-”
“With all due respect…” You raised your hand. “I believe I have the floor. Your admiration for your granddaughters has not gone unnoticed. It is kind and sweet, the way you have treated them during your time here.”
He smiled. “Of course-”
“But I will not stand idly by while you insult me. As you saw, neither can your son. While he has a peculiar way of showing it, Gwayne loves you; he will always love you, just as I love my mother, even though I did not know her. I hold a certain admiration for her bringing me into this world. I digress. If you ever-”
You stood up, straightening your dress. “And I mean ever, treat me in such a manner again, and I will not ask my husband to stop his defensive tirade. Furthermore, you will be barred from visiting your granddaughters, and you will be barred from entering the city. I will not reward your disrespectful behavior by allowing your poisonous presence around my sweet girls.” Tucking in your chair, you gave him a half smile, turning on your heels toward the door. “If you will excuse me…”
Gwayne was staring into the fire when you entered your chambers. His hair was unruly, from the many, many times he ran his hands through it in frustration. You smiled, gently shutting the door behind you. “My love-”
“Why?”
“Why what?” You frowned.
“Why must you deny any help?” He turned around, eyes desperate for an answer. “I only want to protect you, my darling. My father was behaving cruelly.”
You nodded, reaching up and caressing his cheek. “He was indeed.”
“And I tried to defend you-”
“Quite valiantly.”
“And you stopped me.” He wrapped a hand around your waist. “Why?”
“Some disagreements are better settled through means of persuasion rather than aggression.”
“I see.” He hummed, leaning his forehead against yours. “And this disagreement was solved through means of-”
“Persuasion.” Gwayne raised an eyebrow. “Let me reassure you that if your father does ever disrespect me again, you can do as you please.”
“Ah.” He grinned, voice soft. “I love you.”
“I love you more.” You smiled, kissing his lips gently. “You are a good husband, Gwayne.”
“It is not a hard thing to achieve when one has you as a wife.”
“Must you leave?” Fiona whined, hugging her grandfather tightly.
“I’m afraid so, my sweet one.” He smiled, setting her back on the ground. “Do not fret, I will be back with more dolls in no time.”
She giggled, hugging his leg for good measure. “I will miss you, Grandfather.”
He ruffled her already wild hair, approaching you and the babe. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“You are welcome anytime, my lord.” You smiled. “Would you like to hold her?”
He nodded, carefully taking her into his grasp. “She is quite the perfect babe.”
Gwayne wrapped an arm loosely around your waist. “I would have to agree.”
Otto put Daenora back into your arms. “Gwayne.”
“Father.” They merely looked at each other, but a mutual understanding was there. “I look forward to your return.” You had a sneaking suspicion as you watched your father-in-law’s carriage disappear across the horizon that Gwayne actually meant it.
summary: you hated the guy. he wanted to prove you wrong.
author’s note: i think it needs a second part
"I just don't understand. Why is it that all athletes think the whole world revolves around them?"
You glance over at Allie as you walk across campus. She is completely glued to her phone, thumbs flying across the keyboard with a faint, amused smile playing on her lips. She lets out a vague, rhythmic hum, entirely tuned out but pretending to listen to your rant.
"Tell you what," you continue anyway, pointing a dramatic finger in her direction to demand some semblance of attention. "We should start giving them real-life penalties to stop them. Seriously, put them in a literal timeout."
"Like badly behaving children," Allie mutters, her eyes never leaving her screen.
"Well, they are," you insist, waving a hand dismissively as if the very thought of them is beneath you. "Especially that football guy. Banks, or whatever his name is."
Allie suddenly freezes in her tracks. Her head snaps up, looking at you for the first time since you started talking. "Banks?"
"Yeah. Bernard," you say confidently.
She lets out a sharp, genuine snort, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Now you're just throwing random names out."
"Who cares? The point is, that guy sucks," you press on, gesturing wildly with your hands as the pent-up frustration pours out. "He thinks just because his future is pre-written as some glorious NFL quarterback, he can pull his stupid pranks on everyone. Like, just because the big leagues are waiting for him, he doesn't have to lift a finger to pass a single class? I work my absolute ass off every day, and he just sits there in the back of the lecture hall looking completely smug about it."
You let out a cynical, incredulous laugh, pacing forward. "Or—even better—the way he flirts his way through the faculty, the cheerleaders, and literally every single breathing thing on this campus?“
You spin to face her, completely breathless. "Or, the way he doesn’t even deny he’s full of money and has the complete disregarding mentality that money can solve anything. Can be true, but not in his case. He was born and fed with a silver spoon outta his ass.”
A deep, smooth, entirely unfamiliar voice speaks up right beside your ear.
"Sounds like you have a whole list of reasons to hate on Beau."
Completely missing the shift in tone due to your increased cholesterol and hatred, you nod aggressively, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, Barrett. Whatever. Fuck that guy. He drives me absolutely insane. And don't even get me started on the hockey team—"
"Yeah," the voice interrupts softly, laced with a slow, dangerous amusement. "I really don't think you should continue."
You shrug, crossing your arms defensively as you continue to walk. "Whatever. I think I've done enough damage to their karma anyway."
"And their ego," the voice corrects.
You blink, stopping, finally registering the sound, that does not sound like Allie, at all. Allie is standing a full ten feet back on the pathway, her jaw dropped, staring at you with sheer amusement.
Standing right next to you, however, towering over you in a football jacket and a dangerously charming, smug smirk playing on his lips, is Beau Maxwell himself.
"Finished?" Beau asks, tilting his head as he looks down at you, raising a single, mocking eyebrow. "Or did you want to complain about my choice of drinking habits as well?"
You should be horrified.
You should be ashamed, ready for the ground to swallow you whole, because you just very openly insulted Beau Maxwell - of course you know his name, how can you not, when he’s the daily hot topic across campus, but calling him different names truly is a rage bait -, which wouldn’t be a problem, if Allie had the decency to shut you up and warn you, but no.
Oh no, now you can’t take that back. Beau heard most - if not all - of it, and you can’t play pretend.
Or simply, you won’t.
Because you truly disgrace the guy.
So, you match his mocking expression, crossing your arms over your chest as you lift your chin high up. “Actually, I would.”
Beau raises both eyebrows, a wicked smirk announcing itself on his face. “Oh? Do tell, then. I'm intrigued.”
“Can you handle it? You do look pale,” you tutted your lips mockingly.
“I handled worse. C’mon. Break my heart.”
“I think what you do at parties on a daily basis—or every other day—is pretty harmful. And not to you, but to those girls who start drinking because of you, dress up because of you, and change their behavior because of you, because they all hope that at some point during the night, Beau will grace them with his undivided attention. That Beau will walk up to them and, with just a smile, melt the panties right off them—if they're even wearing any at all. I think it's pretty degrading how you call them jersey chasers, as well as the hockey players call them puck bunnies. And it’s even more disappointing how you enjoy using them. You are the blueprint of a manwhore along with your shitty friends.”
“Wow, you really keep a list of things I do wrong in your head,” he says, looking absolutely smug as his brown eyes widen with sheer excitement.
“I’m just observant.”
“Fangirl.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes widen, taken aback. Did he seriously not hear anything you just said? The insults? How the fuck are you a fangirl? Does he even know what a fangirl means?
Beau smiles the same infuriating way. “Not observant, but obsessed. Tell you what,” he continues, deeply unapologetic as he cuts into your words even if they did not even leave your mouth, “I think it’s deeply… concerning and weirdly cute that you spend so much time obsessing over me.”
Your eye ticks. This motherfu -
“Did that football hit your head? Did you suffer some damage to your brain?” You gritted, your jaw locked painfully.
“Maybe I did, because how the fuck did I not notice you before? It’s clear you noticed me, or else you wouldn’t have so much to say about me.”
“Do I need to hit you in the head?” you smile sweetly, voice dripping with venom.
“Now,” he smirks dangerously wicked, “no need to throw hands. Or is it your kink? Love to be handled? You surely are acting like a brat.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re sick.”
“Sick and in need of some healing kisses. Care to help a guy out?”
“I’d rather eat dirt.”
He smiles at your stubbornness.
“See you later, fangirl.”
—-
“He was sooooo flirting with her!”
“He was talking shit.”
“He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.”
“Because we were talking?”
“Oh now you were talking? I thought it was an open debate about collateral damage.”
“It was, from my part.”
“He couldn’t stop moving closer.”
“He was in my face, spitting absolute nonsense.”
“This is so good.”
Allie was convinced your encounter with Beau was a sign sent from heaven. According to you, it was from hell, but Allie was quick to get Hannah to agree with her. To Allie, it had looked like nothing less than scorching hot, unapologetic flirting.
"I bet he's freaking out to Dean right now," Allie continued, a permanent smirk plastered on her lips.
"Please, Beau never freaks out," Hannah laughed from beside her.
To be frank, none of you should have even been up. Allie had an important audition in the morning, and she usually preferred to turn in early to get the beauty sleep she needed to win everyone over. Meanwhile, Hannah had been up late the night before finishing an assignment, and the heavy bags under her eyes spoke volumes.
As for you? You just didn't want to be the target of the spontaneous "girls' night" Allie had suddenly declared, completely ditching her usual superstitious routine. But apparently, Beau was worth staying up late for. The whole ordeal was worth sacrificing sleep for.
You love the girls, you truly do, but you don't like the dramatics.
Allie's phone dings. She unlocks it, reads the screen, and looks up at you with a wicked smile. "Dean just asked what you did."
"Damage," you answer, talking with a mouth full of popcorn.
Hannah cackles. "Clearly."
Allie quickly taps out a reply, then gasps as a text flashes back. "Beau denied three girls in a row!"
"What?" you ask, furrowing your eyebrows.
"He's at a party, and Dean just said he denied a threesome."
"You changed the man," Hannah says, wiggling her eyebrows.
"He’s still so far away from changing," you reply. "Besides, he just served justice for those poor girls. Now they don't have to suffer from STDs."
"You're so cruel."
"That I am."
Because this doesn’t mean anything.
—-
The next day, you spent your free period between classes at the local coffee shop near campus. At this hour, the place was practically empty - only the servers chatting away and the vehement typing of a few students on their laptops filled the silence.
The coffee was still hot in front of you, steam curling from the cup. Books and notes lay haphazardly around the table. As a psychology student, you loved the irony of your own habits - you still wrote all your notes by hand because it was the only thing that soothed your overthinking brain. The simple act of keeping your fingers moving automatically shifted your hyper-focus at task.
With an hour and a half to spare, you had intended to catch up on studying. Instead, yesterday’s events kept playing in your head at full volume. You had lost sleep over it, though you were loath to admit you were still dwelling on Maxwell and his abrupt departure. It didn't mean he left because of you. Surely, it was just because he had an early morning practice.
It was as simple as that. He would undoubtedly have that threesome later today to make up for his lack of pussy. So then, why the fuck were you so hung up on him? He certainly hadn't seemed offended. More like... no.
No, he definitely hadn't been flirting with you.
You scowled at your notebook.
"Sorry to bother you," a feminine voice cut through your thoughts. A server stood by the table, an apologetic smile on her face. "This is for you."
You looked at the slice of blueberry pie in her hands, completely dumbfounded.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't order this," you said, trying to sound polite, though your voice cracked like a question.
The girl smiled. "He said it's on him."
She nodded behind you.
You turned around.
There, the bane of your existence sat, smirking at you with an utterly infuriating smile.
"Jesus Christ," you muttered.
Remembering that the poor server was still hovering over you, you awkwardly thanked her and took the plate. You didn't eat it, though. Instead, you pushed the pie aside and tried to refocus your attention on the tasks at hand.
"I'm heartbroken. Not even a single taste?" Beau tutted, sliding into the seat on the opposite side of the table.
You glared across at him. "You have shit taste."
“You truly wound me,” he places a dramatic hand over his heart.
“Good,” you refocus on your notes.
Beau’s gaze never leaves you.
"What major are you?"
No answer.
"Are you in a sorority?"
Nothing.
"What year are you?"
Silence.
"Are you from Boston? Hastings? New York?"
"Jesus, Bear, can you shut up?" you muttered, gritting your teeth. "What's with all the questions?"
"I want to get to know you."
You squinted at him. "And who's the fan now?"
He grinned. "I'm proud to be your fan."
An involuntary twitch ticked beneath your eye. "You really don't know when to stop, do you?"
"Stopping means losing." Beau slowly rose to his full height, and you hated how you had to crane your neck just to look at him. Keeping steady eye contact, he rounded the table and leaned over your side, the muscle and veins in his forearms prominent against the wood.
He leaned closer, his face inches from yours, a wicked twinkle dancing in his eyes. When he spoke, his breath brushed against your ear, making your pulse stutter.
"And I never lose."
—-
"Will you please come with us?" Hannah pleaded, pursing her bottom lip and giving you her best puppy dog eyes.
It was Thursday evening, and both Hannah and Allie wanted to go to Malone's to meet up with their boyfriends—Garrett Graham and Dean Di Laurentis. There would undoubtedly be a huge crowd there, but they refused to leave you behind, completely ignoring the fact that you would be perfectly fine spending the night alone.
"I love you both," you said, "but I have zero interest in watching you eat your boyfriends' faces off, or dealing with a bunch of piss-drunk guys trying to hit on me."
"They hit on you because you're hot!" Allie called out from her bedroom. "Plus, you always leave them crying, which you secretly love. Do you really want to deny yourself that joy?"
Hm. She had a point.
"So, what are you wearing?" Hannah asked excitedly, knowing they’d won.
Later that night at Malone's, you met the group at a booth with a table already sticky from spilled drinks.
"Y/N/N, my favorite nuisance," Dean greeted you, barely breaking away from making out with Allie. He tutted, shaking his head. "You changed my best friend."
You furrowed your brows, confused. But before you could open your mouth to answer, the seat next to you dipped. A heavy, muscular arm threw itself over your shoulder.
"I'm a changed man," Beau said with a wink. He smiled down at you. "Hi, gorgeous. You look beautiful."
A faint blush crept up your cheeks despite yourself.
You had opted for a minimal look - classic blue jeans and a white tank top with just enough décolletage to look flattering without spilling out. With your hair down in lazy waves brushing past your shoulders and your everyday makeup slightly touched up, you felt perfectly balanced—neither underdressed nor overdressed.
You were certainly not Beau's usual type. Yet, as you looked into his eyes, his expression seemed surprisingly warm. Genuine. And respectful.
"Thanks," you muttered, your brows knitting together slightly.
"What would you like to drink?" he asked.
"Nothing."
When he gave you a puzzled look, you sighed and offered an explanation. "I don't like the drinks here. They taste watered down."
"Okay."
"Don't you want a drink?" you questioned.
"No."
You rolled your eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Is this because I called you out earlier? Are you trying to prove that you can get anyone without needing alcohol? If so, piss off and go try your luck at the bar."
Across the table, Garrett snorted. "Damn."
"I don't have an interest in anyone else," Beau murmured, his fingers idly twirling the ends of your hair.
"You always want what you can't have?" You leaned in closer to him, keeping your voice low. "Here's a free tip: give up."
"I told you, sweetheart—I never lose."
"Alright, this is starting to look like some dangerous foreplay," Dean cut in, breaking the tension with a grin.
"This is a losing game," you said, deliberately ignoring Dean.
"Then why don't you push me away?" Beau asked.
"I always push you away."
"I mean—why don't you push my hand away?" He wiggled his fingers where they rested on your shoulder. "And why are you leaning into me?"
"I am not leaning into you," you protested stubbornly.
"Your thighs pressed against mine testify otherwise." He shifted, nudging his muscular thigh firmly against yours. You couldn't help but notice the intense heat radiating right through his jeans.
"The booth is small," you countered.
"There's plenty of space."
"If you'd stop manspreading," you shot back, "then yes, there'd be plenty of space."
"Y/N, would you like to dance?" Hannah called out over the noise of the table.
"Yes!" you answered immediately.
You were relieved that this was finally over.
Using her question as the perfect escape, you—finally—pushed Beau away. But before you could take a single step, his hand shot out and caught your wrist.
"Next Friday, we're playing against Harvard," he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "Come."
"Is that an invitation?" Your eyebrows rose to your hairline.
He nodded.
"Oh, Beau, you didn't actually ask," you teased, reaching up to give his cheek a patronizing little pat. "Ask me properly, and I just might consider it."
—-
It was Wednesday when Beau Maxwell broke all hell loose.
You had just finished a brutal, three hour long psychology seminar. You were worn off to the bone, your fingers literally cramping from the sheer volume of hand written notes. Your eyes felt dry, heavy, and a dull, menacing migraine had started its rhythmically painful pounding right in your temples.
As you finally walked out of the classroom and stepped into the lobby, you blinked against the dimness, trying to rub away the blurriness overtaking your vision.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
You rubbed your eyes again, completely convinced that the lack of sleep and excessive psychological theories had finally caused you to fully hallucinate. Because there, standing right in the middle of the chilly afternoon rain just outside the glass doors of the psychology building, was Beau.
He was completely exposed to the elements, waiting patiently, and holding a massive, vibrant bouquet of flowers.
You furrowed your eyebrows, blinking rapidly as if you could wish the image away. But when you pushed through the doors, the scene didn't dissolve. Beau—and his infuriatingly handsome, smiling face—was entirely real.
A crowd of students had scattered around the entrance steal looks at the quarterback. Whispers and hushed voices rippled through the air, people gasping and nudging each other as you stepped forward.
"What the hell are you doing here?" you spoke through gritted teeth, your jaw locking tightly as you tried to ignore the dozens of eyes suddenly burning holes into your back.
Beau didn't care about the audience. He didn't even look at them. Instead, his gaze locked entirely onto yours as he stepped closer and handed the bouquet to you.
"I'm asking," he simply replied, his deep voice cutting smoothly through the sound of the falling rain.
You stared at the heavy, damp petals in your hands, completely stunned. "What?"
"Would you please come to the match on Friday?"
You looked from the flowers back up to his face, a cynical, disbelieving laugh bubbling up in your throat. This fool.
"You really bought me flowers just to ask me, like a prom date?" you asked, your voice dripping with defensive irony, though your heart gave a sudden, traitorous thud against your ribs.
"I've also been standing here for two and a half hours," he countered casually, offering you a lopsided, entirely unbothered smile despite the wet hair plastered to his forehead. "Soaking."
You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. The annoyance, the exhaustion, the migraine—everything briefly vanished under a wave of pure shock. Two and a half hours? In the pouring rain?
He’s insane, your mind reeled at a frantic, chaotic pace. He is completely, clinically insane. This is just a game to him. It has to be. He’s the star quarterback, he’s used to pulling grand gestures and getting exactly what he wants. If I say yes, I’m just another girl falling for the routine. I’m proving him right. I’m letting him win.
But two and a half hours? He skipped practice for this? He stood in a literal downpour just because I told him to ask me properly? No one does that. Not for a joke. Especially not someone whose ego is supposedly larger than the stadium itself. If I say no now, I’m not being strong—I’m just being a coward.
"You... you stayed here?" you breathed, the venom completely draining from your voice, leaving you exposed.
Beau’s smile softened, losing its sharp, mocking edge for something entirely grounded. He stepped into your space, the heat radiating off him completely defying the cold rain.
"I want you there," he said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet intensity that made the surrounding campus noise fade into absolute static.
You looked at the flowers, then at his drenched football jacket, and finally into those intense brown eyes that refused to let you go. You were entirely defeated, and you knew it.
"Okay," you murmured, lifting your chin just enough to keep a shred of your dignity intact. "I'll go."
—-
This was a bad idea.
The afterparty was a mistake. Even though Beau had practically begged you to come, insisting he only wanted to spend the night celebrating his victory with you, he had clearly forgotten all about it the second he crossed the threshold. Right now, he was dead center in his natural habitat, completely surrounded by a swarm of underdressed girls batting their eyelashes, reaching out to touch his chest and shoulders with long, manicured fingers. Their eyes practically begged him to fuck them.
You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly against your chest. You shouldn't be annoyed. In fact, you should be delighted, because you were right about your assumptions, and Beau was wrong that it all is just an illusion.
He didn't actually want you. He was just doing all of this to feed his own fragile, insatiable ego.
The slice of blueberry pie at the café. Turning down a threesome at the party. Refusing to drink at Malone’s. Standing out in the freezing rain with a massive bouquet of flowers.
It wasn't romance. It was just a tactical game to win you over because you were the only person on this campus who had the audacity to tell him no. To a guy like Beau Maxwell, you weren't a girl he genuinely liked—you were just an unsolved puzzle. A trophy. Material to be won. He didn't actually care.
So, why the fuck does it hurt so bad?
You swallowed the lump in your throat, hating the sudden, hollow wave of loneliness washing over you. Because the truth was that his relentless, adamant pursuit had slowly started to wear you down. You had actually started to believe him.
The way his whole face literally lit up as soon as he saw you standing in the home crowd at his game.
As if you were the only one he was actually searching for.
So, you are truly a fool for thinking he really changed.
You should have kept your guard up. You should have clung to your doubts whenever his friends dropped those subtle, knowing hints about how much you were "changing" him. You shouldn't have let yourself believe their stories—about how completely smitten he had become, or how he had desperately called Allie the very night after your first run-in, interrogating her for every single detail possible about you.
You shouldn't have listened when Dean laughed about how Beau had practically begged him for advice, because as notorious and experienced of a manwhore as he was, Beau Maxwell was suddenly clueless and completely out of his depth.
It felt so real. The way he had learned your class schedule just so he could take the long, inconvenient way across campus just to walk you to your lectures. The way a fresh coffee and your favorite pastries would silently appear at your table whenever you buried yourself in your notes at the local café.
But it turns out, it was all just a big joke. A calculated game of cat and mouse. He simply got bored the second you didn't jump straight into his bed tonight like every other girl in this room was throwing themselves to do.
If you were being completely honest with yourself, the truth was ugly - you had actually enjoyed it. You had secretly loved his groveling, his constant pestering, and his shameless yearning. But the exact moment you let your guard down—the exact moment you actually began to consider him as something more than just a justified manwhore—he turned around and proved you right.
Because guys like Beau Maxwell don't change. They can't.
So, you left.
—-
You couldn't sleep past 7 AM, even though your brain felt completely fuzzy.
Giving up on trying to force a reasonable amount of sleep into your system, you sighed deeply and tossed the blankets aside.
Maybe a coffee will help, you reasoned as you slipped out of your room and padded toward the kitchen.
But you stopped dead in your tracks the second you stepped into the living room.
Your heart violently leaped into your throat because a man was stretched out, fast asleep on your couch.
An immediate, icy wave of panic crashed over you. Your mind began racing at a frantic, chaotic pace. Are the girls even home yet? Are you completely alone with him? How the hell did he get in here? Is he dangerous? Is he just a student who wandered into the wrong unit? Do you even know him?
You froze, barely daring to breathe, your eyes scanning the dark silhouette on the cushions as you tried to figure out exactly what—or who—you were dealing with.
He was incredibly tall, his massive frame stretching completely from one end of the couch to the other, and terrifyingly muscular. Even in the dim morning light, you could see the heavy, solid muscle of his thighs and the broad expanse of his chest, his thick biceps straining against his T-shirt. A guy that size could easily take you down with a mere flick of his finger.
You need a weapon. Right now.
Never taking your eyes off the unmoving intruder, you slowly, carefully backed your way toward the kitchen. Your hands blindly swept across the counter, desperately searching for anything useful until your fingers brushed against the cool metal handle of a cast iron pan.
Perfect.
It was big, heavy, and guaranteed to knock someone out cold.
As you lifted it from the counter, you hissed under your breath when the metal clattered slightly against the stove. You froze, your eyes locking onto the stranger, but he remained dead asleep.
Creeping back into the living room, you padded quietly toward the couch. You didn't allow yourself to overthink it. Fuelled by pure, adrenaline spiked survival instincts, you raised your hand high, swung the heavy pan down, and smashed it right against his shoulder, hard.
"Fuck!" a deep voice rasped loudly.
His eyes snapped wide open as he practically bolted upright, clutching his shoulder and wincing hard at the sharp pain radiating down his arm and through his back.
Startled by the sudden movement, you immediately raised the pan higher, cocking it back and ready to strike again. But then the man turned fully toward you, the morning light hitting his face.
"Beau?!" you shrieked, your jaw dropping as the pan hovered mid-air.
"Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck, Y/N?!" Beau groaned, his voice rough with sleep and distorted by pain as he glared up at you. "Are you trying to kill me or something?"
"The fuck are you doing here?!" you shot back, your panic instantly morphing into furious indignation. "How did you even get in? I thought you were a literal intruder—which, technically, you are! You're lucky I missed, I could have smashed you right in the head!"
"But you didn't," Beau tried to joke, offering a weak, fleeting ghost of his usual lopsided smile. But the bravado didn't hold, and the words quickly morphed into a sharp wince as he shifted his weight.
Seeing that genuinely pained look on his face, you felt an uncomfortable prick of guilt slide past your defenses. You lowered the cast iron pan slightly, though you didn't set it down.
"What are you doing here?" you demanded, keeping your voice low but firm.
"Allie let me in," he muttered, rubbing at the spot on his shoulder where the metal had connected.
"Why?"
Beau paused, his brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the quiet apartment feel incredibly small. "Because you left yesterday without a word."
"Oh, and you think that gives you the right to just intrude a stranger's place?" you countered, defensively crossing your free arm.
"We're not strangers, Y/N."
"I wish we were," you shot back bitterly, looking away from him.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. When Beau spoke again, the defensive edge was completely gone from his tone. It was just quiet, rough, and entirely too close.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
You blinked, surprised by the direct apology, but you quickly hardened your expression. "For what?"
"For not realizing sooner that you left."
A hollow, cynical laugh bubbled up in your throat as you finally met his gaze again. "Well... you were occupied."
"I know," Beau said softly, his voice dropping an octave as he looked down at his lap.
The admission only stoked the embers of your anger. "It's your cup of tea, isn't it?" you pressed, gesturing vaguely with the cast iron pan still gripped in your hand. "So why aren't you with one of them right now? Or multiple? God knows they were practically lining up for the opportunity."
Beau snapped his head up, his brown eyes searching yours with raw intensity. "Because you left."
"And?" you challenged, lifting your chin as a defensive shield against the sudden flutter in your chest. "Why should that stop you? I'm sure any one of them would be more than happy to lick your wounds."
"Y/N, please—"
"No, Beau!" you cut him off, your voice cracking as you took a sharp step back, the emotional exhaustion of the last twelve hours finally hitting you all at once. "It's enough. We don’t even know each other. Why do you bother?”
“And whose fault is that? Sweetheart, I really want to get to know you. I really want to learn more about you, but you don’t let me.”
“How the fuck should I let you when I can’t trust you? For all I know you did all the things because you heard me talking shit about you. This just implies that you want to impress me to change my mind and have an appealing opinion about you.”
Beau fell silent for a moment. The usual cocky assurance and mocking glint were completely gone from his eyes—replaced instead by a raw, heavy realization. He slowly stood up from the couch, but this time, he didn't do it to tower over you or back you into a corner. He took a cautious step forward.
"Yeah, fuck it. In the beginning, that's exactly what it was," he admitted softly, his voice rough and raspy with exhaustion. "You completely broke me. No one had ever talked to me the way you did, and I thought you were just another know it all I had to win over to prove something to myself."
By being so brutally honest, he completely pulled the rug out from under you. You opened your mouth to cut him off, but he held up a hand, silently begging you not to interrupt.
"But then I actually started talking to you. Or... you kept shutting me down, and I just stood there like an idiot, suddenly realizing that I didn't care about a single other girl on this campus except the one who genuinely despised me." He took another step closer, and the cast iron pan in your hand lowered just a fraction. "Last night? I had no fucking clue how to handle it. I don't know how to court someone, Y/N. I've... never had to. When those girls swarmed me, I was just waiting for you to walk over, bail me out, or at least make some sarcastic comment. When I looked around and saw you were gone, the whole fucking party felt completely pointless. I walked out. I came here because I panicked that I’d lost you for good even before I had a chance."
Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. His eyes were clear, deadly serious, and he was still rubbing his shoulder where you’d clocked him—which now brought so much guilt to your chest.
"Beau..." you whispered, the venom completely missing from your voice for the first time. "It's not that simple. I'm not going to just fall in line."
"I don't want you to fall in line," he said, finally closing the remaining distance between you. He gently placed his hand over yours on the handle of the pan, slowly guiding it down to your side so nothing stood between you. His warmth instantly enveloped you. "Stand completely outside the line. Create your own. I don't care. Just give me a real chance to prove to you that you're not a game."
You looked at his messy hair, his slightly rumpled T-shirt, and the tense, anxious look on his face. The quarterback, who had the world handed to him on a silver platter, was standing in your living room, waiting for your mercy.
With a deep sigh, you finally set the pan down on the coffee table behind you.
AN: 🩵💗 - so sorry for how long this is (also here is the unofficial part two to this fic - fall back into place)!!
“Come along, Y/N!” Rhaenyra yelled. “The flowers will still be there when we return.”
“Very well, Your Highness.” She sighed, hooking her arm through the princesses. “They only bloom once a year. I am simply taking in their beauty before they wilt.”
“I understand. Unfortunately for you, I now need a chaperone to walk my own halls, as every lord in the land vies for my hand.”
“Oh, poor poor Rhaenyra.” Y/N teased. “I can only imagine.”
“Rhaenyra, Y/N!” The girls turned around, Alicent running toward them with a young man in tow.
Y/N leaned over, whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear. “It seems even your own friends are playing matchmaker.”
Rhaenyra laughed, coughing to cover it up. Alicent looked suspiciously at Y/N. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, Alicent, nothing at all.”
“Oh, never mind.” She pulled the man forward. “May I introduce my brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. He’s just arrived for the tourney.”
Alicent’s brother was handsome: tall, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. One could tell from a single glance he and Alicent were related. Freckles adorned his face, and Y/N could only assume it was from his ample time outdoors. She curtsied quickly, staring at the ground.
Protocol regarding courting was odd and often confusing. With different social statuses came different rules. The Princess was the highest ranking of the two girls before him; thus, he would kiss Rhaenyra’s hand last. It was an honest mistake, a lapse in judgment, Y/N was sure. Odd, she’d thought to herself, she assumed that Gwayne was taught these sorts of things.
Her eyes drifted back to his, holding back a gasp as he extended his hand to her, after Rhaenyra. She placed hers in his palm hesitantly. He bowed once more, his hold gentle, like he was scared to break her. His lips were soft, and her cheeks turned bright red from the touch, eyes wide with shock.
She realized, amid her thinking, that Alicent and Rhaenyra had been taunting her, much too entertained by this simple encounter. Y/N ripped her hand away; any passerby would have thought it was on fire.
“My lady.”
She’d almost frowned. “I am no lady, Ser.” Entertaining the thought of him would only come back to haunt her, she told herself. The entire point of the tourney was to field potential suitors for the Princess, none were here for the ward of the crown, an orphaned bastard in her own right. He was attractive, there was no denying it. The way his eyes twinkled, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or when his smile-
“Oh?” The young man frowned, his voice snapping her back to life. Her cheeks were still flushed. This avoiding business would prove to be harder than she previously thought. “My mistake. You are the very picture of a lady, I must say.”
Their spectators gasped. Y/N scoffed. “Do not think you can mock me, Ser.” She tightened her hold on Rhaenyra’s arm. “If you will excuse us…”
Not bothering to wait for a response, she turned around, dragging the princess along with her. Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “I believe he was smitten.”
Y/N shook her head. “And I believe it was all a game, most likely a way to make you jealous.” Her heart clenched at the thought. “Just a game.”
Rhaenyra’s room was a disaster, but when had it not been?
For as long as either of the Princess’s companions could remember, her suite had been covered with gowns and riding suits thrown haphazardly on the floor.
Not that either of the other girls cared, they were happy to lay on the Princess’s plush cushions, taking in the sun as it filled the room. Y/N’s head hung off the sofa, laughing as her friend ran through her closet. “If it were any larger, you would get lost inside.”
Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “I would be content with just my riding suit, thank you very much.”
Alicent laughed. “You know you’d rather die than look simple. You live for fine silks and designs-”
Y/N nodded, doing her best to imitate the Princess. “Oh Y/N fetch the purple dress, will you? Fetch the red dress! No, not that one. The one with the jewels. No not that one, the other-” A pillow slammed against her face, and she giggled, holding her hands up defensively. “Mercy, I beg of you!”
“You could have had all this.” Rhaenyra sat beside the girl, whispering. “If my father simply acknowledged-”
“That my mother gave birth to me out of wedlock? No amount of Targaryen blood can excuse that dishonor.” Y/N sat up, frowning. “It does no good to dwell, Rhaenyra. Besides, I am content with the life I lead, spending time with my favorite cousin.”
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “I am your only cousin.”
“Not true.” She laughed. “There is Daemon and-”
“My brother seems rather taken with you, I must say.” Y/N’s heart broke at the thought of Gwayne being smitten with Rhaenyra.
Why, she could not quite place. “Hear that ‘Nyra? I told you I was-”
“I was talking to you, Y/N,” Alicent smirked.
Her cheeks grew hot, her hands itching to cover her face. “You must be mistaken.”
“Do you truly think so little of him?” The auburn-haired girl reached out, grabbing Y/N’s hand comfortingly. “I assure you, he is honorable and loyal to a fault.”
“I am sure he is.” Y/N smiled. “He must be leaving soon, now that the tournament is nearly over.”
Rhaenyra smirked. “I must say, it was not as extensive as I would have liked.”
“Really?” Y/N laughed. “It has already been a fortnight since its beginning.”
“And if the Princess feels it is not finished…” Rhaenyra wiggled her eyebrows. “The Princess will announce an extension.”
Alicent giggled. “Or rather your father.”
“My lady.”
She’d almost escaped. Y/N sighed, turning around. “My lord.”
She had seen the man following her for quite a while, hoping that he was merely visiting the library. She bowed quickly. “How may I be of service?” Lord Frey’s scent could make a man grown faint. She felt the bile rise as he took a step closer, whispering.
“I was wondering if you could put in a word with your Princess.”
She nodded. “What would you like me to relay?”
“Well-” His ‘kind’ facade was cracking. If he could barely handle a simple question, she doubted Rhaenyra would enjoy him. “If you could-”
“My lady.” Her heart fluttered at the sight of Gwyane Hightower, his hair bouncing as he walked toward her. “I’ve been waiting. We agreed to meet in the gardens.”
“I am sorry.” She smiled, genuinely smiled. “I was simply talking to Lord Frey.” She looked back to the older man, urging him to continue. “You were saying, my lord?”
He gritted his teeth. “It is of no consequence. I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “My lady. Ser Hightower.”
“Lord Frey,” Gwayne replied, waiting until he had rounded the corner. “Always a pleasure.”
Y/N fought the urge to laugh. She walked past the young knight, her heart beating faster as he diligently followed after her. “Do you not have somewhere to be, my lord?”
“As I said, I have been waiting for you.”
She scoffed. “I must say, you are the very picture of a knight. Saving a damsel in distress? How chivalrous.”
He smiled, bowing sarcastically. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I am not a-”
“A lady. You have said.” He grabbed a book from the shelf, pretending to read it before throwing it over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, walking around him to pick up the book he’d discarded. The maester would have her head if he found it lying there. “I must say, a lady has never been so-” He laughed as she opened her mouth to correct him. “So unmoved by my advances.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint. If you’ll excuse me-”
“What are you doing with the remainder of your day, I wonder.”
“Why?”
“I would like a proper tour of the castle, and my sister has been too busy as of late.” He looked too eager, too eager to spend time with a mere lady in waiting. “Would you care to show me?”
“I would not.”
“Wonderful. I will-” He stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, I would not.” She put the last book away, climbing up the ladder. “It is quite cruel, this game you are playing.”
“I am sorry?” He tilted his head.
“I know this is a ploy to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, to win the tourney, and possibly win your father’s approval.” She scoffed, eyes watery at the thought of yet another man using her to gain advantage. “This is by far the cruelest way, I must tell you.”
He laughed, actually laughed at her, which only angered her further, tears falling as a result. He stopped his laughing, reaching out to comfort her, frowning when she stepped back. “Do you really think I am using you for your lady’s hand?”
“I do.” She climbed back down from the ladder, ignoring the way he held it from wavering beneath her. “There is no reason for you to be interested in me.”
He shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “Are you aware you are beautiful?”
Y/N ignored that comment, facing him with pleading eyes. “Please spare me from your taunts. I understand that you may- you may find it amusing-”
Gwayne was confused, extremely, and utterly confused. He had just complimented her, why was she asking him to spare her? “I must make this clear and simple, as you seem to get the wrong impression from me. I am not interested in your lady. I am interested in-”
“Every suitor I have encountered has gone through either myself or Alicent to gain Rhaenyra’s favor. By the gods-” She flailed her arms. “Some even go to me inquiring about your sister!”
He practically growled, her heart leaping from the sound. “Then they are cowards.”
“Yes, well…” She had to leave before her resolve broke. “My lord.”
“Do you let anyone other than yourself speak?”
Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Excuse me?”
“I have been trying to explain myself to you, to tell you that-” He stopped himself. “So far every attempt has been overpowered by you.” He crossed his arms, a smirk gracing his lips. “Now…” His voice was practically a whisper. “May I speak?”
“I-” She swallowed, nodding. She did not trust her voice when he looked at her so… so longingly?
“The outing I suggested earlier, would simply be a tour, nothing more.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing untoward will come of it, I swear to you.”
He looked sincere. So sincere that she began to consider it. “We will need a chaperone. The king would not allow me to go off alone, even with a knight.”
“The king?” Gwayne was intrigued. “Exactly why would the king care?”
“Because I am a ward of the crown. I have been since I was born. My mother was a-” She stopped herself. “She was a close friend of King Jaehaerys, and he took me in. King Viserys has been gracious enough to let me stay.”
“Well, then I shall have to thank him.”
“For?”
“If it had not been for him…” He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “We would have never met.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his hold. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lord.”
He grinned, calling after her. “I look forward to it!”
Gwayne smiled as he watched the woman in front of him. She was glowing in this light and practically skipping through the gardens with joy. It was funny, seeing a woman he had often seen as melancholy at best so energetic. “Do you often find yourself at peace here?”
“I do.” Y/N nodded. “I was told my mother loved the gardens, I suppose I feel she is still with me when I am here.”
“Did you know her?” Gwayne inquired. “Your mother, that is.”
“She died when I was a babe.” She leaned forward, taking in the scent of the roses in front of her. “I have glimpses of her. She had bright eyes, bright hair. Her laugh was the most beautiful melody you could ever hear. At least…” She drifted off, staring at the ground. “From what I can remember.”
“I have the same.” His voice was quiet. “Although, my mother died when I was eight years of age.”
“That’s awful.” She frowned. “Alicent told me she had died, but not how old you’d been. That must have been worse, I suppose. Having known her, and then in a moment, gone.”
He shrugged. “My mother was… less than maternal. She had always been one for court and fashion rather than her children.”
“Ah.”
“Still, it hurt. Me more than Alicent, I suppose. She’d only been four years old.”
She ached to reach out and hold him. “I am sorry.”
“For?”
“Reliving the past.”
“If I remember correctly…” He plucked a nearby daisy, placing it behind her ear ever so delicately. “I found this topic of conversation.”
“Yes well…” She smiled, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. “Still…”
He leaned forward, his breath hitting her nose. “I am sure your mother would be proud.”
To that, Y/N laughed. “She was always the adventurous sort, at least, that is what I’ve gathered from the stories. She was highly admired too, beautiful…” She looked down, picking at the skin around her thumb. “I hope to be half the woman she was.”
“You are.” He whispered, holding her hand. He had noticed, much to his dismay, that she’d adopted the habit of picking at her skin. It hurt him, to see her do that to herself.
His sister did the same.
Her heart stopped, looking up to meet his gaze. He was beautiful. Staring into his eyes, she began to realize how inappropriate of a position they were in.
Where was their chaperone? She took a step back, forgetting the rose bush behind her. Yelping, she jumped forward, falling into his arms.
Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back. “Have I startled you?”
She scoffed, pushing him away. “Not at all. I simply remembered we have much more of the tour to get through.” She darted around him, leading the way out of the garden. “Now, come along.”
“Yes sir,” Gwayne muttered, mockingly saluting.
She looked behind her, a smile gracing her lips. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” His pace quickened until they were side by side. “Simply admiring your hospitality.”
She shoved his arm, rolling her eyes. “Ever the jester.”
The remainder of their day passed quickly, much quicker than Y/N would have liked. By the end, she came to realize that the noble knight was a near-perfect companion. Serious when required, a jester when the moment called for it, he was kind, and a good man.
Their last moments had been silent, soaking in the dull roar around them. Every so often, their hands grazed, neither daring to reach out. The sunset with the perfect blend of orange and pink, the waves crashing against King Landing’s rocky cliffs. It made Y/N smile, the way it brought out the red in Gwayne’s hair. She whispered, the words barely leaving her. “You’re hair is the most perfect shade. Have you noticed?” His cheeks turned red, and she smirked, taking his silence as a no. “If only it were transferable.”
That had made him laugh. “Have you just given me a compliment?”
She laughed. “We are friends, are we not?” The night was coming to an end, her door just a few paces away. “Friends compliment each other.”
His shoulders visibly deflated, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes. Friends compliment each other.” Silence fell over them again, neither daring to speak until she’d reached for her door. His hand grabbed her wrist, holding her just so.
His voice was raspy, quiet enough the breeze itself could have carried it away. “You are perfection itself.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she grew grateful he could not see her, knowing that she would surely become the subject of his jests if he saw her blush. “As your friend…”
She nodded, smiling to herself as she pushed the door open, his hold releasing her wrist. “Goodnight, my lord.”
“My friends do not call me my lord.”
She turned around, curtsying ever so lightly. “Then goodnight, Gwayne.”
He bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Are you not terribly tired of reading?”
“If I was tired of it, I would not still be doing it, now would I?”
Gwayne groaned, rolling over on their shared blanket, staring at the sky. “One should not confine themselves to a book when the whole world is sitting in front of them.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, setting the book down in her lap. “I will have you know I am not confining myself.”
“Oh?” He laughed, his eyes closing. “Then what exactly are you doing?”
“I was trying to relax.” She murmured. “Something I can never seem to do when you are present.”
“What was that?” His smirk was growing increasingly mischievous, and she knew that he had heard her.
“I will not repeat myself. You heard me.” Grabbing her book out of her lap, she opened its pages once more. “Now hush. This is the best part.”
“Read it to me then.” He closed his eyes, laying beside her. “I would like to hear what is so interesting it has taken you away from me.”
“It was you who suggested the picnic, Gwayne, not I.” She laughed. “They are supposed to be tranquil.”
“Maybe in King’s Landing.” He muttered. “In Oldtown, they are supposed to be fun.”
“Well, I am not from Oldtown, nor are we there, which could imply why I was unaware of your customs. Which could also explain how we have reached this argument.”
His eyebrows raised. “Is this an argument?”
She ignored him, mumbling to herself. “This is fun.”
“Well, it would be.” He teased. “If you read to me.”
“You jest.” She mumbled. “Now let me sit in peace.”
He stood up, walking behind her just to sit down once more. “May I?”
“May you what, exactly?” Her cheeks felt hot, he had this effect on her.
“Alicent once taught me to plait hair, when she was young.” He smiled to himself. “I assume it was a self-serving act, but still.” He leaned forward, his voice causing goosebumps to run up her spine. “At least let me pass the time this way.”
“Fine.” Y/N could never say no to him, no matter how hard she tried. “Do not make me look hideous.”
“That…” He pulled out the pins that held her hair elegantly. “Is not possible.” Her cheeks flushed, ignoring that compliment. “Are you attending the tourney tomorrow?”
Y/N nodded. “I must. Rhaenyra has insisted I attend as her lady-in-waiting.” She laughed. “It is quite odd.”
“How so?”
“She has never required that of me before.”
Gwayne grinned. “Well, I shall enjoy knowing you are watching.”
“Really?” She laughed again. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I had not attended. Then you could recount the story as outlandishly as you pleased.”
“Y/N…” His voice sounded desperate, and her heart skipped. “If you do not wish to attend, I’m sure the Princess will understand.”
“No!” She practically yelped. “I want to.”
He smiled, his blush growing darker. “Then I shall do my very best.” His fingers grazed her neck, a gasp leaving her lips before she could silence herself. Gwayne made no comment of it, simply finishing the braid and standing up, extending his hand.
She glared playfully, standing up of her own accord. She knelt, picking up the blanket and folding it haphazardly.
“Let me.” Gwayne took the blanket and basket from her arms, carrying them back up to the castle. “A lady should never carry such things.”
“A basket and blanket?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am not weak.”
“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “You are decidedly, not weak.”
She nodded, puffing her chest. “If we walk any slower, you shall be late.”
He groaned. “Why must I attend this soiree?”
“Because it is meant for you. For knights participating in the tourney, that is. Rhaenyra will be there, as will her father-”
“And will you?” Gwayne interrupted. “Be in attendance?”
“I shall.” She smiled brightly. “Now come along and follow after me closely.”
He tilted his head. “Where are you taking me, exactly?”
“Maegor’s tunnels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “They were made as an escape plan. Now the servants use them to move around the castle unseen.” The corridor was dark, the lanterns doing little to illuminate the path.
Gwayne felt a chill run down his spine, and he reached out, grabbing her hand. “Are you quite sure this is safe?”
“I have used them my whole life.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Trust me.”
He smiled, all fears of imminent doom leaving him as her skin touched his. “Lead the way.”
“You are going to break my hand.” Rhaenyra hissed.
Y/N smiled guiltily, releasing the Princess's hand. “My apologies, Princess.” She straightened the fabric of her dress, sitting tall. “I am simply excited. I love tourneys.”
“You do not. You have not been to a tourney since we were ten years of age.”
“Untrue,” Y/N muttered, looking over the edge of the box for her knight. “I am simply busy.”
“With what?” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for anyhow?”
Alicent sat on the other side of the Princess, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “I believe she is looking for my brother.”
Rhaenyra grinned. “Has that-” Alicent elbowed the Princess, widening her eyes.
Y/N tilted her head. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Rhaenyra muttered, holding her side. “Nothing.”
A knight approached the royal box, and Y/N grinned, waiting for Rhaenyra to stand first, as was customary. Rhaenyra smirked, looking at Alicent quickly before approaching the ledge. “Ser Hightower.” Alicent and Y/N approached second, arm in arm. Curstying quickly, she smiled at Gwayne brightly. The knight nodded his head. “Your Highness.” He turned to Y/N, his eyes softening. “My lady.”
“Ser Hightower.” Y/N greeted. “This is quite the tourney. I’m impressed.”
He grinned. “May I-” He swallowed. “May I have the honor of wearing your favor?”
Her cheeks grew bright red. “You-” She looked at Rhaenyra. “Do you not-”
He laughed. “I believe it is quite obvious I do not.”
Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. She leaned over, whispering in her cousin’s ear. “This is when you give the man your favor, Y/N.”
“But, I-” She turned back to Gwayne once more. “Are you quite sure?”
He nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, my lady.”
She turned around, pulling her arm out of Alicent’s. As she was a bastard, her house colors were unknown, opting to simply decorate the ring with her favorite flowers.
Of course, Rhaneyra and Y/N had known, but to blatantly defy the order of the king… she locked eyes with King Viserys, who was gazing at her curiously. Her eyes darted to the floor, turning back around. “May your luck bring you to victory, Ser Hightower.”
“As long as I have you to think of…” He looked positively giddy. “I shall never lose.”
Y/N was sure her cheeks were bright red. She rolled her eyes, ignoring his compliment.
Her heart twisted, knowing that they could never marry, as who would allow their firstborn son, their heir, to wed a bastard? She pushed his lance playfully, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “Go on, then.”
“You look stunning.” Alicent smiled, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “The very picture of a lady.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot name a time I have dressed so…” She smiled. “So elegantly.”
“It is a ball,” Rhaenyra interjected. “I will not have my dear friend in something drab.”
Alicent glared, and Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “She knows I do not mean that she is drab. I was simply-”
“It is alright, Rhaenyra.” Y/N laughed. “I was not offended in the slightest.”
“Red is most definitely your color.” Alicent grinned, spinning her friend around.
Rhaenyra smirked. “Your knight shall not know what to do with himself.” Alicent gasped, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. The Princess winced, glaring at her friend. “You cannot keep hitting me whenever you are disappointed.”
Y/N tilted her head. “My knight?”
“It is no matter.” Alicent stopped the Princess from blabbing anymore. “Shall we?”
The ballroom was filled to the brim with nobility from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the Hightowers, the Tullys, even the Starks had come to participate in the tourney and celebrate its results.
Y/N stepped back, watching as her friends entered. The squire stomped his cane, effectively silencing the ballroom. “The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower.”
They looked elegant, lighting up the room as they walked. Y/N walked up to the squire, smiling lightly. “No need to introduce me, Orvyn.”
He nodded, smiling kindly. “As you wish, my lady.”
The ballroom had not paid attention as she walked, not that she minded. It was better that way, she convinced herself as she glanced around the room. She smiled, waving at Gwayne, who was already staring back at her, rather intensely. His eyes… she shivered, ripping herself away from his gaze as she curtsied before the King. “Your Majesty.”
Viserys smiled, eyeing her royal red dress with curiosity. “Y/N.”
She rose; she could still feel Gwayne’s eyes fixed on her. Sitting beside Rhaenyra, she took a large gulp of her wine. “Is Gwayne still-”
Rhaenyra nodded, laughing to herself. “He is walking over.”
“What?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Why?”
“I assume…” She whispered, Gwayne now mere inches away. “He is going to ask you to dance.”
“He-”
“Your Highness.” The knight bowed. “My lady.”
Y/N avoided eye contact and took another large sip. Rhaenyra smirked. “Ser Gwayne, congratulations on your victory.”
“Thank you, Princess.” He smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I stole your lady for a dance?”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She looked at Y/N, enjoying this situation too much. “Y/N?”
“What?” Y/N whispered.
“He is asking you to dance.” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now get up.”
“I-” Y/N looked at Gwayne for the second time that night, feeling as if she could faint at any moment. “I would be delighted.”
His hand waited for hers, as it had so many times before. He whispered, placing his arm around her waist as they stood on the dance floor, his touch shocking her to her very core. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her head.
“Then why, pray tell…” His voice sounded desperate. “Have you refused to meet my eyes? I have missed your company.”
She raised her gaze, falling for the trap he’d set. “I saw you but two days ago, Gwayne.”
“There you are.” He grinned, pulling her closer as the dance began. “Now tell me, what is the matter?”
“You are leaving soon.”
“I am.” He replied as if this were any normal conversation. And perhaps it was, but Y/N would not say so. No normal conversation made her heart beat as fast as this.
“And I-” She sighed. “I did not want to bother you while you prepared for your journey back.”
“Back?” He tilted his head. “And where am I journeying to?”
“To Oldtown, of course.” His eyebrows scrunched, and Y/N fought the urge to burst into laughter. “I assumed-”
“Well, there’s no good in that, is there?” He whispered. “Assuming is a dangerous business.”
“But why would you stay?” She felt entirely confused. He had won the tourney and now would go home to tend to his duties. “There is no-” His eyes sparkled as she spoke, halting her momentarily. “No reason.”
Gwayne leaned down, his breath hitting her cheeks. “There is one reason. A very compelling one, in truth.”
Her heart stopped. “Is there?”
He nodded, eyes fluttering down to her lips.
Oh.
She was the reason.
Before she could fall for his spell, she pulled back, disrupting the dance. His eyes widened, reaching out to hold her hand. “Y/N?”
She ripped her hand back, staring wide-eyed. “I am not feeling well.”
His tone was gentle, it made her stomach flip. Gods, he had to stop being so- so perfect. “Would you like me to-”
“No!” She yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Nobles from around the room curiously gazed at the couple. “No, I shall go alone.”
“Y/N-”
She whipped around, stalking out of the ballroom. It broke her, to walk away from his hold. She knew she could no longer be around him; she was fighting her very soul to leap up and attach her lips to his.
There was only one solution to this problem, this vexing complication - she would have to avoid him entirely. No more traipsing around the halls waiting for him to see her, no more walking by the stables or the training yard.
No, she would have to stay confined to her and Rhaenyra’s rooms.
That was the best course of action, for both her and Gwayne.
Little did she know, Gwayne would not stand for it.
“They say-” Rhaenyra spoke carefully as she addressed her cousin. “That your knight is leaving today.”
“Ah.” Y/N nodded, staring off into the distance.
“Y/N…” The Princess sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Punishing yourself because of your birth… You must stop refusing any sign of affection or love simply on the-”
“Who said it was love?” Y/N scoffed, walking out to the balcony. “Certainly not I.”
“Anyone with eyes can see it. He is mad for you, as you are for him.” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath. “Even if you refuse to admit it.”
“I cannot admit something false, Rhaenyra.” Her lips curled into a twisted sort of smile. “I am content with my life, serving you.”
“All perfectly fine with me,” Rhaenyra reassured. “But you have a chance with Gwayne. Swear to me you will not waste it.”
“I-” She sighed. “I must retrieve your dinner, my lady.” Y/N curtsied before racing out of the room. By the gods, she couldn’t breathe when Rhaenyra lectured her. It was horrible enough that Alicent had begun to look upon her as if she was a kicked puppy, now Rhaenyra had began to do the same.
She pushed open the servant's door, twisting through Maegor’s tunnels with ease. It was odd, she told herself, at the lack of maids in its halls. Normally, she was dodging servants left and right. This felt strange, unnerving in a way.
Footsteps echoed behind her, and her heart leapt when a hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into a dark corner. She gasped, flailing her arms around, doing anything that could beat this intruder off her. Gwayne’s familiar voice ripped her from her panicked cries. “It’s me! It’s me.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What possessed you to drag me-”
“You will not talk to me.” He crossed his arms, staring at her intensely. “I am sorry if I scared you.” She turned around, walking back to the hallway. Gwayne followed diligently. “My party is set to leave today.”
Y/N nodded, ignoring the way her heart clenched. “So I’ve heard.”
“I wanted to say goodbye before I left.” His voice wavered. “I will miss-”
“You’ve said goodbye.” She cut him off, whipping around. “Now you may leave.”
He closed the space between them, eyes running wild with confusion. “Why must you be like this? Have I truly upset you?”
“Will you not respect a lady’s wishes?” She took a step back, scoffing. “I thought you were a knight, Lord Hightower.”
“Don’t.”
“I must attend to my lady. Her dinner is past due.” She continued her walk through the tunnels, ignoring his overwhelming presence.
“Damn her dinner.” He hissed, walking a pace behind her as he whispered. “I have been trying, for weeks, to court you, and you’ve denied me every step of the way. Just as soon as I-”
She scoffed. “Court me? Did Lord Tyland put you up to this?”
He shook his head, laughing. “Is it so hard to believe that I am interested in you? That the very thought of you consumes me?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why?”
She could only imagine his expression, his beautiful face creased with shock. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I am a bastard, you a lord’s son. By the gods, your father is hand to the King, and I am merely a lady in waiting.” She frowned, eyes watering. “It is not proper-”
“Then damn propriety!” He yelled, grabbing her wrist and halting her in her tracks. Her back was pressed against his chest. “I- I am mad for you, you must see that.”
Her shoulders shook, tears falling down her face. “Gwayne, it is for the best.”
“No!” He twirled her around, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You- you make me think, and feel, and act as none have. Your laughter- it brightens my day. Your wit makes me proud. I am-” He sighed, smiling brightly at the mere sight of her. “How?”
She tilted her head. “How?”
“How can I show you?” Her back collided with the wall, her breath leaving her, her heart thumping at their proximity. “How can I make you believe?”
“Gwayne…”
“Damn it to hell…” He leaned down, colliding his lips to hers. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she instantly pulled him closer. “I am not deterred by your status, nor do I care. I will have you, regardless of what the court thinks is proper.” His forehead leaned against hers, his hand resting at the bottom of her neck.
“We cannot-” Tears continued to fall down her face. “Gwayne, it cannot happen-”
“Do you want it to?” He remained steadfast. “Is this what you truly feel, or merely what the lords and ladies of Kings Landing shall say?”
“Gwayne, your father will never approve.”
“By the gods woman…” He laughed. “Do you love me?”
“Love?” She choked on a sob. Her body felt as if it could burst into flames at any moment. He was standing close, closer than what was deemed appropriate. “Do I-”
“I do.” He whispered, nudging her nose with his, lips barely touching. “I love you.”
“Gwayne, just listen to me.” She was fighting every bone in her body not to kiss him senselessly. “I am not good enough for you. There are hundreds of ladies-”
“You are, you are good enough. Perhaps too good. Besides…” He whispered. “I want you. Only you.” His eyes were intense, his thumb caressing her collarbone. By the gods, he was trying to make her burst into flames. “Only you.” His lips collided against hers, her eyes fluttering shut once more.
Her hands found their way to his chest, slowly pushing him away. “We cannot.”
“Oh?” He looked around the hallway. “I do not see anyone.”
“You know what I meant, Gwayne Hightower.”
“Would you like to stop?”
“No!” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
His eyebrows rose, laughing to himself. “So eager.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Whatever shall I do with you?”
“Why have you stopped?” Gwayne’s voice was but a murmur.
“I did not know you were listening.” She smiled. “You appeared to be sleeping.”
“Merely basking in your presence, my love.” His eyes fluttered open. “I must say, you look radiant in this light.”
She laughed. “As opposed to?”
“You know that I find you impossibly perfect.” His eyes shut again. “How long has it been since you began this book?”
“Hard to say. Possibly half an hour?” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”
“No reason.” He smirked, finding comfort in her lap once more.
“Well, there must be.” Her laughter filled his heart, his soul. “You never ask for the time.”
“May I not ask the beautiful woman, whom I love, what the time is? I simply want to know how long I have been lying in the garden.” His eyes peeked open once more, her eyebrows raising in amusement. “If you must know, I have an appointment at half past three.”
“An appointment?” She shut her book, running her hand through his hair. “Whatever for?”
“It is a secret.”
“Really?” She pulled her hand away from his hair, laughing as he sat up, obviously disappointed by the sudden lack of touch.
“Really.” He stood, extending his hand. She smiled, placing hers in his gladly. “It is with the King.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling as they walked. “Has something happened?”
“Yes.”
Her heart dropped. “Is it serious?”
He nodded. “Deadly.”
She groaned. “Now you must tell me.”
He sighed, stopping by the fountain. “Fine, fine. But you must not tell.”
She nodded, interlocking their pinkies. “I swear.”
He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I am asking the King for your hand.”
Her eyebrows crinkled. “My hand?”
“In marriage, my love.” She stood there speechless. He laughed, kissing the back of her hand gently. “I cannot be late.”
He had been halfway down the trail when she’d been brought back to life.
“Gwayne!”
He turned around, laughing at the sight before him. Y/N was racing toward him, skirts in hand and book discarded, grinning wildly. “Gwayne, you come back here this instant!”
He shook his head, running away. “This is highly unladylike, I must say!” She glared, almost tripping over a tree root, his laughter cascading through the garden. “Almost makes me rethink my question!”
in which neither you or dean are brave enough to admit what you both feel... until everything boils over and it all comes out
PAIRINGS: dean heyward-di laurentis x fem!reader
WARNINGS: arguing, jealous!dean, rage-baiter!dean, miscommunication, found family trope to the max, chaos galore, angst but also fluff, banter galore, allusion to nsfw, they're idiots in love, your honor!!
WORD COUNT: 5.2k
🎶 : dear god - tate mcrae
AN: 🩵♥️💗 - oh dean, i love you so. they're both such cowards and it's so fun to write them dancing around their feelings. this fic can be read as a stand-alone BUT it is a part two to a drabble i recently wrote (click here to read it). PLEASE ENJOY!!
Spring 2024, Sig Tau House
You’d been playing eye tag all night.
With who? You didn’t even know. He was hot, blonde, tall, and exuded confidence. At first, you hadn’t thought he was making eyes at you, not when Allie was beside you the entire time. But then Allie wasn’t by your side, and he was still staring with that insanely intense look in his eye. You were hooked. He’d yet to come over, something that you’d been silently disappointed about the entire three hours you’d been there.
Allie nudged your side, clinging to Sean’s arm for stability. “What’s got your smile upside down, sweet cheeks?”
“Sweet cheeks?” You raised a brow.
“You have sweet cheeks.” She said it like it was a fact. “God forbid I love my friends.”
“Alright babe.” Sean muttered. “You’re really drunk right now. Maybe we should go home.”
“I’m fine.” Allie argued. “You always do this, you know. You act like I’m some inconvenience.”
“That’s not-”
You cut in, scared that he would start something he did not want to finish. And you wouldn’t stop Allie if she started cussing him out. In fact, you’d happily join in. They’d been on and off again for a year now, and you couldn’t form a solid opinion on him. (If you were being honest with yourself, it was leaning toward the negative side of things). “I love you too, pookums.”
“Am I interrupting?”
You looked over your shoulder, blood rushing to your cheeks. It was him, the tall hot blonde. “Not at all.”
“I have to tell you something.” He looked so handsome it made your heart hurt. “Something deadly serious.”
“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Is this something top secret?”
He shook his head. “I feel like it’s a relatively well known fact.”
“Well then.” You laughed. “Please enlighten the class.”
“You’re beautiful.” You were right, he was confident. You choked on your drink, and Allie gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. “That’s the something.”
You cough, placing a hand on your chest to calm yourself down. “You’re pretty forward.”
“Believe it or not,” He leaned forward like this was something he wanted only you to know. “I’ve been working up the courage to tell you all night.”
You raised a brow. “I seriously doubt that.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“I don’t know.” Your stomach flipped as you looked at him, really looked at him. He had dimples, a scar under his left eyebrow, and the faintest freckles you’d ever seen. So faint, that they were almost invisible. “We just met. I don’t even know your name.”
“Let’s fix that.” He whispered in your ear. “I’m Dean.” He was trying to kill you. You gulped, whispering your name in return. He leaned back, eyes full of something dangerous that you didn’t really want to address right now. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
“Do you always flirt this much with strangers?”
“I do. But I wouldn’t call us strangers.”
Allie was now gawking. “Holy shit, he’s got game.”
Dean smirked, Allie’s comment going straight to his head. “Do you want to grab a drink?”
“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes I do.”
You never got that drink. Not that you were complaining. As soon as you entered the kitchen, Dean lifted you onto the counter and slammed his lips against yours.
Somehow, in all the chaos, he’d led you to his bedroom. “God, you’re perfect.”
“You’re a flatterer.” Your voice sounded breathless. (It was.) “Do you always talk this much when you’re making out with someone?”
“No.” He could honestly say that he wasn’t lying. Something about you made him deeply nervous. It must be the total sense of contentment you made him feel. For someone who needs to be constantly distracted, being so enamored to the point of stillness makes him almost uncomfortable. He decides he’s thinking way too much for a casual hookup, and deepens the kiss. “You’re different.”
“Oh?” God, your voice is addicting, and your touch even more so. Your hands are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tugging ever so slightly at the hairs laying on the nape of his neck. “How so?”
He shrugs, even though he knows exactly how so. Much too soon to say shit like that, he reminds himself. “I’ll find out soon enough.” His hands play with the hem of your shirt, and your at ease nature disappears. You immediately tense up, and he pulls back, eyes worriedly scanning your face. “Is everything okay, babydoll?”
“I-” You sit up, and he can’t help but follow you. “I don’t do this.”
“This?”
“I don’t do casual sex.” You say it like it’s embarrassing.
“Respect.” He replies like he doesn’t care.
“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”
“Don’t apologize for that.” Could he get any more perfect? “Seriously, I’m fine with what we’re doing right now.”
“Are you sure?” You look so guilty it pains him.
“Hey.” His hand holds your cheek, and his heart squeezes when you actually lean into his touch. “I’m not gonna pressure you into anything you don’t want to do.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” He smiles, pulling his hand away.
“Your mother must be proud of you.” Your eyes widen. Why the hell did you just say that? “That sounded weird. I just mean-”
“I’d like to say that she is.” He smirked. “Her and my father. They did the best they could.”
You smiled. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Two. One older brother and one younger sister.”
“That’s awesome.” You leaned against his pillows. His smirk softened to something you couldn’t quite place. He laid beside you, tilting his head so that his eyes stayed locked with yours. “I have a little sister too.”
“How old is she?”
“Fifteen.”
“Mine’s eighteen.”
“Has she started looking at colleges?”
And that’s how the two of you stayed until you fell asleep. Talking about anything and everything. Family, school, special interests, sports. From the outside eye, it seemed like you’d known each other for years, the way the conversation flowed. When your eyes began to droop, Dean laughed, grabbing his biggest throw blanket to cover you. “Here.”
“Thank you.” You hummed, burrowing yourself into his bed.
He could get used to this, he thought.
You were dangerous, was his next before his own eyes drooped.
This was an interesting position to be in. To be honest, you didn’t hate it.
Somewhere between when you fell asleep and now, you and Dean had curled around each other like two codependent puppies. His right arm was wrapped around your waist, and his left was just above your head.
You were facing his chest, with your left leg swung over his waist.
You’d been awake for thirty minutes, trying not to wake him up as you theorized how to get out of this the easiest. You thought he was asleep. You swore he was. He hadn’t moved in ages.
That’s why you jumped when he spoke, his voice all deep and crackly. “You sleep like a koala.”
“I’m sorry.” You winced as you began to pull away.
“Wait a second-“ He urged, tightening his grip around your waist, prohibiting you from moving. In fact, he pulled you closer to his chest than you’d been before. “I didn’t say I hated it.”
“I had fun last night.” You murmured into his chest. “You’re sweet.” He laughed, and your head darted up, glaring. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just-” He really found this funny. “No girl has ever described me as ‘sweet’ before.”
“Glad I’m the first the-” A phone dinged. Then dinged again. Then dinged four more times. “I think that’s mine.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow. “Is someone missing you?”
“Are you implying something with that little comment?” You raised a brow back.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a whole roster of men begging to date you.”
“Thank you?” You laughed. “But it’s not a man. It’s definitely Allie.” You grabbed your phone, now determined to prove him wrong. “See?” You shoved the screen in his face. “Allie.”
“I stand corrected.” His eyes fell to your lips for a moment.
Your breath hitched as he leaned in, and then you placed a hand on his chest. “I should go. She- she needs me.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes falling to your lips once more. “If you want.”
“Thanks for-” You stood up, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed about everything you’d done. “Everything.”
“I had fun.” He said it so earnestly that you almost considered jumping back into bed and abandoning Allie. Almost.
“Me too.” You smiled, nodding. “See you.”
“See you.”
Fall 2025, Briar Hockey House
“You’re gonna love them.” Hannah’s arm is hooked through yours and Allie’s as Garrett leads the way into the house. “They’re sweet, honestly. Like hyper puppies.”
“Aren’t puppies already hyper?” You whisper.
“They’re harmless.” Garrett defends, holding the door open. “Seriously. It’ll be fun.”
“I feel like my mom and dad are bringing me to the hospital to meet my siblings.” Allie laughed.
You laughed along with her, observing the inside of the house. “That’s an oddly specific situation, Allie-Cat.”
“Guys!” Garrett called out. “Come meet the girls!”
What happens next could only be described as a hurricane of chaos. Two boys race down the stairs. They’re both tall and handsome. Muscular, too. You reason with yourself that they are in fact professional athletes, so that makes sense.
“Hi.” He sticks his hand out, a charming smile donning his face. “I’m Tucker.”
“Nice to meet you.”
The other boy had a sort of grungy charm about him. “I’m John. John Logan.”
“Ah.” You smiled. “Garrett talks about you all the time.”
“Does he?” Logan smirks. “Awww, G. You love me.”
“Shut up.” Garrett glares, shoving Logan away when he tries to hug him. “Hey! Di Laurentis!”
“Coming!” The last to be revealed yells. “One second.”
“He was in the shower.” Logan remarks. “Another long one.”
“Oh my god.” Hannah groans. “He has a problem.”
“I’m sorry that I care about hygiene.” The third boy says as he descends the stairs. Your jaw immediately drops as the most chiseled abs you’ve ever seen in your life are shoved in your face. Your eyes drag up this man’s frame, and that’s when it happens. That’s when your heart drops, and his eyes glow with something dangerous.
“YOU?” It’s a question, but you practically screech it. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” Dean is obviously having too much fun with this. “The real question is, what are you doing here?”
“Wait a minute.” Tucker interrupts. “Are we missing something?”
Allie nods. “Yeah. What’s going on? Do you two know each other?” (For context, sweet, dear, Allie blacked out that night, and does not remember anything.)
“I-” You cross your arms, glaring at Dean. Why? You don’t really know, it just seemed like the go-to reaction in your arsenal. “Knowing someone is subjective.”
“Wait-” Hannah looks what could only be described as gleeful. “Did you two-”
“No!” You yell. “No we did not.”
“Why so defensive, babydoll?” Dean’s towel is hanging dangerously low, and you can’t help it that your eyes gravitate towards him. It’s almost natural. He’s still as handsome as you remember him, and it’s hard not to jump into his arms and pull his lips to yours.
“Care to share with the class how you two know each other then?” Garrett pushes.
“Not particularly.” You grumble.
“Oh boy.” Logan mumbled. “This is going to be fun.”
Present Day (Spring 2026, Malone’s Karaoke Night)
Dean has flirted with four girls in the span of thirty minutes. Not that you’re keeping track.
“If it makes you feel any better-” Logan is trying his best to comfort you, but to no avail. “He’s off his game. Normally he flirts with two times the-”
“It does not make me feel better.” You grumble. “Not at all.”
“Alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “This is a lost cause. I’m gonna go get a drink.”
You’ve been holding your fork like a weapon for all thirty of those minutes. Tucker laughs. “If you grip that fork any harder, you’ll bend it in half.”
“Tucker!” You snap. “What are you trying to say right now?”
“I-” He looks positively shocked, and to be fair, so do you. “Sorry?”
Hannah whispers. “That was uncalled for, babe. He’s just trying to lighten the mood.”
Garrett says nothing, scared that he will be next in your murderous rampage.
“I’m-” You set the fork down, shaking your head like you’ve just been freed from a spell. “Tucker, I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch for no reason.”
“Well-” Beau mumbles. “I wouldn’t say no reason-”
You elbow the quarterback. “I’m really sorry.” You reach out, squeezing Tucker’s hand.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I feel betrayed honestly. Hurt too, if I’m allowed to say so.” He’s really milking it.
You laugh. “Why don’t I buy you a drink to make up for it?”
“It would be a nice start.” He pretends to wipe away a fake tear as you slide out of the booth. “I’ll take a Dirty Shirley.”
“Oh my god.” Garrett’s face is red. “That’s what you’re choosing?”
“I’m sorry that your taste buds are evolved enough to enjoy a drink such as the one I have chosen.”
“Dirty Shirley.” You nod. “Got it. Be right back.”
You walk up to the bar, smiling at Allie sweetly. “Hello dear friend of mine.”
“What would you like, sweet cheeks?” That nickname unfortunately stuck.
“Two Dirty Shirley’s please.”
“That’ll be twenty dollars.” Allie sets the tap-to-pay ipad in front of you. “I’ll be right back.”
You pulled your card out, before someone else’s card pressed against the screen. Your jaw went slack as you looked up, fully expecting to see Dean’s face.
“Hi.”
A smile grew on your lips. It wasn’t Dean, but Zach, the man that Dean was trying to drive away. What perfect timing. “You really didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “Gotta show you I’m still interested.”
“Yeah?” You began to twirl your hair. Holy cliche.
“Yeah.” He nodded, moving closer to you. “I miss you.”
“Aw.” You giggle. “That’s sweet.”
“I was thinking of asking you out to dinner.”
“Oh?” You grin, blood rushing to your cheeks.
“So?” His leg bounced rather aggressively, but you didn’t mind. It was sweet, how nervous he was. “Dinner this week?”
“I don’t know.” Dean. You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands squeeze into fists. “I don’t really swing that way. Thanks for asking though.”
You whip around. “Dean, respectfully, fuck off. I don’t butt into your conversations, so don’t butt into mine.”
“Here are your Dirty Shirley’s.” Allie whispers. “Sorry for interrupting.”
“Thank you, Allie.” You grab them, ignoring Dean’s obnoxious face. “And to answer your question, Zach, dinner sounds great.”
“Awesome.” Zach grins. “I’ll text you.”
“Perfect.” Your smile is tight as you elbow past Dean to get back to the booth.
“C’mon baby.” You can only imagine how ridiculous it looks that the 6’2” boy is following after you like a puppy dog.
“Don’t call me that.” You hiss, passing Tucker his drink. “Your Dirty Shirley, sir.”
“Thank you ma’am.”
Beau slides out of the booth so you can get back in. He looks up at his best friend with suspicion in his eyes. “What did you do, Dean?”
“All I did was interrupt a conversation.”
“He was asking me out, you asshole.” You feel red hot rage race through your veins. “I watched you flirt with about ten girls and didn’t say anything.”
“So you were watching me?”
“Kinda hard not to.” You mutter under your breath.
“It wasn’t ten girls.” Dean tries to defend himself, but he somehow makes it worse. “And that was different.”
“Why?” You raised a brow. “Because you didn’t ask any of them out?”
“No.” He leaned against the booth, the fabric of his sleeve stretching as he crossed his arms. You fought your inner demons, reminding yourself that he was pissing you off right now, and you would be betraying yourself by lusting after him. “Because they weren’t you.”
“Dean.” You let a deep breath out. “You are officially the world’s biggest hypocrite. What you have just said doesn’t even make any logical sense.”
“What-”
“You have this horrible habit of making my heart flip. And then in the same moment, you refuse to admit that we have something. You refuse to say anything that’s actually meaningful. And I-” Tears begin to form, and you force them back. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”
“I think it’s time to get some air.” Tucker whispers. “I’m just gonna-”
“No need.” You stop him. “I am leaving. Here.” You slide Dirty Shirley over to him. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks.” Tucker immediately puts his straw into the glass.
“Beau.” You whisper. “I’m sorry, can you possibly-”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, no worries.” He stands up, holding your hand as you get out. “Do you need a ride home?”
“I-” Your eyes naturally drifted to Dean’s for a moment. They always did. “I think I’ll walk.”
“Are you sure?”
“Tucker was right.” You smile softly. “It’s time to get some air.”
“You shouldn’t walk alone.” Dean whispers.
“And you shouldn’t make me feel like this, so.” You shrug. “Guess we’re both at a loss. Have fun with all your admirers.”
Dean waited until you left Malone’s to follow after you. He never actually approached you, always staying ten paces behind, just to be sure that you stay safe. And when you walked into your apartment building, he stood by the corner streetlight, staring into your window like a lovestruck fool.
You don’t know how Allie had convinced you to go to the hockey game, but here you were. Normally, you were the one who had to beg her: you went all out. You put face paint on, the whole nine yards. A couple months ago, Dean had given you his jersey.
Today, you were not going all out.
You did have to thank Allie though, because this game was insanely entertaining, much better than endless episodes of The Office on repeat.
It was like the entire team was perfectly in sync. Garrett was controlling the ice and guiding the team with the precision of a seasoned pro, Logan was keeping it locked down in the defense department, and Tucker had scored two out of the three team’s goals.
And Dean, oh Dean. You could tell something was bothering him, because never before had he played so aggressively in his life. Or at least, at any game you’d ever seen. He’d already been put in the penalty box twice for minor penalties, one more, and he would be out of the game for five minutes.
There he went.
“What is up with him?” You whispered. Allie and Hannah stared at you like it was obvious. You raised a brow. “What?”
“You are what’s up with him. He’s pissed at himself for being an idiot, and he’s pissed that you’re going on that date with Zachary.”
“Zach, but yeah.” You nodded. “Maybe he should have behaved rationally for once. Maybe he should have said something meaningful instead of making the whole situation a joke.”
“Maybe.” Hannah smiled. “It doesn’t hurt to talk, though.”
“We haven’t talked in three days.”
“Just check in, make sure he’s doing well.” Allie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.
“No time like the present to fix this.” Hannah turned back towards the game, and you stuck your tongue out at her. You hated how right she was, how right both of them were.
You’d been waiting outside of the locker room for thirty minutes, pacing back and forth as you watched player after player leave, all of them shooting you pitiful looks. Maybe he left super early, and you were here looking stupidly hung up on someone that didn’t even care about you.
The door swung open once more, and your heart skipped.
Logan and Tucker walked out together, followed closely by Garrett. Your heart returned to its normal pace.
Garrett stayed behind as the other boys continued down the hall. “He’s still inside.”
You smiled thankfully. “Thank god. I’ve been waiting here for an embarrassing amount of time.”
“He really likes you.” Garrett continued. “He’s just scared.”
“And stupid.” You whisper.
“And stupid.” Garrett laughs. “But he means well. I’m not trying to excuse his actions, because a lot of the stuff he’s done is super hurtful. But I also wouldn’t be doing my job as his friend if I let you think he didn’t care.”
“Thank you, Garrett.” Hannah’s wise nature was rubbing off on him. Or maybe, Garrett was just naturally wise. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you.”
You eyed the locker room suspiciously, like you were waiting for a monster to jump out from behind it at any moment. Honestly, you would rather face Cereberus right now than face your fear of being vulnerable and confessing your feelings to Dean.
Before you could take the coward’s way out, you pushed through the door. You turned the corner, frowning when you saw Dean. He looked utterly dejected as you watched him. He was sitting on the benches still in uniform with his face in his hands. “Dean?”
He visibly tensed, his voice low as he spoke. “What are you doing here?”
“I just-” He was right, what were you doing here? “I wanted to check on you. It was a rough game.”
“Well,” He stood up, his face as emotionless as you’d ever seen it. “You did it. You checked on me. Feel free to leave now.”
You squeezed your fist, trying to control your anger from bubbling up. “You’re upset.”
“Yeah, I am.” He walked closer. “I’m upset that you’re here. I thought we weren’t talking.”
“I still care about you.” You scoffed. “Friends can check on-”
“Friends?” He looked disgusted at the thought, and your stomach clenched.
“I can’t believe I actually cared that you were upset. This was such a stupid idea.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You are a child, that’s what that means.”
“I’m a child?” He crossed his arms, walking towards you. “Please elaborate.”
“With pleasure.” You spat out, counting out the things he does on your fingers. “You have done nothing but poke and prod at me since Garrett introduced us, you get under my skin on purpose-”
“I-”
“You interrupt me.” You gave him a pointed look. “You deliberately do and say things that you know are going to hurt me. For example, I came in here out of the goodness of my heart, and you treated me like I was no better than a random puck bunny.”
“I have never tried to hurt you on purpose.” His eyes were dark.
“Well, you do.” Your voice broke. “You do it all the time. You look at me like I hung the moon and the stars. You remember something little that I told you eons ago, you memorize my coffee order, your eyes find mine at every party just to check in. And then, in that exact moment, you start sucking some girl’s face like you didn’t make my heart clench.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked highly offended. “If we’re getting to specifics, then you must know that you hurt me way before I hurt you.”
“I did not!”
“You did.” He seemed so small for someone so large. He was towering over you, literally, but physically, he seemed unsure, hesitant to even speak. “You were embarrassed of me.”
“What?” Your heart dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“When Garrett brought you to the hockey house for the first time.” His eyes bore into yours, practically begging for you to understand what he was getting at. “Do you not-” He frowned. “You acted like you didn’t know me.”
You scoffed, voice raising in annoyance. “That’s what started all of this?”
“You lied to them!” He retorted.
“What was I supposed to say? Hey guys, Dean and I made out once two years ago!”
“Exactly!” He yelled back. You stomped your feet against the floor, stalking out of the locker room. “That was exactly what you were supposed to say!”
He raced after you, his skates echoing against the floor. Your heart involuntarily skipped, as it always did when Dean was around. “Leave me alone.”
“No way.” His voice sounded nearer than you would have liked. “Why can’t you just say it?”
“I could ask you the same question.” You whipped around, colliding into his gear. His hands instinctively reached out, grabbing your waist firmly as he steadied you. “I-”
“I’m scared,” Dean whispered. “I’m scared that I’ll say I love you, and you’ll say it back, and eventually-” He gulped. “You’ll leave because you’ll realize that I’m not good enough. Hell. I’m not even good at-” He motioned between the two of you. “This. Whatever it is that we have.”
“I can’t even begin to describe what it is we have,” you whisper back. “But I can say that I will never leave you. Even if nothing ever became of us, I would never leave you. I care about you too much.”
“Babydoll…” His eyes drifted down to your lips, and your breath caught. “I’m a dick.”
You nodded. “You are.”
“I’m a hypocrite.”
“Big one.” You mumbled.
“I’m a jealous fool.”
Sometime in the middle of his speech, he’d begun walking you towards the wall. Your back collided against it, a gasp leaving your lips. “Defintely.”
“But I can promise you that I will work on all of that if you just-” He leaned down, his breath intertwining with yours. “If you agree to being my girlfriend.”
“Dean-” Your voice wavered. “Just kiss me.”
His pointer finger and thumb grabbed your chin, tilting it up ever so slightly. “You don’t do casual sex.”
“Why are you bringing this up right now?” Your heart was racing.
“Answer the question.”
“No, I don’t do casual sex.” You responded.
“And-” He leaned even closer, if that was somehow possible. “I’m assuming that this will be ending in-” he smirked. “So all I need you to do is agree to be my girlfriend, and then we can do whatever you wan-”
“Yes.” You nodded quickly. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
“I can’t hear you.”
You glared. “Yes you can.”
“Say it louder, baby.”
“You’re so annoying.” You glared before grabbing his uniform in your clenched fist and pulling it to you. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
He lifted you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as his lips crashed against yours. You would most definitely have bruises tomorrow morning, but you didn’t really care. “Dean, I’m sorry.”
“Do you always talk this much when you’re making out with someone?”
“No.” You gasped as he kissed down your throat. “But you’re different.”
“Different how?”
“Let me-” You pulled his lips back to yours. “Let me show you.”
“You’re dangerous.” He spoke between the kisses. “Let me change, and then I’m all yours.”
“I’m an idiot.” You mumbled under your breath.
“That makes two of us.” Dean whispered, pulling you closer. His arm was wrapped around your waist, as it had been for the past nine hours. Once you’d made it back to the hockey house, Dean had carried you up the stairs in bridal style, and thrown you onto the bed, slamming the door behind him. That’s where you’d been for nine hours, until you woke up like this, your arm across his chest, his arm around his waist, and your cheek pressed into his pecs. “We’re together now.”
You nodded, tracing shapes into his bare chest. “Good point.”
“Did you have fun last night?” He didn’t have the faintest trace of mischief in his tone. He was genuinely asking you, something that made you fall in love with him all over again.
“Yes, Dean.” You stretched your neck, kissing his jaw gently. “You could say I had fun.”
“Good.” He grinned, pulling your lips to his. You grinned, deepening the kiss. “I’m glad. I wanted you to-” He kissed you one more time. “To feel comfortable.”
“I always do with you.” You smiled, pushing a hand against his chest. “We need to get out of bed, Romeo.”
“Why?” He whined. “I’m having so much fun in here.”
“Shut up.” You shoved him away, laughing as he ‘fell’ out of bed. “You need to shower.”
He gasped. “Are you insinuating that I smell?”
You nodded. “Unfortunately.”
He threw you a shirt and some sweatpants. “For you.”
You pulled the covers up, catching the clothes with ease. “Why thank you, kind sir.”
“I’ll be back.” Dean winked. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.” You giggled, waiting until he shut the door to jump out of bed. You pulled the sweatpants and oversized shirt on, admiring yourself in the mirror. The shirt, you realized, was from high school, something about Connecticut.
“Dean, I need to borrow a-” You froze, turning around slowly. There, as frozen as an ice cube, stood Tucker, his eyes wide and his jaw wide open. “Holy shit.”
“Hi.” You smiled guiltily. “Good morning?”
“Guys!” Tucker grinned, jumping up and down. “Guys, come here!”
You buried your face in your hands, wishing that this was all a dream. “Tucker-”
“Oh my god.” Hannah was here too? You opened your eyes, blood rushing to your face. “It seems like my advice worked.”
“What’s going on?” Garrett’s voice, as groggy as you’d ever heard it, shot out from down the hall.
“You’re not gonna believe it, G.” Logan smirked. “I almost don’t.”
“You all are finding much too much joy from this situation.” You glared. “You wanted this.”
“Holy shit.” Garrett was grinning.
“That’s what I said!” Tucker smacked his friends chest. “It happened!”
“Finally!” Garrett responded.
“Hello?” Who else was here to bask in your horribly uncomfortable situation? “Guys?”
“Beau!” Garrett yelled. “Up here, dude.”
“Do you guys know where Dean is?” Beau responded. “He hasn’t been answering my texts, and we were supposed to go on a ru-” His eyes bulged out of their sockets as he stared at you. “Nevermind.”
“Beau.” You begged. “Can you get them out of here, please?”
He paused for a moment, before nodding. “Alright people, nothing to see here. We’ll reconvene when they’re ready.”
“What?” They all began to protest. “This is my house!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Beau pushed his way to the front, before shutting the door. “You’ll live.”
“So-” Allie smirked. “Start from the beginning.”
You groaned, shoving your face in Dean’s arm. “Kill me now.”
In the time that Dean had showered, changed, and listened to you tell him what he’d missed, Allie had been contacted and told to get to the hockey house, stat.
“You can’t get out of this, sweet cheeks.” Allie leaned forward. “We’ve been watching this soap opera for far too long not to know how it ended.”
“I have to object to you calling my girlfriend sweet cheeks.” Dean interrupted.
“Overruled.”
“Girlfriend?” Hannah gasped. “What?”
“We missed so much.” Tucker whined. “I knew we should have stayed behind.”
Dean smirked. “I don’t know if you would have wanted to have been around for long.”
Your head shot up, glaring. “Di Laurentis! Shut up!”
All of Off Campus (Dean, Garrett, and Beau) is open, as well as some other fandoms (see my navigation for details). I would love to execute your vision, so submit something while/if you have a moment🩵
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the one where you actually make a tiktok without torturing beau - drabble #5
🩵💗 - established relationship (bf/gf), simp!beau, cute little blurb, literally just talking about how amazing beau is the whole time bc why not, beau maxwell x fem!reader
word count: 560
God, you loved having a rich boyfriend.
It sounded incredibly shallow, and honestly, you felt bad even thinking it, but it was true.
Beau was loaded, and so, when he offered to take you to Europe for THREE WEEKS as a graduation gift, you squealed. You called your mom, your dad, your little sister, and Allie before racing around your apartment.
And now, because your boyfriend was the best boyfriend in the whole entire world, you had the amazing opportunity to sit at some adorable cafe in Paris, watching people pass by and taking in the summer air.
There was just one teenie tiny issue.
Beaumont Edmund Maxwell was irritating the shit out of you.
You'd gone to a six-story club last night (yes, this is a real place) and you'd partied until three am.
You KNEW he was horribly hungover, and yet, when you looked over, he looked perfectly fine, like a damn J Crew model.
"You look like you want to murder me," Beau smirked. "What's up?"
"You're so handsome it's sickening." You muttered under your breath. "Tell me your secret."
He winked dramatically. "It helps to have the most gorgeous woman in the world by your side."
"Oh." You scoffed. "I didn't know that Tom Holland and Zendaya broke up."
"Way to dodge my compliment, babe. Y'know-" He leaned forward like he was about to tell you the darkest secret ever. "Even though I know that you're seconds away from puking, you look breathtaking. They should put you in the Louvre."
"Wow." That compliment had gotten to you. "You really want to kiss me, don't you?"
He shrugged. "I mean, I guess if you're offering-"
"That reminds me." You picked up your phone, waving it animatedly. "We have to add this outfit to the TikTok."
Ah yes. The highly anticipated fit check video from your abroad trip. You'd seen it while doing research for your upcoming vacation, immediately sending it to Beau.
You'd added on to the video almost every single day you'd been here. (You could always go through and delete your least favorite ones.)
"Let's do this thing." Beau stood up, extending his hand for you to hold. "Where do you want me?"
"Just stand there and look handsome, hot stuff."
"So many compliments in one sentence." He grinned. "I don't know how to react."
"Can't a girl gush over her disgustingly handsome, devastatingly perfect boyfriend?"
"I-" His cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink, and you smirked. "You totally can-"
"Cool." You nodded. "You know the drill, start from out of frame."
"One second."
"Alright." Your brow raised ever so slightly. "You okay over there?"
"Just-" He huffed, pulling you into his hold. "Come here."
"What-" Your lips were attacked, attacked with the softest, most passionate kiss you could get from someone as equally hungover as yourself. Your eyes fluttered shut as his arms grasped at your waist, his touch sending fireworks off in your heart. "Beau-"
"I love you." He pulled back ever so slightly. "So much."
"I love you so much, too." You giggled. "Should we-"
"Yep." He nodded. "Yeah, sorry, got a little carried away there."
"I'll allow it this one time." You tried your very best to seem serious. "We have a TikTok to make, Maxwell. There's no time to waste."
"Yes, ma'am." He nodded once more. "Won't happen again."
you hide from beau to see how long it takes for him to notice you're gone - drabble #4
🩵💗 - established relationship (bf/gf), simp!beau, pranskter!reader, shitposting at it's finest, thank you to THIS REQUEST for the inspo, beau maxwell x fem!reader
word count: 532
Beau Maxwell was hard to say no to. When you were adamant about not doing something (which wasn't often; you loved hanging out with your boyfriend), his voice would get all gravely, and his gaze would drop to your lips. He knew your weakness.
It was him. God, he was the worst.
You loved him to death.
(All this to say, Beau never forces you to do anything you don't want to do. This guy LOVES consent.)
And thanks to that very annoying weakness, you were at the annual St. Patrick's Day Darty, hosted by Beau's fraternity, Sig Tau.
Halfway through, he'd left your side to get you another drink. You'd stayed in your seat, scrolling TikTok, when inspiration came to you. Well, more like your algorithm knew you wanted to cause mischief.
The video showed a girl hiding from her boyfriend and seeing how long it would take him to search for her. You laughed, giving it a like.
You scanned the darty quickly, ensuring that Beau was nowhere nearby before you jumped up, running over to a nearby tree and standing behind it. Simple.
And then you waited. You waited and watched.
Beau was talking with Dean, Tucker, and some of his other Sig Tau brothers. His eyes lit up when he talked, his hands, which were holding your drinks, still extremely animated. Your stomach flipped, a warm smile replacing the smirk.
Then his eyes gravitated towards your seat, the one you'd occupied only five minutes ago. He frowned, tilting his head curiously. He gave his friends a quick smile, mumbled a quick goodbye (you assumed; you couldn't really read his lips), and began searching for you.
You gasped, pressing your back against the tree and squeezing your eyes shut.
Then your pocket buzzed.
You reached down, pulled your phone out and answered it. "Hello?"
"Where'd you run off to?"
You smirked, trying your best to sound innocent. Mission failed. "You don't see me?"
"Baby..." He sounded like he was smiling. Probably shaking his head in faux disappointment, too. "You're gonna give me a heart attack someday."
You let out the evilest laugh ever. "You'll never find me."
Radio silence. You frowned, a scowl growing on your lips. "Hello?"
"Hey, sexy." Beau popped out in front of you.
You yelped, clutching your heart. "Holy shit, you scared me."
"Funny." He leaned against the tree, smirking. "I was about to say the same thing."
"Ha ha." You glared. "God forbid I try to bring some spark into this relationship."
"Spark?" He looked highly offended. "You didn't seem to need any spark this morn-"
You slapped a hand over his mouth. "Beau!"
"I promise to behave if you remove your hand."
You huffed. "Fine."
He grinned, handing you your drink. "Do I have TikTok to blame for this?"
"Yes." You nodded. "Yes, you do."
"It's like I'm psychic." He teased.
"The sexiest psychic." You wiggled your brows, standing on your tiptoes.
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Oh?" You raised a brow, your lips brushing against his. "Fine then." You pulled back, walking away. "I'm gonna go hang out with Dean."
His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. "I surrender."
BLURBS: beau maxwell confronts you about your tiktok 🩵💗 // beau maxwell is the victim of another tiktok trend 💗 // you see beau maxwell for the first time in months 🩵♥️ // you hide from beau to see how long it takes for him to notice you're gone 🩵💗 // the one where you actually make a tiktok without torturing beau 🩵💗 //
dean di laurentis
dear god 🩵♥️💗
BLURBS: dean di laurentis rage baits you for the millionth time 🩵💗 //
AN: 🩵💗 - so sorry for how long this is (also here is the unofficial part two to this fic - fall back into place)!!
“Come along, Y/N!” Rhaenyra yelled. “The flowers will still be there when we return.”
“Very well, Your Highness.” She sighed, hooking her arm through the princesses. “They only bloom once a year. I am simply taking in their beauty before they wilt.”
“I understand. Unfortunately for you, I now need a chaperone to walk my own halls, as every lord in the land vies for my hand.”
“Oh, poor poor Rhaenyra.” Y/N teased. “I can only imagine.”
“Rhaenyra, Y/N!” The girls turned around, Alicent running toward them with a young man in tow.
Y/N leaned over, whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear. “It seems even your own friends are playing matchmaker.”
Rhaenyra laughed, coughing to cover it up. Alicent looked suspiciously at Y/N. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, Alicent, nothing at all.”
“Oh, never mind.” She pulled the man forward. “May I introduce my brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. He’s just arrived for the tourney.”
Alicent’s brother was handsome: tall, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. One could tell from a single glance he and Alicent were related. Freckles adorned his face, and Y/N could only assume it was from his ample time outdoors. She curtsied quickly, staring at the ground.
Protocol regarding courting was odd and often confusing. With different social statuses came different rules. The Princess was the highest ranking of the two girls before him; thus, he would kiss Rhaenyra’s hand last. It was an honest mistake, a lapse in judgment, Y/N was sure. Odd, she’d thought to herself, she assumed that Gwayne was taught these sorts of things.
Her eyes drifted back to his, holding back a gasp as he extended his hand to her, after Rhaenyra. She placed hers in his palm hesitantly. He bowed once more, his hold gentle, like he was scared to break her. His lips were soft, and her cheeks turned bright red from the touch, eyes wide with shock.
She realized, amid her thinking, that Alicent and Rhaenyra had been taunting her, much too entertained by this simple encounter. Y/N ripped her hand away; any passerby would have thought it was on fire.
“My lady.”
She’d almost frowned. “I am no lady, Ser.” Entertaining the thought of him would only come back to haunt her, she told herself. The entire point of the tourney was to field potential suitors for the Princess, none were here for the ward of the crown, an orphaned bastard in her own right. He was attractive, there was no denying it. The way his eyes twinkled, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or when his smile-
“Oh?” The young man frowned, his voice snapping her back to life. Her cheeks were still flushed. This avoiding business would prove to be harder than she previously thought. “My mistake. You are the very picture of a lady, I must say.”
Their spectators gasped. Y/N scoffed. “Do not think you can mock me, Ser.” She tightened her hold on Rhaenyra’s arm. “If you will excuse us…”
Not bothering to wait for a response, she turned around, dragging the princess along with her. Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “I believe he was smitten.”
Y/N shook her head. “And I believe it was all a game, most likely a way to make you jealous.” Her heart clenched at the thought. “Just a game.”
Rhaenyra’s room was a disaster, but when had it not been?
For as long as either of the Princess’s companions could remember, her suite had been covered with gowns and riding suits thrown haphazardly on the floor.
Not that either of the other girls cared, they were happy to lay on the Princess’s plush cushions, taking in the sun as it filled the room. Y/N’s head hung off the sofa, laughing as her friend ran through her closet. “If it were any larger, you would get lost inside.”
Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “I would be content with just my riding suit, thank you very much.”
Alicent laughed. “You know you’d rather die than look simple. You live for fine silks and designs-”
Y/N nodded, doing her best to imitate the Princess. “Oh Y/N fetch the purple dress, will you? Fetch the red dress! No, not that one. The one with the jewels. No not that one, the other-” A pillow slammed against her face, and she giggled, holding her hands up defensively. “Mercy, I beg of you!”
“You could have had all this.” Rhaenyra sat beside the girl, whispering. “If my father simply acknowledged-”
“That my mother gave birth to me out of wedlock? No amount of Targaryen blood can excuse that dishonor.” Y/N sat up, frowning. “It does no good to dwell, Rhaenyra. Besides, I am content with the life I lead, spending time with my favorite cousin.”
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “I am your only cousin.”
“Not true.” She laughed. “There is Daemon and-”
“My brother seems rather taken with you, I must say.” Y/N’s heart broke at the thought of Gwayne being smitten with Rhaenyra.
Why, she could not quite place. “Hear that ‘Nyra? I told you I was-”
“I was talking to you, Y/N,” Alicent smirked.
Her cheeks grew hot, her hands itching to cover her face. “You must be mistaken.”
“Do you truly think so little of him?” The auburn-haired girl reached out, grabbing Y/N’s hand comfortingly. “I assure you, he is honorable and loyal to a fault.”
“I am sure he is.” Y/N smiled. “He must be leaving soon, now that the tournament is nearly over.”
Rhaenyra smirked. “I must say, it was not as extensive as I would have liked.”
“Really?” Y/N laughed. “It has already been a fortnight since its beginning.”
“And if the Princess feels it is not finished…” Rhaenyra wiggled her eyebrows. “The Princess will announce an extension.”
Alicent giggled. “Or rather your father.”
“My lady.”
She’d almost escaped. Y/N sighed, turning around. “My lord.”
She had seen the man following her for quite a while, hoping that he was merely visiting the library. She bowed quickly. “How may I be of service?” Lord Frey’s scent could make a man grown faint. She felt the bile rise as he took a step closer, whispering.
“I was wondering if you could put in a word with your Princess.”
She nodded. “What would you like me to relay?”
“Well-” His ‘kind’ facade was cracking. If he could barely handle a simple question, she doubted Rhaenyra would enjoy him. “If you could-”
“My lady.” Her heart fluttered at the sight of Gwyane Hightower, his hair bouncing as he walked toward her. “I’ve been waiting. We agreed to meet in the gardens.”
“I am sorry.” She smiled, genuinely smiled. “I was simply talking to Lord Frey.” She looked back to the older man, urging him to continue. “You were saying, my lord?”
He gritted his teeth. “It is of no consequence. I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “My lady. Ser Hightower.”
“Lord Frey,” Gwayne replied, waiting until he had rounded the corner. “Always a pleasure.”
Y/N fought the urge to laugh. She walked past the young knight, her heart beating faster as he diligently followed after her. “Do you not have somewhere to be, my lord?”
“As I said, I have been waiting for you.”
She scoffed. “I must say, you are the very picture of a knight. Saving a damsel in distress? How chivalrous.”
He smiled, bowing sarcastically. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I am not a-”
“A lady. You have said.” He grabbed a book from the shelf, pretending to read it before throwing it over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, walking around him to pick up the book he’d discarded. The maester would have her head if he found it lying there. “I must say, a lady has never been so-” He laughed as she opened her mouth to correct him. “So unmoved by my advances.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint. If you’ll excuse me-”
“What are you doing with the remainder of your day, I wonder.”
“Why?”
“I would like a proper tour of the castle, and my sister has been too busy as of late.” He looked too eager, too eager to spend time with a mere lady in waiting. “Would you care to show me?”
“I would not.”
“Wonderful. I will-” He stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, I would not.” She put the last book away, climbing up the ladder. “It is quite cruel, this game you are playing.”
“I am sorry?” He tilted his head.
“I know this is a ploy to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, to win the tourney, and possibly win your father’s approval.” She scoffed, eyes watery at the thought of yet another man using her to gain advantage. “This is by far the cruelest way, I must tell you.”
He laughed, actually laughed at her, which only angered her further, tears falling as a result. He stopped his laughing, reaching out to comfort her, frowning when she stepped back. “Do you really think I am using you for your lady’s hand?”
“I do.” She climbed back down from the ladder, ignoring the way he held it from wavering beneath her. “There is no reason for you to be interested in me.”
He shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “Are you aware you are beautiful?”
Y/N ignored that comment, facing him with pleading eyes. “Please spare me from your taunts. I understand that you may- you may find it amusing-”
Gwayne was confused, extremely, and utterly confused. He had just complimented her, why was she asking him to spare her? “I must make this clear and simple, as you seem to get the wrong impression from me. I am not interested in your lady. I am interested in-”
“Every suitor I have encountered has gone through either myself or Alicent to gain Rhaenyra’s favor. By the gods-” She flailed her arms. “Some even go to me inquiring about your sister!”
He practically growled, her heart leaping from the sound. “Then they are cowards.”
“Yes, well…” She had to leave before her resolve broke. “My lord.”
“Do you let anyone other than yourself speak?”
Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Excuse me?”
“I have been trying to explain myself to you, to tell you that-” He stopped himself. “So far every attempt has been overpowered by you.” He crossed his arms, a smirk gracing his lips. “Now…” His voice was practically a whisper. “May I speak?”
“I-” She swallowed, nodding. She did not trust her voice when he looked at her so… so longingly?
“The outing I suggested earlier, would simply be a tour, nothing more.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing untoward will come of it, I swear to you.”
He looked sincere. So sincere that she began to consider it. “We will need a chaperone. The king would not allow me to go off alone, even with a knight.”
“The king?” Gwayne was intrigued. “Exactly why would the king care?”
“Because I am a ward of the crown. I have been since I was born. My mother was a-” She stopped herself. “She was a close friend of King Jaehaerys, and he took me in. King Viserys has been gracious enough to let me stay.”
“Well, then I shall have to thank him.”
“For?”
“If it had not been for him…” He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “We would have never met.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his hold. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lord.”
He grinned, calling after her. “I look forward to it!”
Gwayne smiled as he watched the woman in front of him. She was glowing in this light and practically skipping through the gardens with joy. It was funny, seeing a woman he had often seen as melancholy at best so energetic. “Do you often find yourself at peace here?”
“I do.” Y/N nodded. “I was told my mother loved the gardens, I suppose I feel she is still with me when I am here.”
“Did you know her?” Gwayne inquired. “Your mother, that is.”
“She died when I was a babe.” She leaned forward, taking in the scent of the roses in front of her. “I have glimpses of her. She had bright eyes, bright hair. Her laugh was the most beautiful melody you could ever hear. At least…” She drifted off, staring at the ground. “From what I can remember.”
“I have the same.” His voice was quiet. “Although, my mother died when I was eight years of age.”
“That’s awful.” She frowned. “Alicent told me she had died, but not how old you’d been. That must have been worse, I suppose. Having known her, and then in a moment, gone.”
He shrugged. “My mother was… less than maternal. She had always been one for court and fashion rather than her children.”
“Ah.”
“Still, it hurt. Me more than Alicent, I suppose. She’d only been four years old.”
She ached to reach out and hold him. “I am sorry.”
“For?”
“Reliving the past.”
“If I remember correctly…” He plucked a nearby daisy, placing it behind her ear ever so delicately. “I found this topic of conversation.”
“Yes well…” She smiled, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. “Still…”
He leaned forward, his breath hitting her nose. “I am sure your mother would be proud.”
To that, Y/N laughed. “She was always the adventurous sort, at least, that is what I’ve gathered from the stories. She was highly admired too, beautiful…” She looked down, picking at the skin around her thumb. “I hope to be half the woman she was.”
“You are.” He whispered, holding her hand. He had noticed, much to his dismay, that she’d adopted the habit of picking at her skin. It hurt him, to see her do that to herself.
His sister did the same.
Her heart stopped, looking up to meet his gaze. He was beautiful. Staring into his eyes, she began to realize how inappropriate of a position they were in.
Where was their chaperone? She took a step back, forgetting the rose bush behind her. Yelping, she jumped forward, falling into his arms.
Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back. “Have I startled you?”
She scoffed, pushing him away. “Not at all. I simply remembered we have much more of the tour to get through.” She darted around him, leading the way out of the garden. “Now, come along.”
“Yes sir,” Gwayne muttered, mockingly saluting.
She looked behind her, a smile gracing her lips. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” His pace quickened until they were side by side. “Simply admiring your hospitality.”
She shoved his arm, rolling her eyes. “Ever the jester.”
The remainder of their day passed quickly, much quicker than Y/N would have liked. By the end, she came to realize that the noble knight was a near-perfect companion. Serious when required, a jester when the moment called for it, he was kind, and a good man.
Their last moments had been silent, soaking in the dull roar around them. Every so often, their hands grazed, neither daring to reach out. The sunset with the perfect blend of orange and pink, the waves crashing against King Landing’s rocky cliffs. It made Y/N smile, the way it brought out the red in Gwayne’s hair. She whispered, the words barely leaving her. “You’re hair is the most perfect shade. Have you noticed?” His cheeks turned red, and she smirked, taking his silence as a no. “If only it were transferable.”
That had made him laugh. “Have you just given me a compliment?”
She laughed. “We are friends, are we not?” The night was coming to an end, her door just a few paces away. “Friends compliment each other.”
His shoulders visibly deflated, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes. Friends compliment each other.” Silence fell over them again, neither daring to speak until she’d reached for her door. His hand grabbed her wrist, holding her just so.
His voice was raspy, quiet enough the breeze itself could have carried it away. “You are perfection itself.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she grew grateful he could not see her, knowing that she would surely become the subject of his jests if he saw her blush. “As your friend…”
She nodded, smiling to herself as she pushed the door open, his hold releasing her wrist. “Goodnight, my lord.”
“My friends do not call me my lord.”
She turned around, curtsying ever so lightly. “Then goodnight, Gwayne.”
He bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Are you not terribly tired of reading?”
“If I was tired of it, I would not still be doing it, now would I?”
Gwayne groaned, rolling over on their shared blanket, staring at the sky. “One should not confine themselves to a book when the whole world is sitting in front of them.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, setting the book down in her lap. “I will have you know I am not confining myself.”
“Oh?” He laughed, his eyes closing. “Then what exactly are you doing?”
“I was trying to relax.” She murmured. “Something I can never seem to do when you are present.”
“What was that?” His smirk was growing increasingly mischievous, and she knew that he had heard her.
“I will not repeat myself. You heard me.” Grabbing her book out of her lap, she opened its pages once more. “Now hush. This is the best part.”
“Read it to me then.” He closed his eyes, laying beside her. “I would like to hear what is so interesting it has taken you away from me.”
“It was you who suggested the picnic, Gwayne, not I.” She laughed. “They are supposed to be tranquil.”
“Maybe in King’s Landing.” He muttered. “In Oldtown, they are supposed to be fun.”
“Well, I am not from Oldtown, nor are we there, which could imply why I was unaware of your customs. Which could also explain how we have reached this argument.”
His eyebrows raised. “Is this an argument?”
She ignored him, mumbling to herself. “This is fun.”
“Well, it would be.” He teased. “If you read to me.”
“You jest.” She mumbled. “Now let me sit in peace.”
He stood up, walking behind her just to sit down once more. “May I?”
“May you what, exactly?” Her cheeks felt hot, he had this effect on her.
“Alicent once taught me to plait hair, when she was young.” He smiled to himself. “I assume it was a self-serving act, but still.” He leaned forward, his voice causing goosebumps to run up her spine. “At least let me pass the time this way.”
“Fine.” Y/N could never say no to him, no matter how hard she tried. “Do not make me look hideous.”
“That…” He pulled out the pins that held her hair elegantly. “Is not possible.” Her cheeks flushed, ignoring that compliment. “Are you attending the tourney tomorrow?”
Y/N nodded. “I must. Rhaenyra has insisted I attend as her lady-in-waiting.” She laughed. “It is quite odd.”
“How so?”
“She has never required that of me before.”
Gwayne grinned. “Well, I shall enjoy knowing you are watching.”
“Really?” She laughed again. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I had not attended. Then you could recount the story as outlandishly as you pleased.”
“Y/N…” His voice sounded desperate, and her heart skipped. “If you do not wish to attend, I’m sure the Princess will understand.”
“No!” She practically yelped. “I want to.”
He smiled, his blush growing darker. “Then I shall do my very best.” His fingers grazed her neck, a gasp leaving her lips before she could silence herself. Gwayne made no comment of it, simply finishing the braid and standing up, extending his hand.
She glared playfully, standing up of her own accord. She knelt, picking up the blanket and folding it haphazardly.
“Let me.” Gwayne took the blanket and basket from her arms, carrying them back up to the castle. “A lady should never carry such things.”
“A basket and blanket?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am not weak.”
“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “You are decidedly, not weak.”
She nodded, puffing her chest. “If we walk any slower, you shall be late.”
He groaned. “Why must I attend this soiree?”
“Because it is meant for you. For knights participating in the tourney, that is. Rhaenyra will be there, as will her father-”
“And will you?” Gwayne interrupted. “Be in attendance?”
“I shall.” She smiled brightly. “Now come along and follow after me closely.”
He tilted his head. “Where are you taking me, exactly?”
“Maegor’s tunnels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “They were made as an escape plan. Now the servants use them to move around the castle unseen.” The corridor was dark, the lanterns doing little to illuminate the path.
Gwayne felt a chill run down his spine, and he reached out, grabbing her hand. “Are you quite sure this is safe?”
“I have used them my whole life.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Trust me.”
He smiled, all fears of imminent doom leaving him as her skin touched his. “Lead the way.”
“You are going to break my hand.” Rhaenyra hissed.
Y/N smiled guiltily, releasing the Princess's hand. “My apologies, Princess.” She straightened the fabric of her dress, sitting tall. “I am simply excited. I love tourneys.”
“You do not. You have not been to a tourney since we were ten years of age.”
“Untrue,” Y/N muttered, looking over the edge of the box for her knight. “I am simply busy.”
“With what?” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for anyhow?”
Alicent sat on the other side of the Princess, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “I believe she is looking for my brother.”
Rhaenyra grinned. “Has that-” Alicent elbowed the Princess, widening her eyes.
Y/N tilted her head. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Rhaenyra muttered, holding her side. “Nothing.”
A knight approached the royal box, and Y/N grinned, waiting for Rhaenyra to stand first, as was customary. Rhaenyra smirked, looking at Alicent quickly before approaching the ledge. “Ser Hightower.” Alicent and Y/N approached second, arm in arm. Curstying quickly, she smiled at Gwayne brightly. The knight nodded his head. “Your Highness.” He turned to Y/N, his eyes softening. “My lady.”
“Ser Hightower.” Y/N greeted. “This is quite the tourney. I’m impressed.”
He grinned. “May I-” He swallowed. “May I have the honor of wearing your favor?”
Her cheeks grew bright red. “You-” She looked at Rhaenyra. “Do you not-”
He laughed. “I believe it is quite obvious I do not.”
Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. She leaned over, whispering in her cousin’s ear. “This is when you give the man your favor, Y/N.”
“But, I-” She turned back to Gwayne once more. “Are you quite sure?”
He nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, my lady.”
She turned around, pulling her arm out of Alicent’s. As she was a bastard, her house colors were unknown, opting to simply decorate the ring with her favorite flowers.
Of course, Rhaneyra and Y/N had known, but to blatantly defy the order of the king… she locked eyes with King Viserys, who was gazing at her curiously. Her eyes darted to the floor, turning back around. “May your luck bring you to victory, Ser Hightower.”
“As long as I have you to think of…” He looked positively giddy. “I shall never lose.”
Y/N was sure her cheeks were bright red. She rolled her eyes, ignoring his compliment.
Her heart twisted, knowing that they could never marry, as who would allow their firstborn son, their heir, to wed a bastard? She pushed his lance playfully, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “Go on, then.”
“You look stunning.” Alicent smiled, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “The very picture of a lady.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot name a time I have dressed so…” She smiled. “So elegantly.”
“It is a ball,” Rhaenyra interjected. “I will not have my dear friend in something drab.”
Alicent glared, and Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “She knows I do not mean that she is drab. I was simply-”
“It is alright, Rhaenyra.” Y/N laughed. “I was not offended in the slightest.”
“Red is most definitely your color.” Alicent grinned, spinning her friend around.
Rhaenyra smirked. “Your knight shall not know what to do with himself.” Alicent gasped, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. The Princess winced, glaring at her friend. “You cannot keep hitting me whenever you are disappointed.”
Y/N tilted her head. “My knight?”
“It is no matter.” Alicent stopped the Princess from blabbing anymore. “Shall we?”
The ballroom was filled to the brim with nobility from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the Hightowers, the Tullys, even the Starks had come to participate in the tourney and celebrate its results.
Y/N stepped back, watching as her friends entered. The squire stomped his cane, effectively silencing the ballroom. “The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower.”
They looked elegant, lighting up the room as they walked. Y/N walked up to the squire, smiling lightly. “No need to introduce me, Orvyn.”
He nodded, smiling kindly. “As you wish, my lady.”
The ballroom had not paid attention as she walked, not that she minded. It was better that way, she convinced herself as she glanced around the room. She smiled, waving at Gwayne, who was already staring back at her, rather intensely. His eyes… she shivered, ripping herself away from his gaze as she curtsied before the King. “Your Majesty.”
Viserys smiled, eyeing her royal red dress with curiosity. “Y/N.”
She rose; she could still feel Gwayne’s eyes fixed on her. Sitting beside Rhaenyra, she took a large gulp of her wine. “Is Gwayne still-”
Rhaenyra nodded, laughing to herself. “He is walking over.”
“What?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Why?”
“I assume…” She whispered, Gwayne now mere inches away. “He is going to ask you to dance.”
“He-”
“Your Highness.” The knight bowed. “My lady.”
Y/N avoided eye contact and took another large sip. Rhaenyra smirked. “Ser Gwayne, congratulations on your victory.”
“Thank you, Princess.” He smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I stole your lady for a dance?”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She looked at Y/N, enjoying this situation too much. “Y/N?”
“What?” Y/N whispered.
“He is asking you to dance.” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now get up.”
“I-” Y/N looked at Gwayne for the second time that night, feeling as if she could faint at any moment. “I would be delighted.”
His hand waited for hers, as it had so many times before. He whispered, placing his arm around her waist as they stood on the dance floor, his touch shocking her to her very core. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her head.
“Then why, pray tell…” His voice sounded desperate. “Have you refused to meet my eyes? I have missed your company.”
She raised her gaze, falling for the trap he’d set. “I saw you but two days ago, Gwayne.”
“There you are.” He grinned, pulling her closer as the dance began. “Now tell me, what is the matter?”
“You are leaving soon.”
“I am.” He replied as if this were any normal conversation. And perhaps it was, but Y/N would not say so. No normal conversation made her heart beat as fast as this.
“And I-” She sighed. “I did not want to bother you while you prepared for your journey back.”
“Back?” He tilted his head. “And where am I journeying to?”
“To Oldtown, of course.” His eyebrows scrunched, and Y/N fought the urge to burst into laughter. “I assumed-”
“Well, there’s no good in that, is there?” He whispered. “Assuming is a dangerous business.”
“But why would you stay?” She felt entirely confused. He had won the tourney and now would go home to tend to his duties. “There is no-” His eyes sparkled as she spoke, halting her momentarily. “No reason.”
Gwayne leaned down, his breath hitting her cheeks. “There is one reason. A very compelling one, in truth.”
Her heart stopped. “Is there?”
He nodded, eyes fluttering down to her lips.
Oh.
She was the reason.
Before she could fall for his spell, she pulled back, disrupting the dance. His eyes widened, reaching out to hold her hand. “Y/N?”
She ripped her hand back, staring wide-eyed. “I am not feeling well.”
His tone was gentle, it made her stomach flip. Gods, he had to stop being so- so perfect. “Would you like me to-”
“No!” She yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Nobles from around the room curiously gazed at the couple. “No, I shall go alone.”
“Y/N-”
She whipped around, stalking out of the ballroom. It broke her, to walk away from his hold. She knew she could no longer be around him; she was fighting her very soul to leap up and attach her lips to his.
There was only one solution to this problem, this vexing complication - she would have to avoid him entirely. No more traipsing around the halls waiting for him to see her, no more walking by the stables or the training yard.
No, she would have to stay confined to her and Rhaenyra’s rooms.
That was the best course of action, for both her and Gwayne.
Little did she know, Gwayne would not stand for it.
“They say-” Rhaenyra spoke carefully as she addressed her cousin. “That your knight is leaving today.”
“Ah.” Y/N nodded, staring off into the distance.
“Y/N…” The Princess sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Punishing yourself because of your birth… You must stop refusing any sign of affection or love simply on the-”
“Who said it was love?” Y/N scoffed, walking out to the balcony. “Certainly not I.”
“Anyone with eyes can see it. He is mad for you, as you are for him.” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath. “Even if you refuse to admit it.”
“I cannot admit something false, Rhaenyra.” Her lips curled into a twisted sort of smile. “I am content with my life, serving you.”
“All perfectly fine with me,” Rhaenyra reassured. “But you have a chance with Gwayne. Swear to me you will not waste it.”
“I-” She sighed. “I must retrieve your dinner, my lady.” Y/N curtsied before racing out of the room. By the gods, she couldn’t breathe when Rhaenyra lectured her. It was horrible enough that Alicent had begun to look upon her as if she was a kicked puppy, now Rhaenyra had began to do the same.
She pushed open the servant's door, twisting through Maegor’s tunnels with ease. It was odd, she told herself, at the lack of maids in its halls. Normally, she was dodging servants left and right. This felt strange, unnerving in a way.
Footsteps echoed behind her, and her heart leapt when a hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into a dark corner. She gasped, flailing her arms around, doing anything that could beat this intruder off her. Gwayne’s familiar voice ripped her from her panicked cries. “It’s me! It’s me.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What possessed you to drag me-”
“You will not talk to me.” He crossed his arms, staring at her intensely. “I am sorry if I scared you.” She turned around, walking back to the hallway. Gwayne followed diligently. “My party is set to leave today.”
Y/N nodded, ignoring the way her heart clenched. “So I’ve heard.”
“I wanted to say goodbye before I left.” His voice wavered. “I will miss-”
“You’ve said goodbye.” She cut him off, whipping around. “Now you may leave.”
He closed the space between them, eyes running wild with confusion. “Why must you be like this? Have I truly upset you?”
“Will you not respect a lady’s wishes?” She took a step back, scoffing. “I thought you were a knight, Lord Hightower.”
“Don’t.”
“I must attend to my lady. Her dinner is past due.” She continued her walk through the tunnels, ignoring his overwhelming presence.
“Damn her dinner.” He hissed, walking a pace behind her as he whispered. “I have been trying, for weeks, to court you, and you’ve denied me every step of the way. Just as soon as I-”
She scoffed. “Court me? Did Lord Tyland put you up to this?”
He shook his head, laughing. “Is it so hard to believe that I am interested in you? That the very thought of you consumes me?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why?”
She could only imagine his expression, his beautiful face creased with shock. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I am a bastard, you a lord’s son. By the gods, your father is hand to the King, and I am merely a lady in waiting.” She frowned, eyes watering. “It is not proper-”
“Then damn propriety!” He yelled, grabbing her wrist and halting her in her tracks. Her back was pressed against his chest. “I- I am mad for you, you must see that.”
Her shoulders shook, tears falling down her face. “Gwayne, it is for the best.”
“No!” He twirled her around, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You- you make me think, and feel, and act as none have. Your laughter- it brightens my day. Your wit makes me proud. I am-” He sighed, smiling brightly at the mere sight of her. “How?”
She tilted her head. “How?”
“How can I show you?” Her back collided with the wall, her breath leaving her, her heart thumping at their proximity. “How can I make you believe?”
“Gwayne…”
“Damn it to hell…” He leaned down, colliding his lips to hers. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she instantly pulled him closer. “I am not deterred by your status, nor do I care. I will have you, regardless of what the court thinks is proper.” His forehead leaned against hers, his hand resting at the bottom of her neck.
“We cannot-” Tears continued to fall down her face. “Gwayne, it cannot happen-”
“Do you want it to?” He remained steadfast. “Is this what you truly feel, or merely what the lords and ladies of Kings Landing shall say?”
“Gwayne, your father will never approve.”
“By the gods woman…” He laughed. “Do you love me?”
“Love?” She choked on a sob. Her body felt as if it could burst into flames at any moment. He was standing close, closer than what was deemed appropriate. “Do I-”
“I do.” He whispered, nudging her nose with his, lips barely touching. “I love you.”
“Gwayne, just listen to me.” She was fighting every bone in her body not to kiss him senselessly. “I am not good enough for you. There are hundreds of ladies-”
“You are, you are good enough. Perhaps too good. Besides…” He whispered. “I want you. Only you.” His eyes were intense, his thumb caressing her collarbone. By the gods, he was trying to make her burst into flames. “Only you.” His lips collided against hers, her eyes fluttering shut once more.
Her hands found their way to his chest, slowly pushing him away. “We cannot.”
“Oh?” He looked around the hallway. “I do not see anyone.”
“You know what I meant, Gwayne Hightower.”
“Would you like to stop?”
“No!” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
His eyebrows rose, laughing to himself. “So eager.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Whatever shall I do with you?”
“Why have you stopped?” Gwayne’s voice was but a murmur.
“I did not know you were listening.” She smiled. “You appeared to be sleeping.”
“Merely basking in your presence, my love.” His eyes fluttered open. “I must say, you look radiant in this light.”
She laughed. “As opposed to?”
“You know that I find you impossibly perfect.” His eyes shut again. “How long has it been since you began this book?”
“Hard to say. Possibly half an hour?” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”
“No reason.” He smirked, finding comfort in her lap once more.
“Well, there must be.” Her laughter filled his heart, his soul. “You never ask for the time.”
“May I not ask the beautiful woman, whom I love, what the time is? I simply want to know how long I have been lying in the garden.” His eyes peeked open once more, her eyebrows raising in amusement. “If you must know, I have an appointment at half past three.”
“An appointment?” She shut her book, running her hand through his hair. “Whatever for?”
“It is a secret.”
“Really?” She pulled her hand away from his hair, laughing as he sat up, obviously disappointed by the sudden lack of touch.
“Really.” He stood, extending his hand. She smiled, placing hers in his gladly. “It is with the King.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling as they walked. “Has something happened?”
“Yes.”
Her heart dropped. “Is it serious?”
He nodded. “Deadly.”
She groaned. “Now you must tell me.”
He sighed, stopping by the fountain. “Fine, fine. But you must not tell.”
She nodded, interlocking their pinkies. “I swear.”
He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I am asking the King for your hand.”
Her eyebrows crinkled. “My hand?”
“In marriage, my love.” She stood there speechless. He laughed, kissing the back of her hand gently. “I cannot be late.”
He had been halfway down the trail when she’d been brought back to life.
“Gwayne!”
He turned around, laughing at the sight before him. Y/N was racing toward him, skirts in hand and book discarded, grinning wildly. “Gwayne, you come back here this instant!”
He shook his head, running away. “This is highly unladylike, I must say!” She glared, almost tripping over a tree root, his laughter cascading through the garden. “Almost makes me rethink my question!”
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you see beau maxwell for the first time in months - drabble #3
🩵♥️ - established relationship (ex-situationship), partying, in her feelings!reader (as it is cancer season, i have dubbed the reader a cancer), simp!beau, idiot!beau, did i mention he's pathetic? sad ending (iykyk), beau maxwell x fem!reader
word count: 676
You hadn't been to a party in eons.
Which is why, when Allie and Hannah pity-invited you for the millionth time, you decided to actually take them up on their offer. Allie had been so excited that she'd curated your entire outfit, done your makeup, and meticulously put rollers in your hair.
What a waste of her time, you thought to yourself. This was stupid; you knew you weren't emotionally stable enough to go out in public, and yet you forced yourself to go.
Just to prove to your friends that you were fine.
But you weren't fine, you weren't fine at all.
So you sat outside, away from the people, shivering your ass off. You should have brought a coat, you told yourself. You also should have been honest with your friends: you were heartbroken, and you couldn't face the fact that you'd been stupid enough to trust him, to think that you actually had a chance. You rubbed your arms way too aggressively, hoping that it would bring you warmth.
"Hey, Einstein."
Beau. You couldn't help but tense at the sound of his voice, at the sound of that nickname. The way he said it, like it held weight, a secret meaning that neither of you wanted to address.
Einstein was betsowed upon you in your freshman year by Beau himself. You were in the same Physics class, and Beau had been tragically lost. You helped him once, and he took that as a sign to ask you for help on everything. You knew so much (or so he had said) that your knowledge rivaled that of Einstein's.
"Quarterback." You nodded, refusing to look back at him. You were leaning against the porch, staring out at the dark front yard.
"How long have you been out here?" Beau walked up beside you, draping his coat around you like it was nothing. "You have to have hypothermia by now."
"Thank you for your faux concern." You glared. "But I'm fine."
"Alright." He was staring. He always did. You told him he had a real problem constantly, or at least, you used to. "Forget I asked."
"Why are you talking to me?" You hated the way his voice made your insides flip. "I thought I was too lame to know."
The famous line that had made you cut Beau off from your life completely. Too lame to know. He hadn't even said it, but he hadn't defended you either. He just laughed and changed the subject.
"Einstein-" He frowned, turning fully towards you. "I'm an idiot."
"Yeah?" You scoffed.
"Yeah, actually." He folded his arms. "I was being stupid and a follower-"
"What else?"
"I regret it every day." He sounded so sincere that it made your heart ache. "I have nightmares about it."
"Beau-" You turned towards him, finally taking in his terribly handsome features for the first time in months. "It's in the past."
"No." He shook his head. "It's not, and that's okay. Because I have a plan."
"Oh?" You raised a brow. "Do tell."
"I'm gonna win you back."
"Beau-" You laughed. "We never dated, we were never really anything."
"Really?" He raised a brow back at you. (The first victim of the sassy man apocalypse, ladies and gentlemen.) "So that time we-"
"Alright." You slapped a hand over his mouth. "I get the point."
"I'm going to win you back. Starting Monday."
"Why Monday?" You laughed, letting your hand drop from his mouth. His own hand met yours, holding it tight.
"I'm surprising my Grandma this weekend." His cheeks flushed, even against the December chill. "It's her birthday. My whole family's gonna be there."
"That's sweet." You grinned. "I know she'll appreciate that a lot."
"What can I say?" He shrugged. "I'm pretty considerate."
"Alright, hotshot." You rolled your eyes. "Calm down."
"Can I walk you home?" He sneakily inched forward. "It's pretty late."
"I'll allow it."
And when he stopped at your dorm building door, you kissed him on the cheek as a token of your appreciation. "See you on Monday, Maxwell."
AN: 🩵💗 - so sorry for how long this is (also here is the unofficial part two to this fic - fall back into place)!!
“Come along, Y/N!” Rhaenyra yelled. “The flowers will still be there when we return.”
“Very well, Your Highness.” She sighed, hooking her arm through the princesses. “They only bloom once a year. I am simply taking in their beauty before they wilt.”
“I understand. Unfortunately for you, I now need a chaperone to walk my own halls, as every lord in the land vies for my hand.”
“Oh, poor poor Rhaenyra.” Y/N teased. “I can only imagine.”
“Rhaenyra, Y/N!” The girls turned around, Alicent running toward them with a young man in tow.
Y/N leaned over, whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear. “It seems even your own friends are playing matchmaker.”
Rhaenyra laughed, coughing to cover it up. Alicent looked suspiciously at Y/N. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, Alicent, nothing at all.”
“Oh, never mind.” She pulled the man forward. “May I introduce my brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. He’s just arrived for the tourney.”
Alicent’s brother was handsome: tall, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. One could tell from a single glance he and Alicent were related. Freckles adorned his face, and Y/N could only assume it was from his ample time outdoors. She curtsied quickly, staring at the ground.
Protocol regarding courting was odd and often confusing. With different social statuses came different rules. The Princess was the highest ranking of the two girls before him; thus, he would kiss Rhaenyra’s hand last. It was an honest mistake, a lapse in judgment, Y/N was sure. Odd, she’d thought to herself, she assumed that Gwayne was taught these sorts of things.
Her eyes drifted back to his, holding back a gasp as he extended his hand to her, after Rhaenyra. She placed hers in his palm hesitantly. He bowed once more, his hold gentle, like he was scared to break her. His lips were soft, and her cheeks turned bright red from the touch, eyes wide with shock.
She realized, amid her thinking, that Alicent and Rhaenyra had been taunting her, much too entertained by this simple encounter. Y/N ripped her hand away; any passerby would have thought it was on fire.
“My lady.”
She’d almost frowned. “I am no lady, Ser.” Entertaining the thought of him would only come back to haunt her, she told herself. The entire point of the tourney was to field potential suitors for the Princess, none were here for the ward of the crown, an orphaned bastard in her own right. He was attractive, there was no denying it. The way his eyes twinkled, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or when his smile-
“Oh?” The young man frowned, his voice snapping her back to life. Her cheeks were still flushed. This avoiding business would prove to be harder than she previously thought. “My mistake. You are the very picture of a lady, I must say.”
Their spectators gasped. Y/N scoffed. “Do not think you can mock me, Ser.” She tightened her hold on Rhaenyra’s arm. “If you will excuse us…”
Not bothering to wait for a response, she turned around, dragging the princess along with her. Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “I believe he was smitten.”
Y/N shook her head. “And I believe it was all a game, most likely a way to make you jealous.” Her heart clenched at the thought. “Just a game.”
Rhaenyra’s room was a disaster, but when had it not been?
For as long as either of the Princess’s companions could remember, her suite had been covered with gowns and riding suits thrown haphazardly on the floor.
Not that either of the other girls cared, they were happy to lay on the Princess’s plush cushions, taking in the sun as it filled the room. Y/N’s head hung off the sofa, laughing as her friend ran through her closet. “If it were any larger, you would get lost inside.”
Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “I would be content with just my riding suit, thank you very much.”
Alicent laughed. “You know you’d rather die than look simple. You live for fine silks and designs-”
Y/N nodded, doing her best to imitate the Princess. “Oh Y/N fetch the purple dress, will you? Fetch the red dress! No, not that one. The one with the jewels. No not that one, the other-” A pillow slammed against her face, and she giggled, holding her hands up defensively. “Mercy, I beg of you!”
“You could have had all this.” Rhaenyra sat beside the girl, whispering. “If my father simply acknowledged-”
“That my mother gave birth to me out of wedlock? No amount of Targaryen blood can excuse that dishonor.” Y/N sat up, frowning. “It does no good to dwell, Rhaenyra. Besides, I am content with the life I lead, spending time with my favorite cousin.”
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “I am your only cousin.”
“Not true.” She laughed. “There is Daemon and-”
“My brother seems rather taken with you, I must say.” Y/N’s heart broke at the thought of Gwayne being smitten with Rhaenyra.
Why, she could not quite place. “Hear that ‘Nyra? I told you I was-”
“I was talking to you, Y/N,” Alicent smirked.
Her cheeks grew hot, her hands itching to cover her face. “You must be mistaken.”
“Do you truly think so little of him?” The auburn-haired girl reached out, grabbing Y/N’s hand comfortingly. “I assure you, he is honorable and loyal to a fault.”
“I am sure he is.” Y/N smiled. “He must be leaving soon, now that the tournament is nearly over.”
Rhaenyra smirked. “I must say, it was not as extensive as I would have liked.”
“Really?” Y/N laughed. “It has already been a fortnight since its beginning.”
“And if the Princess feels it is not finished…” Rhaenyra wiggled her eyebrows. “The Princess will announce an extension.”
Alicent giggled. “Or rather your father.”
“My lady.”
She’d almost escaped. Y/N sighed, turning around. “My lord.”
She had seen the man following her for quite a while, hoping that he was merely visiting the library. She bowed quickly. “How may I be of service?” Lord Frey’s scent could make a man grown faint. She felt the bile rise as he took a step closer, whispering.
“I was wondering if you could put in a word with your Princess.”
She nodded. “What would you like me to relay?”
“Well-” His ‘kind’ facade was cracking. If he could barely handle a simple question, she doubted Rhaenyra would enjoy him. “If you could-”
“My lady.” Her heart fluttered at the sight of Gwyane Hightower, his hair bouncing as he walked toward her. “I’ve been waiting. We agreed to meet in the gardens.”
“I am sorry.” She smiled, genuinely smiled. “I was simply talking to Lord Frey.” She looked back to the older man, urging him to continue. “You were saying, my lord?”
He gritted his teeth. “It is of no consequence. I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “My lady. Ser Hightower.”
“Lord Frey,” Gwayne replied, waiting until he had rounded the corner. “Always a pleasure.”
Y/N fought the urge to laugh. She walked past the young knight, her heart beating faster as he diligently followed after her. “Do you not have somewhere to be, my lord?”
“As I said, I have been waiting for you.”
She scoffed. “I must say, you are the very picture of a knight. Saving a damsel in distress? How chivalrous.”
He smiled, bowing sarcastically. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I am not a-”
“A lady. You have said.” He grabbed a book from the shelf, pretending to read it before throwing it over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, walking around him to pick up the book he’d discarded. The maester would have her head if he found it lying there. “I must say, a lady has never been so-” He laughed as she opened her mouth to correct him. “So unmoved by my advances.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint. If you’ll excuse me-”
“What are you doing with the remainder of your day, I wonder.”
“Why?”
“I would like a proper tour of the castle, and my sister has been too busy as of late.” He looked too eager, too eager to spend time with a mere lady in waiting. “Would you care to show me?”
“I would not.”
“Wonderful. I will-” He stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, I would not.” She put the last book away, climbing up the ladder. “It is quite cruel, this game you are playing.”
“I am sorry?” He tilted his head.
“I know this is a ploy to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, to win the tourney, and possibly win your father’s approval.” She scoffed, eyes watery at the thought of yet another man using her to gain advantage. “This is by far the cruelest way, I must tell you.”
He laughed, actually laughed at her, which only angered her further, tears falling as a result. He stopped his laughing, reaching out to comfort her, frowning when she stepped back. “Do you really think I am using you for your lady’s hand?”
“I do.” She climbed back down from the ladder, ignoring the way he held it from wavering beneath her. “There is no reason for you to be interested in me.”
He shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “Are you aware you are beautiful?”
Y/N ignored that comment, facing him with pleading eyes. “Please spare me from your taunts. I understand that you may- you may find it amusing-”
Gwayne was confused, extremely, and utterly confused. He had just complimented her, why was she asking him to spare her? “I must make this clear and simple, as you seem to get the wrong impression from me. I am not interested in your lady. I am interested in-”
“Every suitor I have encountered has gone through either myself or Alicent to gain Rhaenyra’s favor. By the gods-” She flailed her arms. “Some even go to me inquiring about your sister!”
He practically growled, her heart leaping from the sound. “Then they are cowards.”
“Yes, well…” She had to leave before her resolve broke. “My lord.”
“Do you let anyone other than yourself speak?”
Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Excuse me?”
“I have been trying to explain myself to you, to tell you that-” He stopped himself. “So far every attempt has been overpowered by you.” He crossed his arms, a smirk gracing his lips. “Now…” His voice was practically a whisper. “May I speak?”
“I-” She swallowed, nodding. She did not trust her voice when he looked at her so… so longingly?
“The outing I suggested earlier, would simply be a tour, nothing more.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing untoward will come of it, I swear to you.”
He looked sincere. So sincere that she began to consider it. “We will need a chaperone. The king would not allow me to go off alone, even with a knight.”
“The king?” Gwayne was intrigued. “Exactly why would the king care?”
“Because I am a ward of the crown. I have been since I was born. My mother was a-” She stopped herself. “She was a close friend of King Jaehaerys, and he took me in. King Viserys has been gracious enough to let me stay.”
“Well, then I shall have to thank him.”
“For?”
“If it had not been for him…” He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “We would have never met.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his hold. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lord.”
He grinned, calling after her. “I look forward to it!”
Gwayne smiled as he watched the woman in front of him. She was glowing in this light and practically skipping through the gardens with joy. It was funny, seeing a woman he had often seen as melancholy at best so energetic. “Do you often find yourself at peace here?”
“I do.” Y/N nodded. “I was told my mother loved the gardens, I suppose I feel she is still with me when I am here.”
“Did you know her?” Gwayne inquired. “Your mother, that is.”
“She died when I was a babe.” She leaned forward, taking in the scent of the roses in front of her. “I have glimpses of her. She had bright eyes, bright hair. Her laugh was the most beautiful melody you could ever hear. At least…” She drifted off, staring at the ground. “From what I can remember.”
“I have the same.” His voice was quiet. “Although, my mother died when I was eight years of age.”
“That’s awful.” She frowned. “Alicent told me she had died, but not how old you’d been. That must have been worse, I suppose. Having known her, and then in a moment, gone.”
He shrugged. “My mother was… less than maternal. She had always been one for court and fashion rather than her children.”
“Ah.”
“Still, it hurt. Me more than Alicent, I suppose. She’d only been four years old.”
She ached to reach out and hold him. “I am sorry.”
“For?”
“Reliving the past.”
“If I remember correctly…” He plucked a nearby daisy, placing it behind her ear ever so delicately. “I found this topic of conversation.”
“Yes well…” She smiled, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. “Still…”
He leaned forward, his breath hitting her nose. “I am sure your mother would be proud.”
To that, Y/N laughed. “She was always the adventurous sort, at least, that is what I’ve gathered from the stories. She was highly admired too, beautiful…” She looked down, picking at the skin around her thumb. “I hope to be half the woman she was.”
“You are.” He whispered, holding her hand. He had noticed, much to his dismay, that she’d adopted the habit of picking at her skin. It hurt him, to see her do that to herself.
His sister did the same.
Her heart stopped, looking up to meet his gaze. He was beautiful. Staring into his eyes, she began to realize how inappropriate of a position they were in.
Where was their chaperone? She took a step back, forgetting the rose bush behind her. Yelping, she jumped forward, falling into his arms.
Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back. “Have I startled you?”
She scoffed, pushing him away. “Not at all. I simply remembered we have much more of the tour to get through.” She darted around him, leading the way out of the garden. “Now, come along.”
“Yes sir,” Gwayne muttered, mockingly saluting.
She looked behind her, a smile gracing her lips. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” His pace quickened until they were side by side. “Simply admiring your hospitality.”
She shoved his arm, rolling her eyes. “Ever the jester.”
The remainder of their day passed quickly, much quicker than Y/N would have liked. By the end, she came to realize that the noble knight was a near-perfect companion. Serious when required, a jester when the moment called for it, he was kind, and a good man.
Their last moments had been silent, soaking in the dull roar around them. Every so often, their hands grazed, neither daring to reach out. The sunset with the perfect blend of orange and pink, the waves crashing against King Landing’s rocky cliffs. It made Y/N smile, the way it brought out the red in Gwayne’s hair. She whispered, the words barely leaving her. “You’re hair is the most perfect shade. Have you noticed?” His cheeks turned red, and she smirked, taking his silence as a no. “If only it were transferable.”
That had made him laugh. “Have you just given me a compliment?”
She laughed. “We are friends, are we not?” The night was coming to an end, her door just a few paces away. “Friends compliment each other.”
His shoulders visibly deflated, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes. Friends compliment each other.” Silence fell over them again, neither daring to speak until she’d reached for her door. His hand grabbed her wrist, holding her just so.
His voice was raspy, quiet enough the breeze itself could have carried it away. “You are perfection itself.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she grew grateful he could not see her, knowing that she would surely become the subject of his jests if he saw her blush. “As your friend…”
She nodded, smiling to herself as she pushed the door open, his hold releasing her wrist. “Goodnight, my lord.”
“My friends do not call me my lord.”
She turned around, curtsying ever so lightly. “Then goodnight, Gwayne.”
He bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Are you not terribly tired of reading?”
“If I was tired of it, I would not still be doing it, now would I?”
Gwayne groaned, rolling over on their shared blanket, staring at the sky. “One should not confine themselves to a book when the whole world is sitting in front of them.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, setting the book down in her lap. “I will have you know I am not confining myself.”
“Oh?” He laughed, his eyes closing. “Then what exactly are you doing?”
“I was trying to relax.” She murmured. “Something I can never seem to do when you are present.”
“What was that?” His smirk was growing increasingly mischievous, and she knew that he had heard her.
“I will not repeat myself. You heard me.” Grabbing her book out of her lap, she opened its pages once more. “Now hush. This is the best part.”
“Read it to me then.” He closed his eyes, laying beside her. “I would like to hear what is so interesting it has taken you away from me.”
“It was you who suggested the picnic, Gwayne, not I.” She laughed. “They are supposed to be tranquil.”
“Maybe in King’s Landing.” He muttered. “In Oldtown, they are supposed to be fun.”
“Well, I am not from Oldtown, nor are we there, which could imply why I was unaware of your customs. Which could also explain how we have reached this argument.”
His eyebrows raised. “Is this an argument?”
She ignored him, mumbling to herself. “This is fun.”
“Well, it would be.” He teased. “If you read to me.”
“You jest.” She mumbled. “Now let me sit in peace.”
He stood up, walking behind her just to sit down once more. “May I?”
“May you what, exactly?” Her cheeks felt hot, he had this effect on her.
“Alicent once taught me to plait hair, when she was young.” He smiled to himself. “I assume it was a self-serving act, but still.” He leaned forward, his voice causing goosebumps to run up her spine. “At least let me pass the time this way.”
“Fine.” Y/N could never say no to him, no matter how hard she tried. “Do not make me look hideous.”
“That…” He pulled out the pins that held her hair elegantly. “Is not possible.” Her cheeks flushed, ignoring that compliment. “Are you attending the tourney tomorrow?”
Y/N nodded. “I must. Rhaenyra has insisted I attend as her lady-in-waiting.” She laughed. “It is quite odd.”
“How so?”
“She has never required that of me before.”
Gwayne grinned. “Well, I shall enjoy knowing you are watching.”
“Really?” She laughed again. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I had not attended. Then you could recount the story as outlandishly as you pleased.”
“Y/N…” His voice sounded desperate, and her heart skipped. “If you do not wish to attend, I’m sure the Princess will understand.”
“No!” She practically yelped. “I want to.”
He smiled, his blush growing darker. “Then I shall do my very best.” His fingers grazed her neck, a gasp leaving her lips before she could silence herself. Gwayne made no comment of it, simply finishing the braid and standing up, extending his hand.
She glared playfully, standing up of her own accord. She knelt, picking up the blanket and folding it haphazardly.
“Let me.” Gwayne took the blanket and basket from her arms, carrying them back up to the castle. “A lady should never carry such things.”
“A basket and blanket?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am not weak.”
“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “You are decidedly, not weak.”
She nodded, puffing her chest. “If we walk any slower, you shall be late.”
He groaned. “Why must I attend this soiree?”
“Because it is meant for you. For knights participating in the tourney, that is. Rhaenyra will be there, as will her father-”
“And will you?” Gwayne interrupted. “Be in attendance?”
“I shall.” She smiled brightly. “Now come along and follow after me closely.”
He tilted his head. “Where are you taking me, exactly?”
“Maegor’s tunnels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “They were made as an escape plan. Now the servants use them to move around the castle unseen.” The corridor was dark, the lanterns doing little to illuminate the path.
Gwayne felt a chill run down his spine, and he reached out, grabbing her hand. “Are you quite sure this is safe?”
“I have used them my whole life.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Trust me.”
He smiled, all fears of imminent doom leaving him as her skin touched his. “Lead the way.”
“You are going to break my hand.” Rhaenyra hissed.
Y/N smiled guiltily, releasing the Princess's hand. “My apologies, Princess.” She straightened the fabric of her dress, sitting tall. “I am simply excited. I love tourneys.”
“You do not. You have not been to a tourney since we were ten years of age.”
“Untrue,” Y/N muttered, looking over the edge of the box for her knight. “I am simply busy.”
“With what?” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for anyhow?”
Alicent sat on the other side of the Princess, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “I believe she is looking for my brother.”
Rhaenyra grinned. “Has that-” Alicent elbowed the Princess, widening her eyes.
Y/N tilted her head. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Rhaenyra muttered, holding her side. “Nothing.”
A knight approached the royal box, and Y/N grinned, waiting for Rhaenyra to stand first, as was customary. Rhaenyra smirked, looking at Alicent quickly before approaching the ledge. “Ser Hightower.” Alicent and Y/N approached second, arm in arm. Curstying quickly, she smiled at Gwayne brightly. The knight nodded his head. “Your Highness.” He turned to Y/N, his eyes softening. “My lady.”
“Ser Hightower.” Y/N greeted. “This is quite the tourney. I’m impressed.”
He grinned. “May I-” He swallowed. “May I have the honor of wearing your favor?”
Her cheeks grew bright red. “You-” She looked at Rhaenyra. “Do you not-”
He laughed. “I believe it is quite obvious I do not.”
Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. She leaned over, whispering in her cousin’s ear. “This is when you give the man your favor, Y/N.”
“But, I-” She turned back to Gwayne once more. “Are you quite sure?”
He nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, my lady.”
She turned around, pulling her arm out of Alicent’s. As she was a bastard, her house colors were unknown, opting to simply decorate the ring with her favorite flowers.
Of course, Rhaneyra and Y/N had known, but to blatantly defy the order of the king… she locked eyes with King Viserys, who was gazing at her curiously. Her eyes darted to the floor, turning back around. “May your luck bring you to victory, Ser Hightower.”
“As long as I have you to think of…” He looked positively giddy. “I shall never lose.”
Y/N was sure her cheeks were bright red. She rolled her eyes, ignoring his compliment.
Her heart twisted, knowing that they could never marry, as who would allow their firstborn son, their heir, to wed a bastard? She pushed his lance playfully, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “Go on, then.”
“You look stunning.” Alicent smiled, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “The very picture of a lady.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot name a time I have dressed so…” She smiled. “So elegantly.”
“It is a ball,” Rhaenyra interjected. “I will not have my dear friend in something drab.”
Alicent glared, and Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “She knows I do not mean that she is drab. I was simply-”
“It is alright, Rhaenyra.” Y/N laughed. “I was not offended in the slightest.”
“Red is most definitely your color.” Alicent grinned, spinning her friend around.
Rhaenyra smirked. “Your knight shall not know what to do with himself.” Alicent gasped, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. The Princess winced, glaring at her friend. “You cannot keep hitting me whenever you are disappointed.”
Y/N tilted her head. “My knight?”
“It is no matter.” Alicent stopped the Princess from blabbing anymore. “Shall we?”
The ballroom was filled to the brim with nobility from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the Hightowers, the Tullys, even the Starks had come to participate in the tourney and celebrate its results.
Y/N stepped back, watching as her friends entered. The squire stomped his cane, effectively silencing the ballroom. “The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower.”
They looked elegant, lighting up the room as they walked. Y/N walked up to the squire, smiling lightly. “No need to introduce me, Orvyn.”
He nodded, smiling kindly. “As you wish, my lady.”
The ballroom had not paid attention as she walked, not that she minded. It was better that way, she convinced herself as she glanced around the room. She smiled, waving at Gwayne, who was already staring back at her, rather intensely. His eyes… she shivered, ripping herself away from his gaze as she curtsied before the King. “Your Majesty.”
Viserys smiled, eyeing her royal red dress with curiosity. “Y/N.”
She rose; she could still feel Gwayne’s eyes fixed on her. Sitting beside Rhaenyra, she took a large gulp of her wine. “Is Gwayne still-”
Rhaenyra nodded, laughing to herself. “He is walking over.”
“What?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Why?”
“I assume…” She whispered, Gwayne now mere inches away. “He is going to ask you to dance.”
“He-”
“Your Highness.” The knight bowed. “My lady.”
Y/N avoided eye contact and took another large sip. Rhaenyra smirked. “Ser Gwayne, congratulations on your victory.”
“Thank you, Princess.” He smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I stole your lady for a dance?”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She looked at Y/N, enjoying this situation too much. “Y/N?”
“What?” Y/N whispered.
“He is asking you to dance.” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now get up.”
“I-” Y/N looked at Gwayne for the second time that night, feeling as if she could faint at any moment. “I would be delighted.”
His hand waited for hers, as it had so many times before. He whispered, placing his arm around her waist as they stood on the dance floor, his touch shocking her to her very core. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her head.
“Then why, pray tell…” His voice sounded desperate. “Have you refused to meet my eyes? I have missed your company.”
She raised her gaze, falling for the trap he’d set. “I saw you but two days ago, Gwayne.”
“There you are.” He grinned, pulling her closer as the dance began. “Now tell me, what is the matter?”
“You are leaving soon.”
“I am.” He replied as if this were any normal conversation. And perhaps it was, but Y/N would not say so. No normal conversation made her heart beat as fast as this.
“And I-” She sighed. “I did not want to bother you while you prepared for your journey back.”
“Back?” He tilted his head. “And where am I journeying to?”
“To Oldtown, of course.” His eyebrows scrunched, and Y/N fought the urge to burst into laughter. “I assumed-”
“Well, there’s no good in that, is there?” He whispered. “Assuming is a dangerous business.”
“But why would you stay?” She felt entirely confused. He had won the tourney and now would go home to tend to his duties. “There is no-” His eyes sparkled as she spoke, halting her momentarily. “No reason.”
Gwayne leaned down, his breath hitting her cheeks. “There is one reason. A very compelling one, in truth.”
Her heart stopped. “Is there?”
He nodded, eyes fluttering down to her lips.
Oh.
She was the reason.
Before she could fall for his spell, she pulled back, disrupting the dance. His eyes widened, reaching out to hold her hand. “Y/N?”
She ripped her hand back, staring wide-eyed. “I am not feeling well.”
His tone was gentle, it made her stomach flip. Gods, he had to stop being so- so perfect. “Would you like me to-”
“No!” She yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Nobles from around the room curiously gazed at the couple. “No, I shall go alone.”
“Y/N-”
She whipped around, stalking out of the ballroom. It broke her, to walk away from his hold. She knew she could no longer be around him; she was fighting her very soul to leap up and attach her lips to his.
There was only one solution to this problem, this vexing complication - she would have to avoid him entirely. No more traipsing around the halls waiting for him to see her, no more walking by the stables or the training yard.
No, she would have to stay confined to her and Rhaenyra’s rooms.
That was the best course of action, for both her and Gwayne.
Little did she know, Gwayne would not stand for it.
“They say-” Rhaenyra spoke carefully as she addressed her cousin. “That your knight is leaving today.”
“Ah.” Y/N nodded, staring off into the distance.
“Y/N…” The Princess sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Punishing yourself because of your birth… You must stop refusing any sign of affection or love simply on the-”
“Who said it was love?” Y/N scoffed, walking out to the balcony. “Certainly not I.”
“Anyone with eyes can see it. He is mad for you, as you are for him.” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath. “Even if you refuse to admit it.”
“I cannot admit something false, Rhaenyra.” Her lips curled into a twisted sort of smile. “I am content with my life, serving you.”
“All perfectly fine with me,” Rhaenyra reassured. “But you have a chance with Gwayne. Swear to me you will not waste it.”
“I-” She sighed. “I must retrieve your dinner, my lady.” Y/N curtsied before racing out of the room. By the gods, she couldn’t breathe when Rhaenyra lectured her. It was horrible enough that Alicent had begun to look upon her as if she was a kicked puppy, now Rhaenyra had began to do the same.
She pushed open the servant's door, twisting through Maegor’s tunnels with ease. It was odd, she told herself, at the lack of maids in its halls. Normally, she was dodging servants left and right. This felt strange, unnerving in a way.
Footsteps echoed behind her, and her heart leapt when a hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into a dark corner. She gasped, flailing her arms around, doing anything that could beat this intruder off her. Gwayne’s familiar voice ripped her from her panicked cries. “It’s me! It’s me.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What possessed you to drag me-”
“You will not talk to me.” He crossed his arms, staring at her intensely. “I am sorry if I scared you.” She turned around, walking back to the hallway. Gwayne followed diligently. “My party is set to leave today.”
Y/N nodded, ignoring the way her heart clenched. “So I’ve heard.”
“I wanted to say goodbye before I left.” His voice wavered. “I will miss-”
“You’ve said goodbye.” She cut him off, whipping around. “Now you may leave.”
He closed the space between them, eyes running wild with confusion. “Why must you be like this? Have I truly upset you?”
“Will you not respect a lady’s wishes?” She took a step back, scoffing. “I thought you were a knight, Lord Hightower.”
“Don’t.”
“I must attend to my lady. Her dinner is past due.” She continued her walk through the tunnels, ignoring his overwhelming presence.
“Damn her dinner.” He hissed, walking a pace behind her as he whispered. “I have been trying, for weeks, to court you, and you’ve denied me every step of the way. Just as soon as I-”
She scoffed. “Court me? Did Lord Tyland put you up to this?”
He shook his head, laughing. “Is it so hard to believe that I am interested in you? That the very thought of you consumes me?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why?”
She could only imagine his expression, his beautiful face creased with shock. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I am a bastard, you a lord’s son. By the gods, your father is hand to the King, and I am merely a lady in waiting.” She frowned, eyes watering. “It is not proper-”
“Then damn propriety!” He yelled, grabbing her wrist and halting her in her tracks. Her back was pressed against his chest. “I- I am mad for you, you must see that.”
Her shoulders shook, tears falling down her face. “Gwayne, it is for the best.”
“No!” He twirled her around, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You- you make me think, and feel, and act as none have. Your laughter- it brightens my day. Your wit makes me proud. I am-” He sighed, smiling brightly at the mere sight of her. “How?”
She tilted her head. “How?”
“How can I show you?” Her back collided with the wall, her breath leaving her, her heart thumping at their proximity. “How can I make you believe?”
“Gwayne…”
“Damn it to hell…” He leaned down, colliding his lips to hers. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she instantly pulled him closer. “I am not deterred by your status, nor do I care. I will have you, regardless of what the court thinks is proper.” His forehead leaned against hers, his hand resting at the bottom of her neck.
“We cannot-” Tears continued to fall down her face. “Gwayne, it cannot happen-”
“Do you want it to?” He remained steadfast. “Is this what you truly feel, or merely what the lords and ladies of Kings Landing shall say?”
“Gwayne, your father will never approve.”
“By the gods woman…” He laughed. “Do you love me?”
“Love?” She choked on a sob. Her body felt as if it could burst into flames at any moment. He was standing close, closer than what was deemed appropriate. “Do I-”
“I do.” He whispered, nudging her nose with his, lips barely touching. “I love you.”
“Gwayne, just listen to me.” She was fighting every bone in her body not to kiss him senselessly. “I am not good enough for you. There are hundreds of ladies-”
“You are, you are good enough. Perhaps too good. Besides…” He whispered. “I want you. Only you.” His eyes were intense, his thumb caressing her collarbone. By the gods, he was trying to make her burst into flames. “Only you.” His lips collided against hers, her eyes fluttering shut once more.
Her hands found their way to his chest, slowly pushing him away. “We cannot.”
“Oh?” He looked around the hallway. “I do not see anyone.”
“You know what I meant, Gwayne Hightower.”
“Would you like to stop?”
“No!” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
His eyebrows rose, laughing to himself. “So eager.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Whatever shall I do with you?”
“Why have you stopped?” Gwayne’s voice was but a murmur.
“I did not know you were listening.” She smiled. “You appeared to be sleeping.”
“Merely basking in your presence, my love.” His eyes fluttered open. “I must say, you look radiant in this light.”
She laughed. “As opposed to?”
“You know that I find you impossibly perfect.” His eyes shut again. “How long has it been since you began this book?”
“Hard to say. Possibly half an hour?” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”
“No reason.” He smirked, finding comfort in her lap once more.
“Well, there must be.” Her laughter filled his heart, his soul. “You never ask for the time.”
“May I not ask the beautiful woman, whom I love, what the time is? I simply want to know how long I have been lying in the garden.” His eyes peeked open once more, her eyebrows raising in amusement. “If you must know, I have an appointment at half past three.”
“An appointment?” She shut her book, running her hand through his hair. “Whatever for?”
“It is a secret.”
“Really?” She pulled her hand away from his hair, laughing as he sat up, obviously disappointed by the sudden lack of touch.
“Really.” He stood, extending his hand. She smiled, placing hers in his gladly. “It is with the King.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling as they walked. “Has something happened?”
“Yes.”
Her heart dropped. “Is it serious?”
He nodded. “Deadly.”
She groaned. “Now you must tell me.”
He sighed, stopping by the fountain. “Fine, fine. But you must not tell.”
She nodded, interlocking their pinkies. “I swear.”
He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I am asking the King for your hand.”
Her eyebrows crinkled. “My hand?”
“In marriage, my love.” She stood there speechless. He laughed, kissing the back of her hand gently. “I cannot be late.”
He had been halfway down the trail when she’d been brought back to life.
“Gwayne!”
He turned around, laughing at the sight before him. Y/N was racing toward him, skirts in hand and book discarded, grinning wildly. “Gwayne, you come back here this instant!”
He shook his head, running away. “This is highly unladylike, I must say!” She glared, almost tripping over a tree root, his laughter cascading through the garden. “Almost makes me rethink my question!”
