#a ha.writes

“We must rise soon,” Gwayne smiles over the pages of his book at you, “I was only waiting for you.”

“How thoughtful,” you say, moving to sit up beside him.

You’d rather not leave the warm cocoon of your chambers to attend to matters of the day, but he seems to be intent on leaving the blankets. A little more alert now, you swing your leg over his so that you’re straddling him. He doesn't protest, but he eyes you with a suspicious expression. Slowly, you crawl up his body until you are hovering over his thighs. Gwayne offers you a soft smile, setting aside his book as you do so. He allows his hands to ghost over the curve of your thighs, only separated by the thin fabric of your chemise.

“What boldness have you been struck with this morning?” he teases.

You lean in and kiss him, “Is a wife not allowed to entice her lord husband to stay?”

He hums, squeezing the flesh of your thighs, “I suppose it’s allowed.”

You sway your hips above him, and he answers by grasping your waist. He draws you close until you’re fully seated in his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, and this time, he’s the one to kiss you. It's languid and slow, and he savors the feeling of your soft lips pressed against his own. In that moment, you know that you've succeeded in your distractions.

You begin to grind down onto him, and he moans into the kiss. His lips part slightly, and you take it as an invitation to slip your tongue into his mouth. Gwayne’s hands still, and suddenly he's pulling you off of his lap and breaking the kiss.

“What is it?” you ask, concern laced in your voice, “Have I done something wrong?”

You expect a look of pain or discomfort when you look into his eyes, but instead, he’s the picture of pure pleasure. He’s panting, cheeks flushed with kiss-bitten lips. His hair is in a charming disarray, and his eyes roam your figure. The real nail in the coffin is the hungry look he gives you.

“Quite the contrary,” he sighs, “In fact, I’d say you were doing everything right.”

“Then why would you have me stop?”

He smiles bashfully and palms his clothed cock, “I would rather not finish in my trousers.”

You bite your lip and look down. He’s straining against the fabric of his pants.

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that,” you say.

You gently move his hands to the side, and with as much dexterity as you can muster, you free him from the confines of his pants. Gwayne lifts his hips just enough to help you drag the offending clothing down his thighs.

Gingerly, you take his cock into your hands. The tip is red and angry, and a bead of precum threatens to dribble down his length. You swipe your thumb over it, and you watch in glee as he bucks up into the feeling.

You work your hands up and down the length of him. His head falls back into the pillows, and he groans. Blindly, Gwayne covers your hands with his own, stopping your ministration. You give him a quizzical look, but he only leans up to press hot kisses into your throat.

Gwayne looks up through his lashes at you, “Inside, love.”

You cup his cheek and kiss his lips sweetly, “Of course.”

Despite his desire, he seems to be in no hurry to fill you.

Instead, Gwayne pushes the chemise skirt up your thighs. He lets one finger dip between your folds, collecting the wetness, and uses it to rub at your clit. You choke back a whine and let your arms fall over his shoulders. You rock your hips, trying to ease the needy ache between your legs, but Gwayne has a firm grip that holds you in place.

It’s you who stops your pleasure this time, pulling him away from your drooling cunt. He opens his mouth to protest, but it soon becomes a delicious moan as you ease his cock into your folds. You shudder in pleasure and lean into him fully. Gwayne wraps one arm around your back, and the other finds the back of your neck, pulling you down so he can kiss you feverishly.

You begin to move up and down his length in an unhurried tempo. Gwayne leaves your lips and kisses down the column of your throat. He continues down and ghosts his lip over your breast, right where skin meets fabric.

The arm that Gwayne had wrapped around you takes over and begins to quicken your pace. The two of you breathe together with every meeting of your hips. Your toes curl, and you can feel him smile against your skin.

“My love,” Gwayne moans, “I am close.”

You lean down to kiss his jaw, “As am I.”

As if to incite action in him, you nip at the spot you just kissed. He hums and reaches back between you to give attention to your clit, setting your body alight. He resumes pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to your throat and chest, sucking and licking a path that would surely be bruised in the coming hours. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the way your skin presses together and the electric feeling of Gwayne’s fingers gliding against you. Your high comes crashing down on you.

The pulsing of your walls spurs him on, and he spills inside of you, warm and gushing. Your breathing evens out as the two of you sit together in the aftershocks. You roll off of him with a sigh, and he follows, propping himself up on his forearm so that he can look down at you with a satisfied grin.

He kisses you softly, unhurried, “We must rise, wife.”

You bat your eyelashes up at him, “Could I entice you for a round two?”

Resolved a hostage situation? You were the one holding the hostages.

A fire started in an empty warehouse when you weren't even around? You'd done that… for some reason.

As much as you wish you could just ignore it, you’re deeply preoccupied with what others think of you. You’d spent the last month trying to fix it, and for a second, things had been turning around. But…

“Terrorist Arachnid suspected to be in cahoots with psychopath Bullseye.”

Of course. Your shadow.

You hadn’t even formally met, but he always seemed to be nearby. He never targeted you, but it was never good to associate with someone like him. It was bad for the brand.

You’re thrown out of your thoughts when your police scanner goes off. You stand up, engaging your web slingers before swinging off the side of the building.

Let’s see how they spin this one.

━ ◎ ━

The situation you land in almost made you hang up the mask.

The grocery store had been trashed. There’s blood everywhere, and various stupid food items that were obviously used as projectiles litter the ground. At least he’s creative. There's even a few AVTF agents tied to a shelf.

However, the thing that really sets you over the edge is the masked man leaning against the register.

This fucking guy.

“Were you waiting for me?” You flatly ask.

He looks up at you, obviously smiling behind his mask, “I was trying to get your attention. Looks like it worked.”

He gestures to the apprehended men. You almost dismiss the sight until you notice the way he tied them up. It was just a bit too similar to the way you tied criminals up with your webs. You frown because that’s not even close to his MO. Bullseye was known to leave a trail of dead bodies wherever he went.

Turning back to him, you try to contain your bewilderment, “Why are you copying me.”

“Imitation is the greatest form of flattery,” is all he says.

No, no, no. This was seriously bad for your brand. First, you were spotted in the same vicinity as this freak, and now he’s copying you. The Bugle was definitely going to take this out of context. You can almost see the headline now:

“Anarchist vigilante gives homicidal Bullseye a stamp of approval!”

“Well, stop doing that,” You say, “We can’t be seen together. I’m already on thin ice with the public.”

His eyes look dejected under his mask, “I’m just trying to show that we’re on the same side.”

You open your mouth but before you can do or say anything, the telltale flash of police lights floods in through the window. You suck your teeth at Bullseye before making your escape, leaving him to deal with the fallout of his weird bullshit.

Headline: "Devious vigilante Arachnid and deranged Bullseye cause disturbance in otherwise peaceful neighborhood."

━ ◎ ━

Mrs. Smithers had been hyping up her new neighbor to you for weeks now. She told you he was just the perfect gentleman, and so handsome, too. You could tell she viewed him in high regard, like a friend or even a son.

You had yet to meet him, your schedule had made certain of that. It's like you existed in parallel universes. Mrs. Smithers always made sure to tell you how disappointed this Tony was at not getting the chance to meet you. It warmed your heart to know that at least she liked you enough to speak highly of you.

You have the day off from work, so you decided to treat yourself to takeout from your favorite restaurant. That meant that your schedule was a little bit different than usual, which Mrs. Smithers noted almost immediately when you passed by her in the hall.

“Oh, you have to meet Tony! He’s usually around at this time,” she tells you excitedly.

Almost as if that was his cue, a man rounds the corner, and you have to do a double take. He’s really attractive.

You can almost hear Mrs. Smithers conspiratorial grin, despite not looking away from him, “That’s Tony.”

Tony is standing in front of you now, a smile on his face. You only remember to introduce yourself when Mrs. Smithers nudges you.

“You must be new to the building,” you say dumbly.

Instead of mocking you, Tony nods, “I moved in last month. I’ve been hearing about you since I got here.”

You giggle nervously, “All good things, I hope?”

“Mrs. Smithers made it known that it was imperative we meet,” You almost break out in a cold sweat when he gives you a toothy grin.

It was at that moment you realized the older woman had ducked back into her apartment, leaving you to fend for yourself.

Tony gestures to your takeout bag, “Date night in?”

“Oh- no. Um… Just me,” you say dumbly.

He nods at this information, and you swear he looks almost please with your answer. He steps around you to get to his door.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from that,” He says, that warm smile apparent in his voice again.

“Yeah. Uh… see you around,”

“See you around,” he says before closing the door to his apartment.

You’re not proud of the butterflies that materialize in your stomach.

━ ◎ ━

Today has been a good day out on patrol. Even with a predictable headline speculating about your endorsement of Bullseye after his stunt, you were in good spirits. He hadn't shown himself in over a week. Of course, you knew of his habit of stalking you, Spider-Sense, and all, but that was par for the course with him. As long as he didn't interfere or make contact with you, your already poor reputation couldn't be made worse. Plus, you felt more at ease knowing where he was all the time, at least.

You swing from building to building, landing on your favorite rooftop to check the time. You hadn't eaten yet, but if you got home in time, you could pick up food from your favorite restaurant. Maybe see if your neighbor Tony wanted to join-

Oh, goddammit.

Your Spider-senses are doing more than tingling.

You don't even have to turn around to know Bullseye is standing directly behind you. You're not particularly worried about him killing you. He's never hurt you, just been an annoyance.

"Please. I'm just trying to go home," You say as you turn around, "I don't have time for this bullshit. I just want to eat dinner-"

He doesn't say anything, simply lifts up a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. You're not even surprised that he knows your favorite restaurant. You've been noticing that you're less dismissive of his attention, lately. You don't even go through the theatrics of engaging your webslingers anymore. Besides, it's not like any photographers would be able to see the two of you from all the way up on the roof.

You even roll up the bottom of your mask.

You huff as you take a seat on an overturned crate, "Seriously, what is your problem."

Bullseye chuckles as he sits down on a crate near you, already opening up the bag, "You haven't eaten."

All you can do is stare at him while he offers you a styrofoam box that you just know has your favorite dish in it.

"Did you get sauce?"

And of course, Bullseye pulls that out of the bag, too.

Headline: "Devious vigilante Arachnid spotted brainstorming next criminal act with masked lunatic Bullseye over dinner."

━ ◎ ━

You're checking your mail when you hear footsteps behind you.

"Good morning, Mrs. Smithers," you chirp.

"Sorry to disappoint," says a voice much deeper than Mrs. Smithers'.

Those familiar butterflies flood your stomach, and you turn to see Tony standing behind you. He's in casual clothes, but he still looks good.

"Oh… Um, Tony," You say, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck, "Crazy seeing you here."

Yeah, not like he lives here, or anything. But Tony only smiles at you.

"I was actually hoping to run into you," He says, "You're hard to keep track of."

The butterflies start up again, "Oh, well, you could track me any day."

What? Who says that?

Tony must find you endearing, or something, because he doesn't call you out for being a freak weirdo. Instead, he steps closer to you.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something," He rolls his wrists nervously, "There's an art gallery on Saturday, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

Your eyes widen, "Like a date?"

"Yeah. Like a date."

"Oh! Oh my God! Yes."

"Great," Tony give you an easy smile, "I'll be at your door at 11:45 on Saturday."

You don't even notice that he never checked his mail.

━ ◎ ━

Your police scanner has been eerily quiet, lately. It was nice to have a break, but New York was a big city. Something was always going on. It felt weird to only have a few runaway taxis to deal with.

Even when you got an alert, the situation would be wrapped up before you even got there. What was so unsettling was that the problem was always taken care of in a way that could be attributed vaguely to you. Robbers hanging from rafters, muggers tied to lampposts. It was odd, though. The Bugle had actually laid off of you a little bit. Your copycat was a little too good at being you.

Of course, you knew it was Bullseye.

You just wish you knew why.

You decided that the next incident was going to be the one where you confronted him about it. You'd feel a little bit more at ease if you at least knew what he was trying to accomplish.

Your police scanner goes off, alerting you to a mafia related situation happening in a hotel only a few blocks away from your apartment. If you left now, your chances of catching up to Bullseye were very high.

However, the scene you land in is not like any of your previous encounters. There were no questionable projectiles on the ground, no bad guys tried to a support column, and most notably, no smug asshole waiting for you to see your reaction. It seems that everyone who was involved had fled the scene.

Instead, there's only a trail of blood leading from the carpeted hallway into one of the hotel rooms. You follow it, worried that a bystander was caught in the crossfire, but get immediately unworried again when you push the door open to see Bullseye crawling across the floor.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You seethe.

He weakly raises his head to meet your eye, "I'm helping."

You notice him clutching his side, as he tries to use the bed for leverage to stand up. It's too much, though, and he stumbles back down to the ground.

"You're hurt," Is all you can say.

As you take a few more steps closer to him, he shakes his head, "I'm fine. Get out of here."

You stare at him, his crumpled body covered in blood. You debate doing what he said, leaving him on the floor, letting him stew in the consequences of his own actions, but the pained look in his eyes give you pause. He's an annoyance, yes. Intrusive and a stalker, but he's also become a fixture in your life. You couldn't just let him die.

"Just leave me, here-" Before he can finish, you're putting your superhuman strength to use and hoisting him up to his feet so you can throw his arm over your shoulder.

He grunts, but easily leans his weight into you. Blissfully, he closes his eyes at your proximity.

You scoff, but keep walking until you reach a window, nonetheless. You're strong, but you're not confident in your ability to carry him anywhere farther than your apartment building. You're apprehensive about about taking him back to your home, but you quickly reason with yourself that he's most likely already been there. He probably knows your identity anyway.

You just hope it doesn't become a problem, later.

━ ◎ ━

Bullseye takes up space on your couch.

You'd stitched him up to the best of your ability, even been hospitable and given him a glass of water. He had reluctantly fallen asleep at your behest, after you assured him that you had no intentions of unmasking him especially since you didn't plan on unmasking yourself.

You were glad he was such a peaceful sleeper, but because you couldn't bring yourself to close your eyes. You don't think he would hurt you, but he's just so out of place in your apartment. You're also worried that Mrs. Smithers or Tony will knock on your door, and you want to be alert if you have to explain the bleeding man on your couch. You occupy the chair across from the couch, and you don't take your eyes off of his sleeping form.

Bullseye stirs, and you shoot up from your seat to intercept him when he tries to sit up. Surprisingly, he goes down without a fight. He lets his fingers intertwine with yours on his chest. Your first instinct is to snatch your hand away, but his contentedness stops you.

"Quit moving," You say instead, "You're going to tear your stitches."

His free hand trails down to ghost over his abdomen to find the place where you'd put him back together, "You took off my shirt?"

You shoot him look, "Don't sound so hopeful, pervert."

He laughs at that, loosening the grip his hand had on yours. You pull away from him and go back to sitting.

Bullseye squints at you, lifting his head slightly from the couch cushion he's propped up on, "Why'd you help me?"

You're startled by his question, "It was the right thing to do," You say automatically.

You can't see his mouth, but you can tell he's smiling under the mask.

"That's what I like about you," He lays his head back down, staring at your ceiling, "It just comes so naturally to you."

"What are you talking about," Your voice is small.

Bullseye closes his eyes, "I've spent my whole life doing bad things. I thought it was all there was for me. Then you showed up and proved that it was possible to be good for no reason at all."

You swallow hard. All this time, you thought he was just taunting you. All the following and mimicking hadn't been at your expense, though. He wanted to be like you.

"You might be the only person that thinks that highly of me," You say.

He opens his eyes and shakes his head, "What the Bugle prints about you is bullshit."

"Flattery gets you nowhere," Is your reply.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit. Bullseye seems transfixed by your interior design skills, cataloging every trinket and pillow in his field of vision for who knows what. You're too busy trying not to look at him for too long, trying to figure out how you even got into this situation in the first place.

Bullseye sighs when he sees you worrying your lip between your teeth, and moves to sit up again, wincing all the way, "I'll get out of your hair."

"Stop that," You stand up again, heading towards your room, "You can spend the night, but you have to be out by 11. I have a date tomorrow."

Headline: "Clueless vigilante Arachnid doesn't even know what they've gotten themselves into."

━ ◎ ━

Boom! I bet you didn't expect to hear from me again. It just occurred to me that I could put author's notes down here, too.

He'd present them to you, pulled from his satchel bag with a flourish, and then he'd watch in delight as you turned them over in your hands and ooed and awed.

This occasion was like any other, although he had been telling you all week how much you were going to like this particular book. He’d said it would ignite your wildest fantasies and have you up all night thinking about it. A true page turner, in his words.

So here you sat on your bed in the tenant house, Gwayne across from you, as you waited in anticipation for him to unlatch his satchel and present to you his self-proclaimed greatest gift yet.

It's in the usual brown paper wrapping that all of the books he brings come in. Usually, you rip at the edges to reveal the cover, but his giddiness makes you want to toy with him, if only a little. Slowly, you pinch the twine holding it all together and pull the pristinely tied bow undone.

"Hurry it up, will you?" he says more as a tease than anything else.

You laugh, "You mustn't rush someone when opening a gift. It's rude."

He huffs, but lets you continue as is. You gently peel back the brown paper, revealing the cover hidden underneath.

The leather cover is dyed a deep red like a rose. It's gilded with intricate golden patterns that swirl all the way to the book's spine. It's one of those books that doesn't have the name on the cover, so you take your time simply admiring the craftsmanship. You smile, turning it around in your hands and tracing the divots where leather meets gold.

"Oh, it's beautiful," you say.

Gwayne beams, loving how much you loved it. He leans back, planting his hands behind him as he watches with admiration.

"Open it," he says.

You look up at him through your eyelashes with a smile, but indulge him, opening the book up to the title page.

Gwayne watches on, intently tracking your facial expressions. First, you have that warm smile you get when you're content, but then confusion clouds your face as your eyes flick between the page and him.

He's crestfallen. He'd spent so long deliberating over what story would catch your fancy. He doesn't think you are ungrateful for not liking his gift, though. This was a failing on his part. He should be more attentive to what sorts of things he picks out for you. He's almost ready to snatch the book from your hands and hide the offending novel away.

But then your face lights up, and you begin to flip through the book with a frenzied delight. Gwayne feels relief. You do like the book, but then, you start reading from it with a giggle.

“... the female orgasm is said to be harder to achieve than its male counterpart. This is, of course, concluded from the accounts of unskilled-”

Gwayne's eyes widen as you continue, completely frozen in place as a smile slowly spreads across your face. That was not the book he intended to give you, and his face burns with shame. He must have mixed them up in his excitement.

He lunges forward at you, trying to grasp the book so that he can snap it closed and possibly burn it, but you see it coming and jerk away so that you're standing on your feet. You back away from him, still reading.

"... digital stimulation from one’s fingers often does the trick at coaxing the natural lubrication from both men and women, however, oral stimulation-"

"Please stop," Gwayne begs.

He's up on his feet now, slowly approaching you like one would a wild animal. Mercifully, you've stopped reading, but your eyes meet his, and he can't help the shiver that runs down his spine at your amused gaze.

You flip the book around so that he can see the title page, and the words 'Instructions on Pleasures in the Bedroom' stare back at him.

"This is the book that was supposed to ignite my wildest fantasies?" You ask, "You failed to mention that it would be so arousing."

Gwayne, still an arm's length away from you, buries his face in his hands. You must think him a pervert. A lustful man with no shame. He cannot bear to look at you.

"I must apologize," he mumbles into his hands, "I would never intentionally gift you something so salacious."

He's prepared to be scolded and then told to leave your sight and never look back, but then you're laughing. Slowly, Gwayne lifts his head and finds you doubled over and wiping tears of laughter from your eyes.

"Is this what you read in your free time?" you ask, although it lacks the venom he had been bracing for.

Gwayne swallows, considering his answer. He likes to think of himself as well read, the Hightower library serving as a wonderful resource for political and military histories. If he felt that he lacked knowledge on some subject, he'd find his answers in books.

The book clutched to your chest was meant to serve that purpose. He'd heard others talk about the mechanics of sex, of course, drunkenness made for loose lips at feasts, and his fellow knights had to fill their boredom somehow, but he'd never been in a situation where he felt it was important to seriously pursue the subject.

Until he met you.

At first, your relationship had been a sweet one, a friendship. But then you had shared a kiss, and for the past two months, he had been afraid to admit that his thoughts had become increasingly improper towards you. It wasn't so much that he expected it, but he wanted to be knowledgeable in case it did happen.

"Not usually," he answers.

You laugh and approach him. He's blushing all the way down to his neck, and you can't help but love the pitiful look on his face. You decide to toy with him, if only for a little bit. You get closer, crowding him, "And just who were you trying to impress by reading this?"

He bites his lip and somehow manages to whisper out a singular word, "You."

Gwayne expects you to be disgusted with him, but you surprise him when you suddenly cast the book aside, grab his collar, and kiss him. He's stunned, but eventually lets his hands land on your waist as he returns it.

You pull away, "You don't have to impress me, you know?"

Gwayne, still panting, answers, "I want to, though."

"I've never lain with another." Now it's your turn to grow nervous, "I fear I would be the one to disappoint you."

"You could never," he chases your lips and speaks against the corner of your mouth, "I'd take anything you gave me."

Enboldened by his confidence in you, you peer at him, "Then show me what your books have taught you."

His breath hitches, but he doesn't retreat into himself this time. Instead, he backs you up against the wall, hands on your waist, and then sinks to his knees in front of you. The whole time, he never breaks eye contact. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your skirts, pushing them up so that they are bunched around your thighs. When your hands replace his to hold them up, he grasps your thighs and presses kisses to one and then the other.

"What are you doing?" you ask, leaning forward so you can see him over your skirt.

He doesn't answer immediately, and instead languidly sucks a mark into one of them before soothing it over with the soft press of his lips. His eyes flick up to yours, and you're lost in the big blue pools.

He hums against your skin, "It's from the book. Just trust me."

You can only nod, waiting for him to apply what he has learned.

The tip of his tongue darts out and presses against the slit of your folds, parting them as he takes in the wetness that glistens against them. You sigh at the contact, and in return, he flattens his tongue completely against you, licking from your entrance to the bundle of nerves at the very top. You shudder when he wraps his lips around it, throwing your head back in pleasure.

To anyone else, Gwayne's inexperience would be blaringly obvious. He's sloppy, less precise than someone with more than written instruction under their belt, but because of his eagerness, and your equal inexperience, it feels like heaven. He devours you in the way only a novice could.

With your back supported by the wall, he uses his leverage to throw your leg over his shoulder, burying himself between your legs even further. You cry out, rocking your hips against his mouth as your fingers white knuckle the fabric still in your grasp. He keeps going through your climax, until you have little left to give, and then he sits back on his heels to look up at you.

Your chest heaves, your dress is in disarray, and your legs are shaky, but to him, you're the picture of beauty. This was something that his book or the drunken lords had never detailed, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. He could write essays about the way you look right now. He rises again and steps forward, gathering you up into a searing kiss.

Blindly, your fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, pushing it aside and off of him so you can trace the lean muscle he'd gained from the training yard. In turn, he works the laces of your dress until it becomes loose enough for you to step out of it. After you do, he maneuvers you so that the back of your shins hit the edge of the bed, and you have no choice but to sit down.

You lie back, and he pushes your legs apart and sits in between them. You watch with bated breath as he undoes the laces of his trousers and slides out of them before leaning over you. He slides his hands up your waist and to your breasts, palming them. You arch your back as his hands cover and knead them, and he leans down to kiss your exposed neck.

"Was this in your book?" you ask breathily.

He sighs against your skin, "No. It just feels right."

You pull him up by his hair so you can meet him in another kiss, and moans spill from his lips, sounds you happily drink up. His cock stirs between you, and you smile into the kiss, knowing that he's just as affected as you. You reach between yourselves to grasp him and angle it so that the head is flush with your entrance.

"Seven hells," Gwayne moans against your lips, "Are you sure?"

"There's no one else I'd want," you say.

He kisses you again, distracting you from the sensation of him entering you for the first time. He’s slow with pushing himself into you, allowing you time to adjust to the foreign stretch. He himself has to adjust to the warmth of you, and when his hips are finally flush to yours, he has to tuck his head into your shoulder to compose himself.

"Move," you whine after a pause, "I need it."

And he does. It starts off slow, each thrust accompanied by a soft moan from you, but then he picks up his pace, propping himself up on his elbows for more leverage. One of his hands finds your lower stomach, pressing down to create even more friction at the drag of his cock. His thrusts are just as sloppy and uncoordinated as his mouth was, but once again, he makes up for it with raw enthusiasm.

"You're so warm," he grunts, "Better than I imagined."

Fire ignites in your lower stomach at the thought of him imagining your first time together. So much so that you have to grab his shoulders, nails clawing red marks into his skin. Your muscles tense, and suddenly you're falling apart underneath him. Gwayne lets out a surprise gasp at the feeling of your walls pulsing around him, and he pulls out, spilling on your thighs and lower stomach.

For a moment, the two of you just breathe together, and then you break out into a grin. Gwayne falls limp beside you, barely missing crushing you. He draws you closer, not minding the release that transfers from your skin to his, and kisses from your neck to your lips.

"That book of yours teaches sorcery," you tease.

Gwayne laughs, "So you don't find me depraved?"

"Oh, quite the opposite," you say, "In fact, I think you should do more research. A true scholar is never done learning."

He hums in agreement. 

A man ought to be highly educated in all aspects of life.

━ ⚔︎━

That is why the sight of the castle in the woods is such a relief. Adrenaline runs through your blood as you pull Gwayne along towards the decadent courtyard. The two of you stumble up to the large doors, and a doorman peeks out from a small port before you can even knock.

"Yes?" The man looks you and Gwayne up and down.

"Please. We're lost," Gwayne pleads, using your waist for support, "Could a bed be spared?"

The doorman squints at you for a second. He shuts the door all the way, and you're worried that he has decided that the two of you are beyond saving. But you breathe out a sigh of relief when the doors open completely. The doorman leads you further into the hall and towards the grand staircase at the end of it. There, a man stands at the top. He spreads his arms wide, seemingly joyful to see you.

"I welcome you, my friends," he booms.

You and Gwayne take a few more steps before he suddenly collapses beside you, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

━ ⚔︎━

When Gwayne comes too, he is first aware of the cold compress pressed against his forehead. His eyes open slowly, and he is met with the sight of soft red curtains waving gently in the cool air of an open window. Around him, servants bustle. One of them sits at his bedside, preparing to switch out his compress. Gwayne sits up, quickly.

"Where is my companion?" he asks hoarsely.

She smiles at him reassuringly, "She is unharmed. She rests in a separate room."

Gwayne sighs in relief, "What day is it?"

"The 22nd of December," is her reply.

From the other side of the room, the large oak door is thrown open to reveal the man from the top of the staircase. He’s rather large, muscles honed from years of sword wielding.

"Fear not, Ser Gwayne," he smiles, "You have only lost one night."

Gwayne furrows his brow, "How do you know my name?"

"I know plenty about you and your quest," he chuckles, "I am Ser Harwin Strong, and I welcome you. Come, you must be eager to rejoin your lady. Let us eat.

Harwin beckons Gwayne to stand and leads him out of the room.

━ ⚔︎━

You're sitting at a long dining table when the doors open to reveal the lord of the castle and Gwayne. You're dressed in a soft, red gown, and if this had been a tourney, Gwayne would have strived to win so that he might have the honor of naming you the Queen of Love and Beauty.

You stand upon seeing him, and he's immediately upon you, wrapping you in his arms. He buries his nose into your hair, catching the pleasant, faint scent of vanilla and lavender.

"Are you truly unharmed?" he asks.

"I am perfectly fine," you assure him, "They've been nothing but perfect hosts."

You break away from the embrace and lead him towards the table. He deposits himself in the seat next to you. Across from you sits a beautiful woman. She has silver-gold hair and violet eyes, is dressed in intricately designed velvet and lace, and has several rings on her fingers.

"Lady Rhaenrya Targaryen," you introduce her.

She gives a nod in Gwayne's direction. Harwin comes to sit beside her. Under the table, Gwayne slips his hand into yours, and he is comforted by the warmth of it. He begins rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, and you give his hand a light squeeze in return.

"Eat as much as you can stomach. You will need your strength to face the Green Knight," Harwin says.

From across the table, Rhaenyra's gaze is trained on Gwayne, "How long will you stay?"

"We will take our leave after eating and giving thanks," Gwayne says, "Feast Day is almost upon us."

Harwin laughs, "The Green Sept is less than a day's ride away. There's no need to throw the two of you back out into the harsh woods."

"Oh, thank The Mother," you say.

"Indeed," says Harwin, "We shall send you out on the morning of the day of your appointment so that you may meet your destiny by nightfall. So stay and make merry."

Harwin raises his goblet, and the rest of the table follows suit. From over the top of your glass, you can see Rhaenyra still eyeing Gwayne.

━ ⚔︎━

Harwin gives you and Gwayne the remainder of the day for rest. Gwayne had urged you to return to your room, expressing concern for you, despite being the one who had collapsed earlier. You'd heeded him, though, knowing he would have dragged you to the bed himself if you didn't.

Gwayne finds himself in the library. He’d set himself up in a plush chair, thumbing through a history of the realm. He reaches a particular page illuminated with drawings of dragons when Rhaenyra's hand comes down upon his shoulder.

"The history of my family," she says.

Gwayne looks up, "Did you decorate these?"

"My hand is not that steady," she laughs, "You may keep it, if you like."

"I couldn't," he says.

"Nonsense," Rhaenyra says, "It is a gift."

She steps back from his chair but doesn't leave the room.

"My lady, may I ask something of you?" Gwayne says.

"Of course,"

"My traveling companion and I… We are in separate rooms," he starts.

Rhaenyra straightens her back ever so slightly, "You wish to share chambers with her, is that it?"

Gwayne nods.

"Are you wed?" she asks.

"Not yet, my lady, but we are to be."

Rhaenyra narrows her eyes, clearly turning thoughts over in her head. It makes him feel like she's skinning him, lowly peeling back his layers so that she may thumb through his secrets.

"Then it is improper," she finally says, "You must understand."

He wasn't surprised. The couple that resided in this castle were friendly and welcome, sure, but that didn't mean they completely shunned the rules of court. His question had been a foolish one, in hindsight.

"Of course, my lady. I apologize if I have offended you," Gwayne says.

Rhaenyra only shakes her head, "Do not apologize for love."

As she leaves the room, she gives Gwayne one last look before the door shuts behind her.

━ ⚔︎━

Later in the day, Harwin returns with a hunting party, a massive deer slung over his shoulders. You had been roused from your sleep and now stood at Gwayne's side, receiving the lord of the house with the rest of the household. He had sought you out earlier, showing you the delightful little book with the drawings adorning the margins while curled up together in a lighted spot in the courtyard.

"Look at what I have brought you," Harwin beams, heaving the large animal to the ground at Gwayne's feet, "A fine gift for my new friends’ journey home."

You cringe at the sight of the dead animal, but you cannot deny that it is a fine specimen.

Gwayne is far more grateful than you. "We thank you, Ser Harwin.”

"What did the day bring to you?" Harwin asks.

"Only this book," Gwayne says, producing it.

"You shall have to show it to me later," he eyes him, and then turns to you, "Allow me to steal him away, will you?"

You nod with a smile, "Of course."

Rhaenyra reaches for your hand, and you join her, retreating into the castle. Harwin and Gwayne watch as the two of you disappear. Once you're out of earshot, Harwin turns to Gwayne.

"Let us make a promise to one another," he starts, "Whatever I hunt in the woods, I will give you the best of it, and you, in turn, will give me whatever you might be gifted here."

Gwayne quirks his brow, "What might I receive here that is not already yours?"

Harwin shrugs, "There is no telling what you might gain here. This castle is a mysterious place.

━ ⚔︎━

The next morning, Gwayne awakens to the sound of the hunting party preparing to leave. He can make out the shapes of Harwin and Rhaenyra, sharing a long, drawn out kiss before Harwin mounts his horse. He watches from the window as the party disappears into the surrounding woods. He finds you at the breakfast table. He laughs, seeing that you're already working on your second plate.

He sits next to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then fixes one for himself.

"You look well, my love," he hums.

"Rest is the best medicine," you say. "What will you do today?"

"The lady has given us free rein of the grounds, we may do as we please," Gwayne says, "I think I shall train."

You nod, eyes sliding closed as a smile paints your face, "Mmm, shirtless and sweaty in the yard. Perhaps I should come watch."

"You should find me afterward, too," Gwayne teases, "I'm sure your hands would be a soothing balm on my aching muscles."

It hadn't been that long since you had felt the gentle touch of his hands on your body, as you had slept together right before his journey had begun, but the adrenaline and fear that you had accumulated over the relatively short time in between was finally easing away, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you didn't feel sensitive to the most tender kisses since coming to the castle. Comfort gave way to lust.

You lean in, intending to press your lips to his, when the doors of the room open. In the doorway stands Rhaenyra. You and Gwayne jerk back like you'd been caught doing something wrong. She looks between the two of you, but thankfully opts to keep silent on the matter. She takes a seat at the table but does not eat.

"It's been some time since we've had guests," she starts, "I should like to show you the grounds today."

You look up and find that her eyes are trained on you instead of Gwayne. You perk up. It was very rare that you had been addressed by anyone in high society other than Gwayne, much less by a courtly lady as beautiful as Rhaenyra. You had assumed that any offer of friendship would be reserved for Gwayne, seeing as he had more in common with the strange couple than you did.

"I would be delighted," you say.

"I will be in the courtyard," she says, moving to leave.

You and Gwayne finish your breakfast, and he leaves you to prepare for his training. You find Rhaenyra in the courtyard, just as she promised. You hope you conceal it, but a sickly nervousness settles in your stomach. You find yourself wanting to impress her, as if proving that you have a place amongst noble ladies will make you more worthy of accepting Gwayne's love.

Rhaenyra smiles warmly upon seeing you. She leads you around the gardens in a leisurely walk. You gradually grow comfortable with her, happy even, to share your time with someone so friendly.

"You're very brave," she says, "Many would hesitate to take up a quest that wasn't their own."

You hum, "It was purely selfish on my end. I wouldn't have been able to sleep at night with the uncertainty."

"It's nothing to overlook, though. You are sure to be mentioned alongside Ser Gwayne in the songs written about this quest."

"I highly doubt that," you laugh, "I'm sure no one will care much about the wife of a folk hero."

“So you are to be married?”

“Yes.”

"And what a joyous occasion it will be when your houses are joined," she says.

"I have no house. I am no lady," you admit.

Rhaenyra quirks her eyebrow, "How strange. And you are to be married? How do you know he will honor his promise when you return? Perhaps you'd live an easier life as a mistress."

You slow to a stop beside her. She’s right. You have no way to know if his words were true. The proposal in the cave could have very well been lip service to appease you, an empty promise to a foolish lowborn girl. You had chosen to believe him on nothing but the fact that the words were his. You were putting your love over his duty.

"I…" you have nothing to say to that, and you're rendered uncharacteristically quiet, "I thank you for your company, Lady Rhaenyra, but I think I will retire."

Rhaenyra only watches you go.

━ ⚔︎━

That night, Gwayne prepares for supper. He had spent the day in the training yard, drilling his sword basics. It was one of the few things, besides you, of course, that still brought him comfort in the walls of Oldtown. Many of his most positive memories from boyhood involved a wooden practice sword in hand. Even to this day, when Ormund's comments became too unbearable, he would distract himself with the weight of a blade.

He was a bit disappointed when you didn't seek him out after your morning walk so that he could ravish you as he had implied at breakfast, but when he had gone searching for you, Rhaenyra had informed him that you had grown tired after your walk and would make an appearance at the dinner table. He had been skeptical, knowing that you often spent hours on your feet in the hot bakery you worked at, but he attributed your sudden delicateness to the previous journey to the castle.

He's just pulling on his shirt when the door to his room opens. He expects you, turning with a smile, but it is only Rhaenyra. He’s startled at her appearance.

"You must be disappointed," she teases, "I know that you were hoping it would be her."

She moves around the room with the familiarity of a close friend while Gwayne stands awkwardly at the center of it.

"I hope there is no offense taken at my disappointment," he says.

"Of course not," Rhaenyra says, "I should have knocked. I have only come to escort you to supper. Harwin has since returned from his hunt, and dinner has been finished."

Gwayne nods, "Thank you. I shall join shortly."

He expects Rhaenyra to take her leave, but she remains standing before him.

"It is cruel to let a lady leave without a kiss, is it not?" she finally says.

Gwayne's heart drops. Rhaenyra is beautiful and fair, yes, but it would be a betrayal to you, Harwin, himself, and even Rhaenyra to indulge her in what she was asking.

"It's not proper, my lady," he says, "Both of us already belong to another.

She laughs, "I'm not asking for your tongue down my throat."

Rhaenyra doesn't lean towards him like he had been worried she would. Instead, she takes his hand in hers and places a chaste kiss on the back of it. Much like a lord would a lady. Gwayne blushes. She only meant to exchange a courtly gesture, and he had immediately jumped to unfounded accusations of infidelity.

"I apologize for my assumption, my lady," he mumbles.

"It's quite all right, Ser Gwayne. Now let us go eat and make merry."

━ ⚔︎━

Harwin had returned with the largest boar Gwayne or you had ever seen. The cooks had done well, making it into a beautiful meal. The members of his hunting party had recounted how he had singlehandedly brought the beast down, proclaiming it the best catch of the entire year.

You sat next to Gwayne, although you remained strangely taciturn. You'd greeted him, but afterward, you kept your eyes low. Even when he whispered in your ear to ask what was wrong, you had simply given him a standard answer of being tired. He didn't believe you, but decided to leave it at that.

"What about you, Ser Gwayne?" Harwin says towards the end of supper, "What have you for me?"

Gwayne breaks his gaze away from you. He stands, although with great uncertainty, and rounds the table. Rhaenyra's eyes follow his movements like a predator. Gwayne finally reaches Harwin and gently takes his hand, which is set atop the table. He kisses it swiftly and perfunctorily, before stepping back.

"I thank you for your continued hospitality," He says.

Harwin smiles and then clasps his shoulder, "Anything for friends."

From your place at the table, your face is that of pure confusion. Your stomach twists when you see the way Rhaenyra watches the exchange between the two men.

━ ⚔︎━

The next morning is mostly uneventful. In Harwin's absence, Gwayne throws himself into his training, and you accompany Rhaenyra for the day. Gwayne was still worried about your quietness, but every time he got a second alone with you to ask about what was wrong, it seemed like one of you was whisked away by Rhaenyra.

Gwayne had finished training much earlier than he had intended to, his mind swirling with too many thoughts of you to properly focus. He decided that the best course of action was to clean himself and rest before he was called to dinner once again. He fell asleep almost immediately, not realizing just how tired he had been.

When he woke, it was to a breeze coming in from the window. His eyes were still blurry, and for a brief second, he believed the figure standing at the window was you. They focused, though, and he was instead met by silver headed Rhaenyra.

Gwayne sits up, suddenly embarrassed about the bareness of his chest. He pulls the blanket up as far as possible, trying to preserve his modesty. Rhaenyra turns to look at him and smiles.

"There is no need to get up," she says, "Dinner is not yet ready. I am only here with questions."

Gwayne nods, "Questions, my lady?"

"Yes," she says, "I must confess, I've been monopolizing your companion's time. She is most peculiar."

"Peculiar?" Gwayne asks.

Rhaenyra crosses the room towards the bed, "She told me that she is not of a noble house, but you still intend to marry her. Did she deceive you about her birth?"

"She has no need to deceive me. I've known her truth since we first met."

"So then why marry her? Why not wed some noble lady and simply have her warm your bed?" she asks so matter-of-factly that it almost sounds like a statement.

She sits at the foot of the bed, and childishly, Gwayne considers pushing her off. Rhaenyra may be his host, but she had no right to disrespect you like that. Rhaenyra only watches as Gwayne cycles between disbelief, anger, and then a quiet calm.

"My lady, this may be the house of you and your husband, but-"

"Harwin is not my husband," Rhaenyra says, tipping herself over so that she is propped up on her elbow.

"I don't understand," Gwayne says.

She shakes her head, averting her gaze, "My true husband and I, although we are friendly, share no romantic love for one another," she looks back at Gwayne, "You'd have a better chance at wooing him than I ever would. He keeps his lover, and I keep mine."

"So Harwin is only your lover?" he asks, "Why not release yourself and your true husband from a loveless marriage?"

"Our arrangement is for the comfort of the court. I only offer warnings. It would be much simpler for you to keep her as your lover while you publicly have a wife of noble blood."

Gwayne lets the blanket fall as he leans forward, pooling around his waist, "I have spent years concealing our relationship. It's untrue to me and unfair to her to keep her as nothing more than a mistress."

Rhaenyra peers at him through her eyelashes, "Do you truly love her?"

Gwayne scoffs, because of course he loves you. He loves you more than life itself, more than anything in the world. To insinuate anything other than that-

"My lady," he says sternly, "Whatever may have led you to believe otherwise, I can assure you that I have loyalty to one woman and one woman only."

She lets her eyes roam his face, searching for any signs of insincerity. Instead, she is met with the picture of pure, sincere conviction.

"She is lucky, then," Rhaenyra says.

She stands up from her perch and then leans forward and presses a kiss to each of Gwayne's cheeks before promptly leaving the room.

━ ⚔︎━

You've scarcely seen Gwayne since your conversation with Rhaenyra. It embarrassed you, but her words had sown doubt into the validity of Gwayne's proposal. He had brought it up so suddenly that you had been inclined to believe him. But you knew the issues that would come with it if it were seen through.

It’s not that you didn’t have faith in Gwayne, but an irrational part of you worries he’ll flee when he realizes that the two of you don’t fit together like you had been pretending. You had spent the entirety of your relationship accepting that you would always just be a lover to him, but hearing Rhaenyra put it into words made it too real.

To further your insecurities, the lord and lady had seemingly taken a liking to him. You'd seen the way Rhaenyra would eye him, and the exchange of gifts between Harwin and Gwayne felt strange. Your only explanation was that it was some strange noble traditions, which left you feeling even further doubt. He'd want to spend his life with someone who was natural to all of those things. Not necessarily Rhaenyra or Harwin, but someone of the same birth as him. Someone not you.

Today, Harwin brought back a large deer for dinner. You find your seat at the table, but Gwayne is noticeably late. Dinner commences in a heavy silence.

You're still picking at your plate when the doors of the dining room burst open, revealing Gwayne behind them.

He marches forward, past you and Rhaenyra, straight up to Harwin. He plants two kisses on Harwin's cheeks and then steps back.

"I thank you for your gift," He says, indicating the spread of deer, vegetables, and bread on the table.

Then, he does something so surprising that you're sure he's gone mad.

Gwayne rounds the table and offers you his hand so that he may help you stand. You look up into his eyes, and where you usually find caring and kindness, you find what you originally mistake as anger, but you quickly recognize it as fiery determination.

You hesitantly take his hand, and he pulls you up so that you're in front of him. He moves his free hand to your cheek, cupping it gently, and then he leans forward and presses his lips to yours.

Where his kisses are usually soft and full of longing, this one is hungry. You're startled and squeak against his mouth. His fingers find your waist, curling into the flesh and pulling you even closer. When he pulls away, both of you are panting.

"Let this serve as proof that I love this woman, and that I plan to offer myself to her fully," he says, staring directly at an amused Rhaenyra.

He bows, and then he's leaving the dining room, you along with him.

━ ⚔︎━

"Gwayne," you say, "Slow down."

He hasn't said a word since your dramatic exit. He's taking long, hurried strides, and you can scarcely keep up. Finally, you make it to the room he had been staying in. He shuts the door behind him when you get inside, and backs you up until you are sitting at the edge of the bed.

You're surprised when Gwayne suddenly drops to his knees between your parted legs. He grabs your hands, pressing both of them to his lips. He looks up at you with his eyes shining.

"You know that I love you?" he asks, "I hope that I haven't done anything to cast doubt in your mind."

"Where did this come from?" you ask.

He drops your hands, gripping your thighs instead, "You've been quiet. Distant."

You bite your lip. He's not wrong, but he had reacted so suddenly that it still startled you. Part of you wants to lie. To tell him that everything is okay, and that you've just been tired, but he's looking at you with those doe eyes of his.

"Do you truly wish to marry me?" you ask, tears in your eyes.

He leans up on his shins so that he can cup your cheeks and wipe the tears as they roll down your cheeks, "Oh, love, of course I do. Why would you think otherwise?"

"It's just… I'm not of high birth, and I'm sure you'd have more in common with a noble wife." You're sniffling now.

Gwayne is sporting a pout of his own. He leans in to pepper kisses against your cheeks. He stands up, leaning one of his knees against the edge of the bed so that he can be at eye level with you.

"Have I ever said I desired another woman?" he asks.

You sniffle and shake your head, "No, but-"

"Then why would you even entertain the thought?" he asks, "I am completely devoted to you and to you only. I meant what I said when I asked for your hand."

"I'm sorry that I doubted you or your word," you whisper, as if speaking any louder would cause him to rescind his reassurance.

"Never apologize, love," he soothes, "Can I prove it to you? That I only want you? That no person or title can ever make me want you any less?"

You give a tearful nod, and suddenly he's pushing you down onto the mattress, although you remain propped up on your forearms so you can watch him. Gwayne hovers over you, and for a second, he just admires you. Your eyes are bloodshot and red, and your cheeks are streaked with tears. Even so, he finds you beautiful, though he desperately wants to fix your ailment.

Gwayne leans down and presses his lips to yours. This kiss is much softer than the one in the dining room. This time, it feels like he's trying to pour every ounce of his love into you. He runs his hand up and down the length of your waist, and then his hand finds the underside of your breast. Warmth blooms throughout your body, and you part your lips in a soft mewl. He smiles against your mouth, but then he pulls away and kisses down your jaw.

He lands on the column of your throat, leaving warm, open mouth kisses on it. He presses his body against yours, and you feel the hard line of his cock against your clothed core. He's just as affected as you, moaning softly into your neck as he slowly grinds against you.

He pushes himself up, and you whine at the loss of him, but he just nips at the skin of your collarbone and begins moving down your body, pressing kisses through the fabric of your dress. As he gets lower, you pick up on his intentions and bunch up the fabrics of your skirts so that he can settle between your legs.

He doesn't immediately attach his lips to your wet heat. Instead, he turns his head so he can give kisses and kitten licks to the inside of one of your thighs. Your breath hitches, sensitive nonetheless.

"Gwayne," you gasp, "I need-"

You lose your words when he drags a finger through your folds. He collects the wetness there and brings his digits to his mouth. He moans around his fingers, his eyes boring into yours as he does so. Your core pulses at the sight of it.

Without warning, Gwayne's face is between your legs, his nose pressed against your clit while he laps at your folds with his eager tongue. His eyes are half lidded, looking up at you as he continues his work. He pulls you closer by your hips and wraps his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you fall completely onto your back so that you can use your now free hands to thread through his auburn hair. He moans against you at the gentle tug of your fingers, causing wonderful vibrations to shoot up from your core to the very top of your spine.

You writhe and moan under him, your legs bending and straightening against the bed. He finally pulls both of them to rest over his shoulders. His eyes slide closed as he loses himself in the heat of you. He moves down again, focusing his attentions on plunging his tongue into you while his nose presses deliciously against your clit again. Your body jerks underneath him, but he holds you in place so that you're unable to truly meet him.

Your climax builds gradually, but it's when he plunges his fingers into you that you fall over the edge. He continues dragging his fingers in and out of you through your orgasm, and doesn't stop until you reach out and grab his wrist. He kisses the area just below your navel before sitting up completely.

He looks down at your limp body. Your heaving chest, sheen of sweat, and glistening pussy make him proud of his work, the evidence of your pleasure coating his fingers and his lips.

When he moves to stand up, you weakly reach for him, "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," he says, letting his hand ghost over your outstretched fingers before he plants his feet back on the ground, "I'm not done with you."

You watch as he undresses, letting his clothes fall to the ground one by one. Every article of clothing that he sheds causes anticipation to build in you. Finally, Gwayne moves back towards you and helps you discard your clothes, and his cock twitches at the sight of you. You're pliant after your orgasm, and he easily maneuvers you so that you're propped up against the plush pillows.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss and presses his chest against yours.

"I can't go another second without feeling you around me," he gasps against your lips.

One of his hands slides between your bodies as he wraps his other around your back. He situates you so that he can line his drooling cock up with your puffy folds, and slowly, he pushes himself in, inch by inch, until he is fully seated inside of you.

You let out a gasp, covering your face as it heats up. Gwayne doesn't move, instead bringing his hand up so that he can move yours away from your face.

"Let me see you, my lady," he purrs, his eyes meeting yours, "I would like to gaze upon my future wife while I make love to her."

Your eyes shine as he begins to rock in and out of you. He presses his lips to yours, swallowing every moan and mewl that he draws out of you. Suddenly, he's pushing himself up on his elbows and rests his forehead against yours, looking down at where you two meet, watching as he plunges into you, only to pull back out far enough that he risks slipping out. He slows his pace, savoring the sight of his length disappearing inside of you repeatedly, and you try to buck your hips up into his to regain the original pace that he had set.

When he looks back up at you, your heart stutters at the sight of him. He slack jawed, hair mussed from your fingers tangling in it before, and his cheeks had taken on a rosy hue from the exertion. This is the Gwayne that you had come to know. The one who would find you in Lower Oldtown to sample the bread that you made for your stall. The one who would seek you out for comfort after his dreadful cousin made some snide remark. The one who would bring you gifts just because they made him think of you. The one that only you were allowed to see.

Tears shine in your eyes, but this time, they are tears of pure joy and relief.

You truly love this man, and he truly loves you.

That thought sends you over the edge once again, and your inner walls massage against his member. He cries out, dropping his head to your shoulder as he stills inside you. You feel the liquid heat of his cum spilling deep inside your still pulsing cunt.

He doesn't pull out, even as he softens, still reeling from the aftershocks. Gwayne lets his body weight press you into the mattress as he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your nose, your lips, and your hairline. You stay there for a moment, and you think he might have fallen asleep until he finally rolls off of you, causing you to whine at his absence.

He lies on his side, facing you, running his hand up and down your arm as he just takes you in. He moves it to your waist and starts rubbing circles into your skin with his thumb.

"I've been poor company to you," he says suddenly.

Your eyes meet his, "What do you mean?"

"I should have made you my lady years ago," he pulls you closer towards him, "I promise you that I will return from the Green Sept with my head and honor, and we will marry before the Seven. My father and the court be damned."

"Are you sure it's what you want? You'd live an easier life with me as your mistress," you parrot Rhaenyra.

Gwayne huffs, "I'd rather fall on my sword than pledge myself to someone other than you."

For the first time in your life, you truly set aside all of your doubts and truly believe him.

━ ⚔︎━

The next morning, the two of you are reluctant to separate. However, the Green Knight's game looms large over the day.

Rhaenyra doesn't mention the events of last night at the breakfast table, although you're certain that she is smiling into her cup when the two of you make your appearance. After the table is cleared, you and Gwayne gather your few things and meet Harwin's men in the courtyard. They'd packaged the meat from the deer that Harwin had caught after your arrival, enough to last the journey back to Oldtown. They also supplied a singular horse, although they assure you that it is sturdy enough to make the journey with both of you on its back.

Gwayne is helping you onto the horse's back when Rhaenyra steps closer, "I admire you. You're true to yourselves, and that might be the most noble act of all. May the road ahead be kind."

You know that she isn’t referring to the Green Knight.

"Thank you for your hospitality," you nod from atop the horse.

Gwayne swings himself up onto the horse behind you, grabbing the reins, "We bid you farewell, although it is a shame Harwin wasn't here to see us off."

"I'm sure your paths will cross sooner than you think. Be brave, Ser Gwayne," she bows.

And with that, the two of you were off, towards the Green Sept.

━ ⚔︎━

As promised, it is only a short ride until the massive building makes itself known. It's not actually a green sept, but instead one that has been overgrown with branches and vines. It's beautiful and ancient.

Just outside, you and Gwayne dismount from the horse. He has Vigilance strapped to his back, and he leaves you with his personal sword. He won't say it outright, but you know that it is for protection if this really does end in his death.

Right before he walks through the towering entrance of the Sept, he cups your cheeks so that he may gaze into your eyes. The two of you share a kiss so long that you briefly fear that he has missed his deadline when you finally separate.

He kisses the corner of your mouth one last time, "I will return to you."

He pulls away from you completely, and you watch him disappear into the Green Sept. You kneel in your spot and pray to The Seven.

━ ⚔︎━

The Green Sept seems even bigger on the inside. The vines continue curling around the stones, and soft moss stands in place of a stone floor. At the center of the room stands the Green Knight, his head miraculously back on his shoulders.

His eyes meet Gwayne, and he breaks out into a smile, "Friend, you came."

"Yes," Gwayne bows, "I have come to fulfill my part in this game."

The Green Knight extends his hand to the spot in front of him, "Then give me my sword and kneel."

Without hesitation, Gwayne relinquishes the blade to him and finds his place on the ground. He bows his head, but for some reason, he is not afraid. He meant every word of his promise to you and knew with certainty that he would be returning to you when this ordeal was over.

"Well then," The Green Knight's voice is light, "Off with your head."

━ ⚔︎━

It's been the better part of an hour since Gwayne had walked into the Green Sept. He had made his promise, but part of you feared the worst, that you'd become a widow before you even had a chance to marry. Too scared to confirm what you believe to be true, you stay rooted to your spot and clutch Gwayne's sword while you train your eyes on the doors to the sept.

Finally, there's movement at the door, and you jump to your feet, brandishing the weapon in a way that would have made even the worst of knights cringe. You're ready to fight, but it is not an adversary that steps out into the woods. Instead, it's Gwayne. Vigilance is strapped to his back, once more, his head still attached.

You drop the blade and run towards him. You throw your arms around him once you meet him, although he's slow to engulf you back. You pull back, searching him for any signs of injury while he brings his hands to cup your forearms. He's looking at you like he can't believe you're real. Your heart sinks when you see a thin line of blood trickling down his throat from the back of his neck. You go to touch it, and tears well up in your eyes when you pull your hand back and find your fingers coated in crimson.

The look on your face seems to snap him out of his shock, because he quickly grabs your hand, covering your fingers with his own, "I'm relatively unharmed. It's just a scratch."

"How…"

"It's a mystery to myself, but the game is complete," he says, "As promised, I have returned to you."

Gwayne brings his hands up to cup your face, pressing a kiss to your lips, and you melt into him. He pulls away and leads you towards the horse. He helps you hoist yourself up onto the horse's back and takes his place behind you. He wraps one arm around your torso while the other fists the reins. You can feel his tense muscles relax as you press against him, like he finally accepts that he is still living.

He gives you one final kiss on your temple, "Let us go, my lady."

A grand wedding awaits.

He became a fixture in the bakery, coming in to lean against your counter and speak with you. He never bought anything from your case, though. Even after your first meeting, he had left without purchasing anything. He’d been apologetic, stating that it was impractical for his training attire to have pockets. You didn't mind, though, just happy that he kept coming back.

"Ah," you say as he walks in, "I was starting to worry. You're later than usual."

Gwayne gives you a kind smile as he crosses the floor to your counter, "You look forward to seeing me, then?"

You laugh. He's gotten more confident in these weeks, even sending lighthearted teases your way.

"With bated breath," you answer, "Will you finally buy something, I wonder?"

He's leaning against the counter, now, and he dips his head in a bashful chuckle. You then notice that he's holding a plain box.

"I'm a terrible customer," he teases, "But I come with a gift for you."

He holds the box out towards you, and you take it. Briefly, your fingers brush each other, and your heart flutters. You give him a look, flitting between his warm smile and the box, and then you pull the string from around it and let it fall open.

Inside sits the most beautifully crafted lemon cake that you’ve ever seen.

"I hope this isn't your way of saying that you find my baking inadequate," you tease, “You’ve never even tried it before.”

He blushes, spluttering to recover, "Of course not! It's only- well, you see- I was invited to a feast at the Hightower, and I thought you might want-"

You giggle and cover his hand with your own, which is white-knuckling the edge, "I only jest. Your gift is greatly appreciated."

"Those are my favorite," he says softly.

Gwayne's shoulders relax. You stifle a giggle and bring the treat up to taste it.

Your first thought is that it's terribly dry. It's chalky and makes it feel like you've just licked sand. Your next thought is how overpowering the icing is. It's far too much lemon and no sugar. Lastly, you notice that despite the strong taste of the icing, there's no taste in the cake itself.

You chew your bite, even mustering up the courage to swallow it. You want to spit it out and scrape your tongue. Gwayne is giving you an expectant look, and you almost spin a lie about how wonderful it tastes, if only to keep him happy. He’s dreadfully cute when he’s like that.  Instead, you try to keep your reaction perfectly neutral.

"It's certainly different from the ones I make," you say, trying to conceal a grimace.

Gwayne doesn't seem to notice your inner turmoil, and for that, you're thankful. You'd hate to kill his spirits.

"I'll bring more for you to try the next time I visit," he says.

From your point of view, that sounds like a threat.

"Or," you say, trying to preserve your future palate, "We could picnic outside the city, and I'll bring some of mine for you to finally try."

He perks up even more at the mention of meeting outside of the city, "I'd love that."

━ ⚔︎━ 

You're at the agreed meeting spot before him. The blanket is already laid out, and you're working on unpacking your pastries by the time Gwayne breaks the tree line.

He's dressed down today, and he even left his sword at home. Without all of his gear, he looks soft. He smiles upon seeing you and quickens his pace towards your little setup. You're overjoyed to see him, your sweet friend, but your mouth goes dry at the sight of the satchel at his side. You know it's full of those dreadful sand blocks the Hightower's tried to pass off as pastries.

"You've returned to me," you say as he sits down.

Gwayne blushes, "Always."

You’re starting to suspect that your romantic feelings towards Gwayne are reciprocated. Even with his heightening confidence, he’s still a little nervous around you. It’s been too long to attribute it to being unfamiliar with one another, so you like to believe that he likes you just as much as you like him.

He begins unloading his satchel, each an identical brown box marked with the corresponding pastry inside. He looks terribly pleased with himself, and like you so often do, you almost abandon your plan completely if it means he’ll stay smiling. Alas, you can't allow him to continue believing that they’re delicacies.

"Actually, Gwayne," you say, "Maybe we should sample mine first."

He quirks his brow at you, but stops his actions, "I don't see why not. It's long overdue."

The pasties that you brought are not as neatly packaged as his. Where he had brown boxes, you only had parchment paper. He doesn’t comment on it and instead gingerly takes the first one that you offer him.

You watch with a smile as he unwraps it. It's simple, not as ornately decorated as the one he inadvertently poisoned you with, but it's a lemon cake all the same.

He admires it for a second and then brings it up to his mouth. You lean forward as he takes a bite. His eyes close as he chews, and your smile grows. When he opens them again, you can't help but giggle at the pitiful look on his face.

"I can't believe this," he says.

You try to conceal your laugh behind your hand, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I've been tortured all my life, and I didn't even know it."

He takes another bite, like he's trying to double check his findings. His shoulders slump, and he frowns at you

"You lied to me," he says, "I thought you liked them."

That finally makes you burst out laughing, and you lean forward and hide your face in his shoulder. The two of you have never been that close before, but he absentmindedly settles his free hand against your lower back like he’s done it a million times before.

"I never lied," you manage to say.

"You said it was good."

You playfully scoff, "No, I said it was different. You chose to believe I said it was good."

You're sitting up, now. He still looks pitiful, but notably, he hasn't stopped taking bites from the lemon cake. You unwrap your own lemon cake and take a bite, savoring how sweet and moist it is. The Faith teaches that pride is a negative quality, but you can't help but find pride in your own abilities.

"You've ruined all feasts for me from here on," he muses, "My palete has been refined."

Where did that guy even go at night? You can’t imagine a wanted criminal like him going back to a fully furnished apartment or house every night. Where would he find the time to buy all the furniture? Was he cordial with his neighbors? A roommate? Maybe he even has a partner that he loves to cuddle up with at night.

That thought makes you snort. Who would even agree to go on a date with someone like that?

You look at the clock again. 10:45. You should probably start getting ready for your date.

━ ◎ ━

Dex wakes up to a throbbing pain in all parts of his body.

He sits up, noting that he hadn’t quite made it as far as his bed, and instead opted to transfer from your plush, warm, well decorated couch to his far less welcoming one. He’s still in his gear from the night before, too. His mask securely in place, just like you said it would be. He never doubted you, of course, wouldn’t dream of it, but it’s like everything you do justifies his blind faith in your goodness.

Dex laughs to himself, which causes him to clutch his side in pain. A younger, more misguided version of him would have taken your mask off in a second, but his newfound morality wouldn’t let him. He wouldn’t unmask you simply for the fact that it’s not something you would do.

Tentatively, he stands, happy that he can support himself on his own two feet. Yes, he had been beaten badly only a day before, but with the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins from finally being in close proximity to you, he could make it another day before really addressing any of the problems under the hood.

He had only been trying to help you. He had seen how much the public’s harsh opinion of your alter-ego affected your mood, and he hated seeing you so upset.

You did good things for them. They should appreciate it.

He appreciates it.

He knew the signs of overworking, and you were textbook. You’d started biting off more than you could chew when you were wearing the mask, and he had to watch you come back to the apartment building, sluggish and defeated, every day.

The least he could do was lighten your load. It was easy to find and dispatch bad actors on your behalf. He would gladly put himself in harm's way if it meant you were just a little bit happier. Doing it your way had been a treat just for him, though. Emulating you made him a better person. It made him feel just a little closer to you.

He's honestly not surprised at how fast he's able to get ready. He'd been anticipating this day since he had first seen you on a news broadcast. You’d saved every single person from a sinking ferry. You hadn’t waited around for anyone to identify you and thank you for your deeds. You’d done it simply because you had the ability to help.

Dex stares at himself in the mirror. He's dressed in a way that you were sure to find attractive. He’d seen the way you’d looked at him when he’d first introduced himself as ‘Tony.’ As ‘Tony,’ he could reinvent himself as a good person for you.

He exhales, centering himself.

11:40. Showtime.

 ━ ◎ ━

  You’re already standing at the door when he knocks at 11:45 sharp. Actually, your hand is already on the handle. Genuinely, you weren’t waiting at the door, but your Spider-senses had you across the room the second the door to his apartment closed. You realize how alarming it would be for you to open within a millisecond of his knocking, so you step back to breathe for a second.

When you open it, Tony stands before you in all of his broad glory, and the urge to squeal suddenly overtakes you. You don’t do that, because it would probably make him think you’re crazy, though, so you opt for a bright smile.

“Hi, Tony,” you say.

“Hey,” Tony already has a grin on his face, “You look nice.”

Heat crawls up your neck, “You clean up nice, too.”

Tony immediately gets awkward, and he starts rubbing the back of his neck. Mrs. Smithers was right. He really is the sweetest thing. You step out of your door and clasp your hands together.

“Well, let’s get going, then!”

 ━ ◎ ━

Tony has a slight limp, you’ve noticed. He seems to favor his right leg. It makes you think back to the night before. Bullseye had hissed when you’d lightly prodded the side of his leg to get him to move. He was probably somewhere limping around the city, too. You have no clue what the guy looks like/ Hell, he could be walking past you right now.

“Are you sure you’re okay with walking?” you ask, “I feel kind of bad.”

He turns to you, humor in his voice, “It’s nothing to worry about. Work accident.”

You hum, quirking an eyebrow, “What kind of work? I can’t imagine someone falling that badly at an office job.”

You’d heard him coming in at odd hours, mostly because you’d also be coming in at weird hours. You’d assumed that he must work night shifts.

He laughs at that.

“CIA, actually,” He sounds almost bashful about it.

“I’d ask you what you did with them, but then you’d have to kill me,” you tease.

If you’d been focused on him, you would have seen the slight panic overtaking his face at the thought of killing you, but your attention is stolen by a newsstand. You slow to a stop and pick up the first Daily Bugle paper from the stack.

Your blurry masked face stares back at you, along with the slumped figure of none other than Bullseye. You really can’t escape that guy, even when he’s not around.

Tony notices what you’re looking at, but lets you finish reading the article in silence as anger slowly builds up on your face.

“‘New Sinister Vigilante Alliance’, can you believe this?” You’re incredulous.

Tony looks over your shoulder, and you hear him sigh, “I’ve never liked what they write about Arachnid.”

You look up from the paper and catch a frown on his face. You find it funny that a guy like him would be so invested in the representation of a vigilante, especially one that was… well, you.

He takes the paper from you and sets it back on the stack. You’re kind of glad because you don’t think spiraling about your reputation on a busy public sidewalk would be a good first date story.

“You’re a fan?” You ask as Tony offers you his hand.

He doesn’t answer until you tentatively take it, and he begins leading you to continue walking, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

He bites his lip, like he’s holding back his next words, “Arachnid saved me once.”

Now, your memory is by no means the best, but you’re pretty sure you would have remembered saving someone like Tony, so you innocently ask, “Oh, really?”

“The Long Island ferry incident,” he says, “When it sank.”

Oh. That makes sense. Of course, it’s plausible that you could have saved him. There were so many people on that ferry that day, and who’s to say he wasn’t one of them?

“Didn’t Arachnid get accused of sinking the ferry? I remember reports going around that they were ripping doors off of the hinges and everything?” What the reports had failed to mention was that there were people trapped in those rooms.

You’d used up a lot of your strength trying to pry those doors from their hinges. It had been worth it, though. When you went back and checked the reports, there wasn’t a single casualty. Your happiness had been quickly soured by the rumors flying around about you being the cause of the ferry sinking, though.

Tony scoffs, “It was bullshit. Arachnid saved every person on that ferry. They’re is a good person.”

You accidentally let a chuckle slip out, and soon you’re full-blown laughing. You try to calm down when you notice his puzzled expression.

“Sorry… it’s just… You’re the second person I’ve spoken with in the last 24 hours who’s a staunch Arachnid supporter.”

Tony’s expression is unreadable to you, “That person has a good head on their shoulders, then.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that the one other person you know who shares his opinion about your alter-ego is a former criminal turned self-proclaimed ‘good guy,’ so you decide to leave it at that.

━ ◎ ━

The art gallery is nice. It’s one of those quiet ones that not a lot of people know about. It’s just the two of you. You and Tony spend most of the time puzzling over the cubist paintings. You’re kind of surprised at how much he knows about art, since he doesn’t quite look the part. You asked him about it while you were sitting in front of a Georges Braque replica.

“I used to draw when I was younger,” was his answer.

You hum, “Really? I never would have guessed.”

He shrugs, “I don’t do it anymore.”

“Makes sense. People change all the time,” You say with a slight smile.

You’re not entirely sure why, but a blush creeps up his neck at your words.

“Yeah,” he says, “I guess they do.”

—

It’s 8:30 when Tony finally drops you off at your apartment door.

The art gallery became lunch, lunch became a walk, and a walk became dinner. It’s like the two of you couldn’t find a reason to separate.

When you finally got back to your apartment building, he went as far as walking you all the way to your door. Obviously, it’s not very far from his, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Well, this is me,” You say, nervously smoothing your hands down your thighs.

He’s standing so close to you, and you catch yourself trying to resist the urge to lean in.

“We should do this again, sometime,” You add, “Today was really nice.”

“Yeah,” You swear, Tony’s eyes light up at your words, “I’d like that.”

You smile to yourself, and suddenly, confidence flows through you. You tentatively step closer to him. He swallows, but doesn’t stop you.

“Can I…,” You’re surprised that he speaks first, “Can I kiss you?”

You bite your lip, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

It’s one of those soft kisses. His hands curl around your waist and draw you closer. You melt into him and let your hands curl around his neck.

You pull away, but the two of you stay pressed together. Tony brings his hand up to brush his thumb over your cheek.

“Wow,” is your intelligent contribution to the moment.

Tony chuckles, though, “‘Wow’ indeed.”

“Um… well… I should probably get going,” you pull away, fumbling nervously with your doorknob, “I’ll see you around.”

You finally get the door open, and he gives a wave. You return it with a smile and let your door shut.

Fuck, you were in trouble.

━ ◎ ━

Dex was never one for watching cartoons when he was growing up, but now that he's with you, he looks forward to it. There's something comforting about the formulaic nature of the fifteen minute Sunday morning cartoons you wind down with every night.

It's the weekend, so you’d asked Dex to do a cartoon marathon with you. Of course, he couldn't say no to you, so here he was, watching The Powerpuff Girls with you on your couch. Your head is resting on his chest, and he's lazily dragging his hand over your back. In return, you’re absentmindedly tracing your fingers over the contours of his other arm. You laugh at something on the screen, and Dex's hand stops its motions for the briefest second. You lift your head off his chest to look at him, silently wondering what made him freeze up like that. Dex looks down at you and has to close his eyes because it's too much, especially when you choose that exact moment to smile up at him.  It's like it hits him all at once. The realization that as long as you two are together (which he plans on being forever, by the way), he can always count on this. You and him, curled up on your couch watching cheesy, formulaic cartoons together.

The main reason he likes it, however, is that it’s a side of yourself you only let a few select people see. Your desk at work is almost completely bare, save for a Polaroid of you with your family, and one of you and him. There’s no sign of your collecting habit when you’re at work.

It’s like a secret you only share with him.