Rafe Experiences The Comfort Of A Mother

rafe experiences the comfort of a mother

synopsis: rafe appears on his girlfriend’s doorstop, badly burnt and in need of care and affection

Rafe stood in front of the guest room, body stiff and hand frozen against the wooden door. He wanted to knock, he really did, and yet he was hesitant. Only the day before had the couple fought, screaming and shouting until both were out of breath. Rafe had watched his sweet girl leave with teary eyes and he’d felt bad, his heart twisting as she had slammed the door in his face. It was the same door he finally knocked on after realising he’d been motionless for too long. The rap of his knuckles echoed and for a moment, he wondered if she wouldn’t answer the door at all, until a creak sounded. Rafe raised his gaze to see his girlfriend standing in front of him, her fists rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“R-rafe? What are yo-”, she began to ask, voice heavy with tiredness, the hour late. It wasn’t until she looked at him properly that she paused, taking in his entire state. Rafe was standing there, clutching his arm to his chest protectively. It wasn’t the childlike pose that caught her eye though, no - it was the way Rafe’s eyes were filled with unshed tears and his bottom lip wobbling ever so subtly.

“Are you ok?” She asked gently, as if she were talking to their son. Rafe could only shake his head side to side, slowly pulling his arm away. At the sight of the red and blistering flesh, she gasped loudly, “Oh my god! What happened?”.

“I-uh, I got into some trouble,” Rafe responded timidly, full of shame and in pain.

“Come here,” his girlfriend said, gently ushering him into the guest room, “sit down. Have you cleaned this?” She asked. Again he shook his head, leading her to hum lowly. “Ok, I’ll need to clean it. Gimme a sec.”

Rafe sat on the bed patiently as he took in the room. He’d never been in there since she began sleeping in there, now taking in all the little trinkets she had lying around. He had been trying to get her to move back into his room but she still refused, and the pair used the nursery as a mutual zone.

His musings were cut off by a gentle voice questioning him.

“What happened Rafe?”

“It’s nothing, just an accident, you know?” Rafe grumbled out as she began to wet antiseptic pads in front of him. She looked up at him, gaze incredulous.

“This is bad, Rafe. You don’t just get something like this accidentally! You said you got into trouble before - what did you mean by that?” She questioned. Rafe sighed, having underestimated just how much she would question him, but he should’ve expected that, he thought to himself. When he didn’t answer, she began to clean his arm.

The sharp stinging sensation that travelled through him as the antiseptic touched his burn made Rafe jump, his voice exclaiming in shock. It was that sudden pain that caused the unshed tears in his eyes to spill over, and it was like once he started he couldn’t stop. All his pain and worries spilled out of him, the tears streaming down his face.

“Oh baby, it’s ok, come here,” he heard her say, cleaning forgotten as she pulled his head into her chest. Whenever she had comforted Rafe in the past, this had been his favourite position, curled up against her chest and having his hair stroked. So she did just that, soothing his heaving sobs with each pass through his hair. “It’s ok Rafe, you’re ok here baby. I’ve got you, ok? Breathe, Rafe.”

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, his sobs wetting the fabric of the tank top she wore. He’d almost completely exhausted himself by the time his sobs stopped, only able to breathe deeply now. It was then his muffled voice could be heard, “it was Barry.”

He felt her stiffen before she tentatively probed further. “Barry, your dealer?”

At the feeling of him nodding, she pulled him away from her chest. Her voice was stern, as if she was talking to a small child,

“Rafe, why is your dealer burning you? What did you do?”

He looked up at her, eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looked just a like their son, she thought, his features so innocent and needy.

“I-I couldn’t pay him back in time… I tried, I really did, but I had this thing and I couldn’t get it all there in time, and I said- I said to him I would get it bu-but he didn’t care,” Rafe began to ramble, his voice pleading with her to understand him. He had been trying to do better, for her - for his family. He watched her sigh, before she returned to clean his wound in silence. Rafe wanted to speak, to explain himself more but he didn’t know what to say, and the idea of her disappointed gaze upon him once more sealed his lips. The feeling of her fingers smoothing a burn cream over his wound tenderly had him curling back into her chest.

She began to card her fingers back through his blonde locks, feeling Rafe relax against her. When he was upset he would be one of two ways: angry and reactive, or clingy and touch-starved. Today, it was clear he was the latter. She couldn’t bare to leave him alone like this, and so she gently whispered,

“Come here baby, let’s get you into bed, ok?”

Rafe pulled away, his eyes wide as he looked up upon her face.

“Here?”

She nodded and began to pull the covers away, creating a space for him to shuffle in. Rafe allowed himself to be guided under the quilt and he couldn’t help but sigh at the feeling of her fingers tenderly brushing his messed-up strands away from his forehead. As he made space for her beside him, Rafe watched his girlfriend pull away from the bed.

“Nononono-” he began to mutter, only to be cut off. His hand was outstretched pathetically to try and keep her by his side, scared to be alone.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’m just going to the nursery. I thought you’d want him to stay with us tonight,” she soothed, watching surprised as Rafe shook his head in response.

“No, let him sleep. Just c’mere,” he mumbled, dragging her into his side and under the blankets. Within seconds Rafe had found his position for the night, curled up into her side, his head resting on her chest once more. He was so sullen and quiet as he listened to her heartbeat, hands clutching at her waist.

“Goodnight Rafe,” she uttered sleepily, the events of the night catching up to her.

“I love you,” he said quietly, his voice muffled against her chest. He didn’t say it often, preferring to show his love for her through actions, but she always knew it. With a soft kiss against the crown of his head, she echoed those words back to him, before slipping into unconsciousness,

“I love you too, baby.”

pics that remind me of rafe & high school gf!

Blessing in Disguise (2)

Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devout follower of his Knight's oath, Gwayne no longer sees much point when Criston Cole gifts him Princess, his only requirement being to keep her alive. The Hightower Knight has suppressed his own urges for so long, but now, he no longer wishes to, not when he's been given a sweet Princess just for himself.

Warnings: abuse of power, prisoner/captor dynamics, gross men, restraints, Gwayne is growing more delulu, future dubcon/noncon (not proof read)

Author’s Note: this chapter is seriously diving into just how much Gwayne is loosing it, and building up his motives and morals. He thinks of himself as a saviour and all his actions are rooted in this need to keep protecting the Princess.

Tag List: @torchbearerkyle @beautifultacodragon

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Two days had passed since the Princess was captured, and two days had passed since Gwayne had been given the responsibility of keeping her alive. For the first day, he’d faced little trouble as the still unconscious girl slumbered in his tent, her frame draped across his own makeshift bed. The turmoil was rife within the knight however; for he knew little of what to do with the girl. To keep her hidden away in his tent for the rest of the campaign seemed cruel, but letting the Princess roam around the camp was a risk that could bring doom to the army. While he didn’t know for certain of her likely reaction upon waking, Gwayne felt that the Princess would not take kindly to her newfound position as captive.

The second day helped the knight make up his mind, for the Princess began to rouse herself from her state. He’d been eating the claggy paste they called oatmeal when movement caught his eye from across the tent. With sluggish movements, the girl pushed her weak and frail body up to a somewhat seated position as her eyes took in her surroundings. Gwayne found the confused expression on her face amusing, but sighed deeply as her eyes widened in alarm upon laying her sights on the Hightower Green of his doublet and the red of his hair. He watches as she begins to sputter and gasp as she tries to speak, but despite her best efforts, her brain fails to deliver a coherent question to the knight.

“You are in no position to run, or much less even argue, so I suggest you still yourself whilst I explain the predicament you’ve found yourself in,” Gwayne’s lilting voice cutting across the tent, his words stilling any movement from the Princess. Though he’s attempted to make his tone lighter, it’s clear that his tone carries a subtle warning.

The Princess nods softly before speaking, her voice hoarse and croaky due to disuse, “Wh-who are you?”

She fears she knows and yet some part of her hopes that perhaps it has been a case of mistaken identity - that this man across from her, whose tent she lays in, is not the brother to the Queen Dowager.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower, Princess.” It’s all he says. Gwayne notices the crestfallen expression on her face deepen, her fingers beginning to play with the threads of the blanket. “Your dragon was slain after it flew above our territory, the scorpion striking it down with great accuracy. It was not expected that Rhaenyra would have sent her only daughter on dragonback and yet, there you were.”

“M-my drag-”

Gwayne doesn’t let her speak and instead continues his recounting. “Criston Cole made the decision that your life should be spared. He wishes to use you as tool to garner your mother’s surrender, and in turn, has granted you the most esteemed opportunity of a true camp experience.”

The sweet Princess can only listen silently and a small twinge strikes at Gwayne’s heart as tears begin to fall down her cheeks. He lets her process his words, scraping the last remnants of his oatmeal from the wooden bowl. When she says no more, the knight moves to leave the tent when a timid voice stops him in his tracks.

“What will you do with me?”

The Princess watches the man freeze, his broad back tense and rigid. He stays near the entrance, arms clutching the fabric of the tent as he seems to ponder his answer. She had heard stories of the honourable Ser Gwayne Hightower and yet, chills crash over her at his next words.

“Whatever I so wish, I suppose, as long as your heart still beats in your chest.”

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That night the princess remains in his bed, her hands bound and tied to the wooden post holding up the tents fabric. He’s given her some tether, at least allowing her to relax her arms and continue to rest. The Princess had almost drifted into an unpeaceful slumber when a rustling sound echoed around the tent, and a disheveled Hightower strode through the entrance. She had little time to process his intentions as the knight flung off his boots and undid his doublet, leaving him only in his trousers and tunic, watching wide-eyed as he stalked over to the makeshift bed.

“What are you doing?!” The princess shrieked as Gwayne lowered his body next to hers, the flimsy material dipping with his body weight.

“I am sleeping, or at least I hope to be.”

“Get away from me! How dare you,” the girl cried, her body tense as she flung her body out of the bed.

“You may struggle to recall this, but this is my tent. You have been sleeping in my bed and as much as it pleases me to see you enjoying it so, I too wish to rest,” Gwayne bites out, his tone laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled contempt. She could’ve been sleeping on the dirt floor and here she still complains.

Gwayne hears her muttering “no, no” and finds little inside of himself to care, instead tugging on the restraints binding her hands. The squeal as she falls back into the bed makes him smirk, pushing the girl into the fabric and covering her with a blanket.

“Sleep. And keep any foolish ideas you may have of escaping to yourself, for you have no dragon or the faintest idea of your location.”

Gwayne rolls away from the Princess, feeling smug with himself at the lack of response he receives, though the rigid frame of the girl seems to be conveying enough to him. She knows her hopes of escape will not come to fruition tonight, not with the Hightower sleeping by her side. She can’t even retaliate when his heavy frame drapes over her own during the night, arms slung across her stomach as he clings to her body heat. Restless, she lies there listening to his languid breaths, her own heart pounding with anxiety.

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The Princess had been in the camp for what felt like months, though her stay had only totalled five days. It seemed that her and her captor had fallen into a somewhat amicable routine: Gwyane would venture down with the Princess to the nearby lake to allow bathe, and the pair would break their fast with the rest of the soldiers. He would then return her to his tent while he talked strategy with Criston, leaving the girl alone, but not unsupervised. He’d given up use of the rope that had attached to her ankle after the first night in the bed, but the knight was still wary of the Princess trying to escape. In the evenings the two would sit by a small fire in the common area of the camp and eat their meager meals, Gwayne even allowing the girl her own cup of mead to wash the bread down. Gwayne couldn’t deny that it felt comforting to have another’s presence as a constant, especially after such long periods of loneliness and isolation. He even begins to warm to his captive, small chuckles leaving his lips more often as they conversed.

And yet their moments of ambivalence seemed to come crashing down as Gwayne left to fetch more mead, only to return and see a common soldier leering over the Princess. His stout body crowded into her space, his hands clutching at her shoulders, the fabric ripping in his harsh grip. From a distance it was difficult for Gwayne to hear the man’s words, though he held strong suspicions of their nature, however as he covered ground his ears picked up more and more.

“Mmm… do you think you could handle the cock of a real man, Princess?” the man muttered sleazily, “I don’t think you could. All you Royal cunts act like you’re above us, but maybe you just need a little demonstration.”

The Princess’s discomfort was plain for all to see, no more so than Gwayne. Her shaking frame and teary eyes look around broadly, pleading for an intervention as her bottom lip trembles in fear. It only takes him a moment to unsheath his sword, raising it to the neck of the soldier.

“Remove your vile hands before I do so for you,” he demands, his tone firm and gaze locked on the scum in front of him. Gwayne revels in the shock that crosses the soldier’s face and his disappearance from his sight shortly after. Common-born folk always aim far above their station, coveting what should never be sullied by them, Gwayne thinks.

The Hightower is caught up in his thoughts as he brings the Princess back to his tent. His chest feels as if it’s filling up with anger, breathing growing heavy at the feeling of the Princess trembling under his grip. Many soldiers had been invited to fight with a great army in the name of the King, and yet here they stood leering and preying on the King’s own niece. Such depravity should be expected of commoners but to dare even suggest of defiling a Princess of the Realm would ordinarily be treason.

It’s only the wide, teary eyes that finally snap Gwayne out of his thoughts. The Princess is clutching his arm, her body pressed into his side as she looks up, lower lip still trembling. The girl had been scared out of her mind, too weak and powerless to stop any advances, and now here she stood a wreck because of it. To see the Princess looking up at him in such a way sends a new series of thoughts running through Gwayne’s mind, tightening his breeches and quickening his breathing.

The men in the camp were only acting in such a depraved way due to a misguided conception that the Princess was not spoken for. They believed that she was free for the taking, for any common man to use and keep. She was his captive though no man seemed to acknowledge his stake of claim over her. She slept in his tent each night, in his bed, by his side. If that would not convince these vile men to back away, then only one thing would. Gwayne was a flawed man, he himself could acknowledge that, but he would protect the Princess as was asked of him, in any way he could. And if that meant he would need to make his position clearer to the camp then he would.

The Princess would understand the actions he needed to take, he thinks, as his hand begins to brush at the exposed skin on her shoulder where her dress had torn. As her breath hitches at the contact, Gwayne can’t help his growing smirk - she’s so responsive to him, not even aware of how she’s pushing her body closer to him unconscionably. He can feel her plush breasts press against his chest and her hips against his own, though she seems unaware of the growing hardness pressing against her stomach.

The Hightower knight assures himself that he won’t enjoy his next actions, for it is only his duty to keep the Princess safe and protected from those who wish to do her harm. He assures himself that the Seven will grant him forgiveness, for he is only acting as any nobleman would. Finally, Gwayne assures himself that the Princess would forgive him for what he was about to do - soon she would understand that becoming his own spoil of war would keep her safe from other men of less valiant intentions. She would thank him sooner or later - she would, he reassures himself over and over again as he begins to lead the Princess over to his makeshift bed. He ignores the thought in the back of his mind telling him that even if she withheld her forgiveness, he wouldn’t mind too much - he would care much less than he should.

Gwayne Hightower and his Targaryen niece return to Kings Landing!

Gwayne bringing his sweet niece back to the Red Keep, only now she holds the title of his wife - of the Lady of Oldtown. Whispers and murmurs follow the couple as they walk through the keep, all aware of the more than scandalous marriage that had taken place.

He feels a warm feeling settle across his chest as his niece clings to him, her frame pressed into his side. Gwayne is more than happy to play the protector.

The Royal Family watching the couple walk into the throne room, only to be stunned at the sight of a small bundle being cradled in the young princess’s arms. They had received no word of the birth of the next Lord of Oldtown, and yet, here he was.

Gwayne proudly presenting his little son to the room, the tufts of red hair atop his head a clear indication of his lineage.

Alicent looking on at her daughter in shock and sorrow, her heart breaking as both of her daughters have now truly left her. She didn’t even get to attend this daughter’s wedding, and now her grandchild’s birth had been taken from her too.

Aegon is so pleased to see his younger sister again and doesn’t hold back on teasing her and her new husband. Aegon dislikes his own family greatly and he feels some relief in knowing his kindhearted younger sister has been spared from the worst of their infighting.

Otto is disgruntled by the babe and disapproves of his son’s actions, though there is nothing he can do. Gwayne takes great pleasure in knowing he has out-manoeuvred his father for once, leaving him no way to alter the situation.

Gwayne and his niece taking their son to sit in the gardens, relaxing under the trees as the babe cuddles up to his mother. He can’t help but feel contented with his little family, his own wife and a son who he can raise better than he was himself. As he watches his niece coo at their son, the knight resolves then and there to give her as many red-headed babes as she desires.

a meeting with the in-laws

anon: high school gf's parents coming back after they've kicked her out once the baby's born and demanding to see their “baby" and it's a whole scene

It had been three days since the newest Cameron had arrived into the world, the small baby boy kicking and screaming like a true warrior. A coked-up Rafe swore he had never seen anything so perfect as when he saw his own little boy clutched tightly within his mother’s arms, his sweet red cheeks chubby and full of life. It had taken some convincing but soon Rafe had his son against his bare chest as he softly stroked at the wisps of hair atop his head. He sat by his sleeping girlfriend’s side, quietly cooing to his son. There in that room lay his whole world, and it was then and there that Rafe made a promise to himself: no-one would hurt either of them for as long as he lived.

Rafe found his first opponents rather quickly. The small family returned to Tannyhill on the third day and began to settle back into the house, bringing their son up to the nursery they had spent hours painting. Rafe had wanted to hire someone to paint the images on the wall but had begrudgingly agreed to help his girlfriend paint them herself when she began tearing up in front of him. They had decided on a space themed nursery after Sarah suggested it. As they settled the sleeping boy in his cot, a loud knock echoed across the property. The new parents ignored it, only to hear mumbled voices from the foyer grow louder and louder. It was with a start that Rafe looked up, his bicep being clutched tightly.

“My parents…they’re here!” she whispered anxiously, her eyes widening as she looked up at him for help, “they told me that I was dead to them Rafe!”

Rafe looked at his sweet girl, taking her into his arms as she began to tremble, hands running soothingly over her back. “Hey, it’s ok. It’s gonna be ok, alright? You’ve got me here and I-I’m not gonna let them treat you like shit, ok,” he muttered. Rafe watched her pull away from him slowly, giving him a small nod as she wiped away the tears that had managed to spill over. He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head and whispered encouragingly “you can do this, baby.”

As they made their way down the stairs, it was clear that the Cameron’s did not take kindly to the familiar family standing in their living room. Rafe and Sarah were the two most obvious in their distaste, each wearing matching grimaces and glares. They both watched as her mother immediately ran to hug her daughter,

“Oh sweetie, there you are! My baby all grown up with her own baby - oh I’m so proud of you.”

Rafe watched as his girlfriend stood stiffly in her arms, a distraught expression crossing her face at the words. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth - he had watched as she cried for weeks after her parents kicked her out, her heart broken as they refused to answer her calls. They’d removed her existence from their lives for nine months and now here they were, claiming to love her again? No, that wouldn’t do, Rafe thought.

“Are you, though?” Rafe bit out. He grinned as all eyes turned sharply to him.

“Of course we are, our daughter has given us a strong and healthy grandchild. Why wouldn’t we be?” Her father asked, his tone filled with a certain menacing quality that both Rafe and Ward picked up on. The former ignored his father’s warning glance as he continued to speak.

“What about when you kicked her out, pregnant and alone with no money? Hmm, yeah I thought you’d remember that,” he spat, watching a flicker of shame cross the older woman’s face.

“Rafe that’s en-”

“No, come on Dad, you saw what they did to her, to my son. They didn’t give a shit until he was born, isn’t that right?”

All in the room stood in silence as the tension became so thick it could swallow them whole. It was only the audacity of her father that shattered the silence, “we want to see him.”

Fuck no, Rafe thought. He watched as his girlfriend scampered to his side, her eyes looking up at him pleading. They’d spoken often about her parents and had come to an agreement to keep them away from their family, not trusting their intentions should they come back. Almost imperceptibly, Rafe nodded towards her, a firm squeeze to her hip confirming he understood what she wanted.

“No.”

“W-what did you say to me boy?”

“I said no. You’re not coming near my son, or my girl, now get the fuck off my property, alright?”

Ward looked between his son and the other grandfather, sighing deeply before coming towards his old friend. He spoke lowly, the rest of the room unaware of their words. It was only when both men turned back to the face their children did they speak.

“You must be very overwhelmed with all those hormones right now, sweetheart. You aren’t in your right mind,” Rafe heard her father say, fists clenching at the audacity he had, “we will come and see you next week. Maybe you could be alone next time.”

The Cameron’s wordlessly watched as Ward escorted her family to their cars. They turned back to see Rafe comforting his girlfriend, her head buried into his chest as she sobbed. Rafe stood there as his blood rushed through his body, his heart pumping rapidly in his chest. This was his first experience being a parent - of feeling a sense of unwavering protectiveness come over him. He knew then that his promise to himself in that hospital chair would never be broken, for he would do everything in his power to keep his family safe. No one would ever hurt them, and as he slowly walked his sweet crying girl back to the nursery, he knew he would kill to keep them safe.