Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jon was frozen, beer raised halfway to his lips and eyes locked in on his favorite form of torture. Purple eyes seared into him from across the bar, corner of her lip tugging up knowing she had his attention. Satisfied with her audience, platinum waves fell forward as she licked salt from the side of her curly-haired friend’s hand, knocking back what couldn’t have been her first shot of the evening and following it with the most obscene treatment to a lime slice he was sure he had ever seen. He raised an eyebrow and finished sipping his beer as she grinned, turning her attention back to her friends. I’m going to hell he thought with a mild shake of his head.

It wasn’t the first time they had played this game. Both regulars at The Red Keep, she came up with creative ways to tease him each time their paths crossed. Coy smiles from across the bar turned to body shots and table dances, each act completed with a victorious look thrown his way. And he was helpless to watch. An audience seemed to be all she wanted from him, and he was happy to provide. A fool, constantly returning to the rack for further torment, because it was the deepest connection he had made since returning North. 

“That’s a bad idea,” Robb warned from his seat next to Jon’s at the bar.  Obviously, Robb. That’s why we never speak.

“What is?” Jon ran his left hand through his hair, aggravating the curls he had finally allowed to start growing out.

“Not what. Who.” Who, indeed.

“Hmmm.” He sipped his beer pretending to consider his brother’s advice. Hell with her didn’t seem so bad. “Who said it was my idea?” Jon had been very polite to the lime on his drink thus far.

“Since your car probably has more miles than her, I’m making common sense decisions your responsibility.” Robb gave him a pointed look that Jon missed. The sight of mystery minx rallying out to the dance floor more interesting than his brother’s well-meaning advice. The dance floor wasn’t particularly lively this evening, but she never seemed to care about that.

“Not sure I like that.” He grumbled back. It wasn’t polite to bring his baby into their conversation. Despite her mileage, she had treated him well since they were in high school.

“The common sense or the responsibility?”

“Your pick,” he shrugged. Still not making eye contact with his brother, he flagged the bartender his way for another round of beers and a quiet request for anything she-devil and company ordered to be put on his tab.

“Is that what you do with your pension these days?” 

“You sound more and more like your mother each day, Robb. How is the family anyways?”

“They’re good, Jon. They wouldn’t mind seeing you either.” 

“Ohhhh, Catelyn might mind.” 

Catelyn always minded. The happiest he had ever been able to make his step-mother was the day he turned eighteen. Proudly coming home with his enlistment papers after talking to a recruiter in the cafeteria at school the week before. A bumper sticker and a stiff t-shirt to seal the deal still thrown in the back of his jeep. A military man. Just like Uncle Benjen. She had swept him into the kind of nurturing hug that a younger him had longed for. Acceptance. His teenage self hadn’t been prepared for that. Fully steeled for a lecture at his latest act of rebellion, he remembered hesitantly returning her affection. His father’s face had fallen, sad, gray eyes meeting his over her shoulder. The years more obvious to Jon that day than he had remembered through his childhood. Catelyn made him his favorite meal that night— lasagna and garlic bread. She even made him a birthday cake. His return home had not been treated with the same festivities.

“Sansa would. Arya would. Little Ned’s been learning to ride his bike this past week, I’m sure he’d love to show his Uncle—

“Were you going to just buy my drinks all night, or did you plan on introducing yourself to me?” 

Despite the beers he had drank, his mouth felt dry. A brave little thing, she stood before them nursing a fresh vodka cranberry with a light sheen on her forehead from the dance floor where her friends remained. Neon bar lights reflected off of her, crowning her in a wash of reds and blues. She had broken the rules. They stare. She smiles. He buys her whatever drinks her heart desires. They do NOT speak. They leave. Repeat. Because he is entirely too tired for someone like her and she is entirely too good for someone like him and- 

“Jon,” he tilted his head towards her with a small smile as he stuck out a tattooed forearm for a handshake.

“Daenerys.” She smiled at him genuinely for the first time since they had begun this dance. Her usual smugness gone, replaced with softer eyes that betrayed her youth.

“You know it’s impolite to stare, Daenerys?” He drawled. Daring her to have an excuse for breaking the rules of their usual game. 

“You know I don’t give a shit?” Daenerys returned, honey dripping from her words matching his cadence syllable for syllable.  Robb chortled, swigging his beer to hide his amusement before introducing himself to Daenerys. She plopped down in the stool on the other side of Robb, swinging jean-clad legs to angle herself towards them. “What brings you boys in tonight? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?” She directed her last sentence towards Robb, who was none the wiser that she had just imploded a months-long game.

“Just catching up with my brother here,” Robb replied, clapping Jon on the back and laying on his trademark charm that Jon never quite figured out how to replicate. “What brings you to this fine establishment?” He gestured to the bar with its neon beer signs, faded pictures adorning the walls, and sticky floors easily ignored in the blurry dark.

“Two dollar Tuesday, of course!” She crossed her legs and raised her pink drink in a cheers-ing motion to the boys before taking a sip. Her lips puckered around the straw and her right arm flexed under her chest with the movement, pushing her cleavage a little higher than it had been before.  Others take me.

Robb sat up straighter, placing his left hand on top of the bar to thrum his fingers against it. The simple band on his ring finger clinked against the epoxied top.  “You know I’m surprised you’ve never met Jon being a regular here himself. After all the use that bar stool has gotten in the last 15 years, we figured they’d engrave his name into it by now.” Robb chuckled at his joke and angled his shoulders towards Jon, who had finished his beer during the exchange. 

“Aye, we must have different schedules.” Jon gave a strained smile to Daenerys, not breaking eye contact to gesture for a new beer.

“Speaking of schedules, it’s time for me to close out here.” Robb laid a $20 on the table before reaching out to shake Daenerys’ hand once more. “Daenerys, pleasure to meet you.” His schooled-smile dropped, expression more serious when he turned to his brother, “Jon. We’ll see you for dinner next Sunday then.” He nodded before they clapped each other on the back once more with Robb giving him a final warning look before taking his leave.  

“Daenerys—

“Dany,” she interrupted, eyes soft again before she starting stirring her drink.

“Dany, then. What changed?” He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It seems your brother has left, leaving the stool next to you unattended. If you’d like I can just scooch down one, and it’ll be just like it was before.” She was already halfway to shifting over to Robb’s now vacant barstool. The condensation from her drink helped coast it over to her new perch where she was close enough for Jon to breathe in her scent. His nostrils flared taking in the mix of salt from her efforts on the dance floor, fruit from the cranberry juice she had been mixing all night, and a layer of a delicate perfume buried under the rest. This was not like it was before.

“You lied,” he tried, taking a different approach.

“Awww did Daddy not like that?” She mocked him with a pout as he choked and pounded his chest to right himself again. “Besides, you really wanted me to tell your nosy-nelly brother about how we’ve been eye-fucking each other the past few months?”

“Really, Daenerys,” he coughed. “Of all nights, why change things now? Were you not content to get free drinks from the creepy, old guy across the bar?”

“Are you always content to leave things the way they are? You never want more?” She leaned in closer to study him, hair falling towards her face, her smile wiser than it had any right to be. “And you’re hardly a creepy, old guy,” she teased with a roll of her eyes. 

Of course he had wanted more. Wanting more took him to joining the military which took him to The Wall and that got him riddled like Swiss cheese. Wanting more took him back home to The North which brought him back to his old haunt facing this woman. Silver-haired and optimistic with a touch of false confidence if he focused hard enough to see through it.

“Don’t you see how every woman here looks at you? Hell, I’ve seen a few men give you the eyes in the last few months,” she giggled at the thought. 

“Only you,” he said thoughtlessly before glancing up to gauge her reaction to his beer-provoked confession. Shit. “You’re hard to miss with the shows you like to put on.” 

She glanced down, smile ghosting on her face and he swore he could see a peak of pink cross her chest as she breathed in deeply.

“So you have no idea that my friends and I have been calling you Zaddy for the last few months? Even Loras has entertained finding out what’s behind that brooding exterior and generous wallet,” she was back to teasing.

“What in seven hells is that?” 

“Oh, Loras? He’s over there actually, with Missy and Marge.” She nodded her head to her body-shot partner, who he could see was accompanied by another young woman and a man, who could almost be twins with their wavy, brown hair and golden brown eyes. The trio had placed themselves within shouting distance of himself and Dany. 

Loras, having noticed Jon looking their way, lifted his glass towards them shouting, “Cheers, Daddy!”

“What did he say?” Jon asked, brows knitted together, frown turning down more than usual.

“Cheers, Dany. He didn’t think my ‘lady balls’ were big enough to even ask you for your name.” What did that say about his own? She smiled tightly, tossing back the last sip of her vodka cranberry before pushing the empty glass towards the edge of the bar. Jon grabbed a bar napkin to wipe his forehead. He didn’t remember this place being so warm.

He excused himself at that moment for a well-deserved restroom break. You can still get out of this. You can close your tab, bid her goodnight, and simply never come back. You can still do the right thing. Business done, he looked into the hazy mirror to attempt to right himself one more time. Yes, his eyes were a hair glazed, but they are in a bar. He splashed some cold water on his face although it was nothing compared to the cold shower he needed after one conversation with Daenerys. He heard the door slam against the stucco wall as another occupant entered while he ran a paper towel over his face, patting his salt-and-pepper flaked beard free of any remaining water droplets. Small hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him around to be nose-to-nose for the first time with Daenerys.  Her eyes were a hair glazed, but full of an unmistakeable fire before she closed them, gripping a handful of curls to pull him down for a kiss.

Dizzy is what he was. Delirious, certainly, if he really thought that Daenerys had followed him in to the men’s room of the Red fucking Keep to corner him. But she had. Her little hands were knotted in in his curls, and he could feel her rising up on her tip toes to get that much closer to him. Her lips were still unsure against his, juxtaposing the usual bluster of hers he had grown accustomed to. No going back now. He licked her lower lip, sucking it in to his mouth to gain entry to hers, exploring really. There wasn’t a place on her he didn’t want to taste, and the remnants of lime and cranberry were just the start. He trailed his hands from her waist down to the tops of her thighs before picking her up in his arms. She gasped softly, pulling back in surprise, flushed chest heaving as he spun them, seating her on the countertop and giving her thighs a firm squeeze. 

“Do you always frequent the men’s room when you come here?”

“Only when there’s something I want inside.” She knotted her hand in his threadbare shirt bringing him closer. The mirror behind her reverberated as his left hand smacked it, passion and poor coordination fueling him, and his right slipped around her waist as he went in for a second taste. 

“There you are,” she whispered against his mouth. His brows knitted to consider what she meant, but each swipe of her tongue against his further intoxicated him till he stopped caring about anything else besides the next bite of that red, pouty lip or roll of her body against his. Jon nested a hand in her carefully formed waves, wrenching her head back to gain access to the sensitive skin of her neck. He lathed his tongue and sucked his way down to her collarbone tasting the salt and the perfume he had whiffed earlier. She moaned, legs squeezing around his hips when his thumb brushed over her breast from outside her shirt. She hurriedly reached down to peel her shirt off, and he moved his hands out of her way just as fast.

“No bra, huh?” He weighed one in his hand and moved his mouth to the other, pressing kisses against each inch before taking the peak in his mouth.

“Wanted to be prepared,” she ground out before letting out a small shriek when he pinched her left nipple as his teeth grazed, pulling at her right with a pop.

“For who?” He asked with a raised brow, frown more pronounced than usual.

“Only you,” she huffed. And he was surely a sick bastard for the way that his chest swelled at the idea of her planning this. Keeping a secret that was just meant for the two of them.

 Satisfied, he returned to meticulously teasing her nipples, pebbled and hard like cherries. Sucking, tongue swirling, scraping his teeth against each one just to hear her wanton cries and feel her knees wriggle in retaliation against him.

“Jon,” she panted, leaning her head back to rest against the mirror. “Jon, please.”

“Jon, please what? Use your words now, Dany.” It was probably wrong to taunt her this way, but he had already accepted there was no going back now. In for a penny, in for a pound, and what not.

“More. Please.”

He chuckled, nuzzling her collar as his tongue made its ascent upwards.

“Is this what you wanted? You want me to take you right here in the men’s room of the Red fucking Keep?” He teased the shell of her ear, his hot breath raising goosebumps down the back of her neck. “You’re filthy, you know that?”

She mewled, nodding her head in response. He was a filthy bastard too then. Nothing sounded better than giving in to the temptation of having Daenerys laid out across the bathroom counter for his eyes only.

He patted her thigh twice signaling for her to unwrap her legs from him. He gripped her hips and slid her off the counter. Her eyes were glazed and a lazy smile graced her lips as Jon began to kneel before her. He took his time, just as determined as before to taste as much as he could, sucking and nibbling along the waistband of her jeans. Her hands threaded in his hair, dainty fingers scratching his scalp.

  Her eyes are glazed. Don’t be that fucking guy.

“Daenerys,” he breathed, resting his forehead against her hip. He was a lot of things, but he didn’t want to be this.

“Jon… don’t stop,” she pouted looking down at him. He had never felt more like an idiot than he did denying her in that moment.

“I can’t, Dany.”

“What?” Her brows furrowed together and she blinked slowly, searching him for a reason. Gods, he hoped he could make her understand.

His knees ached in protest as he raised himself from the floor and took in the mess he had made. Her jeans had wet spots from where he had placed her on the counter between the sinks. Her breasts were pink from where he had grabbed them and her nipples still pebbled asking for more. Her neck and her hips had a few faint red marks where he had sucked too hard and her lips were swollen and red, lower lip protruding at his denial. Even if they hadn’t gotten that far, she looked well fucked. 

He turned to retrieve her blouse for her. It was the least he could do. She wouldn’t meet his eyes as he walked it back to her. He gently grabbed her arms, helping her dress again. It was the least he could do. 

“Dany,” he started. “Dany, look at me,” he implored her, thumb turning her chin to encourage her. Those violet eyes were still glazed, but gods they burned into his.

“It’s Daenerys,” she spat. 

“Daenerys then,” he raised his eyebrows and stroked her jaw in the space right below her ear as he continued. “When I fuck you, I’m not doing it in a dirty men’s restroom after half a bottle of well vodka when I’m not even sure if you’ll still want me in the morning or remember all of it. And baby, I plan on you remembering how you feel. If you’ll still have me after this. You understand?” Her unblinking stare made him want to shiver or shrink, but he had faced scarier sights than a pissed-off Daenerys. At least so far. 

“Daenerys?”

“Dany,” she corrected, swallowing before the edges of her coy smile returned to her face and she thrust her chin in the air. She finally blinked. Thank fuck. “Well, Jon, I guess you better make plans to take me somewhere that’s not the Red fucking Keep.”

Chapter Text

Zaddy: According to the Urban Dictionary, a Zaddy is a noun used for a handsome, fashionable, sexy man with swag. Zaddy can also be used to imply sexual roles. A more dominate position in a relationship - a modernized term for Daddy.

Fashionable? Swag? Arya would have a field day if she heard anyone describe him in those terms. She never missed an opportunity to remind him how uncool and out of touch with her generation he was. He could already imagine the delight on her face, so similar to his, if she found out he was going on a date with a girl her age who called him daddy.

Jon shut his laptop, letting his head fall back against his couch in confusion. His couch still needed breaking in, not quite soft enough in his favorite places yet to be a true comfort. He thought of Dany curled on the couch with him, legs tangled together and hair fanned out over his shoulder. The internet was not helping his desperate search to understand the woman he finally met last night and his thoughts of her felt endless now that he had a name. They’d barely had one conversation, but with the spell from their game broken she felt all-consuming. 

He had spent most of his childhood studying people and then again in the military, learning where he fit. Learning how to be Ned Stark’s son and learning how to measure up as Robb’s brother. Learning to be a cadet and learning to be a commander. It seemed like she had done the same, only choosing to carve out a place for herself in this world instead of attempting to fit its mold the way he had.

Is that what she wanted? Sexual roles? Or was it a joke to her? He thought of the way her petite body had become pliant to his, responsive to his rougher touches that were egged on by beer and adrenaline and shivering at each word whispered. That wasn’t a joke. That was something else entirely.

 He was long since comfortable with his preferences, as natural to him as anything. But he had never played with labels or titles. It was always just Jon. Granted he had never dated or taken home anyone who was young enough to play that role. 

Always one to know what he’s thinking, his 10-month-old puppy, Ghost, groaned in unison with him. Jon popped an eye open to look down at him, and Ghost flopped his head on Jon’s feet with a huff. More wolf than the husky mix that the shelter swore he was, his easy intuition surprised Jon when he first brought the little shock of white fluff with unsteady legs to his new apartment. He hadn’t even been sure he was ready for a dog so soon after moving, still trying to figure out civilian life. Arya had insisted he needed a “fucking friend” he wasn’t related to and soon enough she had helped him pick out Ghost. Reminiscent of the huskies they had grown up with, Arya’s eyes lit up when they passed by his stall. He’d never been able to deny his sister, and she knew this, so he found himself paying the fee and signing the paperwork before he had time to consider the commitment.

His phone buzzed, screen lighting up to see a name with more emojis than he knew his phone had. 

Daddy’s Baby 💖✨🥰👅🍑✨👑💋 1 new message

His eyes bulged, brows raised near his hair line and his heart thudded a little faster before swiping to see what new torture lay ahead. She had snagged his phone from his pocket shortly before their exit from the men’s room the night before to enter her number under what he had assumed would be her name. He had assumed wrong. Should have known better based off the self-satisfied smile she gave him when she returned his phone to him.

Dany: Did you have trouble finding my name in your phone this morning, Jon Snow?

Jon: Your first and last name might have been more helpful.

Dany: Where would the fun in that be?

Jon: Me knowing your last name

Dany: It’s Targaryen. 

Dany: Are you having fun yet?

He huffed out a laugh, and Ghost’s white ears perked up at the noise from his place resting on Jon’s feet. He leaned down to scratch his ears, considering how much fun he’d had so far. Succumbing to his baser desires for a younger, fiery woman, and then leaving himself hard and wanting when his guilt caught up to his alcohol-dulled senses. At least she seemed entertained.

Jon: Not nearly as much as you are, Daenerys Targaryen

Dany: My whole name?? Don’t tell me I’m in trouble already, Daddy

And there it was. He knew she was teasing, but he wondered how far she would let him test the waters of her poorly hidden kink. He absently rubbed Ghost’s belly with his foot as he typed out a response.

Jon: Watch it, little girl.

Dany: Why? Already planning to punish me before our first date?

His mind swam with possibilities, and he welcomed the fuzzy feeling blanketing him as he thought of what he would do if given the chance. Of what she might want him to do. 

Jon: Only if you ask me nicely.

Jon: Brat.

He smirked feeling like he had finally won when he saw the ellipses of her impending response appear and disappear a few times on his screen. When they fully disappeared and stayed that way till his phone screen went black, he wondered if he had pushed too far. Too soon.

He sat up straight when a picture of Dany in the mirror of the men’s room at The Red Keep popped up on his phone as it buzzed with her call. A smirk on her lips and red spots from where he had sucked on her and his beard had rubbed her raw faintly visible in the dim lighting. He stood behind her, face partly hidden behind his curls as he looked down on her, thumb grazing the waistband of her jeans. He didn’t remember taking it, but gods was he glad they had.

“I’m not going to ask,” she greeted as soon as he answered.

“Hello to you too, Dany. How has your day been?”

“Peachy. Nursing a mild hangover and a terrible case of blue bean after someone left me with my tits out in the bathroom last night then started dirty talking me at 11:00 fucking A.M.”

He barked out a laugh. “I could have started earlier if you had entered your actual name in my phone.” She let out a high-pitched, whining groan in response that had Ghost propping his head in Jon’s lap to look for the source of the noise. He chuckled, cherishing the sound and wondering what others lay within her.

“Tell me about this date you’re taking me on, Jon,” she sighed, too out of breath to have truly taken back control of their conversation.

They made plans for dinner the next evening at a local favorite of his. She had moved recently as well for a job opportunity and hadn’t had the chance to explore many places in town yet. He laughed when she asked what time she should meet him at the restaurant. She laughed louder when he told her he’d be picking her up at 6:30 P.M.

“Are you this old school about everything?”

“Generally. You go on many first dates where the guy doesn’t pick you up?”

“Can’t say I ever have. I’m assuming you don’t plan on going dutch?” Ned would come back from the grave to skin him for even considering that.

“You need better company, sweetling.” She scoffed in response, so he continued before he lost the nerve. “And Dany? You will ask. When you’re ready.” 

Punctuality ingrained in him, Jon parked his jeep at the curb outside a quaint cottage a few minutes before 6:30. He had spent extra time after their call detailing the inside of his baby like he was seventeen again and expecting a blowjob in the back at the end of the night. 

His knock at the door was quickly answered by Dany’s golden-eyed friend from The Red Keep the other night. “So Dany really did nail a date with our bar-daddy? I don’t fucking believe it.” She smirked looking him up and down, and he felt his cheeks heat at the scrutiny.

“And flowers? What a lucky bitch. Come in, it’s freezing out there!” 

He followed her in, taking stock of the warm interiors and the smell of spun sugar radiating from the candles strewn throughout the living area. It was small but cozy, with knit blankets and embroidered throw pillows decorating an olive green couch that opened into their kitchen area. Floral paintings and framed photos of Dany and the rest of their Red Keep group adorned the walls. For having been here a short time, she seemed to have made herself at home. 

“I’m Jon, by the way,” he said, switching the flowers he still held to the other hand to offer his right hand to her.

“Margaery,” she blinked slowly, a lopsided smirk still gracing her face, making him feel like he missed a joke somewhere as she shook his hand. 

“Oh good, you’ve met Marge!” Dany rounded a corner looking sinful in a sweater dress and over-the-knee boots, fixing an earring as she walked his way. “About time, since you’ve been buying her drinks at the bar as well the last few months.” She winked his way as he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“These flowers are beautiful, Jon! What are these?” She kissed his cheek as she cradled the arrangement of blues and maroon dotted with baby’s breath. 

“Winter roses. And some other wildflowers, I’m not sure of the name.” He pocketed his hands behind him, unsure of what to do now that the flowers were gone. “My sister owns a florist shop and put them together for me.”

“You’re quite the gentleman.” Her lips turned up in that small, satisfied smile he was coming to adore before she turned away to grab a vase and began arranging them. 

“You’re telling me,” Margaery muttered, appraising him once more. 

“Marge!” Dany squealed, but she didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt. More like proud.

“Loras will be jealous he didn’t think to take this one back to the bathroom first,” she nodded towards Jon, whose brow furrowed even further down his face. 

“I think we’ll be late to our reservation if we don’t leave now, thank you,” Dany muttered as she quickly walked back over to Jon, grabbing his arm and leading him to the door. 

“It was nice to meet you, Zaddy! You better not bring her back early!!” Marge called after them. Jon attempted to return the goodbye but was interrupted by the door slamming as Dany quickly locked it.

She looked up at him sheepishly. “Sorry for that. Not sure where she got that from.”

He chuckled as he guided her into the passenger seat. “I have a feeling I know exactly where she got that from.” He arched his brows at her, and she pursed her lips as he closed the car door.

He sped around to his side, hopping in to get the car warmed up again. The spun sugar from her home mixed with the perfume he had whiffed the other evening filled his senses, bringing additional warmth to his jeep that no summer sun or high-powered heater had ever managed to manufacture. He relaxed into his seat, succumbing to her intoxicating scent and silently hoping it lingered when she was gone. 

“So your sister owns a florist shop? How many siblings do you have?” He blinked sharply as she interrupted his daydream. He glanced over to see her staring wide-eyed and eager.

“Aye, half-siblings.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Suppose you already met Robb, he’s closest to my age. Wife and two little ones at home. Then there’s Sansa, she’s the one that owns the florist shop. Then Arya, who is probably close to your age. I think you’d like her.” His lip quirked up at the thought of the two together. Dany tilted her head for him to continue. “She’s wild. And bold, like you are.”

“Wild and bold? Is that what you think of me?” She murmured, a smirk edging across her face again. 

“What else do you call how we met? Was that meek and mild for you?” 

She blushed easier when she was sober. Gone was the berry flush permanently affixed to her cheeks and chest every time he had seen her, replaced with a dainty pink coloring her face at the reminder of her drunker, bolder self. He wondered if she flushed that way when they were texting the last twenty-four hours. She sat up straighter and he noticed her wriggling into her seat out of the corner of his eye as she asserted herself, “I simply know what I want. And I go after it.”

How nice it must be to know what you want and to be sure that each step will take you there. He tried to remember the last time he felt so self-assured in going after what he wanted. He had always been sure of enlisting. But every promotion and every new location was out of necessity, never ambition. And he had been assured about early retirement being his best option. 

Their conversation was easy from there. He briefly remembered having forgotten to ask her if she had any siblings but was remiss to interrupt her as she prattled on about her day and the trials of living with Marge and Loras.

Jon turned into their destination, whipping them expertly into a parking spot at the edge of the lot. He was quick, at her door helping her out of the car by the time she had unbuckled her seat belt. She raised her eyebrows, but allowed it, huddling into his offered arm before briskly pulling him towards the front door. He tried to ignore the stares when they entered, magnifying his fears about their differences.

It was the second time he had sat inside since coming back home. A quick dinner with Robb and his family, only because Robb knew Jon’s affinity for the place. The children had been fussy, none of their usual tricks working to soothe even good-natured little Ned. Before then it had been years. Scattered dates back in high school and a few family dinners when he was on leave in the early years. The decor remained much the same over time with iron chairs, deep red tablecloths, and faded vines on the wallpaper like any grape had ever grown this far North.

Their hostess seated them in a snug booth towards the back, complete with flickering LED candles for the centerpiece. They were supplied water and warm breadsticks shortly upon sitting down, and Jon didn’t hesitate to tuck in.

“It’s simple,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, looking down towards the menu like he didn’t order the same thing for carry-out every week. “Good mom-and-pop Italian. We can try somewhere different the next time if you like.” He crunched down on a breadstick, reveling in the softness inside.

“Already planning a next time then? So this wasn’t some elaborate scheme to eat me out in the bathroom of this fine establishment.” She leaned across the table conspiratorially towards him, echoing Robb’s description of The Red Keep from the other night. 

He coughed, breadstick drier than it was last week when he shared a few with Ghost on his couch, and eyes searching for anyone who might have overheard. Luckily, their location lent them to seclusion, and he realized their conversations that evening would remain private. She sat back giggling into her water glass. Unfortunately for her, she had played her cards for him already.

He took a drink of his own water, washing down the bread and the salt and the nagging idea she may not want a next time after she had slaked her curiosity. “Daenerys.” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial look of his own, enjoying the quirk of her head. “Don’t tell me you weren’t planning on behaving during our first date.”

She breathed in sharply and he was primed for her response before they were interrupted by their waitress for drink orders. He followed her lead on wine, never having cared to learn the difference between each type, but not wanting to order a beer. She continued to pour over her menu after the waitress was gone, but he closed his quietly, content to watch her study. 

After their wine was served and orders placed, it was his turn to be the bold one. “Why do you call me Daddy? Is it a kinky thing for you?”

Her eyes widened comically before she collected herself. She took a sip of her wine and rested her arms on the table. “And if it is?”

He grinned. “Tell me what you like about it.”

She considered him a moment and looked down, smiled demurely- an act, he knew, but he was patient. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.”

She stuck her chin up at him as she continued, “I like being taken care of. Giving up a little control for a moment with someone willing to fight me for it.”

“I already knew you were a brat, sweetling,” he said pointedly.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, “I want someone to eat me out till I scream when I’m good and spank me when I’m not. Or vice versa.” Even in the dim lighting, he could see her neck turn pink at her admission. She crossed her legs waiting for his response, unblinking stare daring him to disagree.

“I can do that.” He nodded shortly with hooded eyes, while she uncrossed her and re-crossed her legs to the other side. 

She was starting to soften when their waitress brought their food. His lasagna was a welcomed break from their conversation as he considered the best way to discreetly adjust himself. The tension stewed over them with each scrape of a knife against their plates amplifying his desire to box up their orders and continue this elsewhere.

Her fork clinked against her plate as she set it down to study him again. “Did you jerk off after we left The Red Keep the other night?”

He couldn’t help the bewildered look that crossed his features as he rushed to finish chewing. He swallowed, clinking his own fork against his plate. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She sipped her second glass of wine and narrowed her eyes at him. “I would.”

“Yes,” he grumbled, all too aware of the repeat situation he was experiencing. His teeth scraped against his fork as he took a larger bite, finishing off his plate.

“What did you think about?” She grinned smugly, the answer obvious, while he rolled his eyes. “If you tell me, I’ll tell you,” she offered. 

There was nothing he was more interested in knowing, her inner thoughts and fantasies fodder for his own. However, he also enjoyed seeing her squirm. He turned his attention towards the check, placing his card in the book before the waitress had the chance to leave. Meanwhile, Dany rocked in her seat like he had ordered her dessert too. 

Waitress out of earshot, he began. “You. Marked red from me and ripe for me in that bathroom. Except, I didn’t stop. I peeled your jeans down, just enough to get access to you. Licked you, till I had to cover your mouth, so we wouldn’t be found.” Her chest rose and fell a little faster, and he already felt dizzy thinking of it again. “I faced you towards the mirror, so you could see yourself and all the pretty faces I think you’d make when I’m inside you.”

He trailed off as the waitress returned with his card. He smiled tightly at her while Dany took several long pulls from her wine. 

“Any chance you’d want to go practice in the bathroom here?” She ventured. 

He looked up then, breathing out, praying for strength or salvation. Whichever came first.  When his gaze returned forward, he was reminded that only damnation awaited him at her altar.

“You said you just didn’t want it to be a dirty bathroom at The Red Keep. I’m sure the bathrooms here are very clean. The back of your jeep looked even cleaner.”

“You know, you make doing the right thing very hard.” He shook his head slightly and chuckled.

“Who’s to say what the right thing is, Jon?” She took a cool sip of wine, draining the last drop and watching him across her glass, basking in his tempered restraint.

He snorted. “The right thing would have been leaving you well alone at the bar that night.”

“I guess some things are better left a mystery.” Her face fell and she set her wine glass back on the table. His heart sank to see it. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“What did you mean, Jon?” She said dryly.

“Come on, Dany.” He put his napkin down on the table, standing up and extending a hand to her. “Let’s not do this here.” She glared at him and stalked past his offered arm. 

She shrugged off his attempts to open her door when they reached his jeep. He dropped his head, kicking himself for putting his foot in his mouth. Her face was schooled again. Terrifying again.

“Dany, I’d like to apologize. I don’t want to ruin our night, because I said something stupid.” He sat, parked with an arm thrown across the steering wheel. His jeep was a comfort and a constant to him whenever the rest of the world shifted gears, throwing him in a different direction than he had planned.

“Take me home, please.” He huffed, but obliged her, reversing out and heading in the direction of her home. 

After what felt like a safe minute, he tried again, “I hope you know I didn’t mean I regretted meeting you.”

“No, I get it! You wished I had never broken the rules of our stupid game and spoken to you that night when you came in with your brother. But you were fine letting me talk about my kinks with you. Let’s stop while we’re ahead then.” 

“Damn it all, Dany! If you’d let me explain myself.”

“Don’t you ‘Dany’ me!” Her nose scrunched in frustration, and he would have found that adorable if he wasn’t so terrified of fucking this all up before it even began.

“I’m not any good at this, Daenerys.”  A scarred hand tugged at his curls, the only outlet for his frustrations outside of the road. He zipped into the neighboring lane, eyes trained ahead, focusing on his breathing. In and out. In and out. 

“But you decided that. You didn’t give me the chance to decide for myself. I’m an adult. Been one longer than anyone had the right to make me be. I don’t need some misplaced notion from you that you’re protecting me from whatever the fuck you think will happen by me getting close to you.”

“Sorry, I thought I should take some responsibility in making sure you won’t regret hooking up with a guy that could be your fucking dad.” She rolled her eyes, frustrating him further in how it succeeded in making him feel absurd.

“That’s a shitty sorry, Jon.”

“Have you thought about it? Any of it? When I don’t want to get fucked up at the bar every night and you want to enjoy being young? I’m thirty-eight, Daenerys, I may want to start a family soon, I would never assume that you were ready to settle down so young. What about the way people are going to look at us? Hell, what would your parents say if you brought me home?” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he turned down her street. Her arms were crossed and she stared intently out the window

She scoffed. “Already planning for me to take you back home?”

“You deserve someone in the same place as you. I just want you to know that before you feel like you made a mistake with me.” He had parked out front of her home, sighing and turning to face her.

She finally looked his way, anger contained in a hot breath. Somehow he already knew she wouldn’t buy his excuses tonight. “What I deserve is for you to be all into whatever this could be, Jon. Enough of this hot and cold bullshit. We all have our insecurities, but if I’m going to be one of yours this won’t work. Think about that before you call me again.”

The hurt he saw in her eyes burned him and he was quiet as she slipped out the car door. He waited till she had closed her front door again, the silence he always thought he preferred deafening as he drove back to an equally quiet apartment.

Chapter Text

Another call went unanswered, the piercing rings mocking him till the dial tone had the last laugh. No voicemail box, because of course, she wouldn’t have set that up. He had sent an apology text of sorts that night. He still stood by what he said, but there were likely better ways to say it. Sensitivity was not his strong suit as Sansa often reminded him when they were growing up. When his text went unanswered, he attempted a call the next day, the same dial tone taunting him as he tried to salvage the first almost-relationship he’d given a damn about in years. And it had barely even begun, snuffed out by his own insecurities- she was right about that- before the flames could flicker any higher.

His head thumped against the back of his couch. The silence of his apartment consumed him and allowed his thoughts to overwhelm him until a snort or a huff from Ghost brought him back to his reality. The irony of being in the same place he was two days ago, slumped into the same gray couch and confused about the same woman was not lost on him. The background noise of his TV was unhelpful to the cause, blathering on with laugh tracks that filtered listlessly through his consciousness. Typically, he would go to The Red Keep to numb the warring ideas of who he should be and what he should be doing, but she might be there. And she did not want to see him.

So maybe it was time for him to find a new career, instead of the odd jobs supporting his pension check. Steady enough and mindless enough, he was comfortable. He didn’t live outlandishly. Had saved much of what he’d earned in service. But at least a regular job would fill his day and occupy his spiraling mind, so he didn’t spend his free time wondering about whom he was supposed to be now. But what does a man do after almost twenty years in the Night’s Watch? A desk job? Arya could be right that he needs to find a hobby. Ghost was her idea, and he was thankful for the pup’s diligent presence by his side. But what kind of hobby does he pick up now? Fucking painting at the VA?

He stood and stretched, muscles aching from his earlier workout. Another good distraction. Ghost pranced in a circle by the door, knowing Jon was prepping to take him on their afternoon walk. Afternoon Run, if Ghost had a choice in it. His phone buzzed in his pocket on their way out the door, and Jon felt every bit like the same teenage boy who had cleaned out his back seat before their date as he fumbled to check his messages while locking the door.

Robb: Don’t forget. Family dinner tonight at 6.

He had forgotten. However, it was as good a distraction as he would likely get tonight. Afterward, he would have to set about finding a new bar. 

Jon: Is that today?

Robb: See you at 6, Jon.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, letting Ghost set the pace at a quick trot and the monotony of their path clear his mind. 

6:21 PM. The clock on his jeep confirmed his minimal act of rebellion making Jon nostalgic for every other time he had parked this car outside of this house, twenty minutes later than he should have. His dad would greet him, frowning, in the living room or turn a light on by one of the windows, so Jon— and usually Robb too— would know they were caught before they made it to the door. Half the time they would stumble in punctuated with silent belly laughs and air punches when they made it up the stairs without incident. Jon had a feeling their dad knew anyhow. 

The front door flew open as he made his way up the drive. “Uncle Jon!!” A mop of red curls came barreling towards him, little arms tackling his legs. His face already looked sticky and Jon could tell from the dirt on the knees of his pants that he had already been roughing it outside.

“Ned! You know you’re not supposed to use the front door without an adult!” Jeyne admonished, breathless at the door.

Little Ned’s blue eyes widened with guilt as Jon scooped him up in his arms, carrying him across the threshold. He bit his cheek to keep from laughing, knowing that ever since Ned had learned to open a door, he’d always bolted to greet Jon before he could make it up the walkway. A very sad, “Sorry, Mama,” was mumbled into his collar, as Jon reached over to kiss Jeyne on the cheek.

“Surely you’ll forgive him when his favorite uncle was at the door?” He bounced Ned once in his arms, wondering if he’d always been that heavy. Jeyne’s lip twitched upwards at the sight of their twin pouts.

“Aye, as long as it’s the last time Mama has to remind you,” Robb interrupted, giving his son a poke in the ribs, any sternness lost from the wide grin on his face. He hugged Jon’s free side, clapping him on the back as he always did before stepping back to wind an arm around Jeyne. “Glad you made it, brother.”

“Wouldn’t miss a chance to see little man here.” Robb knew damn well he hadn’t given Jon a choice, but he grinned even wider anyways. Ned giggled as Jon tickled him before setting him down, quieting his groan as he stood back up. Ned paid no mind, taking off down the hall and announcing Jon’s arrival to everyone else.

“Whiskey?” Robb’s brows went up in question while Jeyne’s eyes narrowed.

“Whiskey.” Jon nodded and followed his brother down the hall. Family photos of them from over the years adorned the walls, the oldest marked by their worn frames and faded colors with the last of the photos still holding their father in them from Robb’s wedding then Sansa’s. 

The kitchen was crowded with the rest of the family and the aromatics of herbs, roasted meat, and fresh bread enveloped his senses. Sansa passed baby Lysa back to Jeyne before sweeping Jon into a side hug, her pregnant belly preventing her usual, squeezing embrace. He shook hands with her husband, Harry, before stepping toward his stepmother.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jon. We were trying to keep the food warm waiting on you.” Catelyn put on oven mitts to busy herself with moving ceramic dishes of food toward their dining room. “Did traffic hold you up?”

Traffic? In Winterfell? “I did run into some traffic on the way actually.” He moved to grab his whiskey glass from Robb’s proffered hands, gratefully sipping and letting the burn warm his throat as it slid down. 

“I was worried that old Jeep finally broke down on you,” Sansa teased.

“She’s a classic.” Jon frowned. He glanced around as Sansa rolled her eyes, moving past him to set the table with Robb. “Arya outside?” 

“Yes, will you fetch her, Jon?” Catelyn called as she bustled by with a stack of plates, Little Ned under her feet.

Jon slipped outside, glass in hand to see his sister leaning against the side of the house smoking a cigarette. Cat had kept the backyard well maintained, or at least was paying someone to do so. The trees had been freshly trimmed, and he could see the small piles of golden leaves in the yard that had indentations from where Ned had likely been playing. “Cat’s going to be pissed you smell like an ashtray at her dinner table.”

Arya beamed back at him anyways, all teeth. “Since when do you care if my mother is pissed?”

“I care when she’s pissed at you,” he said, plucking the cigarette out of her fingers to take a drag. “Besides, it’s not really rebellious to smoke these once you’re an adult. You’re just killing yourself.”

“You should know, you’re the one who gave me my first one.” He winced to remember the smoke they shared sitting on the swing set in this backyard after the funeral. Deep belly laughs between him and Robb when Arya coughed around it.

He inhaled deeply one more time around it. Exhaled a slow puff of smoke, savoring the feeling. “I quit.”

“Me too.” She snatched her cigarette back from him, taking one more drag before stomping it out with her boot. “Dinner ready?”

Jon nodded, hugging her to his side with an arm around her shoulders, leading her to the door. 

They were all seated at the table waiting on them. Catelyn at her end of the table, flanked by Sansa and Robb. Little Ned was perched between Robb and Jeyne, with baby Lysa in a high chair on the other side of Jeyne. Arya slid into the seat on the other side of Harry, leaving the only chair they all preferred empty. It was easier to leave it that way before Ned had grown enough to warrant his own seat at the table. Jon always figured Robb would take his place.

Without another option, he took his father’s chair. It’s only a chair. The heavy, wooden legs scraped against the floor catching Catelyn’s attention. She stared at him for a half second too long before pursing her lips and moving to pass the roast around the table. He considered every time he was told growing up that he looked just like his father and how proud he’d feel in those moments.

Jeyne regaled them with stories of Lysa’s progress with walking and Ned’s adventures on his new bike. Ned smiled, his dimpled red cheeks already speckled with gravy, at their praise. Sansa rubbed her belly, discussing her upcoming shower with Jeyne and Catelyn. 

“How did that girl of yours like the flowers you picked up the other day?” The chatter around the table slowed at Sansa’s question. She smiled, hopeful, at Jon while he stumbled over how to best address it.

“Uncle Jon, you get to have a girlfriend?” Ned’s nose crinkled while Robb reached over to wipe some of the mashed potatoes off of him. 

“You can have one when you’re almost forty too, bud,” Robb said cutting his eyes in question to Jon.

“Tell us about this girlfriend, Uncle Jon,” Arya’s tight smile did not fool him. “That you only told Sansa about?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “He came to me to buy flowers. Winter roses. That’s all. I just assumed it was for a girl.” 

The whispering cold past The Wall seemed so appealing. “Not my girlfriend. Just a date,” he muttered reaching for his whiskey. “She thought the flowers were beautiful, Sansa. Thank you.”

He raked a hand through his hair hoping for the end of the conversation, but knew from Arya’s kick under the table that he would hear more about this later.

“She must have been special if you went to Sansa for flowers.” Catelyn smiled at him. A rare sight that had even Harry raising his brows. He hadn’t introduced many women to Cat. He’d met most while he was serving and few chose to make the trek back to Winterfell with him for the odd holiday.

“Daddy,” Ned whispered or tried to. Robb chewed, nodding his head in encouragement. “Is Mama special?”

Robb grinned Jeyne’s way, canines showing. “Of course, she is, buddy.”

Little brows furrowed as he sipped his juice. “Then why don’t we buy her flowers?” Robb groaned reminding Ned of every occasion that they had bought Jeyne flowers. The table snickered while Jon was thankful for his nephew taking the attention away from him.

“It would be good for you to think about settling down. Any luck with your job search, Jon?”

“No Ma’am,” he swallowed, eyes crinkling. “Still just picking up the odd handyman or security gig.”

Catelyn patted her mouth politely with her napkin. The good, heavy cloth kind. “You know, Jon, I was speaking with Aliser today at the market.” A curl strayed in front of his face as he nodded, taking another bite of meat and potatoes. He was familiar with the man. They’d served together for a time.

His phone buzzed where it lay on the table. Daddy’s Baby 💖✨🥰👅🍑✨👑💋 1 new message. His breath felt hot as he slipped his phone off the table into his lap. Arya’s lip curled in disgust, looking back at his phone and back at him.

“He said they’re looking to hire more people onto the police force. I told him you would be a perfect fit, what with your military service. He said he knew you though? I have his card in my purse; I can give it to you after dinner.”

“Thank you. I’ll have to look into it.” Had he not served enough? Given and protected enough? He rubbed the heel of his hand over the spot above his hip bone where more memories lay, massaging out the phantom feeling of wounds long since healed. He caught Arya staring at him again, frowning at his gesture. She turned her scowl toward her mother, uncharacteristically choosing to stay silent on the matter this evening.

The conversation turned back toward floral arrangements for Sansa’s shower and Robb’s remodel of his backyard and how Jeyne was liking going back to work. Jon was able to fade into the background as they discussed the monotony of their day-to-day, terrifying yet appealing to him all at once. Was settling down its own death or would he find new life in picking out new fence pickets and floral arrangements that would both deteriorate over time?

He glanced down when his phone vibrated a second time from where it now sat on his lap. Her silly name with its silly emojis flashed again and he was greeted by a simple, “Hi Daddy,” followed by a second text asking him where he is that felt anything but silly. The back of his neck grew warm thinking about the way her lips would smile around the word ‘Daddy’ as he typed out his reply.

Dany: I’m going to the Red Keep soon. Meet me?

Jon: Let me see when I can get out of family dinner. I’ll let you know.

Dany: Don’t keep me waiting, Daddy.

Her next message came quickly after. He reached for his drink as he opened the picture she sent of herself. He hardly tasted his liquor looking at another mirror picture, her hair was curled with a pout on her lips, and a silky robe hinted at what lay underneath. 

A sharp pain on the top of his foot brought his attention back to the table where the rest of the family were beginning to clear their place settings, whirling past him as Ned chanted for dessert accompanied by Lysa’s staccato claps. Arya removed her booted foot from the top of his and pointed her thumb over her shoulder gesturing for him to follow her outside.

They weaved through the rest of their family in the kitchen, an elaborate dance of dirty plates and boxing up leftovers and ice cream running down Ned’s chin. Jon topped off his and Arya’s glasses on the way out, sensing the need for the type of courage best found in a bottle.

He took a seat on their swing set. Different than the one he and Robb had played on as boys, but the same set he had pushed Arya on when she was small and the same set that she had apparently shared her first smoke with him. She kicked her legs, stirring up some of the dirt beneath, and stared out past the oak tree towards the fence.

“Were you sexting at the dinner table? Actually, better question. Is that the same girl you went to Sansa for to get flowers?”

He nodded and blew out a hot breath of air, visible in the evening chill, and looked ahead at the same point on their favorite oak. 

“In Dad’s chair? You were sexting in Dad’s chair?” Her nose crinkled at him as he turned to defend himself.

“No, damn it. Arya, I was not sexting Dany at the dinner table.” Worry lines creased between his brows, the topic foreign to discuss with his little sister. “And stop talking about sexting. You’re still my baby sister.”

“And you’re my big brother who I found out likes to be called ‘Daddy’— against my will, mind you!”

It was news for me too.

The patio door creaked as it opened and shut again, Robb strolling out to join them. He leaned against the tree, cheeks dimpling as he smiled at his brother. “You going to tell me about that date?”

“Rather not.” He opened his phone to look at the picture she had sent him again. Her collarbone inviting and creamy thighs he yearned to grab. Has she forgiven me? 

Jon: You could use a lesson in patience.

Dany: The fun kind?

His hand tensed around his phone, turning the screen off. He could see it. Her legs tremoring around his ears as he came up for breath every time she was on the edge of relief. Patience. He put his phone away feeling Arya shift to peek over his shoulder.

“He’d rather just sext her all night,” she grumbled, letting her swing rock her back into place. 

Robb’s brows raised while he nodded slowly. “Must have been a good date then.”

“It was. And it wasn’t.” He told them the short of it. That her name was Danaerys. She was beautiful and brave and definitely too young to like someone like him, but she didn’t seem to care. Robb raised a brow to Jon’s subtle nod in affirmation. The one and the same. That he thought he had done everything right— a perfect gentleman— till he stuck his foot in his mouth with a smart-ass remark. Robb snorted back a laugh, hardly his first from watching Jon’s social gaffes.

“What did you even talk about on a first date that would make her so pissed?” He blinked in recognition that she had asked him a question, but after racking his brain, there were very few details of their conversations he would share with his sister.

She frowned. “You really are a dirty old man.”

“He’s not that old, Arya,” Robb said with a roll of his eyes.

“So you admit he’s dirty,” she said, pointing a finger toward Robb. She turned her attention to Jon, who took a stronger sip from his glass. “Were you or were you not being a dirty old man when you pissed her off?” 

He huffed with a sideways glare thrown her way before continuing, “I told her that she should think through the consequences of being with someone like me, and she told me she didn’t want to be ‘my insecurity’.”

“Just because she’s younger than you doesn’t mean she needs her hand held in knowing what she does or doesn’t want. You’re lucky she’s texting you back now.” Arya looked incredulous at his supposed stupidity.

“Aye, but she should think about the consequences. That’s why I told you to the first night you met,” Robb reminded him. If only that had been the first night, Robb.

“You met her?” Arya’s hair whipped around her shoulders as she turned to look at Robb, jealousy apparent. 

Robb nodded, sipping at his glass before giving it a swirl. “Briefly. At the Red Keep with Jon last weekend. Seemed like she would give this one a run for his money.” His lip quirked as he studied the amber liquid sloshing around the inside of his glass. 

“Jon,” she leveled her gaze at him. “I want to meet her.” He knew that look well. He’d had a difficult time telling it no since she was a toddler.

“Yeah, Jon, set up a play date for the girls.”

“Fuck off, Robb.” A well-practiced phrase that rolled off of Robb and was hard to distinguish who spoke it first, Jon or Arya.

His phone buzzed again. A video of her taking a shot at the bar of The Red Keep, familiar red and blue lights washing over her face as she threw her head back. Her tongue traced her lips gathering a leftover drop as the video ended. Don’t make me take these alone.

“She’s at The Red Keep?” Arya was back over his shoulder, steps quieter this time around. Or maybe he was too distracted to notice her movement. 10 months ago this would have never happened. Hell, possibly not two weeks ago. “Let’s go!”

“I could get a drink.” Robb eyed his empty glass. “Might need to do some negotiations with Jeyne.”

“Don’t remember inviting either of you,” Jon muttered, typing out a reply. Robb and Arya ignored him in favor of having their own negotiations about who would drive and who was best suited to make sure Jon didn’t say anything to piss her off again.

Jon: I’ll head your way soon, sweetling. Be a good girl for me till I get there?

Dany: Not a chance.

He expected nothing less.

Chapter Text

He should have known bringing Arya to the Red fucking Keep would give him more of a headache than tomorrow’s hangover. His routine with Robb was practiced, perfected from when they started to when they stopped and what they drank and in what order, but Arya was a wildcard. Energetic and encouraging and lawless, she was a force. She was almost as much of a wildcard as Daenerys.

Daenerys whose texts had left him in a state from the first ‘Hi Daddy’ he received at the dinner table to each following message, progressively more provocative until he finally confirmed he was on his way. And if he thought she took pleasure in his torment before they were introduced, it was nothing in comparison to the satisfaction she seemed to gain from every tempting text. What she was wearing under her clothes and how she wanted to dirty up the backseat of his jeep with him purely because he kept it so meticulously clean and how she imagined he would make her his good girl. Maybe this was his fault for giving her the time to test his patience. She was creative, there was no doubt, and who would fault him for encouraging her creativity?

It was his fault for not firmly discouraging Arya and Robb from wanting to join him. They continued to argue about who would drive before Jon interrupted them to agree with Robb. Robb would drive and Arya would leave her car here. She could sleep it off in her old room or take an Uber back to her own place. Jon or Robb could take her back to her car in the morning if she needed. She griped about having fewer rules when she went out by her damn self, but Jon was too preoccupied with a feisty blonde and his raging boner to entertain her complaints.

Then there were Robb’s negotiations with Jeyne. He did not realize that her true calling was to be a damned attorney. Every concession Robb would need to make was itemized, and Jon was starting to wonder if they would be writing up a contract before he ever made it out the door. He hid in the kitchen discreetly adjusting his jeans after reading Dany’s latest text while Arya slammed a shot of something clear next to him.

Bewildered, he asked, “When did Catelyn start keeping tequila in the house?”

Arya smacked her lips with a hoarse exhale. “Vodka. Want some?”

He shook his head, still wondering when Catelyn started keeping vodka around. 

“She says she keeps some on hand for cleaning,” Arya eyed where her mother sat in the living room, bouncing Lysa, “but I know she likes making martinis with it.”

“And you like… pre-gaming with it?” He was glad he had not been the one who volunteered into taking her home.

“Your girl is already there and she’s had a head start. I’m not showing up sober.”

She downed another before he managed to wrangle her and Robb out of the house. Once Robb and Jeyne came to agreeable terms for her next two baby-free nights, there was the procession of goodbyes and Jon’s half-hearted promises to not stay away so long next time. He exhaled, closing his eyes and dropping his shoulders when he made it to his jeep. Quiet. He sent Dany a text letting her know he was on his way to her and pulled out behind Robb to follow his lead to the Red Keep.

“Jon!” He heard his name squealed as he walked in the door of the Red Keep but didn’t see the source till she was in his arms. “You’re here,” she smiled looking up at him, arms wrapped firmly around his back. He reveled in the scent of her warm perfume. A hint of spice he’d missed since it had faded from his passenger seat.

“Told you I would be.” His lip quirked up at her infectious grin. He let his hand linger around her waist as he turned to introduce her to Arya. “Dany, you remember Robb and this is my sister.”

“Arya.” She was unsubtle with the way she sized up Dany, who to her credit stood as tall as her stature would allow. He’d anticipated they would be fast friends, both so blunt and headstrong. Now with the two face-to-face, he considered how those same qualities might clash, warring energies exploding off each other as they collide.

“Daenerys.” She shook her hand firmly, their shared stare unwavering till Arya cracked a lopsided smile. He exhaled looking between the two.

“I’m in the giving mood, Daenerys. Want a drink? They’re on us!”

Dany swirled her empty drink and confirmed her order with Arya, who shoved Robb along with her to the bar surrounded by the Sunday regulars. Sparse, gruff, and tired, it wasn’t the usual crowd Jon usually saw Dany thriving in. 

“You know she only took Robb, so she can make sure all her drinks go under ‘Stark’ right?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. 

She smirked watching Arya and Robb bicker on their way to the bar, most likely about whose card they would be using. “I like her already.”

He lead her to an open two-top bar table, pulling out the stool, so she could sit. He stood to her side, leaving the other seat open for Arya.

“I’m so happy you came to meet me,” she said softly once Robb and Arya were out of earshot at the bar placing their order. Not coming to her when she called was never an option. He would have skipped the whole damned dinner if it meant more time with her.

“I’m surprised you texted. I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me again.” He tucked his hands in his pockets.

She glanced away from him before meeting his eyes again. “I’m sorry” her nose scrunched with a hint of a grimace. 

“You’re sorry? I should have never brought those things up on our first date.” The fact that she called him Daddy and it made his dick harder than it had any right to. His reservations about her age and their future and if she would still be interested in a few weeks when the novelty of crinkled eyes and a few grays in his beard wore off. What he would have done to her given a clearer head and a little more time in that bathroom last week.

“I might have overreacted. Missy made me do some soul-searching afterward,” she explained. “She was a psych minor. But I did think about what you said.” 

He nodded, schooling his face to remain neutral. Despite her having invited him to meet her and their texts that followed, he braced himself for a reality check. One date and a heated makeout session in a bar bathroom didn’t mean she was thinking about a future with him. Sixteen years ago, he had only ever lived in the present, why should he expect differently of her? “And?”

“And I don’t give a shit.” She smiled, a genuine one, that reached her eyes before it faded. “Besides, I don’t have much family to take you home to. Just a brother, traveling somewhere in Essos that we’d have to hunt down.” His brow furrowed, hardly soothed by her revelation. “And don’t expect me to apologize so easily next time. I’m usually much more stubborn than this.” Next time.

“As long as you don’t hold me to the same. I’m usually much more hard-headed than this too.” His eyes crinkled at the way she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Maybe we’ll bring out the best in each other!” Whether it was her youthful optimism or the alcohol she’d drank before he arrived that encouraged her positivity, he smiled and hoped she was right.

He scanned the rest of the bar, spotting the other regulars but none that usually accompanied her. “Where is Missy?”

Dany pursed her lips, “She had to go home.”

“Marge? Or her brother?”

“Are you missing your other bar babies? I know they’ve missed their Zaddy too.” She smirked, but it didn’t reach her unfocused eyes that were searching anywhere but him.

“I’ve never seen you here alone.”

“Well, I’m not. You and your siblings are here.”

“When did Missy leave?”

“Someone’s inquisitive tonight.” She slurped at the bottom of her drink where the ice had melted leaving behind a pink-tinged water. It bothered him that she deflected his questions every time he tried to scratch past the surface. He hated the idea of her drinking alone and knew there must have been a reason she was hiding underneath the perfect curls and the teasing smirks. 

Robb and Arya returned with their drinks and a selection of tequila shots sloshing over the rim as she set them on the table. Arya and Dany lined them up for the group, debating who deserved the largest and who deserved the smallest, despite them all looking even in Jon’s eyes. 

“I’d like to make a toast! In honor of Dany and Jon and what will hopefully be a better second date than the first.” Arya raised her glass in the air waiting on the rest to join her. It seemed her earlier shots of vodka were starting to take effect. “Here’s to honor.” She paused long enough for Robb’s snickering to cause Dany’s brows to furrow. 

“Arya!“ Jon began before she interrupted him with her next line.

“Cause if you can’t come in her, come on her!” She threw back her shot, her sputtering coughs not stopping the gleeful smile that spread across her face. 

Jon was the only one who hadn’t taken his shot yet, choosing to apologize to Dany while holding out a lime wedge for her to suck while he glared at Arya. The edges of her mouth puckered against his fingertips and the scent of citrus cut through the lingering fumes of tequila. He dropped the wedge back in her glass, preparing to ban Arya from any future toasts and shots altogether when Dany raised his glass to his mouth. 

“Come on, don’t be so grouchy. It’s for honor.” Her eyes danced as he gave one more begrudging look towards Arya before tilting his head back for her. He met her violet gaze through a half-lidded stare, his Adam's apple bobbing as the liquor burned down his throat. Her soft hand pressed a lime wedge against his lips and eased the harsh taste of tequila and his irritation against his sister and the dumb toasts and chants he and Robb had taught her after one too many whiskeys. 

They relaxed through their next round of drinks, lulling Jon into a false sense of security. Sipping and laughing at Robb’s tales of his children and Arya’s impressions of the rest of their family members, Dany looked so happy to be included. He admired the eager way she befriended his siblings, easily meshing into their conversations about people she had never met like she had always been a part of their family. 

The music changed to something fast-paced and Arya’s head perked up. “I love this song! Let’s go dance!” She hopped off her stool and grabbed Dany’s hand with her free one, their drinks raised high as they chased each other to the dance floor. It was empty, save the two of them, but they didn’t seem to care, already swaying and bouncing along, screaming lyrics to each other he wasn’t sure he had ever heard before.

“You’re serious aren’t you?”

Jon turned to Robb briefly, sipping his beer and returning his gaze to Dany. “It’s been a week.”

“How many dates have you been on since you moved home?” Please shut the fuck up, Robb.

Jon tore his eyes from Dany’s shimmying form to cut a look toward his brother, favoring silence and another sip of his beer over a response. He damn well knew the answer.

Robb squinted, studying him, “Actually, how many girls have you bought flowers from Sansa for?”

“Sansa’s shop doesn’t deliver North of the Wall. Or to Yunkai. Do you think she might start a service shipping to the middle of the Dothraki Sea?” 

Robb’s grin turned cocky, “I knew you had more girls abroad than you let on.”

“Fuck off, Robb.”

“I mean last week I told you I thought it was a bad idea, but here you are- buying flowers, sexting, introducing your favorite siblings to a girl Arya’s age who hangs on to every word you say like you’re the damn high Septon.”

“Did you spend half an hour negotiating terms with your wife all so you could interrogate me?”

“And get a few beers.” He shrugged, gulping down the last of his bottle. “Ready for another?” 

Jon nodded his head, leaving the privacy of their table to follow Robb to the bar. The bar that Arya was helping Dany crawl on top of. Sticky, slippery, epoxied, and old, the girls took to their new dance floor immediately. Waving their arms and shaking their ass, they were spurred on by the whoops and hollers of the regulars surrounding the bar. Jon was ready for another beer.

He waved two fingers to flag a bartender his way. Tormund had worked behind the bar nearly as long as Jon had been frequenting it. The oversized redhead grabbed two bottles before making his way to them. He huffed, cutting his eye towards the other side of the bar where Dany and Arya were still dancing, popping open the tops to slide their way.

“Those two with you tonight?” He jerked his head towards the girls and crossed bulky arms over his chest.

Robb grunted non-committedly. “Not right now.”

“I know you’ve been picking up that little blonde’s tab for 3 months now, Snow. I told her before if she doesn’t stay off my damned bar, she’s getting banned. Are you getting her down from there or am I? Because she’s out if I have to chase her off that bar again.” Jon was sure Robb hadn’t missed the ‘3 months’ comment but refused to look his way to check.

“I’ve got her, Tor. Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he grumbled, already moving to get his ‘little blonde’ down from her stage.

The little blonde in question waved and blew him a kiss when she caught his eye, never missing a beat in the music. Arya was leaning down, grabbing a glass from an unknown, proffered hand to press the candy pink shot to her lips. 

“Jon! Will you pass me my drink?” She pointed a toe to her abandoned vodka cranberry.

“We’ll get you a new one. Here.” He extended both arms toward her, but she frowned down at him, stilling her motions.

“Why?” Her nose scrunched. 

Arya took a step back towards Dany, narrowly missing kicking her vodka cranberry off the bar. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Jon.”

He placed his hands on the bar on either side of Dany’s feet. “I’d never end one of your little shows early. But Tormund would, and he said you either get down with me or he gets you off the bar and you’re banned after that.”

“He always says that,” she scoffed, but reached down to place her hands on his shoulders anyways. He grabbed her by the hips, lifting her down towards the ground. She was warm to the touch, her face slightly flushed, so close he could smell the tequila on her.

“Aye. But I don’t want to find out if he means it tonight.” Her hand strayed to play with a curl at the base of his neck, tugging and coiling it around her finger. Hazy eyes lazily raised to his, focusing first on his chest, his neck, then finally meeting his own. 

She raised to her toes to get closer to his face, using his shoulders for stability. “Whatever you say…” She tilted her head back in a smirk, leaving her next word unsaid. Daddy. Fuck.

He wasn’t sure which one of them had the idea for the blowjob shot. He hadn’t seen anyone order one in at least ten years. Didn’t even realize the Red Keep would have Reddi Whip on hand and prayed his sister and Dany weren’t slurping down expired whipped cream. She took her time preparing to take her shot. Hair pulled off her shoulders and hands held innocently behind her back, her tongue caressed every stream of whipped cream leading to her glass first, licking the excess off the corners of her mouth. His back straightened where he sat on his favorite bar stool and he puffed his chest in vain, eyes scanning the bar for any wandering viewers. She bent over the bar and looked up at him through her lashes before hollowing her cheeks around the shot glass and tossing her head back quickly to down the mix of creamy brown liqueur. She plucked the empty glass from her mouth triumphantly and shot him her self-satisfied grin complimented by the drop of liqueur running down her chin.

“Missed some.” He reached out and swiped the drop off her chin with his thumb dragging it up to the corner of her pink lips where the liquid had originally dribbled down. Her tongue darted out, licking any remnants from his thumb.

Thumb frozen at the corner of her lips, he was torn between wanting her tongue to wrap around and suck his other fingers into her warm mouth and the desire to taste the residual flavors of Irish cream and amaretto straight from her lips.

In present company, he was not afforded the luxury of either choice. “You next, Jon!” Arya flashed a smile their way, whipped cream dotting her nose as evidence of her completed shot.

“No.”

“C’mon, Daddy,” Dany whispered in his ear, rising on her toes to get closer with the sweet scent of amaretto on her breath. “I want to see you take a blowjob…shot.” She giggled at his groan leaning back against the bar. “I’ll even let you lick the whipped cream off-

“Absolutely not,” he growled. He doubted his willpower to stop if he started licking whipped cream from anywhere on her. He refused to scar his siblings or get banned from his favorite bar due to his lack of self-control.

Dany turned to Robb, who was swiping whipped cream off Arya’s nose with half the gentleness he usually afforded his children. “Has he always been such a grumpy Daddy?” 

Jon rolled his eyes, grabbing her wrist to pull her between his legs, one hand resting on her hip.  Robb barked out a laugh while Arya mimed gagging next to him. “I’m not sure about that, but he has been a brooding bastard for as long as I can remember.” He winked their way and Jon scoffed. 

“Aye, we couldn’t all be preppy like you, Mr. Quarterback.”

“I can’t stand when they get into their high school hero shit. Want to see what’s next on the music player?” Arya waved her to follow, but Jon’s hand on her hip stilled her.

“No dancing on the bar this time,” he murmured in her ear, sending her off with a playful smack to her ass. She bit her lip when she looked back at him, trailing after Arya in the direction of the music player.

He lifted his beer where the faded lights would hit the amber glass and rocked it to see what was left. Half-full. Half-empty. A reflection of an evening spent wrangling his sister and his- his date? His girl?

“Have you thought at all about what my mom said tonight?”

“Yes, Lysa has been doing a great job of eating solid foods lately. Happy for you, man.”

Robb leaned an elbow on the bar, tapping the sides of his water cup. “The police force could be a good fit for you. You’d do well with your experience.”

Jon set his beer down. “Fuck Thorne.”

“That’s it, huh? ‘Fuck Thorne’ and fuck pursuing something you’ve already been doing half your life?”

“Yup, that’s it.” Fuck Thorne. He took a good pull from his beer. One-fourth of the way full. Three- Fourths empty.

“Anything else you thinking about doing with your free time?”

“Might take a painting class next week at the VA.”

“Now I know you’re full of shit.”

“I could be a great talent, Robb. You should encourage me in my artistic pursuits.”

The girls returned, the trilling sounds of their music choice echoing across the bar. Dany draped her arms around Jon’s shoulders, heavy against him.

“Jon,” she hiccupped. “It’s not fair that you didn’t take that last shot with us. We’re ordering you another!”

“I’m good, baby. Do you want me to get you some water?”

Her head tilted against his shoulder, nose scrunched up at him. “Not unless there’s tequila in it too.”

“That’s not going to help the hangover you have coming your way.” He brushed a stray curl behind her ear and her eyes cleared, straightening herself away from him. 

“I’ll pay for my sins tomorrow, Jon.” A strange moment of clarity, her eyes cleared and her trademark smirk disappeared for half a moment before it was back. “But first, we are getting more shots! Tormund!” 

She waved excitedly at the gargantuan man while Arya chanted a chorus of, “Tor! Tor! Tor!” until he arrived at their end of the bar.

“Tormund!” She squealed, slapping her hands down on the bar, grinning like the Cheshire Cat the whole while. “We’re in need of more shots.”

“We are not,” Jon clarified dryly. 

Arya held up a hand towards him. “We are. Pickle shots, please.”

“Tormund-y, have you met my new Zaddy yet?” She grabbed Jon’s free hand, giggles threatening to pour out of her mouth. He inhaled deeply, hand tangling through his curls and attempting to ignore the sounds of Robb’s snickers and Arya’s gagging. He frowned at Dany, who pursed her lips and shifted her gaze back to Tormund.

Tor looked at the group with squinted eyes and a raised red brow. “That what you two have going on then?”

“Yes, now four pickle shots!”

“Please close us out,” Jon groaned, sending a warning glance to Dany.

“You have that look on your face,” she frowned.

“What look?” Robb seemed to be enjoying their show more than Arya.

“That look like he wants to put me over his knee and spank me.” Jon’s face flushed and he swallowed the last of his beer, not nearly cold enough after having sat abandoned.

Arya’s face was pale when she turned to Tormund, whose bellowing cackles filled the bar as he lumbered off. “Make mine a double,” she called.

“Aye,” Robb laughed, “He tell you he was going to do that?” He held his stomach, laughter barely contained.

The lights in the Red Keep turned on, bright and disarming, revealing stained walls and scuffed floors to the remaining inhabitants, no longer safe from the autumn chill to be found outside at closing time. Tormund returned with their checks and what looked to be four pickle shots. Jon fixed his frustration on his massive friend, who grinned merrily as he set the glasses in front of them and bellowed, “On the house!” 

The girls greedily grabbed their drinks, clinking glasses and tangling their arms together to serve themselves. Robb pushed his glass to Tormund, flashing him a grateful smile, white and toothy. “All you, I’m driving.”

Tor glanced at the girls and leaned in close to Robb and Jon. “Just juice in these ones,” he whispered conspiratorially, standing back with a wink. Their faces puckered at the sour taste of pickle juice, but Jon would take whatever hydration he could get. He was tired and it was late.

He stepped closer to the girls, handing Dany the coat he had been babysitting for her. “You need a ride home?” He wasn’t sure he trusted an Uber with her and her driving was out of the question.

“I don’t want to go home.” She frowned. “Are you sure we can’t get another shot?” 

“Dany, we’re heading home. Whether you walk out of here on two feet or I carry you out, the bar is closing.” He ran a salty hand through his hair, feeling it stick up in odd places. 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” She wiggled her brows, making her preference known. He wished he had never made the offer, because he knew his preference now too. Any excuse to have her body close to his.

“We’ll leave you two to figure that out,” Robb slipped between them to give Dany a hug. “Dany, you’re welcome to family dinner any time.”

“Really?” Dany glanced between the three siblings, eyes hazy and hopeful.

“Don’t subject her to that, Robb.” Jon shook his head, a stray curl falling on his face.

“More about subjecting you, brother,” he jested, clapping a hand to his back in parting. 

Arya bear-hugged Dany. “Dinner would be so much more fun with you! If Jon doesn’t bring you next time, I will.” She stepped to Jon, narrowing her eyes, and poked him in the chest. “You. No more pervy stuff with my new friend. She’s a queen.”

Jon snorted, “Aye, I’ll treat her like the princess she is, don’t you worry.” He smiled at Dany over Arya’s shoulder, which she returned.

“Queen!” Arya hollered over her shoulder, struggling to get her jacket on as she walked out the door with Robb. Their exit was followed by more bar-goers allowing a brisk chill to bite at those left inside.

A petite hand ran up and down his arm, warming him through his henley. He’d left his coat in his car, but he always embraced the cold when the first signs of winter began to show. Compared to where he’d spent the last few years, this type of cold was inviting and comforting, full of memories of home.

“One more dance?” The bar was quiet save for the clinking of glasses and Tormund’s footsteps as he cleaned and prepared to leave for the night. She looked so vulnerable, lips soft and pleading, like she was truly afraid to go home.

“Not in here!” Tormund called from down the bar. “We’re closed!”

Jon shrugged apologetically, kissed her temple, and grabbed her hand to lead her out.

“Jon, wait— Her sentence was cut off by his quick turn towards her, bending down to drive her hips over his shoulder, arm securing her legs to him. 

“Sorry, princess, you heard Tor.” Jon carried her over his shoulder to the exit.

“Arya said queen!”

“Apologies, my queen,” he chuckled, kicking open the door, wind slapping at his face once they left the warmth of The Red Keep.

“Do I still get my dance?” He jumped, hips jostled forward from the feeling of her nails pinching his ass.

“Patience.” He landed a swat on her upturned ass in retaliation resulting in a squeal and a kick of one booted foot. 

He slid her down to solid ground, making sure she could lean against his jeep in support. He turned the keys in the ignition and the heater roared to life along with the radio in the silent parking lot. He turned up the volume as loud as it would go and turned back to Dany, shivering and hopping foot to foot while she waited.

“Here? In the cold?” She questioned, cheeks flushing and hair whipping around in the wind.

Jon reached back into his car and grabbed his coat, placing it over her shoulders. “I’ll keep you warm. I’m no dancer, but I can do that.” 

He took her hands, taking a few steps from his jeep to give them space on their asphalt dance floor. She snuggled in close to his chest, rocking together to the twangy tune of whatever happened to be on the radio, while the frigid air nipped at their cheeks and ears. The stars overhead twinkled down, dimmed by streetlights and neon signs from neighboring businesses down the way. His feet were clumsy, but not nearly as much as hers. He hoped if she remembered anything from this night, she remembered this. 

“Don’t leave me alone,” she mumbled into his chest. He almost didn’t hear her.

“I won’t. I’m taking you home to Marge after this.” He rubbed her back, spinning them in a circle.

“She’s not home. Please don’t leave me,” she murmured, turning her head to the side and resting it against his chest. The wind blew straight through his shirt to the bone, but everywhere she was felt warm. He worried that her fear of being alone is what brought her to the Red fucking Keep by herself in the first place, choosing the solace of strangers and cold drinks over the silence of home.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t leave you.”

She wouldn’t let him carry her inside and he was too tired to argue his point further. She stubbornly insisted on stumbling up the stairs to his door with his arm wrapped firmly around her waist lest she falls. She swayed when he let her go to unlock his door, but they managed to get inside without an incident.

“Puppy!” She crawled to the floor where Ghost rested in his dog bed by the couch, red eyes cracked and judging the both of them for interrupting his sleep. Dany tangled herself around the mass of white fluff, nuzzling him and giggling as he licked her face. Jon grabbed them water from the fridge before returning to squat down before his troublemakers. “He’s an angel. I love him,” Dany mumbled into the side of Ghost’s neck. 

Jon reached out to pet both of them. “He loves you too. Now let’s go to bed.” He scooped Dany into his arms, grabbed their waters, and started for his room.

“Can your puppy come to bed too?”

“He has a bed.”

“Mean.” She rolled her eyes at him as he sat her on his bed. 

He maneuvered around the room grabbing her a spare shirt and a pair of boxers before searching the bathroom for a spare toothbrush and some makeup wipes Arya might have left behind from a night on his couch. He bit back a laugh turning back to his bedroom to see her sprawled out on her back across his bed staring at the ceiling with one boot off and the other only halfway removed.

She lifted her head at the sounds of his snickering. “Help?” Her face was flushed and her chest heaved from the efforts of removing the one boot. He took a few steps to his bed and knelt before her, carefully removing the rest of her boot and peeling off her socks to set with them. “Mmm thank you, Daddy.” She sat up to run a hand through his curls and he leaned his head against her knees, momentarily giving in to his exhaustion. It was late. 

He left her to get ready for bed while he took Ghost outside for a quick walk. She was sitting on his side of the bed in his shirt sipping her water when he returned.

“Jon Snow, are you finally taking me to bed?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, kicking her bare legs onto the bed. The shorts he laid out for her were strewn carelessly on the floor. The hem of his shirt rode up and he spotted a glimpse of the lace beneath. Such a dainty obstacle, he could probably tear them with his teeth if he wanted to. Seven help him, did he want to.

“Putting you to bed, little girl.”

“You,” she emphasized, “are no fun.”

He sat beside her, gently placing his thumb on her chin, his pointer finger cradling it from below. He pressed his lips against hers once. Twice. Tasted traces of pickle juice not quite washed out yet. Both kisses and his evening thus far an exercise in control and patience he intended to return. Her hair was disheveled. Curls had fallen in some places and were wavier in others, pieces fluffed and falling in her face that was scrubbed raw and a little pink. A vulnerability to her look he wasn’t sure she’d show him again anytime soon. 

“Do you remember what I told you last week?” A lazy eye roll accompanied by a soft pout he was tempted to bite told him she did. He’d fuck her when she could remember it and he intended for them both to remember. “Go to bed, Daenerys.” He released her chin and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, standing up to prepare for a night on the couch to avoid any confusion in the morning. 

Her grip was startlingly strong considering her state when she grabbed his hand. “Stay?”

Who was he to deny her? Or himself? He nodded, moving around to the foreign side of the bed and stripping himself of his jeans and t-shirt before crawling in next to her. He laid on his back, staring at his ceiling, the sounds of the fan amplified by his awareness of her small body pressing its heat against him. With her face burrowed into his side and her hair fanned across his shoulder, he drifted off dreaming of what the morning would bring.

Chapter Text

Dany woke with a headache from the deepest of the Seven Hells. She traced the back of her teeth with her tongue, wrinkling her nose at the filmy feeling and the acidic taste her drinks of choice left behind. She stretched her legs out, curling and uncurling her toes, expecting to feel the silky feeling of her sateen sheets. Smooth legs against silky sheets were one of life’s little luxuries, but these were not silky sheets. These had the microfiber-cotton feeling of a wrinkle-free set an old boyfriend had used in college. These were not her sheets.

She sat up quickly but instantly regretted it. Her stomach and brain lurched, trying to catch up with the rest of her as she glanced around the room. She rubbed the gray sheets between her forefinger and thumb, but there were few other clues as to where the hell she was. No photos on the wall, plain furnishings in a tidy room, and an oversized dog bed in the corner. She rubbed her eyes and stretched out a leg to feel the other side of the bed. It was still a little warm, so she hadn’t been alone. There was only one other person it could be, but would he really have shared the bed with her? 

She started taking stock of the rest of her personal situation. Her makeup had been removed. That was nice. Contacts, a glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen were next to her phone on the nightstand beside her. She breathed in deeply, feeling better that her underwear were on along with a threadbare t-shirt. It was oversized and soft with a faint hit of a familiar detergent. She brought it up to her nose hesitantly for a sniff. Jon.

She reached over to choke down a few ibuprofen and check her phone for any further damage control. 15 messages from Marge panicking about where she was. A few snaps from Loras cheering her on. One unread message dated the night before from Jon.

Marge 6:00 am BITCH, why didn’t I see you come in on the ring camera last night

Marge 6:01 am I’m tracking your location

Marge 6:03 am WHOSE FUCKING APARTMENT ARE YOU AT?!

Marge 6:05 am Call me when you wake up, so I know you’re alive and no one kidnapped you.

Jon 8:58 pm On my way

She sent Marge a quick message letting her know she was alive and would call her later. She held her breath and opened the conversation with Jon to review their messages, hoping she could catch herself up to speed and pretend she hadn’t totally blacked out on him. She remembered messaging him, but she did not remember these messages. She groaned, flipping her phone over and laying back on one of the two standard pillows on the bed. Staring at the white ceiling, she recalled a few flashes of the night before. She was sure she remembered the majority of the high points. Her excitement, tackling him when he walked in the door of The Red Keep. Dancing with Arya. The way only one side of his mouth quirked up when he smiled at her, a few chaste kisses to her temple, an upside-down view going out to the car, and bright, twinkling lights blended together as they twirled in the parking lot. 

She tip-toed out of his bed to the ensuite, hoping to clean herself up a bit more before showing her face. She made herself at home in his bathroom, rinsing off the remnants of bad decisions and sweat and brushing her teeth with a spare toothbrush on the counter, blessedly still in its packaging. She was out of luck on taming her hair, dry and matted in places from hairspray on last night’s curls. She made do with the simple, black comb on the countertop, pulling it back into a low ponytail and only chipping off a few of the plastic teeth in the process. Clothing options were limited, so she threw his t-shirt and her underwear back on. She took a deep breath, surveying her appearance in the mirror. Well. At least she was clean. He probably saw worse last night. 

“Shit!” She heard Jon swear from outside the bedroom. 

The door creaked giving her away as she cracked it open to poke her head out. The smell of burnt toast and bacon wafted down the hallway along with a large, white husky trotting to greet her.

“You up, Dany? Sorry about that, I think burned part of our breakfast.” He’d made her breakfast. The tender thought made her simultaneously want to melt and run away.

She croaked out her response, stopping in his hallway to clear her throat and reach down to scratch his pup behind the ears. 

“I see you remember Ghost.” Jon rounded the corner from where his kitchen was separated by the breakfast bar. He looked so domestic in his sweats and thin t-shirt hugging his chest, barefoot and comfortable in his own place. However, un-lived in it looked. His curls were more tousled than normal, slept-in with a few grays peaking out at her that she hadn’t noticed before. She hadn’t realized how dim the lighting always was when they were together. 

Her lips turned up at the sight and she gave Ghost a nuzzle after some nudging from him. He crowded her space with the invitation, white fluff enveloping her. “He’s an angel. Way too sweet for you.”

“Maybe so.” She glanced back up at him, slowing her hand hidden in ghost’s fur, but he continued before she could question him. “You hungry?” She nodded, standing up to follow him back to the kitchen. The morning light was bright where it peaked around the blinds covering the windows by the couch in his living room.

“Nothing fancy, but should soak up your hangover.” He flashed a knowing smile at her and she had the grace to look down, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“Thank you. For taking care of me last night.” She stood at the entrance to his kitchen, watching him serve her a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and yes, burnt toast. He even poured her a glass of orange juice before passing both to her.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. Go eat.” He kissed her forehead and nodded in the direction of the barstools facing his kitchen. 

She nibbled on her toast, letting it settle then took a sip of orange juice. Ghost sat dutifully at her feet while they waited for Jon to join them. He sidled up next to them with a plate of his own, stacked a little higher with more eggs and bacon. She stole a glance to admire the way his shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulders and back. He keeps all that muscle on somehow.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” His dark gray eyes were turned to her and the intensity behind them in the light of day cleared any coherent thought she might have had. At night and under the bar lights they were a stormy, smoky gray meshing with his dark brows, beard, and curls that waved around his ears. She blinked rapidly and reached for her orange juice to steady herself.

“Pretty hungover, but your gourmet breakfast is healing me.” She took an exaggerated bite of bacon and he snorted, stabbing at the eggs in front of him. “I do have a question though,” she trailed off waiting for his nod to continue. “Why did I stay the night? Did I lose my keys or…” She knew they didn’t have sex. She hadn’t known him long, but he’d made his feelings about fucking her while she was drunk known and she trusted him more than she should. She was grateful to have woken up safe and in his bed with a slightly charred breakfast waiting on her. But why would he do that for her?

He grabbed a napkin, wiping at his mouth and beard. “Oh. You asked me to. You were worried about being alone and said Margaery wasn’t home.” He made it sound so simple. She needed him and he was there. 

Margaery had gone out of town for the night and Dany did hate to be alone in the house. It never sat well with her and was part of the reason she’d found herself alone at the Red Keep last night in the first place. Strangers were better than silence. She thanked him, because telling him there is no one else she would have rather spent last night with than him might have been the cherry on top of her crazy sundae.

“I got to wake up to you in my bed and you’re thanking me? I think you’ve got it backward, princess.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled at her, soothing some of her embarrassment away.

“Princess?” Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth to hide her cheeks full of toast. “That’s new,” she swallowed.

“Actually, you and Arya insisted I call you ‘my queen’ last night,” he smirked around his last mouthful of food.

“Oh, gods. Is there anything else I need to apologize for?”

“You did break several bottles of expensive tequila last night that you’ll need to pay Tormund back for.” He grabbed his plate and moved to the kitchen to place it in the sink, turning on the water to let it run.

“Stop,” she gasped. “I did not!” 

The right side of his lip quirked up when he looked back at her. “You didn’t.” 

“Jon!” She pinched off a burnt corner of her toast and aimed it at him, letting it fly in the direction of his stupidly handsome face. He ducked, laughing as it sailed over his shoulder. Ghost bolted from her feet, legs scattering beneath him to retrieve his treat from the floor.

Jon straightened back up narrowing his eyes playfully at her. “No throwing things.” 

She narrowed her eyes back, already tearing at another blackened piece of crust to aim at him. “Or what?”

He pretended to ponder over her question as he began washing the dishes from their breakfast. “Hmmm what to do with a little brat who throws her food at me.” The tattoos on his forearm flexed as he scrubbed at the pan in the sink, distracting her from her original target. It’d been over a week and she wanted those arms back around her. Her chest tightened waiting for his next words. “I guess I’d have to deny you a hot breakfast the next time you wake up hungover in my bed,” he teased, the small grin on his face almost hidden by his beard. Next time.

Her last piece of toast sailed across the bar, thumping him on the shoulder before it made its way to Ghost’s awaiting jaws. The food and ibuprofen had done wonders for improving her hangover and she was ready to make that Jon’s problem.

He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Just cereal for you from now on. And I’ll have to tell you about the other embarrassing things you did last night.” He reached across the bar to grab her empty plate, adding it to the stack of his dishes.

Her face paled. “Was it bad?”

“You and Arya did dance on the bar together until Tor threatened to ban you.”

“He always does that.” 

“You only had about 10 other people in the bar to cheer you on this time, but that didn’t seem to bother you.”

She nodded, lips pressed tightly together in a straight line. “I can live with that.”

“Then you introduced me as your new daddy to Tormund, whose been serving me every week since I came home. Even asked Robb if I had always been such a grumpy daddy.”

“No!” She hid her head into her crossed arms on the bar top. She would have to find a new bar. Let alone learn to date a man without ever seeing his brother again. Ever.

“Aye. Arya gagged every time you called me Daddy or Zaddy, which I still don’t know what that is by the way. Then you told them you were afraid of me because I looked like I was going to put you over my knee.”

An unintelligible wail escaped her throat as she wiggled her feet in embarrassment. Her face burned and she was thankful it was already hidden behind her arms. She would also need to learn how to date a man without ever seeing his sister again. Which was disappointing, because she was fun.

“Can’t say that wasn’t tempting after the trouble you put me through last night,” he chuckled.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” She mumbled into her arms, refusing to make eye contact again before the heat dispersed from her cheeks. 

“Is that what you want?” 

She turned her head to look at him with one eye from the safety of her elbows. His face betrayed nothing from his post at the sink, rinsing the last of their dishes from breakfast. No different than if he had asked her if she would prefer bacon or sausage with her burnt toast. She had all but asked for it since they met, of course, it was what she wanted. 

Her heart beat faster and she nodded slowly, feeling a pull low in her belly at the prospect. He nodded back as he began to dry their dishes. She felt her heart pattering in time with how he rubbed the dish towel over the frying pan, the plates, their silverware, and finally the wooden serving spoon. 

“Well. Come ‘ere then.” He flicked his chin up in their new game of chicken. His arms bulged from how he crossed them over his chest, drawing attention to well-formed pecs and the wooden spoon he still held in his right hand.

She inhaled a sharp breath of anticipation before sliding off the bar stool to make her way to him. Leaning against the counter with his brow arched staring her down, he pulled an intimidating figure. She puffed her chest up when she stood before him.

“Ask.”

She deflated at that request. She knew he had noticed, because his cool gaze finally broke, with a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He had told her before that she would have to ask for this, but asking was not in her nature anymore. However, she refused to lose this game.

“Daenerys,” he said sternly, grabbing her elbows to tug her forward.

“Jon.” She aimed to match his tone, but she was sure that her nerves were betraying her.

“That’s not what you call me right now, and we both know that.” Her eyes widened in a desperate plea and her resolve weakened when his hand reached down to pat her rear.

She swallowed. “Daddy.” Every other time she had called him Daddy it had felt teasing, unserious. Or she’d had some liquid courage to make her feel brave. Sure, she had told him that she wanted this and teased it in texts she had sent the night before. But asking was different than telling and teasing, and this— sober and half-naked in his kitchen after eating a breakfast he made for her— felt real, in a way that was different than any other time she’d played the role.

“Are you going to ask me for what you want?” His deep voice hummed around the question and it almost made her want to fall to her knees and beg him for this and everything else she’d imagined him doing to her since she first saw him, quiet and brooding seated at a dive bar she would normally never set foot in. He played the game better.

“Fine,” she ground out. “Spank me.”

Quicker than she expected, his hand supporting her elbow knotted her borrowed shirt by the small of her back, and the other cracked down smartly on her left cheek. She yelped as he dropped her shirt back down, already rubbing out the sting for her.

“Surely you can ask nicer than that?” A smile played at his lips again as she wiggled in his hold. 

She huffed, preparing herself to ask for what she really wanted. And gods if he wasn’t stubborn enough to make her do it. 

“Spank me, Daddy.” She tried sounding sweeter, but all she heard was her desperation as anticipation overwhelmed her. He raised an eyebrow, hand slowly moving to knot her shirt again in warning before she added, “Please!”

She jolted as hands around her back and her rear scooped her into a kiss. She teetered on her tiptoes, struggling to balance and stay chest-to-chest with him. When her own hands began to explore, he broke away to look at her sternly. “And what will you say if it’s too much?”

“Red?” She’d used it before. The stakes had been lower, but it worked all the same.

He nodded, pressing his lips to her forehead, spinning her to face the counter, and placing a hand between her shoulder blades to guide her chest forward. She caught herself on her elbows, granite cold beneath her forearms, feeling herself arch her back on instinct in this vulnerable position. Her ears buzzed and her heart beat faster thinking of what was to come. What she asked for. Jon lifted the hem of her t-shirt to her waist, calloused fingertips grazing the curve of her along the way.  He put his arm around her hips, the opposite one rubbing lightly over the goose-pimpled flesh of her rear. She spotted the spoon, menacing and tempting abandoned to the right of her, and ventured a peak over her shoulder only to be met with a small shake of his head, raven curls following the movement. 

A wet nose tickled her ankle, soft hair fluffing around her legs. She shifted her feet, too nervous to look back at Jon again, but not sure what to do about their extra guest till he muttered a stern, “Ghost, go lay down.” She felt him slink away from them with an irritated snort and a giggle left her lips, broken by a yelp when Jon’s hand came down on her.

The first swat was lighter than the one she received earlier, stingy, but it quickly warmed through her. The next two were the same and she relaxed into her shoulders, a purr on the edge of her lips. Slow and controlled, she enjoyed the way his hand felt against her, but it left her craving more.

“Jon,” she drawled. “I thought you were putting me over your knee, not your counter.” Crack! She jolted from the change in force, a small squeak escaping her lips. 

“Daenerys,” He warned, fingers flirting along the edges of her panties, ghosting across spots already pink by his hand and barely dipping between her legs to softly trace where she truly wanted him. She could have let herself melt into the honeyed warmth of his voice and the soothing touch his hands had on her stinging flesh. Her knees trembled to give in, but she wasn’t ready to submit just yet.

“Yes, Daddy?” She responded dutifully, mockingly.

“Would you like to keep these on,” he pushed the edges of her underwear up, revealing more bare skin to his trailing fingers, “or does my naughty girl need her bare ass spanked to learn her lesson?” Another slap to the lower part of her bared cheek made his point. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She shivered from the light touch of his fingers and the threat and the way they both made her center feel hot and empty. “What lesson is that?” She exhaled.

“You,” smack, “are not in charge right now. So answer my question or this ends.” He popped the waistband of her panties once then his hands were gone.

There he is. She had suspected this side of him was lying dormant from the first time he raised a warning brow at her at the Red Keep. Tempting and taunting him to see his dark gaze shift became an addiction. She found herself returning to a dirty bar with crappy drinks just to see what next move might make him break and speak to her, but he was more stubborn than she’d anticipated. She could call him out on his bluff now, but she already ached for his hand to return and she knew he was counting on her to fold. He needed permission.

She blew out a soft breath and turned her head over her shoulder to see him hard and gazing expectantly at her. His sweatpants didn’t hide much and for that she thanked whichever god was listening to her. She bit her lip and hooked her thumbs in her underwear, shimmying to peel them down as far as she could without breaking her position. Warm, calloused hands met hers around the top of her thighs and he finished taking them down for her, gently lifting her feet to help her remove them completely.

“There’s my good girl.” He placed a soft kiss on one cheek and nibbled the other, snickering at the high-pitched gasp he elicited from her. He stood and the front of his joggers brushed against her legs, his erection barely pressing into her when his hand snaked between her legs to trace her folds. Featherlight touches that had her whimpering into her arms to cover the desperate sound. He’d barely touched her and she already felt ready to beg. He leaned over her, the full weight of his cock pressing into her bottom now, and she couldn’t help but push back against it with a muffled moan. His free hand grasped her ponytail and lifted her head from the safety of her elbow. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much.” A calloused finger crept inside the crevice between her lips and her un-muffled gasp sounded vulgar to her burning ears. “But I want to hear everything until then. No hiding.”

She gulped. “What about your neighbors?” 

He snorted, fingers pausing their movement between her legs. “Fuck the neighbors.”

She breathed out a, “Yes, Daddy,” and wiggled against him. He released her ponytail and traced a slick finger over the curve of her backside before returning to rubbing it. The subsequent smacks reverberated straight to her core and left her keening between them. For more. For relief. For his fingers to go back to their light touches close to her throbbing clit. She wanted it all and ‘fuck the neighbors’ if they heard.

He changed pace, swatting her a few times in the same spot before moving to the next. After a few rounds of this treatment, she squealed and her hand flew behind her to cover herself on instinct. He moved to pick up her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as the other returned to caressing her ass again.

“Have you had enough, baby?” He swiped his fingers over her knuckles, the sounds of their heavy breath filling the silence.

“No!”

He pressed one last kiss to her knuckles. “Then let’s keep your hand out of the way, hmm?” She nodded, facing her head forward again as he repositioned her hand still held in his at the small of her back. She felt small and safe.

He rained down more firm spanks against her, but she was already lost. Any pain melted leaving her warm, resonating from her ears down her spine to her toes curling against the tile. 

Like a hot bath where the water pricked and stung you as you slid in, steam crawling around you until you become numb and lucid, one with the water. She wasn’t sure when he stopped, just that he surrounded her completely now. Hands underneath her shirt, rubbing up and down her sides and grazing over her breasts, his beard scratching against her as he laid open-mouthed kisses on her neck, whispering sweet words in her ear.

“You did so fucking good baby. Did so well for me.”

She shifted her legs, aware of the heat pulsing in between her legs, her inner thighs slick and sticking together in a way she didn’t know they could.

“Fuck, Daddy,” she panted.

“You with me?” His nose nudged against the crook of her neck where it met her shoulder.

“Don’t tease me anymore. Please.” She wasn’t sure if she could stand much more, her muscles already trembling

“I’ll take care of you, sweetling. I’ve got you.” He stood her up against him and she reveled in the feeling of his hard body against her back. He slid his shirt over her head, only to press her back down, her naked breasts pebbling against the cool countertop. He kissed every inch down her spine, hands smoothing over her hips and gripping her thighs till he knelt behind her. 

“Seven hells, you’re red,” he whispered reverently ghosting his fingers over her scorched flesh.

“I told you last night I would pay for my sins today.” His kisses continued over her rear, soft and wet, followed by the cool breath he blew against her soothing the heat. 

He hummed a response between her legs, the vibrations making her twitch. His hands gripped her legs, pushing her up on her tiptoes to get a better angle. His mouth found her folds, tracing over and between, cleaning every inch of her. She found herself scratching for purchase against the counter, his hands supporting her as she trembled. She muffled a scream when his tongue moved up to her clit, not realizing how tightly wound she was already. In an instant, his head was gone from between her legs and she whined at the loss. His stare was dangerous when she stood, turning to glare at him, beautiful with his beard glistening as he sat back on his heels.

“Daenerys. You cover your mouth again and I am going to use that damned spoon on your ass.”

She swallowed thickly. So he had noticed her curious stare earlier, longing and fearful. She licked her lips, fluttering lashes. “I’ll be good, Daddy. I promise. Just don’t stop.”

He lifted her, placing her on the counter this time, the chill numbing and the pressure a reminder of what his hands were capable of. He was ravenous as he dined on her, a man possessed when he moved back between her legs. Firm hands wedged her knees apart, keeping them open for his use while his nose nestled between her, pushing her apart. Where each spank had been precise and controlled, he ate her like a man starved, wild and wolfish. She could barely ground herself to him with one hand nestled in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, the other attempting to balance herself on the edge of the counter. Balancing on the edge is exactly how she found herself within minutes, teetering on the reality where she needed to hold herself upright and the upcoming cliff her body threatened to soar off.

Her orgasm overtook her, quickly and without permission. Her hands tightened around his hair in an attempt to push him from her or towards her, she wasn’t sure. Just that she wanted him closer and as far away from her as possible. Her gasps were short and uneven as her legs kicked, heel slamming against the cabinet below her. Jon was not deterred, only grasping her tighter, fingers digging into her legs as he worked her through it, tongue finally slowing with her till he was laying softer kisses to her inner thighs down to her knee.

Her chest heaved as she worked to catch her breath, dropping her head back to stare at black circles on the ceiling till they stilled, fading to the stark white lit by large, overhead lighting. Her eyes drifted down to where Jon remained kneeling before her, head resting against her calf, patiently waiting for her to come down from her high. His look was reverential as if he had been praying at an altar. She wasn’t sure what gods he believed in, if any. She hadn’t been sure of their existence herself for quite some time, only that cumming on his countertop felt like a revelation.

She slid off the counter and sank to her knees to face him. “That floor has to be hard on your knees, old man,” she teased, smile lazy as she inched toward him.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly pulling her forward to straddle his lap as he sat back on the floor, letting his legs extend in front of him. The essence of her shined on his lips as he licked it away. “You don’t learn your lessons very easily, do you?” He asked with a smile, hands soothing the fading sting he’d left behind. 

“Nope,” she said, popping the “P” as she rocked into him. She could feel all of his hardness against her as it pushed against her swollen clit and she chewed her lip thinking of the wet spot she’d be leaving on his sweats. 

“Was it everything you wanted, Princess?” 

“Not yet.” She moved her hands from around his shoulders to slip under his shirt. He grimaced, but let her drag it up and over his head anyways. His chest and stomach were well-sculpted the way she had imagined they would be, a smattering of hair across it and leading down to his sweats. A black crow flying amongst snow-capped mountains was inked into one side of his chest. He was silent while she ran her fingertips across the crow and the mountains, slowing on the section that covered one of his scars. A knife maybe? She flicked her eyes up to look at him, but his stormy grays were clamped shut. She traced another scar she found, pink and raised— a bullet hole she was certain. Jon exhaled audibly, his hot breath blowing against her as her thumb dragged down to brush across something indistinct and uneven near the v-shaped divet of his hip. There was no telling what caused it. 

She glanced back up to see him watching her now, half-lidded with his chin tilted up. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, but he was still silent, waiting. She had 100 questions sitting at the tip of her tongue, but not a single one was ready to bubble its way out. Each scar and abrasion a physical reminder of the life he had lived when some days it felt like hers was just beginning.

“Jon-

“Is that who I am now?” There was no challenge in his voice. She knew he wouldn’t argue if calling him by his name was what she wanted now.

“Daddy…if you’re planning to fuck me on the floor, I’ll need some help getting your pants off.” She dug her fingers into the waistband of his sweats, pushing down whatever fabric she could while he snorted out a laugh.

“Alright, up.” He tapped the sides of her legs, thrusting against her one more time for good measure. “My ‘old man’ back may not be able to take that,” he teased while she crawled off his lap. 

He surprised her, grabbing her face to kiss her again once he was standing. She smoothed her hands around his back and down to grab onto his ass, perfect and round in her hands. She’d waited too long to have her fill of it. She broke away to drag his sweats down, revealing his cock that bobbed back against his stomach. She scraped her nails against his legs on her ascent back up, giving him one hard pull when she was standing again. Red marks to match her own.

He reached down to pick her up and she swung her arms over his shoulders. He pressed slow, paced kisses to her lips on the walk to his couch, sitting again with her straddling his lap. His tongue invaded her mouth and hers was just as eager to meet it. Each press of her mouth against his and swipe of a tongue against hers brought a new flavor to her palette. Salty bacon. Sweet orange juice. The burnt edges of a piece of toast. A different tang- her. She shivered— maybe from the hangover or maybe from the realization that she had never had a partner so bold to share that pleasure with her. She wanted more. Taste was always the stronger sensation, and this was a meal she was tired of being denied.

She nipped and sucked her way down his neck, paying extra attention to his collarbone till her position demanded she make her way back up. She even lathed her tongue around a small scar hidden right below his collar, almost cresting one of the mountains tattooed on his chest. She could smell the same ivory soap she had used this morning on his skin; he must have showered before she ever woke up.

“Fuck, Dany,” he groaned, thrusting against her, teasing at her clit. “Let me get a condom.” He made to move her off his lap, but her nails sunk into his shoulder blades, claws staking her territory.

“I’m on the pill.” She looked darkly at him, daring him to argue. “So don’t even think about moving me yet.”

He grabbed onto her shoulder and hip, dragging her down so they were lying across the couch, his body warm and firm underneath hers. Her heart stuttered at the sudden shift, but she scrambled to regain her footing to sit up on her knees. “Carry on,” he rasped.

She glared playfully and wrapped her hand around his cock to mount herself over him. She took pleasure in each groan he released as she swirled his head around her entrance. She couldn’t help the cry that left her lips as she sank down on him slowly. He was thick and she felt every inch till he was fully seated inside her. 

“Gods, you feel so good,” he groaned as she began to rock into him, letting herself adjust to his size. 

“Just getting started, Daddy.” His hands were tight around her thighs and her smile was wicked when she started to ride him with a purpose.  Head thrown back and closing her eyes to the pleasure, she bounced and rolled her hips meeting every upward thrust he gave. Her tits were small, but she could feel them move with each motion. The angle hitting her so deep, she thought she might cry from the pressure inside her.

“Look at me. I want to see you when you cum on me for the first time.” 

She whimpered in response, already feeling too delirious for a complete sentence. Her only thought was to ride him harder, faster, to make him feel as good as she has felt. 

“Open your eyes if you want to come again,” he ground out. Her eyes shot open and she threw her head forward, hand fluttering in front of her looking for purchase or stability. He reached for her hand, holding it in his, so she could maintain her balance. He looked just as wrecked as she felt. Curls smashed into the couch cushion below him, red marks splattered across his neck and chest, coloring in parts of his tattoos. A painting of her own design.

“You better hold up your end of the deal,” she panted, grinding against him and feeling her legs begin to shake from the effort. 

True to his word, his free hand left her hip and wedged itself between them, so he could rub against her clit. Her eyes squinted with the struggle of keeping them open, but she was unwilling to test him again. Shattered breaths left her as the sensations combined, a release crawling its way up her spine. When her release crested, she cried out, vulgar, and fuck the neighbors if they heard her. She spasmed over him, feeling each wave roll through her as her walls clamped around him. He worked her through it, slowing his thrusts and rubbing her clit till she fell forward. Too boneless to continue riding him, she pressed more kisses into his neck, muttering her thanks.

He moved the hand wedged between them to slide under her arm and grab onto her shoulder, bringing her chest to his. The other hand still tightly held onto hers. “You take it so fucking well, baby. So good for me,” he moaned, pistoning into her, hard and fast, using her shoulder to rock her against him. Her high-pitched noises in her state of over-stimulation were senseless till he slowed, hips twitching against hers as he came. 

She dropped her head into the crook of his neck, aware of the sweat and cum stuck between them. Jon’s head knocked back against the arm of the couch, arms still wrapped around her. They breathed roughly, seeming to float down from their high together, but equally unwilling to separate. 

“Was it everything you wanted, Daddy?” She teased, rolling off of him and onto her side. 

His eyes were closed when he answered. “It’s a good start.”

Chapter Text

If he’d had the energy, he would have fucked her three more times before he allowed her to part from his arms. But as it was she’d already rolled her sweaty body off of his leaving him clammy and longing. He felt a trickle of sweat roll down his forehead to his ear and a smile ghosted his face as he realized they’d christened this damn uncomfortable couch. Maybe it would feel more broken in after being bounced on. 

A lazy eye rolled up to peek at the minx at his side. Bare-faced and flushed with a bumpy ponytail and several curls falling out of it, she looked just as well-fucked as he felt. Her plump lips were fixed in a pout when she looked back at him and he noticed her legs squeezing shut on themselves.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll be right back,” he muttered, body groaning as he rolled off the couch. 

“Walk slower, Daddy!” She called after him, head turned with a mischievous grin stretching across her face.

“Not when I think you’re about to get cum all over my new couch!” He yelled over his shoulder looking at her narrowed eyes and clamped legs. It’d be a miracle if he didn’t spend the evening scrubbing stains off the fabric.

He cleaned himself quickly, slipped on a fresh pair of boxer briefs, and returned to the couch with a fresh shirt for Dany, a few hand towels, and a bottle of lotion. He swatted away her reaching hands in favor of peeling open her legs himself. As he suspected, their cum had mingled and dripped down her inner thighs, smeared from where she had pressed her legs together. He took a damp towel and ran it along the inside of her legs, cleaning the crevices in between. He felt a rush of insecurity at her puzzled look while she watched him with creased brows. He dried her with a different towel and tossed both to the floor, pressing a kiss to the insides of her knees.

“No one’s ever done that for me,” she said softly. 

“Which part?” He sat on the couch and threw her legs over his lap while she stretched, extending her arms overhead.

“Gods, where do I start? Breakfast? Eating me from behind? That spanking! And you cleaned me up afterward? I think I might have lucked out on my choice in Bar Daddy.” She smiled lazily at him as her arms crested back down to her sides. 

His blood ran hot at all the reasons she listed and her choice of title. All he’d done was take care of her after so thoroughly debauching her. It was the least he could do. “Hmmm, I may have a few surprises left for you. Roll over.” She eyed him warily but complied. He grabbed her hips, pulling them up and over his lap, so her pink rear was raised in front of him.

“Jon! I’m not sure I’m up for more—

He rolled his eyes when he heard her soft moans as he began to massage lotion into her warm flesh. Even marred by his touch, her round ass was perfect. Her smooth skin had faded to a light pink and the lotion gave it a thin sheen. He felt the familiar pangs of guilt seeing his handprint painted across her combined with the stirrings of his tired cock as he listened to her mumbling moans while he rubbed at lotion that had already sunk into her skin. The feelings seeped into his chest as he replayed the other moments he shouldn’t have given in all just to be relegated to ‘Bar Daddy’ when it was done.

“Do I need more lotion or are you trying to get me in the mood for round two?” She wiggled her shiny ass enticingly and he snorted in response. 

“Aye, you’re good. I need some time to recover before we attempt round two.” 

She shifted off his lap and slipped on the spare shirt he offered her. “Can’t say anyone has ever done that for me either. Have you…” she hesitated, glancing around the room before continuing. “Have you ever done the Daddy thing before?”

He shook his head no. He always took aftercare seriously, but names…He’d had no idea how hard it would make him to hear her breathy little moans of ‘Daddy’ in his ear. She bit her lip. “You’re good at it. That’s all.”

“Must be the overwhelming sense of guilt that I’m hurting you or taking advantage of you,” he joked, half-meaning it. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch. It had started to soften a little. Maybe round two would be a good idea. 

“Your siblings are right.” She combed her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth it into a new ponytail. “You are a brooding bastard,” she deadpanned sitting longways on the couch and tossing petite feet over his lap again. 

He scowled and moved to push her feet off of him, but she hooked her ankles around his legs, locking herself in place. “Jon. What part of this makes you think you’re taking advantage of me?” She asked as seriously as she could be taken with no bottoms on and her feet wedged between his thighs. He opened his mouth, preparing to argue when she continued. “And don’t you dare bring up my age again or so help me I am finding some pants and calling an Uber,” she threatened.

He sighed, falling back against the couch, resigned to having her cold feet locked around his legs. “I took you home with me last night when you were too drunk to stand upright. I should have just taken you back to your house. I made you call me Daddy and I’m not even sure if you’ll be able to sit right tomorrow and I still would have kept going if you didn’t listen to me, and now I’m worried that was your first time playing that way—

“It’s not.” She arched a brow and sat up, twisting her feet out from between his legs. “You’re better at it, but it wasn’t my first time ‘playing that way’,” she used her fingers to air quote him. “For me, a guy I just started seeing took better care of me last night and this morning than I usually do myself if I’m being honest. You made sure I made it home safe, that I was watered, fed, didn’t choke on puke in my sleep,” she listed out on her fingers with a slight smile towards the end.

His chest swelled at the compliment, but it was tempered by the racing jealousy of the thought of her calling another man Daddy. He ran a tense hand through mussed curls. “But—

“And the sex.” She pointed at him accusingly. “I hope you had no real issues with it because you have set a standard. I had a safe word. And you did nothing that I did not ask for this morning or had not mentioned wanting before.” She sat up on her knees and tucked her feet underneath herself. “As long as you enjoyed it, I want it that way every time.” She emphasized each syllable with a poke to his ribs

“Aye, I enjoyed it. More than I should,” he begrudged, taking her hand and tugging her closer to him. She laid her head in his lap, blonde ponytail fanning out beneath her.

She blinked big purple eyes at him. “Good. Now, the important stuff. I feel like these have a story.” She brushed a hand over the mountain range on his chest and a few of the bumps and scars he’d been working to cover over the years. He’d found a damn good tattoo artist and they’d almost erased some of the physical scars.

“It’s a boring one,” he shrugged.

“I’d like to hear it,” she said softly. He recognized puppy eyes when he saw them. Ghost had a few things to learn from her.

“I’d like to hear what you were doing at the bar by yourself last night.” He raised an eyebrow at her and had to stifle a laugh at her immediate frown.

“If I answer yours, you have to answer mine,” she returned stubbornly.

“Twenty questions, huh? How old are you again?” He smirked.

She sat up and climbed into his lap with a playful glare, his shirt riding up her thighs. “Twenty-three. What is this from?” She ran her pointer finger over the raised bump of scar tissue the mountains on his chest were meant to cover. 

“I don’t remember,” he lied. He remembered all of them. Some of the details were soft around the edges, but he could recall the where and the how. Nearly two decades of service with locations and time stamps decorating his body that ultimately led to an early retirement. The recruiters never explain that ‘decorated soldier’ often means physically, not just awards and ribbons.

“Liar.” She flicked her eyes up to his accusingly.

“I don’t want to talk about that one.” The story was not boring, but it was neither fun to tell nor to re-live.

“Fine.” She ran her fingers over other bumps and abrasions on his chest and abs. “Are these all from the same accident?”

“No.” He brought his hands over hers and settled them in her lap. “Why were you by yourself at The Red Keep last night?” His thumbs stroked over her hands while he awaited her response. She studied their hands a minute longer before responding.

“In the spirit of playing the game correctly, I’ll answer you,” she started with a deep inhale. “It was the anniversary of my brother’s death.” She met his eyes but kept playing with the joined hands in her lap. Little circles of her thumb around his palm. Aimless patterns drawn in between his fingers.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Dany. You didn’t have to answer that.” How much of a coward was he to hold in his own pain?

“It’s okay. I mean- I didn’t even really know him, you know? He passed when I was so little, but my parents and my uncle always talked about him. Pictures everywhere, neighbors who remembered him for years. It was like his ghost was always there and my other brother and I had to grow up in the shadow of it.” Her nose twitched with the memory and he held on tighter to her hand.

“What happened to him?” He frowned, wanting to hold her while she looked so small and protect her from a pain she was already living with. He had his fair share of ghosts too and he’d learned they never truly stopped haunting you. 

She shook her head and smirked. “It’s my question next. Can I know what this is from?” Her hand had escaped his and her fingertips were petting the misshapen ridges by his hip bones. 

She had a fascination with the markings on his abdomen. Markings given by choice and by force. He’d rather talk about the mountains. He gave a heavy sigh and decided to leave out the gory details of the injury and his hospital stay. “Shrapnel. They called it slight, but it didn’t feel that way. It all came out and healed. Left me with an ugly scar and a disability check.” Her lower lip dropped open, but for once she was quiet, smoothing her thumb over the indented scar one more time. “What happened to your brother?” He rubbed his hands up and down her legs, patiently waiting for an answer and eager to change subjects.

She huffed out a dry laugh, fingers abandoning his scars to twist together in front of her. “He- He was in the military too. A freak accident on his first tour. He was twenty and on his way to Mereen. I think I was three at the time and my mom wouldn’t stop crying. And then I’d see his face on the TV because they never turned off the news—

“Rhaegar?” It wasn’t a common name and the timing was right. A kid close to your age dying in a time of peace thousands of miles away made an impact when you’re eighteen and freezing your balls off at the Wall. A helicopter crash if he remembered correctly. Nearly everyone on board was as green as he was at the time.

“Yes, but- but how would you know that? You didn’t know him, did you?” Her face lost color, eyes petrified looking at him. He did believe in coincidences and had traveled enough to know that the world was always smaller than you think it is. But in this case, he had not been friends with the dead older brother of a girl who insisted on calling him Daddy.

“No, but I remember hearing about it. I was nowhere near him, but my sisters called me crying almost every day for a week because they were so worked up over it.” His thumbs soothed small circles on the sides of her pale thighs till she finally squirmed off of him to grab another bottle of water. 

Ghost was in tow behind her when she returned. He gave Jon the side eye before attempting to climb halfway into Dany’s lap. She sat on the floor with her back against the couch wrapping her arms around him in a hug and hiding her face in his fur. She nearly disappeared in the mass of dog fluff. Ghost panted happily over her shoulder giving Jon a traitorous look. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jon mouthed sliding off the couch to sit next to them and scratching at Ghost’s ears, so he would forgive him for banishing him from the room for so long.

They stayed that way for another hour at least. Their backs leaned against the couch, crossing their ankles with one another just looking for another excuse to touch and Ghost pacing between them for attention. Actually talking to each other for what felt like the first time and swapping questions to learn more about one another. No more coy questions with answers that ran in circles, he felt like he finally got the chance to know her. Not all of them were so serious. She told him about how she had fallen and broken her arm on the first day of high school. He told her about the trouble he and Robb found together as boys, constantly being chased out of the house by Catelyn. They talked about the meaning of his tattoos and the tattoos that had no meaning. Those were his favorites: art that he could see every day. She’d always wanted one but had yet to find something worthy of such permanence.

“Did they hurt?” Her fingers were running up and down the tattoos on his forearm, but her eyes were fixed on the crow flying over his chest.

“Which one?”

“The mountains.”

“Oh. Yes.” His lip tugged up remembering long sessions under the needle with gritted teeth and Little Ned’s chubby fingers batting at the plastic wrap when he was healing. “Made getting shot feel like a walk in the park.”

“Really?” Her voice perked up and she cocked her head, glancing at the misshapen pink oval raised near his side.

“No. That hurt like a bitch, but I don’t remember most of it.” She rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder into his. “I do remember all of my tattoos though. And having a needle press into the skin around your nipples for an hour or two isn’t the easiest.”

She grinned mischievously and reached over to flick at his nipples. “Not a fan of nipple play, huh, Daddy?” She waggled her brows mocking him.

His nostrils flared at the odd, tingling sensation. He found hers quickly through her baggy shirt, pinching onto one and not letting go. “Not the way you are, sweetling.”

Her eyes shut, a high-pitched squeak leaving her lips causing Ghost to turn his head in confusion. She curled her toes, kicking out against the carpet. “Okay, okay!” She brought her arms up to wrap around her chest in protection and started scooting away from him. “It’s okay if you want me to play with your nipples more next time,” she giggled out, inching away when he rolled onto his knees to crawl toward her. A predator stalking his prey. “You just had to ask!” She squealed as he pounced on her. 

He straddled her and held her arms against the floor, swapping to grip them in one hand above her head. He used his free hand to raise her shirt above her chest leaving the rest of her body naked and writhing underneath him. “Dany, if you thought I didn’t pay enough attention to your nipples this morning, you only had to ask,” he quipped sweetly, running light circles around the rosy tips of her breasts.

She tugged her arms in an attempt to free her wrists, laughing as she twisted her shoulders to escape his tickling hand. “Dany, do you want me to stop?” He ran a thick middle finger along the sensitive underside of her breast.

“No,” she huffed, attempting to blow a stray silver hair out of her eyes.

He brushed it out of the way for her and gave her a stern look. “Then behave or use your safe word if you want me to stop.”

“But fighting you is way more fun,” she grinned, giving her arms another pull when he reached out to tweak her nipple.

Jon narrowed his eyes at her, then turned his head to the side. “Ghost! To me!” He commanded. Loyal as ever, Ghost trotted toward them, excited to be included in their play. “Give kisses, Ghost,” he encouraged. 

Helpless to defend herself, Dany was attacked with wet, sloppy kisses from his pup. He grinned even as Ghost’s fluffy tail smacked his back in excitement. She cackled, twisting in his arms even more to try and escape. “Okay, I submit! I won’t fight! Too much, Ghost!” 

Jon chuckled letting go of her and wrangling Ghost away. He whispered more encouragements to Ghost and pat his sides while he pranced in place. Dany looked a mess, covered in slobber and long, white dog hairs with her tits still out. “If I’m good, can we take this back to the bedroom?” She panted sitting up.

“Aye, just wipe some of the dog slobber off before you get in my bed,” he snickered.

She frowned, standing to make her way to the bedroom and he heard grumblings about “stupid, hot older men” and “damn dogs” while she stalked away. She removed her shirt on the way, throwing it into the bedroom. He was hesitant to follow, admiring the way her round ass jiggled as she walked. 

He thought he had died and gone to one of the seven heavens when he had Daenerys bent over his kitchen counter this morning, but the sight of her sprawled naked on his bed was enough to remind him that the gods could be generous when they wanted to. Old, new, drowned, whomever he had to thank for this would be receiving personal prayers for him when he was next on his knees. 

He shed his boxers and crawled onto rumpled gray sheets. She’d given up on her ponytail before he got there, so blonde waves circled her head like a halo. “I think we left off with me paying those beautiful tits the attention they deserved,” he husked, kissing a trail from her navel to the center of her chest.

“Yes,” she panted when his tongue flicked over one of the buds. “That was… very naughty of you to forget about them, Daddy.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, softly scratching between the blades with her nails. 

“Don’t worry.” He sucked her breast into his mouth, slowing on the release till it popped out, wet and red, eliciting a cry from its owner. “I can make up for lost time.”

He was meticulous with his treatment. He sucked little red hickeys into the underside of each breast, studying his work and circling them with his tongue when he was done. He swapped sides to take the other nipple in his mouth, pulling till he heard high-pitched gasps and felt her hands reaching for him would he finally give her mercy and switch sides. “Daddy- Oh gods. I think I could- I could…” she trailed off, digging her feet into the bed.

“You can cum if you want, but I’m not done yet,” he warned from the valley between her tits. He nibbled on them next, carefully running his teeth around pebbled edges. Her head dropped back in a soft scream. He had loved feasting on her cunt, but being close enough to see her sweet reactions to the way he tasted her breasts was just as intoxicating.

“They’re so sensitive,” she whimpered. “Be sweet to them, please.” Her whole body shivered beneath him and he ran his hands over her arms and her sides.

“Only because you were so good for me and asked so nicely.” He blew cold air over the hardened red tips he had worked over, broken pants from Dany heavy in the air. He littered them with soft kisses, gentle and sweet against the parts of her he knew were tingling and sensitive to any touch. Firm, wet, and covered with his marks, he didn’t think he want to see them another way again.

“Was that enough attention for you, princess?” He teased, rolling off of her.

She lolled her head to the side to look at him. “And then some. I really think I might be able to cum like that one day,” she smiled. 

“We’ll keep practicing then.” He leaned over to kiss her and her arms wrapped around him, pulling him back to her. His arms stuttered to gain his balance while she pushed his chest back into hers. She smoothed one around the nape of his neck and the other fit between them, grabbing at his dick. He groaned into her neck at a particularly firm tug and she wrapped a leg around him, thrusting upward.

“How do you want it?” He grunted near her ear, feeling her nails reach down to graze against his balls.

“Don’t hold back,” she rasped, looking at him under soft lashes when he pulled away from her neck.

He nodded, sitting back on his heels to gain a better position. He grabbed her right leg under the knee and pushed against her until her leg was bent in half with her knee by her shoulder. He lined up at her entrance and filled her in one motion. He didn’t feel much resistance, but her mouth dropped open in a silent cry anyways. 

He reared back and roughly thrust back into her. Controlled and hard, he pounded into her keeping her split open with a hand steady on her right leg. He already felt the phantom clenching of her cunt and curled his lip at the pressure.

“Oh fuck me!” She shouted when he snapped his hips against hers, hitting a spot deeper inside her. He rolled through it, quickening his pace to keep hitting her at the same angle.

“There you go, baby. Let it out,” he said through gritted teeth. She dug her nails into his shoulder blades, encouraging the pace. Black spots sat at the corner of his vision and he wondered how much longer she would take. 

He threw her leg over his shoulder and swapped hands for balance, so he could use the free one to roll her rosy nipples between his thumb and index finger. She keened, attempting to bite her lip but stopping herself before he could comment. At this rate, he wouldn’t have stopped her even if she did try to muffle herself. He just wanted her over the edge with him before he lost himself.

He felt sweat starting to drip down his brow when she cried out again, eyes squeezed shut and convulsing around him. He let go of her nipple and used both hands to balance as he drove himself into her, frantic and unrelenting. He jerked his hips out of rhythm, chin dropping to his chest as he came inside her. Static filled his ears at the top of his orgasm and he could barely hear the sounds of her mewls till he came down.

He collapsed on top of her. Sweaty and sticky for the second time that day, he’d have to take another shower. He knew he was likely crushing her, but exhaustion was taking over, crawling from his limbs to his fingertips. She tapped his shoulder and he hesitantly pulled out to lay and pant beside her. 

“Hard enough for you?”

“It’s a good start,” she mocked, deepening her voice in a poor imitation of him. He rolled his eyes for what felt like the tenth time that day and snaked a hand over to pinch one of the sensitive buds that still stood at attention.

“Ow!” She shrieked, pushing his hand away with a laugh. She turned to her side and hitched a leg over him, nuzzling her nose into his shoulder. 

He could still feel perspiration dripping down his back, but he wouldn’t dare move her. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before throwing his head back against his thin pillow. Exhausted, satiated, sweaty, and hungry, he didn’t think he’d want to leave his bed the rest of the day. This was a good start.

Chapter Text

“Seven fucking hells, Daenerys,” he seethed through gritted teeth. His grip in her blonde hair faltered as his hips and abdomen twitched in place. 

Using his weakened grip to her advantage, she hollowed her cheeks, sucking her way up his shaft till she released him with a pop. A string of drool stretched from her mouth to his head till she swiped a finger at her reddened lips, letting it fall between them. He panted, his dick still hard against his stomach, pulsing at the loss of stimulation. “Yes, Daddy?” She asked with her self-satisfied grin in place. 

He glanced at where she was sitting up on her knees in the passenger seat. Her long sleeve had been shed and one tit was still popped out of her sports bra from when he had grasped clumsily to free it while she was bent over his lap. Her ponytail was wrecked, but he was beginning to prefer it that way. 

“I didn’t say to stop,” he rumbled.

“Mmm, but you used my whole name and that usually means I’m in trouble.” She stretched like a cat over his console to settle her face in his lap again, slowly and with a hint of a purr. 

He rooted his hands firmly in the hair by her scalp, preventing her from taking him in her open mouth again. She strained to look up at him through her lashes from her position. “If you pull away again before finishing me off, you will be in trouble,” he warned. 

She grinned like the Cheshire Cat, sinking her claws into his thighs for purchase when she took him in her mouth again. His guilt flashed knowing the console couldn’t be comfortable on her stomach, but he was so close. He’d kiss it better later.

He groaned as she went to work, no longer making it a game to see how long he would allow her to string him out. Little licks had been replaced with whole-hearted sucks that tensed every muscle in his thighs. She was sloppy, noisy, and determined. Even against the buzz of the radio, he could hear the obscene, wet sounds of her saliva as she slurped him down. 

He cut his eyes around the edge of the forest he had pulled over in. They were meant to be hiking. It sounded like a relatively safe date— no alcohol, no chance of intruding family members, and some beautiful views to share with each other at one of the parks on the outskirts of Winterfell. However, she had begun palming him through his pants before they ever made it to the park entrance. By the time he’d flashed his annual pass and driven through the gate, she had unbuckled her seat belt and was stretched over his console leaving a wet mark where she had teasingly sucked at his dick through his pants. He’d cursed and that was the beginning of when he’d messed up her ponytail, trying to wrangle her off of him with one hand while he avoided driving off the road with the other.

He knew of a trail meant for four-wheeling and off-roading that came up before the main parking lot for day hikers and had pulled in, taking a few turns he remembered from years past. He’d never actually seen anyone use the trail for four-wheeling. Only for… well what they were doing now. Shifting his car into four wheel drive and taking a few turns he hadn’t made in twenty years, he’d parked them in a secluded part of the forest. Tall, thick rows of trees hid them from the rest of the world while he reclined his seat and slid his sweats halfway down his legs. 

“Mmm that’s my girl,” he mumbled, hand barely clasped onto the back of her head. She didn’t need encouragement. She wiggled against the console, raising her hips up and gaining a better angle that allowed her to take him deeper. The vibrations of her moans around his cock caused him to cant his hips up resulting in the sweetest gagging sound he’d ever heard.

“Awww, baby,” he cooed, petting her hair. She turned wide, watery eyes up to look at him, careful not to go too far now. He began to tremble from how close he was. “Almost there. Don’t make a mess.” She hummed, relentless until his head was thrown back against the headrest while he came. If only he’d had the control to watch her swallow his seed down. He might have come a second time on the spot. 

She removed herself from him slowly, sitting back on her heels again and wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. He blinked his eyes open, surveying the trees for the possibility of any passerby and looking down at his lap. The last thing he needed was a witness to his teenage behavior that might get him banned from the parks altogether. However, the coast was clear and he had a new challenge for his baby. “You missed a spot,” he smirked at her. 

She had popped her tit back into her sports bra and was slipping her long sleeve back on. She squinted at his stomach and bare legs till she noticed the drop of cum that had leaked onto the top of his thigh. And because he was a sick bastard who needed to be studied for how much he enjoyed pushing her limits, his next words were, “Clean it.”

But he was wrong. This wasn’t a limit to be pushed, but rather a desire they seemed to share. Every time he thought she might protest or pause to discuss, her eyes lit up like he’d discovered a hidden craving she’d yet to tell him. She leaned over the console for the third time, lapping at his thigh to clean the last traces of their excursion they’d left behind. A cat with a bowl of cream, she seemed to savor it, licking her lips then pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his sensitive, softening cock.

“All better, Daddy?” 

Fuck. “All better,” he mumbled, lifting his hips to pull his sweats back up. Dany had settled back into her seat and was combing her hair back into a new ponytail. “Do I need to…?”

She snickered, licking at her swollen lips. “You can make it up to me later.”

“Aye,” his lip tugged up while he reversed, turning back to head to the main road and their original destination. The past few weeks had been much of the same. Daenerys was a wild card. He never knew when or where she would pull the Daddy card, but gods if he didn’t encourage it every time. She was insatiable and they were both covered in the marks to prove it. And who was he to deny her? He wasn’t sure if he had the power to ever tell her no, especially when she would ask for her most depraved desires so damn sweetly.

He parked in the main lot for the trail he had in mind for their day. Typically, Ghost would accompany him for these outings, but he knew between his dog and Dany, there would be so many distractions they might not reach the summit till after dark. Dany shivered when they exited the car, the autumn air brisk and warning of colder months to come. She frowned when he tossed her coat from the back to her unsuspecting hands while he slid his backpack over the shoulders of his long sleeve. 

“Do you ever get cold?” She rolled her eyes slipping on her jacket and hopping foot to foot. 

“When it’s actually cold.” He did have an extra jacket in his pack in case it was needed, but he knew the biting wind would be tempered by flashes of sunlight creeping through the trees. And the cold made him feel more alive. It ached sore bones and made parts of his stomach feel numb. He had learned years ago in places much colder than this to appreciate those reminders that blood still ran warm under your skin. 

He led the way up the trail. They passed a few other hikers here and there, but it was mostly empty. Tall trees in shades of green and tinges of autumn towered above them with their roots twisting into the path creating trip hazards every dozen feet or so. He turned his head to check on Daenerys every time he stepped over one, ensuring she was still on two feet. There were areas where the trail was more narrow, only allowing for one person to cross at a time. The first time they trekked through one of those passes, he tensed at the feeling of a small hand grabbing at his arm. He turned once more to see her biting her lip, stepping carefully up a steep incline of rocks and roots.

After the third time she grabbed at him, nearly knocking him backward with the grip she had on his backpack, he stepped to the side when the path became wide enough for both of them again. “Here, go in front of me.” He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her in front of him, but her heels dug in when she reached his side.

“Why?”

“So I can see if you’re going to fall,” he said, pressing his hand into her back more firmly than before.

She swatted his arm away. “I’m not going to fall.”

“Aye, but I might if you keep grabbing my pack every time you step over a damned root,” he grumbled, slowing his pace to match hers. The trail would be wide enough for the two of them for the next bit anyway.

“If you just held my hand like a normal freaking date instead of adventuring off, you wouldn’t have to worry about me falling.” She had slowed her pace again, attempting to walk a few feet behind him.

He rolled his eyes and turned to grab her hand, tugging her forward till she was by his side again. 

“Better?” He had hardly “adventured off” as she put it. He’d been listening for any change in her footfalls, any change in her breath to alert him that she might have tripped or fallen behind. He had only asked her to swap places because he was tired of straining his senses to ensure her safety, and if she were to fall backward, she would fall straight into him.  However, a few weeks of spending time with Daenerys had taught him that she rarely asked for what she wanted. So if she wanted to hold hands while they hiked through the forest, he was happy to oblige her. And maybe it would make her more amenable to walking in front of him when they reached the next tight, uphill stretch.

“Yes,” she sniffed, rolling her shoulders back as she recovered from the way she’d stumbled to catch up to him. 

It was better to walk this way. He could see her looking around at the scenery, craning her neck to see where the line of trees ended. He could feel when she wanted to stop and take pictures of something she thought was interesting. She had him snap a few of her posed on a tree that had fallen down sideways. With her soft little hand tethered to his, he was able to experience this well-worn path through the eyes of someone seeing its beauty for the first time, gaining a newfound appreciation for the parts of the journey he usually took for granted.

They stopped at a clearing a bit off the trail to rest and drink some water. The sun was getting higher overhead, flashing streams of light through gaps in the trees. He lifted his face toward it, basking in the warmth provided and pushing his shirt sleeves up his forearms. Now that they were still, his body temperature clashed with the one outside, his blood too warm for the cold that pricked his skin.

Dany had found her own stream of sunlight to stand in, gold reflecting off her silver hair and smooth skin while she alternated rubbing her hands up and down her legs and marching in place. Her nose was flushed red from the cold, but he knew this was just the beginning. 

“I’m worried you may not make it through your first winter in the North,” he called, the corner of his mouth edging up as she stilled her marching in place to cross her arms over her chest.

“Not if my boyfriend keeps hauling me out into the wild where it’s freezing. Winters are meant for snuggling. Inside. With hot chocolate.” She rubbed her hands down her legs again and he stood up from the trunk he’d been leaning against to walk her way. 

He circled his arms around her and ran his hands up and down her back, her jacket swishing at the movement. “Boyfriend, huh?” He teased. 

“Boyfriend. Like boyfriend that’s going to snuggle me with hot chocolate all winter break till I have to go back to teaching in the spring. I mean it’s not like I’m seeing anyone else.” She narrowed her eyes to look up at him. “Are you?”

“No.” He would have snorted at the idea, but his blood ran hot thinking of her seeing anyone else. She was his. Irrational and quick as it may be, he had no interest in sharing. “The kids driving you that crazy already? It’s barely October.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She scrunched her nose, only inches from his own. “What else should I call you then?” 

He smirked, cupping her ass in his hand and stroking it with his thumb. Her leggings didn’t hide much and he did have a debt to pay. “I thought you already had a name picked out for me.”

She licked her lip, looking down and back up at him. “Pretty sure I got spanked for trying to introduce you as my Daddy to new people.”

His lip twitched remembering the first morning she woke up in his bed. Her grin grew wider when he brought his palm down swiftly on her ass. “You got spanked because you wanted it.” 

She slid out of his arms, scampering back to the trail. “Alright, so when you take me to your next family dinner, I’ll just call you Daddy all night!”

Catelyn would have a heart attack. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and made quick strides to catch up to her where the trail picked back up. He caught her around the middle and bent his head down to her ear, letting his beard scratch at the sensitive stretch of her neck below it. “You might not like your punishment if you call me Daddy at family dinner,” he husked to a satisfying shiver he felt run through her. “But boyfriend is good.”

“Good.” She grabbed his hand, leading him down the path the remainder of the way. 

In about twenty minutes, the steep trail they’d been climbing gave way to a larger opening and a reprieve from the trees. It was a bit rocky and wide enough for several other hikers to be perched in different areas enjoying the view. Daenerys led him to the edge, wind whipping at stray hairs that had dropped from her ponytail. They were no longer guarded by walls of trees, but that also allowed for longer stretches of sunlight to radiate its heat over them. 

“Wow,” she breathed, dropping his hand so she could walk along the edge of the drop-off, hand carefully poised above the guard rail for balance. Stretches of wilderness extended as far as they could see. Towering green trees interspersed with those who had already begun to turn colors for the fall. Splashes of oranges and reds on a sea of green and brown, it was a beautiful sight to take in.

“Jon! Let’s take a picture!” She waved him over to her side and stretched her arm out to take a picture of them with the expansive view of the rest of the park behind them. She tilted her head into his and his lips curled up a little higher when he looked down to see her blonde head resting against him. He pressed a kiss to her temple and her thumb pressed down to snap a few more photos.

“Oooh, I am totally using one of these for your contact photo! Come look!” She had walked over to the shade, squinting at her phone with a hand up to block the sun. 

He looked over her shoulder, eyes still trying to adjust to the change in lighting, but what he saw was obvious. He never felt too old around her. In fact, she had a way of breathing new life into his day where their interactions usually felt…timeless. However, the natural sunlight was not as forgiving. In the photos he saw Daenerys— eyes bright, skin smooth, happy, beautiful— then there was him. Salt-and-pepper peaking through his dark beard and a few grays around his hairline. The sun highlighting where his skin crinkled around his dark eyes and forehead when he smiled. The little scar above his eyebrow, a divot in time-tarnished skin.

“Gods, you look so fucking hot in these, I don’t even think I want to share them anywhere,” she all but growled into his ear, teetering on her tiptoes so he could feel her breath on his neck.

He smirked at the reminder of her rose-colored lenses. “These are more appropriate than the contact photo I have for you.”

She lowered herself to flat feet again, her brows furrowing together. “What photo?”

He pulled out his phone, opening her contact to the photo she had taken of them together the first night in the bathroom at the Red Keep. The lighting was dim, his curls hid part of his face, and their eyes were glazed in mutual drunkenness. But there was no mistaking the beard rash and hickies running along her neckline. It was the most surprising part about getting a phone call from a contact entered in his phone as “Daddy’s Baby.”

Her mouth opened and closed softly, fish-like in her surprise when she glanced at him with wide eyes.

“Do you not remember taking that?” He chuckled, pocketing his phone.

“Vaguely,” she mumbled, a fair pink crawling across her cheeks.

He slung an arm around her shoulder, cuddling her into him so he could lean down to tease her. “My naughty baby girl, blacking out at the bar every week.”

“Hey, I remembered some things! Besides, it paid off for me that time,” she smiled sweetly at him, distracting him from her hand reaching around to pinch his ass.

He jumped with a start and scanned the area to see if anyone had witnessed them. From where they had placed their backs to the edge of the forest, they were safe. Other hikers milled about, but most were enjoying the view closer to the guard rail or resting on some of the larger rocks still bathed in the sun’s warmth.

“I thought we’d talked about who pinches whose ass around here.” He reached down, pinching her fleshy ass, harder than she had pinched his. She muffled a whimper through pursed lips, eyes bulging when she looked up at him. 

“Maybe we should talk about it again,” she breathed. “In bed.” He did owe her.

Their return hike flew by faster than their trek uphill. They were less winded on the downhill slope and Daenerys wasn’t nearly as interested in stopping for photo ops this time. She jaunted in front of him, ponytail swishing, and looking back to grin or playfully smack his hand every time he reached forward to grab at her ass. She had one destination in mind and he had every intention of keeping her focused on it till they arrived. 

In between teasing pats and pokes, his mind wandered to their conversation from earlier. He knew she liked to go out with her friends. She was young, and hell, he still enjoyed frequenting bars and pubs. But how many of her nights out did she tend to forget? What if she had chosen to drunkenly follow some other man into the bathroom that night? Would she have been taken advantage of? Would she have even remembered what happened to her? He thought of her the following weekend, alone and beginning a bender. The thought of her vulnerable and without him was terrifying. 

Their phones started pinging when they reached his car, minimal service finally reaching them now that they had cleared the woods. He had a message from Arya telling him to quit hogging her new best friend and a Facebook invite from the local’s veterans group for the next painting class. He ignored both in favor of getting them out of the park and at his apartment as quickly as possible. 

Daenerys was quiet, lost in thought while she stared at her phone. He made a pass to squeeze at her thigh as they exited the park, but it went ignored while she tapped and stared at her phone. He reached over to grab her free hand, wanting to hold it and stroke it in his over the console. She allowed it, but her hand was limp and disinterested in his. All interest in their earlier games and innuendo seemed to be gone.

His rejected hand returned to the steering wheel and he focused on the road trying not to let her sudden silence get under his skin. She was always a little hard to predict, but he thought he’d done well at keeping her interest sexually. They spent half their drive in silence with her eventually staring out the window at the changing scenery. Tall, leafy trees turned to rows of yellow and orange leaves raining down to be crunched on by passing cars which turned to the beginnings of the cityscape. 

“Everything okay?” He drummed his fingers against the wheel, finally able to safely look at her now that they had made it to a stoplight.

She wasn’t stressed or angry. She was blank, like a canvas. Eyes hollow, cheeks rested, mouth parted, she was nearly expressionless. “Huh?”

“Everything okay?” He repeated, searching her face before the light changed and he had to look away from her.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You’re quiet. That’s all.”

“You’re always quiet.”

“You’re not.”

She sighed and he heard the rustle of her shifting in her seat to look out the window, tucking her feet beneath her. “I’m sorry.”

He drove a hand through his hair and eyed her quickly. She had shrunk herself into a ball, curled up in the seat as small as he’d ever seen her. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just worried I did something wrong. Or something went wrong and you’re not telling me.”

She didn’t answer him for another minute and he was ready to let it rest. “My brother texted me.”

The other brother. He didn’t know much about that one. He hadn’t made national news or inspired prayer circles across the country, only silence from his sister. He nodded, waiting for her to continue. But she didn’t. 

“Do you mind taking me home tonight?” It shouldn’t have been so personal, but it felt like a punch in the gut. 

“Yes.”

“You can’t kidnap me, Jon.” She wasn’t angry, but she did sound tired, her voice weary.

“I can drive in circles until you tell me why your brother texting you has you so upset.” The two-minute drive to her home from their current location wasn’t enough time to discuss this properly. And he’d rather not try to have this conversation to the tune of Margaery sing-songing “Zaddy” to him the whole way up the steps. 

He was on his second lap of Winterfell’s downtown district when she spoke again. “He hasn’t even tried to see me since I was in high school.”

“And that’s what has you upset?”

“Since he thinks he can waltz into my life all of a sudden, yes!” She huffed. 

“I thought you said he was in Essos?” He rolled to a slow stop when he saw the upcoming yellow light. 

“He’s coming back next month. He wants a place to stay while he visits.” 

“If you don’t want him staying with you, tell him to fuck off,” he shrugged. 

“I would never leave him like he left me,” she said venemously. 

Cars zipped around him, honking as he sat distracted at a green light. He cursed under his breath, pressing down on the gas to join the flow of traffic. “Baby, you’re obviously not happy about having him in your house. It’s okay to tell him no.”

“Can I go home now?” 

“Yes. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He felt like a dick, but he still didn’t know much about what happened with Viserys. She didn’t talk much about her family, but he knew that Viserys was all that was left. 

He hadn’t ventured far from her little rental, so they were pulling onto her street within a few minutes. When he parked outside, she didn’t move. When the song on the radio changed, she was still tucked up in her little ball with her feet underneath her and her seatbelt on, eyes lost staring into her front yard.

“You know… you can talk to your boyfriend about whatever happened with you two. Twenty questions, remember?”

Her lip quirked up. “Already pulling the boyfriend card on me?”

“I could pull the Daddy card, but the timing seemed bad,” he shrugged.

She snorted a laugh and unbuckled her seatbelt, shifting to turn her knees toward him. “Viserys… was always a little difficult. I saw him a few times after our parents passed, but when Uncle Aemon got sick, he never came to help. He didn’t answer my calls, he didn’t help with the funeral. I was eighteen, I didn’t know how to do those things.”

He reached for her hand, holding it in his and soothing the shakes by massaging her palm. He wouldn’t have known how to arrange a funeral at eighteen either. He still didn’t know now. When his dad had passed, he was gone. Catelyn and Robb had handled everything. And his little Daenerys had handled all of that weight for her family on her own. 

“It is never too late to tell him to fuck off.”

“He’s it though. If I say that, then I’m really alone,” she sniffed. 

“Well leave him on read till you make up your mind. But don’t let him stress you out. Or keep you out of my bed.” He wagged his eyebrows to her soft snicker. 

She reached across the console and cupped his face. “Thank you. I’ll text you later.” She kissed him once, twice, then tried to pull away.  

He pulled her closer. Kissed her once, twice, three times. The only thing that stopped him was the shrill sounds of Margaery screaming, “Zaddy’s baaaa-aaaack!” from the doorway.

Dany laughed silently, forehead pressing into his. He stroked her cheek. “I still don’t know what that means.”

“I would never ruin that for you,” she giggled and pressed one more kiss to his mouth before she was gone. 

Chapter Text

She had felt so much braver when she walked in the door, greeted by rows and rows of artwork and a little bell chiming over her head. She’d done this before, curled up on a black leather couch pouring over book after book of drawings to consider inking onto her skin. None spoke to her. Gaudy designs of flowers and half-naked women were laughable along with overdone religious emblems for those who prayed to the Seven on Sundays after a week of breaking every teaching the Faith had.

She stopped bringing Margaery with her after her second attempt. Marge had encouraged her to choose one of the gaudy flowers with her and boldly chose to have a thorned rose drawn up the back of her neck on the last visit. The rose worked for her— beautiful and prickly, hidden behind a wall of chestnut waves. But white Lillies or violet orchids didn’t feel like her, not even the beautiful blue winter roses like the ones Jon had taken to picking up for her. He’d yet to allow a previous batch to go dry. 

She’d had an idea in mind for a few years but was always too nervous to move forward. A tattoo was a commitment and the one she’d had in mind would commit her to a family she’d already said goodbye to. She’d spent hours sketching out her idea, crumbling up papers covered in chicken scratch and different variances of extinct, mythical creatures flying through her mind. Her mom, her dad, and her eldest brother— three little dragons for three Targaryens. Nothing seemed good enough, which is what usually brought her to perusing portfolios of different script fonts and designs reminiscent of tile patterns from Qarth.

Today was meant to be different. She’d reached out to the same artist that Jon had used for his tattoos. It wasn’t hard to find the woman who had done the detailed winter-capped mountain range covering a veteran’s scars. If Jon’s work wasn’t enough of a referral, Yara’s sleeve running up her left arm soothed any concern Daenerys had about what the finished product would look like. Her arm had a nautical theme, covered in anchors, busty mermaids with watercolor scales, and the sprawling tentacles of a large squid with a ship crushed in its grasp. They’d already had a consultation where they talked about her most recent drawing and the improvements she would make to it. After some fine-tuning to the dragons’ wingspan and ridged spine, Daenerys surprised herself with how much she liked what they came up with. 

But now that she was sitting on the large black chair in Yara’s booth, bile crept up her throat threatening to spill over and reveal the anxious pit buried deep in her stomach. A cold sweat pricked at her neck and underarms, despite the chilly temperature outside and in the tattoo parlor. She should have taken a few shots before she came. That would have warmed her. Not the way Jon would have, but it would be a fine replacement. However, pre-game shots before her appointment would have involved drinking tequila in the parking lot of Winterfell Elementary, which she was sure the carpool line would frown upon. There were days that the children would drive her to down a bottle of wine while mocking them in her living room with Margaery, but she did try to reserve that behavior for when she was off campus. 

 “You okay, little miss?” 

Dany frowned at the name, resentful of the childish connotation that came with it, but she knew she was not okay. “I’m fine, Yara. Go ahead.”

She tensed, flinching at the feeling of the cold pad of rubbing alcohol smoothing over the left side of her rib. She was fine. She could get through this. She wanted this. 

“That stencil look like what you had in mind?” Yara held up a mirror, assisting Dany so she could see the three dragons flying in a circle that they’d designed to go along the left side of her ribcage. The purple ink already looked beautiful. Her fingertips hovered over the little creatures she hoped would keep her family near her heart, careful not to smear the stencil. 

“They’re perfect.”

She leaned back in the chair, freeing her sides to Yara’s capable hands. She nodded and clenched her eyes shut, trying to prepare for the pain when Yara told her she was going to begin. She knew pain, she could do this. She wanted this.

Within seconds, she realized she could not do this. The burning sensation of the needle etching into her ribs was excruciating. Yara had warned her that the ribs were one of the most sensitive places to have tattooed, but this was more than she’d planned. A white-hot needle poking straight into her bones had tears welling in her eyes, fat and traitorous. She bit her lip, focusing on exhaling through her nose. Ten long minutes she monitored on the clock mounted by the entryway later, she tasted a hint of blood on her tongue and released her lower lip with a shuddering breath.

Yara didn’t budge, focused on her art and at least pretending not to notice Dany’s obvious discomfort. She shouldn’t have come alone. She hates being alone. But she also knew she likely wouldn’t have gone through with it if she brought any of her friends. Marge and Loras were so close, almost like twins. They would never understand her why. They would have called her a baby and left with matching tattoos. Missy would have been sympathetic, but she didn’t want to bother her with… this. 

“Yara, can we take a break?” She wheezed.

The incessant buzzing of her gun stopped after a few more strokes that felt like flames licking at her ribs, and Yara glanced up at her and then at the clock. “I only have half a dragon done, but take ten if you need it.”

Dany dropped the large t-shirt she’d worn to the appointment over her stomach and power walked with her head down to the bathroom. Her sneakers squeaked against the black and white tile and she was quick to shut the faded red door behind her. She swallowed down tears against her fluttering stomach wondering if she’d made a mistake. Her parents would have hated a tattoo. She didn’t remember much about Rhaegar and he didn’t seem to have any in the photos she’d seen. 

She clicked around on her phone before she knew what she was doing, butterflies flapping faster while it rang. 

“Hello,” a tired voice groaned out. 

“I think I made a mistake,” she whimpered. 

“Hmm? Wha- what’dya mean?” He mumbled groggily.

“Were you asleep? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called.” She didn’t know what she was thinking. This wasn’t something she should bother him with. The high-pitched squeal of her shoes against the tile floors was almost laughable as she paced the small space. She wondered if he could hear them over the phone.

“No! No. I had a late-night security gig last night, but I’m up. What’s wrong?”

“I’m getting a tattoo and it hurts more than I thought it would and I probably shouldn’t have done this, because my parents would have hated it and she hasn’t even finished a whole dragon yet and I think I’m going to have to tell her to stop, because I don’t think I can do this,” she blurted, short on breath by the final syllables.

Jon was silent on his end of the phone. She could barely hear his breathing and had to check that the call hadn’t disconnected.

“Jon?”

“You’re getting a tattoo,” he stated, voice still thick with sleep.

“Yes, that’s what I said. But I don’t think I can finish and I’m kind of freaking out—

“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting a tattoo?” She could hear shuffling in the background like he was getting out of bed.

”You’re acting very dad-like, but not in the sexy daddy type of way.”  

He sighed deeply into the phone and she could already imagine his pinched brows low on his face. 

“Where are you, Daenerys?” Fuck, not the whole name.

“I’m with Yara,” she defended, already feeling small. He was helping her out of her panic state, but not in the way she had intended.

“You’re seeing my tattoo artist and you didn’t tell me?” He grumbled. His tone gave her the weird stomach feeling she used to have when she had disappointed her uncle. 

“She’s allowed to see other people, Jon. That type of relationship isn’t exclusive.” 

“I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Tell Yara I said to wait if she gives you any shit about your break time.”

That he said to wait? She saw her jaw drop open in the clouded mirror. Affronted, the next words ready on her tongue were to tell him to fuck off and forget it. But her skin still throbbed where half a dragon lay mocking her. Little baby dragon, can’t even get a tattoo on her own without calling her boyfriend crying.

Prepared to defend herself, she realized he had already hung up. She had about two minutes left in her ten-minute break. It’d be a lie to try and tell herself that he wasn’t the first call she wanted to make. She’d been itching to show him drawings, dying to ask him more about what it was like when he got his tattoos, and she’d muffled the little voice squeaking at her to call him before she ever walked in the door.

After she told Yara that they would be waiting another ten minutes for her boyfriend to get there, she lay down on the chair and stared at her phone. She’d made the lockscreen one of the selfies they’d taken on their recent hike. She pursed her lips, hesitating to open her phone and re-read the same messages from her brother when she could study her man instead. Rugged beard surrounding his jaw, squinted eyes, and a half smile, she had a hard time believing he was hers. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if she was weak for beginning to feel like she needed him. She knew better than to depend on someone else, but now she didn’t even want to get a simple tattoo without having him by her side. The sense of relief she felt when she heard the door chime followed by his gruff murmurings to the people at the front grated her.

His boots sounded against the tile floors till he rounded the corner to Yara’s booth. Rumpled long sleeve tight across his chest, untamed curls, and his eyes still blinking awake confirmed that he had rolled out of bed to be there. 

“Jon!” A weight drifted off her legs, her shoulders, and her head, temporarily removing the remaining pain from Yara’s earlier work.

Yara raised a pierced brow, looking between the two. “Jonny boy here is your boyfriend, huh?”

Dany cut her eyes to Yara, opening her mouth to retort when Jon grunted, nodded Yara’s way, and wrapped an arm around Dany’s shoulder to bring her close and kiss the crown of her head. “You okay?” He murmured.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” a smile breezing briefly over her face and her hand pressing into his chest where she could feel his heartbeat, steady and even.

“Alright, lovers, now that you have your emotional support Veteran are we ready to jump back in?” Yara was slumped over in her stool, hands resting on spread legs, with a cocky grin on her face. 

Dany scooted down her chair, rolling onto her side to face Jon and raising up her shirt, revealing the half-tattooed dragon and the rest of her purple stencil. “Let’s get it over with.”

Jon had sat down in the extra chair in the room, leaned back with his legs extended and hands folded over his stomach. He looked so comfortable like he could go back to sleep. “Dragons then?”

She gritted her teeth when Yara’s needle returned to her skin. “Three.”

“You and your siblings?” The needle buzzed in the background while she tried to focus on remembering to breathe.

“No,” her nose crinkled, eyes squinting. “My brother and my parents.” Viserys didn’t deserve to be memorialized this way. He was still alive. Just not present. The last Targaryens. What a joke. 

Jon’s brow furrowed even lower than normal the way it always did at the mention of her family. She hadn’t told him much about her parents yet, but she couldn’t stand the sad eyes he had every time the subject came up. It’d been ten years since she lost her mom. Eight since she lost her dad. Five since Uncle Aemon. She didn’t need anyone’s pity now. 

“I wouldn’t have recommended the ribs for your first,” he noted, watching her face scrunch in pain.

“She was insistent,” Yara deadpanned, briefly giving Dany a break from her gun.

Jon’s lip tugged up in one corner. “She always is.”

“She,” Dany growled “knew what she wanted.”

“She,” Yara mocked, “is vibrating.” She pulled back, chair clicking as she rolled backward from Dany. “You want water? Sprite?”

Dany cursed, placing a hand on her leg to still the shaking. “Water’s fine.”

Jon’s chair scraped against the tile, as he dragged it closer to her. He placed one warm hand on her leg, the other gripping one of her hands. “You know you don’t have to do all three today? She can finish another time.”

“We’re finishing.” 

“You insistent on that?” A challenge. Damn him. 

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him, head still resting against the black leather of her chair till Yara came in offering a bottle of water. Dany drank greedily, letting the chill settle her nerves and the sweat that had accumulated at the back of her neck. 

She closed her eyes, trying to escape to a painless corner of her mind while Yara buzzed away at her bones to bring the second dragon to life. From her ribs comes new life for the family she’d lost. Jon’s thumb stroked her hand the whole while, soothing her with his touch and the faint sounds of his humming marrying with the buzz of Yara’s gun. The pain was still present, barely bearable, but she managed to lose herself to it.

Her three dragons. Mom. Dad. Rhaegar. Her mom, who she didn’t think ever recovered from the loss of her firstborn, succumbed to fires burning under her skin, Her eyes twitched as she thought of homework done in hospital hallways, waiting for her dad to take her back home. Her dad, too old to have had that third child. A heart attack, fires in his chest. Her brother, taken by the literal fires of a plane crash. Fire, fire, fire. Holy shit, her skin was on fire. 

She hiccuped, trying to prevent herself from shaking again. She heard Jon shift in his seat and she clamped her hand around his, terrified what the pain would do to her without his grounding touch. Warm, sweaty, rough fingers grasped her hand in return and he didn’t let go. He’d only stood to get closer to her, carding the thick fingers of his free hand through her hair. 

“You need to breathe,” he murmured.

“I thought I was,” she grumbled. 

“Breathe in when she moves the needle off of you.” She glared his way, feeling it was a little late in the game for this kind of advice. “Try it,” he challenged. 

She spent the rest of the session focusing on her breathing,  Jon petting her head and holding firm while she squeezed his hand. Large breaths in when the needle came off her skin. Controlled breaths out to distract from the pain. She managed to stave off the shakes listening to Jon’s deep voice lull her with words of encouragement. 

“Alright, little dragon, we’re almost done. I’m going to get you wrapped up with some care instructions and you’ll be out of here.” Yara’s chair clicked away as she rolled to grab the plastic wrap. She handed Dany a mirror to inspect her work. She felt like a fish, mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of a coherent way to describe the beauty and connection she felt. The outline of three dragons, free and flying in formation along her left side, as if on a path to her heart. Her hand left Jon’s grasp, fingers tempted to touch the permanent addition to her body. Her fingers fluttered along her side instead, running down the areas that were still smooth and white. 

“Little dragon? I think I like that,” Jon mused with a smirk. Dany grimaced, too winded to think of a proper comeback to prevent either of them from ever calling her little dragon again.

Jon pushed up under Dany’s shoulder to prop her up while Yara carefully wrapped her work, explaining aftercare instructions and best practices. His hand had a comforting presence on her shoulder, thumb smoothing over her collarbone while Yara continued. Dany nodded along, knowing that Jon would be calling her every day to ensure she’d taken care of her tattoo. If he didn’t insist on seeing to it himself. That might be what terrified her the most about him— his intense need to care for her. 

Her skin felt hot and sore, but the leftover adrenaline and the pride she had in herself for finishing the job won over. She gritted her teeth in an attempt to control the chattering, muscles flexing as she worked to control the adrenaline moving through her.  Her flannel was dropped over her shoulders, Jon’s hands running up and down her arms to warm her, still her. 

She checked out with Yara, Jon’s arm wrapped around her shoulders keeping her grounded while she tried to quell the shakes through sheer force of will. He discussed expanding his tattoos with Yara, mostly at her prompting. Ideas she had to connect the mountain range on his chest to run across his shoulders and eventually connect to the work he had on his forearms. Dany was sure it would be beautiful and she would love scraping her nails across the new artwork once it was healed. But she’d had all she could stand of Yara for the day.

“Thanks again, Yara. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you for Jonny Boy’s next session soon.” She clapped her hand against Jon’s chest, enjoying the way he flinched before flexing in response. 

She ignored the stare she knew he had fixed her with, choosing to grab his hand and turn for the door to the tune of Yara calling, “Take it easy, little dragon!”

She swallowed down a sigh, willing her eyes to not cut back to Yara in response. The cold whipped at her cheeks as she hurried back to her car, Jon trailing behind. “Since I was so kind to invite you to my tattoo appointment, do I get an invite to your place after this?” 

Jon’s cheek pulled up on one side in an almost smile as he blocked the cold from invading her car while she climbed in. “I’ll see you there.” He leaned into the car, kissing her temple before trodding away to his jeep, his black long sleeve stretched tight across the muscles of his back.

His apartment was cold. Hardly a break from the frosty autumn air she was trying to learn to adjust to, she was convinced the man didn’t know how to turn on the heater. The decor, or lack thereof, only exacerbated the frigid temperature. A gray couch. Bright white ceilings and lighting over cool, modern finishes. He’d supposedly lived there for a year, but the barren walls could have convinced her that he’d just moved in. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if she started hanging up some of their photos to warm up the place. 

For now, the only two warm things inside these walls were Jon and Ghost. She dropped to her knees and wrapped herself in the cloudy mane of Jon’s pup when she followed Jon through the door. She nuzzled into his neck, her desire for heat and closeness winning out over her desire to flop on his stiff couch and ruminate on the pain in her side until she passed out. 

“I’m starting to worry you’re using me to get to my dog.” She heard Jon’s voice and the clink of the leash as he retrieved it for Ghost’s walk. 

She turned her head to stare up at Jon, who looked down at her and his dog expectantly. “That and the sex. I’m definitely using you for the sex.” She leaned her head into Ghost’s, a teasing smile playing at her lips. 

“Aye, figured as much,” he rolled his eyes and waved Ghost to his side. Ghost stared at Jon, then slid to the floor beside Daenerys, who encouraged his behavior with soft rubs against his belly. Her lips twitched, attempting to conceal the laugh bubbling its way up her throat. 

“Ghost,” Jon said sternly, pointing to the spot by his side. Ghost rolled over on his back, wiggling beneath Dany’s hands. 

She bit her lip before checking Jon’s composure again. She’d tried his patience enough to know when it was waning. She wasn’t sure if Ghost had a middle name, but she had a feeling they’d be hearing it soon if he didn’t move.

 “Ghost,” she stage whispered. “You need to go to Daddy before he gets mad.” She patted his belly once more before removing herself from the floor. Ghost gave her a knowing eye roll before leisurely rolling over and walking the few feet to Jon’s side. Jon huffed, grumbling under his breath while he hooked the leash to Ghost’s collar. 

She yanked her shoes off and set them by the couch before lying on her good side to wait for Jon. She stretched her arms overhead, pulling her feet in the opposite direction like a starfish, so she’d feel the stretch running tight across her abs. Her limbs came back together on the cool couch, nothing left to distract her from the lingering ache in her side and the crackling of plastic wrap as she moved. Perhaps a throw blanket would help too.

Jon joined her on the couch when he returned from his walk with Ghost. He sat at the end near her head and she snuggled closer to him. His pants were cool against her ear and her lids blinked shut while he ran a soothing hand through her hair where it draped over his lap. 

“You want me to order something for dinner?”

“I already did. Should be here in about 45 minutes or so.” 

His hand paused in her hair. “I would have taken care of that.”

“Mmm,” she acknowledged, “but now you don’t have to.”

Her shoulders tensed, preparing for a fight on archaic ideals upon feeling his legs flex. But then they relaxed and his hand resumed petting her hair. “What’d you order?”

“That Dornish place we got last week. I ordered you the lamb.”

He nodded his head and she noticed his eyes blinking shut the way hers had a few moments before. “Are you tired? I know I woke you up,” she asked. Maybe she wasn’t so good at this girlfriend thing. In the past few hours, she’d woken him up, been needy, invited herself over, and didn’t even ask what he wanted to eat for dinner. 

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “You happy with how your tattoo turned out?”

Her three dragons, beautiful and born of pain. “I love them.” She touched a hand to the plastic wrap, careful not to go too high where she might put pressure on them. It crinkled beneath her fingers providing the additional proof that she’d gone through with it. She’d committed.

“You know you could have called me before going in by yourself? I would have been with you from the start.” He cracked his eyes open to look down at her.

She rolled her eyes, flicking them to where Ghost lay curled in his bed and a hot breath left her chest in a sigh. “I know.”

The fingers of his free hand drummed against his leg, the other hand now resting on her hair strewn across his lap. One-two. One-two. “Why didn’t you?” His voice was even, a tone she’d begun to recognize, blanketed with false apathy. 

Her mouth tightened in a pursed line. “I just wanted to do it by myself. It was for me.”

He nodded and the tapping of his fingers slowed. The cadence changing— a longer one…two. One…two. Smoky eyes pinned her, surprising her with how open they looked now. It was a contrast to the dark purple of his under eyes. “I’m glad you did call me.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile, coy and satisfied. “Me too.”

They fell into the mundane waiting on their food. Jon too tired to do more than stroke her head and watch TV. Dany didn’t feel much better, drained from the deep ache in her ribs and the loss of all her adrenaline. She tried to remember the last evening she’d had that was so uneventful. Evenings with Jon were always…eventful. As were mornings. Or afternoons. Or anytime she was around him. She would normally shake with need and want.  But now she considered if this was enough sometimes. As soon as she would settle, the quiet would jolt her wandering mind. Was it enough?

Jon jumped when the doorbell rang signalling their food had arrived. His upper body lurched forward, halfway coming out of his seat as he jostled Daenerys’ head out of his lap. She scrambled to sit up quickly and put a hand on his chest. His heart raced just as fast as hers. “Easy soldier, just our food.”

 “Aye,” he nodded. “I’ll get it.” He grimaced standing up from the couch, and striding stiffly to the door while she stretched and searched his kitchen to grab silverware for them. 

They settled into their seats at the bar, digging into steaming to-go boxes of spiced lamb, rice, and some of her other favorites. She picked food out of Jon’s box, grinning proudly as he watched her stab her fork into a bite he’d just cut for himself.  

“What does Marge think about your tattoo?”

Dany smirked, swallowing her stolen bite. “She asked if Zaddy had kissed it better yet.”

He snorted, spearing a bite of chicken out of her box. “What’d you say?”

She gasped mockingly, touching her hand to her heart. “Jon Snow, do you think I kiss and tell?”

“Mmm. Yes,” he said with his mouth full. 

Her brows pinched together in a frown. He was right, of course, but she didn’t want him to know that. “I’ll have you know that I told her it was none of her business,” she sniffed.

“Only because I haven’t kissed it better yet.”

“Does that mean you have plans for me later?” She wiggled her brows suggestively, hungering for something else besides the herbed chicken she’d ordered. 

His eyes crinkled, dark circles framing them, when his lip quirked up in a teasing smile. She softened at the sight, another pang of guilt washing through her chest. She should never have woken him up. 

“You’ll have to wait and see, Princess.” 

She pursed her lips before reaching over to squeeze his upper thigh. Not quite close enough where she would brush against his dick. But close. “You know I’m no good at waiting, Daddy,” she taunted.

Jon reached over to her plate again, spearing another large bite of her food. “You’ll learn,” he said, popping the chicken and rice in his mouth.

She sighed, removing her hand from his leg and choosing to recognize his warning. This time. 

……

She was draped over him like a sheet in his bed later that evening. Her leg tangled over his with her head nuzzled into his shoulder. He’d showered after dinner while she lay in his bed, waiting for him to join her in its warmth. The scent of his ivory soap lingered around her nostrils, encouraging her to bury her head further into his skin. His hand traced lazy circles on her hip, raising goosebumps in the wake of the patterns left behind. 

The pain in her side had dulled, but Jon had assured her she would feel sore tomorrow. She grimaced, hoping he was wrong, but knowing he wasn’t. She tucked her arm close to her side, fingers barely grazing the edge of her plastic wrap. She didn’t want to ruin or irritate the work, but it was surreal to have brought her family to life, forever flying together with her. 

Jon interrupted her musings with a carefully stated question, shooting but failing for his usual level of apathy.

“Have you talked to Viserys again?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, we’ve talked.” She rolled over to grab her phone, snuggling back into Jon’s side with it curled close to her chest. 

She’d talked to Viserys more this week than she had in years. She scrolled through the messages on her phone, expecting the history to change suddenly. A handful of outgoing messages from her to Viserys— Happy Birthdays, Merry Christmas, hope you’re well. There were no signs of them having been read or acknowledged till she received his text last week. 

“He still planning to visit in a few weeks?” She nodded absently, her thumb moving slowly up her screen.

Viserys: I miss you, little sister! How have you been?

Did she miss him? Had she lost her ability to do that? She remembered missing him when he left for college. Then their father passed and she saw him little and less each year. He made a few Christmases with her and Uncle Aemon, but even that ended. And then it was postcards. Each place looked so magical and exotic. She had dreamt of joining him on his adventures across Essos one day.

Jon’s hand rubbed up and down her shoulder. “I meant to ask you, where in Essos is he traveling from?”

“Braavos. He’s uhh been there for work, I think.” Hell, if she really knew. 

She could feel Jon’s head nod against the pillow in understanding, blessedly not calling her on her unsure answer.

Viserys: I’m heading back West next month. You still in King’s Landing?

It’d been nearly 9 months since she’d moved. She’d posted about it on social media. How excited she was for her new job teaching up North. They needed someone to sub at the beginning of spring with the promise of her own classroom by August. She’d shared her first day of school outfit and the classroom decor she’d painstakingly spent days putting together. 

It’d been over a year since she graduated college with no family to congratulate her at the finish. She’d found his location and sent him an invite that went unresponded. A few months after graduation, Viserys had commented, “Congratulations!” on the picture she’d posted of her, Missy, and Marge together in their cap and gowns. 

Viserys: Oh perfect! I have some business up North to see to first. 

Business? He had business? What did he even do for work? Was she just as terrible a sister for not knowing anything about him either?

“Did you decide if you’re letting him stay with you?” Jon’s hand had stilled. She glanced up at him, all scruffy beard as he looked up to the ceiling. His damp curls were starting to spring around his head in a dark halo.

She sighed, flicking her eyes down to her phone where her answer lay in print. 

Viserys: If you have room, I’d love to stay with you, so we can catch up. It’s been too long, Dany. 

It had taken her too long to respond to that one, but she’d felt all the confidence and happiness she’d worked to build tear away in an instant at the thought of sharing a roof with the only family member she had left. Which was horrible, because she should be happy to reconnect with her brother. It may not be perfect, but she should try…

Viserys: If not, I can look around for an Airbnb or something. Would hate to impose.

Daenerys: We have a pull-out sofa if you need a place to crash, but I’ll have to double-check with my roommate. I’ll let you know!

“I did. I told him he could stay. Maybe it will be a good chance for us to reconnect!” She shrugged her shoulders, genuinely hoping that it would be true.

Jon finally looked down at her. In some moments, his dark eyes could be so fierce and unforgiving. In moments like this one, they were only kind, caring. “That’s sweet of you, Dany.”

Her mouth twitched up in a soft smile before she broke his gaze to look at her last message to Viserys.

Daenerys: Also, I go by Daenerys now 😊

She clicked off her phone, throwing it behind her. Little sister. Dany. He’d been the one to nickname her Dany. He’d affectionately called her both names for years when they were growing up. She would preen every time he ruffled her hair and called her his “sweet sister”. But she didn’t feel he deserved such familiarity when he felt more like a stranger she’d be inviting into her home in a few weeks than he did a long-lost brother. 

She scratched at the soft curls that ran down Jon’s chest. It’d been a little over a month since that night at the Red Keep. A little over a month since she had woken up dazed and confused in his bed, only to discover the perfect gentleman he had been. And how much fun he was when he wasn’t a gentleman. And now here she was in his bed, comfortable and soothed by his body heat with flashes of terror as she realized how quickly she’d grown dependent on him. 

There were easier ways to cure the fear of the mundane. She let her fingers drift lower till they neared the waistband of his underwear. He was uncharacteristically quiet as she played with the elastic. Not dipping her hand in, but enough to tease a promise of more. She nuzzled closer to him and hitched a leg over his, preparing to lay kisses under his ear. She stilled, studying his face. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace.

“Jon?” 

His chest rose and fell again, but there was no recognition that he’d heard her. The crease in his brow had smoothed and his lips had softened, falling slack. It was tempting to run her fingers across his sweet face, so vulnerable in sleep.

“Goodnight, Jon.” She pressed a kiss to his brow, then stood up to prepare herself for bed. She curled back into his warm body within minutes, his soft snores sending her to a dream-filled sleep hours earlier than normal.

Chapter Text

Like looking through an empty jug of milk, he could hardly see ten feet in front of him. The snow swirled before his eyes, thick, biting, and relentless. His goggles shielded what they could and the gaiter around his neck was raised high over his nose to protect his face. Even with the waterproof gear covering his body from head to toe, this type of cold ran through his bones, only ignored by the constant need to continue marching to their next post. 

He missed the light dusting of snow that fell over the tree lines and rooftops in Winterfell, signaling the start of winter. The beginning of a season with snowball fights, hot chocolate, Christmas, and warm fires. He couldn’t remember the last time he witnessed the first sprinkle of light, powdery snow at home, but with each step he imagined what it would be like to see it one more time. Arya would throw snowballs at him and Robb. A stray one would hit Sansa and she would take off running. Catelyn would make hot chocolate for the kids the way she had when he and Robb were boys. He would spike his with fireball and savor the mix of chocolate and cinnamon as it burned down his throat.

It was a small team, just him and a few other men. They trailed silently through packed snow, having traded in their usual black uniforms for white that would blend with the terrain. In and out, that was the plan. They’d managed to make it across clan lines, gathered the information they needed, and were just working on the quietly “out” part. 

“I could go for some mai tais on the beach after this one, boys.”

“Best o’ luck with that one, mate!” 

Jon smiled wryly beneath his gear, his throat humming while he searched for his line, but no sound came when he opened his mouth. He’s supposed to make a joke about the stale beer in Molestown. He should be laughing. Why wasn’t he laughing?

It played out as it always did. Pyp and Grenn laughing, planning a vacation to the Summer Isles they already knew wouldn’t happen. They’d get further away from him, only ten more minutes to trek to arrive at their meeting spot. 

Grenn would turn to him. 

“Jon…” It sounded so soft, muffled by the wind and the distance

Like his vocal chords had snapped, he couldn’t warn him, couldn’t say anything.

“Jon!”

Grenn fell and Jon took off running. The weight of his gear heavy on his shoulders, the snow slowing him down, his clothes too waterlogged. It felt like running from his brother in the pool on a summer’s day. Chlorine burning his nose and the resistance slowing him down till Robb caught up with him. He was always the stronger swimmer. There was a flash of white and…

“Jon!”

His heart thundered and he flipped over on instinct, holding down the source of the sound. They needed to be quiet. His eyes shifted as the whirring in his ears slowed and he began to adjust to the dark and place himself. Round eyes blinked at him and a drop of cold sweat rolled down his temple.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes widening at the silver hair splayed out on the pillow around her angelic face and the petite wrists locked in his grasp. Even in the dark, he could see her wide-eyed fear.

“Easy, soldier,” she wheezed. Ghost whined at the edge of the bed, pacing and jumping to see them. 

“Down Ghost,” he groaned. He rolled off of her leaving a wide berth between them and scrunching his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Dany.”

The sheets felt humid around him and he wiped away the sweat at his brow. His palms burned from where he had held her. He flinched when a small hand caressed his shoulder. He attempted to shrug it off. “You don’t— 

Her hand clamped down on him, nails pressed firmly to his skin. “Don’t what?” She dared.

He let out a weary sigh, throaty and deep, before turning his head to look at her. She lay on her side, opposite hand propping up her head in the shadows. “I’m sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep.”

She was quiet, for once. Thumb rubbing at his shoulder joint, inches away from the phantom pain beneath the snow-capped mountains of his chest. As much as he tried to forget, his body never let him. Chills ran up and down his arms and the weight of his legs felt heavy, as if someone had attached bricks to his limbs in the night. 

He’d heard that imagery helped these situations. At least that’s what the shrink in the hospital told him when he’d come to and discovered new stitches. Envision what brings you peace. He’d laughed in the man’s face. Then a month later, he tried it in a moment of sleepless desperation and it worked to his chagrin. 

He racked his brain for a peaceful thought, a peaceful memory to bring his pulse down. He popped an eye open when the bed creaked and plastic wrap crackled as a tiny figure wormed her way closer to him. A hand on his shoulder became an arm strewn across his chest, joined by her soft leg wrapping around one of his. He was too tense. He shouldn’t be so close. Despite his hesitation, he adjusted his arm around her. Like a little lamb placing her head in a wolf’s mouth, she nuzzled into his collar, tentative breath warm against his skin. 

He lay still, listening to Ghost pad back to his bed and curl up. He searched for numbness, shoving away any memory of Pyp and Grenn in the snow and what came after. He thought of memories of little Arya toddling after him and Robb when they were in high school. Holidays when his dad was still here and whiskeys shared by the fire. And this, silvery hair tickling his chin and pale legs wrapped in his. 

“Does it…happen often?” He grimaced, cursing the gods that would listen that she hadn’t fallen back asleep. 

Yes. No. Depends on the fucking weather and the moon cycle for all he knows. “Sometimes.” 

She nodded minutely into his chest. Her feet fidgeted by his and he held his breath waiting for the follow-up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Another sigh. He rubbed her back where his arm wrapped around her, careful not to irritate her wrapped tattoo. “Not now.” 

“You know you can talk to me…when you want to.” She sounded so small, so tired. A meek, tamed kitten in the night instead of the fierce and wild girl he’d grown accustomed to. 

He brushed his lips against her temple. “I know. Just go back to sleep, baby. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“S’okay,” she mumbled into his chest. “I woke you up too.”

He rested his eyes, lip quirking on one side in memory of her panicked call earlier that day. He’d worked late the night before, followed by a few hours of restless sleep plagued by the same dream. He’d fallen back asleep after his afternoon walk with Ghost when she’d called. Frantic and concerned as he’d never heard her before, but she’d called for him. 

First, he worried about why she wanted to keep it a secret, and then he worried about what kind of dirty shop she’d found herself in. After came the irritation and confusion that she sought out Yara without him. It all washed away by the time he was in person holding her tense, clammy hand and straining to not bite his tongue from holding back his chuckles from how stressed she was over a damned tattoo.

It brought him back to being eighteen at The Wall for the first time and his first days off. He had raced to the nearest town, if you could call it that, with some of his training buddies. Hopped up on adrenaline and light beer, they found a tattoo parlor in a strip mall willing to overlook their rowdiness. A few hours of gritting their teeth later, they’d all left with new adornments and reddened patches on their skin. Men, they thought. Half of them ended up with an infection. He mused on this and other firsts he’d had twenty years ago till she’d rolled off him, snuggling into the blankets in the opposite direction. 

He checked his phone. 4:30 AM. Sleep was lost, sure to evade him till the sun began to peek through the curtains, signaling the usual time for Ghost’s morning walk. He crept around the room, gathering clothes for a run and nodding his head at Ghost to follow him. Ghost blinked back, slow and stubborn. Jon jerked his head aggressively to the bedroom door and pointed at the beast. Ghost stood, circled on himself, then curled back into his dog bed. 

Jon cursed him silently but abandoned the idea of rearranging Ghost’s schedule to accommodate his insomnia. He’d be lucky if he didn’t find the dog drooling on his pillow next to his girl when he returned. The dog had picked a favorite. Not that he could blame him.

The chill of the early morning air numbed him from his core to his exposed cheeks. Without the sun glimpsing through the dark clouds, there was little refuge from the October air. There was only the relentless whipping of wind against his face as his least favorite dream replayed. Trudging. Mai Tais. Flash. White. Grenn. Black.

He ran faster, the burning of his lungs stealing the focus from lesser thoughts and the rhythm of the pounding pace of his feet on the concrete dulled the tightness in his chest. He typically suppressed that dream, but when it came it drummed up phantom pain in the scars he walked away with. 

Trudging. Mai Tais. He’s supposed to replace that imagery. Silver hair fanned on his pillow. Smooth, pale legs like silk rubbing against each other in the sheets. Flash. White. White teeth in a self-satisfied smile. Grenn. Black. Fuck. 

He ripped out his earbuds, bending over to catch his breath. The stillness of the dimly lit street where he found himself was heavily apparent with the loss of his music, but it brought him back to today. Today where fresh wounds were scars healed over, and there was silver hair, smooth, pale legs, and a self-satisfied grin waiting for him in his bed. 

The journey home passed faster than the one out the door. The faintest hint of an orange sunrise was invading the early morning sky when he returned to his front door.

“There you are, soldier! You almost missed breakfast!” He’d yet to shut the door or toe off his shoes when Dany greeted him from the kitchen.

“You’re up early,” he murmured, nudging his sneakers into a straight line by the door. 

“I’m always up this early,” she chirped as his toaster dinged. 

“No you’re not,” he snorted. He’d spent enough mornings watching daylight seep through her curtains to know she did not rise with the sun. 

“No, I’m not. You want toast? Butter? Jam?”

“Um. Sure. Butter is fine.” Ghost trotted by him, licking his hand before he went to sit by Dany’s side. He pulled out one of his barstools and sat down to watch her skip around his kitchen. She opened drawers and banged around in his refrigerator, helping herself to what little he kept on hand.

She popped her head from the side of the fridge. “Orange juice? Coffee?”

His brow lowered on his face and he checked his watch. 6:15 AM. Did he even have orange juice? “Coffee is good.”

Like a light peeking through the fog, she smiled behind the steam of coffee wafting over the mug when she served him. He nodded his thanks, the strangeness of her behavior enough to pull him from the trenches of his memories. 

“Seven hells, Daenerys, how did you make this coffee?” He sputtered. His throat burned as he attempted to swallow the hot sip. Thick, ashy, and laced with a few grounds, he hadn’t had coffee this awful since the Wall. 

She frowned, crumbs dotting her lips from the bite of toast she’d just taken. “I don’t really drink coffee.”

He smacked his lips, grimacing and swishing his mug back and forth to see the coffee grounds move around. He pushed it to the edge of the bar and grabbed a piece of toast she’d left for him. Perfectly golden with a nice crunch as he bit into it. “How’s your side feeling?”

Her hand lightly rubbed over the area of her ribcage she’d had tattooed the day before. “Sore. But not bad.” She frowned, slowing down for the first time since he’d come home. A devious smirk crossed her face and she tossed a piece of crust to Ghost. “Do you remember the first time we ate breakfast together in your kitchen?” 

She sashayed toward him, her oversized shirt rising to reveal more of her creamy thighs. “Aye.” He appraised her, blatantly running his eyes up and down her little frame. “Wasn’t that long ago.”

She draped her arms around his clammy neck, still recovering from his earlier exertion. “You burnt the toast that day,” she smirked, head tilting to the side.

“I had a lot on my mind.” She leaned in for a kiss. Her lips were nutty like the whole grain toast, buttery, and sweet. His fingers ran lightly down her spine till his hand rested on the curve of her butt.

“Like what?” She broke from their kiss to ask.

“Like the incredibly beautiful, very hungover girl lying in my bed,” he squeezed the cheek in his hand, smirking as she wiggled in his hold. “Who was way too young to have wanted to go home with me.”

She snorted, reaching her hand up to twist one of the curls that lay behind his ear. “Is that all you were thinking about?”

Using the hand he had laid against her ass, he pushed her a few inches closer to him. “I was also thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you.”

“Like?”

“Like— fuck.” His phone vibrated against his leg, aggravating beeps chirping in time to the vibrations. His eyes narrowed at the caller ID and his thumb angrily swiped to answer the call.

“Robb, why the fuck are you calling me at 6:30 in the morning?”

“Fuck? I want to fuck,” Daenerys whispered, a self-satisfied smile playing at her lips. Her hands moved up his abdomen while he leaned back, lips pursed to muffle a groan.

“What’d you say? And it’s the only time that’s quiet in my house,” Robb argued softly. 

“What if I was sleeping, asshole?”

“You didn’t sleep past 6:30 before you joined the Night’s Watch. And you answered. Asshole.” He had never been late to rise. But things had changed since he’d come home. 

“Aye. What do you want?” He raised an appraising brow at Dany, who was working to wedge herself between him and the bar. Her hands wandered lightly over his clothes, fingertips brushing from his nipples to his navel. The thin t-shirt was a tease to both of them. If Robb would just hang up…

“I want to fuck,” Dany mouthed at him, dipping her hands under the hem of his shirt and dragging her nails upward.

“Mom wants to have dinner again.” Gods, who cared, Robb?

“No,” Jon said through gritted teeth.

“No?” She mocked under her breath, scratching at one of his nipples now.

“She’s not taking no for an answer this time.” Gods, who cared, Catelyn?

“She’s not the only one,” Jon huffed glancing at Dany. “Plus I just went.”

“That was last month.”

“Aye. So she’s set till at least Christmas.”

“Arya told her about Daenerys. So she is expecting both of you in two weeks.” Daenerys, who had pushed his shirt out of her way to leave open-mouthed kisses along the waistband of his pants, paused her work.

“I’m invited!” She squeaked into his hip bone, head popping up and nearly smacking against the bar behind her. 

“Shit,” Jon cursed, grabbing a handful of Dany’s hair to ensure she didn’t hit her head. “Fucking Arya!”

“Aye. Take it up with her. I’m just the messenger.”

Dany’s eyes bulged at him while she twisted trying to free his hand snarled in her hair so she could wiggle out of the space between him and the bar. “When is it? When am I going?” She was almost bouncing in excitement, the hem of his t-shirt swirling around her legs.

“Is Dany there?” Robb asked. 

Jon was hard, dick tenting his pants. He had scratch marks from her nails across his nipples. And he was gulping down some of the most disgusting coffee he’d had in years.  “Yeah, she’s here.”

“Hi Robb! When am I going to dinner?” She’d hooked her chin over the back of his shoulder in an attempt to get closer to the phone. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair and flicked his eyes to the clock on the stove. 6:35 AM.

“Next Sunday at 6:00. Don’t let my brother flake or Arya will have both our heads.”

“We will be there!” She singsonged in his ear. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose when he heard a crashing sound on Robb’s side of the phone.

“No, Ned! I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you next week.” A click and Robb was gone. 

“Daenerys…” he drawled.

“Yes, Daddy?” He couldn’t see her, only feel her chin resting on his shoulder and the soft blonde hair tickling his ear. He imagined she was straining in her attempt to portray her innocence. 

He choked around another sip of coffee and turned in his seat to face her. “I prefer to avoid family dinners.”

“I don’t.”

“So we’ll all have dinner when your brother comes in town.” His jaw clenched as soon as the words left his mouth, realizing how long it had been since she’d had one.

She frowned with a scrunch of her nose. “Yes. Now enough about our,” she hesitated a moment before tasting her next word, “families. Robb interrupted some very important business we have to attend to.”

“What’s that?” His 4:00 AM wake-up already felt as faint and vague as the memory-filled nightmare that preceded it. The only thing dancing through his mind was the prospect of the very important business Robb interrupted.

“You. Me. On the bed. The couch. The counter again if you want. We could try the shower. Haven’t done that yet.” The strength of his barstool was tested by the amount of weight she leaned onto his body. 

“And what do you want to do in these places?” He pushed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep a smirk from breaking out on his face. He wanted to hear her say it, to give word to her dirty thoughts and daydreams. 

“Jon.” She mocked the way he pronounced her name. He could hear it in her inflection, deep and drawling with a laughable accent that she doesn’t have. 

“Who?” His blood ran hot, a warm rush under his skin. Say it. She’d begun to slip away from him, backing up with narrowed eyes. He could stop her. Hold her in place and prevent her retreat. But the chase was half the fun.

“Jo-on,” she sang tip-toeing backward with a sly grin on her face. The carpet muffled the sound of his chair scraping against it, but it was enough to send her sprinting for the bedroom like a wild gazelle.

He strode down the hall, target in sight. She faked left by the doorway, before running to the right side of the bed. 

“We’ve been over this. It’s a losing fight, Daenerys.” He stood in the doorway, arms stretched across the frame to block her escape route. Her eyes darted around the room planning her next move as if the right step would prevent her capture. It was cute seeing her strategize her next move. An enthusiastic opponent, but a poor strategist. It didn’t matter. She was always the victor, even when she lost. 

“The fight is half the fun. Jon.”

“Aye. It is fun,” He slowly approached, socks padding lightly into the carpet. “Till you’re caught.”

“Still fun. Even when I am caught.” Her hair was messy, undone around her face and crinkled from when he had grabbed it earlier to prevent her from hitting her head on the bar. Her chest heaved, bare feet wiggling on the ground. He could nearly smell the adrenaline coursing through her, willing prey to whatever came next.

He lunged forward, but she slipped from his grasp as she hurled herself onto the bed with a wild attempt at a roll to the other side. Her shirt rode up, revealing plump cheeks peaking out of black lace and the lower half of her plastic-wrapped side. She had almost propelled herself to the other edge of the bed where she could dash to the open doorway and extend their game into new territory.

His knees protested as they hit the bed. He swallowed a groan as he caught her kicking leg dragging her to him. He flipped her over so she lay on her back facing up at him while he pinned her wrists by her face. One side of his mouth turned up in a grin, satisfied from a successful hunt. 

Her eyes were wild—round and flicking around the room before staring into his. She swallowed, chest rising and falling in a rhythm opposite his own. “Yellow.”

“What?” Time slowed at that moment, the gears in his brain turning at a quarter speed as it attempted to catch the meaning. “Yellow?”

Yellow? What the fuck is yellow?

“Fuck.” He rolled off her like her skin would catch him on fire. He lay across the bed with his head hanging off the side staring at the blankness of the white ceiling. Flash. White. Grenn. Fuck.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded so far away. Like she was talking through the fog of wind and snow. The words hung over his brain, slowly seeping in till they were received and understood.

“You safeworded. Why are you sorry? Fuck. I’m sorry.” Nausea settled down his throat to grab hold of his stomach in a vice. What a fucking idiot. Why would he do that after waking her up that way? She’d just had a tattoo the day before and was probably sore. He should have been more careful. He shouldn’t have tackled her. He should have—

“Who is Grenn?” She was sitting up now too, feet crossed at her ankles but staring intently at him.  

“What?”

“This morning. When you were dreaming. You were saying his name. Before you…you know.” Before he tackled her in a cold sweat. Then did the same fucking thing while they were playing. 

The blood rushed down from his head when he sat up from his position. Both hands, calloused and too rough, ran over his face and then through his too-long hair. His cheeks tingled as the feeling returned. “Before I scared the shit out of you?” He said through clammy palms hiding his mouth. 

Her feet crossed and uncrossed. “Yes. Before you rugby tackled me. Is it a military tackle? Do they call it a Night’s Watch tackle?”

“Just a tackle, Dany.”

“Right. So I was trying to help us forget this morning…”

“And then I did it again?” Because he’s a fucking idiot with no self-control. With a girlfriend naive enough to try and save him.

“Right.” She stared at her feet, crossing them one more time as if fascinated by her ability to do so.

He sunk into a slumped position. His beard felt thick and in need of a trim. Any trace of hardness evaporated with the reminder of his least favorite dream and the impact they now shared. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he groaned. 

He felt a tickle on his hand and looked down to see her pinky wiggling on his hand. A small snort escaped him and when he released his face from the confines of his hands he found her staring at him. 

“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

Okay was relative. When there was silver hair and smooth, pale legs involved, he usually felt okay. “I’m fine, sweetling. You’re sure you’re okay?”

He released his beard, catching her hand in one of his. Her pinky finger continued to tickle against his palm. “All good, soldier.”

“Is that who you want me to be now?” He’d be whoever she wanted him to be. Jon. Soldier. Daddy. But gods did he hope she would pick the last one and he could push any remnant of his nightmare from hell behind the wall where it belonged. 

Her pinky dragged salaciously up and down his palm. “Depends.”

A playful glint returned to her eyes. Guarded, but playful. He nodded for her to continue. “Depends on if I’m in trouble for calling you Jon.”

“No.”

“No?” Her brows raised. 

“No. Now lay down.”

“Yes, Daddy.” His dick twitched at the first syllable of the word and he wondered how he’d gone so long in his life without hearing that sweet phrase sung from her lips. 

She lay back on his bed, creamy legs rubbing together and arms stretching out above her head. She swallowed when she made eye contact with him, a trace of nerves remaining behind her coy smile. 

He still felt a golf ball-sized weight in his throat, but he attempted a reassuring smile in hopes his next act would provide them the distraction they both needed. He turned over on his stomach, army crawling till he reached his destination between her legs. 

He knelt in front of her, grabbing one dainty foot and raising it to his mouth. He softly nibbled and kissed the inside of her ankle, working his way up to her knee. He folded her leg toward her to continue leaving a wake of rosy marks down the insides of her thighs till he neared the edges of her panties. His tongue traced the hem and he could feel her legs tensing in anticipation. He dragged his tongue over the outside of the lace, tasting where she was leaking through. He then began his descent down the other leg, soft fluttering kisses against sensitive thighs, knees, then ankles. 

It was a pattern he could find comfort in. Kiss, suck, drag his tongue. Light as butterfly wings against her skin, he worked his way back up to her panties. Kissing, sucking, and dragging his tongue over the sheer lace that separated her center from him. He paid her covered cunt more attention this time, savoring where her juices had soaked through the fabric. Earthy and almost sweet. He took his time here, licking up to where he was sure her clit would be underneath the fabric and circling the drenched lace.

“Daddy,” she whined, legs digging into the bed on either side of him. 

“Did you want me to stop, princess?” He lifted his head from his position between her legs, looking at her through dark lashes. 

She was a sight to behold. Her nose was scrunched, her eyebrows knitted together, and her shirt was rucked up around her waist. She looked so fuckable, he hoped she would wait longer to supply an answer so he would have more time to commit the image to memory. 

“Fuck. No.”

He sucked the center of her panties again, eliciting a squeal. “What do you want?”

“For you to take off my panties!” Her legs kicked by his head and he grabbed them, holding her still.

“Ask nicely,” he said between kisses to the inside of her knee. It was hard not to smirk at her. Flushed and thrashing in his bed, the endorphin rush from seeing her in this state was tangible. His muscles relaxed; his chest felt lighter. Every taste released a shackle on his brain. 

“Please take off my panties, Daddy.” 

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured against her skin. 

Her hips lifted off the bed when he hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties, dragging them slowly down her legs. His fingertips brushed her smooth skin on their descent, raising goosebumps where the rough pads touched her.

He removed them from her feet, tossing the ruined scrap in his hamper. “Your shirt,” he nodded.

“Are you going to ask me nicely?” 

“Hmm.” He raised an eyebrow in response. All he wanted was to lay her out and eat her sweet pussy till she melted in his arms. Then kiss her more to ensure she stays that way. But gods, did she try him.

“I guess not,” she mumbled, crossing her arms in front of her to remove her shirt.

“I’ll be very nice when you lay back down.” She was a feast. Naked and lounging on the bed before him. Petal soft lips, rosy nipples, and a glistening center waiting for him to dine. 

“Promise? Oh!” She arched into him when he made contact with her bare flesh. Tongue to folds, he licked a long stripe from bottom to top, top to bottom. 

Of course he promised. He would promise her anything that kept her squirming beneath him with her fingers threaded through his hair. As long as it kept him lost to her, he would promise it.

And he was very nice. He mindfully kept his tongue soft and light against her. Feathery strokes and swirls around her. Flicks back and forth across her clit till he had to grip her thighs to keep her still on the bed. Back and forth as his nose nudged her open and the taste of her consumed him. Mumbling out my very good girl as often as it crossed his brain, unsure if she could even hear him or just felt the vibrations of his vocals against her pulsing cunt.

He was relentlessly soft and nice till he felt her begin to quake in his hands. A chorus of his name chimed in his ears till he heard her whimpers peak in a crescendo. He eagerly lapped at her till her shaking legs relaxed against his head. She sighed as the last wave of tension left her body and her thighs melted into his hands.

Perhaps he was too nice. Too generous. That must have been what spurred him on to push her knees back toward the bed, folding her in half to hungrily eat again. 

He heard her sharp gasp in the distance, almost as if it was muffled by the whirring sounds of wind. He pushed the sounds away, licking faster, and tightening his grip around her round thighs.

“Jon!” Her nails scratched his scalp and her legs clasped around his ears. She was taut as a bowstring, waiting to snap if he just found the right spot. He released one leg, so he could use that hand to deftly enter a finger inside her. 

“Jon!” His chest felt heavy. He ought to stop. He ought to tell her he’d put her over his knee till she remembered what she was supposed to call him and who he was supposed to be. He ought to come up for air till the weight on his chest was gone. He ought to—

“Jon!” She thrashed around him as he sucked hard against her clit and wiggled his finger till he found the rough patch he was looking for. He tried to remember how to breathe, but suffocation required no thinking. His opposite hand fumbled up her body till he could splay it across her stomach, preventing her from rolling and bucking out of his grasp. 

His scalp burned as she yanked on his hair and came with a screech. A small gush came from her as her pussy pulsed against his mouth and chin. He lapped up every drop he could as his ears buzzed and his eyes began to go black around the edges. They both fell to the bed when she kicked for the last time.

“Holy shit. What was…holy shit,” she panted.

He could feel the bed jump near him as a few aftershocks rolled through her. He blinked away black stars that swirled on the ceiling as the oxygen came rushing back to his lungs. No matter how hard he breathed, he still felt no relief. 

“I need a smoke,” He gasped, standing up on wobbly feet and stumbling to his dresser. He dug through one of the drawers till he found what he was looking for. He only ever kept one or two in a pack. Just in case.

“Hmmm?” A high-pitched hum carried across the room, but he could barely hear it. He registered that Dany was still sprawled on his bed, but the only thing he could focus on was where he’d left his lighter. 

“Jon?” He left the dresser drawer hanging open and went to dig through the drawer of his nightstand, finally finding a translucent green lighter.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered, stalking out the door in the direction of his living room, nightstand drawer half-open behind him. The blinds clicked as he pushed them back to access the door to his balcony off the living room. 

“Jon!” The door crashed as it slid shut. Ghost stood on the other side with his head cocked.

His fingers fumbled with the lighter, adrenaline pumping as the flame flickered in front of his cigarette. He finally held the button down steady and was able to light it. His chest burned from the first inhale and he coughed around it. His eyes watered and his cheeks felt warm as he caught his breath.

The tunnel around his vision started to fade on his second drag. The sun had risen over the edge of the tree line and in the parking lot below his neighbors were leaving for their 9-5’s. The sliding glass door clicked again in its tracks.

“It’s cold out here.” Dany rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. Her nipples were hard through the shirt she’d thrown on. He looked down at the thin t-shirt he was wearing to see his body reacting similarly. He hadn’t noticed yet.

She eyed the cigarette in his hand with disdain, nostrils flaring. “Didn’t know you smoked. Those things will kill you.”

He nodded, taking another pull and turning away from her to blow the smoke.

“So what the fuck was that?” He hadn’t heard that much venom in her voice since their first date. Dripping in poison, the words chilled his blood. 

“What?” His head whipped back in her direction. Her brows were arched, arms crossed over her chest, and the disdain for his cigarette seemed to migrate to the holder. Him.

“Red.”

“What?” He nearly dropped his smoke out of his shaking fingers. The weight came down on his chest and his quads felt heavy. He’d rather wade through the snow and the shit that came after than hear that single syllable now.

“Red.”

He shook his head, closing his eyes. Nausea crashed over him in drowning waves. “We’re not in bed. We’re not even—

“And we won’t ever be again if you think it’s okay to leave me alone like that.” She snatched the cigarette out of his hands and brought it to her lips, inhaling deeply. “You clearly didn’t take my warning sign seriously. Does this one work for you?”

He combed his hands through his hair, pulling on the ends. “Fuck, Daenerys. You want me to stay in the room when I’m about to have a damned panic attack with my head between your legs?”

“So you safeword. Then we figure it out together.”

“Dany, I…I couldn’t breathe.” 

His chest heaved as she took another drag. They held their breaths together, simmering fire burning in their lungs in the stillness of the morning before she blew out an expert puff of smoke. He gasped out an exhale before she continued. “Then I will help you breathe. We breathe together. But don’t you dare fucking leave me naked and alone in the bed. Ever.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. The cigarette hung precariously between her index and middle finger, seconds from slipping through them to join the collection of ash and white dog hair between their feet.

“Fuck is right. Especially after I gave you a warning before we got started. I needed you to be there.” Her legs shook and she gave his cigarette a desperate pull before handing it back to him. The haze of smoke drifted into the parking lot, disappearing in the open air.

The cigarette felt foreign between his fingers. Stale, a stench too strong, only meant to kill him. He drew his eyes from her vibrating legs up to her lower lip, quivering at the same speed. The metallic taste of bile rose in his throat and he stepped forward in hopes of a cure, wrapping her in his arms before she could push away. Gods he hoped she wouldn’t push him away. 

They were tight together. Her cheek smushed into his collar, stomach to stomach. Her small shivering body pressed to feel every palpitation of his heavy heart. The only separation was his one extended arm, holding his cigarette away from her. If he could just keep one bad thing away from her. 

“I fucked up.”

“You did.” Her voice was small and a little watery, and a punch to his churning stomach.

“Will you forgive me?” He cleared his throat in hopes of masking the thickness of his voice.

“You smell like an ashtray,” she squeaked into his chest.

He sniffed her hair, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent… “You too.”

“I haven’t smoked a cigarette since high school.” The words were wet against his chest.

“You know those things will kill you.” His chest rumbled with a phrase he’d heard no less than a thousand times. Ned scolding him on the side of the house when he caught him the first time. Arya on the swing set. Old Commander Mormont, unsympathetic to a few twenty-year-olds huffing during training and sporting freshly-wrapped tattoos.

“You made me really upset.” And he’d be atoning for that sin along with his others for however long the gods saw fit.

“I’m sorry.”

They were silent for a while. The suburban sounds of car clickers and whizzing traffic and the rhythm of her heart beating against his settled his pulse. She sagged in his arms once the adrenaline had left her and she’d stopped shaking. He made a mental note to ask his doctor about blood pressure medication at his next appointment.

He turned his head for one last taste of his cigarette, the tobacco bitter in his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment of tranquility where they could float above the past before a harsher reality pierced their peace. With one last exhale of smoke, he let go of the weight on his chest.

“That thing stinks,” she murmured into his chest.

“I’ll wash it off you.” He stubbed out the end of his cigarette, tossing the butt into a small plant he left outside. The dirt and drooping leaves hid the evidence of previous weak moments on his balcony, but none had felt so damning as the one laced with traces of her chapstick. 

Chapter Text

I told you so. I told you so. I told you so.

The mocking phrase ran in circles between her ears. Wagging its finger in her face and telling her you should have known better all while Jon led her by the hand to his bathroom. She trudged behind him, cold bare feet digging into the carpet the whole way.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He was so ridiculously hot smoking a cigarette. Withdrawn and shaky with demons she couldn’t fathom behind his dark eyes, he still looked like a damn wet dream with mussed curls and a death stick between his fingers. It simply wasn’t fair. She had wanted to hit him. She had wanted to scream. She had wanted to hold onto him and cry till he trusted her the way she wanted to trust him.

Stupid him. Stupid me.

He sat her on the toilet seat lid while he turned on the shower. She stared at her toes, wiggling them against the tile. Her eyes still felt salty from the tears she had tried to blink back outside. Her face, cold from the morning air,  began to feel numb. Her eyes glazed over till her feet blurred around the edges, blending in with the neutral tile.

He was silent, setting out two towels and undressing himself. She was silent wondering what came next.

“Dany?” His lips turned down in a frown looking at her sitting on the toilet. Her lips parted to respond, but she closed them after a second. What was there to say?

He sighed and walked over to her. He stood her up like a little doll and peeled her t-shirt off. He knelt in front of her, dragging her leggings down and assisting her with stepping out. Who was the last person to care for her in this way? Those memories were blurred and fuzzy, over ten years old with long, silver hair like hers before it fell out and a kind smile.

“I know that tile is hard on your knees.” She tried to twitch her lips to smile. Tried to push away the memories and the feelings of loneliness that followed.

“You can’t be that mad at me if you still have jokes.” The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than yesterday and his voice was raspy and haggard.

“If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.” She let out a fake chuckle that sounded too wet and she immediately regretted it when his lips fell. Plump and pink, buried beneath his beard.

Stupid me.

The beating sound of the shower almost covered the groan he let out when he stood up. She flinched, stepping back when he reached a hand toward the plastic covering her dragons.

“I didn’t think I could shower this soon,” she explained, protecting her ribs and escalating heartbeat beneath.

His arm hung in the air where it had almost touched her side. “Shower is fine. Just no baths or swimming yet.”

She nodded, which he seemed to take as an invitation to enter her personal space again.

When his fingers touched her side again, it was electric. Lighting a fire at the edges of her bandages that flowed through her skin like lava. She shivered, goose bumps rising on her bare skin. She winced as he peeled off the wrapping. His opposite hand steadied her on the small of her back and his touch had never felt so foreign.

“Turn around.”

She cocked her head at him when he reached for the hairbrush on the counter but did as told. He ran the hairbrush through her hair, starting at the ends till he worked his way up to her roots. She closed her eyes and her shoulders fell as the repetitive motion soothed her. This was Jon. This is who he was. 

“How did you know to do that?”

“Your hair has seen better days, Dany,” he deadpanned.

“No. To start at the ends.” She frowned. “And that was your fault for pulling my hair.”

His lip quirked up on one side. “I have sisters.” The brush ran through her hair, massaging at her scalp and then cascading down. “Arya’s hair was always in a rat’s nest when she was little. Think I even pulled some twigs out of there a few times.”

She snorted, crossing her arms over her bare chest. She imagined a teenaged Jon wrangling a snot-nosed version of Arya with leaves in her hair. Did Vis ever brush her hair? “You’re a better big brother than most.”

He hummed neither in agreement nor argument and set down the brush to guide her into the shower. It was hot, burning her skin so it almost felt cold. Steam rose around them in a cloud, opening her pores and melting her dulled senses.

The water poured over her head and she closed her eyes feeling her dry hair turn to silk under the spray. Wouldn’t it be nice to stay here where she couldn’t hear and could only feel the white-hot rush of hot water against her bare skin? She stepped out from under the head swapping places with Jon and put a wet hand to the edge of her new ink, admiring how the wings wrapped around her ribs. 

She jumped when Jon’s fingers were on her scalp again. Sudsy, massaging her hair with what she assumed was shampoo. She stiffened, her heart racing. “I can—

“So can I,” he interrupted firmly. 

Stupid him.

She huffed, lower lip protruding but consenting to Jon. His nails were short, so it was all thick fingers and thumbs working the shampoo into her roots. He placed his hands around her shoulders when he was done, turning her back toward the blistering spray. 

Her eyes clamped shut and she tilted her chin up, so the water would run down to the ends of her hair. Jon surrounded her at that moment. Chest to chest, wet legs touching hers, utterly naked. She stiffened again till she felt his fingers return to her hair, kneading the wet strands to rinse the shampoo. 

He continued the same way running conditioner through her hair. He was silent, gentle, and calculated. So focused and thorough, she didn’t think there was a spot he had missed in washing her hair. Suds ran down his inked arms and she thought to count the scars on his body. There was so much she didn’t understand about him. So much that scared her. The only balm to her fear was the realization that he might need this too.

When the conditioner had been combed out of her hair, she asked a question not caring what he answered. “Your turn?” 

He blinked quickly in succession at the question, beads of water at the edge of wet, thick eyelashes. Annoyed at his lack of comprehension, she broke his stare and reached for the shampoo. However, his hand ensnared her wrist before she could grab it.

“No. This was for you.” She looked at him, seeing more than she usually did. The scars, the tattoos, the fine lines by his eyes. At least he was breathing now.

“But who washes your hair?”

She shook off his hand and grabbed the bottle of shampoo, decision made. If he washes her hair, she washes his. He breathes, she breathes. He needs, she needs. It was decided.

She had to push at his shoulders to place him correctly, but he allowed it. Her arms stretched up to wash his hair, scratching at his scalp and hoping he might feel what she did. 

Before he could argue, she grabbed his body wash. He raised an eyebrow at her as she squeezed the cheap bottle of ivory soap onto his loofa. She started at the top, lathering his neck and working her way down his chest to his happy trail. Soap foamed around his skin, covering all that he normally hid, but he didn’t stop her. She looked up at him through her lashes when she made her way down to wash his cock. 

She attempted to wrap her hand around it, but his hand was faster. “Not now.”

She nodded, moving the loofa around his hips to wash his back. She used her other hand to assist, gratuitously feeling the muscles that rippled beneath her palms. For once, she didn’t mean it sexually. She just wanted to feel and appreciate all of him. She knelt, washing his legs, behind his knees, even his feet. She prayed the act of service would be the final step in showing him what she wanted.

Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

“Your turn?” He asked.

She nodded, watching him squeeze a healthy amount of soap into his hands. His hands were slick, rubbing the soap over her shoulders, around her breasts, and down to her hips. He stared up at her when he knelt, the picture of adoration as he picked up each foot to wash her legs. His hands were everywhere. Her body was as responsive to his touch as his was to hers. Nipples pebbling, nerves alight. The subject of all his scrutiny, she shivered, despite the heat. Again, she knew there were no sexual intentions behind the actions. Just penance.

She huffed a laugh against her will when he brushed ticklish fingers across her dragons. “This looks good,” he said, circling the outside of the path along her ribs till he dragged his fingers to the center, up her breastbone. She nodded in response.“You never told me what happened to your parents.”

She swallowed. “You never told me what happened to Grenn.”

His hand dropped from her chest and he hung his head, water trickling from the ends. It looked so long when it was wet. “It’s not always as easy as twenty questions, is it?”

She pushed his hair out of his face, keeping a hand on his cheek. “No. I guess not.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Do you trust me?” His silence was deafening. The pattering of the shower head hitting her back and dripping soap down the drain was all she heard as the numbness returned. Life drained from her eyes, her cheeks, and her fingertips.

“What kind of question is that?” He finally returned, scratching his damp beard, but she could hardly hear him. 

She smacked his chest, her hand stinging as water droplets splattered from the force. “Do you trust me?” 

Tears welled up in her eyes and she knew her lips were trembling. She hit his chest again and he grabbed her hand, holding it against his heart. 

“Of course I trust you,” he murmured. He held her hand against his chest for a beat, long enough for it to shudder against him. “The water’s getting cold.”

Her eyes felt hot with tears she didn’t understand and she felt like a little doll again as he led her out of the shower and wrapped her in an oversized towel. His brows were low over his eyes, glued to the fingers tucking the towel snugly around her chest before attending to his own.

She wiped away a few tears waiting for Jon and what came next. Beads of water clung to his chest, rolling down a path of scars and dark hair to his navel, dropping on the towel wrapped around his hips. His lips were pursed, rubbing a towel over his curls that he threw over the shower curtain rod. 

She watched him pad out to his room, changing into clean clothes before returning to the bathroom. His chest heaved when he spotted her standing in the same place he’d left her, hair dripping onto the tile.

“Dany.”

“Yes?” She hated the way her voice cracked when the question left her mouth.

Jon cursed and came to the bathroom with her clothes. She bit her trembling lip while he dressed her. Leggings clumsily dragged up her legs, t-shirt pulled over her head, wet hair dripping on everything. After years of curating herself, she was reduced to a childish mess in one morning. 

His thumb brushed her cheek, smoothing over dry skin to her jaw. “Can you forgive me?”

She tilted her head up to see him. She tried to really see him like she did in the shower. All that he was and all that he tried to be. Always taking care of her. Others. But what did it mean if she didn’t know him?

Her heart raced, different from how he normally made it thrum. He had never denied her in bed, but if he denied her this? She put her hands on his face, his beard soft and wiry beneath her palms. “Can you trust me?”

Needing the answer like air, she couldn’t breathe when he stroked her cheek a few more times and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Aye.”

She exhaled in relief and then stared into the storm of his eyes, trying to prove her worth with a simple gesture. “I forgive you.”

He picked her up in his arms, kissing her with soft lips. They were always so soft after a shower. Her legs crossed behind his back and she swallowed her fears, finding asking for what she wanted harder than usual. “I want to know you.”

He blinked, clenching his jaw when he laid her on his bed and crawled next to her. He looked away when he said, “Might not like what you find out.”

“I don’t like not knowing.”

He sighed and rolled to his side to face her. They were two puzzle pieces. A yin and a yang curled on their sides watching each other.

He propped up his head, staring past her. “It wasn’t—It’s not you. Just so you know. I didn’t talk about them to anyone. I wrote a report, closed the door, and asked for a transfer as soon as they’d allow.”

Them. “You lost more than Grenn?” She asked the sheets.

“There were four of us. I came back by myself.”

Her eyes flicked up to him. “Jon…”

“If you keep looking at me like that, I don’t think I can get out much more,” he chuffed.

She looked back at the sheets, her hands itching to reach for him, to hold him somehow. The urge to show him that she could hold him like he held her pervaded every nerve. “I’m sorry.”

“We were pretty far past the Wall,” he continued. “Deep in Wildling territory. We just needed to gather information. Quick in and out type thing.” His voice cracked on the last word and she darted her hand out to grab his. 

“I’m not letting you off that easy,” she said with a squeeze of his hand. 

He snorted softly and closed his eyes, squeezing her hand back. “Wouldn’t be you if you did.”

It didn’t take much guessing to piece together the rest of his story, but she listened to the brief version he shared. She wormed closer to him with each passing detail. The snow, the cold, and the ringing in his ears when the sniper took out Grenn. The IED that took the others and waking up alone in a sterile hospital, bandages around his shoulder and hip. Being asked to recount what he could gather and shipping out to Essos as soon as they allowed. Her ear was pressed against his chest, knee slipped between his, when he finished.

His knuckles squeezed her fingers, the only sound in the room was Ghost’s panting. “Finally quiet, huh?” He laughed darkly.

She frowned, her victory unsatisfying. She couldn’t unknow it, unhear it. As much as she tried to bury herself into his chest and he into the crown of her head, the world waited outside his bed. Unchanged and continuously spinning while they attempted to make it stand still in the wake of their revelations. 

“That’s not everything,” she stated.

“No.” So final and close-ended. A bookmark on his chapter of their conversation.

She nodded, mulling over the pieces he gave her. “My mom had breast cancer. I was thirteen,” she admitted before the moment left her. “Dad had a heart attack two years later.” She sniffed into his chest but found her tear ducts dry.  

His grip around her tightened. “Dany…”

“I’m okay,” she rasped into the damp cotton of his thin shirt. “You…you don’t have to tell me about your parents now. But I want to know that too. And everything else. Every scar. Okay?”

He pulled away to look at her. “You’re relentless. You know that?”

“I’ve been told a few times.” She blinked and rubbed the outside of his hand. “I know you said you didn’t talk about what happened, but did you see anyone? After everything?”

“Did you?” His response was quick and dry. Deflecting further connection, a move she knew well. She’d perfected it in her opinion. 

“I think turning the question around on you is my move, soldier.”

“I’ve been doing it for far longer than you, sweetling.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. I saw a therapist all of high school. When was the last time you saw one?” She poked him when he was silent for half a beat too long. “Jon.”

“Here and there when I was active. Mostly if I needed to re-up a Xanax prescription. Since I retired,” he rolled the word around in his mouth like each syllable was poison on his tongue. “I went to a support group at the Veteran’s Center in Winterfell some.”

She thumbed the hem of his shirt. “You should go back.”

He froze. “Your expert opinion, huh?”

She shrugged out of his embrace, lips turning in a sneer. “Don’t be cruel. I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know.”

He rolled to his back, hands tugging at the ends of his hair. “Aye. I know it. Doesn’t mean I want to go relive all my bullshit with a bunch of other sad fucks over crappy coffee and stale donuts.”

“Is their coffee worse than mine?”

A wry smile twisted onto his face. He peaked over at her and the apprehension between them finally felt like it was dissolving. “It’s better than yours actually.”

“Mean.” She smacked his arm, the gesture bursting through the rest of the tension in the air.

“Hey!” He rubbed at the red mark on his arm. “No more hitting,” he grumbled. 

“You deserved a few of those,” she said matter-of-fact.

“I’ll show you what you deserve,” he muttered, pulling her closer. “But after a nap.”

She nodded into his chest, nuzzling against him. “Mmhmm. After a nap.” She grabbed at the blankets beneath them, tossing herself around till she was snuggled in. “Can Ghost nap with us too?”

The dog in question pranced to the side of the bed at the sound of his name. Fluffy tail softly wagging, he did look snuggly. “No, Daenerys.” Jon closed his eyes. “No, Ghost.”

……..

What Jon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. As soon as she heard his breathing slow, chest rising and falling against her back in slow time, she patted the bed for Ghost to join them. It had been her little secret for a while now. Ghost would join her for a time, curling along her side or by her feet where Jon wouldn’t notice him. The littlest spoon to her little spoon. Jon had yet to say anything, so she assumed Ghost knew to vacate the premises before his daddy woke up. 

They slept the day away, cocooned with each other safe from the outside world. She woke periodically to find him still wrapped around her, snoring softly. She slipped out of his arms a few times to visit the restroom and take an eager Ghost outside for a brief walk.

Viserys had texted her twice since that morning, but she had yet to find herself bothered enough to answer. Sleep in a warm bed in warms arms far outweighed the emotional strain it would require to speak to him. 

Viserys: My business got pushed up, so I’ll be there in a week and a half. I’ll send you the flight details.

Viserys: See you soon, little sister!

Pushed up?!  What kind of business did he even have that could be “pushed up”? She’d rather it was pushed back. She looked at her phone to see she had typed that out and quickly deleted the words. 

What could she even say back? Can’t wait to see you! That wasn’t true. Her stomach churned every time she thought of his coming visit. Their impending reunion loomed over her like a dark cloud with its humid air of uncertainty. 

Where the fuck have you been? Perhaps too honest. Certainly too vague.

What do you want? Too direct. Definitely too honest.

She settled on a generic answer, typing it out and pressing send before she could erase and re-write it again.

Daenerys: Let me know if you need me to pick you up! See you soon!

She wormed her way back into bed, releasing a heavy sigh as she dropped her head onto the pillow. Ghost cocked his head at her from the side of the bed when she patted the space in front of her again. More intuitive than her, he turned to settle in his dog bed across the room. Jon must be stirring soon. 

 She picked up her phone to text Arya before Jon fully roused. She was going to need a drink. 

Chapter Text

“This is definitely your color.”

“You think so?” Dany popped her head up from where she lounged on the floor of her living room to look at her toes that Loras had just finished painting. He sat hunched over and cross-legged opposite her with a towel draped over his lap to catch any polish. She wiggled the silver-tinged lavender and cocked her head. 

“Yeah,” Marge chimed in from the couch. “Way better than the hoebag red you two went with last girls night.”

Loras brought Dany’s foot closer to him to apply a second coat. “Takes one to know one, sweet sister.”

Marge looked away from her phone to meet Dany’s eyes. “Loras is the hoe bag, by the way, Dany. Not you. You’re, like, basically married at this point,” she snickered, rolling her eyes and swiping on her phone.

“Marriage!” Dany cringed, limbs pulling inward and face pinching at the thought till Loras yanked her foot back in place on his lap.

“First comes love, then comes marriage,” Missandei sang, giggling from the kitchen as she poured herself a glass of apricot wine. 

Loras had a firm hold on her foot as he harmonized, “Then comes— 

“Shut it, Loras. We’re not making you a guncle, yet.” She smacked his leg playfully with her free foot, smirking as he huffed and adjusted the foot he was painting once more. 

“Dany, I am not going to re-do your pedicure if you smudge the polish. Stay. Still.” Loras pointed the clear coat bottle threateningly at her while her lips twitched. He unscrewed the cap, yanking her half-painted foot into place. “Also. I will be a great gay uncle to whichever one of you gets knocked up first. Personally, my money is on Missy.”

Missandei’s eyebrows raised as she plopped down on the end of the couch opposite Margaery. “You know, Gray and I are pretty serious, but we’re not having babies serious,” she emphasized around a sip of wine. “I’m hoping he’ll propose soon though. I’ve always liked the idea of a wedding on Naath.” 

“Destination wedding! Now we’re talking.” Loras brought Dany’s foot closer to him as he finished the top coat. “I always dreamed about being a man of honor on the beach.”

“Man of honor? It would have to be on a beach. No one would dare call you that in a sept.” Dany asked dryly.

He huffed, squeezing her foot while Dany held back giggles. “I will have you know that I served at our sept in High Garden,” he sniffed.

“And it didn’t catch fire?” Her cheeks hurt from her stretched grin.

“No. Now be quiet and lay back down.”

Dany snorted and laid her head on the floor, turning it to the side to look at Margaery. “He’s fiesty!” she mouthed.

Marge’s lips twisted in her signature smirk. “Careful, Loras. Dany might like it a little too much when you boss her around like that.”

“Bitch!” she whispered with narrowed eyes.“If I liked it when Lo bossed me around like he always does, we would have fucked back in college.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Loras muttered.

“Wait, were you straight then?” Missy grew taller, correcting her posture on the couch, then tucking her legs behind her.

“I forget we met after freshman year.” His eyes flicked up from Dany’s toes for a moment. “I at least tried to pass for it. And what better way to pass than to date the Daenerys Targaryen.” 

“Oh, sweet brother, it was obvious.” Margaery set her phone beside her. “You were dressed entirely too well for a frat house.” 

Loras nodded in agreement, carefully placing Dany’s foot on the floor and twisting the polish cap into place. “Make fun of my ascot phase all you want, but it helped me find the other closeted frat gays. All while Dany was busy running around with—

“We do not talk about him, Loras. That was the agreement.” She sat up on her elbows, nearly snarling at the memory of the first boy she dared to share her fantasies with. She had stashed the memories behind the wall with the rest. 

“Mr. Kiss and Tell?” Missy guessed around a sip of golden wine.

Marge mimed gagging. “Fuck. That. Guy.”

Dany pulled herself to sit upright, leaning against the loveseat and extending her legs out straight to not smudge her polish. She pointed to Marge, “Fuck that guy. We don’t talk about him.”

“Well, thank the gods you’ve moved on to mysterious Mr. Bar Zaddy instead of douchy frat daddy.” Marge took a large swig of her wine, meeting Dany’s warning gaze. “That we don’t talk about. Obviously.”

Dany swallowed a growl at the mention of The Guy They Don’t Talk About and groaned, “Marge, when are you going to stop calling Jon that?”

“Why? You think he’ll put me in time out the next time I call him Zaddy?” She waggled her eyebrows with a flushed giggle, a conspiratorial look to her face. “Or do you get in trouble for my sins?” 

“I’m not getting in trouble for anything right now,” she grumbled, reaching for her glass of Dornish red. Her nose scrunched as she drank, the pungent flavor swirling around her tongue. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Missy laughed.

“Oh, babe.” Loras stood from the floor and shook his head. “Sweet, sweet, Missandei.” He patted her crown gently before plopping on the loveseat behind Dany.

Dany blinked slowly, looking at her friend, whose brow was crinkled into her wine. “With Jon…the trouble is the fun part. But the last week has been… off. Boring.”

“What do you mean, boring? Like, like… missionary with the lights off boring?” Missy whispered.

Dany’s eyebrows raised, whites showing in her widened eyes.  She smacked her lips through a pregnant pause. “You know, Missy, I think this girl's night could open a whole new world for you and Gray.”

“Lucky Missy, she hasn’t had to hear your headboard banging against the wall the last two months.”

“Margaery, your room is on the other side of the house,” Dany snapped.

Marge set her wine on the side table and twisted toward them, writhing on the couch as she grabbed her neck with a loud sigh, “Yes, Daddy! Fuck me, Daddy! Ahhhhh!” 

Loras chucked a throw pillow at her, snorting as it caught her in the stomach. “Don’t be crass, Margaery. You sound both jealous and desperate.” She winced, sticking her tongue out at him as she squeezed the pillow to her stomach and folded her legs underneath her. 

Loras looked down at Dany and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, babe. My room is on Margaery’s side of the house, and you wouldn’t want to hear the sounds coming from her room when she is alone.”

Margaery picked up the throw pillow, sending it sailing back to her brother’s face. Dany ducked as Loras let out a muffled, “Oof!”

Missy raised her hand, “Can we go back to Dany not being in trouble and that being not a good thing?”

Dany sighed, a wry laugh escaping her teeth at the interpretation of her sex life. “What do you want to know, Missy?”

“So you like being in trouble with him?”

“Yes.”

“But now you are not?”

“Obviously, Missy. She said that,” Loras droned, bouncing as he collapsed to lie across the loveseat.

“And it’s a sex thing.” Missandei was undeterred in her interview.

“I don’t think you’re asking questions anymore, Freud.” Missandei rolled her eyes and raised an expectant brow in return. Dany’s sigh came from deep in her chest. “Yes. It is a sex thing. What is your point?”

“My point is that, good sex means a good relationship. You’re both happy. Bad sex, bad relationship—

“That is not true. I have had great sex,” Margaery emphasized each syllable before descending into a fit of giggles. “And very bad relationships.”

Dany gasped and pointed at Margaery, “Like the futon guy!”

“Oh my god. Yes.” She slapped her hand on her leg and honey brown hair fell forward over her shoulders. “Amazing sex. Like best head of my life. But no bed,” she shrugged, sitting back again. “Just a futon.”

“I am never coming back to girls night,” Loras groaned, his matching honey curls falling backward as he threw his head back and covered his ears.

“You say that every time, Lo. My point,” Missy hiccuped, “is that if something is wrong or changes in your relationship. It can affect the sex.”

“The sex,” Loras repeated, using his tongue to drag out the phrase. “Everything you say sounds so virginal.”

Missy squinted her eyes, mocking Loras. “Just because I don’t fuck a guy with no bed or call Gray, ‘Daddy’ doesn’t mean we aren’t very fulfilled. I just don’t need to talk about it.”

Margaery turned to Loras with a somber expression. “She’s so well adjusted. Missy, are you sure you want to hang out with us whores and sinners?” She touched a soft hand to her chest, silent for a beat before the three broke into laughter.

It didn’t take a psychologist or a friend with a psych minor to diagnose her and Jon’s issues. He’d treated her as a porcelain doll since the morning she’d used her safeword. As delicate as crumbled flower petals in his tight fist. And Jon had his… she didn’t know. Nightmare. Panic attack? Dissociative episode? Was that a thing?

The group laughed around her, but she could barely hear them. It felt like watching TV on mute.  They looked weightless. Free. Margaery collecting empty glasses and walking to the kitchen. Loras moving to the couch to show Missandei something on his phone, the both of them bent in half with their fit of giggles. If their burdens lightened by a few glasses of bottom shelf wine and freshly painted toes, why couldn’t hers?

Jon had told her a story that only left her with more questions. A handful of scars answered, but twice more and an early retirement he resented hung over them. It was in every room, a silent ghost creeping into every conversation. And a looming visit from her brother blowing in from the East.

“I’m sorry, Dany, we’re being bad friends.” Margaery sauntered from the kitchen holding a bottle of wine and sat beside Dany on the floor. “Did something happen between you and Jon?”

Missandei and Loras looked to Dany, smiles still etched on their faces from their last round of jokes. Missandei’s faded first as she scanned Dany’s face. She sighed, licking her lips as her brows furrowed and she looked down into her glass of wine.

Marge topped off her glass, then took a pull straight from the green-tinged bottle. “Mmm this is a good red. I don’t know if I like your wine or Missy’s apricot better.”

Dany huffed out a laugh, “Can you tell the difference on your fifth glass?”

“I can tell when you’re avoiding something.” She wiped away the scarlet drops trickling down her lip. “What happened?”

Dany admired the color of her toenail polish again. Wiggling her toes and rubbing the pads against the other foot, she was careful not to smudge the shiny polish. “You know Jon was in the military? Nineteen years.”

“Nineteen?” Missandei repeated. “Not twenty?”

“Who stops a year short of all those benefits?” Loras murmured.

Margaery studied her, the proximity and scrutiny almost enough to make Dany sweat. “I thought you said he retired?”

“He did. They gave him an early retirement.” She closed her eyes, bringing her wine to her face with both hands, cherishing the smooth gulp. “I don’t think he sleeps.”

“That’s because you two are always at the bar.” Yes, Missy, it’s quiet there.

“No. No- he.” She scrubbed her face, pushing away visions of Jon’s bloodshot eyes looking down at her when he tackled her in the dark. “When he isn’t out at the bar with me. He sleeps weird hours during the day. And he always has bags under his eyes. When I stay the night, he’s in bed after me and up before me.”

“So… he’s retired and has been too tired to get it up for you?”

She snorted. “It’s more than that, Lo. Something happened. A few years before he retired I think. And he dreams about it.”

“How do you know?” Loras raised his brows.

“He was tossing and turning in his sleep. Talking and whimpering. It freaked me out, so I tried to wake him and he,” she swallowed the cotton in her mouth. “Um. Tackled me? And then later on when we were,” she glanced to Missy, pursing her lips before continuing, “playing, he did it again. And it just kind of freaked me out a little.” She shrugged her shoulders, looking at the diminishing pool of red in her glass.

“Dany, what the fuck?” Margaery’s voice raised at the same time her brother mumbled, “That’s not fucking normal.”

“No, no. He apologized, it’s fine. We worked through that and a few other things that happened. But he’s barely touched me since then.” She felt desperate explaining it. Yes, she’d been mad when it happened. But it wasn’t the tackle, it was everything afterward— It was her problem to be mad about. He’s not bad. He’s not bad. We trust each other.

Margaery looked between Dany and the rest of the group. “So, you’re telling me that sex with you gives him… war flashbacks?”

“Ugh! No! I don’t think so!”

“So what is the problem?”

“I think he’s afraid to hurt me. But I know he won’t.” He’s not bad. 

“Dany, it sounds like he already did?” Missy set her wine on the coffee table, sober in spite of the several glasses of apricot wine Dany had seen her drink.

“You aren’t getting it.”

“Trust me, babe,” Loras drawled. “We are not.”

“Okay, let’s back up.” Margaery pumped her hand in a stopping motion. “Pausing the very concerning conversation on your boyfriend’s PTSD that we will be coming back to. You’re upset because “the sex” is different than it was before, right?” Dany nodded. “Have you told him that?”

She grimaced. “Not in so many words.” 

She’d only begun testing the waters to goad him into their game. A dirty dish left out. Ghost in the bed. A wandering hand in the car. But none of her usual tricks yielded their usual results. Jon had been consistently patient all week long. Instead of the affectionate, “little girl” or “brat”, she had just been “Dany”. She wouldn’t have minded a stern, drawn out, “Daenerys” if it meant Jon was himself again. 

“Dany, you have to be honest with him,” Missy interrupted her thoughts. “That’s not like you.”

“Okay, well that was easy when I had nothing to lose,” she snapped. 

Margaery shifted to cross her legs underneath her, sympathy lacing her face as she put a hand on Daenerys’ shoulder. “You think you would lose him if you tell him you want things to go back to how they were before?” 

Is it strange she already felt lost?

“Um… can we go back to the PTSD thing?” Loras looked between the girls with wide eyes. “Because I think she should lose him anyway.”

Margaery removed her hand from Dany’s shoulder and looked to the floor. “Ooh. Yes. That is scary. And maybe not the best idea for you.”

Dany could feel the empty ringing in her ears. She’d been terrified of her growing dependence on Jon, and this all but confirmed it. The idea of not having him made her body feel like dead weight. “What do you mean? Stop looking at me like that!”

All three of her friends surrounded her, flushed faces mixed with concern and softening eyes as the wine took effect. It wasn’t sympathy. Or empathy. It was pity. She’d seen the looks before. Distant relatives at the funerals. Her teachers on her first day back. Margaery and Loras’ parents when she stayed with them while her mom was in the hospital. 

Missy spoke first. “It’s not you, Dany. It’s not. But it sounds like Jon has a lot going on. And some things to sort out for himself.”

“And you’re in such a good place! Really,” Margaery assured her, eyes brightening with the lie. 

She barely withheld a snort. She knew exactly where she was. While good may be relative, it still felt gracious. And the closest to good she felt was…

“And I know you’re happy with Jon,” Missy continued, “but I think you deserve some stability.”

“We are stable!” She thought they were after their talk. That she was finally beginning to know him. That she knew he trusted her and needed her too.

“Stable is not tackling you in bed mid night terror. What if he hurts you next time?” Loras asked. “And you just said the sex got bad!”

“Different,” she corrected. “Not bad.” Sex with Jon was never bad. But different felt like putting the training wheels back on when she knew what it was like to ride faster with the wind blowing through her hair. 

“We just don’t want you to get hurt,” Missy rushed out. “You’ve been through enough. Grief and trauma can make people act in strange ways. You’ve seen that.”

She’d been the person acting strangely as they allowed their grief to dominate them. She’d seen her father change. And Viserys. Viserys, who would be arriving any day. And for what?

This was not that. Jon showed up for her. Every time. And he trusted her. He told her so. She grit her teeth, clenching her jaw. “I appreciate whatever,” she waved her hand between the four of them,”this has turned into. But we’re ending the drunk intervention now. I’m a big girl. You will have to trust me that I trust Jon. Now. Where are the card games we bought last week?”

Loras was the first to jump from his seat and scavenge through the hall closet for their stash of games. Margaery topped off both her and Dany’s glasses with more wine, then stood to clear the coffee table. Missy was last to move, still watching Dany with a furrowed brow and berry-stained cheeks. 

Dany’s chest rose with a deep inhale, swallowing down her insecurity and plastering on a smile. “I’m fine,” she mouthed to Missy’s curt nod. She continued louder, “So, Missy, have we given you any ideas of new things to try with Gray yet?”

…….

It always felt wrong to be here when the lights were on and sunlight could peak through the cracks between the front door and its frame. Without the cloak of darkness, prodding daylight revealed the mismatched paint on the walls and permanent scuffs in the floor along with whatever secrets the daytime bar crowd tried to hide. 

Jon pondered his own secrets and wondered if they were so apparent to the other older man wearing a veteran cap at the opposite end of the bar. At least twenty years his senior if he had to guess. Wrinkles engraved in his bearded face, but dressed well for the day. I’ve known you. In different countries and different bars, but the look was always the same. He wore a plain wedding band on his left hand and spoke amiably with Tormund. Who spoke amiably with Tormund?

He’d told Dany as much of his secrets as he could stomach to share the last week. Enough to sate her curiosity and more than he’d shared with anyone else. But the fear that followed their conversation had been paralyzing. He’d hurt her. Small and good, but so much more fragile than she’d let on. And he’d hurt her. How do you play games when you’re a broken piece?

“Do you have any hobbies, man?” Tormund stood before him, great chest puffed out behind his brown sweater. 

Jon considered him, then his frosted, half-empty glass. “Is this not a hobby?”

“You see ‘em in the corner, there?” Tormund gave a minute jerk of his head to a group of regulars at the pool table across the bar. Jon saw one or more each time he came to the Red Keep. They were as much a part of the bar as the blinking bar signs above Tormund’s head and the scuffs in the floor. “This is their hobby. You.” He pointed a thick finger with swollen knuckles at Jon. “You need a better one.”

Jon’s eyes flitted to the man in the veterans cap on the opposite end of the bar. “What about him? He has hobbies?”

Tormund crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at Jon, a protective stance he was unused to seeing on the man. “Aye. He has hobbies. And he’s good company during the day.”

“Is my company not good enough for you now, Tormund?” Half a smile slid up his face, already anticipating the answer.

“You’re pretty enough. Be better if you didn’t brood on your barstool all afternoon. You ever have a laugh, man?”

“Every time you call me pretty. But I figured you might kick me out if I took to laughing by myself at your bar mid-afternoon.”

“And it’d be a good excuse to get your sad arse out of my bar for the day. Let me go back to doing inventory.” Tormund nearly cracked a smile as he walked to the back room door.

“You do inventory here?” Jon called, leaning over the bar only to see the back room door swing on its hinge and Tormund disappear behind it.

He huffed and fell back against his barstool, taking stock of the bar, feeling moderately chastised. He could hear his father’s disappointed voice from over twenty years past. “You are the company you keep, Jon.” Aye, and somehow I keep finding the thieves, the drunks, and the cheats. Don’t worry, Dad. Never the liars though. You can’t trust them.

Somehow, he thought his father might have thumped the back of his head for that one. 

“Is this seat taken?” The man in the cap stood behind the stool next to him at a comfortable distance. His voice was booming with a thick accent that Jon worked to place. 

He shook his head and waved for him to join him, grabbing his glass for a drink as the man sat down. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

“Never could hide being from Flea Bottom,” he grinned, teeth showing his age. “Terrible name for only a slightly terrible place.” Jon snorted and the man continued. “Really, I visit at least once a year, and I think the smell has improved over time.”

They both chuckled around their drinks and Jon tipped his head to him. “Perhaps that’s why you come to the Red Keep. Smell reminds you of home.”

His bearded cheeks quivered as he shook his head no. “No, Tormund is a friend of mine. Just visit and keep him company some days.”

Jon raised his brows, forehead crinkling. “And you enjoy his company?”

He laughed, tossing his head back with the motion. “S’pose I do. Davos, by the way.” He stuck out his hand for a close handshake. Jon shook it firmly, introducing himself and noting the heavy calluses and scar tissue he felt on Davos’ palm. 

“Well, Davos,” he nodded to the man’s cap and settled back in his stool. “What branch did you serve?”

“Navy. Spent thirty years active duty.” He smiled, lifting his drink up in a toast before slurping loudly. “Then spent the last eight working at the base in White Harbor.”

“Winterfell doesn’t have a naval base. Or ports.” Jon tossed back the last of his drink before sliding it across the bar. “What brings you here?”

“No, it’s a little dry for me here isn’t it? And cold,” he shivered, apprising Jon. “Not sure how you young men manage without a jacket.”

“It gets colder,” he shrugged. Winter was coming and would be colder. But North of North was the coldest he’d been. A cold that rattled his bones till he thawed in Essos.

“So I hear. But I came for an old friend. He needed someone to run the V.A. here.” 

Jon nodded, wondering which god thought it so funny to torture him every time he sat in this damned bar.

“And you? Where did you serve?” Davos nodded, slurping his drink again.

Jon licked the back of his teeth and felt his lips twist in a wry smile. “That obvious, am I?”

Tormund returned, taking Jon’s glass away for a re-fill. Davos scoffed, “I’d like to take credit for sniffing out one of my own, but Tormund tipped me off. Though sulking over a beer in places… like this, is an easy way to find one of my brothers.”

Jon snorted. “Aye, something about it. There’s a dive bar everywhere you go. No matter what city, region, or country you’re in. And my brothers would find one every time.” He allowed himself a faint smile thinking about Pyp and Grenn elbowing each other out of the way to get the last barstool. Edd explaining how to play pool to whatever lady whose drink he’d bought. She’d kindly nod and they would all unkindly laugh at her misfortune.

The chill came for his smile and Davos cleared his throat. Jon nodded his thanks to Tormund and waited till he was out of earshot. “Night’s Watch,” he mumbled. “Retired recently.”

Davos nodded, glancing to Tormund, then back to Jon. “I imagine you don’t talk to Tormund much about that experience.”

I don’t talk to anyone about it, old man. “Tormund and I talk about what drink he is making me next and how I don’t tip enough. Sometimes we talk about banning me from the Red Keep, but I don’t remember those talks as well.”

Davos chuckled. “And what do you do now that you’ve retired? Young man, like yourself. You’re a long ways away from playing golf in the Reach full time.”

“I have some contract security work I pick up. Keeps me busy enough,” he shrugged. 

“You know we offer career assistance if you’re looking for something new. There are a few veterans on the police force that are looking for recruits—

“I’m familiar,” Jon interrupted, beer sloshing over the side of his glass as he roughly pulled it to his mouth for a drink. Haven’t we given enough?

Davos nodded curtly. “I see.”

Jon sighed and began to dig through his pocket. “It was nice to meet you, Davos. I think—

“Is that what they teach in the Night’s Watch now? One wrong question and you run away? Maybe there are more places to hide in the snow.”

Jon stood, a cynical laugh at his lips. “Run away? I don’t know you. If I wanted to be bothered about my career,” he mocked, “I’d have gone to lunch with my step-mother.”

“Sit down, and I’ll buy you that beer and another for the trouble.” Jon’s chest heaved as he looked back at his empty stool. “Humor an old man and sit.” Davos slapped a scar-covered hand on the bar twice. “Not like you’ve any place to be.”

Jon waited one full breath before sitting, the staring match between him and Davos unbroken. “You should work on your career counseling, if you’re going to advertise it.”

Davos smirked and reached for his drink. “Give me time. We’ll find you something.”