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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Viper's Bride - ch 14

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* Threats, anger, threats of violence (specifically), classism, degrading language. FFM threesome, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pregnant sex, rough sex, cum eating. Summary: An announcement, a decision, a reaction, and a development. After the events of this day, none of your lives will be the same. Notes: This is, of course, an au. So we have adapted the events of season four to be as true to the plot as possible while also working for the story we want to tell. I hope you enjoy!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13

Each step forward this morning feels heavy to Raeden, who is amused at his own surprise over how much he wishes he was still in bed with his bride. He and Margaery had almost fallen into bed upon the group's return to the keep last night, taken aback by the shock of the charge in their first kiss as man and wife. This morning Leyth had woken them last and left the room with an expression made of pure amusement, finding the couple wrapped in each other instead of the blankets had been a boon of practicality. Any question of the marriage's consummation could be answered by the first-hand witness account of your maid.

"Mace Tyrell will be angry, shouting." Oberyn reminds him, smirking slightly at the expression on the other man's face. Margaery Tyrell – Sunstone's – cunt must be magical to make the man forego his duty with such a woeful expression on his face. Although the idea of having everyone together had been sweet, it was necessary to establish the legality of the marriage without any dispute first. A night with all five of their group in bed would come soon enough. "However, in his heart, he is a coward." He snorts. "Grasping at favors like a rat and scampering away when heavy boots thud around the table."

“It is not Mace Tyrell I worry about,” Raeden admits. Though he is not precisely keen to inform his unwitting father-in-law of the elopement, Raeden has enough wits to understand that Olenna Tyrell is the true head of his wife’s family. “Tywin will not be pleased to lose out on the Tyrell fortune.”

"Tywin thinks that you are my little pet," Oberyn grunts in amusement. "Perhaps a lover I have taken out of boredom and bestow favors upon." He shakes his head. "It is why you have been allowed in the Small Council sessions, he believes that you are soon gone and will no longer be of consequence." Oberyn knows his reputation and what the elder Lannister would think, using it and him for his own ends. Now there is no question of Raeden's position and it is another stab at the Lannisters. This time in their pockets.

“Yet, I am the only one you have not fucked yet.” Chuckling ruefully at that fact, Raeden walks steadily beside Oberyn and shakes his head as he goes. It is only a matter of time for them, and Oberyn has been respectful of Raeden’s past troubles with male lovers.

"I have not fucked your pretty wife." He points out, smirking slightly as they walk shoulder to shoulder. "Tell me, how was her cunt last night? Was it tight and wet for you?"

“All the stable boys and knights and soldiers all moaning for their queen at night would not have been disappointed.” Despite chuckling, though, Raeden puts one hand into his pocket as they walk and fiddles with his wife’s favourite handkerchief. She had given it to him this morning as a token of proof if her father did not believe what they had done. He has a wife. That truth still sits foreign on Raeden’s tongue.

"Then I do not feel guilty for having both of your soulmates on my face and cock last night." Oberyn teases, knowing full well both men wear the marks and in a strange way are also bound to each other. He catches the tender expression that flashes across Raeden's face and understands it. How that he has made his own vows and discovers that he does not dread it as much as he thought he would. "It will be a good union, perhaps a loving one in time." He predicts, wrapping his arm around the new husband's broad shoulders. "I have a good feeling about this."

Down the hall and around a corner, the other two judges, such as they are, are already waiting in the throne room when Oberyn and Raeden stroll in with broad smiles and good humor. “Oberyn.” Tywin Lannister raises one eyebrow in surprise. “You are early.”

“Early because there is a matter that needs to be discussed before the meeting and trial.” He announces before he looks to Raeden. “Lord Sunstone has taken a wife.”

“How…fortunate.” Tywin cannot see immediately why this matter is of any concern to him, but he forces his expression into a thin-lipped smile and nods to the elevated bastard. “You are to be congratulated, then?”

“Many thanks.” Raeden knows that sentiment will be soured when they find out who he married. He turns towards Mace and reaches into his pocket. “I hope there will be no harsh feelings for the quickness of the marriage, but your daughter is safe and content in my chambers.” He tells the man as he pulls out the handkerchief.

“My daughter?” Mace huffs out a condescending laugh of ridicule without so much as glancing at the fabric in the bastard noble’s hand. “You must be a greater dullard than I thought, boy.” Bolstered by Tywin standing just over his shoulder, Mace Tyrell knows no fear. “Margaery is a queen, not a bed-warming whore. Some girl has tricked you into a fool’s vow claiming to be a Tyrell.”

“It is true.” Oberyn bristles at the insult, far more than even Raeden does, since he was the one to appoint him as a lord. “I witnessed their vows myself and the former queen eagerly spoke her vows before the maester and the Seven.”

“It is not possible.” The man’s round eyes widen before instantly squinting, and he bolts forward to snatch at the token that Raeden keeps just out of his reach. Margaery’s monogram is unmistakable in the corner, done up in green thread by her own mother’s hand. “It is not possible!” Mace howls, his face turning deep pink and then red as confusion turns to fury. If his daughter has actually eloped, he is ruined. “This is a trick!”

“Miracles abound.” The prince snorts, amused by the older man’s tantrum. “If it is a trick, then it was a vivid one, considering my servant saw your daughter using Lord Raeden as her personal pillow this morning, still perched on his cock in sleep.” He smirks as he looks towards Lord Tywin. “Tired herself out on her husband’s cock it seems.”

Lannister, who has pursed his lips once so far but said nothing, watches with careful eyes as Mace storms around the room in circles for a moment before doubling back to him with drawn terror on his greasy little face. “It cannot have been allowed.” He insists, staring up at the much taller Tywin in horror. “I did not allow it! I would never allow it! She will be brought to heel and returned to you, Tywin. As promised.”

“And break the laws of the kingdom?” Instead of Oberyn speaking up, it is Raeden. “Once a marriage is blessed by the maesters and consummated, it negates any contracts or agreements made prior.” He reminds the Small Council members. “You no longer have the power to do so, Lord Tyrell.”

“You are a flea.” Mace Tyrell may be half of Raeden Sunstone’s height, but he points a finger up at him like he’s scolding a street urchin. “You are a boil on my ass and I will see you in a cell right next to Tyrion’s for this!” With a face redder than a ripe cherry, Mace Tyrell storms from the chamber headed for the gods-only-know-where, muttering and flailing his hands all the way.

“That went very well.” Oberyn chuckles. “Don’t you think?” He asks Raeden, knowing the man is slightly flustered at the ire of his new father-in-law.

“It certainly went differently than expected,” admits Raeden, who had prepared himself to be attacked bodily if Mace reacted poorly.

“It was unwise, Oberyn.” Tywin warns him in a grave voice. “Most unwise.”

“What? Only the Lannisters can make deals that benefit them?” Oberyn asks, lifting a brow haughtily. “I think that you are upset your golden goose has been plucked.”

Tywin’s thin lips become a nearly flat line and he narrows his eyes at Oberyn. “It goes without saying that your place on the Small Council has been rescinded for this stunt.”

The response is not what Tywin must have expected. With a causal shrug, Oberyn smirks. “That is agreeable with me.” He hums and narrows his eyes slightly. “You meet too early for me.”

“You have stuck your nose and your pet mongrel in where they do not belong.” Heat rises in Lannister’s voice, a low rumble that would have most others trembling instantly. “What good do you think the throne will ever do for Dorne now?”

“Why do you think Dorne needs the throne?” His amused demeanor drops and his eyes darken dangerously. “We have not bent the knee. Do not forget, Lannister, that you need us to be the Seven Kingdoms.” He growls, the threat clear in his voice.

“What invasion could be withstood? What negotiations will end in your favour? What mercy will your people find when they are left without the resources they rely on from the North?” The steady rolling rumble of Tywin Lannister’s voice echoes through the room, bouncing off each wall and making it sound as though he were everywhere. “Whatever you promised Margaery, rescind it now. Your bastard’s bride-napping may yet go unnoticed.”

“You wouldn’t.” Oberyn counters. “Because it would be admitting that your Lords are not capable of being managed.” He tells him. “That your hold on the throne is not as iron fisted as you would have it believed.” His own blood is starting to boil now, the insults to Dorne, the threats, pissing him off. “We will simply turn our trade to Bravos,” he counters. “Our spices and silks will be sent across the Narrow Sea. Dorne is not threatened by you, or your armies.”

******

The rising voices, the tension, the anxieties in the air, the building anger means more things than just another spat between the Martells and Lannisters. It means tensions rising for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. It could go as far as war, if things turn violent. But more immediately, for the man awaiting yet another day of his trial in a cell several yards down the hallway, it means a heighten possibility of certain death very soon. If his father is angry and the opinion of his trial’s only reasonable judge is moot? Then Tyrion Lannister is headed for the executioner’s block. Tyrion stretches as close as his chains will allow, trying to hear as much of the conversation as possible.

“That don’t sound good for you.” The portly, slovenly jailer had been another insult for Tyrion. Someone who could barely see his dick over his fat belly couldn’t possibly chase down a healthy, whole man. But Tyrion wasn’t a normal sized man. And the guard set to escort him to and from the trail reminded him of that.

Tyrion’s eyes roll so far back in his head that they almost disappear, and he huffs. No, it does not sound good for him at all. “Hardly anything involving my father is ever good for me,” he says instead.

“Fighting with that Dornish pig.” He grunts. “Nothing good comes out of Dorne but the whores.”

“I would advise you not to say that within earshot of the Red Viper,” Tyrion advises rather drolly.

“What’s he gonna do? Fuck me to death?” The jailer snorts, his amusement making him cough until he hacks up a thick wad of phlegm that he spits at Tyrion’s feet. “I ain’t a goat.”

Grimacing animatedly only to end up rolling his eyes at himself this time, Tyrion gains a half-inch more toward the bars of his cell and leans over. His father’s threats are clear and the prince’s replies are steadily hushed, although his tone is clear enough. “It is time,” he lies, turning to the guard and gesturing. “Bring me in.”

“I didn’t hear nothing.” The guard protests but Tyrion snorts.

“My father will have your head removed if you fail to do your duty.” He reminds him, making the man grimace. He has no love for Tywin Lannister, but he doesn’t want to die because of him.

“On your feet!” He barks, grinning as Tyrion struggles to his feet in the heavy chains.

The usual ruckus and chaos of onlookers is absent when the guard lumbers past the end of the hallway and into the throne room and he grunts as he shoves Tyrion forward. “What is this?” Tywin barks out, barely even glancing down at his youngest child.

Oberyn hums in amusement, settling back in his chair. While Tywin may have kicked him off the Small Council, he cannot kick him off the trial now, and he knows it. “It is your son.” He muses. “You do not recognize him? Perhaps because he is covered in filth and shit from where you threw him in the dungeon.”

"And a good morning to you, too, your Grace." As much of a farce as this entire trial may be, Tyrion is still glad of Prince Oberyn's presence in the proceedings. The trouble will be if his father decides to bring a swift end to things and ignore the prince's opinions in the verdict.

"What is this?" Tywin repeats, annoyance building on top of anger in his tone. "What is it you want, Tyrion? Unless you have come to confess, I will not hear anything from you."

"Yes, Father. I'm guilty." Tyrion's tone is not one of dismissal or of anger, but one of a measured response, and that catches Oberyn's attention. "Guilty. Is that what you want to hear?"

Startled, Tywin's eyebrows knit together. "You admit you poisoned the king?"

"No, of that I'm innocent." Tyrion may be many things, but the least of them all is a fool. "I'm guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being a dwarf."

Wholly annoyed with his son's dramatics, Tywin huffs so deeply that he nearly implodes. "You are not on trial for being a dwarf."

"Oh, yes, I am. I've been on trial for that my entire life." Tyrion contends seriously.

Tywin pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you have nothing to say in your defense, you will go back to your cell until it is time for the trial to begin."

"I did not kill Joffrey." Tyrion holds up both hands in a sort of show of innocence, but also defense. He is headed toward a point, and he will make it sooner rather than later. "I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had the stark fortitude of will to do away so decisively with my enemies. I would gladly give my life to see that justice done. But I will not give my life for Joffrey's murder, and I know I'll get no justice here." Studying his father's face intently and seeing the intrigue there, Tyrion is sure there is a chance this may work. "So I will let the Gods decide my fate." A sure, steady breath enters his body and he squares his shoulders. "I demand a trial by combat."

Oberyn leans forward, intrigued by the notion and it is obvious from the ridged disapproval on his face, that another of Tywin’s schemes that has not gone his way, his careful plotting unraveled by the son he had always secretly despised.

"You know who Cersei will appoint her Champion." Tywin nearly twitches as the idea settles into his bones, disliking every moment of his cursed imp son's clever mind. Why could that cleverness not have gone to Jamie where it could be useful?

“And I will have my own champion.” Tyrion answers dismissively, even though his list of allies dwindles as the days pass and his lack of gold backing him is made obvious.

"Who?" Tywin chortles with unfettered glee. "That useless squire of yours? I thought you finally set him free."

“There is someone who will fight for me.” Tyrion insists, though he knows that Bron would not. He does not have enough coin to pay him.

"How much time will you give him to find someone?" Raeden asks, aghast at everything that has happened in a mere five minute span.

Tywin seems to consider this, frowning down at his son for a long moment before speaking again. "Whatever the length of time is that it will take Clegane to arrive in King's Landing."

“Gregor Clegane?” Oberyn’s voice is soft, piercing through the tension like a whip.

"Who else would my sister appoint to be her Champion?" Tyrion asks, mostly rhetorically. "She cannot appoint our brother, can she?" After all, Jamie's missing hand is a damper on his swordplay. Otherwise Tyrion would have appointed his brother himself. Still, Tyrion looks to Jamie standing silently in the corner with sympathy. He knows what it is to be unwanted and wishes that Jamie never had to learn.

Oberyn hums, a vicious little growl in the back of his throat. Thrilled that the opportunity has finally presented itself. “I will be your champion.” He tells Tyrion, his voice clear and firm.

"You— what?" Both Lannisters ask together, heads snapping up toward the Dornish prince. Even Raeden is staring, although he is imagining the terror on your and Ellaria's faces rather than expressing surprise at Oberyn's choice. He understands perfectly why the choice is being made.

"I will fight for Tyrion Lannister." He repeats, settling back into his chair with an air of supreme victory. "And kill your Mountain." He warns Tywin. "It is fortunate that you have been so accommodating in arranging our conversation. I was starting to think that you had deceived me." He offers with a small pout.

A man does not get a nickname like the Red Viper of Dorne without earning it, and although Tyrion has never seen Oberyn Martell fight, he knows his reputation. The man is as likely to win a fight as he is to be successful in a seduction – and he has fucked half of Westeros.

For his part, Tywin is seething, but the only way to tell is his eyes. If looks could kill there would be no need for champions at all — Tywin would simply strike his son down here and now. “Take him away,” he growls to the jailer, striking out one bony finger to indicate that he wants Tyrion as far away from him as possible.

Jamie Lannister is perhaps the only person in the entire room that seems genuinely upset, his eyes filled with genuine worry for the brother he has always tried to protect from the wrath of his sister and father. His deal with his father now useless, he turns and strides out of the room with a swish of his white cloak.

******

“You are sure you can win?” Raeden is at Oberyn’s side with worry painted over his every feature in the swift walk to your chambers. If anything happens to Oberyn, he cannot think of how profoundly it will devastate you and Ellaria.

"Extremely." Oberyn boasts confidently. "I have been in the fighting pits in Mereen, against much better opponents than Gregor Clegane." He spits the name out like a curse. "His size is what wins him his battles but I have the agility he does not."

“Size can often be enough.” Raeden himself is not a small man, but nowhere near the size of the legendary Mountain. “They say he can crush a man’s skull in with his bare hands, Oberyn. That is not to be taken lightly.”

"I do not intend to make light of it." He reassures him. "I intend to make him confess his crimes in front of all of King's Landing before I kill him."

“Revenge for your sister and a swift trip back to Sunspear.” Even when Raeden nods, it is with a heavy heart.

"Tywin Lannister ordered the murder of my sister, a crowned Princess of Dorne." He reminds Raeden. "Would you not do the same if it had been Star's fate?" He asks quietly.

Raeden’s eyes darken, the gruffness in his voice obvious. “I would burn the world down if it took her from us.”

“Then you understand.” Oberyn grunts. “I must do this. But I will not fail.” He smirks. “My bite is much worse than his.”

When Raeden pushes open the door to the chambers now shared by seven people, they are considerably fuller than they were even last night. Trunks piled in the corner that he has never seen before say that you and Ellaria must have taken Margaery to retrieve her things from her grandmother while he was speaking to Mace Tyrell with Oberyn. A very clever decision on your part – you will only have dealt with Olenna Tyrell this way.

"How did my father take the news?" Her grandmother had been surprised, but she had smirked and patted her hand in a way that let Margaery know that she approved of her granddaughter's rash decision.

"Apparently..." Raeden sighs, but happily puts his arms around his wife when she steps closer to him. "I am a flea for stealing you away from him." He shrugs, his mind having moved on to other things since being shouted at by the red-faced little man. "How did your grandmother take it?"

"She did not say much, but—" her smile is bright and conspiratorial. "She is pleased. I am out of my father's and the Lannister's clutches." Her hands brace on his chest and while she would sink into his arms, she pushes him back slightly so she can take his hand and drag him over to one of the larger chest. "She has sent this with me, promising that the rest will be ready for when we sail to Dorne."

Curiosity is a powerful thing, and Raeden raises one eyebrow at Margaery before lifting the heavy lid of the trunk she has indicated. Jewelry, coin, silver and gold trinkets, luxurious fabrics, and assorted pieces of armor fill the large wooden vessel and he sucks in a sharp breath. “She—she gave you your dowry?” In truth, he had not expected to see it. Having eloped with Margaery, he had assumed that her family would deny him the fortune that had been offered to the Lannisters along with her hand. But it appears he was wrong.

"A portion of it." She clarifies. "There are six other trunks that are bigger than this one." She snorts. "Seven trunks of gold for the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms." She had scoffed at the irony. "Along with another seven trunks of silks, seven of weapons, and seven of silver."

"So this is...a sampling?" His eyes widen at the implications of that – of all the riches that she has brought to the infancy of their House. He knew it would be a great deal, but clearly he had underestimated the wealth of House Tyrell.

"My grandmother has a gift for keeping our wealth quiet, especially when my father wishes to flaunt it." She purses her lips. "But over the course of the years, House Tyrell has accumulated more wealth than the Lannisters have in their coffers." She admits. "Robert Baratheon was a wasteful man."

"Kings have that habit." You murmur from behind them, surprising even yourself with how much you enjoy the sight of them side by side. "Forgive me for interrupting, but would someone like to tell me why my husband breezed through the room and shut himself away without a word to any of us?" Oberyn's face had held determination and an utter expression of being pleased with himself, but he had walked straight through your quarters and shut himself out on the balcony and is now pacing the length of it with determination.

Guilt at forgetting the most important part of today floods Raeden and he drops Margaery's hand to rush towards you and gasps your shoulders. "My love, I—" He starts and chokes up for a moment before he clears his throat. "The trial is over." He tells you quietly. "Tyrion invoked trial by combat when it became clear that he would not get a fair judgement."

"And trial by combat will be more fair?" The deep concern etched into his face brings your heartbeat to a near panic almost immediately. "But why should that upset Oberyn so? It means we can go home."

"The Lannister's champion is Gregor Clegane." He murmurs softly. "The Mountain." His hands drop to yours and he squeezes gently, bracing for you to understand. "We are not going home."

"Oh no." Turning away from him immediately, you push through to the other chamber of your quarters and practically shout Ellaria's name to get her attention before moving through to the door of the balcony. The wooden doors have glass panels where you can see Oberyn moving with grace and determination – as though he were prowling out there instead of walking back and forth. "Oberyn, unlock the doors," you insist, knocking on them loudly after you find that they will not pull open. The latch on the outside of the doors never made sense to you until this moment, and now you curse it.

Ellaria's graceful pose on the settee abandoned when she hears the distress in your voice, she rises and quickly crosses the room to where you are rattling the costly glass as you bang on it. "What is wrong?" She demands, her breath catching when she sees the stiffness in her lover's back, the determination in his gain. "What did he do?" She gasps.

"He's going to get himself killed," you gasp, feeling a little like you cannot fill your lungs properly. "Oberyn, open the door!"

Oberyn pauses, looking towards the door and his eyes flash, conveying that he knows that you are aware of his plan. He turns and continues his pacing as he plots, thinks about his next moves. About the confrontation to come.

"Tyrion demanded a trial by combat," you tell Ellaria, already feeling the tears fill your eyes as true terror and worry set in one wave at a time. "And the Lannisters have The Mountain."

"Gods be damned." Ellaria whispers, her own dread crashing through her like a wave and for a moment, she sways on her feet. She's aware of Raeden and Margaery out of the corner of her eye, but she cannot muster any thought but of what will come. "He is fighting for Tyrion."

"He is fighting for Elia." There is no need to state the obvious, but you cannot help yourself. The tears are flowing freely even if they are silent, and you can feel yourself shaking with nerves.

Ellaria sighs softly, her own fears pushed aside as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. You need to be calm, for the baby. “Come my love.” She murmurs softly. “He will not talk until he is ready.” She knows his habits and of this, she is certain. “Let me get you some tea and we can sit.”

"Oberyn!" They will have to forcibly remove you from the other side of this door and there is hardly any chance of calm finding you soon. Of course you understand the need to avenge his sister's murder, but if attempting it will leave nine children fatherless then is that worthwhile?

Margaery moves to your other side. “Come.” She urges softly. “It cannot be good for the baby.” Her hand wraps around your arm and she tugs you gently.

It is a broken half-sob that cracks through you, making you fold in half at the door. Everything has come to such a measure of happiness and now it stands on the brink of ruin. It is only because of Ellaria and Margaery that you do not collapse into a heap on the floor. The older woman bearing most of your weight as she carries you away from the glass, Raeden rushing over to take you from her and cradle you in his arms.

Raeden all but carries you to the bed, laying you down to cry on the pillow instead. Fear – pure, unadulterated fear – courses through every inch of your body as you lay there, unable to think of anything but the possibility of losing him. Your husband. The father of your unborn child. Your soulmate. What will become of all of you and the promises that have been made if Oberyn dies reaping his revenge from his sister's killer?

Margaery is the first to lay down. Knowing how upset you are and wishing to offer you some small comfort. “He must have a plan.” She coos, stroking her hand over your hair while you cry.

"What can one plan against a Mountain?" Overwhelmed with fear, you barely shake your head. For someone who has grown up with great violence in your life, the idea of it now is terrifying. When the people in your life have been in danger – your brothers, or Brynna, Raeden, or even Margaery? You have done everything in your power to help them. You cannot be of help to Oberyn in a fight to the death.

“Our lover, our soulmate would not champion this fight if he didn’t not know he could win.” Ellaria is angry at Oberyn as well, but she knows he will not yield in this. The best thing she can do is support him and encourage you to do the same. “He is clever and quick, fierce. He would not fight if he thought he would leave our children without a father.”

"I cannot control the tears." Begging her to understand, desperately hoping that the one other woman in the room to have experienced pregnancy will know this feeling, you cling to Ellaria's hand. "Or the fear in my heart."

“I have fear too.” She confesses quietly, wrapping her lithe body around your back. “Do not doubt it, but I know he will do this, even if we do not approve.”

It is not for you to approve or disapprove of. You know that. This is something that he must do, for himself and for Elia. In his shoes you know you would do the same. But that does not keep you from weeping at the possibility of losing him.

Raeden watches, feeling helpless as you cry so he turns to the doors out onto the ledge, hoping Oberyn might talk to him. It is not likely the prince will entertain any argument whatsoever against his choice, but it is not Raeden’s intent to talk him out of his vow. Just to simply get him to talk.

The knock on the door makes Oberyn pause again, seeing Raeden on the other side, and his eyes slide past him to the bed where Ellaria and Margaery are laying with you. Clenching his jaw as he strides to the door, he wonders if you have sent your other soulmate to talk him out of his duty to his family. Talk to me. Raeden mouths through the window, not wanting to shout and startle you more. He has seen how screaming can panic you after incidents with your mother.

For a moment, he considers ignoring the man, to continue to plot by himself, but the concern in his eyes makes him flip the bar to allow the doors to be pushed open. “You will not change my mind.” He warns the younger lord.

“It is not my intent to try.” Raeden steps out onto the balcony and lets the door shut again behind him. “But tell me you have a plan.”

“I do.” Oberyn nods as he looks out over the city below the keep. “They will make it very public, an event.” He muses, a trace of a chuckle in his tone. “They will wish to make an example of him, and me.”

“And you will make them wish they had not?” He guesses, seeing the fire in Oberyn’s eyes.

“I will get my confession if it must force it from him one slice at a time.” He growls with satisfaction. “For all of King’s Landing to hear. Tywin Lannister’s sins will be laid bare.”

“I know you are determined. With good reason.” Raeden’s hand twitches but he does not reach out. Oberyn is pacing like a caged animal and may bite. “And we are not of a mind to change that.” He swallows a plaintive sound. “But you have two soulmates afraid of losing you,” he tells Oberyn plainly. “Your wife is inconsolable at the idea.”

Your words burn into his brain and he sighs after a moment, looking back towards the door. “I—” he pauses and he knows that you are different from Ellaria, you have not seen him fight before. “I will talk to her.” He tells Raeden, stepping closer and reaching out to cup the man’s neck to drag him closer for a kiss.

It is fierce, and a little surprising, but Raeden does not fight the moment of intimacy. Instead he presses into it and nips at Oberyn’s bottom lip before letting him go. Oberyn growls, the urge to strip Raeden down right here and burn off the extra energy fucking him nearly makes him reach for his belt, but he has a soulmate, two soulmates to reassure. He doesn’t hesitate to reach down and cup the other man’s cock, feeling it twitch in his hands. “Soon.” He promises.

Ellaria is the only one of the three of you facing the door, and she sighs in relief to see Oberyn striding back into the room even as your tears have started to calm. They seem to come in waves and right now the flow is ebbing.

He doesn’t urge Margaery to move, but he reaches over her for you. Pulling you up and into his arms. Upset at himself now that he’s not solely focused on his revenge at how distressed you are. “My moon and stars.” He coos softly, cupping your chin. “Why are you crying like you are mourning me?”

"Practice." You sniff, curling against his chest and clutching his robe.

“You will be practicing for a long time.” He warns you, a chuckle at your pouting tone threatening to bubble out of him. His lips press into your hair and he cradles you close. “Why do you insult me by believing it is my time to die?”

"I do not—" Sucking in a breath makes you shudder, and you shake your head against his chest. "Mean to insult you, love. It is—I—I am afraid for you."

“I am not going to die at the hands of Gregor Clegane.” He promises you. “I will die old and decrepit in our bed, after many more children and years together.” He hums. “I will hold our child in my arms as she slips from your womb.”

"They say he cannot be beaten." You have heard the tales of The Mountain as well as everyone else in Westeros, and despite having also heard tales of Oberyn's prowess as a fighter, you cannot help the way you have reacted. "And they say you cannot be beaten. Surely one of those is wrong."

“He is large and lumbering. I have the advantage of speed and skill because I do not rely on brute strength alone.” He tells you, rubbing your back gently. He is trying to reassure all of you.

“I—I am— forgive me.” Logic and reason dictate that he is correct. That speed and agility may be enough to work against an enormous foe in one-to-one battle. And even though logic and reason are not your ruling bodies right now, you can see the merit in that argument. “I do not mean to doubt you. I only— I cannot bear the thought of being without you.”

“It is okay to be worried.” He will not make light of your fears, but he will remind you that he has no intention of dying. He nuzzles against your jaw and presses a soft kiss to your skin. “I have every intention of poisoning the bastard as well.” He admits quietly.

That makes your head snap up, eyebrows furrowed, and lips parted in surprise, though you are not sure why. It is a good plan. A very clever plan, in fact. To be as qualified with and knowledgeable of poisons as he is, it would almost be folly not to use them. “You—you will?”

“They do not call me the Red Viper for naught, my love.” He reminds you quietly. “From the first strike, Gregor Clegane will die. Every time he will swing his sword or axe, he will work the poison closer to his heart.” He smirks. “That is where being quick and agile works in my favor.”

Foggy from tears and fear, your mind is slow to grasp the concept but once you arrive at it, you gasp. “All you have to do is wear him out. The poison will do the rest?”

“Exactly, my love.” He hums, happy that you have worked it out. “While I trick him into confessing his part in my sister’s murder and who gave the order.”

Though the realization does not instantly dry your tears, it does have you sniffling and burying your face against his chest all over again. “When, my love? When is all this meant to happen?”

“It will be within the next week.” He doesn’t know exactly when, but he can’t imagine Tywin delaying it longer than necessary. “As soon as the Mountain arrives to King’s Landing.”

Both of your arms creep around him, holding tight to the man who has changed your life irrevocably and so much for the better. “Once it is over, I hope we never have to return to King’s Landing again.”

“That would be my fondest wish.” Oberyn chuckles, allowing you to hold tight to him as he looks over at his other soulmate and reaches for her. “Come.”

Ellaria is better at hiding her fear. She has more practice and has seen him through many more battles than you – both big and small. But even she sighs with relief to sit up from the bed and press a kiss to his palm. “If you do not return with us I will find a way to make sure your baby is a boy and convince your princess to name him Oberyn,” she threatens half-heartedly, knowing from conversations many years past that he hates the idea of naming a child after himself.

“You would not dare.” He groans, sending her a narrowed eyed gaze, playful in nature.

“I will.” She promises, wrapping her arms around both of you in turn. “As sure as the sun rises each morning.”

“Then it is settled.” He huffs, leaning in to press his lips to hers. “I will not die; I will make sure that my newest child is not be named after me.”

“Is that all it takes?” You huff, playfulness edging your still-worried voice as you kiss both of them easily. “A threat?”

“I am simple man.” He teases, winking at you before he squeezes you gently. “Do not worry yourself sick, my love.”

“I promise I will not show my fear out there.” Glancing to the windows and at King’s Landing below, you bite back a sigh. It will be imperative to present yourselves as united, strong, and confident when the time comes.

“A little fear is not unrealistic.” He reminds you. “I just do not want you to make yourself ill. You have the baby to think of.”

“And so do you.” The tears, thankfully, are beginning to dry. And as with all other times in this pregnancy, it seems, you have become rather exhausted from the efforts of shedding them.

“I know, Star.” He rocks you slightly against his body and despite the earliness of the day, you are already starting to wilt from the exertion of your tears. “Do you wish to nap, my love?”

Pursing your lips at him, you wrinkle your nose for good measure and sigh in defeat. “Only if you promise not to make any more life or death decisions while I am tucked in.”

“I promise that I will run any other decisions by you before they are made.” He promises. “Do you want to lay down by yourself, or would you like one of us to stay with you?”

“It would be selfish to ask someone to stay.” And with the display you just made, the last thing you want is to show more selfishness. “I am sure you all have more entertaining things to do than lay with me in the dark.”

“I am feeling exhausted.” Margaery is not tired, but you have been such a rock for her, that if she can lay down with you to be some small comfort, she will. “Would you mind if I shared your nap with you? I know that we are not intimate yet, but maybe you would not mind?”

“Fifteen minutes ago you were practically giddy for Raeden to return.” Skepticism aside, you do offer her a half smile when Oberyn puts you back in bed beside your other soulmate’s wife. “But all the same…I would dearly appreciate the company.”

“Good.” She sends you a small smile and settles against the cushions. “We will have a nice rest and then we can settle on what we will do for the rest of the day.”

“Nothing too public, I should think.” As word gets out that Margaery has married again – and that it was not to Tommen Baratheon – you expect there will be a few days at least where she ought to lay low.

“No, nothing public. But perhaps we can go through my clothes to see what I will need to discard before we get to Dorne?” She asks, look at you as you both lie down.

“That would be a good idea,” Ellaria agrees with an encouraging nod. “Both of you can surely donate your heavier gowns to some less fortunate ladies and it will be less to travel with.”

“Yes, will we have the noon meal delivered to the rooms.” Oberyn promises. “Now, both of you rest and when you are ready, come out to the main area.” He leans down and kisses your lips and hesitates but then does kiss Margaery’s forehead. She has not indicated wanted to touch him yet, but it seemed rude to kiss his wife and leave her out.

“We will, my love.” You promise him, watching as your three lovers file from the room and close the door gently behind them. Though you truly are tired, you turn back to face Margaery and offer her a smile. “You are very kind to offer to stay with me.”

“If it was me in your place, you would offer the same.” She murmurs quietly. “I meant what I said, I consider you my dearest friend and now? Perhaps more.”

“Have you been hiding affection for me, Margaery?” Waving away the joke teasingly, you nevertheless curl up on the pillow beside her and offer her a place in your arms if she wants it. “That would quite set tongues to wagging.”

“You are beautiful.” She huffs and slides closer to you until her own arms wrap around you. “You know that. You and Ellaria are breathtaking. More stunning at my wedding than I was.”

“Impossible.” The wedding may have been a tense, overdramatic thing, but Margaery was mesmerizing. “You looked like a goddess that day.” Cheeks warming slightly at how easily she comes to you, you let one of your hands settle on her back. “You are one of the most stunning women I have ever seen, no matter what the day is.”

“You must not have looked in a mirror too often, my Princess.” She hums, smiling at you and leaning in. “It is high praise if you feel that way.”

“Margaery…” Before you can let the moment progress, you take a breath and put your other hand to her cheek. “If you change your mind, simply say the word and we will go on as if nothing ever happened.”

“I understand.” She hums softly, aware that she is in a unique situation, and this is something she could have never foreseen, but she is not upset by it.

First Brynna, then Ellaria, and now Margaery. There seems no rhyme or reason to it beside them all being beautiful women who treat you with singular kindness, but when you lean forward to press your lips to Margaery’s for the first time and let your eyes flutter shut, there is that same feeling of rightness that there had been with both women who came before. Unforeseen and unplanned, it is not unwelcome at all.

Margaery’s hum is almost surprised, mixed with delight as she melts into the kiss, and pulls you closer. It will be the first kiss she has had with another woman since she was a young girl, since before she had bled, but instead of giggling and teasing, she wants more.

Somehow, she tastes the way fresh air and sunshine feel in spring. Like promise and good things to come. Like the crisp cleanness of spring rain. It’s intoxicating in a way you have never experienced before, making you linger and try to claim more of the taste with small kisses from her lips.

“Does everyone in your party know how to kiss?” She asks breathlessly, grinning as she indulges in the quick kisses and her fingers reach up to undo your hairstyle.

“They all have far more experience than me,” you admit, warm cheeks disguised in the semi-darkness of the room. “But they are wonderful teachers, if there is a pleasure you wish to learn.”

“I am certain I will learn it all.” She admits, almost shyly. “Unless you think it strange that I join your obviously close foursome?”

“If it were strange to us, we would not have offered.” After a few months of knowing Oberyn and Ellaria, you are now very certain that they choose their lovers in different ways. And the ones that entered into this arrangement — this family you have created — were chosen for more than just looks or sport. “We would never have even mentioned it.”

“I am worried.” She confesses quietly. “You are Ellaria are his soulmates, Oberyn is his lover, and I— I am just his wife.” It sounds ridiculous, but she is used to many wives not being of any use or consequence once an heir was secured. “I was slightly worried my father would have offered him coin to return me to him.”

“Just his wife?” Your fingers graze through her hair and tuck the strands behind her ear. “Raeden is not in the habit of dismissing the people he cares for, my darling. And he would not have proposed – the marriage or indeed any sort of solution – if he did not care for you.”

“I guess that I just need to believe that.” She chuckles quietly. “With my luck though, you can see why that is hard.”

“Just because you have not been lucky yet, does not mean you are never going to be lucky at all.” It is a small offer of comfort, but an honest one. Your thumb strokes her cheek and you smile, feeling a bit more awake with the sensation of arousal coursing through your veins. “Perhaps it is time to balance the scales.”

“What do you suggest?” She asks, arching a brow and humming quietly. Her head tilts, leaning into your touch and her bright blue eyes are fixed on yours.

“How much are you keen to experience?” She is looking to you for guidance and you want very dearly to provide it.

“What do you have in mind?” She asks curiously. Last night with Raeden was wonderful and satisfying, but she craves more, wishing to learn everything she can and experience it all.

“Have you ever had a woman give you pleasure before?” It is a careful question, one that could go wrong if Margaery decides she does not want to explore this with you, but you find yourself craving to know if her slit tastes as divine as her lips do.

“No.” She confesses quietly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. For all her worldliness, she had never ventured into pleasure with another woman. “Is it— what is it like?” She asks breathlessly.

“Much the same as when a man has his head between your legs.” It makes you laugh softly to admit it, but it is the truth. “But slender fingers can sometimes wring sensations from you that thicker ones could not. And while these men know of that hidden nub above your folds, not all men do.”

“Raeden was the first.” She tells you quietly. “No man had ever used his mouth on me before.”

“Then your lovers have been neglecting you.” This time when you offer her a smile, it is smaller, warmer, and more confident. “If you would like to experience it from a woman, I can show you. Or Ellaria, if you would rather.”

“Do you…want to?” She asks, unsure if you are interested in her or if you are just being kind. Both you and Ellaria make her cunt clench and bottom out when you both look at her as if she is a tasty morsel.

“I would not offer if I did not want to.” Once more, your fingers smooth the stray hairs from her face. “But if you are not ready yet, or if you would prefer Ellaria, it is entirely your choice.”

“I confess I find both of you extremely intoxicating.” She tells you, slightly flustered. “I would like to touch and be touched by both of you.”

“Then that can easily be managed.” With five of you, there would never be a moment that one of you could not have someone between your legs if you wished it. “Very easily indeed.”

“Is it— similar to touching a man?” She asks, biting her lip.

“It can be.” After all, some men are soft and some women are muscled. “But women are shaped so beautifully. And the scent and taste? Worth drowning in.”

“You do not find men pleasing?” She tilts her head in surprise, sure that you had true affection for Oberyn. And to have two soulmate who were men? She cannot believe that you prefer women to men.

“Of course I do.” You shrug, though. “Some men. Not most. But women are—they are otherworldly, are they not? Inspirations. Walking goddesses.” In the half-light, you laugh softly at yourself. “I did not mean to surprise you. But surely you must know how stunning you are?”

“I have been told I am beautiful for my entire life. Flattered and had my hand kissed.” She shrugs one dainty shoulder. “Men who wished to align with my family, to access my dowry. Never me that they wanted, they wanted my name.”

“Their motives may have been wrong, but they were telling the truth about your beauty.” Your own experience as a noble daughter was nothing like hers but you still frown. “I am sorry if you learned not to believe it because of them.”

“My faults are nothing you need to apologize for.” She promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek.

“They were wrong,” you repeat again, more steadily this time. “Not you. You are not at fault.” Softly, slowly, you rise up on one elbow and nudge Margaery over onto her back. “Will you let me show you how wonderful you truly are?”

There is a soft grin on her face as she looks up at you. “I thought you were tired?”

"I was." There is no lie in that, but you cannot help the way your smile turns sly. "But then the beauty in bed with me confessed she wanted to know what it would feel like for me to touch her."

“Then touch me.” Margaery begs. “Make me cry out so loud our husbands come to see what is happening.”

"They will only be upset that they did not get to witness the first moments." Grinning, you bowl Margaery over entirely and let the next press of your lips to hers be eager. Wanting. This time your hands have permission to wander, and you work at the ties on the front of her dress methodically. Suddenly you understand every complaint Oberyn has ever had about Northern dresses.

Margaery moans when your fingers brush her skin, eager to feel your touch and her legs restlessly spread underneath you. Unable to control herself and for the first time, she doesn’t have to. She is allowed to have what she wants with no shame.

"Oberyn is right," you huff, a small laugh escaping you as your fingers ghost over her skin and spread apart the two sides of her dress. "No more of these heavy dresses in Dorne. Far too much fabric."

She giggles quietly and reaches out to pull at your own laces. “Your husband grumbles about your clothing?” She asks coyly.

"If Oberyn had his way, none of his lovers would wear anything but cock-drunk smiles." It is only half a joke, but the two of you are far more focused with pulling off your dresses. "But now that my goal lies under all of these layers, I am bound to agree with him."

“Perhaps the world would be simpler if everyone where nude.” She bites her lip and crows in triumph when your stays loosen. Your enthusiastic anticipation is catching and she swears she has soaked her undergarments.

"Oberyn will celebrate to hear you say such a thing." Laces, layers, stays, and petticoats are tossed off the bed from every angle until Margaery is finally bare under you. "Gods above..." Not so long ago, you would have been embarrassed the way the sight of her breasts makes your mouth water. But now? There is no shame in your attraction. "You are...stunning, my darling."

Your own body is still covered in a chemise and she whimpers, squirming slightly. “I— I wish to see you.” She pants slightly. “All of you.”

On your knees above her, you pick up the hem of your final layer and toy with it for a second just to see if she rolls her hips again with need. When Margaery squirms again almost instantly, you bite back a smirk. "There is no need to beg," you assure her, pulling the fabric over your head at last.

She has seen nude women before, but none that take her breath away like this. Drinking in the sight of your tits, the thatch of curls between your thighs, she reaches out to caress your hip. “Beautiful.” She whispers. “I want to see this every day.”

"I was promised an extremely large bed as a wedding present," you tell her with a grin, reaching down to caress her cheek and letting your hand wander to the peak of one breast lightly. "It will have to be large enough for five, I think."

“And if I wanted to fuck your husband?” She asks softly, wanting to make sure that she doesn’t cross any boundaries that would hurt or offend you.

"Then I might ask to watch." Your other hand grazes her thigh as your eyes roam back and forth over every inch of his body. The reddish tone of her hair is darker in the curls at the apex of her thighs, and somehow knowing that is more alluring than you ever could have believed. "Or I might fuck your husband in turn."

“You must look gorgeous on his cock.” She whimpers when your fingers brush through her curls and she spreads her legs wider. Her cunt is throbbing and unlike a man, you don’t just jump into things. Heightening the sensations. “Have you – have you fucked them together before?”

"I did not know my pussy could stretch to take both of them like that." The memory of that particular day will be burned into your mind's eye forever, and you shiver as you lay yourself down between Margaery's legs. "You can have them both too, if you want."

“And you and Ellaria?” You look breathtaking between her thighs and a shiver rubs through her body when your breath washes over her sensitive folds.

Lifting your head, the plains and dips of her body are even more dramatic from the place you are now occupying and your smile tugs into a smirk. "You can have us, too. If that is your desire."

“I have done what I have been expected to my entire life.” Margaery pants, her chest heaving as she looks down at you. “I wish to be greedy.” The sentiment earns an approving nod of your head, and a flash of your own greed has you lunging upward to wrap your lips around one pert nipple while your thumb easily finds her swollen clit. Margaery’s cry is strained, gasping when she realizes that you are just as talented as her husband, maybe even more so. Overwhelmed by the fact that you are touching her, her eyes close and then pop open again so she can watch.

Your free hand kneads her other breast, rolling the nipple between your fingers experimentally to find the amount of tension she likes even as your fingers dance at her entrance. If you had been worried about the transition from friends to lovers, the ease of this moment is proof that you need not have given it a second thought at all. After all — when you had told Oberyn that you would likely only go to bed with people you cared for, you had been telling the truth.

“Oh, oh gods.” She moans out, panting your name when you give her the exact amount of pressure on her nipples that she likes. It is like being with a man, but the touch is more gentle, localized, and she can tell that you have touched a woman before.

The pleased hun from your throat vibrates through her skin when you find just the right tension, continuing your ministrations at her gorgeous tits but slipping the tips of two fingers through her slick folds. A little deeper with each pass, it will take no time for your digits to disappear inside her body, but you want to give her time to adjust to the sensation.

“I— I did— I never—” Her cunt is pleasantly sore, thoroughly used by your soulmate last night and her hips still chase the feeling of your fingers. “Please, Princess.” She begs, the knowledge that you are higher than her socially making her clench again.

“Never what, Margaery?” Removing your mouth from her temporarily, you find her eyes already glazed over with lust and cannot help but feel a little proud. You felt the way her cunt clenched your fingers when she used your title and you wonder if she might find it alluring to be ‘under your power’ like some others have you heard about.

“Never felt so good.” She whines and shakes her head. “Please.” She needs you to keep touching her. She’s orgasmed before but this sensation is sweeter, sharper.

"Raeden will take that as a challenge," you inform her with a smirk, but her pleading is too dear. You wrap your lips around her other breast, switching your hand to its twin and sinking your fingers into her dripping wet heat just a touch faster. The way she is pulling you in, you could not go slower if you tried. It is as though her body itself is begging for you.

It is too much and not enough all at the same time. Margaery knows her voice it pitching up every time she makes a sound but she can’t even try to muffle herself, not when she knows that no one will judge her. The sharp cries of pleasure tighten when you move down her body, laying kisses along her skin and inhaling her scent with your own blissed out groan before you open your mouth entirely and envelope her cunt entirely. Languid open mouth kisses come with kitten licks from your probing tongue, and Margaery lets loose a moan so loud that it breaks past the walls and the door opens abruptly.

“Star?” At the sight in front of him, Raeden’s eyes widen. Letting loose a moan of his own at the sight of his soulmate’s face between his new wife’s thighs, licking and sucking like you have always pleasured her. “Gods be praised.” His cock jolts and immediately starts to harden as he steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him.

Your hum vibrates through Margaery's lips and you barely turn your head before you get a glimpse of Raeden crowding into the room. "I had a sudden burst of energy," you hum, smirking in a very self-satisfied way.

“I see.” He grunts, his hand moving to his belt to start untying it as he moves closer. “I had some thought to take my new wife to bed, but it seems as if you have beaten me to it.” He tells you, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches her body writhe under your attention.

"And yet I think you are not upset about it." Not at all, if his instantly hard cock is anything to judge by.

Margaery waits for her husband to answer but he doesn’t. Instead he strides over to the bed and leans in, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a hot moan as he caresses your head between her thighs.

That is all the encouragement you need, turning again to give your devoted attention to Margaery's weeping pussy. Every lick is divine, but you push your fingers deep inside her and suck her clit into your mouth all at once, wanting her to moan into Raeden's kiss so he can swallow the sound.

Margaery reaches up, desperately grasping Raeden’s head as she kisses him back, feeling like her entire world is spinning and she doesn’t want it to stop. Her husband is turned on by this, and if he and Oberyn together is anything near this intoxicating, she would want to witness it every day.

Your own moan follows, loud but muffled by Margaery’s folds, as you feel Raeden’s fingers sliding along your own throbbing cunt. He loves to explore your body while you use your mouth on someone else – something you discovered quickly the first time you gave Ellaria pleasure – and this morning with his wife is no exception.

“I want to see you with her.” Margaery moans. “Would you fuck your soulmate in front of your wife?”

The question makes both you and Raeden pause, but with him naked beside you there is no question of the affect her request has on him. A spurt of precum drips from his cock into your shoulder and you grin wickedly. “I think he would enjoy that.”

She bites her lip and looks from you to her husband. The weight of the ring on her finger feels right and she spreads her legs wider. “Make me shake while my husband fills you with his cock.” She begs. “I want to see his seed drip from your cunt and taste it to see if it is sweet inside you.”

If any of you were ever unsure as to whether or not Margaery would fit into the dynamic you have established amongst yourselves – all of those concerns are dispelled in this moment. Raeden groans deeply and surges down again, plunging his tongue deep as his kisses her and sliding his fingers as far into your cunt as they will go to make you buck against his hand at the same time you moan into his wife’s pussy. It is a symphony of sin but it is so earnestly wanted by all of you. It could only be more perfect if Oberyn and Ellaria were here, the two of them disappearing into the other bedroom, and while they had invited him, he had wanted to stay in the main area in case you or Margaery needed him.

Your hips rock against his hand, impaling you on his thick fingers even as your own slide in and out of his wife. The squelching sounds are like music to your ears, and the hand that was previous at Margaery’s tits now plays with your own as Raeden lavishes hers with attention.

“Oh fuck.” She moans, enjoying the difference between the two sets of hands on her body. “Do you— is this what you do every day?”

“As often as we like,” Raeden rumbles, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “And you are welcome whenever you choose.”

“Ohhhhh oh gods.” The moans come out louder now, both the idea of having this anytime she wishes and the pure pleasure of your mouth on her sensitive cunt. “Yes.”

He seems as blissed out as she is even without having more than his hands involved, and you reluctantly pull away from Margaery’s glistening cunt to look up at him. “My love, your wife wishes to watch you fuck me,” you remind him, chest heaving at even the formation of the words on your tongue.

“Yes.” Raeden nods, aware that this is something special. The first time that the three of you are together like this. Hopefully not the last. He kisses her once more before he is shuffling behind you and wrapping his fingers around his cock. “Watch wife.” He orders Margaery.

His fingers are slick from being inside you and you moan from deep in your chest when he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and starts to push inside. Raeden’s tendency to be overly gentle with you has eased over the last few weeks, and especially in moments like this when you are so pliant and wet that you are literally dripping on the sheets.

“Fuuuuuuck.” Raeden grunts, rocking his hips until he is buried to be hilt inside you, his dark eyes fixed on his wife as she watches.

“Gods above.” Your groan echoes through Margaery’s body and vibrates deliciously through her wetness, but you have to tear your mouth away temporarily to catch your breath. “How will you take me for your wife, love? Will you be soft and sweet, or will you show her how I like to be made breathless?”

“I think I will show her how the princess likes to take her cocks.” Raeden decides with a grin and a wink to his wife before he leans over and kisses your spine.

That promise is immediately followed by the pulling back of his hips and having them slam forward again, emptying and filling your quivering cunt all in an instant and making you cry out into Margaery’s folds. Your fingers pick up speed with the determination of having Raeden fuck you, and you suck her clit into your mouth again with such enthusiasm that her cry echoes your own.

“Oh gods.” Margaery can feel the strength behind the thrust when your face pushes into her cunt harder than the normal pressure. Rocked forwards by his cock. “That cock is so good. I will need it harsh too, husband.”

“Whatever happened to ladies being delicate?” Raeden huffs, groaning as his hips connect with your ass again.

“None of us really are.” Margaery giggles and then moans when your tongue flutters around her clit. Making her grind down on your tongue.

“Men have been fed a lie,” he grouses good-naturedly, and he reaches out with one hand to grip your braid that Margaery has unpinned.

“Do you like to have your hair pulled?” Margaery asks you breathlessly.

Nodding makes the grip that Raeden has on your hair that much tighter, and your eyes flutter shut at the sensation before you open them again to look up at Margaery. "I cannot explain it, but I always enjoy pain with my pleasure."

“I want to try that.” Margaery moans and reaches up to twist her hand around her own braid.

The amused smile on your lips is mirrored by Raeden, and you shake your head at her. "You cannot do it yourself, lover," you tell her, reaching up and tangling your fingers tightly as high up in her braid as you can manage. "If you do not like it, tell me 'no' and I will stop."

“Yes.” She nods and moans as she moves her head and makes her scalp tug.

Seeing the way her eyes roll back at the slight pressure of the tug, you pull harder and more sharply, elated when the sounded you are gifted with is an ecstatic moan. "Yes?" You ask, letting her braid go slack so you can tug again, just as sharply.

“Yes!” She cries out and her cunt clenches around your fingers. She can’t believe that it feels so good and makes her entire body shake with pleasure.

"My wife and my soulmate may be more alike than they know." Raeden rasps out, grunting out another thrust and tugging at your braid as you pull on Margaery's. "Make her cum, my love. I want to see the moment she falls apart for you."

“Ohhhhh fuck.” The curse falls from Margaery’s lips easily as she shamelessly grinds down on your fingers. “Would— would that be so bad?” She manages.

"Not at all." As Raeden pounds you deeper and harder into Margaery's pussy he bends over to bite your shoulder and groans at the sight in front of him. "You will both be fucked into the mattress at every opportunity."

“That sounds perfect.” She moans, one hand drifting to her own breast. She wonders if she could have whomever she wanted at any time, or if there was some unspoken rule. She doesn’t doubt that she would need to give Raeden his heir before she sleeps with another man, but she is eager to experience the legendary Red Viper between her thighs.

Any kind of conversation dissolves again when Raeden pulls your hair sharply and you pull Margaery's in response, and the room becomes a renewed symphony of moans. There is nothing you want more in this moment that to hear the ecstasy that will come from your friend's lips when she cums for you, so you curl your fingers against the place inside her that will make her scream and redouble your efforts.

Now her breath comes out in ragged gasps, watching as her breathtaking husband slams into you eagerly, his own groans making her cunt clench around your fingers. The scene is enough to make her keen and the quick, cleverness of your fingers quickly pushes Margaery over the edge with a very unladylike yell.

There is something truly intoxicating in being the middle of this encounter. Knowing that it was not only your skill but Raeden’s passion which sends Margaery over the edge and has her clenching down in your fingers with such eagerness that her body might try to envelop your entire hand. It leaves you wishing under Raeden’s Powerful thrusts, moaning and grinding back against him as you lap up every drop of cum from her slit.

It is hard for Margaery to keep her eyes open, but she is determined to watch him cum. Seeing if he makes you squeal like she had last night with his gentler touch. His fingertips dig into your hips, sure to leave marks that last days, and it is the powerful need behind them along with one more well-timed thrust that has you tearing away from Margaery’s body to cry his name for all to hear. The insistent throbbing of your body between his and hers is unending, rolling through you so you can neither seem to stop the continuous feeling of peak pleasure or even catch your breath. It is magnificently exhausting, and Raeden is still fucking into you with erratic force.

He gets to have you. It is still a wonder to him, made even more precious by the fact that his wife is watching him fuck you, her hands still cupping and massaging her tits while she catches her breath. He gets to have it all, and it’s making his thrusts slap even harder than he’s ever fucked you.

A half dozen more pumps of his hips against your ass and Raeden is choking on his own groans, trying to call both of your names at once and ending up alternating between them as he pulls you tight against him and nearly collapses onto your back.

Margaery hums. A little chuckle in her throat as Raeden rolls you onto your side, protective of the babe in your belly. She had been told about the child and is very happy for you, actually eager for her own time. Now, she pushes to her knees and leans over to kiss you both.

“You do not mind your own taste?” Your thumb swipes under her bottom lip, wiping away a smudge of her own slick that came from your mouth. Some do and some do not. It would be another delightful development if Margaery did not, as you find it quite indulgent.

“No, I want to drink it from your lips.” She coos, kissing you again and then Raeden before she smirks. Slowly sliding down to drag her tongue over your nipple and biting down on it gently. “Right now, I want to taste my husband’s cock still inside your cunt. Lick you both up.”

There is a voice in the back of your head that knows Oberyn is going to be thrilled with Margaery’s curiosity and desire to explore her own sexuality, and that Ellaria’s approval will be near instant as well. “Enjoy yourself, my darling,” you hum, snuggles up in Raeden’s arms and spread for her to enjoy.

Raeden’s eyes widen when his wife, the wicked smirk pleasantly plastered on her face, starts to move down your body. Fixed on the sight, his spent cock twitches inside you. “Wife, you fit this group more than you know.” He rasps out.

“Better than I did, at the beginning,” you admit with a soft sigh when one of Margaery’s long fingers strokes your folds.

“I cannot imagine that to be true.” She scoffs. “I am lucky you are so accommodating.” She looks back up at you as she scoops some of the thick, creamy cum up from the base of her husband’s cock.

“You are a wonder,” you correct, relaxing even more under her touch.

She hums, accepting the compliment, although she knows she is receiving much more from this arrangement than you are. Her fingers slide into her mouth and she moans at the musky, salty taste. “Delightful.”

“He is even better when you taste him from the source.” The encouragement is met with a groan from your soulmate, and he kisses along your shoulder as Margaery lowers her mouth to the place you are still connected. It is her first time being with another woman, tasting another woman and it seems like she is diving into it. Luxuriating in the freedom and encouragement she is getting, her tongue flutters around your clit like she had felt you do to her and then down to her husband’s cock.

“Fuck.” The appreciative groan from Raeden makes you grin in his arms when you turn to kiss him. “Your wife is a fast learner,” you hum, breath hitching when her tongue flicks over your clit again.

“She is.” Raeden hums with pride, “Very good. The gods blessed us when they brought us together.”

"Such praise, my darling." Looking down your body to where Margaery is indulging her seemingly endless curiosities in your bodies, you grip her hair in your fingers again and tug just sharply enough to make her moan. "You deserve every word of it."

She hums and preens under the praise. Feeling her cheeks heat up at the words when she should be shocked at what she is doing. There is no embarrassment. Nothing but pleasure and curiosity.

"How does your husband taste from my cunt?" As filthy as the words are, they're languid. Relaxed and indulgent. You are as curious for the answer as she is for the taste, if you are honest with yourself.

“Like ambrosia.” Margaery moans, flicking up another taste of the two of you so she can come to let you taste for yourself.

When she unfurls her tongue into your kiss it is an extension of that gorgeous indulgence, and you hum deeply as you wrap her up in your arms. "I think you might be far more eager for this arrangement than you first thought," you grin knowingly.

“I think I am.” She grins as she slides her finger down your cheek. “I am very proud to be Lady Sunstone.”

______

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fayes-fics · 2 years

Text

Atonement

Paring: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Anthony returns home early and catches you breaking his rules.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, light d/s tones, innocence/corruption kink, spanking, fingering, squirting.

Word count: 2.4k. These might as well be subtitled Faye cannot write short Drabbles

Build a blurb prompt: Anthony + 👅 smut + 😇innocence kink + 💦squirting + 🏓 spanking (from @iboopedyournose)

Authors note: Fourth 1k follower celebration fic. Betaed by the fab makaylan. This is for the lovely Emmy as she battles through her finals. I hope you enjoy <3

“Anthony!” you exclaim in shock, rapidly attempting to smooth out the bedding as he strides in, looking very handsome. He’s been away on a trip for three days, less than two weeks into your marriage, and you have missed him terribly.

“Y/n,” he greets, his brow knitting slightly, “not quite the welcome home I was expecting; why did you retire to bed so early?” he asks, obviously expecting to find you downstairs upon his arrival.

You are reluctant to speak the truth. You are not unwell or tired, not even slightly. You retired to bed to think on him, more precisely, to touch yourself and think on him. Even though he asked you not to, expressly saying he wished for you to remain untouched until his return so that you might be mindless for him. Those were the exact words he whispered in your ear as he took you on the morning he left.

He pulls off his jacket and unloops his cravat, looking at you expectantly. Like he is awaiting an answer, or at least for you to get out of bed and greet him. When you do neither, he looks intrigued.

“You seemed to call my name in surprise when I walked in. What exactly did I catch you doing?” his tone is laced with something else you can't put your finger on as he draws closer to the bed.

“Nothing,” you fib, smoothing over the bedding unnecessarily again, the nervous energy and built-up arousal making you fidgety.

“Wife,” he drawls slowly as he reaches the bed. “I know when you are lying to me,” he tuts.

Your cheeks blush hard, but you stay quiet.

“Were you… touching yourself?” Anthony questions, his pitch much lower this time, leaning over and looking deep into your eyes as you instinctually lean further back into the pillows, gripping tightly onto the cover pulled up around your neck.

“You’ve been away for three days, Anthony. I… I… missed you,” you answer honestly but with a hint of a defensive tone, staring up into his eyes.

“Hmmm indeed,” he smirks, lowering his face right over yours so all you see are his beautiful brown eyes blazing at you, making your heart pound in your chest. His gaze falls to your lips briefly, and then his hand rounds behind your neck and cranes you up slightly, your lips meeting. You make a whimper into his mouth as he kisses you fiercely, demanding entry into your mouth and swallowing your little noises. He tastes of cigars and expensive brandy.

“What did I expressly ask you not to do while I was gone?” he questions as he ends the kiss, pulling away slightly with a raised eyebrow and brushing his fingers over your face.

“Touch myself,” you exhale onto his cheek.

“And what did I catch you just doing?” He queries, resting his forehead against yours, licking his lips almost predatory. He knows; you should have guessed.

“You are home earlier than you said you would be,” you whisper, divulging the truth through deflection.

“Indeed. How many times did you touch yourself while I was away? Every night?” His questions are across your lips as you are so close you breathe each other's air, his mouth ghosting over yours as his hands are buried in your hair, holding your head.

You bite your lip.

“More than that?” he intuits. “Dear god, what have I created? I took your innocence a mere two weeks ago, and now you are touching yourself like a harlot. Is that what you are?” Anthony demands, moving to cup your jaw firmly. “Are you a naughty little harlot?” he asks again, his breathing becoming slightly laboured. His pupils dilated. His touch firmer.

“No, husband,” you whisper, this seems to be a new game he wants to play, and you are unsure that is the answer he wants from you. You so desperately want to please him.

“Hmmm, the evidence would suggest otherwise,” he hums and pulls away quickly, yanking back the covers from you.

He gasps raggedly at the sight before him. You are entirely naked save your wedding ring.

“You have been sleeping without a nightgown? Completely nude?” he growls, his eyes finally tearing from ogling your body, returning to your face. His eyes are on fire now.

“Yes, but sometimes… I… sometimes sleep with your shirts; they smell of you,” you confess quickly, lowering your gaze, almost ashamed.

“Wife,” his hand is back on your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him towering over you, standing next to your martial bed. “I think it’s time you learned when I ask you to do so something, you need to obey me. Or there will be consequences,” he warns, his eyes glittering.

You inhale sharply. “What sort of consequences?” you query, something sparking in your belly, a tang in the air that suggests they will be pleasant. His grip on your face tightens, a thumb in the divot under your cheekbone, pressing your cheek against your molar teeth.

“I will need to spank you to atone for your defiance,” he states firmly.

You gasp and stare up at him wide-eyed. You have heard rumours of this from your ladies' maid—husbands who like to provide discipline to their wives via something called ‘spanking’. You only know it as something you experienced as a child as punishment; you assume this must be something different. But you are innocent of what it might entail—yet something hot flares between your legs.

“Turn over,” he says, almost menacing, staring down.

You do as you are told, an oily feeling of fear mingled with suspense low in your belly. A warm hand touches your bare bottom, rubbing a gentle circle.

“What did I tell you not to do, wife?” he challenges his tone a little steely.

“Touch myself,” you breathe against the pillow, craning to look at him over your shoulder.

“That's correct,” his hand moves to your other cheek. “And how many times did you touch yourself while I was away? How many times did you disobey me?”

“Six times,” you exhale.

“Six times in three days?!?” he exclaims. “That is twice a day, my darling little harlot of a wife. Do you know what that means?” he checks, clawing his hand so his fingernails scratch the globe of your bottom.

“No.”

“You get one spank for every time you disobeyed me,” he tuts, “that is six spanks, three on each cheek,” he explains, his tone clipped. He leans down and whispers quickly into your ear. “Should you wish me to stop, dear wife, say red. But I really hope you do not.” As it is muttered, he is back, standing up straight.

You realise he has given you a way to stop the process should you not enjoy it. But an insistent buzz between your legs suggests you at least like the idea.

His hand raises briefly from your skin, then slaps back down, spanking your right cheek.

You squeak in surprise. Your skin tingles where he made contact, and you feel your muscles flex.

“Ohhh,” escapes your lips unsolicited. You realise this is the same action you encountered as a misbehaving child, but this experience is different—something teasing and indeed exciting. Being spanked by your husband naked in bed is a new sensation you find quite intriguing; you definitely don't want him to stop.

“I would like you to count your punishments, wife,” he lectures as his hand gently rubs where the sting fades.

“One,” you reply quickly.

“Good girl,” he compliments, and you feel a flood between your legs at his praise. Nothing brings you more pleasure than pleasing him.

The warmth of his palm is gone again then there is a mirroring smack on your other cheek. The sensation is similar, and you feel a throb at the juncture of your thighs now.

“Two.”

“Excellent. Are you enjoying learning new things, wife?” he buzzes gently, again soothing the sting.

“Yes,” you whisper quietly.

“Mmm, I thought you might.”

Then there is another spank. This one is harder than the last two; back to your other cheek. You jump slightly at the feeling.

“Three.”

Rapidly he repeats the action on the other cheek, hitting the same spot, and you feel warmth spreading there like your skin is blooming a new shade under his attention.

“Four,” you count obediently. This time as Anthony made contact, you pushed your bottom up a fraction, pushed up onto his stroke, and it did not go unnoticed.

“Oh, you are enjoying this, aren't you?” he gloats.

“Yes, husband,” you admit softly, almost ashamed but going with the feeling. He has been the person to teach you that.

“Just two more, then perhaps there is a treat I can give you, seeing as you are doing so very well with your first spanking,” he flatters, his fingers digging into your bottom a fraction as he grips your flesh.

This time you actively jump as his hand slaps onto your cheek with a sound that echoes around the walls of your bed-chamber. You make a noise halfway between a squeal and a groan at the pleasurable pain that radiates from the impact.

“Five,” you choke out.

You puff out a little air to deal with the resulting sting just as you feel his hand slip down between your cheeks and lightly brush your core. You inhale sharply, your legs parting on instinct as you press against his fingers ploughing between your lips and catching against your clit.

“Anthony,” you breathe so, so desperate for him.

“Someone is enjoying their punishment far too much,” he chuckles darkly, bending over and biting your earlobe. “I think you’ll really enjoy what comes next,” is a hot breath against your cheek.

Just as he finishes his promise, he deals your last blow. Again it is loud and on the edge of pain; you feel the sting radiate across your skin as you blow out a breath to lessen the ache.

“Six,” you dutifully end your count with a tremulous exhale.

“Well done,” he lavishes praise, rubbing your sore bottom with soothing strokes as he kisses your shoulder and up your neck to your mouth, your lips meeting in a lingering passionate kiss. “Would you like a little treat for being such a good, dutiful wife?”

Then his hand is slipping between your thighs and forcing them wider apart.

“Keep your head down but bring your knees up, please,” he orders, moving closer to your feet.

You heed his instructions without a second thought. The position feels lewd and vulnerable, your face on the pillow, your hips up high off the bed.

Anthony climbs onto the bed between your legs, and you crane your neck to look around, assuming he will remove his trousers and enter you from behind, as he has done before. You are more than ready for him, aching, in fact, from your enjoyment of the discipline he metered out.

But he does not undress further; instead, he leans over your back and places a kiss there.

“Are you ready to try something new?” he asks gently, his tongue tracing over your spine.

“Yes, husband,” you pant, intrigued.

The fingers of one hand drag across your bottom, then sink between your legs again, teasing your clit, and you gasp and push back against his feather-light touch. As you chase more, he moves, and two fingers slip inside you, sliding deep; you exhale and moan at the sensation. You make a surprised noise as he brushes a particularly sensitive spot, and you feel him chuckle quiet but triumphant against your skin. He shuffles, and suddenly, there is a rocking force on that spot inside.

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself as much as him, an entirely different sensation blooming.

You feel his fingers moving in and out of you at rapid speed, the squelching noises he is drawing from your body making you blush even as you push back against his actions. You look around to see a handsome smug smile on his face as he pulls upright.

“How is that wife?” he inquires, his voice a touch breathless from continued exertion.

“What the….” your words die out on a long groan as your channel convulses tightly around his fingers, almost trying to push them out.

Your legs start to twitch and spasm, and he has to remind you to focus, stay up on your knees and open for him. All the while, his fingers push hard, jabbing against a place that feels like a shortcut to your clit.

“Ready?” he warns.

“What on earth for?” you wonder, but the answer comes with actions. You start squealing and clawing at the pillow, gripping the headboard above your head for dear life as your body writhes unbidden, an unrelenting pressure building up inside around his fingers. His thumb now catches your clit and flicks against it rapidly. You feel like you are dandling breathlessly over a precipice but scared to release, something foreign feeling so ready to burst.

“Let it go,” he instructs, and you break—a massive release of white-hot pleasure, exhaling a scream instead of fighting your instincts. Your core pulses in strong waves as you bite the pillow, and shudders wrack all of your limbs. You are floating somewhere both routed within and miles away from your overwrought body.

“Well done, darling, that was perfect,” he praises as you return to the room, feeling a wetness dripping down your thighs. You shift your knee, and it lands on a wet patch of bedding.

“What the…?” you whip around to see Anthony has pulled off his white shirt and is wiping his arm. “Anthony, what was that…?” you demand, “What is all this…?” you curl away from the spot, stunned by what you see.

“That is all you, darling,” he crows, gently manoeuvring your legs so he can wipe down your thighs. He chuckles as you spy the dampness on his trousers. “You made such a beautiful mess everywhere; you should not be ashamed of what happened, what I can make your body do. I could not be prouder,” he smiles.

Still not wholly comprehending, you curl up on your side, feeling spent and exhausted, and he spoons around you.

“Although I will have to sleep on your side of the bed with you tonight, wife, as you have made mine unusable. What a terrible shame,” he smiles warmly against your neck.

“What about you, husband?” you ask drowsily, feeling something hard and hot pressed up against your bottom.

“You can wake me up with your mouth on my cock,” he murmurs gently with a yawn.

“Sounds nice,” you hum sleepily.

“Yes, it truly does,” he opines as you both slip into a slumber wrapped together.

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msbhagirathi · 4 months

Text

IPKKND LIVE BLOG SEASON 1 [Epi. 6]

Come, let's begin.

1. Episode starts with Khushi flashing back to all the horrible moments that happened that day. Mind you, this is the same day going on, the day just after Payal's marriage broke and the day all of them went to The Dargah.

2. The same day Arnav and Khushi had their fight regarding Gods and their existence. Then him releasing those clippings and the Mul Rajani part and Khushi in the market with her parents and all of a sudden people giving her annoying glares and muttering things about her character, then their encounter with Shyam and coming back to GS, her parents' decision to send her away to Delhi and then finally, them going to the office of that news channel and her finding out about him, releasing those clips. Uff. A lot to happen in a single day. I think, they forgot to end a day, in between. Lol. Enough. Now back to the epi.

3. Khushi is adorably ranting about her horrible day which was made even more horrible by that 'Laard Gorverner'. (Yes that's the official spelling for me now. But who cares? Lol.)

4. I don't think we should take it jokingly tho but I don't know why did they show as if Khushi is intrigued by him more than being indifferent to his existence completely. She's already given him a nick name and keeps using it, at every chance she gets.

5. She's got insulted by almost the entire Lucknow and her neighborhood and yet they show as if she is not that serious with his misbehavior and him in general entirely for something so terrible that happened to her. She never even mentioned it at least once about this incidence later.

I agree that they did it for the show, but still, they could have shown her anger, her indifference like they did it in the guesthouse track. The fierce and no-nonsense Khushi. Whatever.

6. While she is recalling her opinion regarding "Bina dil ki Dilli, machis ki tilli." (It's a rhyme made for Delhi and it's heartless people.) There, Shyam comes up, after stalking and following her from that office and is now pretending as if he was passing from there and merely happened to coincidently see her there too. Bloody b_stard.

7. Now. Tell me. How did he know it was her father's 'batua' ? Okay. Fine. His photo must have been there. And address too. Coz he reveals that he was coming to her house. And Khushi is caught off guard by the revelation, but seeing her astonishment he quickly diverts her attention by twisting his answer. KHUSHI!? DON'T IGNORE YOUR GUT INSTINCT OKAY!?! DON'T!!! I AM WARNING YOU OF THIS LEECH!

8. Lol. Who am I kidding? This is the same girl who was in denial of her feelings for a certain someone, okay let's not go there right now.

9. Btw, this is for all the girls who are reading this. Never ignore your gut-instinct or more precisely the girl-instinct. Never ever. Be very aware of who is around you for what purpose or intention. Now. Back to the epi.

10. Khushi, naively, tells him everything about who she knows there and who is she going with. Girls, I am warning you again. Never indulge into a complete stranger, let alone giving them info bout yourself or your location.

11. She did not have to tell him, any of that. Don't be too good for your own good, Khushi, please.

12. The atmosphere in GS is very melancholic as they complete their last minute packings and babuji comes and offers a spoonful of dahi-chini. Khushi has tears in her eyes but probably this is the last time that she would cry and anyone would not get affected by it, because after this Arnav would always, always, always get hugely affected whenever he would find Khushi crying. Ok. Ab chalo, Dilli.

13. The sun dawns, the next day and we find ourselves standing on the busy roads of Delhi, outside the railway station.

14. Khushi complains about the speeding cars and compares them to the ones in Lucknow.

15. Buaji demonstrates the method to cross a road, this busy. Buaji, leave the girls, even I won't be able to cross the road the way you did. You are unique, Buaji. You are you. No one can be you. Lol.

16. The girls fret over a little, but nervously start to cross the road. But, ultimately, they end up creating, a traffic jam.

17. Hahahahaahahah. The auto scene always gets me. Lol. Buaji tries to get in the auto, while complaining about the size of the 'darwajja' (door). And when she gets in from this side, Khushi falls down from the other side. Lol.

18. "Humara auto mein toh teen ka hee permit hai, mataji." "Toh hum kaa chaar dikhayi de rahe haen?" *smacks the driver* "Chal nikaal riksa." Lol. (My auto permits only three people, ma'am. Do we seem to be four people, here? *smacks the driver* Now come on start the riksha.)

19. So. Tho. Funnily portrayed. But, sad, as well. The driver adjusts the mirror to stare at Khushi while driving and Khushi is well aware, so she covers her face with her dupatta. This. Right, here. You won't believe but this kind of behavior is so damn common, even I have faced these kinds of situations. I HATE THIS. I DESPISE THIS. I DOWNRIGHT ABHORE THIS. UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH. Enough. Now get back to the epi.

20. They are there. Laxminagar. They get out of the riksa. Buaji asks the fare and the driver says it's 200. Khushi feels that it is ridiculously high. She starts arguing but the driver says he is ready to dismiss the fare for her, in a very flirtatious tone. So, Khushi being Khushi, pulls a suitcase so hard, that it smacks his head from the back, before giving a final blow, she says "Maaf kijiye, Bhaiyyaji. (scowls)" Lmao. I love Khushi.

21. Buaji tells them about the situation of water supply in Delhi. And, she goes inside the house. Khushi and Payal share their feelings of the 'weird' experiences they faced up until now.

22. AND. HI BITWA. Oh. When did you land in Delhi? You know what your wife has also arrived in Delhi. Ahhhhhhh. The cravat. (😍) Lol. ASR guitar BG score is so soothing. Arnav is leaving for office. Anjali di has made his 'favorite' Bhuni methi ke parathe (roasted fenugreek seeds' flatbread) "Side rakhne ke liye nahi de rahe hain, kha lena." Lol.

23. Anjali di reminds him to come back home early as today Naniji is coming back from her pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi and there is a puja at their house. But, our chhotte straight up refuses to 'waste' his precious time in 'these' things and asks her to make up some excuse for his absence.

24. Anjali di is reminded of the 'prasaad' that she has to make for the puja so after saying, "Chhotte tum na bohot baatein karte ho, dekha sab gadbad karaa di, hum chalte hein, bye.", (when she did all the talking and didn't even let her chhotte speak a single word. Lol.), she leaves. Her chhotte is left incredulous at her antics.(Those who say that he started smiling or feel any positive emotion only after Khushi came into his life permanently, SEE THAT, GO AND OPEN THE EPISODE.)

25. Phuphaji? Worked? In? Railways? Lol. See this.

26. "Tohre hoth bijli aawat nahi, girat hai girat. Dham dharaam." Lol. Buaji. I hate to admit this. But. You are so damn right.

27. "Haan. Jaise aaj aap girin." Famous Last Words Ft. Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada.

28. And Buaji throws a cushion at her for spitting the fact of the century. Buaji. Please let her be.

29. Did I say it earlier? I think not enough. I will say it again. Babuji is the only person who can read Khushi so well.

30. Hmm. So. Buaji. WHAT IS YOUR DAMN PROBLEM, HUH? Whatever.

31. Buaji makes fun of her tears. Why Buaji why? Why do you exist?

32. Khushi and Payal enter ~what seems to be like~ their room as Khushi describes it aptly- Kamra nahi puratatva vibhaag ki site (Not a room but an archaeological site. Lol. I snorted.)

33. Both the sisters take up the meticulous job of cleaning the room.

34. One jerk of the dirty bedsheet and Buaji is immediately having an attack of asthma from all the dirt shoved her way.

35. Both of them panic and help her lay down on the bed. Khushi rushes to find her pump but to their utter dismay, it's empty.

36. Khushi snatches her basta and phone and rushes out to buy a new one. She takes Paaji's scooter along with her.

37. Bitwa informs his manager that he is crossing Connaught Place and that he will be there for the meeting in ten minutes.

38. His manager further goes on to give him a 'good' news that 'that fashion show wali ladki' has been humiliated so much by the people that she has left the city altogether (Arnav, did you send your men to keep a check on your dear wife Khushi?)

Arnav admonishes him for wasting his 'precious' time. (Tell me something honestly Bitwa, you did feel bad for her, even if it was just for a fleeting second, didn't you?)

And just as he says the line that it doesn't affect him even if she leaves the country, Khushi's reflection appears on the side glass of his car and she whoosh pasts him in a second. (Watch out Bitwa, she is definitely not in some other country but in the same city as you, not very far too, so be careful, you might fall in love.)

39. And, now yet another time, Khushi is on a scooter with a funny-looking helmet and she is driving.....or more like running, skidding, jumping but in a scooter way. Lol. This is her 'Hum Khushi Kumari Gupta' style driving.

(Remember the 'Hum Khushi Kumari Gupta' style running, skidding, jumping, i referred to in Epi. 3? This is the driving edition. Lol. Whatever.)

40. Okay, one more point, after that i am coming back to the epi. See, the last time, Khushi was on the scooter and where did she end up? Infront of her husband Arnavji.

This time as well she is on a scooter, so where will she end up? Not very hard to guess it, i think? Kyun meri Parmeswariyon? *winks*

41. So. Now. Back to the epi.

42. Payal informs her sister that 'pados wale Kaul uncle' had brought a pump for Buaji and now she is fine but Khushi insists that she should get her a new one anyways.

43. And. Within a few moments. Sure enough. She takes a turn towards the wrong side and runs right into a car; scratching it all the way along with one of the mirrors from the scooter, crashing into pieces on the road, within a few seconds.

44. She picks up the broken glass and guiltily walks towards the driver's side of the car only to come face to face with her husband Arnavji.

45. I love how her guilty expression immediately changes into something more like she is about to admonish him for his 'mischiefs'.

46. And our Bitwa. Oh damn. Just look at his positively delicious face and that expression is something like 'Oh. Damn. Uss ullu ke patthe ne toh kahan tha ki isne sheher chor diya tha. Toh phir yeh yahan kya kar rahi hai. Ab tera kya hoga Arnav.' Lol. No. Its something like 'Shit. Shit. Shit. Arnav. Shit. You are a gone case now. No one can save you from falling for this beautiful girl.' Lol. No. You decide his inner thoughts from this expression. A homework for y'all. I will ask y'all in the next one.

47. But look at that face tho. *keeps staring at the screen* *doesn't realize that the screen is now flashing the precap* Shit. Shit. Shit. Sorry. I don't watch precaps but I couldn't stop myself from staring at his beautiful face.

P.S.: Ok. So. Howazit? Do tell. Ok. Then. Bye. Y'all. God bless you.

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hartpisces · 4 months

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release ur limited star knowledge (i wanna know 🤨)

im so glad u asked!

it started when i found out ant is a leo and kat is a scorpio, which was SO wild to me because it just makes perfect sense?? heres the post i made about them when I was going insane about this revelation —>

(take the moon signs with a grain of salt, since the exact birthtime isn’t known)

For jalen specifically, hes a VIRGO which again, very intriguing because from what i’ve seen, he does very much present as a hardworking, nitpicky, perfectionist, reserved guy (fe: almost every argument he has with josh involves nitpicking, his press conferences.. THE LOCKER CONVO “your locker looks like a tornado hit it” OK VIRGO!!!) Virgos are also known to be shy/easily embarrassed especially when receiving praise, which is so insane to me seeing how he responds to josh (being rendered speechless oml), donte, the media, literally anyone complimenting him. He is a textbook humble virgo!! (also the sign of the virgin btw, lmfao)

Now it gets spicy when you consider that his moon sign is Aries, meaning his emotions are ruled by this fiery, defensive-ass sign, and he acts this way with the people he’s most comfortable around. This is totally represented when he tries to poke Josh’s buttons constantly, but it ultimately backfires every time because Jalen can be short tempered, and a bit spiky. Him being a virgo, he wants to prove how chill, “normal” as he says, he is. But at the end of the day, someone who KNOWS him, and is intuitive (will get to that later) will know how easily flustered he gets. I see why he is such a great leader (im a knicks fan so i have to glaze rq) he gets the precision/composure from his sun, and passion from his moon, bam leads a team through the playoffs.

Now for his venus (sign of beauty, love, romance) his venus is in cancer! ♋️ 🦀 🦀 these people are sensitive, cautious, CLINGY (“we have to hangout everyday”) when it comes to relationships you kind of have to approach them like a crab 🦀 because they WILL cling forever (he literally refused to let go of Donte and Josh, and never will). Very emotional lovers, but they will avoid emotional confrontation in fear of getting hurt. Also soo sentimental! (his reaction to josh being traded while he was at Villanova, you know this man loves feeling nostalgic). Cancer lovers want to be consumed, to belong entirely to someone (if i speak…)

Also gonna do Josh because i make everything about Jalen and Josh. Josh is a pisces sun, taurus moon. Being a pisces, he dreams big, is emotional, VERY intuitive, and he has this ability to sort of be a chameleon and fit in with very diverse groups. This could explain his passion for podcasts, since he’s had two in his career and had all sorts of guests. Pisces can unfortunately be TOO sensitive (cough, beating bitches up in college). While they are dreamers, they are notoriously late to everything, and prefer to chase after them at their very specific pace (explains Josh’s hatred for practice? also moving into his bestfriend’s house during highschool because he knew it would help his grades, environment matters to him). As for his intuition, Josh is very understanding of other’s emotions and his own, more so than Jalen. The most important part about josh being a pisces to me is that it proves he is a full on LOVER BOY and can see through a prickly guy like Jalen.

His moon is in taurus. To his core he is dominant af (literally was described as a dog that needs to mark his territory, always wants the upper hand in arguments). He’s stable, steady, calm (he IS the one who always gets into Jalen’s head first, not the other way around) and is uncomfortable with surprises. I don’t have a link but I read an article where he was talking about how terrible his trade from the lakers felt; he overall resists change. Taurus is also the sign of pleasure and is often aligned with materialism and a love for food (his watch collection? obsession with mike & ike’s??) Overall hes very chill and has soo many lover traits, just do not threaten his dominance lmfaoo.

(I was the most shocked with this placement) Josh’s venus is in Aquarius. The approach people with this placement take with love is friends first, full trust, and then they’ll consider a relationship. They are unpredictable in their advances (josh calling jalen cute on camera twice?? josh’s unpredictable ways of touching jalen and donte whenever he feels like it???), and will try to impress their person of interest with provocative jokes and their rebelliousness. They don’t want to be tied down, but they don’t mind setting rules for their partner. They also might avoid an actual *love* confrontation/confession. The independence of these types aren’t always a bad thing, since their partner will receive a lot of space/won’t feel suffocated.

Accurate or not, this is such a sharp contrast to Jalen’s Cancer venus. Jalen doesn’t WANT space, he could cling 🦀🦀onto Josh all day and still feel too far. There might be conflict in terms of communication; Josh might flirt as a “joke” and Jalen would feel that it’s real, being the more emotional, hopelessly romantic one. This doesn’t mean Josh doesn’t feel the same way, his Aquarius-approach to love just makes him way more cautious about committing to love. His Pisces sun might want him to fall in love, but the Aquarius energy in him is yelling NO! Josh will touch Jalen like he’s his, will leave Jalen stammering, flustered. Jalen will look at him and smile with so much longing, but it’s just another thing they won’t talk about. Jalen is just too careful, awkward and Josh is ever-so conflicted. Jalen fell first, Josh fell harder??👀👀 (hypothetically ofc) (maybe)

i wish i could find out their rising signs because that would be so interesting to me, but obviously nba players don’t care to know their exact birthdate in the name of astrology😭

TLDR

these boys got issues to sort out

#i wrote so much ummm #thank you for this ask😊🙌🙌🙌#not sure about my stance on astrology but its so fun to connect it to their dynamic #especially when we dont get much content of them together #so i can do a little bit of guessing and expand on what is already known about them through the stars 🌟#jh x jb #kat/ant

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maryrosevelaryon1 · 1 month

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Dark Raven:02

Scared and confused, the Visenya struck him hard in the chest, breaking free from his grasp. Without a second thought, she hurriedly fled to her bedroom.

Aegon stumbled back as she struck him, the force of the blow taking him by surprise. He felt a twinge of anger flicker through him, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

"Oh, so you want to play it like that, do you?"

He said, a smirk on his face...

***

She entered the bedroom, she was breathing hard, she closed the door and leaned against it with her back...

The girl could not yet understand that her body was undergoing changes, and attention was being paid to it, even from her uncle..

She was getting taller, her breasts were growing, though not so much as to be compared to a woman's breasts yet, other body shapes were developing as well... and with all this she was becoming more and more noticeable.

Although the girl was only 10...

***

n the afternoon, Visenya joined the others and began fencing training alongside her brothers, under the guidance of Harving Strong.

Despite a terrible stomachache that had plagued her since morning, she was determined not to miss the lesson.

Aegon was part of the training session too, though his mind was not fully present. He found himself constantly sneaking glances at the young girl, still somewhat amused by her earlier actions. His eyes lingered on her, taking in her determined expression and her movements as she practiced her swordplay. Despite the training at hand, he found himself more intrigued by her than by the lesson.

Aemond Targaryen was also training there, he soon caught the girl's attention, the girl took a few steps closer to him with a wooden sword...

"Can you help me train? Nobody takes me seriously here..."

The girl spoke in a soft, low voice, bowing her head shyly.

Aemond noticed her approaching him and watched her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He raised an eyebrow, his expression almost amused.

"Ah, the little princess wants to train, does she? And why do you think nobody is taking you seriously?"

Aemond said, a hint of a mocking tone in his voice. Despite his words, he couldn't help but find her determination a bit endearing.

"Just look at them..."

Aemond glanced around at the other boys and men training. They all looked focused and intense, some giving Visenya a dismissive glance before continuing their own practice.

"Hmm, yes. I suppose they do seem quite dismissive,"

Aemond said, an amused glint in his eye.

"Very well, I'll train with you. But don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're a girl."

"You are not limited..."

She said.

Aemond chuckled slightly at her response, his smirk widening.

"Good. Then let's see what you can do."

He said, raising his wooden sword in a ready stance.

"Fine..."

Soon, the visenya Velaryon noticed that her grandfather, King Viserys, had been watching the entire scene. It was this realization that spurred her to try and impress him even more.

As the training continued, Visenya could feel the weight of her grandfather's gaze upon her. The king watched with a keen eye, his expression giving little away as he observed the session from a distance. The young girl felt a surge of determination within her, knowing that her grandfather was watching her every move. She was determined to show him that she was worthy of notice, that she could handle the sword just as well as her brothers could.

Visenya's moves became even more intense and focused as her eyes flicked towards her grandfather, and then back to Aemond. She feinted and parried, her movements quick and precise. Despite her petite frame, she was a fierce opponent, determined to prove herself. Aemond was also surprised by her determination and skill, and he found himself enjoying the challenge she presented.

As they continued to spar, the sound of wood striking wood echoed through the training grounds. The other boys and men who had previously been dismissive of Visenya were now starting to take notice of her. They were watching her with a mix of surprise and begrudging respect, clearly impressed by the skill and determination she was displaying.

King Viserys watched the training session with a small smile on his face, his eyes flickering between Aemond and Visenya. He could see the drive in the girl's eyes...

Visenya's stomachache grew worse and worse. The pain was almost unbearable, but she refused to let it show. She gritted her teeth and pushed forward, determined to keep going despite the discomfort.

Soon During fencing with swords Aemond got a serious face, stopped and said to the girl in low voice"you are bleeding..."

Visenya paused and looked down, her brow furrowing as she saw the spots of blood on her white pants *

"What?..."

She said, confusion and surprise flickering across her face. It was only now, with Aemond's observation, that she realized the reason for her stomachache. Despite the pain and discomfort, she had pushed through, her determination masking the symptoms.

The girl could not believe that all this happened in front of them, she blushed slightly from shame and her eyes filled with tears.

Aemond's expression softened slightly at the sight of her tears and embarrassment. He took a step closer, his voice low but not unkind.

"Everyone gets wounded in training. It's just a part of it. It's not something to be ashamed of."

He said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Aegon approached them, pulled his brother from her.

"You fool ,she is not injured, she is on her period..."

Aemond's expression quickly changed from gentle to surprised at Aegon's words. He looked at Visenya, realization dawning on his face. The girl blushed even deeper, feeling more embarrassed now.

Aegon smirked at his brother, clearly finding the situation amusing. He stepped closer to Visenya, his tone cheeky as usual.

"You didn't realize, did you? You were so focused on the training that you missed the obvious."

Aegon continued to smirk, his usual mischievous expression back in place. He looked at Visenya with a hint of mockery in his eyes.

"Oh, look at that. The Little Princess has her first period..."

He said, his tone playful but not unkind. He glanced at Aemond before continuing.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice. I figured you would have some Knowledge with such things by now..."

Aegon just chuckled and turned back to Visenya again, his smirk still in place.

Aegon leaned in closer to Visenya, his voice lowering to a mock-whisper.

"Don't worry, little princess. It's normal. Just something all ladies have to deal with. Although..."

He paused, his smirk growing wider as he looked her up and down.

"I suppose you're not so little anymore..."

He said with a slight chuckle, taking in her appearance. Despite her current situation, he couldn't help but tease her a bit.

"Leave me alone!"

The scared and ashamed poor girl ran to her bedroom, crying again...

Aegon watched her run off, his smirk falling away as he realized the extent of her embarrassment. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for making her run away crying.

Aemond sighed, shaking his head.

"You didn't have to say it like that, you know. You probably embarrassed her even more..."

Aegon scratched the back of his neck, his usual teasing demeanor somewhat subdued by the realization He just embarrassed her even more than she already was.

"Yeah... I guess I went a bit too far..."

He muttered, looking towards the direction where Visenya had run off. He felt a hint of guilt starting to creep up on him.

#aemond one eye #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #aestethic #house targaryen #house of the dragon #fanfic #house of dagmar #ae #aegon the second #prince aemond #aegon targaryen x reader

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clavissionary-position · 1 year

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CLAVIS × READER, Waltzhectica

N O T E S This is a suuuper-old fic I wrote over a year ago but never posted, long before I read Clavis' route. So his characterization here is based on how shady he seemed before we discovered who he really is. I also added some tiny edits. I remember I was inspired by the writings of gilbertvonobsidian and ndoandou <3

Clavis Lelouch has hands for tuning traps.

Clavis Lelouch has hands for placing pitfalls on roads he's paved, pebble by rigged pebble.

Clavis Lelouch has hands for forgeries and framing friends.

Clavis Lelouch has hands for betrayal.

So why do you take his hand when he asks for a dance?

His approach is preceded by a prance of bergamot, a jaunt of peony, and it sends your heart hammering.

You'd asked Rio to leave the small thank-you in Chevalier's faction office, a week ago. It wasn't much, and you'd rather not have gifted Clavis anything at all for fear of further entangling yourself in his plots.

And yet it seems now that you've done precisely that.

A young, merry couple cuts across his path, but the thread between him and you only cinches ever-taut. You are the rabbit in his prowling gaze. He is the hedonistic hellcat in yours.

His elegant, ambling strides carry him to tower and tantalize before you. His bewitching expression glitters under chandelier-light.

A man so gorgeous yet so wicked should not exist. But Clavis Lelouch defies expectation and common sense.

He bows and holds out that portentous hand, asking you to see the gentleman and not the beast.

Strangely, you see neither. Strangely, you almost see humility.

Clavis Lelouch is no stranger to masks. You know this as well as you know your own heart.

But tonight both those certainties come into question. You take the devil's hand, scared, but above all intrigued.

He yanks you into his arms and sweeps you into pandemonium. Into the maw of the ballroom, where grace promptly dies and something that could never be called a dance spirals into unholy existence.

Clavis Lelouch reigns as crooked king over the lawless land in his head. And for three weird minutes on this alluring night, he ferries you, flailing limbs and panicked gasps, into his private underworld.

"Take care to hold on," chuckles your ferryman, knowing full-well that you are holding on for dear life.

He tests your spine as the top of your head grazes a tray of appetizers. Luke's bear key-chain finds a new home between your teeth. You catch morsels of political discourse as you are hurtled above Chevalier and his audience.

But somehow you escape death (and even injury) because somehow Clavis catches you every time, with heedless but confident hands, and with such mirth dancing in his eyes.

The string ensemble has capsized, the guests watch in horror, and Clavis―Clavis laughs.

A hearty laugh that thrums in your veins and sets your skin tingling.

You don't know if you're having fun exactly, but whatever this is, it is rare and unforgettable.

And as he draws you into a grand and terrible finale, as he shushes you with only an exquisite finger separating his sylphlike lips from yours, and as he disappears into the astonished crowd, you're left thinking that "rare" and "unforgettable" is exactly how you'd describe Clavis Lelouch.

--- Thank you for reading!

#ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikepri clavis x reader #clavis lelouch x reader #atelier writes ikeseries

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ask-healthy-light · 4 months

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At that moment, a chill ran down Light's back, and they briefly glanced back to make sure that Boom was all right, when they noticed he was hiding his face with his hooves, and they slowly started to walk over, until Nox stopped them; and she politely told them to give him some time, as she figured that he was reminded of all the terrible events he had experienced that they had merely read about.

With a deep sigh and a quick nod, Light sat down in front of the fire next to Nox, who sweetly laid her head on their shoulder as she carefully grabbed a couple of sleeping mats and blankets from the pile of bags behind her; and while she laid out the mats and wrapped herself and Light in blankets, they poured out some more stew, and quietly asked Nox and Shining if they also wanted another bowl.

In response, the two nodded, and Light quickly gave them a couple of bowls of stew, before they let out a quiet sigh, and closed their eyes, and listened to the calm and peaceful silence around them, hearing only the cracking of the campfire in-between; and they enjoyed the warmth of their stew and the fire, as well as their proximity to Nox, who had also closed her eyes, and was almost sleeping.

Since they feared that the tiniest movement they made would startle her awake, Light did not move a muscle, and only very precisely used their magic to eat their stew instead, before they grabbed the bowl Nox was holding, which they placed right next to her; and Shining sweetly smiled at the sight, as he was reminded of Twilight, and all the times in the past that she fell asleep on his shoulder.

After he finished his bowl of stew, he kindly thanked Light for asking him for help, and for giving him another bowl, before he asked them if they had brought any paper as he looked for the quill and ink, as he wanted to write to Twilight; but since he did not know for certain if she and Solar were close to Cadance, he would send it to Spike, and write discreetly, too, just in case she found out.

Although Light did not know how he could write in a way that Lady Cadance would not understand, but that others could, they pointed Shining to their satchel yet again, and admitted that any paper had most likely sunk to the bottom; but luckily, after Shining reached his entire arm and a part of his torso into their bag, continuously looking at Light in disbelief, he was able to find a few sheets.

When he sat back down and sighed in fatigue, he whispered that he had to ask them which enchantment they had placed upon their bag, as he would very much like to use it himself, even if it meant that he would have to be far more organised; for while the paper sheets he was holding were untarnished, he figured that his bag would still have limits, and would be filled to the brim before he knew it.

It did not take Shining very long to think about what he wanted to write, but it took him ten times as long to work out how to write what he had in mind in a way that Spike would know exactly what he was talking about, which Light thought odd; and they were intrigued at the code that Shining surely had been writing in, as they could think of no other reason as to why it took Shining so much time.

When Shining eventually finished the letter and had sent it to Spike, he returned the quill and ink to Light's satchel, before he wished them a good night, and laid down to sleep, until they solemnly asked him what code he and Spike had created to speak in secret between one another; but in return, Shining just chuckled, and said that he could show them when they got back, if they wanted to know.

At the same time, back across the Eastern Sea, after Luna had finished talking to her Daughter, she told Frost and Eclipse that she would head back to the kitchen to help her Sister and Spike, as she did not even know how much she still had left to learn about cooking and baking; but if they wished to retire for the night, or to spend some time by themselves, she promised they were free to do so.

But while Eclipse nodded, and headed outside to walk around for a while, Frost shyly asked Luna:

"Where… Where should I sleep? Should I return to the Barracks? Or could I maybe… You know…?"

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Nox Lunarwing from @nox-lunarwing Boomlord from @thedumbguywithaheart43 Solar Eclipse and Twilight Sparkle as Twilight Eclipse from @asktwilighteclipse

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29625 · 3 months

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Slimav & Slice omegaverse! AU.

Some bits and pieces about beta! Ice/omega! Sli with a bit of alpha! Mav. Hurt/no comfort. For now, at least.

Inspired by 冷たい頬 (Tsumetai hoho; Your Cold Cheek) by SPITZ.

@aki-draws-things Another omegaverse work! Thought you might enjoy it 💗

So…SPITZ. They are a Japanese band. They are so good at making both warm fuzzy tingly lovey-dovey stuff and angsty, potentially dark lyrics. 冷たい頬 in particular, is all about unrequited love that slowly infests the protagonist’s soul and sanity before they represses their feelings so that they won’t hurt their crush/lover/obsession. Let me share some of the lyrics and explore the unrequited love of Mr. Iceman (I’m so sorry Ice I love you. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH LIKE AHHHHHHHHH BUT HES SO SO FUN TO HURT!!!!!!!!!!! sorry) shall we?

Translations are made by me so please forgive any mistakes or my lack of poetic knowledge. I wrote a poem in English like once when I dated an American girl and she was like that’s not how rhiming works and I just. let that slide and never touched poetry ever agai

ふざけすぎて恋が幻でも

構わないといつしか思っていた

壊れながらきみを追いかけてく

近づいても遠くても知っていた

それが全てでなにもないこと

時のシャワーの中で

My love may be a mirage, a false fantasy

But I guessed it was alright, fooled around too much

I run, run, after you, getting broken as I go

Even when I get closer, or even when you’re so far away,

I just know it’s everything, it’s just for nothing,

In this stream of time.

Not gonna lie, feels Slice to me! Maybe hurt no comfort! Again because I’m terrible!!

This is Ice’s perspective, crushing and obsessing hard over his RIO—who’s ultimately unavailable for him to claim, mark him as his and protect and shield him forever. That’s not what a beta is supposed to do—even if he loves Ronnie so much and he can’t think of anyone doing a better job than him, having witnessed the abuse his Ronnie had to endure. He’s fought tooth and nail to protect him, not just once. He would definitely shield him in social occasions at TOPGUN which inevitably include alphas. And he definitely doesn’t approve Mav getting closer to Slider—even though he notices how Slider has changed, for the better, perhaps. After Mav started actively learning about omegas and becoming an ally. After Slider allowed him to be closer than most alphas.

“Leave him be,” Mav tells him at some point—to him, he’s just straight up violating his autonomy sometimes; he’s just too protective for his own good, assuming that everyone is against Sli—which, in his opinion, doesn’t make sense.

Maverick likes Slider. He likes how intriguing he actually is, underneath all those cocky facade. They’ve come to spend time together more often lately (I’m kind of struggling to create a proper background as to realize Slimav in this AU—maybe Mav becomes interested in learning about omegas after he’s encountered Sli experiencing a bad heat? Or maybe they can get close before he learns about Sli’s secret identity. Which do you prefer? Do you have any ideas because I’m running out!). He admires how precise and strong he is up in the air, and he adores he’s as idiotic and goofy as he is on the ground, laughing their asses off together.

“Don’t assume he’s some powerless damsel in distress if you love him so much, man. Why can’t you just believe in him? Do you want to fucking cage him until he wilts away? Why? Why do you want to fucking take it all away from him?”

And Ice just, snaps.

No, he doesn’t understand. Alphas never understand. Alphas are the takers, they take and take and take until nothing is left in the omegas—their autonomy, their dignity, their souls, everything. At least where he and Sli grew up. At least what he was exposed to and what Sli had to endure has proven him correct. He must protect him, even though he can’t quite understand from what, or from whom, anymore.

Love—maybe it’s love. Long-repressed yet it’s still there. Betas can’t have omegas. The stigma of association is still strong, and in fact, their incompatible biologies are painful for both sides; betas can’t end their omegas’ rut, and if they are to have pups one day—the chances of having biological ones are slim. Their bodies are incompatible. He hates it not because Ronnie’s incompatible, no, NEVER, whatever people have said, but because he is incompatible. Or maybe the fact Maverick is compatible—an alpha he can’t trust, an alpha who is too dangerous for his own good, an alpha who could break Ronnie.

Ice doesn’t just snap his teeth at him, or hit him with some witty yet on-point comebacks—he actually fights Mav, grabbing and punching him. So hard and sudden that Mav collides onto the surface of the locker, banging his head with a loud sound as his short body hit the ground.

Love. Maybe it’s love. But Ice calls it an obsession. Futile, yet still so harmful—judging by the way Maverick groans on the floor, his hand covering his nose, blood slowly dripping through his fingers. Rage. Ice expected rage flaring up in his eyes, ready to kill, ready to take. But confusion and fear are all he can see. It was then he realized Mav was defenseless, unarmed, not trying to put up a physical fight, not to mention their obvious height differences.

Oh, God.

Ice takes a step back and slams into the wall, barely being able to stand. His body suddenly feels limp as his blood runs cold.

And the hurt doesn’t just end here;

さようなら僕のかわいいシロツメクサと

手帖の隅で眠りつづけるストーリー

風に吹かれた君の冷たい頬に

ふれてみた　小さな午後

“Goodbye, my sweet clover”

The story rests in the corner of my diary

On your cheek, cold in the wind,

My touch lingers, in this little afternoon.

This is the closing line of the song which never fails to make me cry. Oh God the repression. And the subtle gesture of affection. The blurry line between platonic and romantic is just so on point—touching and caressing someone’s cheek.

Ice knows, without being told by that goddamn alpha who doesn’t understand shit, that there’s no forever for him and Ronnie. No matter how much he loves him. No matter how much he cares. Ronnie has long been Slider, a strong, precise pilot that he used to dream of as a child. Maybe his existence itself is a burden for Slider, Ice wonders as he feels his breath gets shallow. Someone who knows his secret identity, someone who knows exactly what he’s been through—someone who’s dangerous. Maybe he’s making excuses. Maybe it’s just an intricate play to tie him down. Maybe—maybe it’s just him trying to prey on him while pretending to protect him.

Ice almost chokes at the thought of him forcing himself on Ronnie, pinning him down as he tries to flee, or be too stunned to even do anything, taking advantage of him. But who knows? He showed himself capable of hurting someone, knocking them down and make them bleed, just like his father used to do to him and his mother, who was an omega.

Or maybe, just maybe, he can be there for Ronnie forever, just not in the form of reciprocated romance. Whenever Ice thinks of the possibility, he remembers their adolescence—a fleeting memory of sitting on the bank of the river in April. He would caress Ronnie’s cheek, cold from the wind, with so many excuses. Just because. He didn’t want him to get cold (“It’s just my cheek, Tommy.” Ronnie would giggle. “You have to warm my neck if you really want.” Although Ice didn’t know how is that possible—without choking him—he wanted to if he allowed him to). There was something on his cheek (breadcrumb was his favorite excuse because his mom usually fed them some sandwiches). And in some unfortunate occasions, he wanted to soothe the pain from being hit by Ronnie’s unstable mother.

Ice doesn’t know if it’s still the same, lying on the carpet of clovers together, laughing as their bodies get tangled up. It was before Ronnie’s first heat happened when he was 15. He was a late-bloomer, his mom told him, and it usually meant he’d have it rough. Cuddling started to hold a different meaning, or so Ice thought. Hoped, even, perhaps. He hoped it was the same while wishing it would be different.

Maverick opens his eyes, finally regaining his composure again. His head still feels like it’s spinning and he can taste the blood on his tongue. Damn, that bastard was strong—he shifts against the locker and feels the ground tilt.

He looks up at Ice, his gaze hazy and wandering from the impact. Maverick expects some sort of hostility, glare, smirk, whatever, or maybe another blow, smashing his skull for good this time. He sits up as if to prepare for the inevitable crash—only to be met with Ice’s empty gaze.

“…What,” Maverick mutters hoarsely. He hates how he sounds confused and defensive, even though he knows he is. “What do you…what do you want?”

Ice’s fingers are firmly pressed against his lips, and the force seems to only increase as the silence grows stronger in the stifling room.

“Ice?”

“Sorry,” He finally speaks as he drops his hand and clenches his other arm strong enough to bruise. “I’ll…I’ll get you some towel, alright?”

Maverick wants to ask what’s happening—or rather, what compelled him to smash his head against the cold metal, only to go radio silent afterward—but Ice has already left the room before he can say anything.

#slice #slider x iceman #ron slider kerner #tom iceman kazansky #slimav #top gun fanfiction #slider x maverick #pete maverick mitchell #omegaverse #omega slider #can’t believe I wrote this whole thing out #it was supposed to be a small post about SPITZ #enjoy your omegaverse bit every1 #now I can’t sleep like #omegaverse au #29625’s top gun fics #also Spider is pretty much Slice/Slimav love triangle

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beevean · 1 year

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since youve watched bloodlust and i can be annoying about it, d and meier link for the bingo perhaps? (failing that i would like to see dracula)

lmao. Well my experience with them is limited, but anyway :P

It's too early for me to say that I love D, but I was certainly intrigued. He comes off as an asshole at first with his request to double the bounty money, plus he talks very rarely (his left hand does all the heavy lifting and let me tell you I was not expecting a comic relief in my gloomy vampire movie lmao), but the rest shows that he is determined to the end and has a good heart despite everything (in the movie at least. apparently he's more of a dick in the books?)

Obviously I compared him to Alucard in my mind, because the inspiration is obvious :P and even then, VHD shows better the drawbacks of being a dhampir, both physical and especially in terms of life. There is really no place for him anywhere. Yet he does a thankless job.

Meier Link (I have no idea how his name is supposed to be spelled):

I wanted to see more of him and Charlotte :( I have no idea why they fell in love with each other :( but I wanted to see more of them :(

(also Charlotte will always be Princess Charlotte to me. What's up with Charlottes and falling for evil creatures? At least ML seems to be a much better person than Griffith)

If D is Alucard, ML is a more sympathetic Dracula who genuinely loved his human woman. The scenes with him were poignant. I felt for him when he stepped into the sun and burned to attempt to save Charlotte, or him using all of his strength to not bite her, or him putting his slashed face together to attempt to save her one more time...

Also his wings are makeshift blades. That's cool.

Dracula:

Horrible bastard man <3 abusive piece of shit <3 makes everyone pay for the deaths of his wives while gleefully going against their morals <3 won't even repent for his son's sake <3 I hate him and I want to douse him in holy water <3

Yeah I keep seeing takes that amount to "Dracula did nothing wrong" (obviously the NFCV version because of course fans would side with him) and no sorry I love him precisely because he's a pathetic asshole with the emotional maturity of a child and terrible coping mechanisms. He turned himself into something inhuman out of spite. He's pretty much a living curse upon the land. He's stuck in a cycle of revenge of his own making, and dragged the Belmont clan with him. He's tragic in a way, especially if you believe that higher powers have trapped him... but he's also a piece of shit and that's important to me <3

#d vampire hunter #meier link #dracula castlevania

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cha-melodius · 2 years

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Lokius whump prompt requester here 👋

Seriously how does your brain work because what you wrote is totally unexpected BUT SO FITTING to the prompt and freaking AMAZING 😭 Thanks for taking the prompt and introducing me to time-loop trope because I can already feel the WHUMP!

Hello anon, thank you again for the wonderful prompt, and I'm sorry it's taken me apparently a month to get to chapter 2 (a month! how did that happen?!). But I am happy to finally have it for you, although there's still a chapter 3 to come, hopefully sooner than later! So here it is:

It's Been a Bad Day Lately, Chapter 2

Chapter 2 on AO3 | Chapter 1

Loki doesn’t actually tell anyone about the device or his apparent foreknowledge of the day the first time through. After all, even if it seems that everyone else is completely ignorant of what the hell is going on, that doesn’t mean the TVA isn’t behind it somehow. They’re the Time Variance Authority after all. Repeating days feels like something they’d traffic in. He wants to trust Mobius at least, but he can’t help but be reminded that this Mobius still doesn’t know him, not really, and he can’t rule out that Mobius is purposefully being kept in the dark. It would track with how things were running before.

He can’t even be sure if he’s truly reliving the day—which doesn’t really seem possible, given what he knows about timelines and traveling among them—or if he really did dream it all. The device, of course, suggest a more tangible explanation. It’s not unreasonable to think it’s somehow related to the whole mess, but it also seems to be, well, broken. Whatever happened when Loki got shot also put a large crack in the face of it, and he hasn’t been able to get it to turn on or do anything. The strap had also snapped when he pulled it off of Richards’ wrist (did he really? he must have), but the idea of leaving it behind makes something crawl uncomfortably beneath his skin, so he loops what’s left of it onto a chain like a pendant and tucks it safely under his TVA-issued shirt.

The day goes about as well as it did before, which is to say, pretty terribly. Despite knowing it was going to happen, he still loses track of Mobius, and the knowledge of the outcome of that sends him into a panic that ends with some poor decisions and him staring down the barrel a truly monstrous gun.

It’s easier waking up the second time. Or is it third? His hand goes automatically to the device still hanging around his neck, but this time he also can’t help but wince at the phantom pain of the chest shot that took him out. He’s alive, there’s no hole blown in his ribcage, but the ghost of it lingers like an echo in his memory for a few minutes before it fades. B-15 frowns and tilts her head at him clutching his chest like he’s having a heart attack, but makes no comment beyond the words he’s already come to expect.

He doesn’t wait for her to finish before he takes off to find Mobius.

Normally they don’t meet up before the briefing, but this time Loki storms into the wing of the building reserved for the senior analysts’ apartments and pounds insistently on Mobius’s door until the man himself pulls it open. For a moment, Loki entirely forgets why he’s there, because Mobius is half dressed in slacks and a thin, sleeveless undershirt that clings to every curve of his torso and leaves precisely nothing to the imagination. He’s barefoot and his short hair is still tousled from bed, and the whole thing should not be as attractive as it works out to be. Even the annoyed purse of his lips is alluring. Fuck.

This is, sadly, not the first time Loki has found himself experiencing a tug of not-entirely-unexpected desire for the analyst. Look, he isn’t blind, anyone can see that Mobius is a handsome man, made even more intriguing by the interplay of the hard edges and soft spots of his character. How he won’t let Loki get away with anything while at same time giving in all the time to Loki’s little eccentricities. Loki’s never quite seen him like this, though, all enticingly sleep-rumpled, and it’s kind of a lot to deal with considering everything else going on.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to tell me what the devil couldn’t wait for another thirty minutes?” Mobius demands, frowning. It’s a fair question, because Loki is pretty sure he’s been staring for the last two minutes, which is precisely one minute and 59 seconds too long for such things.

Loki manages to blink himself back to reality and clears his throat, shoving whatever that is deep, deep down where he decidedly will not examine it any time in the next millennium. “What do you know about time loops?”

“Like in the time cells?” Mobius asks, his brow furrowing.

“No. Like, reliving the same day over and over again.”

Mobius shakes his head. “Not possible.”

“What do you mean ‘not possible’?” Loki asks.

“Not sure I can be any clearer,” Mobius huffs. “That kind of recursive loop in an active timeline is impossible. You could travel backwards a day I guess, but then there’d be two variants of you in the same timeline.”

This is pretty much what Loki had figured, given what he had learned about the multiverse, but it does nothing to help him figure out his particular problem. “So you’re not aware of any technology that would allow someone to completely reset the day after being killed and try it again in the same body, with all their memories from the previous day?”

“What?” Mobius says, clearly dumbfounded. “Of course not. A variant that dies—not pruned, but killed—is dead, Loki. There’s no coming back from that.”

Loki hesitates, but there’s no one else he can talk to about this. He reaches up to touch the device under his shirt absentmindedly, carefully choosing his next words. “What if there was?”

The problem is, Mobius is a stubborn man. He knows far more about how timelines work than Loki ever will, and he refuses to believe Loki experienced anything more than a very vivid dream. Timelines don’t work that way, he insists, and there’s no way to make them work that way. Even the broken device in Loki’s possession doesn’t sway him, probably because it’s, well, broken. Not terribly convincing, as it turns out.

Unexpectedly, Loki coming to talk to Mobius apparently perturbs the timeline enough that things seem to be going differently. It’s enough that even Loki starts to doubt himself, even though he already lived through this day twice before, even though he can vividly remember the pain of dying twice, even though he knows that he took the device directly from Richards’ wrist himself. Maybe it means that this time will go differently, though, that the future isn’t as written as it seems to be, that today won’t end with both of them dead.

But then, right before they depart through the time doors, Mobius says, “It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

Shit.

“Mobius, listen to me,” Loki says urgently, grabbing him by the arm. “If this goes the way I think it will, it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

Mobius sighs, because they’ve been over this. “You can’t know what’s going to happen out there. We’re outside of time right now. No one can travel to a previous time point in the TVA.”

“But if I do know—”

“Then something very strange is going on, yes,” Mobius finished for him. He hesitates a moment, still frowning. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“Richards is dug in with an army of very well-armed men around him. What it takes to get to him…” Loki trails off and looks down at his hand, even though he knows he won’t find Mobius’s blood on it. He can still picture it, though, still almost feel its warmth. “Promise me you’ll stay near me,” he finally says as he meets Mobius’s gaze again. “That you won’t run off.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Loki,” Mobius scoffs.

Loki’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist, fingers automatically shifting until he finds a pulse. “Please, Mobius,” he begs. “Promise.”

He doesn’t want to know what’s in his eyes that makes Mobius blink, looking slightly taken aback. “Ok,” he answers softly. “I promise.”

Later, Loki thinks back to this moment and can’t understand how it could be such a difficult promise to keep.

~~~~~

“It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

“I wish I could share your optimism.”

~~~~~

“It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

“I’ll wager you it won’t.”

~~~~~

“It’s gonna work this time, I can—”

“By the Norns, would you stop?” Loki snaps. “Nothing is going to change. I’ve been through this five times before, and nothing ever changes!”

Mobius stares at him, his mouth still hanging slightly open. “What do you mean you’ve been through it five times?”

“I’ve literally lived this day five times, Mobius,” Loki hisses, trying not to draw attention from the hunters nearby. “Every time, we fail. Every time, I die, and every time, I wake up again, here, at the beginning of the same day.”

“That’s—”

“Not possible, I am well aware. But it’s happening all the same.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before right now?”

Loki groans in frustration. “Because you never believe me. You say it’s impossible, that time doesn’t work that way—”

“Because it doesn’t,” Mobius cuts in.

“—and so nothing about the operation changes except for what I do. And it’s not enough,” Loki huffs. It’s never, ever enough. It took him four loops just to figure out why Mobius kept disappearing—an attack on the third sub-basement divides their meager forces in half, and somehow Mobius always ends up in the other group, forced to retreat down a hidden side passage—but he can’t do anything when the hunters and minutemen won’t listen to him.

“Huh,” Mobius says, looking oddly thoughtful. It’s certainly not the response Loki expected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mobius shrugs. “If this is really happening to you—not saying it is, but if—it sounds like you need to find a way to convince me earlier, so we can come up with a new plan.”

“I— what?” Loki boggles at him. “And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re a clever guy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Mobius says with a grin as he claps Loki on the shoulder.

If only it was as reassuring as Mobius no doubt intends it to be.

~~~~~

“Loki, what—?” Mobius sputters when Loki pushes past him into his apartment the next loop.

He hasn’t come here every morning since the first time, mostly because trying to explain everything is already starting to get tiresome. Still, he’s become familiar enough with how things go.

“Watch the table,” he says offhandedly as he disappears into Mobius’s bedroom to retrieve a shirt, jacket and tie.

“Huh?” Mobius says, right as he shuffles into the coffee table and stubs his toe, then hobbles away swearing.

“That’ll be the coffee,” Loki continues when he reemerges, moments before a beep sounds in the kitchen. He shoves the clothes at a bewildered Mobius and heads in to retrieve the mug from under the coffee maker and grab the cream from the fridge. Mobius appears in the doorway—Loki knows without checking—and leans against the frame as he buttons his shirt. “Stop frowning, I know how you take it.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“Don’t have to,” Loki replies without turning around. “You’re going to ask how I can be sure you still take your coffee the same as the Mobius I knew before, to which I will respond that, even though you do, it doesn’t matter because I’m well aware of how you take it, and then you’ll insist that I’ve never seen you prepare it, which was true before today, but no longer. I think that about catches us up, don’t you?”

Mobius is, predictably, gaping at him when he finally turns, and Loki can’t resist the pleased smirk that tugs on his lips. Perhaps he should have tried this earlier, but then again, he needed a few repetitions to be completely sure of how the morning would go. He walks over and hands Mobius the coffee mug, which the other man takes automatically, then tugs at the ends of the tie looped under his collar and begins to tie it while Mobius is still seemingly stuck staring at him.

A moment later, Mobius appears to come back to himself, and he swallows. “W-what are you doing?” he asks, his voice oddly tight.

“Plenty to do this morning,” Loki replies lightly, letting his lips tip into a smirk. “I’m afraid we can’t afford to dawdle.”

“And how did you know all that other stuff?”

“Easy,” Loki says as he finishes tying the tie and gives it a little pat before stepping back. “I’ve lived this day before. And before you protest that it’s impossible, know that I’ve had this conversation with you five times before and am very familiar with every possible argument about how the timelines do or do not work.”

“That’s…” Mobius begins, trailing off for a long moment as his eyes search Loki’s face. Loki readies himself for the inevitable impossible, despite his warning, but instead Mobius finishes, “amazing.”

Loki cocks a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“I mean, you’re right, it should be impossible, but… I dunno, Loki. There’s something about you that feels different. Can’t put my finger on it.”

“Huh,” Loki huffs, frowning. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the looping might change him in some way, although now that he thinks about it, he supposes it’s inevitable. He’s living out days and remembering them, moving forward in his life, even if no one else is.

“When you say you’ve been reliving, you mean the day resets when you go to sleep?” Mobius asks.

“When I die,” Loki answers bluntly, and Mobius’s eyes go wide. “So far I haven’t lasted long enough to go to sleep.”

Mobius swallows hard again. “I think I need to sit down.”

Without really thinking about it, Loki takes ahold of Mobius’s elbow and steers him back into the living room. They both sit on the couch, close enough that their knees knock together when Loki turns slightly toward him, and he doesn’t let himself contemplate the fact that he feels better when they’re some kind of in contact. That there’s a strange kind of reassurance in the solidity of Mobius’s body next to him. Each time he wakes up everything feels a little more unreal, but this helps. Even if he has to force himself not to reach out and press his fingers to the pulse point on Mobius’s wrist.

Loki explains how the day goes as quickly as he can—what goes wrong on the operation, and how he thinks they might do better—and Mobius just listens, taking long sips from his coffee at regular intervals. The biggest issues is the weapons, but Mobius still resists him on that point; the minutemen are good in hand-to-hand combat but haven’t been trained with firearms, and with only an hour before the operation is scheduled to depart, there’s little time to change that. Loki already guesses that pushing back the operation is probably a long shot. He might be able to convince Mobius, but the TVA here isn’t run by one person, there’s a team making the decisions, and there’s no way they’ll listen to him. Loki and Mobius talk about different strategies until they can’t put off joining the rest any longer, and he can’t help but feel a little hopeful as they gear up. Things will be different this time.

Too late, he realizes that he sounds just like—

“It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

Loki scrubs a palm down his face and sends a little prayer to the Norns that when dies this time, it might be quick.

~~~~~

Don’t get him wrong, dying sucks. Most of the time whatever wound he gets isn’t enough to kill him instantly. Once he drowns in his own blood, and he thinks nothing could be worse until he’s slowly crushed under rubble after an explosion. But none of it, he thinks, is as bad as watching Mobius die over and over again. Every one of those deaths is indelibly etched in his memory, along with every time Mobius calls him a good man right before the end.

If he was good, he’d be able to get them out of this mess. If he was good, he’d be able to protect his— his— friends. Loki is well aware that he’s started giving up, letting himself be killed, when Mobius dies—maybe he has been from the beginning—but no, he would not like to examine that too closely, thank you.

Once, after a particularly brutal loop, Loki barely waits for Mobius to open the door before surging forward and enveloping him in a crushing hug.

“Loki, what—?” Mobius huffs, but he also hugs him back immediately, and something unknots in Loki’s chest at the feeling of Mobius’s broad hand rubbing reassuring circles between his shoulder blades.

Loki tucks his face against Mobius’s neck, which is probably too intimate a position for what they are to each other, but he can feel his pulse throbbing there, steady and real, and he doesn’t really care. “If I told you not to go on the mission today, would you listen?” he asks, his voice muffled.

“You know I couldn’t,” Mobius murmurs, and Loki knows, he knows he’ll never convince Mobius to stay behind, but he doesn’t know how much more he can take of this. Mobius holds Loki a minute longer before he pulls back slightly. “Now what’s this all about?”

Even with Mobius’s help in planning, they can’t seem to break through Richards’ defenses. Every time they think they’ve cracked the pattern, that they’ve anticipated every attack, another one pops up that they never foresaw just because they’d never gotten that far before. Richards is simply too dug in; they’d need to go back further than a single day to really catch him unawares, and that’s just not possible.

“What if you just took two of the best hunters, say B-15 and D-90—”

“Not D-90,” Loki interrupts, wrinkling his nose.

“—Fine,” Mobius sighs, “G-35, then, like a targeted strike team. You could slip past a lot of these obstacles, and the rest of us could draw their attention away.”

It’s basically what he did the very first time through, when he actually made it to Richards’ inner sanctum, which is why Loki knows it would work. But that doesn’t mean it would be successful. He shakes his head. “No, I can’t do that.”

“What do you mean? It doesn’t work?”

Loki stares at the man across from him, blue eyes unflinchingly holding his gaze. It should be easy to lie to him, Loki is the prince of lies, but when he opens his mouth what comes out is a strained, “I can get to him. I still died.”

“But if you can talk to him—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“How many times have you tried?” Mobius demands, frowning like he knows exactly what Loki is holding out on him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki repeats insistently.

“Loki.”

“Once, ok?!” Loki snaps, leaping to his feet. He strides off across the modest living room until he can go no further, then slumps onto one hand against a bookshelf and stares at the ground as he quietly adds, “The very first time.”

Mobius, of course, is not about to let this go. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki sees him stand. “Well, why haven’t you tried again?”

“It’s not—” Loki starts, then breaks off with a sigh. “The costs are too high.”

“You can’t possibly know what will happen to the team that gets left behind,” Mobius argues. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”

Loki groans in frustration as he finally looks up again, folding his arms across his chest. “I know you died the first time, Mobius.”

“But you can’t be sure it’ll happen again.”

“I can’t be sure it won’t.”

“So?” Mobius challenges, a determined fire glinting in his eye. “Maybe it’s worth the risk, if it means getting Richards. If it means getting you out of this loop.”

“It’s not,” Loki insists stubbornly.

“Maybe it is for me. Did you ever think to ask?”

“I don’t care, because it’s not worth it to me.”

“It’s my life, Loki! I can’t see why it matters whether the risk is worth it to you!”

“Because I can’t lose you again, Mobius!” Loki nearly shouts, finally pushed to the breaking point.

The apartment is deathly silent for several long minutes after that, and Loki squeezes his eyes closed. There it is, then. The truth he’d been trying to hide even from himself. Maybe he’d been in love with Mobius even before the reset, or maybe he hadn’t been, but it doesn’t matter now. Spending as many loops as he had with him—working with him, joking with him, being with him—had done the necessary damage. And to make matters worse, Mobius remembers none of it. Loki is barely better than a stranger to him.

“You can’t… you don’t mean me…” Mobius finally says, much closer than he’d been before, and when Loki opens his eyes he finds him standing right in front of him. Staring up at him with an expression full of confusion and trepidation.

“Yes, I mean you,” Loki sighs. “Not some other you who doesn’t even exist, or the person you were before, because there’s no difference. I’ve been doing this for more than a month, Mobius. There’s only you.” He turns away again, then, because he can’t bear to see whatever pity or disbelief might be wrought on Mobius’s face. This isn’t the point, anyway, they’re wasting time they don’t have when they should be focused on the operation. “There has to be another way. Something we’re not seeing—”

A hand on his arm stops him. “Loki, look at me,” Mobius says softly. He tugs gently, pulling Loki around to face him again, and before Loki really understands what’s happening he’s stretching up and pressing their lips together. It’s not much, just a chaste brush, but it sends little zips of electricity sizzling along Loki’s skin.

“What— what was that for?” he manages after Mobius pulls back, unable to make sense of what’s happening. It shouldn’t be possible, that Mobius would be the one kissing him.

“Thought it’d be obvious,” Mobius answers with one-shouldered shrug and a lopsided half-smile. Tentative. Hopeful.

“But— you barely know me.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

Loki blinks at him. “It doesn’t?”

“Nope,” Mobius says easily, like that makes any sense at all.

Could it possibly mean that everything—all the memories, all the loops—are still inside him somewhere? And if they are, could that mean—

Mobius interrupts his snowballing thoughts by reaching up and thumbing across the arc of his cheekbone before pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Can I?” he murmurs.

Loki’s not even entirely sure what he’s asking, but he doesn’t care. He nods, and Mobius pulls him down into another kiss, one that lacks all the hesitation of the first. Their lips move together, pushing further and further until Mobius’s tongue licks at the seam of his lips. Loki opens up readily, letting their tongues tangle together in an intoxicating give and take. One of Loki’s hands curls around his waist, drawing him closer, as the other slides up behind his head, digging into the short hair at the nape of his neck. They kiss for minutes, for hours (who knows in this place), unhurried, as if they have all the time in the multiverse. When they do finally pull apart, Mobius stares up at him with such wonder on his face that Loki is quite unhelpfully slammed back to the reality of their circumstances.

“What’s wrong?” Mobius asks at the distress that must be written on his face. Loki lets the tips of his fingers skim lightly along the edge of Mobius’s jaw. “You’re not going to remember any of this.”

“I dunno. Seems like the kind of thing that might stick.”

Loki sighs. “That’s not how it works, Mobius.”

“You don’t know how it works,” Mobius counters. “And who knows, maybe this time we’ll be successful. No more loops.”

“I wish I could believe that’s possible.”

They’re still no closer to a plan that works, one that ends with them getting Richards and surviving at the same time, and while this morning has taken a rather unexpectedly delightful turn, it’s sadly not going to help all that much.

He’ll try, though. Norns know he’ll try like Hel.

#lokius #loki x mobius #loki laufeyson #mobius m. mobius #loki tv #loki series #loki fanfic #lokius fanfic #lokius fic #my fic #whumptober2022

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