#orestes x f!reader

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

When Darkness Falls

Orestes x afab!Monster!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 16: Public Sex

Summary: After Orestes and his men are captured by a strange group, the punishment seems unusual.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for beating and saving me as always! I don't know how my mind turned 'public sex' into this.

Warnings: Monster!Reader (werewolf-y), swearing, p in v sex, injuries, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1850

Orestes winced as the guard pressed against his injured shoulder and forced him to his knees. His wrists were bound behind his back, so tightly that the rope was cutting off the blood supply to his fingers.

“You are accused of trespassing on our lands. From taking fruit from the Hylopius tree.” The man bellowed, he was dressed in dark blue robes finely woven. Seven others, presumably nobles and the jury, stood to his side. 

“My men and I were lost, we took shelter from the storm. We did not know these were your lands,” Orestes tries to keep his tone strong and even, to keep his chin high as he answers. “We-”

“Ignorance is not an excuse.” He snarls. “You pillage, and take. But you are far from your Rome now. Your crimes will not go unpunished.” 

Orestes breathes deeply. “Please, my men, they are innocent in this. I will take the punishment, if you let-”

“You are in no position to demand anything.”

“I am not demanding, I am-” The leader gestures with his hand and Orestes winces in pain as the guard presses against the wound in his temple.

“Your men fought back against our soldiers, they are as guilty as you are. I will cast punishment on you all.” He grins wickedly. “The Lycan’s Pit.” 

The noblemen laugh.

Orestes is dragged to his feet and pulled from the room, “What, what is that? What do you speak of?” 

The guards do not answer as he is taken into a large hall beautifully decorated in fine mosaic. The images of torn bodies and blood, of huge creatures with red eyes shaped like the beasts of childhood nightmares painstakingly crafted. There are rows of seats carved into the walls, the layout reminiscent of a small scale colosseum, able to hold around 50 people.

In the centre of the room was a circle pit that seemed to travel into the depths of the earth itself. 

“They will feast on your flesh.” The leader laughs. 

“Wait-” A loud gong of a bell echoes out, cutting off his words as he is thrown into the middle of the room next to the pit, he grunts, managing to get to his knees as the guards bring out thorned branches layered with silver chains. They arrange them around the outside of the floor, a barrier from the seats and Orestes. 

“What is that?” He asks.

The nobles take seats as the guards stand to attention, more people flood in, all equally dressed in finery and sit.

“The Lycans cannot cross the barrier.” The leader laughs, like he was explaining a basic concept. 

“I wonder who will join us today?” One nobel asks another.

“I hope it is Baral. He is the most vicious. I want to see him tear the roman apart.” 

Orestes swallows thickly, pulling at the ropes. If he could just…

There is a low growl from the pit. A deep and terrible snap of teeth. 

He freezes despite myself when a large clawed hand grabs hold of the side. It‘s huge, the palm alone bigger than his head, some kind of mix between a human and a wolf. 

Slowly the creature pulls itself up and out, snarling with rows of sharp teeth and blood red eyes. 

He wants to scream. But he can’t move, can���t think.

A hush falls on the nobles as the creature appears and stalks around to Orestes. 

He seems to snap back to reality, and struggles to stand, to run, to defend himself, to-

The creature lunges forward and on top of him. 

He closes his eyes, bracing for the sharp stink of ripping claws and teeth. But it doesn’t come. 

He breathes deeply, raggedly, his heart pounding in his temples and slowly opens his eyes.

It’s dark, like he’s in a cave. It takes a moment for him to realise that the cave is fur. The creature seemingly, somehow draped over him to make a small tent like space. 

He sits up a little, his shoulder brushing the fur. It’s soft and warm, moving a little with the creature's breath.

“Hello.” 

He jumps, pushing himself back further against the fur and you giggle. 

“I am sorry to scare you.” 

Orestes blinks heavily, you’re sitting opposite him crouched with a large smile on your face. He can see your canines, larger than a person’s should be, and your eyes deep and red. But beautiful, oh so painfully beautiful.

You give him a little wave and he nods his head. 

“They tied you?” Your voice is sweet and gentle.

He nods again. 

You tut and carefully edge forward. 

He swallows, sucking in a breath in spite of himself, you move like running water, swift and mesmerising, your body completely naked. 

You watch him as you move, careful for any signs of distress like he was an injured rabbit in a trap. 

You reach back and cut the ropes with your sharp nails that retract a little when you are finished. 

“There you go.” “Thank you.” He mutters, staring bewitched as you move back a fraction but remain close. “There is a creature, a…”

You smile. He knows it’s you.

“Where are we?” He swallows, rubbing life back into his fingers. 

“We are not where you were.” 

“Am I dead?” 

You shake your head. “We will have to return there, shortly. Here is just to talk for a moment.” You touch his temple, the gooey blood on his skin. 

He flinches but doesn’t pull away when he realises your touch is gentle. 

“Are you going to kill me?” He breathes, watching you intently. His heart is still beating fast, his muscles tingling with adrenaline. But he doesn’t want to run or fight, he wants… he wants to…

“No.” You smile, taking your fingers to your lips and licking off his blood. 

“Why?” He asks without thinking. 

You laugh lightly. “You smell… nice.”

“Nice?” His mouth twitches upwards, surprised. 

You nod, leaning a little forward. “You don’t smell like food.” You whisper.

Orestes swallows. He can’t help himself, can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He tilts his head and presses his lips to yours in a rush. 

You lick into his mouth and he tastes his own blood on your tongue. He groans, lightheaded and needy as he presses himself closer.

He whines when you pull back a fraction, smiling. “You smell like a mate.” 

Orestes nods desperately. “Please.”

“Do you accept me?” 

He nods rapidly, pushing himself closer to you again. His cock aches between his legs, pressing against his clothing and begging to be freed. 

“In any form?” 

“In any form.” He mutters. “Please.” 

You grin. 

In a blink of his eyes, he is back in the mosaic hall, flat on his back. The nobles watching as the creature, you, lean over him, your teeth so close to snapping into the flesh of his neck. 

He turns his head, touches your soft fur with his free hands. “Please.” 

You let out a soft growl, the sound vibrating through his chest. 

There’s some quiet murmuring from the crowd, anticipation as they think he’s about to get eaten alive.

With one clawed hand, you lightly dip under his clothing, ripping it in two clean down the middle. 

Orestes gasps, biting his lip as you bow your head down and lick a broad flat stripe with your thick tongue. You start between his legs, rising up his body until you flick just under his jaw. 

He groans, his eyes rolling back as he squirms under you, your strong form keeping him pressed down and at your mercy. 

There are a few confused whispers, surprised at how he seems to be enjoying himself. 

His cock is already painfully hard, throbbing in time with his rapid heartbeat. You nuzzle at his neck, your breath hot on his skin as you lay yourself fully over him, moving your legs and taking his length inside yourself. 

Orestes gasps, moaning loudly as he sinks inside. He claws at your fur, trying to pull you closer as he shakes. It feels so good, liquid pleasure running up his spine as he fills you that practically paralyses him in place. 

His cry of passion is almost indistinguishable from one of pain, and at first, the crowd thinks he has been split open. 

You growl and he shivers as you rock your hips. It’s like you’re everywhere, touching him with claws and teeth and nails and hands. He can feel your lips on his thighs and stomach, fur and skin on his chest, both forms seemingly at once as you increase your pace. 

It’s electric, addicting as you devour him; mind, and body, and soul. 

“Yes, yes, please, yes,” he moans, uncaring of the many eyes watching him hurtling rapidly to his release. Your heat squeezes him, caresses him, lets him sink deeper into mind numbing pleasure. 

“Please,” he sobs, he wants to call your name but he realises, painfully, that he hadn’t asked for it, instead he pulls at your fur, at your shoulders, at any part of you he can reach. 

You snap your teeth and it sounds like a chuckle before you lick along his neck and drag your canines along his skin. 

“My heart,” he whispers, his voice strained, “I’m, I’m close.” He doesn’t want this to stop, to ever end. But he can feel his body racing towards his climax like an unbridled horse. His hips buck, his balls tightened. 

You rock faster, you slick running down and coating his skin as your warmth begs for his release. In this form, you need his pleasure desperately. Can only have your own as he experiences his. 

He whines, crying out beautifully as his back arches. He comes loudly, shivering and sobbing as he empties into you, giving you every single part of himself. 

Pleasure rushes along your veins, embeds in your bones and you howl, long and hard as you come with him. 

You lick into his mouth, cradling him as he nuzzles against you. 

“Foolish beast!” The leader yells, shouting for the guards. 

One hurls a spear at you that clatters off your form as if it was a rain drop. But Orestes flinches.

And you snarl. 

You turn quickly, jumping from him and barreling through the barrier that does absolutely nothing to stop you. You rip the guards and nobles to pieces in a matter of seconds, moving faster than they can fathom as they scream in terror. How dare they threaten him, your mate. 

You blink, the rage dulling.

Slowly, you turn back to Orestes, worried for a second about your outburst until you see his soft eyes as he reaches out for you. You move back to him, nuzzling your face into his palm. 

He kisses your nose, your cheek, licking some of the sprayed blood from your fur as you embrace him, laying him back down under you protectively. 

“I did not ask for your name, my love.” He whispers softly and smiles when you mutter it against his ear. He repeats it slowly with undying affection. 

Thank you for reading!

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[boredzillenial]

Reblogging while I take a breather on this years - plenty of good stuff to tide y’all over till the next new fic 😉

Fawktober 2023 Masterlist

This was so much fun! Thanks again to @flightlessangelwings for the prompt list this year!

Oct 1st: Impact Play with Jake Lockley

Oct 2nd: Bathhouse with Orestes

Oct 3rd: Exhibitionism with King John

Oct 4th: Thigh Riding with William Tell

Oct 6th: A/B/O with Max Phillips

Oct 7th: Slow and Soft with Marc Spector

Oct 8th: Cockwarming with Ezra

Oct 10th: Anal with Oberyn

Oct 13th: Anonymous Sex with Basil Stitt

Oct 15th: Free Use Against the Shower Wall with Miguel

Oct 17th: Praise Kink with Steven

Oct 19th: Voyeurism with Richard Muñoz

Oct 21st: Hate Sex with Blue Jones

Oct 23rd: Dirty Talk & More with Jack Jackson

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Something In You Lit Up Heaven In Me

READ PART ONE

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.5k

TW/CW: Oral (m and f receiving), gods don't have refractory periods because I said so, petnames, a bit of innonence!kink and some praise!kink for that matter, P in V, a smidge of overstimulation, creampie, humiliation (but it's not our reader).

A/N: OH MY GAAAAASH THANK YOU ALL FOR THE OUTPOURING OF SUPPORT ON THIS SILLY LIL FANTASY OF MINE! I know have a couple more ideas/installments for this little AU! And hope you all enjoy!!!

Quick vocab word that'll be helpful: Archiereus = high/head priest

The rest of the day following your covert meeting with Apollo passed in a blur. Your mother claimed that you no longer needed to bother with your daily chores, but you insisted on doing them anyway. It wasn’t fair to Caris and besides, the routine was anchoring. It was one small shred of normalcy that you’d been able to maintain since Apollo upended your world. Even so, your mind was elsewhere as you washed the linens and swept the house, drifting through the evening mechanically. 

Falling asleep was impossible. Your gaze was glued to the moon as it rose steadily in the sky, Selene’s radiance never wavering as she drove her chariot across its inky canvas. 

At first, you dismissed them as a mere cluster of fireflies…until they made an uncannily neat and tidy line leading away from your window. You giggled, quietly so as not to wake Caris, and tiptoed out of your modest home. The insects led you through your village, past the temple, into the forest once more. 

Apollo waited for you in another small, tucked away clearing. Despite it being the dead of night, the god’s gleeful grin illuminated the little corner of the forest. As enchanting as the fireflies were, they were no longer necessary when the god of light was present. Your feet carried you on your own accord and launched you into Apollo’s arms. 

Now that it was only you and your lover, hidden away from prying eyes and scheming minds, you completely surrendered your desire. Apollo made you feel liberated, wild, when you made love. 

“Want you to take me in your mouth,” he exhaled as you rolled around on the lush, soft grass, tangled within each other. Even though it wasn’t your first time seeing his member, you were unable to stifle your gasp when he shed his chiton. 

“Yes,” you replied at once. Then, “but I’ve never–”

“Shhh–I’ll teach you,” he assured you, sprawling back on the ground. 

You crawled closer to him. He disarmed you with his trademark grin, and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes instantly put you at ease. Apollo may have been an Olympian, but he was still a man. He took pleasure in the same way you mere mortals did. 

Your gaze met his expectantly, eager for his instruction. 

“We’ll start simply. How about you give the tip a kiss?” 

You did as he said. His reaction was immediate, a pleased groan escaped his lips. 

“Just like that, sunshine,” he spurred you on, “now see if you can take more in your mouth.” 

A memory surfaced in your mind – Caris, sharing what she did to please a man in this matter. You recalled her advice to wrap your lips around his teeth as you sank down, and to use your hand to stroke any part of him you couldn’t fit into your mouth. It turned out, you were initially too keen, sputtering and having to pull off of Apollo after your gag reflex was triggered. 

He cupped your face with one strong, sure hand, his thumb caressing your cheekbone, “Oh darling, there’s no need to rush.”

Like before, there wasn’t a trace of disappointment or derision on the god’s face. He traced his finger down your jaw, slipping in between your lips. You sucked on the digit instinctively, looking up at him with what you hoped were doe eyes, and Apollo moaned. “Mmm, I knew you'd turn out to be a little minx.”

You pulled off of the god’s finger to try again. It occurred to you that it would be difficult, if not unpleasant, to stroke what you couldn’t fit in your mouth dry, so instead of trying to swallow down Apollo’s flushed cock immediately, you licked the circumference of his girth to wet him. The deity seemed to very much enjoy that, the action eliciting another deep groan. 

“Oh Tiii-Titans, you’re like a little naughty kitten for me,” he cooed. “Don’t stop.” 

Once he was properly slicked, you eased back down again. This time you opened your jaw wider, and though you only could take about half of him in, you wasted no time covering the remainder with your hand. It took a moment to teach them to work in tandem, yet you strove to sync the two movements. Your jaw began to ache slightly, the god’s mortal form was certainly not lacking, but you powered through. You wanted to be good for him, being good made you feel good, because you knew afterwards, Apollo would make you feel incredible.

Your lover never ceased his encouragement, his hand resting atop your head to guide you ever so slightly. A light tug on your hair made you pause, allowing him to ask, “Kitten, might I lead the way from here?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Apollo’s inquisitive, umber eyes narrowed at you, “Don’t refer to me so.” One look at your petrified face and he instantly amended, “There’s no need. I want you to use my name.” 

Your face split into a wide, pleased grin. “Alright, my–Apollo.”

“My Apollo, I like that,” he grinned, then stood. “C’mere kitten.” 

You rose onto your knees to level yourself with Apollo’s unflagging erection. He fed his cock back between your lips and instructed “You needn’t do a thing. Just pretend as if you’re yawning, it’ll help you take more.”

You wanted to nod in assent, but thought better of it given your full mouth. His fingers threaded into your hair, gently but firmly, holding you in place before he began to move his hips. Implementing his suggestion, you were shocked to discover how much more of his thick shaft penetrated your mouth. Apollo gave a few introductory thrusts, then began pistoning into you steadily. 

Your first instinct was to shut your eyes, but you coaxed them back open to observe your lover’s face. His jaw was tipped up, his brows knit together, his lips parted. To see a god this vulnerable was a privilege even the highest priests and most devoted acolytes would never receive in their lifetimes, a privilege whose magnitude that was not lost on you. 

On your knees for Apollo, you felt…safe. And not merely because that was the “natural” thing to do - to kneel for one’s god. Strangely, it wasn’t about that. The deity made you feel cared for, that you could set your burdens, however petty and innocuous they may be, down. He would shoulder them for a while, so that you could discover parts of yourself that you didn’t know existed.

Apollo pulled you closer to him, your nose now pressed against the taut skin of his belly as he used your mouth. It made breathing a bit harder, but the god’s rhythm began to falter soon after. 

“Ohhhh sunshine I’m gonna—try to swallow it down if you can.”

You hummed your assent around Apollo’s cock, inadvertently sending him over the edge. He shoved his shaft nearly down your throat as his release dropped down it, all but singing your praise the entire time. 

“Good girl kitten,” he painted the back of your esophagus with his seed, “taking it so well for me. You were so good for me.” 

At last he extracted his spent member from your overstretched mouth. The entirety of your chin was covered in drool from your coupling, and you barely had a moment to wipe it away before Apollo’s lips were on yours. He plundered your mouth with his tongue as if he was to lick the combined taste of his cum and your spit from it. The thought sent a hot thrill down your spine. 

“You did so well for me, darling.” He murmured once more after you’d broken apart. Apollo made quick work of your chiton, “Now what does my very good girl want?” 

“I…” your lover had begun to trail his lips down the soft skin of your neck. It made it impossible to think, let alone speak. “I want you…inside.”

“Of course,” he agreed from where he was now dotting kisses across your collarbone. 

Apollo continued his descent down your bare skin, kissing the tops of your breasts before pulling each nipple into his hot, sure mouth for a hearty suck. It felt so good that you changed your mind on how you wanted Apollo to ravish you, yet the sight of him sinking between your legs was too enticing to resist. He used the tip of his nose to part the seam of your sex before changing course and licking a long stripe between your folds. 

“Mmmm, just as sweet as I recall,” he husked. Your reply came in a strangled mewl. 

He chuckled darkly. "I know darling, but I must ready you.” 

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Apollo slide his index finger through your wetness and into your heat. Relief flooded you – no longer were you clenching around nothing. Apollo resumed kissing your neck as he tucked a second digit in along with the first. You met his movements eagerly, vaguely aware of how swiftly you’d shed the trope of the blushing virgin. Before, the god’s ministrations had felt like too much, now they were not enough. You needed the god’s hardness inside of you now. 

Despite being reduced to pitiful whines and whimpers, Apollo understood you. 

“You want your god’s big cock, don’t you?” 

You practically sobbed in agreement. But although the deity was a generous lover, he had a wicked streak. One that Apollo decided to unleash when he demanded right as he finally applied pressure to your bed, “Words, kitten.” 

“Yuh-YES!” you cried. It felt heavenly, but it wasn’t enough to bring you to climax. You legitimately feared you may go mad from the anticipation. 

“Good girl,” He parted your legs wider and locked them around his ample hips. He paused briefly to marvel, “what an offering you make for me.” 

Apollo proceeded to slap the head of his arousal on your clit, then at last he entered you in one smooth of his hips. The feeling of becoming one wrung another cry from you, while a deep, satisfied rumble sounded from Apollo’s chest. 

There wasn’t much talking after that. It was unnecessary. The god’s gaze locked onto your as he plowed you, first holding firmling onto your sides to steady you, then they crawled back up to breasts to pluck at your nipples. You were definitely going to go mad between the acute, concentrated ecstasy he was drawing from your pebbled peaks along with the astounding stretch and burn of his cock plowing into your channel. All the while, the swirling brown of Apollo’s eyes bore into yours, gauging your pleasure - how he could heighten it, how he could surprise you, how you would bit down on bottom lip whenever he changed angle slightly. 

The last observation spurred an idea from the god. He bent over you further, catching your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the ground beneath you. The shift allowed him to hammer a special, previously unknown spot within you, and for your vision to go a burning, blinding white. 

“AH! Ohhhh…Apo-Apollo,” you keened.

“That’s it, c’mon sunshine,” he urged you, now slamming his pelvis into yours, “Say my name. Scream it so that my kin can hear it on Olympius, and I’ll let you come.” 

“Apollo!” You were not one to disobey your god, “Oh stars above, Apollo! Holy Her–APOLLO!! ”  

Your orgasm exploded seemingly from the spot your lover’s cock was not battering outwards. You convulsed as the pleasure rushed from your core throughout your spasming frame to the very tips of fingers and toes. There was no way to ride it, let alone fight it, the ecstasy Apollo elicited from you demanded nothing less than complete surrender. 

At last, the euphoria in your body began to subside. You desperately gasped down more oxygen, yet, Apollo’s hard, thick member was still thrusting into you relentlessly. Next thing you knew, the deity had collected you into his arms and lifted you to sit on his lap. 

You winced at the deeper penetration and your growing sensitivity, but he whispered into your ear, “I know kitten, but I need a little more and Titans, you feel so damn amazing.” 

You pressed a kiss into his temple, now damp with sweat, and like before, surrendered your body to your god. He moved your hips for you, essentially fucking yourself on his cock, meeting each and every downstroke with an untiring vigor only an Olympian could possess. 

Suddenly, his hold around your torso tightened, and you felt his manhood pulse within you. A deep growl reverberated from his as his seed flooded your channel. Your head was spinning, so much so that you barely realized you two fell back on the grass again. 

Apollo rolled so you were beneath him once more and eased himself out of you. 

“Now, that is a sight,” he moaned as he watched his release drip out of your entrance. 

“Is it?” you panted. 

“Mmm indeed,” he promised, gingerly probing your puffy pussy to collect his spend. This time, he brought it to his own mouth, “Hellfire, we make quite the concoction.” 

“I…” you eyes were fluttering closed, “I’m glad you’re pleased.” 

The god pulled you close once more. “I am beyond delighted. You were magnificent, my little kitten.”

***

You didn’t remember returning home, but your mother’s voice barking your name to wake was unmistakable. It wasn’t until she jarred you into consciousness that you realized you were back in your own bed, and thankfully, clothed. 

“You were due at the temple a quarter of an hour ago!” 

Grogginess prevented you from sniping back at her that your tardiness wouldn’t anger the god, since Apollo was the very reason for it. Instead, you held your tongue, and lethargically, but as quickly as you could, you rinsed your face and dressed. Your mother shooed you off to the temple with a small cloth holding berries and cheese in tow. 

You trudged up the hill to the temple, you’d never liked going there to begin with, but now that your presence was compulsory, it maddened you. The more time you spent with Apollo, the more you despised the structure meant to venerate him and the men who inhabited it claiming to act in his name. The god himself and his priests seemed to be two disparate parties. 

Distressed shouts and —was that bleating?— jolted you from your thoughts. You ran the rest of the way to the temple’s entrance. Something was wrong. 

Breathlessly, you arrived at the temple’s sanctum to find the priests and acolytes in a frantic scrum and…a goat. 

You caught the eye of one of the younger priests. “Don’t we usually sacrifice ravens to Apollo?” 

The priest, Karolos, you believed his name was, gulped. “Th-that…that is the Archiereus.”

Now it was your turn to gulp. Your eyes widened, then darted up to the large statue of Apollo that looked over the chaos. 

“I need privacy,” you told Karolos lowly, “somewhere I can be alone.”

His brows furrowed, only for realization to dawn on his features a moment later. “Are you going to…?”

“I’m going to try.”

“Come with me.”

As he led you through the madness, you pressed further. “What exactly happened?”

“We all woke up from a terrible, seemingly shared, nightmare. The god appeared to us and we could see ourselves being roasted alive as the temple burned,” the priest began, “and the goat—I mean, the Archiereus, was in his chambers…eating his own bed linens when we rose this morn.”

“Gods,” you groaned. 

“We’re very sorry.” 

Your gaze shot to the ground at the mention of your violating confirmation as Apollo’s latest lover. 

“Truly,” he averred, “I knew it was wrong but they didn’t listen—“

“Stop,” you had no interest in reliving that terrifying day. “But thank you. Truly.”

Karolos sent you a small grin and then opened the door to what seemed to be the head priest’s chambers, half-eaten bed linens and all. The room was imposing, large, and most importantly, tucked into a corner toward the back of the temple complex. 

The bedchamber seemed even more intimidating when you were left alone within it. You hadn’t the faintest idea of how to summon Apollo, or if you even could. Therefore, you defaulted to the simplest of methods. You looked up, yet closed your eyes, and called out this name. 

“Sunshine.”

His voice was close. Very close, since not a second later you were pulled back into the deity’s arms. You startled, a very undignified and unappealing yelp escaping you. 

You pivoted in Apollo’s embrace to face him. “You enjoy frightening me, don’t you?”

“I enjoy arousing you in any and all forms,” he countered wryly. 

“You must change him back.”

Apollo’s face fell infinitesimally before resuming its usual brightness. “Of course. As soon as you admit how comical it is.”

You huffed. “Apollo.” 

He shrugged as if the power wasn’t solely and completely in his hands. 

“What’s this about a shared nightmare?” 

“I promised you not to harm them,” the god responded, frustration creeping into his tone, “but these provincial dolts needed to be taught a lesson. They cannot flout me, and by extension you, in such a brazen manner.” 

Arguing was pointless, you knew this. Because Apollo was right. As much as you felt as the reluctant center of the issue here, it actually came down to the priests and their respect, and therefore fear, for their patron god. 

“While the goat is very comical, I have to say, I think a slug would’ve been more fitting,” you offered with a small smile. 

Apollo laughed, his expression beaming once again, and captured your lips. 

When you breathlessly broke apart, you inquired, “Does this mean I no longer need to come here everyday?”

“Darling, you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”

“I suppose so, but if you wanted me to, I would.” 

“Always so willing to please,” Apollo groaned in satisfaction, “you have no idea what you do to me.” 

Before you could counter that you didn’t he nudged his groin into your hip to give you one. You nearly jumped at the feel of his arousal pressing through two flimsy layers of your clothing. 

The god continued, “However, I believe there are better uses for your time too.” 

“Thank you, my–my Apollo.” 

“Oh you truly want me to take you on that bumpkin Archiereus’s bed, don’t you?” 

The god began backing you toward the bed in question, though you managed to slip out of his grasp just in time. 

“Apollo!” 

Another peal of laughter from the god. “My desire for you has no bounds.” 

“As does mine,” you offered, “I swear it. However, I have to go back and live amongst these people, and I’d prefer to be able to look some of my neighbors in the eye.” 

The god studied you, as if the fact you went back and lived among other people had only just occurred to him when you spoke it. However, maddeningly all he said was, “I see.” 

You fidgeted under the intensity of his gaze. “I very much enjoyed our time together last night though. I cannot remember if I told you.”

He grinned. You would never tire of it. “Good, then I shall see you tonight?” 

“Yes. Please.” your answer came without hesitation. 

“I’ll send you a route again,” he vowed, stealing one last impassioned kiss from your lips.  

“I shall count the moments,” you whispered. 

“Go,” he urged you softly. “I’ve taken care of the ​​Archiereus.” 

A commotion sounded from what you thought was the temple’s sanctum. It startled you, and when you turned back to your lover, he’d disappeared. 

Karolos was not waiting at the door when you emerged from the high priest’s chambers, much to your relief. So you hurried to where the shouts were emanating from. 

The Archiereus had been changed back alright. He lay in the sanctum stark naked and humiliated, barking for a cloth to cover his modesty when you arrived on the scene. Yet he cowed immediately at the sight of you and in a truly baffling role reversal, kneeled at your feet. 

“Please, we never meant to harm you, nor anger the mighty Apollo,” he all but blubbered. It was arresting, and honestly, you thought you might have preferred his haughty countenance more. “Your claim was a bold one, we simply sought to substantiate it, however if I could take it back, I would. I beseech you for forgiveness.” 

You didn’t wish to forgive him, however you didn’t wish to condemn the groveling cleric either. The happy medium it seemed was to respond, “The god is appeased. I will no longer be present for your daily rituals.”

With that, you turned and left the oppressive structure, unsure whether to stifle or welcome the exhilarating sense of authority following through you. It was truly the first time in your life you’d ever felt powerful. 

A/N: Ehhh...we like? Seriously, y'all give me the motivation pound out more of this! I already have an idea of another god I want to bring into the mix 😜

Taglist:

@whatthefishh , @thhriller ,  @simpforbritgents , @oof-its-roobi @pakhiya @fandxmslxt69  @twwcs, @damnzelsoul  @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @dameronscopilot @sharin4readers @ireallymadeamoonknightblog

[romanarose]

Y’all gonna love this Marcus series I’m planning after I wrap up a few of series.

Key words

God!Marcus Acacius x reader

God!Orestes x fem! Oc

M/m dynamics

F/f dynamics

Bisexual orgy

God au

And of course you can expect all the classic Romana tropes you’ve come to know me for 🙏🏻

For context if you’re a Pedro girlie and don’t know Oscar isaacs characters, he played Orestes

It’ll be a fun one

[winniethewife]

WIP Title Ask Game

Prompt: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I Just have a lot of WIPs and A desire to talk about them, these are just my WIPs that are One shots and not series.

This isn't goodbye, this is simply, "see you later" (Hunter x F!reader)

I'd make sure the light defeated the dark  (Echo x F!reader X Fives)

Sweet serotonin washing over me (Tech x F!reader)

smoking kink (Johnny Sliverhand x ReaderV)

Bellum Romanum (Orestes x OC!Sadhbh)

Glass delusions princess x Laurent

1920s Gangster AU (Anslem x Birdie!reader) ...Yes this is a fanfic of a fanfic, Bite me.

NPT: @reallyrallyauthor @midgardian-witch @justafandomgvrl @faretheeoscar @jayke0

@marc-spectorr @del-ightfulling

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sweetest of Exiles - One

Summary: When Oberyn Martell travels to Essos for exile, he found more than he anticipated when he first lays eyes on Pero Tovar, his brother-in-arms in the Second Sons mercenary company. While Pero is a bit resistant to his Oberyn’s overt charms at first, the Prince always gets what he wants. When the Second Sons are hired to rescue a wealthy merchant’s daughter, Oberyn learns there is much more to the grumpy sellsword. And Oberyn doesn’t mind sharing–especially when the merchant’s daughter smiles at him like that.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Pero Tovar, (past) Pero Tovar x F!Reader (No Y/N), future--it is a surprise.

Rating for this chapter: T for mentions of blood, guts and gore...magic. My overuse of italics. 

Word Count: 5k

A/N: I wrote most of this drunk (or buzzed). I am still riding my red wine high so I almost apologize for the nonsense. If you have any questions about the ASOIAF lore/geography that I’m mentioning, please send me an ask or a DM! I’m always happy to ramble about this series.

(thank you to my love, @starlight-starwrites for the absolutely gorgeous banner. I love you.)

Or read on Ao3 here!

CHAPTER ONE: The Mercenary

Oberyn had always wondered what he looked like when fucking someone. He had looking glasses set up in one of his lover’s rooms so he could try to catch a glimpse himself. But his unrelenting need to keep his partners satisfied always won out over his curiosity.

But then the gods seemed to have a sense of humor when they sent him away from Dorne after he might-have-killed Edgar Yronwood. The Citadel and Oldtown had entertained him for a moment but it soon bored him and he set off across the Narrow Sea to Essos. While the Second Sons mercenary company welcomed him and his sword arm, his eyes were firmly trained on the man toward the back of the company with the scar down his face.

His face.

And well, his time away from Dorne just became much more interesting.

**

It had taken almost an entire year of not-at-all subtle flirting and propositions and nearly losing their lives time and time again before Pero found himself tumbling into the Prince of Dorne’s bed. The Prince was definitely persistent, Pero would never admit that his charms—his annoying charms—had worn him down instead of Pero’s selfish desire for release while the company was too far away from any sort of willing woman and his hand just wasn’t cutting it. But the Prince had been attentive—willing to let Pero wrap his scarred and rough hand around his throat when he was pressing him into the threadbare bedroll in the quiet corner of camp.

The prince felt good—and he knew how to make Pero feel good.

It was infuriating—he wanted to strangle he smug smirk right off the prince’s face but he knew that the Prince was only capable of enjoying when someone’s hand was around his throat. But he had to admit that he had finally found a true friend (and not just release) with the man who looked strangely like him.

It had been nearly two decades since he could speak with someone as openly as he did when he was alone with the prince in their tent.

But his mind still drifted—to years ago. To his life before finding coin in the service of the Second Sons.

“You make the moon shine brighter, Pero.”

It was childish of him, stupid, to still think of her all these years later. Surely she had forgotten him. They had just been children—he had just been a third-born son of a disgraced lord from Valysar and she had been… she had been everything.

“You are pensive, Tovar.” The prince’s voice cut through his reverie.

He had thought the prince asleep—spent from a long day’s ride and a quick, near-desperate fuck as soon as their shared tent was erected. “It is dark, princeling. You cannot see me.”

Oberyn chuckled. “I know your brooding silences from your angry quiet.”

“You think a great deal of yourself, don’t you?” He grumbled, rolling his eyes despite the dark.

“I believe you think a great deal of me, as well.”

Pero sighed.

“Tell me what weighs on your mind.”

“Nothing that concerns you. Go to sleep.”

Oberyn laughed. “I will find out what has you brooding.”

“Do not hold your breath, princeling.”

He only laughed.

Pero was not sure when they had both fallen asleep but they were both woken by a frantic yell outside their tent. The prince’s knife glinted in the dimming moonlight and Pero had never let his hand leave the hilt of one of his smaller swords as they charged outside. They expected an ambush—a retaliation from the Tyroshi they had just pushed back on behalf of Lys—but instead, they found a disheveled man, bloodied and bruised and desperately limping toward their camp, frantically waving his hands above his head, shouting something in the Myrish bastard Valyrian dialect.

Pero sheathed his blade as he finally started to realize what the man was babbling. “Calm yourself, man.” Pero said, stepping in front of Oberyn.

The man nearly collapsed as he reached them, big, brown eyes shining in the moonlight. “They took her. They took her—I barely escaped.” He continued to jabber and Pero mostly listened—having heard desperate pleas from hundreds of men and women over the years of his service in the mercenary company—the man’s story consisted of being surrounded on the road to Myr by a group of religious zealots. The story was not an unfamiliar one. The Free Cities were known to erupt with pockets of violence; the causes ranged from trade disputes, claims to land, religion, and everything in between.

Pero had heard it all.

But then the man opened his mouth, blood drying on his chin, and said, “but they took her—they wanted her.” And a name pushed by the man’s bruised lips—a name he hadn’t heard in years.

Before he could stop himself, Pero reached out and grabbed the man by the collar of his tunic and hauled him to his unsteady feet. “Tell me where.”

**

The captains deliberated for only a few short moments before refusing to take the charge.

The fact that the woman was Qohorik had negated the fact that the Myrish magistrate who had fought his way to their camp had promised a princess’ ransom and promised that her father, a prominent merchant, would double it for her safe return. The Second Sons had been humiliated generations ago at Qohor and had not taken any bounties or contracts from the city or its inhabitants since then.

The Second Sons gave the magistrate—Orestes, his name was—some water and a bit of feed for his exhausted horse and then told him to leave. They would not go.

And Pero was an angry man. He had wrath in his blood since he was a boy, tempered only with bouts of relief and quiet. But this had sent him into a near rage with how flippant they captains had been when they had delivered their decision. Of course, he had not mentioned that the woman Orestes had pleaded to be rescued had been…her. Or how he knew her. Attachments like that were frowned upon, even by mercenaries. Soft hearts made easy targets.

But as the sun set the next day, Pero knew what he had to do. Even if he was alone. He packed his bare essentials, mostly worried about his sack of coin and weapons, and then pushed out of the tent-

-only to be met with the smirking face of the princeling. “Come, I have a surprise for you.”

“I do not have time for this.”

“Yes, you do,” Oberyn said with a broadening smirk as he turned away, leading Pero further away from camp as the moon continued her climb up into the inky sky. And why was Pero following him? He had to leave. He had to find that stupid magistrate. He had to-

There were about two dozen Second Sons, including one of the company’s healers, waiting at the tree line with their packs and mounts. Oberyn’s smirk reached its peak as he winked over his shoulder at Pero who only scowled in return. The Magistrate—Orestes—was standing with them, looking more than a little out of place with his rumpled fine clothes, now stained with dirt and blood. But he offered a tentative tilt of his head when Pero stepped up to the group with Oberyn.

“What did you do?” Pero hissed.

“I formed my own mercenary company,” Oberyn replied with a roll of his shoulders. “I know you are brighter than this, Tovar.”

If possible, his lips formed an even thinner line.

“Do not pout. We are going to save the damsel and get paid.” There was a cheer from the small band of men—both Tovar and Orestes were the only ones who did not seem to enjoy it. But soon they were on their way, each step taking them further away from the strange safety of the Second Sons and into the wilds of Essos.

**

Orestes, Pero found, was fond of speaking to anyone who would listen. His voice was pleasing but Pero preferred the quiet in most instances. But, he supposed it was necessary to learn just how he had ended up fleeing to the Second Sons in a desperate plea for help.

Orestes and his companion had been traveling from Qohor to Myr—and Pero tried very hard to not grind his teeth every time Orestes referred to her as ‘my lady’—to allow her to see more of Essos and to return Orestes to Myr after his year-long residency to Qohor that had been in the name of strengthening trade routes and agreements.

(“But, of course, I found myself more entranced by the city and its people than my fellow magistrates’ mandates that I was told to quickly solidify.” He sighed, the sound only a lovelorn man could make and Pero could not stop the grinding of his teeth at that.)

But on the road between Volantis and Myr, a group of heavily armed, religious zealots had slaughtered their small band of traveling companions and guards and took her and Orestes captive in a plot to gain the knowledge her father was keeping secret.

Her father, Lord Ollo, had been one of the famed smiths in Qohor who still knew the secrets of re-forging Valyrian Steel. The famed metal had become a treasure since the Doom and those who could work with the fickle and strong metal were regarded as lords and wielded their power like nobility, too. Travelers from all across Essos sought him out for new weapons, armor, and the occasional piece of jewelry from bits of Valyrian Steel and he had gained a reputation for being excessively secretive but the best at his trade. His wife was a noble woman and had raised his status with their marriage while providing her with the lifestyle on par with princesses.

But Pero knew all of this. He had seen it firsthand. He had supped with him and felt his lady-wife’s fingers tug at his boyishly poorly cropped hair with a fond smile. He knew that their home, an imposing fortress deep in the Forest of Qohor, always smelled of fire and metal and drying flowers.

It smelled…like home.

Well, it had. For a time. A long time ago.

And Orestes never needed to know that—never needed to know that the only reason he had a small band of mercenaries at his call was because the Prince knew that the woman, whose name he could not even say aloud, meant something to Pero.

For all his pride and well-earned arrogance, Oberyn was a good man, Pero had to admit. (He would never actually say this to Oberyn, his ego was big enough without the extra fodder.) And he would have to find a way to repay the prince-who-had-everything in some fashion. Pero’s pride would not allow this kindness to be left unpaid.

Orestes went on to explain that the zealots thought attaining the knowledge of Valyrian Steel would allow them the proper way of sacrificing in order to satiate the supposed blood lust of some old, stupidly named god. They hoped to trade her for Lord Ollo’s knowledge.

“But you seem to know my lady,” Orestes said, turning in his saddle to look Pero straight in the face. “Do you?”

“Is she your lady?” Pero asked in return, ignoring Orestes’ question and how his stomach turned at the thought of her being alone with a group of men as delusional as the band of zealots. Thankfully, they were nearing where Orestes said he had been held captive—less than two days’ ride from their camp but they had set their horses upon the trail with haste, cutting time from their journey.

Orestes’ answering smile was small. “No. But I am blessed to know her and I will never forgive myself for leaving her behind.”

“But she told you to, didn’t she? Told you to run and not look back.” The words were out of his mouth before he could bite them back and his ever-present scowl deepened.

“You do know her. Indeed, she told me to run as soon as I was able. But not to Myr—she told me to run west.” He paused and shook his head and Pero barely caught the confusion coloring the Magistrate’s features. “I had thought the prince was jesting when he said you knew her. I am in your debt, it seems.”

“Just pay the fee you promised.”

“Of course! I would not dream of-”

“Good.” Pero dug his heels into his horse’s side and urged the animal into a faster trot. “You will keep your head, then.” Orestes said something else but Pero had already galloped away to Oberyn’s side at the front of the group. “What have you said to the magistrate?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

“Do not lie to me, princeling.” Pero scarcely noticed the men behind them slow their horses’ pace to give them room. Their relationship—if it could even be called that—was an open secret to most in the Second Sons and some of those who followed Oberyn into this new company were also willing to indulge themselves in each other’s bedrolls if the time called for it.

Oberyn only laughed. “I did not know that your obvious reaction to a lady’s name was a secret needing to be kept.”

“What else have you told him?”

“Nothing. Just as you have told me nothing. But I have still called the men who were loyal to me and the promised coin to save this woman you have kept like a secret.” Oberyn arched an eyebrow, a look Pero knew meant Oberyn was daring him to argue. “She will be safe. The Magistrate will be on his way and our pockets will be filled.” Oberyn’s dark eyes sparkled in the growing sunlight. “And I shall meet this lady of yours. She must be a sight to behold to warrant such attention.”

“She…” The words died on his tongue. How would he even try to describe her? How childish would he sound to a prince for harboring such affections for his childhood love after all this time? “She warrants much more than any man could ever give. Including the Magistrate.”

Oberyn huffed but a smile tugged at his lips. “We are nearly there, Tovar. You can make the polite introductions.”

**

Night had just started to fall, painting the sky a violent shade of orange, when Orestes had announced that the ruined castle was just over the next hill.

Pero felt his chest tighten for a moment, a shot of adrenaline he had not felt as strongly since he was a new recruit to the Second Sons facing a small horde of Dothraki.

They crested the hill and Pero saw the broken remains of a once-grand castle. A single window was lit with the dim light of a candle just as the sun disappeared behind the stone, making it look like it had absorbed the red light and bathed in an inky black.

Defense of the castle was nearly impossible with its location and the small band of mercenaries quickly surrounded it, ready to drive inside when suddenly….the door, large and rusted, opened and a single man rushed out, screaming something in what Pero thought to be Old Ghiscari and covered in…blood.

Pero turned to look at Oberyn who seemed to be waffling between amusement and confusion at the sight. He waved a hand, silently commanding two men to secure the fleeing zealot—quietly, if possible.

“It is too quiet,” Pero said as he turned back to the castle after watching the screaming man be brought to his knees and a dirty rag shoved between his lips.

Oberyn agreed. “Surely a band of zealots would make more noise. I’ve been told they’re fond of chanting.” The prince slid closer to the ruined castle, staying hidden behind the rolling hill and scattered boulders for cover.

Pero watched him move, knowing the prince had an innate talent for hearing the smallest noises—whether it be from a rabbit or a sneaking assassin, and would trust whatever his judgement was.

“If anyone is left, they are not moving.”

Pero nodded, ignoring the umpteenth time his chest clenched, and signaled for the rest of their band of men to press forward. Step by step, they neared the castle and spread out to find different entrances. Orestes stumbled in the loose dirt to stay near Pero and Oberyn and Pero grimaced when Oberyn nudged him in the side, silently telling him to allow it—at least for the time being.

Closer and closer, they crept until they Pero was able to curl his hand around the edge of the door and peel it open just enough for him and Oberyn to slip inside. Orestes tripped over a loose stone as he followed.

And Oberyn had been right.

The castle was quiet. Unnaturally so.

The grip on his swords tightened as the small group pushed further into the dark ruins. Torches were scattered and burning out in their holds on the wall, casting even more shadows against the crumbling stone. He heard the soft footfalls of his fellow mercenaries coming in through the east and west entrances but it gave him little comfort. They were alone.

Alone.

His next step made a splash and he looked down to see the toe of his boot submerged in a dark puddle. He reached out and grabbed a torch from the wall and let the dying flames shine near the floor.

It was blood.

He raise the torch just enough to light the end of the hall and sighed.

“How interesting,” Oberyn said as he glanced over his shoulder.

Blood pooled between the broken stone and drip-drip-dripped from some unseen source to puddle in the corner. Bodies were crumpled along the path and Pero turned to pin Orestes with a look. “These men were the ones who slaughtered your guards and took you captive?”

Orestes looked down at a body and seemed to bite back a gulp. “Yes.”

“It looks like they put up quite a fight.”

“It looks like they were ripped open,” Pero corrected before pressing forward. “What did this? Did they do this to each other?”

“I’ve never seen a group more cohesive than them,” Orestes said. “They never contradicted each other or spoke out of turn. They had a singular mentality, it seemed. I would not believe they turned on each other.”

“Men turn on each other all the time,” Oberyn said. “Even without cause.”

They continued forward, Pero leading. He was not sure where they were going, but he knew—instinctively—that he needed to keep moving. If another person or creature had found the castle before they did, what hope did she have? Would he find her like this, too? Reduced to a bloody corpse? Would that be the last chance he would have to see her?

But they walked on, further into the dark, catching glimpses of the rising moon in the half-collapsed windows until they turned and saw the outline of a door, lit by a dim, orange light. Without a care, Pero pushed forward, hilt of his sword still in his hand as he pushed the door open and his grip faltered.

For the first time in nearly two decades, Pero let his swords fall from his grasp.

In the corner of the small room, huddled near a solitary candle, was a woman. Not just a woman—her.

Chains wrapped around her ankles and wrists and angry, deep cuts spanned the length of her legs and arms and her fine dress had been reduced to rags. He barely registered Oberyn calling for the healer as he stepped to her side and quickly knelt down. The locks on the chains were easily undone and his roughened hands carefully prodded at the broken skin.

“Pero,” she whispered, the name sliding by her chapped lips. Her head sagged and Pero moved just enough to let her forehead rest against his shoulder. “You’re here…” her voice was rough and raspy, like she had been screaming for hours. And perhaps she had.

“I’m here.”

The healer came in, arms filled with supplies, while more than a few of their company stuck their heads into the room to see their charge. Oberyn quickly moved them back and shut the door—Pero would thank him for it later.

“Look at me. Look at me, Petal,” Pero said as the healer tutted as he looked over her wounds before uncorking a bit of firewine.

Her unfocused eyes slid to him as the healer set to work. A cry broke her chapped lips as the firewine started to spill across her legs.

Pero reached out and kept her head still, gaze on him, as the healer continued. “Just me, Petal. I am here.”

“Pe-Pero.” The name was stilted on her tongue. “Please—it hurts-” a scream tore its way out of her throat but Pero held her steady even as his chest clenched.

“I know. But it will be over soon.”

Tears gathered in her eyes and slid down her dirty cheeks as her hands shot out to grab at his armor; he could feel the heat of her touch sliding and blooming warmth through his thick tunic. But he kept her focused on him even as the healer muttered about needing more wrappings.

“I’m here, Petal. I’m here.”

**

“This is my fault,” Orestes whispered.

The company had settled into the ruins as a camp for the night, finding the rooms (where there wasn’t blood or any bodies) more comfortable than the outside ground. Pero, Oberyn, and Orestes were the last three to retire from the roaring fire they had made in the remnants of the great hall.

Pero agreed but kept that to himself. “How?”

“We travelled by Myr weeks ago. But I could not bear to part from my lady’s side—I convinced her, selfishly, to let me take her to see Volantis, Lys, Tyrosh. She had marveled at everything Norvos and Braavos had offered—even Lorath had made her wonder like a child. I wanted to give her more of that, to show her all I could.”

“And then you were set upon by zealots. Probably followed you from Dagger Lake.”

Orestes shook his head. “Our party never neared that pirate hive. The closest we came to it was when she insisted on seeing Valysar. That little town of no consequence.”

Oberyn, only briefly, touched Pero’s back and he knew the prince meant it as a comfort at the mention of Pero’s former home. Orestes did not notice it.

“But she was adamant and refused to tell anyone why. But she all but disappeared for an entire day once we arrived and would not speak of her adventures—the little box she had procured never left her side and was never opened.”

Pero almost smiled at that. She had not changed—in that respect, at least.

Orestes yawned and stood from the rickety chair. “I must retire for the night. Please alert me if my lady calls for me.”

Oberyn hummed an agreement while Pero felt his face curl into a sneer as the magistrate left the hall.

“He certainly holds a candle for his lady, does he not?” Oberyn mused as soon as Orestes was out of earshot.

“She did not ask for him once,” Pero said before reaching forward to grab the jug of terrible wine left on the table and took a large gulp.

“But she’s asked for you? Hm?” Oberyn asked, snatching the jug from him. “And you’ve yet to introduce me. I am almost insulted.”

“She needs rest, princeling.” He had made sure she was comfortable in one of the largest rooms and was happy to find that her trunks, filled with her belongings, were still intact and made sure she received them before he had let her rest for the night, making sure to let the rest of the company know that she was not to be disturbed.

“I’m sure she does.” He took a drink. “But she has also been trapped, alone, with men who meant her harm for nearly a week. You were the first friendly face she saw—do not think that I misheard her. She called for you. Pero.”

“You could walk in there now and she would not be able to tell the difference.”

Oberyn tutted and Pero stole the jug back. “I believe she would.”

Pero nearly startled when Oberyn reached out and grasped his wrist, keeping him from draining the rest of the wine. His grip was firm but gentle and a hold Pero knew well. “I thought people in Essos were more willing to indulge themselves in matters of the heart and flesh. Do not be stupid.”

And somehow…that worked. Pero slipped into her room and found her sitting on the small bed, wrapped legs atop the thin blankets and a book on her lap. In the warm candlelight, she looked almost healthy. Like she was not covered in healing salve and he didn’t know there were long, angry cuts hidden by wrappings and her thin nightgown.

She looked…so much like the girl he had left behind decades ago.

Pero remembered Lady Daeryssa smiling down at her daughter, flowers twisted into her braids.

“You are special, my star. Like me.”

“Like you, Mama?”

Daeryssa nodded and grabbed the small, blue rose she had Pero fetch just that morning and pressed her thumb against one of its thorns until blood bloomed on her skin and started to trickle down her skin. Her face was serene and Pero could not look away. Her bloodied fingers pulled the petals from the rose and she carefully pressed them against her daughter’s forehead, sticking them to her skin with blood. Words he didn’t understand slipped by her lips as she pressed another petal and then another to her daughter’s face until she stripped the flower bare.

“You will be magnificent, my star. Your trials will be hard but you will always rise above.”

“Come in,” she said, setting her book aside.

Pero did as he was told and blindly set his hands in hers as she reached out for him, letting her tug him onto the edge of her bed. “How are you?”

“I will heal.” She smiled as if nothing had caused her pain and his chest hurt. “I brought you something.” She leaned back just enough to retrieve a small box from the mess of blankets.

The box was nothing spectacular, made from a polished dark wood with a simple latch and did not weigh more than his dagger. “How did you know we would see each other again?” He asked.

She only smiled and pressed the small box further into his grip. “Open it.”

And he could not tell her no. He unfastened the latch and felt his face crumple as he looked inside. His mother’s handwriting, still beautiful and tilted, drew his eye first. He grabbed the thin bit of parchment and unfurled it.

My dear boy- I love you more than words can say. You have saved us.

The rest of the letter was filled with anecdotes, telling Pero how the coin he had sent back home kept their family afloat and settled his father’s debts, allowing his mother and brothers to stay home and retain their titles and livelihoods. He had saved them. His mother had written it at least three times in her short letter.

But I still wish I witnessed you grow into the man you are today. Come home. You are always welcome.

He quickly let the letter curl in on itself again and shoved it back in the box, knowing she was watching him, face serene and almost unreadable. He reached into the box again and let his fingers brush against something cold and smooth. A shuddering breath pushed its way out of his lung as he pulled out a small, carved wooden wolf that fit in his palm. He raised it up to press the well-worn wood against his lips, just once, before placing it gently back into the box.

“You met my family.”

“I did,” she said. “They were very kind.” She paused. “And they smile so often. I almost didn’t believe you were related to them.”

He huffed. “You never let me have a moments’ peace, Petal.”

“You were the only peace I knew as a child,” she responded.

Pero sat with her for hours under their tree after her mother had disappeared and the petals remained on her face, only falling one by one after the sun had set, leaving little bloody thumbprints across her skin. He tried to press them back onto her skin without success, and she only giggled at his attempts, leaning into each of his touches and letting him try and try again.

She collected all the petals as they fell and Pero had given up on trying to re-stick them.

“What are you doing?”

“Practice.” He watched her reach out and scratch her palm against the broken bark of the tree, slicing open her palm in a single movement.

He squawked and moved to grab her hand but she curled her fingers into a fist, crushing the petals against her bloodied palm. She took a single, long breath through her nose and then unclenched her fist. The petals rose from her bloodied hand and floated up into the air as if pulled by invisible strings. They swirled around the pair before, with another long breath, she let them fly away, disappearing into the thick of the forest.

She laughed then, a light sound that had blood rushing to his cheeks for a reason he could not explain or pinpoint at that moment. All he could mutter as she looked at him, eyes twinkling and a giggle still on her lips was…”petal.”

“Why did you leave?” She asked as he tucked the small box away into his tunic.

Pero froze. “I had to.”

A/N: please let me know what you think! I hope you guys like this! there will be three chapters. 

[rosecentaur1916]

A Thread Through Time Masterlist

Hello! Welcome to the Masterlist for my new Fan Fiction Series! This is a collection of reader insert one shot stories of most of Oscar Isaac's characters. Note that there are a few I will not write stories for, like at all because of age or other factors that make me uncomfortable. This Masterlist will contain a list of characters that I will update as/if I find more.

Characters I will not write for list:

-The Pool Boy from“Illtown”

-Joseph from “The Nativity Story”

-Nick Wasicsko from “Show Me a Hero”

-Paul Gauguin from “At Eternity's Gate”

-Gomez Addams from "The Addams Family" or "The Addams Family 2"

-Francis Ford Coppola from "Francis and the Godfather" -Peter Malkin from "Operation Finale"

-The Interpreter from Che: Part One

-Dante Alighieri or Nick Tosches from "In the Hand of Dante"

I will NOT be writing a chapter about Oscar himself. He is married with two children. I do not feel comfortable with that. Plus this story is about his characters not him. All chapters depend on me knowing the character and the short film/movie/show they are from. If I haven’t watched the short film/movie/show they are from, I can’t write about them, so some characters will have to wait until I see their short film/movie/show. 

Apocalypse is included in this. He will have a chapter all his own.

These stories will be in some sort of order, its just not going to be timeline order that'd be too difficult as Oscar could go and make a movie about something that takes place in 1900 and I've already written chapters earlier in that time period, and I wouldn't want to re-arrange everything just to fit it in. So these will more or less just be snapshots through time and space of the all over "thread through time" that connects Reader and the characters love story. All of these chapters/one shots will contain smut or at least smutty themes. They are all going to be M/F for the most part unless there is a reason to change that, like adding a partner that may be there in canon. I.E. Lady Jessica from Dune. Reader is always female, as I am female. I'll try to use as general terms as much as possible, but I am female and identify as female and I write from my own perspective. Write what you know, right? (The answer to this should always be yes.) All of the characters will be written the way I interpret them from their various shows. If you don't like that, then don't read it. I don't want to be persecuted because you found character [x] to be characterized one way and I didn't write him your way. If you want your character written your way, go and find those fics or write them yourself.   This fic is inspired by pathetic_fallacy’s one shot collection for Lin-Manuel Miranda entitled “It’s Always Been You" on Ao3.

Credits for pictures I used from upsplash for story picture: Photo by Alex Lion on Unsplash ← Clock

Photo by amirali mirhashemian on Unsplash ← Thread

Photo by Octavio Fossatti on Unsplash ← Couple Holding hands

Chapters: Chapter 1: Epigraph Chapter 2: The Ship of Orestes

Chapter 3: Au Contraire My Dear Blue

Chapter 4: Rydal, I Stole your Heart with Slight of Hand

Chapter 5: Laurent's Tragic Masterpiece -- coming at some point. Chapter 6: Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Chapter 11:

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Chapter 14:

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16: Chapter 17:

Chapter 18: Chapter 19:

Chapter 20:

Chapter 21:

Chapter 22:

Chapter 23:

Please Reblog Divider by @cafekitsune

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Heaven Sent You to Me

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CW: umm we all know Greek Mythology is like screwed up right? So there’s mean patriarchal men in this, a bit of power play between Apollo and reader, innocence!kink, oral (f!receiving), PinV sex, loss of virginity, talk of pregnancy

A/N: YES I AM AWARE THAT I SHOULD BE WRITING THE MORE THE MERRIER OR ANSWERING THE OTHER 87 ASKS IN MY INBOX BUT MY MUSE IS FICKLE OKAY? She said “Oscar as Apollo or no words at all” so here we are 🤷‍♀️ I watched The Two Faces of January last week and kept thinking that Oscar looks like a Greek god and @lovely-cryptid ‘s greek mythology AU lives rent free in my head and I couldn’t help myself…

Also the title is a lyric from an Ariana Grande because I have fully reverted ten years writing a Greek Mythology AU for my fandom du jour with a song lyric title bc I'm ~artsy~

You should have known he was a god. The way his fingers seemed to fly over the strings of his lyre. That enchanting, mellifluous voice. The smile that shone brighter than the sun itself. You’d encountered him in the woods behind the temple consecrated to him for Zeus’s sake.

Though who could blame you for assuming he was a mortal man? What would a god, an Olympian, want with you – an unimportant peasant in a small, unimportant village? He’d appeared to you as a mortal, a beautiful, alluring one, but a mortal. In fact, he’d been rather short in stature. Apollo’s affairs and exploits were famous, nay infamous, and even now it seemed impossible to reconcile the man who had spoken to you with such sweetness, who had wrung ebullient laughter, as well as previously unimaginable pleasure, from you was the mighty god you and your family had worshiped since time immemorial.

The revelation that you had lain with the god of light, music, medicine, the averter of evil, had been one that raced your head endlessly over the past few days, but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine. You instantly conjured the broad, chiseled planes of his body, so starkly contrasted with the gentle way he’d made love to you. When you revealed that you were a virgin, he was tender with you. Fragments of memories flashed in your mind’s eye but the one that oddly lingered the longest, and the most vividly, was the sweep of his thick, dark lashes across his high cheekbone when his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as he met his release. He had been the portrait of pleasure and beauty. You were truly a naive fool for not realizing the divinity in front of you in that moment.

“We must pray that you conceive,” your mother had declared. “You have already secured our family great status, but a demigod? Dmitri, can you imagine?”

Despite her praise, your cheeks burned in shame when she turned to your father for his reaction. You detested how openly and calculated this very intimate, typically private event in your life was being discussed. No one was supposed to know. Yet your sister had found the blood stains on your chiton while laundering it, and she’d coaxed the details out of you.

“Did it hurt?” she whispered.

“No.”

Her brows furrowed, “But you bled. It always hurts. It hurt my first time.”

“I…I don’t know. It didn’t. There was a–,” you blushed bright red and lowered your voice even further, “–a stretch, but it was pleasurable. I didn’t notice the blood until you did.”

Your sister was not willing to let it go. A trait among the women in your family that you’d failed to inherit.

“Well, how large was he?”

“Caris,” you urged her to stop. Yet, you knew your plea was useless, so you quickly approximated your lover’s size with your hands.

“Oh that definitely should have hurt!” Caris squawked in disbelief.

“I’m not talking about this anymore!” you proclaimed.

And that really should have been the end of it. Yet when you, Caris, and your parents made your weekly tribute at Apollo’s temple the following day the priests and acolytes were all abuzz. The god had appeared yesterday.

Initially, you had been as exhilarated as the rest of them, yet your stomach dropped and face blanched as the priest who had seen Apollo described him. Inky curls, olive skin, dark eyes with a strong brow and prominent nose. The god possessed an undoubtedly commanding presence, but there was a playfulness, an exuberance to him.

You and Caris traded bewildered glances. The priest’s depiction of Apollo matched up rather perfectly with Phoebus, the young man you’d stumbled across when you’d decided to take a walk through the forest rather than immediately returning home after your visit to the temple.

“It’s him,” she asserted lowly as you all headed back home.

“Shhhh,” you tried to speed up and away from her, a stupid idea because Caris had longer legs than you. When she inevitably caught up with you two seconds later, you insisted, “Don’t be silly.”

“Apollo is the god of healing and diseases. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that he could minimize any pain for his lovers? Especially the virgins?”

“Caris! Enough!”

The vehemence of your demand had caught your mother’s attention. While in the moment you were able to extinguish any suspicions she had, eventually Caris’s big mouth betrayed you. You had expected her to rage. To punish you. You, an unmarried, unbetrothed woman, had engaged in an activity that was the most important gift in your dowry to your future husband. You readied yourself for the insults and reproaches your mother would hurl at you for becoming damaged goods as a marriage prospect.

Yet, she all but kissed your feet when she found out. She rejoiced, then immediately marched you back to the temple to meet with the clerics. That was when the humiliation began. You were examined to ensure that you had in fact been deflowered. As if that hadn’t been degrading enough, you then were stripped and prayed over for hours, leering men begging Apollo for a sign to confirm that you were indeed the one the god had chosen to ravish. The manner in which the priests brusquely groped and prodded at you couldn’t have been more different than the way the deity himself had treated you, the god they claimed to serve.

When a sign didn’t immediately appear, doubt had set in. A mortal woman winning the attention of their patron god was the most momentous thing to happen in your village in generations, so if you were lying? Eternal shame. For you and your family.

You were kept overnight in the temple in a nicely appointed room, but forbidden to see anyone. You cried yourself to sleep, yet much to your relief, at dawn, Apollo provided the confirmation the priests needed and you were allowed to go. Of course, by the time you returned home, everyone knew.

After having a bit of time to contemplate it, you realized that it wasn't so much the fact that every single person in your life began treating you differently that unmoored and overwhelmed you, it was how swiftly it had all happened. It hadn’t been your choice.

You were required at the temple daily now for rituals. Thankfully, the fact you’d lain with a god disqualified you from becoming an acolyte, you were still needed for “veneration” purposes. You soon deduced this meant that the priests simply wanted to keep you around to curry favor with Apollo.

You hated it. You were the only one present in the chamber currently who had ever meaningfully interacted with the deity, yet you were reduced to a glorified altar ornament for their rites.

The only way to weather these hours-long sessions was to recall what brought you here in the first place. You retreated into your memory of that fateful afternoon when you met Apollo.

It’d been a beautiful day, and you were more at ease in nature. The hustle and bustle of the village and the imposing columns of the temple felt suffocating to you.

You’d heard him first before you saw him. The most beautiful music wafted toward you. You couldn’t have turned away if you’d wanted to. It was as if the mixture of the melody he played and the tune he sang had entranced your feet to carry you to the source of the sound. You hadn’t heard the song before, but inexplicably, it had an odd air of familiarity within your ears.

The sight of him initially seemed to be a joke. He had to be a mirage of some sort. A song so gorgeous coming from a man who was even more dazzling? Had you tripped and hit your head on your stroll from the temple? Surely you were dreaming.

His song ceased when he sensed your presence.

“I’m sorry,” your apology tumbled from your lips at once. “Please don’t stop on my account, I didn’t mean to–I’ll leave. I apologize for intruding.”

Before you could tuck and run, he called to you.

“Don’t! There’s no need.”

You froze, and slowly pivoted back to face him. He’d gotten closer to you, which was terrible for your clarity of mind. In addition to his good looks, he radiated an irresistible air of power, and his proximity only compelled you to submit to it more.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the man before you turned boyish and shy before he queried, “Would you like to hear more?”

“Please.”

It was the first time you were treated to his smile. It reduced you to a blushing fool with a startling amount of efficiency.

He motioned to a nearby boulder for you to take a seat on. You obeyed instantly. He took his place on a nearby log and resumed plucking at his lyre.

His song was haunting, beguiling, and hopeful all at once. His voice lilted over the lyre’s strings. He sang in a language you didn’t understand, and couldn’t begin to identify, but you were captivated all the same.

You were slightly embarrassed, though not at all surprised, that there were tears staining your cheeks when he concluded.

He grinned dopily when he saw you dabbing at your eyes, “That bad, huh?’

“Stop,” You chuckled through your tears. “You have a gift.”

He shrugged off your compliment with a frustrating amount of nonchalance.

You needed to know more about this mysterious man. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m merely passing through.”

“Are you a minstrel then?”

He smirked as if you’d said something inadvertently humorous to him. “I suppose you could call me that.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“Phoebus.”

“Have you traveled much, Phoebus?” you inquired.

“I have.”

“Could you tell me about the places you’ve been? I’ve never left this utterly boring village.”

“I will, if you tell me what keeps you here. Is it your village’s association with the deity?”

You cocked your head in confusion. It was an odd question to you. You strove to answer diplomatically, “While I wouldn’t say that Apollo is driving me away, I wouldn't say he’s keeping me here either.”

Again, that secretive little smirk tugged at the corners of Phoebus’s quite luscious mouth. “I see. He’s vastly overrated isn’t he?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go so far to say that!” you attempt to course-correct. “We’re blessed with his patronage.”

A mischievous glint danced behind Phoebus’s dark, magnetic eyes. “Say no more. Now, where do you want to hear about first?”

He proceeded to regale you with tales of the most wondrous places. Of seas and mountains and monsters and the divine. You got lost within his stories. You wished you could live within them.

It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to accompany him on a stroll when he suggested it. Typically warnings would blare in your head - you must not stray any further with this handsome stranger, he could sully you, or worse, harm you, but you felt entirely safe with Phoebus. At the time, it had been impossible to put your finger on why you’d felt so. Now, it was abundantly clear: you’d been in the presence of one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. Still, he chatted and wandered with you in a remarkably similar manner to mortal men your age.

When you two came across a river and Phoebus proposed a swim, your cheeks had burned with sheepishness. He hadn’t mocked or derided you, he simply offered to turn away while you undressed and submerged yourself into the water to afford you some modesty. However, Phoebus hadn’t been quite as bashful as you had been when disrobing. In fact, the flourish with which he all but flung off his chiton led you to believe he wanted you to watch him, rather than avert your eyes like you immediately did once you realized what he was doing. You hadn’t been quick enough however, and had caught a delectable glimpse of his toned chest, thick thighs, and what you deduced was a well-endowed groin.

You only dared look back up when you heard the splash signaling his entrance into the river. He resurfaced with his black curls matted and slicked back against his skull, an impish grin on his lips. He reached for you and you floated to him without hesitation. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, even though you two were the only people around for at least a mile.

“You may,” you granted him permission in a similarly hushed tone.

Your lips drifted together, and then it was as if you had become a feral animal let out of its cage. You couldn’t get enough. Your lips moved against his ravenously, your legs wrapping around his torso on instinct when he moved toward the river’s bank. While the press of his arousal against your hip was certainly a foreign sensation, you weren’t afraid. He deposited you on the warm silt for a moment before retrieving your tunic and laying it under you, a makeshift bed for what was about to come.

It was then that you confessed. You didn’t know what to expect once the words left your mouth - judgment, indifference, a perverse excitement - but Phoebus smiled softly, and nodded his head, as if he’d expected it.

“Then I shall show you how beautiful pleasure can be,” he vowed.

He took his time, dipping his head between your breasts to mouth at your pert nipples, then lower to between your legs. When the tip of his nose drew a featherlight line along the seam of your sex, you gasped. You may have been a virgin, but you weren't totally naive. Caris had been betrothed recently and regaled you constantly about her rendezvous with her soon-to-be husband, but she had never mentioned this. It was as if Phoebus was sending you flying through the clouds, straight to Olympus, with only his tongue. Your fingers had wound into his damp curls to hold on for dear life as you fell apart for him.

It wasn’t until your pleasure crested that he slid a thick, suspiciously uncalloused finger through your folds and pressed it inside. He cooed comforts to you when you tightened around him, your body’s first reaction to try and expel the intrusion. One digit became two, and after a while, he guided your hand to manhood, showing you how to grip him, coaxing and coaching you on how to bring him back to hardness.

Caris had always advised you to shut your eyes and not to look at a man’s member for too long, since it wasn’t the most pleasant of sights. She was wrong in this instance. Every bit of Phoebus was mesmerizing, and his erect cock was no different from the rest of him. His encouragements echoed in your ears as if he was speaking them to you in the present.

“Yes, that’s it sunshine,” he’d panted, “You can grip me tighter, oh, that is lovely. You are a fast learner, aren’t you? I’m going to make you feel so very good.”

Becoming one had been the most intense sensation you had ever endured. It was all too much, yet you wanted more. You keened when Phoebus had draped your legs over his broad shoulders to penetrate you deeper, your skin suddenly feeling too tight. It was too much, it was too much, you’d chanted to yourself. Phoebus’s girth was unrelenting, but at the same time you never wanted it to end.

Your lover was an attuned one, so when he observed that the position was perhaps too vigorous for his little virgin, he’d rolled you over so you were straddling his ample hips and speared on his desire.

“Here, grasp onto my shoulders,” he instructed you, “so you can control the depth and the pace, yes?”

Phoebus had long fucked the words out of you, so your reply came as a breathless, frantic nod. You wished to thank him, truly, you couldn’t have asked for a more considerate man to share this with for the first time. Instead, you did as he said and found a tempo and pattern of undulating your hips against his that suited you.

Phoebus couldn’t help himself, he began meeting your pelvis, thrusting up into you. You howled in pleasure, and his gaze instantly searched out yours to confirm those were good sounds instead of pained ones. He didn’t look away once he had found the answer he was hoping for in your eyes. Those deep brown irises had bore into yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more convinced you were they held galaxies.

You were so caught up in Phoebus’s gaze that you didn’t notice he’d snuck a hand in between your bodies until the pad of his finger connected with your sensitive bud.

“There you go sunshine, let go for me, you can let go.”

You felt as if you were going to explode out of your body as Phoebus continued to repeat those sweet-nothings as if they were a prayer.

“Let go for me darling, I know you can, let go–”

“You may go.”

The high priest's imperious tone snapped you out of your reverie. No longer were you in the forest with Phoe–Apollo, but rather the towering temple consecrated to him. Your relief that you could leave superseded your annoyance at being interrupted. You desperately needed to return to the privacy of your bedroom for a bit of self-relief.

Perhaps it was because you were in such a rush that you didn’t initially notice him as you flew out of the side entrance of the temple. It was his voice that stopped you.

“You’re not with child.”

“Holy Hera! You frightened me!” You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart.

“So you can stop fretting." Clearly, Apollo wasn’t particularly remorseful about the scare he'd given you. "Though to be honest, I’m surprised you’re relieved. Most women, beings far more divine than yourself, are usually thrilled to carry my offspring. They clamber for the chance and flaunt their bellies if they conceive.”

“I…I could not withstand the attention, I do not think. Nor the pomp and the responsibility.”

“The priests would help with the burden.”

“Yes but the child’s father wouldn’t,” you pointed out. “As great an honor to mother a demigod would be, I would prefer a…someone to experience it all with.”

Apollo nodded. “That I could not give you.”

“I know,” There was no resentment or disappointment in your voice. “I would never expect you to.”

“That must be why I yearn for you still,” Apollo mused, “why I cannot stay away.”

“I...my family is expecting me.”

Apollo was not accustomed to being refused. He fixed you with a look of amused incredulity after you spoke.

“I do not want them to know. Or anyone for that matter.” You realized how ungrateful you sounded. To spurn a god was to write your own death sentence. “Not that I don’t desire you, or that I wish to disregard your desires–”

“You want me all to yourself.” When you opened your mouth to amend his statement, he stopped you. “It’s alright. I want you all to myself too.”

“You have me,” you averred. “However, when the priests and my mother get involved…”

“I understand. I do not wish for fanfare either.” He pulled you close to him. Your breath hitched at the press of his hardness into your hip through both of your chitons.

Your mouths were millimeters apart. Instead of closing the distance, you asked, “Why did you tell me a false name when we first met?”

He smiled that bright, beatific grin that warmed you from the inside out. “I suppose for the same reason that you want to keep this a secret. If you believe your family is meddling, then mine is…”

Apollo didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You giggled, a sound he much enjoyed. At last, he captured your lips with his. Kissing Apollo melted you, you became a molten, liquid being when he pressed his lips to yours.

As transcendent as the kiss was, the god could feel that you were holding back. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

You were not proud of the flip your stomach did at the pet name. Once you regained control of yourself, you replied, “Nothing, nothing at all. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, simply tell me what is bothering you,” he countered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

When you hesitated, his fingers tilted your head up so your eyes met. “I won’t be angry.”

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your complaint. It was funny, you’d spent your entire life beseeching Apollo for this or that in the temple, yet when he was standing right in front of you, eager to know what troubled you, you couldn’t find the words.

“Why me?” It was a deflection from Apollo’s question, but still a valid inquiry.

He chuckled. “You’re asking me to apply logic to attraction, something inherently instinctual,” Apollo pointed out. “Though if I had to try to put reasoning to it, I would say it was because you are kind, beautiful, you have a tight, juicy little cunt…” he cupped your mound to demonstrate his point. You gasped at the contact. “...and when I’m with you, I feel the most like a mortal that I've felt in decades.”

Mortal? Was that a bad thing? Were you unintentionally insulting the deity?

Apollo was quick to assuage you, “I enjoy it, sunshine. The immediacy, the urgency. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You sought to return his kind words but what was there to say? It was obvious why a mortal such as yourself would fall for a god.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What vexes you?’

“I…after we…our first meeting,” you struggled to select the right words, “the priests wanted to corroborate that we’d lain together, and their methods were…they were not very gentle.”

Your lover’s eyes turned stormy. No sooner had you told him did a crack sound from what you guessed was inside the temple.

“No, please! Don’t hurt anyone!” you begged him just as swiftly.

Apollo’s face softened slightly. “Even after they violated you, you show them compassion. I swear to you I won’t, however, I must ensure that you, and by extension, myself are treated with respect.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. Gods were not known for their mercy, so the fact he was willing to compromise with you at all was a victory.

Apollo pulled you into another kiss that stole your breath. “If I cannot have you now…then tonight. When the moon peaks in the sky.”

“How will I find you?”

A smirk played across his lips. “Don’t fret, sunshine. I shall ensure it.”

A/N: Sooooo…what do we think?! 🫣 A little more flowery than my usual but I just had too much fun with this and now I have ideas for a few installments 🤦‍♀️

READ PART TWO

Tagging a few folks who might be interested:

@bitch4marvel @luciannadraven33 @oof-its-roobi @twwcs, @ninebluehearts @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction , @romanarose @dameronscopilot

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sweetest of Exiles - Three

A/N: We have reached the end, my loves. As always, all my love to anyone and anyone who read/liked/reblogged and commented on previous chapters. I love you all very much. I allude to a few things that actually happen in ASoIaF lore, so if you have any questions, please just ask!

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (no Y/N), Oberyn Martell x Pero Tovar, Pero Tovar x F!Reader, Ellaria Sand x Oberyn Martell

Warnings for this Chapter: Too much backstory, angst, a threesome, oral (male receiving, female receiving), my uncontrollable need for a happy ending.

Word Count: 6.3k (I need to be stopped)

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites​) 

Or read on Ao3 here!

CHAPTER THREE: The Blessed

The sight of Qohor on the horizon almost put tears in her eyes.

She rested her head on her folded arms in the window of the carriage, and watched it grow closer and closer. Home. She was finally home.

But her eyes drifted to the prince and her mercenary as they led the small group toward the city gates. They were quite the pair. And, at least for a few stolen moments, they were all hers.

Most of Oberyn’s company had stayed in Myr, now newly employed by Orestes who had been catapulted to near-royalty status with his wild tales of how his household put down a foreign threat. If his ego had been bruised by her refusing his last-minute proposal, hastily given at the gates of the city and just as easily rejected, he did not show it as he waved them off with a small smile.

Orestes would be fine—she knew it. But his life no longer involved her, no matter his attempts to keep her at his side. No, her future remained unclear. To her, anyway. Her god had not permitted her visions of her own life—perhaps that was for the best.

Again, her eyes drifted to the pair of Oberyn and Pero. And what a pair they were—handsome and startlingly similar in so many ways but different in so many others. While she had been blessed by her god, she considered herself doubly blessed simply for having this pair of men in her life.

The large gates opened and she pulled in a hearty lungful of air, tasting the familiar spices and letting the hint of burnt and cut wood tickle her nose. Nothing compared. And now she had smelt different cities, seen and tasted what they had to offer—she knew nothing could compare. And while she could travel again, she knew that no other place would replace her home.

She called for the carriage to slow to a stop in front of a familiar stone-sided bazaar stall. It was hardly the most eye-catching stall on the cobbled road but it was her favorite. She opened the door before the carriage was completely stopped and she leapt out, pushing by a few possible buyers, and found her father waiting for her with open arms.

His familiar and wonderful arms wrapped around her and he murmured her name into her ear, the word tinged with relief and love. “I shall not have you leave my sight for as long as there is breath in my lungs, my darling.”

“And I shall agree to that, papa.” She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to his grizzled cheek. She turned at the sound of two more people entering the stall and smiled. “Lord Ollo, may I present Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell—and, of course, you remember Pero Tovar.”

She felt her father stiffen, just for a moment, before he stepped in front of her and greeted the two men. Interesting.

**

She tried to tell herself that it did not hurt when Pero turned away from her after supper, telling her father he wanted to retrace his childhood footsteps with Oberyn. She tried to tell herself that it did not hurt when he was not in the room her father provided for him when she went to speak to him in the middle of the night. She tried to tell herself that it did not hurt when he did not even blink when she presented him with a blue rose and asked if he remembered that day in the forest.

She told herself it did not hurt. But it did.

At least Oberyn was still able to make her smile. He always kissed her goodnight (whether he visited her bedchambers or not) and pulled her into a dance in the cobbled streets when a handful of bards broke into song on a crowded street when she had been showing the prince around the expansive city. “He does not know what he does, Petal. Give him time.”

And perhaps she was being childish, hoping that Pero seeing his old home would bring back his smiles and his affinity for her company, too. But she only nodded at Oberyn’s suggestion and let him lead her in another dance before they set off toward another part of the city, promising him the best spiced hippocras this side of the Narrow Sea. The threat of the zealots had been dealt with—she should be happy. She survived. Her father’s secrets were safe, too.

But when it was quiet on her fifth night back in her own rooms, she knew she could not wait any longer. After pulling on her dressing gown, she sought out her father in his chambers—unsurprised to see him whittling at a chunk of wood instead of sleeping with the late hour. He had not kept regular sleeping hours since her mother had disappeared.

“You should be sleeping, my darling.”

“As should you, papa.” She settled into the cushioned chair beside his working table with a sigh. “Has Pero spoken with you?”

Her father looked at her for a moment before setting down his tools and the bit of wood that was starting to look like a serpent. “He has been cordial, as he always has been. Possibly a bit more unpolished than he had been as a boy—but that was to be expected. It is not often that one meets a well-mannered sellsword.” He almost smiled but it did not last. “I know he has been…different.”

“Has he told you why he left?” She asked, needing to know. Surely her father knew. Right?

But Ollo’s mouth set in a familiar, hard line and he looked away from her. “I had to do it, darling.”

She felt her face crumple at his words. “What do you mean? You were the reason-”

“I sent him away. It was for the best.”

“But…why? Why did you send him away?”

Her father stared at her, lips still set in a firm line before a long breath. “Do you not remember… the day your mother left. You, my darling, hurt Pero. Nearly took his eye.”

“No! No, I…” the words died on her tongue as she tried, tried so hard to remember the day her mother left. Her lady mother had pressed the blue rose petals to her skin and then she had escaped to the forest with Pero, not knowing that would be the last time she would look upon her mother’s face. He had been so sweet. So full of smiles. So different from the hardened man who still held her heart.

She watched the petals float away with the wind and felt something warm slide down her spine—it reminded her of her mother’s calming touch, soothing her when night terrors would keep her awake.

“Petal,” Pero whispered. And she knew it was for her, a name just for her.

But then the gentle warmth turned to a scorching heat and her vision turned dark.

The next thing she remembered was waking on the forest floor, a gentle sprinkling of dew on her cheeks and Pero nowhere to be found.

“I doubt he remembers anything,” her father said as he shook his head. “He stumbled in, face covered in blood. He muttered something about petals and then slumped over on the floor.” He paused. “Just before he completely lost consciousness, he murmured your name and how your eyes had gone white.” Her father paused again. “I knew then what had happened. It had happened with your mother, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother’s gift, like yours, needed control. She needed to control it or it would control her. Her control slipped. Just once.”

“What happened?” She sat forward in her chair, needing to know what he had seen.

“It looked like someone, something else had inhabited her skin. Only for a moment. She held out a hand and then I felt the room shake. Like the world was trying to break itself open. And then she took a breath and the shaking stopped.”

“Is that all?”

Her father’s mouth once again set in a familiar firm line. “My darling girl, she leveled two dozen trees—cracked them from the trunks without leaving the room. And after she came back to herself, she told me that she had no idea what had transpired. All she remembered was darkness and a sensation akin to sticking her hand in my forge’s fire. And while she had sworn she had not ever done that before, I remembered it happening. It was the night you were born. The entire city shook—I know it—screaming with you as you entered the world.”

She felt her face fall.

“You toppled part of the city with your first breaths, my darling.” Ollo reached out to gently grasp his daughter’s hands and squeezed. “Your mother was always very careful with teaching you about control.”

“Yes, I remember that.” And she did. Her mother had been adamant to sit her down every day to teach her when to realize something was spiraling, her control was slipping—anything like that. And she had always thought she had learned those lessons. But apparently not.

“Something within you, reached out grabbed at whatever living thing was closest to you—needing blood to flourish. It just happened to be Pero.”

Tears stung her eyes and she looked away from her father, not wanting him to see anymore of her shame. “So you sent him away. To protect him.”

“To protect you both. I knew you would never forgive yourself if you had hurt him again—or taken his life. And I knew he would have willingly given anything to you without thought. I had to separate you to keep you both alive—at least until I was sure you could protect yourself.” He shook his head. “I considered it another small blessing that neither one of you remembered what had transpired. Your memories would not be tainted.” Ollo looked like he wanted to say more but was trying to read her face before he continued. He must have seen her heartbreak, because with a final, defeated sigh, he spoke again. “Your mother left because your power was growing—evolving far faster than she had ever seen or heard, even within her own bloodline. She needed to know why. She wanted to do everything in her power to make sure her daughter, her most prized creation, was safe and protected. Even if it was from yourself.”

“But she never returned,” she said. “She never came back.”

Ollo nodded. “But you are old enough now—you have been old enough for quite some time, actually, but I did not want to admit that to myself—to know what happened to her.” He stood and left the room, returning a few moments later with a roll of parchment. A broken golden seal was stamped on it, curled horns and crossed swords. It was her family’s crest. The parchment felt brittle under her fingers as she took it from her father and she carefully unfurled it.

Within the first handful of words, she had to press the back of her hand to her mouth to keep the cry at bay. Her mother—her fierce, beautiful, powerful mother—had set off toward Asshai in search of answers. Answers as to why her little daughter could do such unimaginable things with ease. Why her magic was growing at a rate not thought of in centuries. But she did not find answers. What she found instead, were a group of zealots, also demanding answers from their bloodthirsty god. And their god had required blood, magical blood, and Valyrian Steel. While Daeryssa had evaded them for a moment, she wrote in her missive that she knew her time was limited. After all, she had seen it.

My dear Ollo, I only wish to have been able to look upon your sweet face again and watch our daughter grow strong and beautiful. I am sorry, my love. I know I will see you again in the next life.

With a shaking hand, she handed the parchment back to her father and he quietly slipped away to hide the bit of paper again. She stared out the window, watching the trees sway in the breeze. “I have ruined your life. Pero’s life. Mother’s life. What good is this gift if it only breeds heartbreak?”

Her father’s roughened hands suddenly reached out to grab hers, the familiar scratchy warmth of his hold nearly made tears come to her eyes. “You, my darling, are powerful. Never forget that—and what you are capable of is not a burden or only capable of destruction. You are the heir to your mother’s blood. To her power—the power her family has carried for centuries. Before the Doom. Before the Dragons—and after. And your mother loved you—loves you still, as I do. What she did for you, I know she would have done a thousand times over if it meant you lived, if it meant you smiled.”

She shook her head, feeling the first tears slip down her cheeks. “But I-”

“No, darling. No. You are powerful. You are blessed. Never think to forsake it. He leads us down a path we must follow. I am just sorry that this road has been so cruel to you and Pero. You deserve kindness. Both of you.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, like he used to do when she was little and had crawled into his lap to watch him work. “I will speak with Pero. But I believe you should as well.” He patted her cheek and gently wiped her tears away. “But first, you must sleep, darling.”

**

“Keep your eyes closed, Petal,” Oberyn hummed into her ear.

She could only laugh and do as she was told, letting Oberyn tug her forward with a gentle grip on her hands.

Oberyn had taken to Qohor easily—and he was fond of almost everything he could find within the city and its famed forest. But she knew the prince missed home, missed Dorne, and his family fiercely. So, she let him do whatever he wanted, let him show her whatever treasure he had discovered and would delight in it with him—even if she had grown up with those little treats, trinkets, and experiences he found so amusing. She would deny him nothing. She only cared to have him smile.

But today, she could not discern what path he was leading her on—and that was a feat in and of itself. A root catching her foot made her stumble but Oberyn quickly righted her footing and kissed her hands with a laugh. “Careful, Petal. I will not have you hurting yourself.”

She only held his hands tighter and let him continue to lead her forward to some unknown destination. But, soon enough, he pulled her to a stop with a laugh.

“Open your eyes, Petal. We are here.”

She did as she was told and had to blink against the sunlight as it streamed through the thick canopy of the forest. Moss-covered stone and soft grass gave way to large, ancient trunks of trees. Truly, it could have been anywhere in the forest—a forest she had grown up in and loved since she could walk on her own—but this place, this one place of sunshine, was magical.

But maybe it was the fact that Pero was nervously pacing on the edge of a finely women blanket that was stacked with a bit of food and an abundance of wine. Pero had shed his usual armor and was left in his worn, gray tunic and linen breeches. He looked…soft and nervous.

“I almost thought you would have left us with crumbs, Tovar. I am surprised there is still food left.”

Tovar’s pacing ceased and he frowned but his dark eyes quickly flitted to her before his shoulders dropped. “You’re here.”

She felt herself smiling at that, the thought that he did not think she would come if he was present was funny. But she bit back her laugh. “Of course I’m here. I don’t believe either one of us can tell our prince ‘no’ under any circumstances.”

“It is part of my charm,” Oberyn said with a wink in her direction before gently pushing her toward the blanket. “Come now, Petal. Our Pero has managed to raid the best taverns and alehouse to bring us the best feast imaginable.”

As she settled on the blanket, she held out a hand toward Pero who still stood stock-still at the edge. Perhaps she could have brushed aside another rejection, but she hoped she would not have to—after all, he had been the one to set this fete up. For her. For them.

And all her worries were washed away when he placed his calloused hand in hers and let her tug him onto the blanket at her side. “What would you suggest first, Pero? It all looks delicious.”

And so, the three of them settled in, partaking in the admittedly delicious foods and wines Pero had procured and soon they were laughing and speaking and smiling as if there had never been any hurt or confusion between them. And perhaps, one day it could always be like that. But the alcohol continued to flow and each of them, she knew, were starting to feel it and their tongues loosened with each new sip. Inhibitions slipped. Laughs grew louder. And she let herself fall against Pero’s side as Oberyn regaled them with a tale about evading Yronwood’s guards on his way to visit his lady-wife’s chambers. Pero easily adjusted her, letting her rest against his muscular thigh and his fingers trailed, almost absentmindedly, down and across the exposed skin of her collarbone as he would snicker at Oberyn’s stories. “You are a braggart, princeling.”

And perhaps she would have also poked fun at Oberyn if she hadn’t been so transfixed with Pero’s gentle touch. Her eyes fluttered close in a wine-fueled haze, letting herself truly enjoy the easy touch of the man she had loved for most of her life.

“I am a Prince of Dorne!” Oberyn cheered.

“Did you have me haul this out here like a poor pack mule so you could tell us these ridiculous stories?”

Oberyn hmphed and almost glared at Pero but a teasing smile softened the expression. “I had a plan. You two are impossible. I could not sit idly by while you both sulk and cry like children. I love you both. You love each other. You just need a bit of guidance.” He waved a hand at the blanket and discarded bottles.

She looked up at Pero to see him looking down at her, fingers paused their ministrations on her skin.

“Of course, not everything will be fixed with a bit of wine,” said Oberyn, ever the expert. “But it is good to let yourself feel something.” Oberyn leaned forward, smile growing, and stole the last bit of overpriced but delicious hippocras from the jug she had been clutching to her side. “Love is simply the best thing to feel. And if anyone in this world deserves to feel it, it is you two.”

“We love you too, Oberyn,” she said, knowing it was true. And Pero hummed his agreement.

“Of course,” he replied with a smirk. “I am easy to love.”

With that strange admission, they continued to drink and eat. But now, touches started to linger. Gazes grew heated. And then Oberyn kissed her as she sat nearly in Pero’s lap. She felt him smile against her mouth before he stole another kiss and sat back on his heels with a wink. But his heated gaze quickly turned to Pero. “Kiss her, Pero. Kiss her as if your life depends on it. And perhaps it does.”

Pero’s hands were warm and calloused as they gently framed her face. She could have sworn his fingers were shaking before she pushed forward to press her lips against his. And he tasted…like paradise.

it would be impossible to know when the laces were starting to be undone, or who slipped their tunic off first. But soon they were bare and hands were grasping and touching and groping.

The haze of the wine and the euphoria of their touch had her gasping and moaning—even before Oberyn’s talented fingers found their way between her thighs. And then Pero’s hand was joining as his mouth dragged down the column of her throat. She bucked up into their touch, only earning a hand pressing down against her stomach and a familiar chuckle in her ear. “Patience, Petal. We will take care of you.”

“But I…” her breath stuttered. “I want to take care you, too.”

Pero carefully pulled his hand back and swatted at Oberyn until he could press her down into the blanket, warm hands pushing her legs apart before leaning down to lick against her pussy and Oberyn devoured the moan she let out.

It did not take long for her to scream in ecstasy against the prince’s mouth—she had never come so fast.

In a daze, she turned her head and took Oberyn’s cock into her mouth, bobbing her head down as much as she was able, and his answering groans were near music to her ears. But soon—too soon—his hands were gently pulling her off of him and licked into her mouth as Pero finally stopped licking at her, and trailed a line of kisses up her stomach to lathe attention at her breasts.

“Can you take us both, Petal?”

She could only nod against Oberyn’s mouth at his question—she would do anything either of them asked.

And carefully, with a bit of reverence in each of their touches, the pair positioned her between them on her knees. Pero was at her front, Oberyn at her back. And she shuttered as something cool was dripped down her back.

It was all in a haze, how they moved to keep her comfortable but still rob the air from her lungs. And she was so full—so deliciously full. Four hands cradled her softly as she adjusted and words of encouragement were whispered against her neck or kisses pressed to her cheeks. It was all so…beautifully stimulating. So wonderfully filled.

And then they began to move.

They were everywhere at once, devouring every sense she had. All of it, all of her, belonged to them in that moment. And she loved it. Loved the slow and harsh thrusts they gave. Loved the slide of their tongues against hers or the sting of their teeth against her skin.

She felt a tightness in her core that she had never before experienced, and she gasped into Pero’s mouth as his hips continued to thrust and Oberyn matched his tempo.

“You’re doing so well, Petal.” Oberyn bit out a curse against her throat. “You feel like heaven.”

“Oh please,” she breathed out, “please-please-please.” She did not know what she was begging for, but the pair readily gave it. Moving their hips in tandem, they dragged her higher and higher until tears were pricking at her eyes and she screamed with her release, feeling the coil snap and bite. It was soon followed by a beautiful, heady warmth and her men groaning into her skin and biting at her neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” Pero whispered against her sweat-slick skin. “So beautiful.”

“And so are you, Pero. You’re beautiful,” she hummed in return. She turned her head and managed to steal a kiss against Oberyn’s panting mouth. “And you are, too, my prince.”

And again, carefully and with veneration, they pulled away from her and let her rest against the rumpled blanket. A cold cloth was pressed between her thighs, cleaning her up as kisses upon kisses were pressed against her heated skin and her slick, smiling lips.

“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,” Pero chanted. “My beautiful Petal.”

**

Oberyn was quiet. That in and of itself was strange—but the rigidity of his posture was even stranger. A small strip of parchment was crumpled in his hand. Something was wrong.

Carefully, slowly, she approached him and slipped her fingers around his, taking the parchment from his grasp. The horror she read in such few lines had her cupping a hand over her mouth to hide her gasp. His sister, her babies, his uncle—all of them gone in brutal ways. And now the men responsible were ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

“I must go back to Westeros,” was all Oberyn said.

She only nodded. She would never deny him his wrath.

And so, their time together came to a close. She had known it was coming, and Pero seemed to know it, too. When he learned of Oberyn’s decision to leave, he only nodded and held her as she cried. He was fond of holding her, it seemed. Even when he did not speak. And she did wish for him to speak—she still had questions that needed answers—but she had to be content with this for now.

He continued to hold her, arms wrapped around her waist, as they met Oberyn at the city gates to see him off. The gift she had brought was heavy in her arms as she watched Oberyn tie his packs to the horse. Tears gathered in her eyes as she held the gift up toward her prince and he took the wrapped package with a nod and untied it carefully. The spear glinted in the sunlight and the wooden handle was carved with a snake, its open maw biting at the metal. It was Valyrian Steel, forged and constructed only for him. “A gift for you. A token of my and my father’s thanks for all you have done.”

She smiled as Oberyn took the spear and twirled it just once, before nodding, the barest trace of a smile on his lips. She considered it a small victory, seeing him smile once more. Just before he left, she pressed a kiss to Oberyn’s lips and then Pero did the same.

“Be safe, my prince.”

The Prince of Dorne only nodded. “I will see you again, my friends. I promise you that.” And then…he was gone.

**

It took some time for her to find Pero in the bazaar. He had taken to working with her father, learning the trade and secret art behind Valyrian Steel. While he still scared some of the Qohorik people, he was gentle with the little ones who wandered away from their mothers and into her father’s stall. His sword had been retired in all but oath. And he seemed to become even more pensive and quiet after Oberyn’s departure. And it almost broke her heart all over again. But she was tired of being hurt. And she wanted answers. So, on the third night after Oberyn left, she slipped into his chambers.

She kneeled on his featherbed and smiled when he startled awake and reached for a blade she knew was hiding beneath his pillow. She pulled it from his grasp and set it aside as he blinked against the dim candlelight of his room.

“Tell me, Pero. Tell me why you left me all those years ago. I cannot bear it any longer. If you must leave me again, leave me as Oberyn did, please give me a reason. That is all I ask. You know you have my heart, I only wish to know yours.”

Pero frowned. “You’ve chosen quite the hour for this question, Petal. Could it not have waited until morning?” But he continued on without waiting for her answer, but his dark eyes fell to the blankets across his waist. “My family’s name had been tarnished by my father’s deeds. What more would having a woodcutter as a son do? It was not as if I could marry and help my family’s prospects. The least I could do was give them a bit of coin to survive. So, I came here and found work with your family. And then…” his dark eyes finally raised to meet hers. “My priorities changed. I only ever wanted to prove myself to you, to your father, to know I was worthy to be at your side. But then I was sent away. Like a little beggar. I knew then that I had been deceiving myself in thinking that I could ever call you mine.”

“But I am. I am yours. I always have been and always will be—even if you send me away and curse my name. I am yours. It was my fault you were sent away. You did nothing wrong. My father adores you. Mother loved you. This was my doing. I…hurt you, Pero. My father sent you away to keep you alive. I did not have control.” She reached up and placed her hand against his cheek, thumb catching the end of the scar below his eye. “Your blood—it called to me. I did not, could not control it. And I hurt you. Father suspects you do not remember it.”

Pero shook his head but she did not remove her hand from his face, unable to part from his warmth again.

“I have only the faintest memory of it and, truthfully, it may be only shaped by my father’s account of the incident. But it was my fault. It was me. If anything had been different, if I had been better, you could have stayed.” Tears once again stung at her eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”

He was quiet for a moment before, ever so quietly, he said, “there is nothing to forgive. We have both wasted enough time, wouldn’t you agree?”

She could only nod before a happy sob wrenched its way out of her throat and she threw her arms around him, pressing her lips against his over and over again, uncaring of his rumbling laughter. His grip tightened, nearly to the point of pain, before she was lifted off her feet and spun around.

They were suddenly ten years younger and without a care in the world.

“I love you, Petal,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I love you, too.”

She had Pero in her hands again. And she would never let him go.

**

Years passed. And while the pair did take a handful of travels outside Qohor, they always returned to Qohor and the city’s comforting forest and dark stone. When the smallest Tovar came screaming into the world exactly a year after they said their quiet vows in the familiar shadow of the forest, they all decided that their travels would not take them from their home until they knew that their child, a precocious little boy who loved to sit on his grandfather’s lap and watch him work when he was not tugging on his mother’s skirts for attention, could fend for himself.

Another two years passed and another babe was born. This time, they had a little girl. Pero—just as he had been with their son—was smitten the moment he set eyes on their dark hair and gentle eyes. Like her mother, the little one inherited the gift.

She felt tears coming to her eyes when Pero rolled toward her in their overstuffed featherbed and grasped her hands. “I swear to you, our little girl will not suffer as we did. Our boy will know only happiness. On my life, on my blood, I swear it.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, knowing his words to be true.

Her gift flourished with Pero at her side and her children’s laughter ringing in her ears. There was peace in her life, for the most part.

Ravens from Dorne came often. Oberyn was keen on retaining his friendship with the pair and they were always happy to receive his missives and send a lengthy letter back in return. There was a certain anger in most of his letters now, or sadness. Even when he spoke of his love, Ellaria, or announced the birth of his daughter Elia, she and Pero knew he was still grieving. He would always grieve. The prince’s heart was too big to truly heal.

The latest raven arrived on a cold morning, its wings dotted with dew. She stroked under the bird’s neck and it flapped its wings in thanks before flying off after she untied the small bit of parchment from around its leg.

She unfurled it with a sigh, recognizing the handwriting instantly. As soon as she was finished reading it, she found Pero in the small forge outside their home and handed it over. She watched him read it before throwing the paper into the fire, its contents meant to be a secret.

Pero held the sword he was forging into a tub of water and looked at her over the rising steam. “We must go to Braavos.”

The children were happy to spend time alone with their grandfather but did cling to their mother’s skirts and father’s trousers before they left and Pero kept turning back on his horse to look at them as they waved at their parents.

“They will be fine, my love,” she said with a smile, blowing a final kiss toward her precious children.

“I know,” Pero grumbled. “But I still do not like it.”

She reached out and grasped her husband’s hand and squeezed. “We will return before they can even start to miss us. But our prince needs us. He would do the same if it were us asking.”

And thankfully, the trip from Qohor to Braavos was less than exciting and they arrived the day Oberyn’s boat was set to appear, too. They knew that Oberyn had come to Braavos on business he spoke of in code in the missive. Meetings with a Pentoshi Magistrate by the name of Illyrio Mopatis. A marriage pact. A secret alliance. It was all so clandestine. She only hoped Oberyn would not suffer any more than he already had.

But they settled into their rooms and then dashed toward the port. The orange and golden sails of a foreign ship were a delight to see—as was Oberyn walking down a gangplank, dressed in a fine golden robe. His dark eyes spotted them and he raised a hand in greeting, smile splitting his face as he walked toward them.

She smiled as she noticed the beautiful woman on Oberyn’s arm, her belly gently swelling with child. The woman she had seen—she was even more beautiful than her mind could have conjured.

“My friends, this is my paramour, Ellaria Sand. My love,” Oberyn started, stretching out his arm toward her and Pero, “these are my two dear friends. Pero Tovar and his lady-wife-”

“You must call me Petal,” she said, stepping forward to grasp Ellaria’s hands. “I feel as if we are friends already.”

Ellaria smiled and squeezed her hands. “I feel the same. Oberyn has told me much about his adventures at your side.”

Pero let Oberyn pull him into a hug in greeting before the four of them walked further into the city, knowing they had time before Oberyn was to meet with the magistrate. They spoke of their time apart, telling each other what they had missed. Ellaria easily proved herself to be a fierce friend and she found herself whispering into Ellaria’s ear like they were just girls again while Pero and Oberyn challenged each other to a drinking game.

It was all so…easy. It almost made her forget the reason behind Oberyn’s presence in the city.

A sudden hiss of pain caught her attention and she turned to see Oberyn shaking his hand, a broken chalice on the table in front of him. Without thought, she reached out and grasped his bloodied hand, staunching the blood with her fingers.

“Petal…” Ellaria’s words faded as she pulled back to see Oberyn’s hand already starting to heal.

Oberyn huffed out a laugh and kissed her bloodied fingers in thanks. “You are still to kind and talented for your own good, Petal.”

She glanced at the Ellaria and winked, “I know your prince told you about me. Don’t be scared.” Almost unconsciously, she wiped her hands clear of his blood on the strip of linen she had been using as a napkin during their meal. Almost clear. As she took a bite of her food and licked her finger clean.

She froze.

“Petal?” Pero whispered, his hand finding hers under the table.

“Beware the fallen mountain. It will rise again,” she said, hearing her voice but not recognizing it. And as soon as it started, the gift released its grip on her and she felt something cold slide down her spine.

Oberyn and Ellaria were staring at her, eyes wide, from across the table and Pero’s hand was gripping hers tightly. “What does that mean?” Ellaria asked.

She could only shake her head. “I do not know. Only time will tell.”

**

Oberyn seemed hopeful when he told them goodbye. And Ellaria was smiling, still cradling her growing bump as she held both of them close and told them she would send a raven when the newest Sand Snake was welcomed into the world.

They were good people. She knew it.

She leaned against Pero with a sigh, smiling when his arm wrapped around her waist as they watched the boat disappear on the horizon.

“Will we see them again?”

“I know we will,” she answered as she turned to press a kiss against her husband’s cheek. “The world is not done with Oberyn Martell nor Ellaria Sand. I can feel it.”

She felt his smile as he turned his face against hers, pressing his lips to her temple. “Let us go home, then, Petal.” And he kissed her again.

A/N: thanks for taking this adventure with me. I love you all. 

beautiful people who asked to be tagged:  @huliabitch @heatherbel @corrupt-fvcker @justanotherblonde23 @din-damn-djarin @mikariell95​

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sweetest of Exiles - Two

A/N: The response to this little story has been insane! Thank you all so much for your kind words, it means the world to me. I hope you continue to like this very self-indulgent fic that has grown to be one of my favorite things I’ve written (even if most of it was written while sipping sprite+merlot). 

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (no Y/N), Oberyn Martell x Pero Tovar, Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Warnings for this Chapter: MORE MAGIC!, Angst, blood and a bit of gore, not super-descriptive smut, Oberyn sometimes uses sex to make people smile. And it works. I once again wrote and “edited” this while sipping wine. All mistakes will probably not be edited. If you want to read more about Oberyn being in love with love, check out @pettyprocrastination and her wonderful hc’s about our favorite prince here!

Word Count: 7.6k (oops)

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

CHAPTER TWO: The Prince

Oberyn was only slightly amused when he heard the unmistakable sound of Pero grumbling (growing steadily louder) and a feminine reply (remaining calm and level, much to Oberyn’s delight) carry on for nearly the entire night before reaching a crescendo of an annoyed huff and a slammed door.

It would seem few people would actually sleep that night.

“She sounded pleased to see you.”

“Shut up, princeling.”

Oberyn only laughed.

When the sun came up the next day and the small company was ready to depart the ruined castle, Oberyn found himself beside the Magistrate, Orestes, as they set off toward Myr. Pero was leading the caravan while the lady—to whom Oberyn still hadn’t been formally introduced—was sequestered away in a carriage they had found in the castle’s stables. Orestes had muttered something about that it was one of the carriages of their original traveling party but no one seemed to care much. All of the men in their company kept their distance from the small carriage, strangely wary of getting too close.

All of it was so odd to Oberyn. He did not seem to feel what the other men were feeling. The all-too-brief glimpse he had stolen had proven she was a woman—beautiful and bloody—but not some formidable monster to fear.

If anything, the prince would have described her as delicate. Beautiful, obviously, but delicate.

A sudden shout from the back of the company had almost everyone turning to see a wave of fire encase the last standing spire of the castle before bleeding into the rest of the ruins. Oberyn’s dark gaze caught movement from the carriage; a hand slipping back into the shadows behind the curtains, skin dripping with something-

“Strange, is it not?” Orestes asked, looking at the fire. “Perhaps one of the men left a torch burning.”

Oberyn hummed an agreement but did not forget the strange sight of her hand slipping away just as the fires reached its crescendo. “Tell me about your lady, Magistrate. I have not had the pleasure of being introduced, yet.”

And Orestes quickly did, regaling the prince with tales of his time in Qohor and how Lord Ollo had been kind if not cold but his daughter was warm and welcoming and always ready to host him for a meal at their manse in the forest. “But it seems that the people of Qohor know very little about them aside from their names and how much power they can wield and how much gold they kept. They whisper that her mother was a sorceress, devoted to the god of Qohor and trained in Asshai. Gifted in magicks and all things arcane.”

“Have you not met her?”

Orestes shook his head. “Dead before I came to Qohor. And no one seems to be willing to speak of it. Tovar has met her, to my knowledge. My lady has told me that her mother used to bring him sweets after running around the forest outside their manse, gathering kindling for her hearth.”

“She spoke to you of Tovar?”

“Briefly, only a handful of times. Truly, until I met him, I did not make the connection of her childhood friend Pero and Tovar. She seems to guard their time together like a secret.”

“As does Tovar.”

Orestes turned his head to look at him, dark brows knitted together. “Does he not speak of her? If I held her notice for even a moment, I would never stop speaking of the time I basked in her attention. For it truly is a gift.”

Oberyn had to keep himself from smiling at the sound of unadulterated awe and obvious adoration of the magistrate’s voice. It was almost pathetic. But it was refreshing to know that at least someone was completely aware and proud of their feelings. Not that Oberyn was disappointed in Pero…right?

“She truly is someone to be treasured.” Orestes sighed and Oberyn bit back another laugh. “But, you said you have not been introduced? I thought surely Tovar would have made introductions. Then again, I thought I had hit my head when I first saw you together—seeing double.” He laughed. Oberyn did not. “May I introduce you?”

Oberyn easily found Pero’s form through the crowd and sighed. Stubborn man. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

The pair slowed their horses’ pace to flank the carriage and Orestes knocked at the carriage door as it rumbled along the old road. The half-torn curtain across the window slid away and the woman leaned her head out, greeting them with a smile. She looked far better than she had the last time Oberyn had seen her. Gone was the blood and the swelling had left her face—truly, if he did not know what state she had been found in, Oberyn would have just thought her a bit tired from her travels. Curious.

“My lady, I hope we have not disturbed your rest.”

“Of course not, Orestes. You know I welcome our little chats.”

Orestes cheeks bloomed with a blush and he ducked his chin for a moment. “As I treasure yours, my lady. But I would be remiss if I did not introduce you to Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell.” Orestes waved a hand toward him as he said her name, calling her The Lady of the Dark Wood.

Strange, Oberyn thought. Petal suited her much better.

She leaned a little further out of the small window and smiled at him. “You are far from Dorne, my prince.”

“You know of my country?” He asked. It was rare that someone from Essos knew much of Westeros aside from a few of the cities and trading ports.

Her smile widened and she looked radiant. “Only from my books. I would love to hear more, if you are welcome to the idea.”

“I am always happy to tell others of the beauty of my home.”

“Perhaps we could compare our homes,” Orestes interjected, his eyes narrowed just a touch as he looked at Oberyn before turning to smile at her.

She hummed, acknowledging Orestes, before her eyes cut back to Oberyn with some unspoken twinkle in her gaze. “I should like to hear of your home when we make camp.”

And she made good on her easily-dismissible comment, searching him out when they made camp that night. They were still a day’s ride from Myr Pero had commanded they stop for the night, not wanting to ride in the dark (and then the man all but disappeared with a handful of other men to search for something to hunt for the evening meal.)

She slipped from the carriage as the small band of men made camp and even helped one of the younger ones stabilize one of the poles on the muddied ground that surrounded them. The boy gave her a half-tilted smile in return and then hurried to finish the work for his tent.

Oberyn smiled as she approached, looking near-ethereal despite the bloodied wrappings around her arms and legs, peeking out from between her fine gown. He had just about finished setting up his tent and—just for a moment—lost his concentration as he watched her come closer. And the rope in his hand suddenly slipped from his grip, and the grounding stake scratched against his palm and tore at his skin.

The tent’s wall flapped in the wind until he grabbed it again and quickly righted the stake.

“Are you hurt?” Without waiting for his answer, she took his hand with a hum rumbling at the back of her throat. “It is not too deep.” Her dexterous fingers slid over the wound and he bit back a small hiss of pain. Blood oozed and she did not move her gaze from the wound as her fingers carefully bracketed the cut. “You will heal.” She pressed the small bit of blood between her thumb and forefinger, swirling it around to coat her skin, almost absentmindedly. Circling, circling, circling until it was only a thin coat of crimson on the pads of her fingers. A long breath pushed out from between her lips. “Most interesting.”

“What is?” He barely noticed that the sting from the wound lessened as soon as she pulled back.

She looked up at him and then wiped his blood against her skirts with a small smile, revealing nothing. “I hope you do not mind if I came to you before camp was settled.”

“Of course not, my lady. I am sure your company is much more pleasant than my brothers in arms.” He fastened the last tie on the tent and then held the flap back for her, silently inviting her inside.

The furnishings were a little grander than some of the other men’s belongings, but still probably far less than what she was accustomed to, if her fine dress (and Orestes’ constant blathering about her home) indicated. But she settled on his small, elevated bedroll without hesitation and patted the blanket next to her.

“I am sure you have many stories of your adventures. I hope you do not mind if I hoard your time for the evening.”

Oberyn couldn’t help but smile as he sat beside her after making sure the tent flap was tied open, allowing her to keep her propriety. He glanced down at his hand to see the cut seemed…like it had been healing for a handful of days already. He had seen stranger things—had read stranger still during his time at the Citadel. But this—she—was something to behold.

“But it seems you have stories to tell me too, my lady.”

Her smile widened. “You’re a bit more observant than your companions.” She leaned forward and, just for a moment, Oberyn caught a glint in her eye that made him think of a caged lion. But then it was gone. “What would you know?”

**

They spoke throughout the night, only leaving each other’s sides for a moment to retrieve a bit of food to sate their hunger, before retreating back to his tent. (Oberyn noticed how she, ever so briefly, sought to find Pero in the crowd and found nothing but unfamiliar faces before she turned back to him.) They spoke of everything—of their childhoods, their cultures, their parents, of their losses. But Oberyn knew she was waiting for him to ask the question he had, biding his time. And he noticed how she would easily skirt around Pero’s presence and absence in her life.

His dark eyes flittered down to the wound on his hand—now almost completely healed. When she caught him looking at it, she smiled over the rim of the wine jug she had produced from the depths of one of her trunks in the carriage.

“Ask, my prince. I know you want to.”

“How?” He asked simply.

Her smile widened and she handed him the jug. “You must be more specific. That question has many answers.”

Oberyn huffed, fighting a smile, and held up his hand. “The Maesters of Westeros have long said magic was all but gone from the world. It died with the last dragon, they said. And here you are, alive and well.”

She laughed, a light sound that had him laughing, too. “I am not magic incarnate, my prince. But it is true, most magic has been tied to dragons, to the wills of men who eventually shunned it for other things. But there are a few who have been blessed by they who watch.”

“The gods,” Oberyn said, knowing what she was saying. He took a quick gulp of wine before setting the jug aside, wanting to focus on her and the glint in her beautiful eyes.

She nodded and then reached out to take her hand in his. “Every gift comes with a price. Mine has been paid in blood and it requires constant recompense. I have touched your blood. You have paid a price. I must give you something in return.” Her smile was gentle as her finger traced the healed wound. “You have a great love ahead of you, my prince.”

He chuckled. “Oh? Have the gods found someone who will tame me?”

“Not tame you. No, no. They will never stifle or control you. Theirs is a gentleness to balance your wrath.”

“When will I meet them?”

She shook her head and pulled back her touch, leaving a cold spot on his skin. “I cannot see dates or years. I simply…see what I am allowed.”

“Have you seen Pero?”

Her answering smile was small—she did seem fond of smiling. “I have. Often. Even without the blood price, I would see him in my dreams. I dreamt of him the night he left, you know. And the night before he came again. A quiet comfort, to be sure. I had been selfish in year before, calling on the blood to show me his face, just show me his face, so I could know that he is well.”

And, just for a moment, Oberyn thought of a love-struck woman trying to catch a glimpse of her lover’s face in a crowded ballroom. But then he remembered what she had said—what Pero had said. “He left you?”

“Yes.” She said it so simply and it seemed to echo in his chest. “In the middle of the night. The day before my nameday, too.” She hummed. “A cruel present, my father called it.”

“Did he ever-”

“Tell me why? No. And he scarcely met my eye last night and then…” her words died on her tongue. “I am suddenly just a child again. Hoping for the boy I love to notice me.” The next laugh she let out was filled with bitterness. “Did he ever…speak of me?”

And Oberyn was nothing if not honest. “He did not, my lady.”

“Call me Petal. I know you think it suits me more.”

“You do not let the Magistrate call you Petal.”

“No. I do not.” She reached out to him and Oberyn readily placed his hands in hers. “But that can be our little secret, hm? Now, ask me anything. I know you have more questions running through your mind, and they do not involve Pero.”

“True. I do want to know everything about you. But I would be remiss if I did take the chance to ease your heart’s burden.”

“My heart is not burdened, my prince.”

“Call me Oberyn. And do not lie to me.”

She sighed but did not pull her hands from his even as she glanced away from his gaze. “It is silly to think of one person for so long and to know it is not returned or reciprocated. I tried to have him tell me why, last night. Why he left, why he did not care to tell me where he was going. And I only received his ire in return.”

“I do not believe it is ire, Petal,” he said, smiling at the sound of the nickname on his own tongue. It sounded right. “He is a stubborn man. Years of this life may have stifled that heart you knew as a young girl. But I promise you, it is still there. And it beats for you.”

“But are you certain, Oberyn? He has changed so much.”

“As have you, I am sure. But will you deny that your heart has not changed? At least when it comes to our shared companion.”

She shook her head, a smile starting to tilt up her lips once again. “I will not lie to you.” Her hands squeezed his. “You know, when we were children, Pero and I would spend almost all of our waking hours in the forest outside my home when my mother did not insist we attend lessons. The forest is almost always filled with mist and cloud—but that day, the sky itself seemed to want to seek the shelter of the trees. Pero would always count down between rolls of thunder, telling me he would know the exact moment the first bit of rain would fall. It was his gift, he said.”

The tent’s opening was suddenly filled by a dark figure.

Pero looked at him and then at the woman beside him. His dark eyes narrowed for just a moment but even as his face settled into a practiced apathy, Oberyn still saw the hardened gleam in his gaze. “I see you two have been introduced.”

“Join us, Pero,” she said with a hopeful tone. She held out a hand toward him. “I was just telling Oberyn of our time together in the forest—that time when we were caught in the rain-”

“It seems you have told him all that he needs knowing, my lady.” And while there was heat to his words, Oberyn heard the unmistakable hurt in his lover’s tone.

“Pero,” she said, “please.”

But he stepped back and disappeared back into the shadows of the camp.

“Oh,” was all she said before her hand slowly fell back down into her lap.

The sound of her own hurt stabbed at his chest and Oberyn quickly took his hands in hers and kissed her knuckles. He would have words with Pero later. But now, he would leave her alone. Not when he knew she felt so rejected. He would have her smile again. “Do not let him sour your mood, Petal. Am I not able to make you smile, too?”

She smiled, small, but it was still a smile. “I do believe you could rend smiles from stone, Oberyn.”

“Tell me more of Pero. Tell me anything you deem me worthy of knowing. Unburden your heart, at least for a moment.”

And that was when she finally pulled from his grasp and stood, walking to the tent’s opening. “Pero is…moonlight.” She hummed and angled her face up to look at the sliver of the moon. “It is lovely but untouchable.”

“There are stories about the moon being a man—a god—who loved a woman so much he came to this mortal plane to be with her.” Oberyn walked to her side and looked up at the moon, too, trying to see what she saw in that little ball of light.

“I think I’ve heard that myth. It ends sadly, doesn’t it?”

“Not all myths end poorly. Some are tales of hope, requited love, filled with joy.”

“I suppose that is true.” But her gaze did not move from the moon. “I suppose kissing a god would make an unhappy ending worth it, right?”

And she looked near ethereal in that soft light, so beautiful. And the prince always loved beauty. “Tell me, have you ever kissed a prince?”

“There are no princes in Qohor.” She turned from the moon to smile at him.

“Is that a ‘no,’ Petal?”

She laughed. “It is.”

And then Oberyn moved forward and pressed his mouth against her smiling lips. And she tasted so sweet—with a bite of something metallic—as he was able to lick into her wondrous mouth and her hands tugged at his tunic. Eager. His hands gently cupped her face and pulled her ever closer, letting her fall into his lap with another laugh against his mouth.

She was intoxicating.

Her fingers pushed into his hair and tugged just at the base of his neck, coaxing a moan from his throat. He only broke away to catch his breath, knocking his nose against hers and listening to the melodic tone of her breathless giggle. And then she was the one pressing forward to steal another kiss and then another and another.

And the prince would deny her nothing if it meant she smiled at him like that again. But he needed to know. “I am not him, Petal.”

“I know,” she whispered against his mouth. “And, tonight, that makes it all the better.” And she kissed him again.

His hands circled her waist and squeezed, just for a moment, before he reached out just enough to untie the last string on the tent’s flap, closing them off from the rest of the world as her mouth moved against his with ease.

Gently, ever so gently, he pulled at the laces of her grown and set it loose as he held her gaze.

“You may walk away at any time, Petal. Do not feel obligated.”

She shook her head and curled her fingers into his tunic, pulling him forward just a single step. “I am not obligated. I know you and I wish to know you.”

With that express permission, Oberyn took care to undress her slowly, carefully, like she was something holy, something—someone to be treasured. And she was. In the dim light of the tent, he marveled at her soft skin, the breathy sighs that slipped by her lips, and the decadent warmth she exuded as he sunk into her, letting his own sigh escape his mouth. She was magnificent. Her hips undulated in slow, smooth movements and his hands curled over her warm skin, needing to keep her close, to continue to feel her delicious cunt envelope him until he was truly spent.

“You are sublime, Petal.”

She gasped against his mouth as his grip tightened and he took control of her movement, hands tightening around her hips as his hips pistoned, faster and harder and then she was keening against his kiss-swollen lips and he felt her shake, felt her tight channel squeeze around his cock before a cry broke her lips. She threw her head back and his teeth sank into her skin, still chasing his own high. Again and again, his hips slammed into hers and then he was pulling out—just in time. He spilled across the skin of her thighs and stomach, painting her like some obscene canvas.

He leaned down to slant his mouth against hers and felt her smile against his lips.

“Oh, you make such pretty noises, Petal.”

“As do you, my prince. It has been a pleasure of my life to know I’ve caused them.” She gave a breathless laugh as his fingers swirled against the mess, rubbing it into her warm skin like a salve. Another happy sigh slipped by her lips as she reached up, fingers tracing across his chest. “I hurt you.”

He looked down to see four perfectly carved tracks over his heart. “It is nothing, Petal. A badge of honor.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss against her pouting lips. “I will heal.” He murmured it against her lip and laughed when she huffed. “Now sleep. Or would you like me to tire you out?”

**

Oberyn woke with a start. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with Petal curled over his chest and a bit of sweat cooling on his skin from their third bout of fucking—it had been peaceful and beautiful and wonderful. Waking up to find her crawling over his waist was and settling her weight on his stomach was not an unwelcome surprise but-

She did not look right. Perhaps it was the early morning light filtering in through the folds of the tent but her beautiful eyes were clouded, near milky, and then her clammy hands were grasping at his face, fingers pressing into his cheeks. “Lions and dogs on the wall and blood on stone.”

“Petal,” Oberyn whispered, gazing up into the unnatural depths of her eyes. “Petal, please-”

“The sun screams and is snuffed out.”

He reached up to grasp at her hands and let out a shuddering breath and her eyes shut. “Petal.” She felt cold under his hands. “Look at me.”

Her eyes opened and they were their usual, beautiful shade again. “The sun,” she said. “The sun…”

Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as he sat up on his bedroll, letting her shake in his grasp. “Where did you go, Petal? Tell me.”

She shook her head but sighed as his lips skirted down her shoulder. “You paid the price, my prince. And I gave what was paid for.”

“That was not like before—you were gone. Someone else took inhabited your skin.”

She shook her head. “The higher the price, the stronger the gift.” Her fingers tapped against the marks she had left on his chest.

“Is it always visions?”

She shook her head. “No. Not always.” Her head moved just enough to press another kiss against his shoulder before she stood and grabbed her discarded dress from the tent floor.

The casual way she said it had him thinking of her bloodied hand slipping back between the shades of the carriage just before the ruins were taken by fire. Not always visions, indeed. Oberyn watched her dress for a moment before rising and helping her tighten the lacings on the back. “Tell me. Why does your god demand such high a price?”

She turned to him as he finished and smiled. “I do not question him. He has given me a wonderful, fearsome gift and I will be welcomed by him with open arms when he calls for me.”

Oberyn had heard of the Black Goat worshiped in Qohor. A terrifying, dangerous god of death that some maesters called a demon. A god of death: strong and unwavering. “Why would you spend your life worshipping the end of it?”

“Death begets life begets death. Why should only one be worshipped? A good death is its own reward, is it not?”

Oberyn smiled and let his finger trail down her arm and grasped her hand in a soft grip before raising it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You speak as a warrior, my lady.”

“I am sure you have found most women are warriors in their own ways, my prince.” Her eyes sparkled with some unspoken jape before she pulled her hand out of his grasp.

He grabbed at the silken trail of her skirts like a besotted boy and let the fabric slide across his hands as he watched her leave, surrounded by the first rays of sunlight.

**

Pero was quiet as Oberyn urged his horse to his side.

“You disappeared last night.”

“What did she tell you?” Pero asked in return, tactlessly dodging Oberyn’s unanswered question.

Oberyn glanced back to see the familiar carriage still at the rear of the traveling party with Orestes keeping pace beside it. “She told me how you were her dearest friend and confidante during her childhood. She told me how you encouraged her gifts despite you not entirely understanding them.” Oberyn paused, watching the barest traces of emotions flicker by Pero’s features. Joy, sadness, fondness, despair—it was all there in the subtle ticks of his brows and the pull of his lips.

“Her father sent me away—three weeks to the day after her mother disappeared,” Pero bit out, hands tightening over his reins.

“For what reason?” Oberyn asked.

“He gave no reason. But he did not need to—it was obvious enough. I was a poor nobleman’s thirdborn son and she…”

Oberyn watched Pero’s face fall for just a moment before he looked away.

“It is of no consequence. She is safe. I have seen her smile again. That is what matters.”

Oberyn had to stop himself from groaning. “Truly, Pero, you are more dramatic than a mummer.”

“Hold your tongue, princeling-”

“She loves you—loves you still. Anyone with eyes can see that.” He paused. “Except for the magistrate, it seems.” Pero huffed but that did not deter the Dornish prince. “Truly, and for someone I trust implicitly to see things I cannot when I have my back turned, you are blind.”

“Enough, Oberyn!”

“No! She cares for you—cares for you even after you treated her poorly and refuse to meet her eye like she is some dirty urchin who attempted to steal your coin.”

“You spend one night with her and suddenly you are her confidante?” He hissed in return. “Just because you have been between her legs does not mean you know her. She is far more than you could ever hope to imagine.”

Oberyn reached out and grabbed Pero’s tunic, hauling him close before he could take his next breath. His horse whined at the sudden jostle of its saddle. “Do not speak of her like that. Do not speak of me like that. You are angry; at yourself, at the world, at the gods. But you do not have the right to shun her gentle smiles and company nor tell me I have used her like a woman in a brothel. We sought each other’s company when you spurned us.” Pero pulled out of his grip but Oberyn did not stop. “She asks for you, about you, every time. You have told me that no one is worthy of her attention or affection—but she has made it abundantly clear that she wishes to have your affections in the way you have garnered hers. She loves you, Pero. Loves you still. Do not run away for her again.”

But Pero only urged his horse faster, setting off toward the city finally coming into view. Oberyn only watched him go with a sigh and turned back to the rest of the company, telling them to ready for their entrance into the city.

Myr was beautiful—but it had been beautiful the last handful of times Oberyn had visited the city with the Second Sons. The city smelled of fresh earth and fresh linens and ink and filled with shining white stone structures and the bazaars were teeming with people selling their wares. Orestes was quick to show them to the ornate stables near the gates, making sure to loudly proclaim that their steeds were to be taken care of as if they belonged to Orestes. The carriage was also carted off and stored, Petal’s trunks quickly carried away by a small fleet of servants.

The Magistrate was instantly greeted like a prince or a king and quickly lauded by the crowds as they stepped out of the stables and closer toward the center of the sprawling city. Oberyn watched Orestes reach out a hand for Petal and she took it with a small smile, letting him pull her along into the crowd toward a large, gleaming building that had bits of greenery trickling up toward the carved windows. A villa, he supposed it was called.

The rest of the company followed Oberyn up the half set of steps and largely ignored the guards posted at the entryway who looked confused at their presence and waffling between barring them entry or simply standing aside. The inside of the villa was just as ornate as the outside, filled with carved columns and opulent stonework. The tapestries and carpets the city was famed for covered the walls and lined the halls and everything smelled of the dye Oberyn knew the Myrish artisans used to create a distinct shade of red.

It was not unpleasant, but a strange smell to be sure.

Orestes seemed uncaring that a group of mercenaries had come into his home and continued to point this or that thing out to her, telling her how much he paid for it or how it was made. And Petal, for her part, did seem interested in the words coming out of the magistrate’s mouth. Her easy smile never faded or turned strained and he heard her ask a question or two in return. Always a perfect lady.

Oberyn found himself smiling when she did, catching her eye when she turned and winking and delighting in the small laugh he earned every time. But then his mood was somewhat soured by the fact that Pero had quickly fallen to the back of the group, as if trying to keep as much distance as possible from Petal.

It hurt him, to see her rejected so openly. Even as Orestes had them all settled into the numerous guest rooms his villa provided and made sure they all had steaming tubs of water brought in for baths, Pero never once tried to slip away to try to find her. He stayed with Oberyn in their shared room, inspecting and re-inspecting his weapons while waiting for Oberyn to finish his bath. Orestes had invited several other magistrates for a celebratory dinner and to show his appreciation to the small mercenary company he had employed—and heartily paid already.

“Are you going to speak to her tonight or continue to sulk like a scolded boy?”

Pero’s head snapped up and he scowled. “I am not sulking.”

The prince only hummed and rose from the water. He felt Pero’s familiar gaze trail down his back and tried not to smirk—knowing the view was being appreciated—and grabbed the fine linen provided to dry off. “You are. And if you do not at least try to speak to Petal tonight, I will have to take matters into my own hands.”

Pero stood, setting aside his weapons and started undressing to ready for his own bath. “Oh? Is that a threat princeling?”

Oberyn wrapped the linen around his waist and turned to face his lover. “Yes.”

When dinner, a veritable feast, was called and everyone was escorted into a large hall, draped with red fabric and gilded statues of snarling lions, Oberyn made certain that Pero was seated beside his lady. This earned him a brief side-eyed glance from the magistrate but Oberyn paid him no mind—he had dealt with far more and was not afraid of the nobleman. He was too busy taking care of the hearts of two people he cared about—the magistrate could pout.

He watched her eyes light up as Pero took his seat and she slowly, ever so slowly, started to pull conversation from the taciturn man while largely pacifying the magistrate with simple answers or anecdotes in response to his longwinded questions or stories. The other magistrates tried to gain Oberyn’s attention but he was too busy trying to guess what the pair were saying to each other from the other side of the room. But he was happy when he saw Pero’s face almost seem to shudder before his lips pulled into the briefest of smiles, aimed only at her as she turned to her plate to stab at another carrot.

“Prince Oberyn, they say Dorne is filled with the finest mounts the world has ever seen. Sandy steeds, they’re called, no?”

“Sand steeds,” Oberyn corrected without looking at the man beside him. “And yes, they are the best in the world. Can run for a day, a night, and another day without faltering.”

“Surely not!” The man guffawed. “Not horse can-”

Oberyn’s head finally snapped to the side at that. “Perhaps the horses on your continent tire easily, but I assure you, the Dornish do not.”

The man at Oberyn’s side looked like he had been slapped. “I meant no offence, your grace.”

“Then take care with your words. I am a lenient man but I may not be so next time you speak out of turn.”

The man’s face somehow paled to a color similar of curdled milk while his neck became a violent shade of scarlet. “O-of course.”

Oberyn, satisfied, turned back his favorite show continue to unfold.

Just before the last course was served—some sweet dish Oberyn only half-enjoyed—Pero smiled again. And Petal smiled with him.

Oberyn could not help his own answering smile from spreading across his face.

**

The festivities—if Oberyn could even call them that with the level of boredom he had endured for politeness sake—had lasted long into the night and most of the revelry had moved from inside the villa to the sprawling, marbled pools that dotted the grounds. Some of the company took part, never willing to turn down free food and wine, but Oberyn was content to watch everyone else (mostly) enjoy themselves. Petal, unfortunately, had been drawn back to Orestes’ side after the meal had finished and Pero had pouted like a child in the shadows for a moment before taking a plate of food and walking back to his room. The magistrate paraded her around like a prized trophy, making all of his guests wonder at her presence—Oberyn thought, just for a moment, if Orestes even had an inkling of who the woman on his arm was or could become with the right push.

For a few moments, Oberyn entertained himself with a pretty servant girl before letting her go back to her duties after another servant spilt a large jug of wine across the floor and caused a fuss. But during the distraction, Petal managed to slip away from Orestes’ side and met Oberyn in the shadows. He handed her the chalice of wine he had and smiled when she took a large gulp.

“Your magistrate seems fond of you.”

“He is fond of seeming like a hero even you and your men were the ones to rescue me.”

Oberyn plucked the chalice from her hand and polished off the rest of the wine. “I do believe you might have rescued yourself, Petal.”

Her eyes sparkled in the low light and she smiled. Her fingers tugged at the simple belt of fabric around his waist to bring him forward just a few steps, closing the distance between them. Her lips brushed against his and he could taste the wine on her smile.

“You are a good man, my prince. I want you to know that.”

He leaned into her, stealing her breath as he licked into her mouth for just a moment. “And you have another good man waiting for you in our chambers. I shall keep the magistrate busy.”

She hummed and kissed him again before slipping further into the shadows of the villa in search of her moonlight.

Oberyn watched her go with a sigh before plucking another chalice of wine from a servant’s hands and quickly drinking it down. Pero would thank him later, he was sure. And as the moon continued its rise into the starry sky, Oberyn entertained and distracted the magistrate and his guests with stories of Dorne and the sellsword company’s exploits across Essos. Whenever he saw Orestes’ eyes start to wander, looking for his missing companion, Oberyn would start another story and make sure Orestes’ cup was filled. And soon—but not soon enough, in Oberyn’s mind—almost everyone had retired for the rest of the night, needing to sleep off their overfilled stomach or partake in a bit more of a carnal delight in the quiet of their chambers.

Oberyn smiled as he started to find his way toward his chambers and witnessed a few servants taking advantage of their lack of duties to kiss each other slowly in the darkened hallways. A quiet reprieve, well earned.

The halls twisted and turned but Oberyn eventually found the door to his and Pero’s chambers and slowly pushed it open, hoping to not disturb anything that might be transpiring. But he let out a disappointed sigh when he only saw Pero sleeping on the large featherbed. His discarded (and empty) tray was haphazardly placed on the bedside table. At least he was consistent.

Oberyn shed his tunic and slipped beneath the silken blankets, smiling when Pero turned toward him, seeking warmth.

“Where is she?” Pero murmured without opening his eyes.

“Did she not come see you?” Oberyn asked with a frown.

“She was only here for a moment.” The words were slurred on his tired tongue, eyes still not open. “Said she would come back…” The words drifted off and were punctuated by a hearty snore.

Oberyn sighed and pushed his head against the overstuffed pillows. Difficult. They were both so difficult.

**

For the second time in just as many days, Oberyn woke with a start. But now it was not the welcoming warmth of a woman’s thighs bracketing his own that woke him from sleep.

No. It was the quiet scrape of metal on metal, of hurried footsteps of someone striving to be quiet. Sounds which only meant danger.

Oberyn swept aside the blankets and stood, walking over to the window to see a group approaching, dark hoods and cloaks obscuring their features. One by one, the group moved almost-silently into the villa. Their weapons were drawn and ready; strange, foreign shapes he had never seen before with long handles. Oberyn looked to Pero to see him with his swords already in his hands despite his lack of armor.

Oberyn grabbed his own sword and they both ventured out into the dark hall. Soft sounds of a struggle grew louder and louder with each step they took. A door to their right suddenly burst open and a half-dressed nobleman ran out into the hall. A quick glance into the room showed the bodies of another man and the pretty servant girl Oberyn had kissed only hours before. The hooded forms they had spied earlier had filled the room while more were stalking silently down the hall—they cut down the nobleman before he reached the next turn of the hall.

Oberyn and Pero both turned just in time to skewer a pair of hooded men who were slipping up behind them.

“We have the girl. It is not your life we want,” one of the men said in a strange, strained accent. “Lay down your weapons and you will not be harmed.”

Someone—a woman—yelled and their eyes were drawn to her—to Petal—once again in the arms of a man who meant her harm at the end of the hall. But her eyes were not the glassy, tired eyes he had spied only briefly back in the castle ruins. These were alight with…something. Something dark.

There was a short shout and then the unmistakable thud of a body hitting stone. She stood over the corpse, blood dripping from a small wound at her shoulder and more pooling beneath her feet from her would-be kidnapper. It glimmered like black ink in the moonlight.

She moved like water, skirts lifting and pulling as if invisible waves had surrounded her. Slow and steady—deadly, like a rising tide. Words poured from her mouth in a language he did not understand and sounded shrill to his ears.

Pero’s hand on his arm kept him from moving forward.

“She needs-”

“She knows exactly what she is doing, princeling.” Pero’s dark eyes flittered over to her and looked almost…soft and sad. “Let her do what she needs.”

Her hand raised toward the group of men. Their slow steps stopped.

“The demon,” one of them hissed.

Her fingers uncurled, knuckles pointed and skin tight.

One stupid man took a single step toward her, blade held out in front of him. And then the words came again and the man froze, foot hovering over the ground. A terrible scream wrenched its way from the man’s throat. His face purpled. Blood started to spill from the corners of his eyes, his mouth, his ears.

“It was you! You did this!”

“Demon!” another shouted.

Oberyn didn’t understand and he could not take his eyes away from the man starting to convulse in front of him, like some sort of morbid mummer. The convulsions grew faster and faster and the screams he let out grew more and more pained until his chest split open like an egg and blood came rushing out. It sprayed over her dress and she walked forward, hand still outstretched. More words he did not understand tumbled on her tongue and the hooded men took a collective step back. But it did not help. One by one, each one of them started to shake and fall. The blood beneath her feet almost seemed to ripple with a heartbeat—her heartbeat, Oberyn surmised. She truly was a woman to be feared and loved. Sublime.

Shouts in Ghiscari soon filled the air. They were quickly snuffed out by the crack of ribs and spines, of bodies hitting stone.

Oberyn looked to Pero to see him quietly watching this woman, a strangely soft look in his eyes. He saw all of her. But maybe he always had.

There was another noise behind them and Oberyn turned, ready to fight, but only saw Orestes, still in his sleeping clothes. The magistrate stared at her with wonder in his eyes as soon as he stepped out into the hall. “You wondrous being. I always knew you were-”

A zealot’s body falling to the ground at his feet and the sudden gush of blood spattering against his skin quickly halted any other words on the magistrate’s tongue.

Two guards, tired and confused, seized the last handful of zealots and disarmed them. They could face punishment for their crimes here in Myr. Perhaps that would make everything easier for Orestes to explain away.

But that did not matter.

She did.

The hall grew quiet except for her labored breathing and then her knees hit the blood-covered stone.

“I want to go home,” she whispered. And even covered in blood, and having just slaughtered the men who would have harmed her for their own gain—she looked delicate. Not fragile—never fragile. But delicate. “Please, Pero. Take me home.”

Pero nodded immediately and sheathed his swords. He bent down to her and hoisted her into his arms, uncaring of the blood she trailed across his tunic. “I’ve got you, Petal. I’ll take you home.”

Oberyn watched Pero walk away with his Petal, heading toward the stables, and he only just caught her looking over Pero’s shoulder. With a bloody finger, she beckoned him to come along.

He could not say no.