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summervale · 18 days

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「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words: 2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!” She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

"Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could.

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

#game of thrones #unfinished fic #game of thrones fic #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #fluff

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asvtrials · 10 days

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Hate that I want you

part one next part idea: @floydsfae tags: @ilovejeansosomuch. @spikedfearn (inspired by) summary: Parting ways with a friend group was always hard, somehow trying to rejoin that group was even harder. Especially when a particular quick-tempered someone is rather bitter about your choices. warnings/tags: lots of swearing. friends to enemies to lovers. Bjorn is a bitter and jealous shit. angst a/n: I'm not very familiar with the Alien franchise so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies. This is my first Tumblr post and I'm not used to writing in the second-person narrative so sadly this is not my best work but I still hope you like it. English is not my first language so please be nice. word count: 2394

“Fuck no.” That was your only answer before you covered yourself with your blanket and sank even deeper into your messy bed.

“Come on, Y/n!.” The muffled voice of your friend, Kay reached your ears under the blanket before she started to pull it away from you.

“Leave me alone.” You whined while trying to hold onto the covers until eventually Kay gave up

She sighed and sat next to you on the bed. “This is gonna be good for us.” She tried to reason. “You think that idiot was your way out? This is the way out.! She shook you a bit under the covers to make sure you were actually listening.

You rolled over, unsure if she actually believed in this nonsense or was that desperate to leave Jackson’s Star. You wouldn’t blame her if she was.

You stared at her for a long moment, brows furrowed. “Who had this idea in the first place?” You asked, surprised that anyone would think this would work.

“Tyler and Navarro. They said they pick-”

“Tyler and Navarro? Damn, they are really getting desperate.” You cut her off with a scoff.

“So, are you,” Kay added.

You couldn’t deny it.

You were tired. Tired of living the same day over and over again. Wake up at 6 am to the same darkness that followed you the entire day, get ready by 6:30 am, and begin your walk to the bus station to take the overcrowded bus that drove all of the workers to the mines.

Thankfully you were able to be transferred to the kitchen, away from the cramped caves. And as sad as it sounded, that was the only good thing that happened to you in a while.

You didn’t know if it was that or the resentful feeling of your fresh breakup but you let Kay pull you out of your bed and push you into the shower. You just knew you wanted to change this overwhelming routine of the past two months.

As soon as you got dressed, the girl led you through the busy, dimply-lit streets and toward an alleyway where the rest of the crew would wait for you.

You didn't know how to feel about this reunion. You haven't really seen them in a while, spending most of your time with your now ex-boyfriend. You were surprised they even included you in this ‘mission’. You figured it was probably Kay and Tyler, possibly Navarro too.

You turned around and were greeted by the figures of your old friends, Tyler and Bjorn.

When they met your nervous stare, you noticed Tyler’s expression mirrored yours even if it was for a split second. He quickly concealed his uncertainty with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Hey, Y/n. How have you been?” Tyler chuckled and pulled you into a hug, startling you a bit but soon enough you returned the affection

“Fine, I guess—” You began but before you could continue a different voice echoed in the empty alleyway, accent thick and tone dripping with accusation.

“We weren’t sure if you'd bless us with your ladyship.”

Of course, it was no other than Bjorn who would make a comment like this. He earned a glare from Tyler but he just shrugged s as if he was just making conversation.

An annoyed smile tugged at your lips as you spoke “Seems like you didn't change. Like at all.”

Bjorn ignored your comment and turned to Kay. “If she's all caught up, we should go.”

You raised your eyebrow at the way he brushed you off but you decided to let it go. “What about Navarro, Rain, and Andy?” You asked.

“Navarro’s fixing some other parts of the ship and Rain is—” Tyler paused for a moment, sending a glance at his half-sister. You followed his eyes but Kay just smiled at you “Busy with her job,” Tyler ended up saying.

“Is Rain all right?” You asked, chuckling a bit at their failed attempt to cover the truth.

“You’d know if you weren’t too busy snogging your boyfriend every chance you got,” Bjorn remarked with a smug smirk. You could feel your blood boiling at the mention of your ex.

“Bjorn! We talked about this.” Tyler warned the boy but he just scoffed.

“What? She was gone for two months and now acts all worried! That’s a load of bollocks!” He argued, gesturing towards you with a huff.

“Oh, fuck off, Bjorn!” You raised your voice over Tyler who was about to cuss his cousin out. This was already hard enough but having Bjorn act like a massive asshole wasn’t something you were going to sit through.

You did abandon them. You were a bitch, and a bad friend, and whatever this asshat wanted to call you but you didn’t need to hear it, especially from Bjorn out of all people.

You just wanted to have a better life, at least as good as it could get in this shitty colony. A future to look forward to and Noa made it look possible. He had ambition and connections and could easily get a better job than most of the Jackson Star residents. At the time you were stupid enough to believe that he wouldn’t drop you. Yet, as soon as he bagged a job in the ‘Office of Colony Affairs’ he dumped you because, in his words, you had ‘different life goals.’

Fuck. And fuck him, and Bjorn and whoever dared to call you a whore or an opportunist. All of you had the same life goals, get the fuck out of here. That’s why you were here. As crazy as this plan sounded, at least you would be doing something to get away from this place.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting something better for myself!” You snapped.

Bjorn ran his tongue over his teeth, letting out a low chuckle to hide his irritation “So you dropped everyone to get that.” He stated before he met your eyes once more. You didn’t know what you saw in his gaze but it wasn’t simply anger.

“I didn’t drop any of you!” You began, throwing your hands in frustration. “I kept in touch with Kay and Navarro. I asked about all of you! If you weren’t such a dick you’d realize that you made it difficult to talk to you!”

Bjorn remained quiet as if he was trying to come up with a comeback. He tore his gaze away from you when he turned around and mumbled “Whatever.”

“We should really get going now,” Kay spoke nervously, more to Tyler than anyone else.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Tyler agreed noticeably glad that the fight would come to an end, for now at least.

You sent Bjorn one last glare before following Kay and Tyler, but he didn't look all that affected.

The walk to the abandoned warehouse was rather long. A couple of years ago it was busy with workers and clients, mostly to buy components for mining haulers and gear. But right now it was collecting dust and vines so it was the perfect place to get some forgotten parts and tools.

Tyler helped Kay jump over the tall fence while you and Bjorn were already on the other side. You smiled at the sweet moment between the siblings trying to ignore the panging feeling in your chest.

You tried to ignore the intense need you had to glance at the boy next to you but you couldn’t help it. His gaze was fixated on the tall building, holding the cigarette between his fingers. You tried to push away the bitter feeling that cursed through you.

It wasn’t that long ago that he helped you the same way, finding any excuse to feel your skin under his fingertips.

But that was just a childish game you two developed. Flirting jokingly, touching a bit more than necessary to see the other’s cheeks redden and hear your friends groan in disgust. Both of you comfortably balanced on the rope between friendly banter and romantic curiosity.

When both Kay and Tyler landed on the other side of the fence, you began walking toward the building.

You stepped inside and an aerie breeze hit you, from the way Kay started to rub her shoulders you guessed the rest felt the same.

“Bloody hell…” Bjorn mumbled as he walked to the front desk which was covered in dust and some dead bugs.

“Yeah, that’s nasty.” Kay agreed, keeping close to you and Tyler.

“I’ll go check the first floor, someone should check the second,” Tyler announced the plan, staring at the sketch of the parts Novarro drew him.

The group was surrounded by silence, the four of you looking at each other awkwardly until Kay decided to make it easier for all of you. “I can go with Bjorn.” She said cheerily trying to ignore the tension.

“Good, Y/n we’ll go together” Tyler nodded toward you and started walking up the stairs.

Bjorn's loud voice stopped both of you in your tracks. Bjorn tried to sound uninterested even amused as he spoke “I see, you act all tough yet can’t even spend five minutes alone with me. Scared I’ll hurt your feelings, innit?” The way those last words fell out of his lips in such a pitying manner really struck a nerve.

You knew what he was doing. He was baiting you. You saw him do it to everyone, although you weren’t sure if Andy even could understand that he did it just to annoy him.

Still, you weren’t one to give him the satisfaction. You let out a dry chuckle as you rolled your eyes. “Bjorn and I are going to check the second floor” You declared, not bothering to turn around.

“I can go with Y/n?” Kay tried to intervene but neither you nor Bjorn listened as you walked up the stairs.

“Remember, in and out! Be quick.” You heard Tyler’s voice bounce off the walls as you continue your path to the second floor, Bjorn hot in your trail.

You entered a room as soon as you reached the second floor. By the numerous boxes and shelves filled with dirty items, this was clearly one of the storage rooms

“You search the right side, I'll search the left side,” You said when you noticed Bjorn still walking behind you.

“Don’t tell me what to do” He quickly retorted.

You let out an exasperated sigh and walked to the right side instead, ignoring his snarkiness.

Neither of you talked for a long while, putting equipment that seemed useful in your bags or simply looking through the dusty machinery.

Bjorn was the first to break the uncomfortable silence “So how are things with your boyfriend.” You didn’t miss the way his tone changed to a mocking one at the word ‘boyfriend’ but you chose to ignore it.

You stayed quiet for a moment, not sure if you wanted to answer. “We don’t have to talk.”

“Come on, I’m trying to be nice.” He spoke over the loud noise of his hand rummaging through some drawers and you could practically hear his smirk.

A groan managed to slip past your lips before you said “We broke up.”

You heard Bjorn’s movements come to a halt momentarily followed by a breathy laugh. “Can’t say I'm surprised you dumped that twat.”

You remained silent once again only saying a drawn-out “Yeah”

“Wait a fucking minute.” Bjorn laughed, walking closer to you, a smug smirk spreading on his face “He dumped you!”

The amusement in his voice made your anger flare up once again causing your face to contort in irritation but you tried to ignore it and just get the job done, practically slamming the drawer shut.

“Why did he dump you? Did he find someone that matched his status? He did get promoted to a whole-ass desk job” He snorted.

You tried to be calm, you really did but all of it was so recent “Can you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?” You exploded, making his eyes leave the shelves and focus on you. “Is it really so funny that I was dumped?”

Bjorn stared at you for a long moment, before turning to continue searching. Obviously not without a sarcastic comment. “It’s funny that he dumped you but sorry, didn’t know you were so in love.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose to try and keep your cool. “As if you know what love is?” You tried to keep your voice from shaking with anger.

Bjorn met your scowl once again but to your surprise, his expression didn’t match yours. Unlike yours, his eyes didn’t hold any rage but something that made you unable to look away as he moved closer to you, looming above you.

“I know you two weren’t.” The low tone in his voice had you breathless for a moment.

Does it even matter if you loved Noa? Falling in love was never the point.

“You don’t know anything” You spat out, your voice as intense.

He raised his eyebrow at your words, staring down into your eyes “Really?” He dragged out the word. “You were in love with that asshat? You really want me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe, that’s none of your fucking business.” You bit back, taking a step closer. You wanted to remain unbothered by how the corner plush lips tugged up but the warmth that spread through your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“You’re not answering my question.” The almost gentleness in his voice quickly disappeared as he laughed, his breath hitting your face. His fingers slowly reached up to flick a strand of your hair mockingly.

You were about to slap away his hand when you heard Kay’s voice from the corridor.

“Guys, where are you?” She shouted.

“Uh—we’re here Kay” You yelled back, stepping back from Bjorn. You really didn’t notice how close you two were standing.

Soon enough Kay’s figure appeared in the doorframe.

“Glad to see you didn’t kill each other” She joked. “We found the thing Navarro needed, we can go.” She announced.

You hated how your eyes met Bjorn’s even if it was for a second, and you hated the feeling that erupted in your stomach even more.

#this man needs more fics #alien romulus #spike fearn #bjorn alien romulus fanfiction #bjorn alien romulus fanfic #bjorn x reader #bjorn alien romulus #bjorn alien romulus x reader #somebody sedate me this man is consuming my mind

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shalotttower · 2 months

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The Art of Disappearing (part 1)

Title: The Art of Disappearing Fandom: Resident Evil Village Characters: Lady Dimitrescu x Reader (female) Summary: Lady Dimitrescu enjoys wine; you enjoy living. You pray to god those don't overlap. Word count: 1800+ Notes: mentions of death, implied torture and violence, NSFWish, WINE Part 2

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here.

Melt seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains until you're indistinguishable from them. Become wallpaper with eyes that stare and mouths that don't open, and arms that only pick, and pass, and scrub, and fold.

You're not the girl who was locked in the cellar last week.

You're not the girl who dropped a plate yesterday.

You're not the girl whose blood got so deep into the dining room rug that it's better off being burned.

You want to say that you won't be that girl, but you can't promise anything anymore except that dinner is at 6 o'clock every evening unless stated otherwise by Lady Dimitrescu. Your schedule revolves around hers entirely, like planets rotating around their dying sun, even if it's not your shift. There's no such thing as a day off in the castle.

But there're such things as a quiet day, or a normal day, or a bad one.

Today is a bad one.

Lady Dimitrescu's favourite lipstick is missing.

It's a very rare, expensive shade, like the red shell of a ladybug, or the last breath of a maiden. Your ears pick up the word being murmured from one maid to another — 'if anyone sees the item, return it to the Lady's vanity immediately'.

You hope that someone finds it soon. Nobody here is dumb enough to steal, so it's probably forgotten somewhere. But you don't say it of course, because Her Ladyship doesn't forget anything and you still need your tongue intact.

---

Lady Dimitrescu likes wine; you enjoy living.

You pray that the two never overlap.

So far luck has been on your side — for six months now you've been working in the castle. You've cleaned stains from carpets and floors without asking what they are (because it was clear even without questions); polished silverware until you could see yourself reflected in them and arranged flowers countless times to learn which ones Lady favors over others.

You were a mouth that didn't speak and eyes that saw nothing. A piece of furniture with legs and arms.

As long as you do your job and keep a low profile, you're safe. Humans thrive in delusion, and so do you. It keeps you sane, what an oxymoron that is.

---

At three in the afternoon, you clean the bathrooms.

Bela is the neatest among the three, and Cassandra leaves everything scattered around for maids like you to collect and place where it's supposed to be. Daniela is... unique. You're not sure how she manages to get stains and fingerprints on such random surfaces. Sometimes you wonder if she does it on purpose.

Daniela loves fun surprises.

Like sneaking up on you when you're on your knees, scrubbing the tub. She pokes your shoulder. "Hiya."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"Lady Daniela," you greet while trying not to let your hands shake under the apron.

She's smiling sweetly today, like she didn't just scare ten years out of you. You're not fooled and know better than to trust that expression. Nothing in this castle is innocent and saccharine and nice. Especially not the daughters.

"Can I help you with anything, my lady?"

Please say "no" and leave.

Daniela rocks on her heels then leans forward, inspecting your work.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

She's bored, you realize. Great. Bored means unpredictable behavior, and unpredictable behavior means trouble for everyone else who isn't Daniela herself. You wait for whatever she wants — entertainment? food? — patiently despite the churning in your gut.

"I'm bored," she announces.

"Yes, my lady."

"Let's play a game. Hide and seek, like little ones."

Six months have yet to make the instinctive urge to flee within you die out whenever one of them wants something from you directly. You'd think that this whole time might've increased your chances of survival, but humans thrive in delusion. In reality, everything is a gamble here. An embroidery of chance and circumstances that determines if you will live another day, that's all.

"I would be honored, my lady."

The bathrooms must be finished by five, and it's almost four. You're not going to make it on time.

"Who is going to hide first?" You ask after a moment.

Daniela claps. "Well you, of course, silly!"

Of course.

---

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here. Melting seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains.

But you're not a vase or a coat rack. You're just a girl who's been in the castle for a while and has gotten good at being invisible. You can't hide your heart beat. Your scent and the warmth of your skin are impossible to erase.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Daniela's sing-song voice carries from the other end of the west wing, and then fades.

She didn't count to ten. You know because you've been counting along, just to have an idea of how much time there's left until she finds you. There're no harbored hopes about the opposite happening. Hide and seek is one of Daniela's favourite games, and she dedicates herself to it thoroughly, with great interest.

It's not about winning the game — that much you realized early on when she played against other maids, plucking one out and chasing her around the castle before dissolving into flies with a cackle.

It's about the entertainment good enough to satiate her.

You're not the most agile, not the fastest. Even after six months your knowledge of the castle's layout is patchy, but you try to think logically. What places will she check last? What will Daniela expect you to choose?

Closets are off limits. So is the library, unless you want Bela on your tail as well.

Your mind wanders.

There're so many rooms in this castle that you haven't seen once during all of your shifts. You're always cleaning hallways, sometimes the daughters' parlors, and nothing more.

Down the stairs, past the servant quarters, is a place where rumors are born. Of thick barrels stacked to the ceiling like dominoes and wine in various stages of production. It smells sour-sweet down there — like fruit rotting in August.

Wine that never runs out in Dimitrescu castle as long as there're maids.

That's what others say, at least. Nobody has come back to confirm.

Would she look in the cellar? Would anyone?

It's the last place you'd search if you were looking for someone insignificant and replaceable.

You take off your shoes so that your steps don't echo in the expanse of marble and stairs.

---

There're all kinds of things down here. Broken furniture that's been tossed aside for disposal, boxes and crates of unidentified items, old paintings of people you don't recognize.

And wine.

A lot of it in barrels and bottles, some of which are labeled, some aren't. You walk past them, following the corridors of dusty brick. The air smells like mold and fermentation, damp. It reminds you of the lakeside by your grandmother's cottage in summertime and you feel strangely nostalgic.

You miss home.

The thought is dangerous and you quickly push it away, back to where it belongs — in your memories. Home doesn't exist anymore.

Time passes. Minutes go by without the sounds of buzzing swarms or doors creaking open somewhere nearby. No voices either, except for your own breathing and heartbeat that fill up every corner of silence. You find a nook between the stacked barrels and settle there with your knees pulled to your chest.

The place is colder, uncomfortably so. Cool ground sends its chill through your stockings.

You've done everything you could. Found a good hiding spot, a perfect one, and it's out of your control from here on.

The art of disappearing is simple: be nothing and wait until time decides if you're worth staying like that or not.

---

Daniela finds you after your legs start to numb from sitting.

"Found you," she grins from ear to ear.

Her flies settle as she solidifies into flesh with a giggle, girlish and mischievous. It could be cute if not the bloody smudges around her mouth and chin. She crouches down in front of you, close enough for you to see the specks of gold in her eyes.

"Congratulations, Lady Daniela."

Your fingers dig into your skirts.

Daniela tilts her head; a fly crawls on her cheek before taking off. "I win! I get my prize now."

You didn't know you were playing for a prize. But nobody tells you anything in this castle until it's too late, like that you're not supposed to open windows in winter, or that you can't touch Daniela's books because she has them organized alphabetically.

"What would you like, my lady?"

Another fly lands on your lips, a thick creature with translucent wings and little fuzzy legs. They tickle but you resist the urge to make a face lest she takes it as an insult. At your question her expression turns impish, one of those you never fail to associate with trouble.

She reaches into your apron's pocket... and pulls out a lipstick.

You stare at it — a simple elegant tube with a golden cap.

"Look what I found!" Daniela waves it in front of your face like it's a toy.

Your blood freezes over. How did it end up there? You've been working for hours today yet you don't recall ever picking it up off anywhere. Where-

"My lady, I didn't take it!" you blurt out in horror, when it dawns on you. "I swear, I wouldn't! I would never-"

Daniela blinks owlishly and then breaks into laughter, clutching her stomach. Her smile is so wide that you can see her gums stained with coagulated blood which makes your stomach turn. The flies swarm and dissipate around you both, disturbed by her unrestrained mirth.

"Silly," she interrupts your stammering. "I know! You should've seen your face!"

Oh thank god.

You're so relieved that for a second all air leaves your lungs.

"...you tricked me?" you ask quietly after a moment, a bit more composed now when the accusation of theft doesn't hang over your head.

"Mhm," Daniela nods and wipes tears from her eyes, still giggling.

You're not sure if it was funny to anyone except her.

Her smile lessens gradually and eventually vanishes from her lips altogether when the initial amusement wears off. Something coy appears in her demeanor, sheepish even, as she fiddles with the lipstick in silence.

"Can you put it back in mother's vanity?" she grabs your hand suddenly and places it into your palm.

That's when you realize that you never even once questioned where she got it from. But Daniela gives you a pout with a warning look, like she's able to tell exactly what you're thinking. All questions die instantly on your tongue; you nod.

"Yes, my lady. Of course."

"Good," she pats your knee. "Don't forget! Or I'll eat you."

Flies descend onto your skirt, buzzing around Daniela's fingers until she disappears into dozens of black insects.

You know that she meant every word.

#shalott fanfiction #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #yandere?#maybe #dk yet

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plussizefantasia · 3 months

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Don't Cry over Spilled Lemonade pt.2

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: A little bit of dread on the reader's part but mostly it's fluff and yearning, just the way I like it.

A/N: hahaha I finally finished it!!!! Thanks for all the love on part one it really made me so happy to see so many people liking the little story that I wrote half asleep <3

Anthony wrestled with his thoughts for the rest of the evening. He hated himself deeply for hurting you and even more for not remembering it. Knowing himself though, he knew that his actions were probably fueled by a desire to leave the gathering and visit Siena, she had been his refuge in the years before and during Daphne’s debut.

He would never forgive himself if the reason you would not ever stand to be in the same room with him was his naive infatuation with the opera singer. Especially given the fact that as soon as he met you all thoughts of her flew from his eyes and he never thought of her in that way again. Deep down he knew that his heart now belonged to you although that thought was much too terrifying to dwell on for more than a minute.

You on the other hand were reeling with the new information. You had vowed to hate Anthony Bridgerton until your dying day but his pleas for forgiveness had shaken your will. You still held a deep anger towards him, one that you didn’t think would go away any time soon. But it was becoming harder and harder for you to find the detestation in yours that had once been bubbling at the surface.

You didn't know what to expect from the Viscount anymore, you had always had a pretty clear picture of the man in your mind, and in one fell swoop he had shattered it like glass. Seeing him playing with his younger siblings in the park the day after your conversation in the hallway certainly didn’t help settle your mind.

If there was one thing you knew about Anthony Bridgerton it was that he loved his family. Sometimes he goes about it in the wrong way but you could tell that he does everything he does for them, even getting grass stains on his trousers because Hyancithy and Gregory are insistent that he plays tag with them in the great park.

It is their laughter that draws your attention first followed shortly by a sharp shout and even more giggles. You are fortunate enough to catch sight of the Viscount tripping and landing on his backside, his hands falling to the side of him and right into what looks to be some freshly planted flower beds. His head hangs and he takes a heaving sigh before pushing himself back up. You can’t help but laugh at the sight.

Anthony would be able to recognize your laugh anywhere, he hears it flowing through the halls of his home enough that it’s become ingrained in his mind. His head turns to where you are and your eyes meet. He is taken aback by the warmth he finds in them. How long has it been since you’ve looked at home with anything but detached coldness?

It is Hyancinth who bridged the gap between the two of you, with a shout of your name she comes bounding across the green and practically leaps into your open arms.

“Hello sweet girl, having fun are we?” Your hand runs down the back of her head and you smile down at her.

“We were playing a game of tag, would you like to join us.” Sometimes you forget how innocent the young girl is. Her smile is contagious as it spreads across your own face.

“On any other day my darling but I’ve only cut through the park on my way to visit with Lady Danbury and you know how she is about punctuality.”

“Oh.” Her face falls and your heart follows.

“How about this? Once I am done calling upon her ladyship I shall stop by and you can finally show me the new dresses you got for dolly Molly okay?”

Her smile returns full force and she squeezes you a little tighter before conjuring up a mask of faux indifference.

“I suppose I can accept that.”

“You’re starting to sound like Viscount grumpypants over there.” You tickle at her side.

“I heard that,” Anthony calls from a ways away, Greg held under his arm.

“I was not trying to keep quiet my Lord.” Your eyes meet his once again and Anthony cannot help the little bubbling of hope that builds inside his chest when he sees the lightheartedness contained in your gaze.

“That’s Lord Grumpypants to you.” He shoots back and delights in the way your smile widens.

“Very well Lord Grumpypants, I must be off but I’ll see you all later.” You say the last words down at the young lady still wrapped up in your arms. You give her one final squeeze before releasing her and bowing your head slightly at her older brother. You try not to dwell too much on how much you enjoy the viscount’s smile.

Anthony takes the day in the park as a sign, one that shows him all hope is not lost. All he needs to do is fix his mistake. He craved you, that much he knew. He craved your smile and your laugh, he yearned for your kind eyes and the way you seemed to float when you walked. He has never considered himself a particularly creative man but the images his mind conjures of the two of you make him second-guess himself.

He did not have time to imagine for very long, however, as Colin was due to return today for the start of the season and Eloise seemed to need constant supervision lest she run away the first chance she got. The Danbury ball could not come soon enough.

The Danbury ball was one of legend, the older woman’s opening ball was not one to be missed as it set the tone for the rest of the season. Young women not lucky enough to gain the Queen’s favor had a second chance at the Danbury ball, a chance to show themselves off to the ton once more in the hopes of catching the eye of an eligible young man.

You were no different than those young ladies, primping and preening all day long with the hopes that you would be able to secure a match this season before you become too old to do so. Your mother was adamant that this season had to be spectacular, you had to look and act your best always. She was weary and weeping, moaning about how you’d be letting down the family if you were unable to secure a match.

It was interesting you thought, how quickly she changed her tune. During your debut season, she had spoken dreamingly about a love match and finding happiness and now you were sure that she would shove you off to whoever if it meant that you would be married. It seemed your Mama’s greatest fear was you becoming a spinster.

You obliged her whims, after all, you did wish to find a match. You had always dreamed of a love match. With every year that passed by the candle of hope held within your heart flickered, it was small now, but you had to admit that it still burned. You still soothed your restless nights with dreams of a husband and children, a loving home full of laughter and joy. That is the future you want, that is the future you will fight for.

Tonight you aim to make an entrance, any attention at this point is better than being snubbed. You wore a gown of deep red, with golden lace around the bodice and black and gold beading around the waistline and down the back. Your maid pulled and twisted your hair, piling it upon your head and creating a bold and dramatic look. You were going to pull attention, you had to.

And pull attention you did, from the moment you entered the ballroom all eyes were on you. Ladies whispered and hid behind their fans. Men stood in circles with their peers but you caught the glance of more than one bachelor. And yet, nobody had approached you. You were beginning to feel the flash in your cheeks. Perhaps this was too much, such boldness was offputting and you should have stuck to the known. Dressed in soft pinks and whites, proclaiming purity and softness.

Anthony was beside himself. You were the most ethereal creature he had ever had the privilege of laying his gaze on and he wished to spend the whole night by your side; catching up on all the lost time. He knew though, that you would never allow that, and he would rather die than hurt you again.

So he watched and watched and watched. As time ticked on those cowards kept you waiting. Dances began and ended, people arrived and left and all the while you were stood, bathed in candlelight and alone.

The sun had long since set and you were done. No longer would you endure this embarrassment. You had followed your gut and put yourself out there and it had failed. You were destined to be alone you suppose.

Just as you were getting ready to turn away and retreat back to the safety of your family home a hand entered your sight. Palm up and inviting, your eyes traced slowly up the arm and towards the face of the gentleman who had finally put you out of your misery.

Anthony Bridgerton stood before you, arm outstretched and a small smile on his face. “A lady as beautiful as yourself does not deserve to spend the whole night without a single dance.”

“Are you offering?” You looked him in the eye and raised a brow. This was the first time since your conversation in the hallways that Anthony had approached you without one of his siblings present to be a buffer.

“I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“And what might that be?” You tilted your head to the side and watched as a smirk slowly spread across his face.

“You have a choice, right here and right now. Either grasp my hand and we dance the rest of the night away, opinions be damned. Or you snub me, snub me like I snubbed you that night, and get your revenge.”

You exhale a laugh and look at him. His face held a smile but also a certain seriousness that belayed his intention. This was him making it up to you. He would accept rejection if that is what you wanted.

Here he was, the man who had hurt you and who you still held a flame for offering himself up to like a lamb to slaughter.

You must’ve been taking a long time to answer because the Viscount began shifting on his feet. He looked around the room at the other couples who began to take to the dancefloor.

“I do not mean to rush you my lady, but the dance will be starting soon.”

“Anthony you must promise me.”

“Anything, name it and it’s yours.”

“Promise me that you will never hurt me again, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You took his hand. And let your lips curve into a gentle smile.

He pulled your hand wrapped within his own close to his heart, and vowed, “I will do everything in my power to protect you for the rest of my days, even if the one I am protecting you from is myself.”

“I don’t need protection Anthony,” you looked deeply into his eyes, “I just need your love, honest and true.”

“Then you shall have it.”

Anthony pulled you to the dancefloor and led you in far too many dances to be appropriate that night. And every night for the rest of the season. And neither of you cared about what the rest of the ton had to say. You had each other, finally, and neither of you was letting go anytime soon.

taglist: @ilikestuffs-stuff @cat-lockwood @wolf-phoenix-lover

@tenshis-cake @bridkesby @divergentalwaysandforever-blog @lillysfrogsandbogs @unholyhuntress

#anthony bridgerton x plus size reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #plus size reader #plus size!reader #fanfic #x reader #fluff #requests open #requests wanted #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton

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mdianasims · 2 months

Text

He has traveled around the worlds and collected many memories and keepsakes. He made many friends along the way while he did both mundane and epic heroic things. And in every town there was another lover (or two) to be left behind.

You all know we're talking about Icarus Ibarra, Iker for friends (and he has many - one cheerful introduction and you're BFFs). His recent adventures made him realise that it might be time to settle down. And that doesn't mean he won't be going from world to world anymore. He will, he'd just prefer to do it with that one special someone by his side. And what better way than to find that someone in style?

Watcher Studios Inc presents...

SUBMISSIONS ARE OPEN Deadline: 21 September 2024 More info under the cut.

We probably don't really need to introduce our bachelor, but here's a quick recap:

Full name: Icarus Nicodemo Ibarra Reyes Age: 28 (young adult) Traits: Romantic, Music Lover, Bro, Active, High Metabolism Aspirations: Party Animal, Romantic Explorer Likes: Activities - Dancing, Fitness, Gardening Guitar, Handiness, Mixology, Photography, Snowboarding Colour - Blue, Green, Yellow Music - Alternative, Latin, Latin Pop, METAL, Singer Songwriter We're not sharing compatibility likes/dislikes or turn-on/turn-offs (TOTOs), because that would take the fun out of the challenge.

In case you're not entirely up to speed on Iker's previous adventures, you can find them here.

Still interested? Good. If you want to apply, these are the essentials:

Read the rest of this post carefully. If you still want to enter your Sim after reading, then comment that you want to submit a sim.

I've made another post that further specifies some choices you have. I'm asking you to prepare this before submitting your Sim. That will make it easier for me to play it out when it comes up in my game. I know it looks like a lot, but all you need to do is make a Sim, dress them nicely and make a few choices. Then I'll do the hard work.

This is The Grand Scheme. Save the link, it'll be handy when you create your Sim. And even if you do not intend to submit a contestant, I don't mind sharing my nefarious plans ;)

There's a maximum of 12 participants (and a minimum of 7 or it'll mess up the schedule), first come, first served. One of these spots has been reserved for @zosa95. Because, if I hadn't submitted Iker's sister Neia to Branson's Bachelor Challenge, I would not have had Iker. It seemed only fair to do this in return.

Practical considerations:

No CC (minor exceptions: x and x)

I have all packs except Batuu. As for CAS Kits, I only have Simtimates and Moonlight Chic.

You will need Growing Together and Lovestruck for the personality likes and TOTOs. If you do not have these packs, you can still participate. You just need to let me know how you want to fill these and I can set them for you once your Sim is in my game.

1. Requirements:

Age: Young adult (give a 'real life' age if you like, anything from 18 to 30 is acceptable).

Gender: Male or Female.

Pronouns: No custom pronouns that are intended to be silly (such as 'His Evil Highness' or 'Her Colourful Ladyship' or whatever you would use to refer to your favourite pet (or Sim)). This is basically to prevent me from making mistakes while posting. Too many different pronouns and it's gonna go wrong at some point. Please use something short (and easy to remember).

Sexual Orientation: Must be romantically attracted to and interested in woohoo with men (whatever else you check, is your choice).

Romantic Boundaries: Set them as you like, Iker's player trait should overrule it (if not, I'll set everything to no jealousy).

Occult: Human preferred. No Werewolves, Vampires or Aliens (Iker is still processing the Moonwood adventure, which also made him hate vampires. After StrangerVille, though unfounded, aliens are bit of a touchy subject too).

Traits: Bro and Unflirty are not allowed (there's a rule about bros, and unflirty will just make it incredibly hard for your Sim).

Likes/dislikes:

No more than 2 music likes (because those still dominate wants).

Decor and Fashion are optional (i.e.: Dream Home Decorator and High School Years are not required).

Conversation Topics and Sim Characteristics are required to be set.

TOTOs:

Way of Life and Characteristics are required to be set.

Romance styles: 2 turn ons and 1 turn off, the other 2 will be neutral (I'll do this for Iker too, for a more interesting experience).

Hair Colour: Black hair turn on is advised.

Outfit colour/Fashion categories are optional.

Your Sim can be CAS created or born in game, skills are allowed, there won't be skill based challenges. They can have additional self-discovery traits if you've played them. However: the romance skill and hidden woohoo skill are banned (Iker doesn't have those either, yet) and charisma is capped off at lvl 3.

Fame is not allowed - I'll just keep all Sims out of the spotlight.

2. Outfits:

There will be lots of themed parties, outings and dates, so I've got an entire outfit scheme set up. To give you a chance to express your Sim's personality through their outfit choices (and get creative with NoCC CAS).

First, look up the outfits on The Grand Scheme. Then choose one of the following:

Easy Street: Set your Sim's standard oufit for each category, copy it to all listed slots. Then adjust the two mandatory second outfits.

The Middle Road: Do as above, adjust any other oufits you like.

All the Way: Set all oufits as requested.

Know that not all of these outfits will be used if your Sim is eliminated early on. But hey, at least you'll get a nice NoCC lookbook from it! Another thing to keep in mind (though entirely optional), the show (mostly) takes place in Ciudad Enamorada and Oasis Springs in Spring and Summer. So, big fluffy sweaters might look a bit out of place. If you accidentally use an item from a Kit that I do not have, I will try to replace it with something similar. If you do not set outfits for the themed activities, I will dress your Sim as I see fit.

3. Dates:

For three of the dates, there's a choice to be made by the contestant. Look this up in The Grand Scheme and let me know through DM what your Sim would choose for their perfect date(s).

4. One Final Question:

In case your Sim is eliminated, should they:

be returned to you (I'll save your Sim after elimination and upload the tray files and send you a private link);

live on in my save file;

be deleted;

remain in limbo forever (I'll store the tray files somewhere)?

Not answering this question defaults in the last option.

I know this is a lot. I hope you are not deterred by it. I just want to do something interesting with the new date system. And then this massive plan formed and now I'm stuck with it.

Anyway you have at least until 21 September 2024 to submit your Sim. If you need more time, or I'm not ready with the preparations, that date may move to somewhere in September.

Let me know in the comments and/or through DM if you want to submit a Sim. I'll put your name on the list. If I've added your name to the list and you no longer can/want to submit a Sim, let me know. There might be someone else who can take your place.

If you have any additional questions, do let me know. (if you think I've made any weird typos, let me know as well. I've checked the post a several times, but something might still have slipped).

Thanks for reading and I hope you're as excited about this as I am!

#sims 4 #ts4 #simblr #ts4 bachelor challenge #ts4 lovestruck #iker ibarra #iatw8 #cityinlovebc

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musings-of-miss-j · 18 days

Text

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part nine: in which the Doctor calls in sick and Her Ladyship graces your doorstep

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn, uh idek what to describe this as anymore!! introspection-heavy chapter, signora and dottore centric this time, Menaces Think About Feeling and Give Themselves a Headache

series masterlist

author's notes: *bleeding from an array of stab wounds varying in depth and size* h..hey everyone... sent in my college applications the other day and i've been feeling sick to my damn stomach every since. also graduated haha! salutatorian..! kill me! at least i got to give a speech and make my mum proud ig. anyway enjoy this chapter!

word count: 4902

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Despite how dazzled Childe might have been by your passable archery, Dottore was decidedly unimpressed when your return to the lab was so overdue.

“And just where have you been?”

“I could ask you the same, Doctor,” you replied pointedly when you recovered from your start at his sudden question. He clicked his tongue, impatient.

“My dear student, this is far from a suitable day to challenge the status quo. Tell me where you were.”

The Doctor was hardly one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and the barely-there edge to his voice would’ve escaped you if you weren’t so familiar with the careless tenor he usually adopted; paired with the slight raspiness it almost made it sound as if he was… sick?

“Have you fallen ill?” You asked with a frown, stepping forward and scrutinising what was visible of his face for any observable changes. He always looked deathly pale, though, so it was difficult to ascertain any physical symptoms.

“I don’t fall ill,” he hissed, turning away from you with a scowl. “Answer my question.”

Oh, well. Might as well let him interrogate you.

“The archery range.”

“The archery range,” he repeated, tone dripping with contempt. “Rather than contributing to scientific advancement, you chose to play with bows and arrows. Extraordinary.”

“Whoever usually spits in your coffee supplied extra effort today, I see,” you mused under your breath, heading back to your work station and tightening your gloves as you walked.

“The sheer cheek-”

“And there’s my proof that something’s amiss,” you smoothly interrupted, looking through the row of test tubes on your work bench. “I implicitly called you an imbecile earlier this week and you didn’t bat an eye, but now a little throwaway comment is so easily setting off your volatile temper?” You shot him a pointed look over the rim of your glasses. “No point in continuing yesterday’s experiment if you’re sick, Doctor. You’ll contaminate the Petri dishes beyond salvation.”

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh, pivoting on his heel and preventing you from taking a peek at what the rest of his face looked like with the mask slightly tilted up. You were insufferable, with your overly astute observations and your deceptively mild tone with the hint of sarcasm just strong enough to make him raise an eyebrow. You were maddening, all narrowed eyes and furrowed brows as you pored over what he assumed to be an anomalous result (you only ever hunched that closely over your work when something had gone wrong. He knew it was an old habit from before you’d started wearing glasses, when any mistakes could easily be fixed simply by eliminating the issue of poor visuals.) You were unbearable, intelligent enough to challenge him and prove him wrong, all without even raising your voice a single decibel. He wished your secrets were the kind that could be uncovered by a scalpel and a swipe or two of disinfectant.

“I do believe I’m the doctor, dear student. You’re hardly qualified to throw diagnoses around.”

“Well then, Doctor, I think you’d best go ahead and diagnose yourself with a common cold, and recommend yourself some bedrest while you’re at it.”

He grumbled incoherently under his breath, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Probably a fever, you thought with a touch of gratification. When he moved in the general direction of the incubator, you called out at his receding back.

“Do not touch my cultures. This is the fourth time I try to test this medium,” you added, mostly to yourself.

“Worry not,” he replied, voice practically oozing sarcasm. “Your subpar agar plates couldn’t be further from the top of my list of priorities.”

You rolled your eyes, stacking the sheets of paper you inevitably accumulated at the end of every lab session and resolving to leave the Doctor and his more-annoying-than-usual attitude to finish your work elsewhere.

“Stay,” he instructed without turning around when you headed to the door. “I’ve yet to hear the details of your thermodynamic stability tests.”

“I’ll have the complete report ready tomorrow,” you pointed out, continuing to make your way to the door.

“Stay,” he repeated, just barely more forceful. “I’d like to hear about it now.”

You stopped in your tracks, sighing internally. It would be senseless to put so much effort into making sure you didn’t anger the Harbingers only to directly disobey an order and let all your posturing go to waste, so you spent the next few hours chattering extensively about your experiment, perhaps being more long-winded and going into more detail than necessary as a form of petty revenge. Not that the Doctor seemed to mind, making the occasional noise of acknowledgement and asking questions that allowed you to delve deeper into the specifics of your methodology.

By the time you’d finished off your spiel with a cursory “and then I’ll recrystallise the product so there’s a pure sample ready for another round of testing”, it was well into the evening and you’d wound up in the inevitable position of sitting on one of the workbenches thanks to the utter lack of any chairs in the lab.

“It is a well-designed procedure,” the Doctor conceded, breaking your absent-minded train of thought about whether or not you could somehow drag a comfortable loveseat inside.

“You must really be under the weather if you’re offering me a compliment on a silver platter,” you replied with a raise of your eyebrows. “Not even a backhanded one. Truly astonishing.”

Dottore rolled his eyes behind the mask. “The only cause for astonishment is your inexcusably meagre supply of respect.”

“There’s the Doctor I know,” you said with a huff of laughter, pushing your glasses to the top of your head and rubbing your eyes. “…Don’t overwork tonight,” you added after a non-negligible period of deliberation. “I need another set of hands for tomorrow’s follow-up. So…” you gestured vaguely at him with your hand, hopping down from the workbench. “Rest, if only for an hour or two.”

You weren’t quite sure if the Doctor’s silence made you feel more or less awkward, but you brushed it off to the best of your ability and left with only with the vague sense of mortification you’d get from showing a little more kindness than usual to someone who was probably more accustomed to your scorn.

Dottore, on the other hand, was more confounded than he cared to admit. You’d always been careful not to say too much; every one of your words was precisely measured and deftly presented, with no room to spare for emotion. Which was sensible of you, all things considered; he was a Harbinger, and you were in alone in a foreign country working with an organisation that veered on the wrong edge of morality, where integrity was a politely dismissed formality at best and an openly mocked concept at worst. Impassiveness would help just as much as openness would hurt. The occasional times you slipped up, the only feeling that bled into your voice was annoyance; crisp and sharp and a sight to behold, especially for a scholar such as himself who toiled against the laws of nature countless times with innumerable different methods to procure something new, a tangible result.

He marvelled at himself for thinking of you as such, an immovable law, a force of nature, then he returned to the puzzling dilemma that was your parting statement. Rest, you’d told him. You never said anything that could belie concern, or worry or weakness, yet you’d expended an extra syllable or two for the simple word, directed at him. To every rule an exception, he thought with no small measure of satisfaction at finding a way to categorise your behaviour yet again, and filed the abnormally uncertain cadence that your voice had displayed, however briefly, in the corner of his mind.

The night was still young and many of the recruits you shared a wing with loitered in the corridors, talking and smoking and looking rather exhausted. One of them, a girl with red hair so bright it could’ve replaced the floating lanterns that littered the palace, offered you a cigarette as you walked past. You declined with a nod in her direction and continued on your way, the strap of your heavy leather satchel digging uncomfortably into your shoulder as you approached your dorm. After a moment of fumbling with the chain on your belt for the key, you all but collapsed inside with a yawn, running a hand through the stray hairs that had escaped throughout the day. The fire crackled in the hearth, definitely courtesy of Anya, and you gratefully warmed your hands in front of it before unclasping your cloak and hanging it in the wardrobe along with your bag.

“You’re late, sweetling,” came a voice that was becoming alarmingly familiar- ever so slightly gravelly, with an undercurrent that always left you guessing whether its owner was amused or displeased.

“Fashionably so, I hope,” you replied, turning to face Signora with a smile that veered on the wrong side of playful. You couldn’t help it; everything about her demanded obedience, and small defiances were the only thing preventing you from feeling like a well-trained pet with not an ounce of dignity to spare. Either way, she didn’t seem to mind, judging from the exaggerated, lenient eye roll she sent in your direction. You marvelled at the companionable silence as you unpacked. Lady Signora fit seamlessly into the puzzle that your everyday belongings shaped, yet commanded attention all the same; like a swath of unblemished silk draped over aging furniture. Her first few visits were an uncomfortable experience. It had felt more like an intrusion, really, being forced to entertain an unwanted guest with your limited capacity for small talk (mortifying) and a different tea blend every time served in teacups with a painted rim that matched her lipstick (because despite it all, a part of you still wanted to impress her).

You carried out the same routine, teapot, cups and saucers, and even went so far as to open a new tin of biscuits for Her Ladyship. The eyes of Her Ladyship in question remained focused on you, half-lidded yet nonetheless penetrating as ever, as you went through the motions of pouring the tea and handing her the cup.

“Chamomile? It’s quite unlike you to forego caffeine.”

You sighed, taking a seat across from her and melting into the dips of the chair. “The Doctor was in an awful mood. If it carries on until morning I’ll need every minute of sleep I can get to deal with him.”

She clicked her tongue, lifting the cup to her lips. “That man possesses no emotional stability whatsoever. It’s a wonder you’re both still alive, especially when your temper is hardly mild either.” This last remark she paired with a wink, and a smile spread over your face.

“Right as always, my lady. Too often a day spent in the lab feels like my last.”

“Ah, Tsaritsa forbid!” She waved a hand in your direction, the simple black rings on her fingers catching the low light. “You have to live until the gala at least, sweetheart. I won’t have you tragically perishing before then; you owe me a dance, after all.”

You dejectedly rubbed your brow. “I do wish you’d pardon my absence from that gala.”

“Absolutely not,” Signora declared, crossing one leg over the other with an air of unbearable gratification. “You wouldn’t break my heart so callously, now would you?”

“Anything but Her Ladyship’s heart,” you replied dryly.

After a moment of shared laughter, a comfortable quiet fell across the room, punctuated by the crackling fire and the muffled groan of the building as it settled for the night. Your eyelids grew heavy, and staying awake was rapidly looking like an unnecessary effort you had no interest in making. Signora watched you drift off with an oddly contemplative expression, her eyes unfocused yet present all the same, as if simultaneously observing you and something far beyond. You had become a frequent visitor in her dreams, instantly recognizable by that shrewd look in your eye and the stubborn line of your mouth, one she could never resist trying to coax into a smile; and sometimes when she succeeded and the light hit you just so, she could swear that she glimpsed Rostam’s face within the shadows of your own. Then she’d blink and the illusion would dissolve, leaving behind only your sharp eyes and stern mouth, so unlike the gentleness she so clearly remembered in his.

But now, with the fire casting wavering shadows every time your lashes fluttered, just barely asleep, and the muffled silence that always seemed to accompany snow calming her mind, Rosalyne found comfort in the fact that your face – the slope of your cheek, the curve of your nose, the crease of your eyes – was entirely your own.

Something banged against the door and you started awake, half-certain you were dreaming as your eyes struggled to focus in the dark. The noise came again, louder and more insistent, and you detangled yourself from a blanket you didn’t remember falling asleep in before stumbling off the couch and towards the door, rubbing your eyes and too tired to even question who would call on you at such an ungodly hour of the night.

Bang bang bang-

“Heavens above, would you stop-”

You forcefully yanked the door open, already preparing to fix whoever was on the other side with your most withering glare. Dottore peered back at you, almost glowing in the inky blackness of the corridor. You blinked, then groped blindly through your pockets for your glasses. Upon hastily shoving them onto your nose, it became clear that it wasn’t Dottore at all, rather one of his segments.

“Omega?” You squinted up at him, then scowled. “Bastard. What exactly are you hoping to accomplish by breaking my door down?”

“I’d break down much more than just a door if it meant having a chance to see you.”

“Shut the hell up,” you hissed, feeling more enraged by the second. “You have thirty – no, twenty seconds to explain what you’re doing here before I dismantle your logic core.”

He grinned, completely unconcerned. You hated to admit it, but his lack of reaction was probably justified; the Rudimentary Mechanics of Sentient Machines course you took in your second year left you ill-equipped to go through with your threat. That didn’t mean you couldn’t simply swing a hammer, though, and you silently communicated the fact to Omega with a glower that could probably light a torch.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Prime’s fallen unconscious.”

You levelled him with an unimpressed look. “I fail to see how that’s my problem. There are seven of you, all with highly developed medical faculties. You can handle a little oopsie-daisy.”

“Well, of course we can,” Omega replied with a barely restrained snort. “It isn’t a lack of skill on our part, that I can assure you of. Prime coded us all with a total inability to touch his person.”

There was a pause during which you picked out a rather distasteful array of words you would’ve liked to call the Doctor. “Archons above, that man is the most imbecilic genius this timeline had the displeasure of housing.” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, already half-resigned to your fate. “And I suppose any real doctors within the building are utterly forbidden from laying a hand on His Majesty’s body, too?”

“Nope. They haven’t been given explicit instructions not to do so, but they’re all too scared out of their wits to breathe within a five mile radius of him anyway,” he replied cheerfully.

“I’m going to mix all his blood samples together,” you muttered heatedly under your breath, turning to grab your cloak and pushing Omega out of your doorway before he could start looking through your dorm. “Move it, Omega.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, letting you shove him towards the barely-illuminated staircase.

The lab was just as, if not even more poorly lit than the corridors, with only a single lamp set to the dimmest possible glow; the feeble light was barely enough to see by, and you could make out the Doctor’s slumped-over form by the indistinct shadows it cast over the workbench. Despite the eeriness of the scene, you didn’t feel nervous; it was difficult not to feel at ease in a room you spent so many hours of the day in. You could probably navigate the lab blindfolded and drunk, so picking your way through the boxes, stacks of paper and books on the floor might as well have been a walk in the park. Still, you wondered why the floor was so cluttered in the first place; it was never so populated with scientific miscellany when you were working there.

Approaching the Doctor, you took note of how his mask had fallen slightly askew where his face rested against the marble, revealing a sliver of his cheek, flushed an unusual red, and the dark circles beneath one of his eyes. Your spine tingled with trepidation. Even while unconscious, the Doctor emanated danger, embodied peril; the simple act of reaching out to touch him felt like a surefire way to spell your own doom, but despite your wariness you slowly extended your hand towards his face to check his temperature.

You barely made it a few inches before he grabbed your wrist, snapping upright and staring straight at you.

“Oh,” he muttered hoarsely. “It’s you.” Then he went limp again, collapsing back onto the marble surface as you recovered from the start he’d given you.

“What in Teyvat is the matter with you?” You demanded in a whisper after a moment’s surprise. “Omega dragged me here saying you were unconscious. You can’t possibly keep denying that you’re sick, Doctor.”

“Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t deny,” came a muffled grumble in response. “Go away, dear. Omega is a meddling pest who needs his cerebrospinal fluid replaced at best and a full reformatting at worst. Nothing he says can be trusted.” His words slurred together in a most concerning manner, and you could hear the faintest Sumerian accent that wasn’t usually present in his voice from the way he rolled his r’s.

“Why would a robot need cerebrospinal- no, don’t answer that. Just”- you gestured at his hunched form, not that he could see- “Go to bed, please.”

“I can’t possibly waste time on something as useless as sleep,” he snapped, finally lifting his head. “I’m one concordant result away from a breakthrough, I swear it.”

“And I’m one stupid word from your mouth away from knocking you out properly,” you griped under your breath. “Doctor, please. I bet if I tried to take your temperature I’d lose a couple of fingers to third degree burns. Just rest, whatever breakthrough you think you’re on the verge of can wait.”

He let out a bark of wry laughter, turning to face you fully and lay the full weight of his piercing glare on you. “Aren’t we hypocritical? You once spent fifty-one and a half hours straight in the lab inhaling toxic fumes from a genetically modified mushroom’s spores because you were convinced the cure to Eleazar was within reach. You wouldn’t let a revolutionary advancement in your research wait either.”

“That is completely beside the point”- you blinked, processing his words. “How the hell do you know about that? I stopped researching Eleazar in my third year and I only have one publication on the topic.”

“I have my ways,” he replied, a self-assured grin stretching across his face.

“So you’re a stalker, too? Was the list of atrocities you’ve already committed not long enough to appease your wicked soul?” You deadpanned.

“Stalking? I prefer to call it data collection.”

“Yes, of course you would,” you quipped, patience growing thinner by the second. “Get up, Doctor. You’re getting eight hours of sleep tonight whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t be so frivolous,” he scorned. “Three is already excessive.”

You were growing more and more aggravated by the second; if you scowled any harder the lines of your face would probably become permanently etched in that position. Steeling your nerves, you grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him upwards. Surprisingly enough, he actually got up, although that was more likely because you caught him off-guard.

“I’m too tired to exchange witticisms with you all night. We both know you’re not going to make any more progress, and you’ll be useless in the lab if you can’t even discern silver from iron.”

You picked your way unsteadily through the mess on the floor, cursing Omega for disappearing when he could’ve made himself useful. Dottore let you pull him towards the door that led to the completely unused bedroom, still mostly out of surprise that you’d dared to lay a hand on him in the first place. He had to commend your bravery; anyone else would’ve been left with a broken wrist by now, if they were lucky. The reasoning behind your special treatment made the unpleasant pounding in his head quickly become unbearable, so he decided to drop that train of thought. For the time being.

You kicked open the door and shoved him inside the untouched bedroom. Just from taking a brief glance around you were immediately certain that no one had stepped foot in it since it had been furnished, let alone made use of it for sleep. Every surface from the dresser to the shelves mounted on the wall was completely empty save for a thick layer of dust, the bedsheets had become yellowed with age and the spider web cracks starting at the window and ending at one of the corners were tightly clustered with the tiny, jasmine-like flowers that littered the rest of the palace. The Doctor swayed slightly on his feet, and you quickly moved to catch him before he fell. A frown crossed his face. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about being so reliant on you all of a sudden. Whatever he felt about the matter, it couldn’t have been positive; every time you touched him his fever seemed to rise a few degrees.

“Well, isn’t this ironic,” you mused to yourself, guiding Dottore to the bed and pushing him down onto it. “The doctor becomes the patient and the apprentice becomes the master.”

“Do not flatter yourself so,” he bit back. “You’ve a long way to go before surpassing me, dear.”

“I see a little cold isn’t enough to knock some humility into you,” you sighed, busying yourself with trying to force the window, which hung ever so slightly ajar and let in gusts of freezing air, to fully close. Dottore watched you from the bed, wondering what you were thinking in that moment. As far as he was concerned, it was a miracle you’d managed to force him anywhere without snapping his incredibly fragile patience, and now you were even going so far as to trade jabs with him that were quite a few degrees of familiarity higher than the ones you usually let loose during the day. And you’d told him to rest earlier that night, advice he’d blatantly disregarded, but it had still been a deviance from what he’d come to expect from you. Overall, he decided, both of you were exhibiting remarkably odd behaviour, and as much as it pained him to admit it he was too tired to think further about the matter.

Upon finally forcing the window shut and sustaining a shallow nick in the palm of your hand as a result, you walked past him and back into the lab with a mumbled curse on your lips which quickly devolved into a wide yawn. Of course you’d be tired. He tended to forget, sometimes, how it felt to have a body that wasn’t modified to be as close to perfection as possible; but catching even a glimpse of your very much human exhaustion brought back distant memories of his own fatigue, before he had taken a scalpel to his own skin and remedied the limitations of his own body. Still, he mused, watching you return to the bedroom with a pot of steaming tea (where in Teyvat did you get that? Did you keep it in the lab?) with half-lidded eyes and a disgruntled frown on your lips, a part of him filled with satisfaction at the opportunity to analyse an expression of yours he hadn’t seen before. He studied you intently as you turned your attention to the tea, eagerly filing away every detail of your countenance as he always tended to do when you showed him a new side of yourself, whether intentionally or not. You bent over a little to pour the tea, and he took in the curve of your spine, normally held upright in an example of perfect posture. Your hair slipped and hid a portion of your face, and he marvelled at how soft it looked, how effectively you usually kept it tied back for it to never get in the way. You rubbed one of your eyes, dislodging your glasses, and he watched as you plucked them from your face and stowed them in the pocket of your coat, thoroughly wrinkled along with your blouse to the point where he suspected you’d fallen asleep in them. You’d never let yourself get in such a state of disarray otherwise. Your gloves remained on your hands, though, he noted. You silently offered him a cup of tea, and cast a curious, searching gaze, the one you adopted when tasked with a particularly tricky experiment or stubborn calculation, across his face. He’d long since acknowledged the sheer gratification that came with you regarding him like a puzzle to solve or a code to decipher, and now was no different. Dottore internally preened at being the subject of your curiosity.

“That mask can’t be comfortable,” you finally said, taking a sip from your cup. “Does it not impair your breathing at all?”

He stared down at the cup you’d given him, catching sight of his own reflection in the surface of the amber liquid. “Quite a poor attempt to convince me to remove it,” he remarked, sending you a bemused, slightly mocking smile.

You rolled your eyes, dragging a worn chair to the side of the bed and crumpling into it. Swirling your cup around thoughtfully, you continued to survey him through narrowed eyes. You probably couldn’t see him very well without your glasses, he realised with some amusement as he finally lifted the cup to his lips. He was pleasantly surprised; it seemed your unbelievable caffeine intake was justified, if every pot of tea you made was of such high quality.

“You’re going to get up and continue working the second I leave, aren’t you?” You said, breaking the silence. Dottore drained his teacup before answering. Some damn good tea right there.

“Unless you’ve spiked this tea with a sedative, yes.”

“Damn, I should’ve done that,” you muttered regretfully under your breath. Then, after eyeing him shrewdly for a moment, you conceded, “Well, at least you’re getting some rest now, if nothing else.”

Yet another thing about the whole situation that was confusing the hell out of him. Why didn’t he just disregard you and go back to what he was doing? Why was he sitting in this practically-antique bed in this practically-abandoned room, drinking tea and making conversation with you instead of finishing what he started? What in Teyvat was it about you that was so compelling he found it so easy to disregard the work he thought he’d choose over everything else? Not for the first time, he wished that your enigmatic nature was something he could decode like an ancient scripture or unravel like the tangle of ley lines that held the world together. So few things were a mystery to him anymore; there was so little he’d left undiscovered, yet you had managed to make it onto such a short list seemingly without effort. Even now, while you were completely still and silent, your unfocused eyes looking somewhere out the window, his full attention was captured by the way you rested your cheek on your fist, the way your eyelids fluttered periodically as you struggled to stay awake. Damn you.

You dozed off just then, teacup slipping from between your fingers. He caught it before it could shatter, then nearly crushed it to pieces himself when he realised his urgency in preventing it from hitting the floor was because he didn’t want to wake you. And that maybe you liked this particular teacup, and would mourn its loss. And fuck, why would such things cross his mind? Frustrated, he glanced back up at you as if your sleeping form would hold the answers to these infuriating questions that plagued him, and instead was left with an even greater sense of wonderment at how much the peacefulness of sleep softened the harsh lines of doubt and suspicion in your face.

He carefully set the cup down. If his grip tightened any more he’d break it in his fit of vexation. And despite not knowing the reason why, he didn’t want to upset you.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

taglist (omg there's so many of you now i'm gonna cry):

@viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men

@aenishas, @lovel3tter, @randomidk-123, @autistic-deer

@luvenus702, @zoriaisasimp, @ra404, @crownohomo

@diamondcookie45, @steadybreadbluebird, @reapersimps

@lockandkeys, @lacunaanonymoused, @tyt42, @blackcatpandora

to be added or removed please reply to the masterlist post, bold means i'm having trouble tagging you :(

115 notes · View notes

mamayan · 10 months

Note

OK BUT what about sub Muzans daughter , Dom Genya..

Since I have so many requests for this…

Genya Shinazugawa x Muzan’s Daughter Reader!

cw: NSFW • Clichè Aphrodisiac Troupe • Consenting Blood Drinking • PIV Sex • Slightly Dom! Genya (more switch) • Dacryphilia (M) • Fem! Reader • Praise/Fluff • Oral (F) • Sugary Sweetness • Breeding Kink

“I expect nothing less than perfection. You’ve done well, child.”

“Thank you, my Lord, it is my honor and duty to uphold your expectations.”

Low.

You’re bowed low to the ground. Forehead nearly touching, so close it’s nearly indistinguishable from pressing your skin to the ground.

You don’t. Can’t. Even if death is threatened.

The aura surrounding him would make any lesser demon fawn and fall to their knees, but it only drove you wild. A call to your soul to destroy him and take his place. You hated him. The man who should’ve peacefully allowed you to marry off into a pristine family and be given a true chance as a human with happiness and children ruined when he turned you. Had you attacked and nearly slaughtered before acting as if he was bestowing a mercy and not a curse.

Your face betrays nothing. Sweet and serene as always because of your true emotions showed all your hard work would be for naught. You thought of your loyal servant Tamayo, her breakthrough and discovery which could change the tide of this cursed war. Then without your permission his face appeared.

You can’t think of him.

Despite not having a heart which worked as one should in a human, it still pained your chest to remember his face and the distance between you both.

Patience.

You must be patient and stay low, no matter how it irritated your pride like a nail in your soul.

You left, moving through the infinity castle with confidence none else beside yourself and Kokushibo possessed in this space. You kept Nakime in your peripheral, the disturbed demon not to your taste despite her blood art providing much assistance in your plans.

That woman cared little for loyalty. She just liked havoc.

“Ah~♡ The lovely lady is here? Akaza-dono, you didn’t tell me we’d be graced with her ladyships presence!” Your cool gaze slid over the upper rank two demon, Doma, who now stood before you and blocked your path. His dazzling rainbow eyes trained on you with a worship similar to how he looked at your father. You shared the same addicting blood after all.

“Lady,” Akaza was as formal as ever as he leapt from a high shifting platform, landing smoothly before you to bow slightly. You returned the polite gesture before looking back at Doma with a small smile.

“Doma-san,”

“Yes! My lady?”

“Do you like being beheaded? You must be a masochist I presume, since you continue to block my path.”

“Ah… right.” He swiftly moved, created a hole for you to move through, kimono dragging lightly on the ground as you passed with your smile in tact. The blonde male irritated you as well, his loyalty questionable a from all angles.

You left, being taken out to your previous location, a spacious estate given as a gift some thirty or so years ago.

Tomoya was present, her gentle smile and irritable little assistant all in tact which made you breathe an inner sigh of relief. Your father wants her dead, and you’re harboring her in secret. Your carefully placed house of leaves can be blown apart any moment, one wrong step could destroy you and all your plans.

It could destroy him.

“Ubuyashiki contacted me… mentioned a young slayer you’ve had… correspondence with is assigned a mission near the base of the mountains.” Tomoya was always soft spoken, gentle atmosphere a layer plastered to hide the true nature she kept swaddled. Her rage. She glance over as she works, a multitude more of glass beakers filled with liquids you didn’t question.

“Hn.”

“Not going?”

“No.”

“…May I ask why?”

“You may not.”

“I see.”

Your mouth twitched before you sighed, knowing she wouldn’t give up so easily. It was obvious how you doted on him, so there was little use pretending he meant nothing.

“I’ll check, nothing more.”

“Hn.” Her smile grew but you didn’t point it out, scoffing as you left in more of a hurry than you cared to think on.

He’s going to die.

This demon isn’t dying no matter how he blows its head off or slices it to pieces.

He’s been fighting for nearly two days straight, exhausted and fatigued to a point he may not survive if it continues any longer. He’s requested backup, but it may not come, and this demon’s blood is only making him more sluggish and it comes back for another swing at his jugular.

“Fucker—! Die!” He doesn’t stop though, because if he’s going to die then he’s taking this piece of shit out with him.

“Genya?!”

“Huh?” He turns at the wrong moment, and that’s his mistake.

He watches in amazement as you move swiftly, the demon he struggled to defeat lit to flames as if the sun was out and on it directly. His eyes look up, the sky covered by a thick blanket of clouds preventing even a tiny fraction of light through.

“Genya no!” He’s bleeding. Badly.

“Oh no, no it’s my fault, no sweet boy, look at me. Genya!” You look different. Less confident yet still beautiful. Are you crying? Can demons cry? He wonders briefly, eyes looking down but unable to move his body as you cradle him to your chest, blood is everywhere.

He’s going to die.

“No my love, look at me. Stay with me, okay?” He wants to speak, but his mouth feels wet and cemented shut.

You’re trembling. Or is it him?

“Okay. Let me think… okay, we’ll fix this, just stay with me alright?”

He wants to reassure you, tell you in all honesty he doesn’t regret dying in your arms, but his vision is getting fuzzy.

“I won’t let you die.”

He’s glad he gets to hear your voice in the end.

He’s burning.

Genya’s eyes shoot open, breathing picking up as he feels a building fire in his core, specifically his cock.

“Fuck—ah,” he groans, muscles twitching as he rolls to his side and looks around. He’s in an inn it appears, the silence thick as he surveys his body to check to for injuries.

None.

He’s still himself though, which means you must’ve fed him your flesh.

He’s never felt this before though, after consuming a demon.

“Good, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?” A cool hand on his forehead jolts him from his thoughts, dark purple eyes looking up to your face as you smile so sweetly down at him, and the disgusting thoughts swirling inside him begin to bubble over.

“You see feverish still.” You murmur, forehead wrinkling as you lean in closer and Genya has to breathe through his mouth when he catches a whiff of something floral and sweet on you.

“Master…” he’s dying in a different way now, mind fogging over as he looks up and sees you.

It’s been months. How could you be here? Why do you smell so good? He’s itching to run out of his own skin, teeth aching because he wants to sink them into you, eyes watering as he realizes he’s going out of control.

“Genya? Sweetheart you don’t seem alright, what’s going on—oh?” He knows you allow it, your strength and power nothing to dismiss for even the strongest demon or slayer, but still you allow him to grip your shoulders and pull you into a tight hug. He’s nearly sobbing when you hug him back, arms wrapping around him and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Ma-Master I need—please, I need—,” you’re nodding with understanding as you lean back, smile still so sweet and caring as you look him over with complete adoration. He’s melting for it, gritting his teeth because the moment feels ruined but his straining cock isn’t listening to anything right now.

“I knew there’d be some kind of side effect, I just didn’t imagine it’d affect you like this.” He’s not listening, head hazy and eyes clouding over as he leans forward and kisses you, soft lips desperate for entrance into your mouth which he’s gratefully granted.

His hands are everywhere now, shaky and jerky as he yanks awkwardly at your kimono and his own clothing, trying to tear it from you both as his hips hump the air at nothing.

He needs to taste you. Needs you on his tongue with desperation he’s never felt. He might truly perish this time if he��s denied.

You’re soft in his arms, and for the first time he realizes you’re smaller than he thought. Sweet and caring despite how you’ve fucked him senseless, and remembering only drives him more crazy.

“Please—fuck, let me taste you.” Tears are already welling up in his eyes, features languid as his reddened face struggles to stay still, even as he shakes and clutches onto your robes.

“Okay, sweet boy, whatever you want.”

Whatever you want—

He gives up on his disheveled clothing in favor of pushing up your kimono only halfway opened, burying his face in your crotch much like the dog you enjoy calling him, lips immediately seeking out your warm heat. He moans at your taste, hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer with the intention of suffocating himself as he dry humps the futon, pre-cum wetting and staining his yukata placed on him. His hot mouth open and tongue flicking at the hidden pearl which has you moaning.

Your noises drive him more wild, eating you like a man starved. His nails digging into the fat of your hips, only leaving marks for a second before you heal.

“So good, fuck—,” he’s delirious and gone to the heat and haze of your blood and slick. He’d happily die only consuming the two for the rest of his life. He’s chanting your name as he slurps and messily swallows your slick, and he groans low in his throat when you tangle your fingers into the soft tuft of hair atop his head and yank him closer to grind on his face.

“Such a good boy, yes—you’re going to make me cum.” Your words only push him to work harder, tongue lapping and lavishing your clit while your orgasm washes over you.

He only stops when you force his head up, slick covered red face almost offended it’d been stopped.

“Enough. Don’t you want to feel better? Come here Genya.”

“Y-yes—,” he’s nearly falling over himself as he sits up and crawls over you, clothes tangled awkwardly around his legs but it hardly mattered since his cock was free and ready.

He came the moment he felt his tip glide through your soaked folds, body nearly seizing up as he struggled to breathe through such an intense release.

“It’s alright, you’re doing so good.” He whines as you brush the sweat soaked hair off his forehead, blurry eyes only briefly focusing on you before dropping down to his still hard cock.

It hurt. He wanted to cry because it hurt to physically not be inside you. You seemed to know though, encouraging him with soft words and gentle hands guiding him forward as he finally pressed forward and felt the tip of his cock breach the tight ring of muscle to your pussy. “C-cuming—ah, fuck, please let me cum, please—,”

“Cum for me sweet boy,” you kiss him.

He comes again, but you gasp in pleasure and delight when he merely surges forward to completely fill you, Genya’s fucked out expression lewdly on display as he ruts into you with an unset rhythm. His libido won’t tire it appeared.

He moans loudly when you clamp down around him, tightening up to watch his eyes roll back and drool slide down his chin. He cries though when you try to slow him, shush him quiet as he pumps his poor meat rod into your gummy walls with a more coordinated roll of his hips. Pretty tears glistening in his eyes despite the animalistic way he’s pounding into your body, trying to mold your inner walls into the shape of him.

“I l-love you—,” he’s not even in his right mind but he’s confessing. It amuses and warms you, only making you draw him in closer as he pants and whines losing himself inside you.

“You feel so good, Master, Y/N, I’m going crazy,” he’s slurring his speech, mindlessly fucking you until he’s begging to fill you again and again.

If you were human it might’ve been too much.

You aren’t though, and he’s still hard despite it all, only making a frothy mess of cum continuously being pumped into your pussy and spilling out over the sides when he stretches you out again.

“Go crazy then, fuck me harder.” He does, pressing forward and folding you up into a mating press where he pounds straight against your womb which he babbles about filling, panting and moaning like a dog in heat as he makes you cum before painting your insides once again.

He wakes the next morning with something akin to a headache, but alive nonetheless.

His eyes widen though when they catch you, naked beside him and gazing at him fondly.

“Did you have fun, pet?”

He feels something ominous in your words but he can’t quite pick it out.

“Y-yes…?”

“That’s good, because I’m very curious of the biological response you had to my blood. I’d like to run some more tests.”

Despite the almost polite way you spoke, he knew you weren’t really asking.

Dividers/@cafekitsune

#Yan answers #Genya Shinazugawa #Genya Shinazugawa smut #Genya Shinazugawa x reader #Genya Shinazugawa x reader smut #kny Genya #kny Genya smut #kny smut #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer smut

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wildchildvdm · 1 year

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HEAR ME OUT.

I need Charlie Dempsey to leave WWE

Go to NJPW

AND HAVE A FEUD WITH DAVID FINLAY.

#the return of the ladyship #david finlay #Charlie Dempsey #njpw #nxt #WWE #nxt uk

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kingsanddragonsandgods · 11 months

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⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #it's pro team green #kinda #viserys married his own niece #so she's team red #she's the bitch people accuse alicent of being #the children are there in essence #Aemond is the same #mostly #hotd #viserys targaryen x oc #viserys targaryen x reader #tyland lannister #fuck viserys

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cyborg-squid · 5 months

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I just read Hell Screen in preparation for Ryoshu's Canto:

1) Wow, it is really good, I can see why the foreword said "If only one work of his [Ryonosuke Akutagawa] were to survive, this should be it." Nice and compact length too.

2) It's also this amazing exercise in narration; not exactly an 'unreliable' narrator, but a very clearly biased one. I concert with this narration style is the fact that no character besides Yoshihide (and the monkey named after him) has a name, it's all Yoshihide's Daughter, His Lordship, His Ladyship, His Reverence, Assorted Apprentices, etc... It really reinforces the fact that this story is all about Yoshihide and, the unnamed narrator would have you believe, illustrates Yoshihide's own arrogance and self-centered nature...

...which we see isn't entirely true, the narrator is forced to relent that Yoshihide very much cares for his daughter, and vice-versa. He repeatedly asks for her return from His Lordship's manor, and is refused, and his acceptance of the Hell Screen commission is likely to try and earn her back through his work.

So it's in that light that Yoshihide's actions are cast in a very different light, the servant narrator would have us believe in the unimpeachability of His Lordship's character, but the reader can catch on real early that, oh, this lord really wants Yoshihide's daughter, and Yoshihide wanting her back isn't a father's protectiveness, it's him wanting to get her out of a very bad situation, and is willing to do anything to accomplish that.

And even then, despite chaining that one apprentice and attacking another with an owl, it's not even Yoshihide that crosses the final line; he initially only requests to see a carriage set aflame, it is His Lordship who adds in a woman to be burnt, and derives such a perverse pleasure in having and seeing the daughter (who struggled against his advances) burned alive. It's fascinating, His Lordship is described as panting like a beast and frothing at the mouth watching this, the 'beast' comparison being levied against Yoshihide earlier in the story for his red lips and giving him the 'Monkeyhide' nickname. And then the monkey itself, given the name Yoshihide, ends up being more human than His Lordship and even the original Yoshihide; the reader sees the moneky's human mannerisms in his tugging trousers to get attention and kowtowing in thanks, and his ultimate humanity comes at the end when the monkey Yoshihide is able to do what the human one is not: to die alongside his daughter, to at least be with her. And yeah, one can't really fault Yoshihide the man for not being able to do anything in the face of such a sight, but the monkey is able to something, even if said thing is to just die alongside her.

3) A wikipedia summary or the like really doesn't do this story justice, I went in expecting Yoshihide to be the 'Mad Artist' type, and for some shades of Pickman's Model-esque 'horrible scene actually witnessed', but Yoshihide isn't nearly as mad as I first thought and is really quite interesting; very fitting then that he is the only character with a name. So I'm really excited to see what Limbus Company will do with him+her!

#in terms of Limbus Reading: if you want short ones and not big ones like C&P or Moby Dick #this and The Stranger are great choices #limbus company #my posts #hell screen

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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Viper’s Bride - ch 3

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

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

Rating: Explicit for violent circumstances. 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid* This chapter contains mentions of Elia’s assault and murder. Blunt discussions of sex. Arguing/fighting, physical violence, threats of further violence. False accusation of sexual assault. Summary: The first meeting between Prince Oberyn Martell and his future bride goes very differently than either one of you planned, and what happens immediately afterward is quite possibly your worst nightmare come to life. Notes: It all takes place in the space of one morning, and this is an extremely busy morning...

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

"If you tighten my stays anymore I will not be able to breathe." The problem with having your mother's maid dress you during your stay in King's landing is that she does your mother's bidding. The stays that envelope your entire middle have been strapped onto you this morning so that your posture is more like a board than a noble woman's, and though the dress that has been selected for today is lovely there is no need for this sort of binding. It fits you perfectly as it is.

"Her ladyship's orders." The maid mumbles as she slips the lavender velvet gown over your head and tends to each and every button and tie with precision before nearly forcing you down in a chair to style your hair into an elaborate series of small plaits, curls, and twists that is a far cry from the simple three-strand plait you have favored for nearly a decade. Apparently your mother has determined what you will look like today and has left no room for argument. How terribly unlike her says the petty and slightly childish voice in your head as you roll your eyes to yourself.

The breakfast invitation from the Queen Regent was unexpected, but the utter delight on both of your parents' faces made it obvious that it was unavoidable. Queen Cersei had offered to host the meal at which you will meet your intended for the very first time, and that sort of invitation is impossible to refuse.

******

“I will hide my brother’s chair once we return to Dorne.” Oberyn hisses, his normally loose and relaxed gait is more rigid, annoyed with every step he takes towards the Red Keep. “Or burn it.” His hand is firmly entwined with Ellaria’s, insisting she join him for this dreadful occasion.

"He can still give orders from his bed, my love." Ellaria shakes her head as she walks beside him. No good can come of this meal this morning. Oberyn is in a foul disposition at being summoned anywhere by a Lannister and you are certain to be cagey and snobbish after the meeting last night.

“Not if the servants are not around.” He grouses, annoyed to be woken by none other than Tywin Lannister to be ‘invited’ to this meal. Tense words and barbed meanings were bandied about and the mettle of each man was casually examined. “I have no doubt Cersei is already deep in her cup.” He snorts, wishing there had been time for a cup of his own wine before leaving the brothel.

"Yet I think even a drunk Queen would not be pleasant enough company." She has her own reasons for not wanting to be near the Keep the day before the young king's wedding, but mostly it has to do with what vexes Oberyn. He was supposed to have one more day before this betrothal became public knowledge. A day he was counting on to collect himself. And now it seems he will not have it.

“Where did you go?” Oberyn asks suddenly, squeezing her hand. “After supper last night?” Before he had met Tyrion and very satisfactorily put his dagger through the hand of a Lannister. Then fucked Littlefinger’s man since Cal had been away from the brothel.

"To obtain a gift for you." Ellaria tells him with a sultry smile. "Leyth told me of a shop that sells wares you will be most interested in. But it will not be ready for several days." Before making her way to the Coachman, she had indeed visited an artisan that crafts exquisite garments to display any kind of body. With all of the aggravations he will be suffering here in the capital, she thought it would be a pleasant surprise for him.

“You are all the gift I need.” He smirks, eyes dipping down to the deep v of her dress where her lithe body is very nearly on display. It is a gown she is comfortable in, yet would make all the other ‘ladies’ uncomfortable. Which makes it all the more amusing for Oberyn.

"But you love to unwrap your gifts," she reminds him. "And so I thought I would find some very pretty wrapping."

For the first time today, Oberyn’s eyes light up with something other than annoyance and he grips her fingers tight. “We will not be staying long.”

"A few days." It had been something he was very firm on. Oberyn did not want to stay here any longer than necessary and she would follow his desire on the subject. "But first...." The Red Keep looms as it comes closer, almost seeming to lean over so it can swallow them whole. "Into the lion's den."

“Fucking Lannisters.” Oberyn growls, trying not to imagine his beloved sister’s blood splashed over the stone floors and her crumpled, violated body laying forgotten.

"No good will come of drawing your blade this morning, my love." Though her hand does tighten around his, knowing that anything is possible.

“I make no promises.” He relaxes slightly, knowing he would not act rashly. It would put Ellaria in danger and while his paramour can protect herself, he would not do that.

"Think of your daughters left without their doting father," she reminds him as they start up the stairs of the keep. If anything happened to Oberyn, his eight bastard daughters would surely be left wanting. Doran is too proper to do more than send apologies to their mothers.

"Prince Oberyn." The footman at the door of the keep bows deeply, though he shoots a confused look in Ellaria's direction. "And...guest. Please follow me. You are expected in the gardens."

“Guest.” Oberyn chuckles under his breath, amused that Tywin hadn’t thought he would bring his paramour.

The halls of the Red Keep are narrow and damp with chill despite the warmth of the sun and Ellaria sticks to Oberyn's side as they follow the man through the maze out to the gardens on the other side. This is sure to be an unforgettable morning, no matter which way things go.

“At least I will not have to eat in that moldering pile of shit.” Oberyn grunts under his breath, rolling his shoulders back and immediately adopting a more relaxed stance than the rigid form just seconds ago. He will not allow these lions to see he does not like being here.

"Prince Oberyn." Cersei's voice is dripping with insincere joy the moment she spies gold peak around the corner of the palace walls with her footman solemnly leading the way. "How kind of you to join us this morning." Though she does not want him here any more than the Dornish Prince wanted to attend, Cersei has little choice. That little schemer Margaery Tyrell has gotten her claws into you already and Cersei cannot be left without allies. Not while her only daughter is kept under the lock and key of the Martells.

Prince Oberyn. As soon as you hear the name, you turn from examining the hydrangea bush beside you and hold your breath. If you could, you would flee. Damn the consequences and damn the danger, you would grab Raeden's hand and run. But you seem frozen to the spot as your future walks out into the garden with one hand firmly holding Ellaria Sand's.

Oberyn can hear the immediate whispers and dismisses them. The movement out of the corner of his eye is servants, scurrying to place another setting for his ‘guest’ and he musters as charming a smile as he can possibly gather. “Cersei.” He nods, purposefully not using her title. “Shall I call you queen, or dowager? I should think you relish the use of the title for one more day.”

"I believe the proper term is Queen Regent." Her teeth don't grind like the gears in her mind, but only because she commands them not to. "I gathered at supper last night that you had not yet had the fortune of meeting your betrothed, so I took it upon myself to help you toward happiness." She smiles at him, sickly sweet and insincere, and begins to lead Oberyn down the steps to where the table has been set up. Everyone with half a brain knows that Prince Oberyn never intended to marry and that he travels everywhere with his mistress. There is no possible way that this marriage was his idea, but still she has to work with what material she has.

His hand doesn’t slip from Ellaria’s, holding firm to it as he follows the queen with his jaw tight as the eyes around the table follow him closely. Dark eyes meet yours when he is halfway to you and his brow arches, surprised that you are older than he imagined and even more beautiful than the miniature portrait that Doran had provided.

There is a moment, right before his eyes find yours, that you consider running all over again. The people who called Prince Oberyn of Dorne merely handsome were foolish, lacking the vocabulary to describe such an ethereal being. He is nothing short of devastatingly magnetic, and just as you realize that he is looking directly at you the feeling that he has gone far past your eyes and into your soul is unmistakable. Only one other person in the gods' own world had ever made you swallow your heart the moment you saw them, and he has been your constant bedfellow for years.

This man is the one you have vowed never to lay with or to love. Never to bear his children or to enjoy his company. It is a cruel trick from the universe that he should be so captivating in his looks. So much so that you have forgotten to curtsy and now your mother's hand is on your shoulder trying to tug you downward. How unlucky for her that you seem to be made of stone at the moment.

“So this is the future lady wife.” Oberyn would not shame you, even as much as he might be justified in it because of his objection to the union. Your name rolls off his tongue as he feels Ellaria let go of his hand so he can take yours, bending down to kiss the back of your hand even though his own station is higher than yours at the moment. There’s something about the fear and defiance in your eyes that intrigues him. You are not some overjoyed miss, happy to have landed him as your husband. From the tightness of your eyes, you would rather be anywhere else and he can’t help but wonder where you would go.

"Your Grace, we cannot say how delighted we are to unite our families." When you cannot muster the intelligence to speak or even curtsy, your mother pushes in as delicately as her usual grace allows. "Our House's relationship with Dorne is so dear–"

“Don't lie to a prince, Mother." Even you have to admit to being shocked at yourself when those are the first words out of your mouth in his presence, but her bowing and scraping is ridiculous. Embarrassing her a little now, with the contract signed and the match already made, cannot do much but color his opinion of his future mother-in-law. "It is my Father's house that has connections to Dorne, your Grace." You still haven't curtsied, and yet now you feel like you will not just out of spite. "My mother is overjoyed you are a prince. It does not matter where you come from."

The sharp inhales from the nosey busybodies that are the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are all that is heard for a long moment. The birds and insects are still as well, as if the entire world holds their breath for his response. Fabric rustles and your mother opens her mouth again while his eyes bore into yours. “Your Grace, I must apolo–”

Oberyn holds up his hand, the one not holding yours, to silence the decidedly shrill voice of the poisonous pit viper of a woman to your left that is currently looking as if she might faint. “Be quiet.” He orders sternly, still staring at you.

It is possibly the only time in your life that you have heard her follow an instruction the first time it was given – if at all – and you swallow thickly, wondering what he will say to being told the truth. If you could look past him even for a moment you would see the utter amusement on Ellaria's face or the drawn shock of Raeden's expression some feet away where he stands with your father, but you find yourself frozen under the prince's observation. "I was told that you did not ask for this arrangement, either, your Grace." At least you remembered to address him properly, this time, even if your voice has dropped to something quiet. "So I would not add insult to the situation by having her lie to you."

He wants you. If for nothing more than to find out if your obstinate passions extend to the bedroom. Oberyn is almost disappointed by this discovery, anticipating finding a mousy, shy wallflower that he could wed and ignore. “I did not.” He admits, although he keeps his words low enough that only you can hear them, squeezing your hand just the tiniest amount. Meant to be a comforting gesture, or at least signal that you have not blundered too badly. “So we have that in common.”

"It remains to be seen if there is anything more than that." You murmur back to him, despising yourself for the heat that you can feel coiling inside you. Animal attraction means nothing. This man is not who you have given your heart and your soul to, and you truly wish that you could communicate that to your body right now.

"Perhaps we should sit." Cersei suggests, looking between every guest in the garden and wondering how exactly this is going to work itself out. The guard that seems to follow you everywhere stands dutifully by like no more than a tentpole and the woman that Oberyn brought is most likely the paramour everyone speaks of, but this train wreck might serve as an entertaining morning before she has to return to the task of preparing for her son's wedding tomorrow.

Glancing over at your guard, Ellaria smirks, finding his eyes not watching Oberyn with hatred and distrust. Those dark eyes are hungry, blinking and letting his eyes find hers for a moment. She doesn’t know why she keeps looking at him, he’s not a threat to her lover or anyone else, but it is like she is compelled to seek out his gaze.

As wounded as your mother is, she cannot discipline you in front of a queen or a prince – let alone both at once – so she sits in the chair that your father holds out for her and smiles primly to the queen from the other end of the table. Etiquette has her sitting in between her useless husband and her insolent daughter, and across from the whore the prince has brought as his companion. A wholly unsuitable place in her mind, but at least she can reach over and pinch you soundly on the hand under the table. Surprised by the move, you nearly yank your hand away after you have been seated, almost laughing at the childishness of it. If you had a toy she might have stolen it out of spite.

Oberyn catches the movement, glancing at you and then towards your mother. Sensing that the woman is not happy with the current tone. “Despite extending the invitation personally, Lord Tywin is not attending this feast?” He asks Cersei, looking around the gardens expectantly.

"My father is spending some much needed time with his grandson the day before his wedding." Cersei answers politely before signaling to the servers to pour wine and leave the pitchers. "Tomorrow is quite a busy day, my lord. As I'm sure you can imagine. Your own nuptials will be much the same, I have no doubt."

Sucking his teeth for a moment, he flashes a bland smile. “Unlike the crown, we focus more on the celebration than the wedding.”

"Oh?" Your mother titters, trying to recover from her earlier embarrassment. "Do enlighten us."

“There is a giant feast where all are welcomed.” He informs her. “From the lowliest bastard to the highest lord. All drinking ale and eating meat pies. Dancing, music, for days.”

Despite needing to be near you for this first meeting, Raeden wishes he could plug his ears to hear no talk of this impending wedding. The most he can hope for, for the moment, is that Ellaria Sand did not poison the prince's ear against him and suggest refusing his services in Dorne.

"For days?" Your mother simpers, already starting to sip the wine that has been poured for her. "My word, that sounds very exciting."

“What do you do if the bride and groom are disinclined to dance?" If you are going to be forced into false gayety, you would prefer to know in advance. At any normal affair, dancing would be your entire occupation. But this wedding? Your own? You cannot see either of you wanting to dance with the other.

Oberyn turns his head towards you, his lips twitching slightly and he is almost amused. “The happy couple are not present.” He tells you, shrugging slightly. “They are in their chamber, doing their duty to Dorne while their people celebrate.”

That effectively shuts you up, your eyes dropping to the plate of food in front of you that suddenly holds no appeal whatsoever. This was easier when you imagined that the Prince of Dorne would be handsome to everyone in the world except you. Now that you are sat across from him and able to see down the length of his loosely tied robe to catch glimpses of deeply tanned, freckled skin, you simply hate yourself as well as the situation.

“The people are very accepting.” Ellaria feels the need to reassure you, watching as your face falls and your expression sours.

"My grandmother always spoke very warmly of her home." It is the best you can do, under the circumstances, though you are surprised that Ellaria would seek to give you any kind of comfort whatsoever. She is the most perplexing kind of woman, and you had spent too much time last night before falling asleep thinking of her. Wondering what she could possibly have considered the outcome of last night's meeting.

Oberyn nods, aware that you have a familial connection to Dorne, despite being from the Vale. “The sand and sun are warm, much warmer than here.” He huffs, reminding everyone at the table that he does not like King’s Landing.

"You will be trading your velvet for something lighter before you know it, my dear." The Queen smiles, though it does not feel warm in any way. When Cersei Lannister smiles you have a distinct impression that there is still a snake hiding behind her teeth ready to strike.

"It took the strength of twenty men to keep her from packing my entire library in her trunks," your father jokes, jovially enjoying his meal as though nothing at all is wrong. "There would not have been any room for gowns whatsoever if we had let her."

“A love of reading is not a curse.” Oberyn shrugs slightly. “I spent much of my time at the Citadel reading the great tomes before I grew bored of the idea of being a maester.”

"A love of reading is not a curse for a man." You can't help but look up, finding the prince looking around the table with a frustratingly leisurely air. "When you are a woman it is a danger and will give you unladylike thoughts. Or worse yet? Opinions of your own."

He arches a brow at your words and tilts his head towards Cersei. “You teach your women such strange things here in the North.” He comments before turning back towards you. “Dornish women are strong, opinionated and not afraid to speak.”

"Well, we have solved the mystery of why Northern men dislike Southern women." Having met Ellaria even once, you can see that strong women are at least not humbled around this one man. "They do not like to be challenged."

Oberyn snorts in amusement and leans back with his wine in his hand. “That is because the women best them in a battle of wits. Most men think with their cock, stomach or both.”

The way your mother looks absolutely affronted to hear such a word out loud nearly throws you into a fit of laughter, but you just barely manage to stifle it. "Well said, your Grace." There is a possibility, albeit a small one, that this man might not make you want to throw yourself off a cliff in frustration after all.

“Well.” Cersei’s smile is tight, frozen on her face. “Shall we eat?” She asks, trying to change the topic. “There is still much to be done today.”

Polite conversation focuses on the nuptials that are impending tomorrow, which quite brightens the queen's mood and turns your mother into a veritable lapdog simpering and agreeing with everything she says while your father says nothing at all and the prince speaks mostly to his lover. As the odd person out at the table, your only solace is that no one has commented to you on your lack of enthusiasm for eating or seemed to notice that occasionally you manage to glance over at Raeden to check in with him. He barely reacts, but the communication between the two of you has been silent for enough years now that you know there will be much to talk about the next time you find a moment alone.

“You like her, my love.” Ellaria’s voice is low, amused at the turn of events. She had thought he might be intrigued by you.

“She is…not what I thought.” Oberyn admits, glancing back at you just as you turn your head to look longingly at your guard.

"Not a wilting wallflower." Ellaria agrees, a smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth as she whispers. "And doing a very poor job of hiding how besotted with her guard she is."

His eyes slide over to the guard and he hums. “I understand her desire.” Oberyn chuckles quietly. “He would look good in our bed.”

"I found myself thinking the same." She finds her eyes drawn to the wall of a man once more, smile growing mischievously when she catches his eye before looking away. "Do you think it will be so difficult to marry her after all?" Ellaria has no fear of losing Oberyn. Their bond is too strong for that and his love too fierce, both for her and for their daughters. But adding a wife into the pattern of their lives will certainly shake things up. More than a little.

“It will be no hardship to bed her.” He watches you glance back at the guard again. “Do you think she carries his bastard?” Oberyn doesn’t care about bastards, he has eight of them that he loves very much and his own soulmate is a bastard, but he would not have you pass off someone else’s child as his.

"It is possible." She certainly wouldn't blame you, if that were the case. He is an extremely handsome man. "It would account for her family's urgency."

He grunts, watching you closely. “She is not eating.”

"Nerves." Ellaria guesses with a shrug. "Or sickness from the babe."

“I will need to know when she last bled.” He decides. “Just a lover or her soulmate?” He asks his own soulmate.

"If it is both, it will account for her anger." It's a characteristic in you that she had noticed last night. That you wear your armor of verbal barbs and half-confidence to hide fear and anger at not being able to determine your own life. She would call you a 'poor child' over it, but you are much older than either of them had expected. For her part, Ellaria is glad about that. "Will you turn her away if she is?" It would certainly be an excuse to end the arrangement, although you would be ruined for another offer.

“No.” Oberyn decides, straightening in his chair. “But she would have the babe before we wed.” Being unmarried, any child born out of wedlock would not be considered to be his legal heir, like his own bastards.

"Not quite the speedy timing that Doran bet on when he bought her for you." Ellaria shakes her head a little. Having a bastard in the north would make you a pariah. In the south, at least, the babe would have ten thousand Sand siblings.

“If she has bled, or is bleeding, we will be wed as soon as Doran wishes.” He shrugs slightly, reaching for her hand to kiss it. “What do you think of her?”

"She's very beautiful." There is no reason to deny that, not when Oberyn has eyes of his own and is already clearly intrigued by you. Instead, Ellaria squeezes his hand slightly and smiles. "And I like her spirit."

“It is surprising to see a Northern woman with a spine.” He hums, smirking slightly.

"I think she grew it in spite of everyone else," Ellaria almost giggles, amused at the thought. "But I admit. I like the look of her lover as well."

“They would both look good in our bed.” He agrees, smirking slightly when the man’s eyes drift over towards him again. “He is either going to attempt to kill me or fuck me.” He tells Ellaria. “He has not decided yet.”

“I do not think even he knows,” she hums in amusement.

The demented nature of the meal is certainly not helping anyone feel relaxed other than perhaps Oberyn and his whore, and when Cersei stands after some time longer she smiles politely. “Do stay as long as it pleases you,” she encourages, not caring whatsoever as long as she doesn’t have to suffer through it. “But there is much to attend to and I am afraid my time is demanded by many today. Good morning.”

Everyone else shoots to their feet, but Oberyn simply nods and reaches for the wine to refill his cup.

“Are you enjoying your stay in King’s Landing, your Grace?” Your father asks after a moment, resettling himself in his chair when he realizes that this morning is certainly not over.

There are many ways to answer that but Oberyn keeps himself from snorting in disdain. “Of course.” He chuckles darkly. “I always enjoy visiting the city where my sister was violently raped, her and her children brutally murdered by the Lannister’s lap dog.” His stare is intense as he looks at your father over the rim of his cup.

The entire table has the wind sucked out of it at that, with your parents looking baffled by the declaration and even Raeden's eyes widening in surprise. "I–I'm very sorry to hear that," you murmur, not even realizing that your hand is over your heart when you say it.

“You didn’t know?” Oberyn asks, lifting a brow in surprise. He would have assumed your family would have coached you in the intricacies of the Martell House. “Elia was married to Rhaegar Targaryen. Her blood was spilt in this keep during the Baratheon rebellion.” He sneers, drowning the rest of his cup and Ellaria reaches out for his wrist gently, trying to calm him.

"I know almost nothing about you." Of course there are plenty of people who know very little about their betrothed ahead of time, but it seems like in this case there should have been a few things mentioned to you in advance.

He relaxes slightly, aware that this is not your fault. “Perhaps you should take a turn around the garden.” Ellaria suggests softly. “Learn about one another.”

"What a wonderful idea. We could all–"

"I think she meant alone, Mother." You interject, having no intention of letting your mother tag along or chaperone this walk in any way, shape, or form. She has done plenty enough damage to you in your life already, the prince does not need to hear her vitriol – or worse, her false adulation.

“She should not be here.” Your mother hisses, unable to contain herself, glaring at Ellaria.

Oberyn’s eye twitches slightly and then he smiles, a twisted curl of his lips that is not handsome at all and displays his displeasure at your mother’s outburst. “My dagger is sharp enough to tame that tongue. My paramour goes wherever I decide she belongs.” He threatens quietly, eyes dark as they slide to her husband. “Control your lady wife or I will be forced to.”

"I think we can leave our daughter with her betrothed." There is nowhere your father wants to be less than around a man who makes that kind of threat, and he stands to offer his hand to his wife. "Stone." The command in his voice is firm. "Remain here and escort her ladyship back to her chambers when she is ready."

Oberyn can tell your mother has never been talked to that way and she doesn’t know how to respond. Instead of paying her any attention, he stands and kisses Ellaria’s hand before walking around the table to offer you assistance in leaving your seat.

One mark in this man's favor will be the way he does not suffer your mother's nonsense, but you still take his hand tentatively. Knowing that Raeden has been instructed to wait for you, not chaperone you, means that you will actually be alone with the prince on your walk and that gives you an unexpected twist of nerves in your stomach that you do not like at all. Apparently, instead of hating this man as you planned to, you are supremely nervous around him.

He doesn’t speak as you stand, your hand in his is surprisingly warm since he had anticipated you being cool with dread. Turning, he guides you towards the edge of the trellis that will take you away from Ellaria and your guard’s sight.

The entire situation feels uncertain, and you wish to all the gods that Raeden could still have been nearby, just for the security of his presence. What do you even speak to this man about? Should you speak at all? Your nerves truly are higher than ever this morning.

“I suppose the gardens are the only thing of true beauty in this city.” Oberyn offers, breaking the silence between you. “Though they do not compare to the water gardens in Dorne, they inspire me to write a poem for my Loreza.”

“You write poetry, my lord?” Focusing on that first, instead of cautiously inquiring who Loreza is, at least gives you hope that there may be some common ground between you. There had been no cause for hope before now.

“I do.” He smiles fondly as he looks over the flowers. “My children enjoy it when I am away.”

“And you have…several children?” The figure you have heard is eight, which has previously made you wonder. But the prince is older than you had expected and eight seems suddenly like not so large of a number.

“Eight daughters.” His smile shifts to something beaming, proud of his girls. “My Sand Snakes.” If you are going to be his wife, it is best you know now that they are not to be neglected or mistreated. “Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella, Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza.”

“You are very proud of them.” A fact which you find oddly reassuring. Most lords in his position would have paid off the girls’ mothers to disappear already. “Having sisters sounds wonderful,” you offer wistfully. “I have only brothers.”

“I am the youngest of both.” Oberyn offers. “Doran and I are brothers and close, but there was a special bond between Elia and I.”

The name registers with you after hearing it three times now, and a reflexive smile tugs at your lips. “I think there must have been. Since you named one of your daughters after her.”

“Yes.” He’s surprised that you have paid attention; his eyes leaving the flowers to find you looking almost wistful at the idea of a man being so sentimental. “Is your guard your soulmate?” He asks bluntly. “Or just the man you allow between your thighs for the time?”

Your face falls, shoulders rolling in on themselves as though your youngest brother has once again head butted you in the stomach as he used to when he was at his most annoying. You could lie. That is a possibility. But you have lied about it for too long and you are certainly not ashamed of loving Raeden. Shame has never even occurred to you. “He is my soulmate, your Grace,” you nod even though your voice is quiet. If he throws you over for this it will only make him a hypocrite. “And I love him very much.”

“My paramour shares my marks.” Oberyn stops, turning towards you and understanding why you look so conflicted. Neither one of you is being given a choice. Oberyn will not be exiled from his children and you have no control over your own future as a woman and a noble. “Have you bled? Or do you carry your Stone’s bastard? Is that why your father is eager to make this match so hastily?”

“My father makes the match hastily because my mother despises me.” Honesty comes pouring out of you in a way that you cannot seem to stop. For a man that so many call violent, the prince seems to be putting you wholly at ease now. “It was her insistence to send me as far away as possible. I—I bled before we left the Vale. I am not with child, if that is your concern.”

He watches you for a long moment, your eyes not shifting away. The truth burns in them and reflects from their depths. Making you even lovelier than you first appeared. He frowns slightly and reaches out to caress your cheek, pushing back some hairs that have escaped the pins. “Then you will bring your mate back to Dorne with us when we leave.” He decides. “I am a man who does not mind sharing my lovers. I will never bar Ellaria from my bed and it would be wholly unfair of me to bar your Stone from it as well.” He smirks slightly when your eyes widen. “He is a very handsome man.”

“You mean to—” That temporary wave of comfort is replaced by naked shock as you try to wrap your mind around what the prince is suggesting. Nevermind the fact that his fingers on your face are so warm that a pinch of disappointment in yourself twists at your heart again. “He is not…inclined that way.” You finally manage to stammer out. The idea of sharing had simply not occurred to you and now you are flustered by it.

“Pity.” There’s some doubt in his mind but you are more intimate with the man than he is. “It would have made our time together much sweeter.”

“So you…you do not intend to separate us?” That thought had never passed your mind even once, always assuming that you would be forced to deny Raeden with the prince as you have been forced to deny him with your father.

“When you give birth to my heir, I expect the child to be from my seed.” He answers honestly. “I bring my paramour where I wish, she is my soulmate. The future princess of Dorne will have the same luxury.” It is simple in his mind. You will have his heir and strengthen the alliance Doran wants, then you will be free to share his bed or keep to your own with your lover. “What is his name?”

“Raeden, your Grace.” It will be your torture to deal with the fact that visiting this man’s bed does not seem horrible after meeting him, but you swallow down your guilt for now. This is about keeping your soulmate safe. Safe from the hateful hands of your mother, who would see his head on a pike if she had any real evidence of your affair. “He saved my life, years ago, and my father gave him a place in our guard as a reward, so he is Ser Raeden Stone.”

“Ser Raeden Stone.” Oberyn smirks slightly and steps closer to you. “I had been convinced that it would be impossible to bed you, to fuck you,” he admits softly. “And I am a man of great appetite.” His dark eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment but he does not lean in to steal a kiss. “Now I will be pondering how often I can convince you to join me in my bed without your Ser Raeden Stone.”

The shock must be written on your face, because he chuckles lightly when your lips move but no sound comes out right away. “You—” Even the one word cracks, and you have to long away to compose yourself. “You are entitled to demand companionship whenever you wish it, your Grace.” It is simply a fact, although not one that you agree with. But as your husband he could simply order you to his bed and that would be that.

Oberyn snorts and shakes his head. “I pay, I seduce, and extend an invitation.” He tells you. “I do not order it.” He chuckles slightly at your shock and confusion. “There are many who will jump into my bed, and do. I have no need of forcing anyone to take my cock.”

"So you would not force me?" That, if you are being completely honest with yourself, has been one of your greatest fears. The idea of forced intimacy seemed inevitable once you were made to marry.

“I would not force the lowest whore.” He scoffs. “Why would I force a woman that bears my name? If you never share my bed, you will be barren to all. As long as you do not bear your Stone’s bastards.”

"I understand." That tea that you had been drinking for years now seems more valuable than ever, and the mix of gratitude and shame for even thinking such a thing swirls in your blood like a sickness. If this prince is any indication of what men in the south are like, you will vastly prefer that setting in many ways.

He’s slightly disappointed in your reaction and he drops his hand from your face and turns to resume the walk again. “What else do you wish to know?”

He does not exactly mask his emotions well, and it is obvious to see that you have either upset or disappointed him, though what you possibly could have done wrong is beyond you. Hadn't you just said that you would obey his wishes? "When do you intend to leave once more for Dorne?" Whenever it is, it will be the last glimpse of the north you have for a very long while. Perhaps for your entire life. So you would like to be able to plan for it rather than being yanked away.

“As soon as I have recovered from the wedding celebrations.” He grunts. “I will be much pleased to put this stinking shit pile of a city behind me.”

"Is there anything you wish to know of me?" He does seem somewhat upset, and you have no wish whatsoever to anger him on this walk or make him take back any of the promises he has made you.

“When did you find out your Stone was your soulmate?” He is always curious about the dealing of soulmates. It is an intrigue that there is not more effort out into finding the people who share your marks among nobility.

"After he saved my life." Wishing that he had not taken his hand away, you clasp your own together as you walk. "The boar that intended to gut me ended up digging into his leg instead. When the scar from that wound appeared on my own thigh, I went to him immediately."

“And you have been secret lovers ever since.” He hums, finding the story to be sweet and innocent, much like you appeared to be.

"It did not start right away." You tell him, finding again that the urge to be honest is overwhelming. "His sense of propriety is admirable. But we found quickly that we could not keep away from each other."

“The bond between soulmates is irrefutable.” Oberyn can understand that. Ellaria had quickly become his sun and world after meeting her. The chance encounter that had taken her from nearly being a whore to nearly being a princess. “It is impossible to stay away from your soulmate once you know them.”

"It truly is." And you count yourself extremely lucky, in this moment, that he understands that. "Raeden is a good man, and a loyal one. Intelligent and kind. I think..." You raise your head again, bold enough to find him watching you as you walk. "It may be presumptuous to suggest, but I would hope that there could be a way for the two of you to be friendly with each other. Just as I would hope that there could be a way for me to be friendly with your soulmate." After meeting her last night you have left shaken and concerned. But first impressions are not everything.

“There is only one way to determine that.” Oberyn counters, not unkindly. “We will have to spend time together. Ellaria has already expressed an interest in learning more about you and your guard.”

"She seems very interesting." Complex was the word you had ascribed to her already and it seemed to hold true. "And you...you love her very much, I think." Which should not cloud your heart the way it does. Not when he has been so kind and open with you. "And she is the mother of some of your children. So it would be...neglectful, I think, to not extend a hand of friendship to her."

“She is a warm, compassionate woman.” Oberyn promises you. “Loyal like your Stone and loving.” He chuckles. “She also finds you fetching.”

"She is very beautiful." For your entire life you would have given almost anything to be as stunning as that. Ellaria is self-assured and magnetic. You are lucky if you can affect those things for long enough to get through a confrontation. "That is very kind of her to say...especially considering I would not blame her at all if she decided to despise me."

“She would not despise you, unless you hurt me or the children.” Ellaria is protective over those she loves, more so than over herself but she knows that Oberyn will protect her. “She knows you have no real interest in becoming my Princess.”

"If I had been allowed to choose my own destiny, I would have married Raeden long ago." There is no harm in admitting that to him, as you are certain beyond a doubt that he would have married Ellaria if he had been given the opportunity.

Oberyn hums, understanding what you mean. “The titles we bear are often burdens, even with the freedoms they allow.”

"There are as many constraints as there are advantages." You nod as you walk together. "I would not ask you to forsake her." Not that you would truly be able to stop him if that is what he desired. Most men do not take the opinions of their wives into account. "That would be unthinkably cruel, in my mind."

“Then you understand why I have no wish to separate you from your Raeden.” Oberyn states. “There needs to be more love in the world, not less.”

"I do understand. But I admit that it surprises me. Most men I have known would sooner be rid of their wife's lover." Having lost track of how long you've been walking, you find yourselves near the sea wall and the scent instantly relaxes you. "I am grateful that you do not seem to be like most men."

“I am not most men.” He assures you with a chuckle. “I would fuck your lover. Have my cock deep in his ass so you could feel me as he fills your cunt. Or share you. Each of our cocks filling one of your holes as you screamed in pleasure.”

The sheer, unbridled honesty of it stops you dead in your tracks, staring at him with the same expression of shock as if he had just confessed to murder. Although your body's response is much different – pulse jumping and blood streaking quickly through your veins making you both flustered and inexplicably aroused. "I—" As surprised as you are, he seems equally amused as more truth tumbles from your lips. "I have only ever been with him, my lord. In that way."

“Of course you have.” Oberyn doubts you are free with your cunt. If you were, you would have no issue taking Oberyn into your bed, you might have even anticipated it. “Just like I am sure you have never had a woman lick your cunt.”

Before now, having taken a lover at all made you particularly promiscuous. But now you feel positively like the most legendary of whores and liars as you shake your head. For two women to embrace would be shameful – yet according to the septa who taught you all manner of difficult lessons about this life, it is not to be compared to laying with a man. "Never." The lie tastes sour in your mouth, but it is done. The shame that you have never spoken of to anyone remains unsaid.

“It is a beautiful sight,” he promises, cock twitching under his robes. “The sight of two women giving each other pleasure. A woman knows how she likes to be touched. Just like a man knows how he likes his cock sucked.”

"And that is something...that you would...wish me to do?" It is a troubling idea to wrap your head around, and you now know that he would not force you to share anyone's bed. Not even his own. But trying to know this man better seems to include understanding his sexual appetite. In the south, perhaps, their shames are different.

“It would be something you could explore if you wished.” He corrects you. “If you wanted to be with Ellaria or another woman, a whore we bought or someone you have an interest in, there would be no rebuke.”

"It is not something that should ever have crossed the mind of a northern noblewoman." The evasive way you skirt admitting your secret seems not to phase him, thank the gods in all their heavens, and you promptly shut your mouth again so as not to ramble and expose yourself.

“I doubt you have been exposed to such things.” He hums quietly, aware of how most Northern women are raised.

"It is..." You sigh slightly. "To say that it is looked down upon would be an understatement."

“The North is so…boring.” Oberyn agrees. “Limiting pleasure and judging is not something I am a part of.”

“Then I find myself very grateful that your brother and my father made the arrangement that they did.” For all you can tell, this next chapter in your life may wind up being far less dreadful and far more freeing than you could ever have imagined. “And I will do my best not to be a disappointment to you.”

He nods but he doesn’t say anything. You seem to have decided that the marriage will be in name only and he will not fight you on that, but it is disappointing. “We will decide how to arrange things when we get back to Sunspear. My brother lives at the Water Gardens most days now.”

“Until meeting you, I was not under the impression that I would have any choice.” That is how it would have been if your parents had married you to a northern lord, anyway. “I assumed I would eat and sleep where I am told and do as my husband bids me. That is…before this morning, the only expectation I have had for my marriage.” You shrug slightly, almost shaking your head at yourself. “So you can see why I have not been exactly excited for the prospect. But you…” The words you are looking for elude you, and you end up feeling embarrassed at not being able to articulate yourself. “I am optimistic enough to hope for more than a contact, now that I have met you.”

“That remains up to you.” The table comes back into view and Oberyn smirks as he finds Ellaria leaning into a now seated Raeden as she pours him a cup of wine while she talks. He cannot hear what she is saying, but there is an air of seduction that he recognizes.

The picture in front of you would likely have tickled that reflex of jealousy in all devoted lovers if you did not have a better idea of the way the prince and his soulmate view promiscuity. Now that you have touched on the topic together even just barely, you can breathe much more easily. No one is attempting to steal away a lover or to toy with a reputation. Sex seems simply to be the Prince’s favored hobby. “We will see you both tomorrow, then?” The morning wedding is sure to be a long and tedious service, as all royal ceremonies are, but at least the company will not be bad if you are able to spend a small amount of time with him.

“Tomorrow.” Ellaria unwinds herself from her seat and stands, smirking as Oberyn strides towards her with a very hot blooded look. He’s been affected by you. The prince drags her into his arms and she moans softly when he fuses his lips to hers in a movement that reveals the frustration he must have kept hidden during your talk. Once she has him alone, she will ascertain what has caused such a reaction.

They are extremely passionate people, there is no denying that, and you clear your throat gently before stepping away to give them some semblance of privacy. Raeden had stood after Ellaria and stepped out from the table, and you are at his side like a magnet. “Did you have an interesting visit with our friend?” You ask quietly, wishing it was safe enough to kiss him as Ellaria does the prince.

Raeden’s eyes shift back towards the pair, swallowing slightly and feeling incredibly guilty for the attraction he has to both the prince and his paramour. He is drawn to Ellaria, much the same as he had been you and it is confusing. His attraction to the prince is shameful, one he tries to ignore. “She is…open.” He settles for that as he wishes he could look away from them.

"He says that she likes you." The relief you feel after speaking to the prince is overwhelming, and you almost laugh as you shake your head. "I cannot blame her for having excellent taste."

“She is a very beautiful woman.” Raeden admits, albeit reluctantly. He doesn’t ever look at other women. There is no one that could possibly compare to you, until now.

"My love." He is looking anywhere but at you, and right now you are too full of news to realize why that might be. You are taking his hands tightly in both of yours before he can draw away, despite being out in the open. "He does not intend to separate us. We will have nothing to fear in Dorne."

“Truly?” His eyes widen and finally rip away from the lovers to look at you in shock. “He— he will allow me to come with you? To continue as we are?”

Your nearly ecstatic nodding does have conditions, of course, but you squeeze his hands tightly. "He would even allow me to bear your child. It...it would not just be a dream any longer."

“How?” Raeden frowns, unable to believe a man, a husband, would allow you to bear your bastard lover’s bastard. Especially when he is a prince.

"In the usual way." Is your cheeky answer, but Raeden's face is not one of laughter and your smile falls in turn. "If I visit his bed and give him an heir, he would not shame me afterward for also bearing your child. It is far more than any other man would allow."

“No.” Raeden shakes his head. “I will not have you do that for me.” He insists, squeezing your hands. “It is– it is more than I can ask of you. I do not wish you to force yourself to lie with him.”

"Would you try to forbid me if I did it of my own free will?" The prince is extremely handsome, after all, and you are more than certain that there was some kind of clause in the marriage contract your father signed that will require you to birth an heir anyway. If you are entirely honest with yourself, it would not be a hardship to lie with the prince. Since meeting Raeden, no one had turned your head for more than a mere glance. Now you find your thoughts to be full of possibilities for pleasure.

“I–…no.” Raeden shakes his head, lifting his brows. “My love– are you– do you wish to sleep with the prince?” He asks softly and his eyes slide back to where Oberyn and Ellaria are still deep in their embrace.

"He...is very handsome." It's not an answer, but you do not know whether or not you could give an honest answer right now. Your mind is too muddled by the surprise of attraction. "But I do not know him well enough to say."

“You will be his wife.” He reminds you gently. “He can have you in his bed whenever he wishes.”

"He said he would not force me." Which is another source of great relief, as you are sure he can understand.

“He said that?” Shocked again, the caliber of the man is becoming very obvious. “He– the rumor is that he has fucked half of Westeros.”

"It seems that those conquests have all been by choice." Which makes a smile twitch at the corner of your mouth, but you shake it away. "He also said that he and Ellaria would happily welcome both of us to their bed, but I informed him that I did not think you are not inclined that way."

Raeden’s heart stops, freezing in place and stiffening as he wants to immediately protest and say yes. Shamed that it is almost gleeful in the way his cock twitches, he is glad he is not pressed against you.

"Have I–done wrong?" The way he seems to become a statue on the spot is alarming to say the least. "Are you...you did not...mention finding Ellaria attractive after our encounter last night. I did not think...?" It's surprising that you do not feel jealous, but instead worried that he might be upset with you.

“It is nothing.” He makes himself relax and shakes his head. “I was only…surprised.”

"Please do not lie to me." After feeling the compulsion to be completely honest with the prince, it is an alarming feeling to have Raeden withhold the truth.

“I–” he looks into your eyes and he shakes his head. “I cannot speak about this with you now.” He admits quietly. “I– you will not understand.”

"I would understand perfectly if you thought Ellaria was beautiful." But since you also respect the topic enough not to push it now - in public - what remains is only for you to be hurt by the idea that your soulmate does not think he can trust you with something. For the moment you can only push it away. "We will be leaving for Dorne as quickly after the wedding as the prince is ready," you tell him instead, changing the subject all together. "It may be as little as two days before we are traveling again."

“I will be ready as soon as you are.” Raeden promises. He had determined that he would be going to Dorne no matter what. Relieved that you are dropping the subject, he tries to avoid looking back at the couple as he squeezes your hands. “Where you go, I will be there.”

******

Saying a temporary goodbye to the pair from Dorne, Raeden escorts you through the halls of the Red Keep once more to the chambers that you are sharing with your parents. You have every intention of spending the rest of the day reading and repacking your trunk to be ready to leave a moment's notice – eager to be off somewhere where you would be able to love your soulmate openly and be afforded the freedom of choosing who you wish to spend your time with.

“Once you are in your rooms, I will make sure that I have my things ready.” Raeden promises you quietly. He wants to be ready whenever the prince is ready.

"The journey to Sunspear will be long, but far less tedious than the journey from the Vale." Inside again, with your parents near, you don't reach to squeeze his hand or kiss his cheek. Instead you offer Raeden a reassuring smile and move through the small sitting room to the room you have been sleeping in. Only to find it very much occupied by the last person in the world you ever want to find near your bed.

“You can leave.” Your mother spits at Raeden. “I doubt my daughter needs protecting in her chambers.”

"With you here, I very well might." You tell her honestly, but still you turn to Raeden with a resigned expression on your face. "Go and pack," you suggest to him instead. "We want to be ready as soon as the prince wishes to depart."

“How dare you talk to me that way!” Your mother screeches in utter dismay, flying to her feet and obviously ready to impose her wrath on you. “You little bitch!”

When she flies at you she obviously expects you to be either too astonished or too demure to react at all. Any of your governesses would have known better – having seen you duck away from your older brothers' torment dozens upon dozens of times. You had been plunged bodily into too many stone walls in your youth and now veer out of the way immediately so that it was your mother who collided with the wall instead of pushing you into it. "What has possessed you?" At least your voice is shocked, punctuated by a small oof when Raeden catches you before you can stumble to the ground in an effort to flee from the attack.

“You had to humiliate your father!” She bellows, even though her anger and rage has nothing to do with your father and everything to do with your embarrassment of her. “I did not raise such an opinionated bitch!”

"You did not raise me at all!" Standing again, your hand holds fast to Raeden's for security. "What is it precisely that you are accusing me of, Mother?" Presumably she is angry about being embarrassed in front of the prince, but pretending it is about your father is imbecilic.

“You made me look like a fool! Unable to keep that stupid tongue inside your head and just act like the lady you are supposed to be!” She fumes, glaring at you as if you are shit on the bottom of her shoe.

"I am very much a lady. A lady who will be the Princess of Dorne in just a few weeks' time. And so I refuse to continually be insulted by you." At this point you had expected to return to your chambers and put up with your mother's hate for only a little while longer, but the gods did not have that in mind for you, it seems. "If you were under some illusion that you would still be able to control me from across the continent, you are sorely mistaken."

“I should have drowned you the moment you slipped from my womb!” She hisses, rushing towards you again and drawing her hand back to land a vicious slap on your cheek. “I will kill you now!”

If it were the first time she had ever laid a hand on you, or the first time she had ever expressed regret at not killing you at birth, you might have been shocked. Unfortunately the impact of those vile actions had long since faded away and it is only the fact that she is running at you again that surprises you. This time it’s enough for you to burrow yourself into Raeden’s broad frame – barely moving to his side in time for him to draw his blade in her direction with the tip mere inches from her chest.

“You will stop, my lady.” His voice is deep, and firm, brokering no question or argument as fire flashes in his eyes. “I do not wish to hurt you but if it is the only way to protect her, I will have no choice.”

“Bastard.” She spits in his face and then her face freezes and the evil, manical look in her eyes blooms happily. “I will not kill you.” She tells you with a sugary sweet voice, reaching up and grabbing a sleeve of her own gown so it rips. “I will have your lover killed.” She threatens. “Beaten and beheaded in front of you to scream and mourn for all your days.” Her laugh is hollow and grating as she rips the front of her bodice and drags her hands through her hair to wreck her carefully styled look.

“I wonder how you will do that if we are not here to be commanded by you.” If you had not met him today, if you had not seen the good and just man that Oberyn Martell is with your own two eyes, you would have feared for Raeden’s life at this moment. You truly would have believed that she could get her claws deeply enough into him to take him away. Now, you know there is someplace safe that you can go. Looking back at him, you quickly grasp his free hand with determination. “We are leaving, my love.” Without a single one of your things, or his, which you’re sure she will destroy in a rage, you must go now before she has a chance to spread her vile lies.

Screaming, your mother rushes after you but in a moment of providence surely gifted by the gods, both old and new, she trips on one of the silk rugs and collapses to the floor.

“Run!” If you are lucky, you can find the prince and Ellaria before they are too far from the Red Keep. If you are even luckier, you might find your father during your escape to tell him the truth of what his wife has done. It will be up to the gods whether or not he believes you, but you will certainly be writing to your brothers just as soon as you stop shaking and find safety.

Raeden heeds your command. Holding your hand tight, he leads the way. Rushing through the halls and out of the keep through a servants door. Ignoring the turned heads as he attempts to lead you to safety, though your heavy gown makes running slower for you.

Down stairs, around corners, through paths crowded with servants and tradespeople until you are far enough away from the Keep to be certain that neither of your parents can catch up to you but equally certain that the prince is nowhere to be found.

“Did she tell you how to find them?” You are panting, not having ever run frantically for your life before, but even as you slow down you don’t stop. There can be no stopping. “Did Ellaria tell you where their lodging is?”

“She did.” Raeden nods, frowning because he is uncomfortable with where he must take you. “They are staying at a brothel in Flea Bottom.” He stops and rips his cloak off to drape over your shoulders. “You will need this to hide your finery.”

"I promise to you that when I apologize to you properly for this later, I will do everything I can to make it up to you." This decision did not only affect you, but it has torn him away from his life and his worldly possessions, as well. You may as well be bandits on the run for the punishment you would face if you were caught – for surely the uninformed observer would believe your mother's tale if you cannot reach safety before she is able to spin her web of lies for someone in authority. "But there is no time now." As soon as his cloak is around your shoulders, you are running again: as swiftly as your muscles can bear.

______

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