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cauliflowercounty · 1 month

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Knives Dance (Part III)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: It was hard to have a prose summary so here are some bullets of what’s happening in part 3

Baron Feyd missing you + heartfelt reunion

Feyd being totally infatuated with you

SCIENCE!!! and POLITICS!!!

Rabban being pitiful

Reader being a badass

Feyd vs Paul on Arrakis (what will happen? You’ll never knowww… [unless you read this chapter **wink, wink, wink**]

Warnings: Violence, blood, death (woohoo)

Word Count: 10.3k (whoops… I went typey-type)

A/N: I wanted to say a sincere thanks to everyone who's read Knives Dance up to this point. This series is some of the most fun I've had writing in a long, long time. Sending lots of love your way :)

Part I | Part II | Part III

Stirring gently in his bed, Feyd recoils slightly as the light from Giedi Prime’s black sun hits his eye line through the wall of windows that separate his bedroom from the private balcony that overlooks the cityscape. He extends his arm to your side of the bed and runs his hand languidly across the surface, feeling the cool, silky sheets under his fingertips. His heart feels heavy in his chest, and he lets out a low growl of frustration into his pillow. It has been a long three weeks without you.

You’ve been off-world on a visit to Youra to see your father and bring back equipment for the laboratory you’re constructing on Giedi Prime. He knows that he doesn’t have to worry about your safety because he insisted on a full Harkonnen security detail accompanying you, which should have put his mind at ease, but he’s laid awake each night since your departure, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of disasters befalling you during your travels. One night it’s asteroids colliding with your ship, tearing gaping holes in the walls, and sucking you into the vacuum of space. Another, it’s an ambush by an undiscovered society, hellbent on killing alien peoples for sport. Perhaps a novel virus wiping out the entire population of Youra and you with it in a matter of days? No farfetched scenarios were off limits when Feyd allowed his mind to wander.

The foreign feeling of loss due to your absence has not only plagued him with anxiety, but allowed Feyd to slip into a state of abject melancholia. None of his old vices have come close to fulfilling him, let alone make him feel much of anything. Watching his servants cower in fear or making foreign ambassadors quake in their seats wasn’t giving him the same gratification as it once had. Even hearing the roar of the crowds in the arena didn't given him any satisfaction. Everything had felt unbearably pedestrian. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was the thought of having the other half of his bed full again and listening to your tranquil voice. With every passing moment, he’s yearned for the life you had built together on Giedi Prime to resume.

Your mornings together were simple and easy. They were a time when he could always experience a drop of serenity within the political quagmire he’d gotten himself into since assuming the title of Baron. He’d wake up with you already in his embrace, your head laid delicately on his chest. He'd listen to your soft breathing and savor the way your limbs would entangle with his. The image of you blinking your eyes open to look at him with the special glimmer of affection reserved just for him never failed to make his heart flutter.

Overtime, Feyd noticed you had been taking very well to Harkonnen dresses, which you now wore more often than not. He had the best seamstresses on Giedi Prime make and tailor custom outfits for you, though he didn’t expect you to always wear them, knowing how important your heritage was for you. Nevertheless, you continued to grab one of the black gowns from your shared closet for your daily tasks and tell him with a smile “I’m Baroness Harkonnen now. Shouldn’t I dress the part?”

Before leaving your quarters each day, Feyd always took the opportunity to take your hand in his and bring you in front of the floor length mirror in your shared closet. With his hands around your waist, he would pepper gentle kisses from your cheeks down your neck, whispering in your ear “you are a vision today, my Baroness.” You'd always smile and blush bashfully in return, returning his kisses in kind. Moments like those when it was just the two of you had become one of his favorite parts of the day.

You made the meetings, filled with diplomats groveling to win his favor, bearable. How he loved to watch you as you sat on the grand Harkonnen throne beside him. You never failed to command the room with your head held high. Power and dignity seemed to drip off of your being and fill every room you entered. You were truly worthy of the title of Baroness, and with every passing day and every interaction, there was more and more for Feyd to admire about you.

In private, you took to training together, where he would bask in your shared might. With every blow he endured from you, all he could think about was that he, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, was the only person alive to witness you so animated with ferocity and passion from battle, as all others who have seen you this way have been slain and buried. Sparring sessions between the two of you almost always ended with you both on the floor, limbs entwined and chests heaving after one of you would get the best of the other and take the opportunity to pin the other to the floor.

At the end of the day, you'd always assume your position on the balcony in a flowy, white nightgown. With a gentle gesture, you’d beckon him to accompany you while you observe your shared domain, watching the shuttles flying through the gaps in the dark architecture and the stark white floodlights passing over the cityscape. He’d hold you close by your waist and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you start to shiver from the evening chill, at which point he’d tug at your waist to take you back to the bedroom to retire for the night. Every day, Feyd was falling deeper and deeper into you, and he’s loved every moment.

Bringing himself upright, Feyd stretches his arms and stands up, walking over to the closet. Across from his sets of Harkonnen formalwear and battle gear, your gowns are neatly hung. Half of them are the sleek, black Harkonnen designs he had made for you. The other half are gorgeously vibrant Youran gowns. He sighs, imagining sharing one of your moments again in front of the mirror like always, but alas, you are not beside him. Once he’s dressed, he emerges from his quarters and is met with a nameless servant.

“Good morning, Baron,” the servant says, bowing deeply and trying not to give Feyd an excuse to kill him. “I am here to inform you that we have received a signal from the Baroness’s craft. Her arrival is imminent.”

Hearing those words, Feyd turns on his heel toward the landing docks, dismissing the servant who heaves a sigh of relief because his head is thankfully still connected to the rest of his body. As Feyd walks the halls, his pace quickens, feeling the anticipation rise in his chest. People bow and salute him in the hallways, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. He’s too preoccupied with his thoughts of you; he can already smell the aroma of rainforest flowers you carry around with you. The thought that he’s so close to having you near again nearly drives him mad.

When he arrives at the landing docks, the fleet of Harkonnen vessels is already touching down. As he hears the machinery’s loud whirring die, the ramps of all the crafts to meet the floor. Lines of Harkonnen soldiers file out first, each soldier with weapons in arms. The steady pulse of their synchronized footsteps echoes through the space with perfect adherence to Harkonnen military standards is satisfactory for Feyd. The commander in front barks orders, and the guards immediately step into formation, making an aisle that extends between Feyd and the craft closest to him.

He is at a loss for words when he sees you walk down the ramp. You are undeniably gorgeous in Harkonnen clothes, but you look positively ethereal in the Youran gown and golden headdress that adorn your body today. Instead of shrouding yourself in the cloak you’ve worn in the past to hide your weaponry, you’re wearing a traditional dress reserved only for Youra’s utmost nobility. Layers of sheer, olive and cerulean fabric flare behind you to create your dress’s skirt out from under a ribbed bronze and mahogany corset. Seeing how it’s cinched your waist and accented your silhouette, all Feyd wants to do is hold you and drag his fingers up and down the length of your figure.

Through the abundance of delicate golden chains that are symmetrically draped over your exposed shoulders and chest, Feyd can see how the corset and the off the shoulder neckline cradles your breasts in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. The entire skirt of the dress is decorated in dazzling embellishments and the characteristic Youran golden thread that Feyd has come to love on you. The fabric of the train seems to flow like water behind you as you walk.

The high front hemline of the gown that ends at your upper thighs gives Feyd a good look at your legs, the lengths of which are delicately wrapped in the thin, tan ribbons from your sandals. The crosshatched pattern of the ribbons allows him to see just how beautifully your legs are sculpted from years of training and exploration. The sight makes his mouth water. He is truly breathless gazing upon you, his Baroness.

You return his affectionate gaze and call his name excitedly, reaching down and bunching up your skirt in your grasp before breaking into a run between the lines of Harkonnen guards. Your footsteps are the only noise reverberating throughout the area. Before he even realizes it, Feyd’s running for you, too. As you approach each other, he extends his arms out to you, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist. As he lifts you up into his arms, he spins you both around as you nuzzle yourself deeper into his hold.

Your grips on each other are desperate. Without a moment to waste, he cups your cheek with one hand as the other holds you tightly by the small of your back. A tear threatens to fall from his eyes as he considers saying that he hopes that you’ve missed him, but the look in your eyes already tells him the answer. This is truly happiness like he’s never experienced before. It washes over him when you finally bring your lips to meet his. His breath is warm against yours as he exhales into the kiss in satisfaction. He feels your hands come up to clutch the back of his head to deepen your kiss and growls hungrily, quickly losing himself in your embrace while attempting to resist the urge to devour you on the spot. His brow furrows when you finally break for air.

“Hello, my love,” you whisper softly, pressing your forehead against his, as if what you’re saying is a secret meant for only his ears. He grins at the pet name you’ve picked for him. “How have things been at home?” Your words make Feyd pause. Were you calling Giedi Prime “home?”

“Everything has been adequate,” Feyd says, kissing you again. “But I do prefer it when my Baroness is beside me.”

“I guess you’re in luck then,” you smile at his words. You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his prominent pectoral muscles underneath his shirt which makes him sigh in satisfaction. You swiftly squash the temptation to kiss him again as you meet his gaze because if you do, you’d never want to stop. Feyd sets you down, even though he’d gladly carry you all day wherever you want.

“My father sends his regards. He’s very pleased with House Harkonnen. He also sends his condolences at your uncle’s passing,” you say, which makes Feyd scoff silently to himself. “I’ve also gathered all I need for the laboratory. I hope I didn’t bring too much back with me. I hope it’s not a burden…” you trail off.

“You could never be a burden. We have plenty of servants. They can handle the labor,” Feyd assures as he turns to one of the closest guards. “Start unloading the Baroness’s things. You know where to take them. Don’t you dare damage any of it. There will be repercussions if anything is found broken.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard responds before beginning to bark orders to the others. One by one, the guards disappear into the vessel, and emerge moments later, carrying large wooden crates by the bronze colored handles attached to the sides of each. They all file out and disappear into the fortress, headed for your lab.

“So,” Feyd says, turning back to you. “Home is Giedi Prime now? I wouldn’t have expected you to call anywhere but Youra home. It’s not that I’m unsatisfied that you’ve found comfort on Giedi Prime, but I was surprised to hear you say those words.”

You smile and glance down at the ground before looking back to him, responding. “Younger me would have agreed with you. Youra is my first home and will forever be such. However, my feelings have changed. Home is wherever you are,” you explain, intertwining your fingers with his. At your words, Feyd pulls you in again by the waist for another quick kiss, and he wonders what he did to deserve a wife like you as you both turn to follow your belongings.

Weeks ago, you and Feyd had set aside the largest of Baron Vladimir’s personal recreation spaces to be converted to a laboratory for you on Giedi Prime. You both had celebrated the initiation of the transformation by gathering all the Baron’s belongings and smashing them to smithereens, which was quite cathartic for the both of you. In particular, you loved bashing Vladimir’s pipe and ripping his bathtubs apart piece by piece. The day of eradicating every trace of Vladimir, except for his portrait in the hallway, culminated in you both basking in the warmth of a glorious bonfire, fed by what remained of the Baron’s belongings.

You both arrive at your laboratory. The Harkonnen workers have been very efficient installing the necessary infrastructure in the time you have been away. The room that was stripped to the bones the day you left for Youra is now a proper lab, outfitted with fireproof surfaces, chemical hoods, gas lines, and plenty of storage cabinets.

“Wow, Feyd,” you say. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this got done in the time I was gone.”

“Only the best for you, my love,” he replies as more servants arrive, and you begin to instruct them how to unpack your belongings. Feyd stands back on the sidelines and watches you, seeing the sparkle in your eyes now that you’re able to bring part of your life from Youra to Giedi Prime. Many of the instruments and objects he sees being unpacked are unfamiliar to him, but you seem unphased, perhaps even comforted, by the diversity of items. He marvels at your proficiency with handling all of them. With the help of the servants, you quickly have all the crates unloaded and the items put away and organized. You dismiss all the workers promptly, so you and Feyd can be alone. Once the doors are closed, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Is the space to your liking?” Feyd asks, coming to your side and slipping his arm firmly around your waist.

“It’s perfect,” you reply, looking around with elation in your eyes. You reach into a drawer in front of you and take out a jar. Inside, he sees it’s full of the iridescent indigo scales of the fish you had shown him the night you were attacked on Youra. “I wanted to wait until I got back to Giedi Prime to do the extraction on the scales for your batch of the elixir. …Would you like to stay while it happens?”

Feyd nods without hesitation. He knows that watching you work is something only the people closest to you ever get to see. “Of course, my love. It would be my pleasure,” he says. You smile at him, delighted at his interest. You point to a little door in the corner and tell him to wait for you before disappearing into it. A few minutes later, you emerge having shed your gown and jewels for a tan lab coat. When you smooth your hands over the new coat, Feyd thinks to himself how put together you look. You seem even more at ease now that you’ve changed. In your arms, he sees another coat and two pairs of safety glasses.

“To protect your clothes and eyes,” you say, walking over and handing him the other coat and one of the pairs of glasses. Inside the coat, he sees “Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” delicately stitched in with golden lettering. As he puts it on, he realizes it’s been tailored to his measurements perfectly at your behest. His heart swells once again. Your foresight is obvious to him. Beside him, you take out a mortar and pestle and pour a few of the scales into the mortar. He hears the scales clatter like pebbles against one another as they fall.

Over your shoulder, Feyd can finally get a closer look at the scales from the fish you had shown him. The scales are shaped like rounded trapezoids and glimmer even in the artificial indoor lighting. Through the striking coloration, he can see delicate silver ribs that flare out from the narrower end of the scales, making each scale look like a pocket of moonlight rays shining through an inky night sky. Feyd thinks how it’s truly a wonder how nature produced such a creature that bears such beauty.

You grasp the pestle in your hand and start striking the scales with firm, downward motions. Upon impact, the scales fracture at the ribs. Little by little, the scales become smaller, and you change your technique, beginning to roll the pestle around the bottom and up the sides of the mortar. You reverse the direction of the circle every few times. Because of your expert hand, the scales are soon reduced to a fine powder in the bottom of the mortar. The dust glistens beautifully as you pick up the mortar and tip it around in a rolling motion, observing the results of your grinding.

“It’s time to perform the extraction and then the purification. Hopefully the crystals will be well formed,” you say to him, taking the mortar over to the fume hood behind the two of you and flipping the on switch to the hood. “Have you ever watched any of your scientists work before?”

Feyd shakes his head as he follows you, memories of his childhood passing through his mind. “My uncle always instructed me to remain in the arena and the training grounds growing up. The laboratories on Giedi Prime were never our places to be. Our scientists would always come and report to us rather than us going to them. It has always been that way. Everyone in House Harkonnen works for the Baron. Everything they do is in service to him. It is inappropriate by our standards for him to go to them.”

You nod at his words, reaching for the glass sash that separates you and Feyd from the compartment of the fume hood. “Unsurprisingly, it’s the opposite on Youra,” you say, putting the mortar with the powdered scales inside before lowering the sash again until it’s almost closed, leaving gap a couple inches tall for continued access. “Yes, all workers serve my father and me, but we are all colleagues, in a way. They are the workers and my father is the hub for all of the departments on Youra. Much of my father’s success is tied to them, so he would often visit our workers to acknowledge their efforts and dedication. He always wanted to see their work for himself, too. He’s always been the curious type. My father had me follow him to the laboratories as soon as I was old enough to understand safety protocol. I’m sure if it wasn’t for regulations, he’d have brought me into the labs in a baby sling.”

The image of young you in a laboratory, holding your father’s hand as Youran chemists show you both what they’re working on comes into Feyd’s mind. Even though he didn’t know of you when you were children, he can imagine you then, much shorter with a rounder face but with the same bright eyes brimming with curiosity. The idea makes his heart warm and a smile tugs at his lips.

“I’m sure those laboratory visits were most influential for you,” Feyd says. You nod in return as you put on a pair of gloves and reach under the sash to grab an amber bottle containing a clear liquid from the side of the hood.

“Absolutely,” you reply as you transfer all the powdered scales into a glass Erlenmeyer flask and add enough of the liquid to cover the solids. You move the flask onto a raised plate in the hood and press a few buttons to begin the heating process. “I loved watching them do their work. They knew so much about our world, but were still determined to know more. The way they moved in the lab was like a dance. I desperately wanted to be a part of that, so I began working with them when I was fourteen…”

As Feyd listens to you talk about your past as you work, his admiration of you grows. Your determination and tenacity through failed experiments and stalled projects are astounding to him, and the fact you’ve been able to become a swordswoman on the side this is truly a marvel. Your skill and years of training are evident today, as your body seems to know this process by memory. This in front of him is the product of all those years of effort.

The liquid in the vessel begins to bubble gently. As the moments go by, the liquid takes on the iridescent nature of the scales and becomes a vibrant blue. Removing it from the heat, you strain the liquid through fine mesh into another container, removing all the powdered scales from the mixture. Looking at the collected solids, Feyd can see the scales have lost their original coloration and turned a chalky off-white. You smile to yourself, knowing that the extraction was effective while you prepare a large volume of a different liquid, also clear and colorless, in a large beaker.

“Are you ready for the recrystallization?” you ask him, grabbing a syringe and drawing up some of the extract into the barrel. You return to the beaker of liquid and gently tip it sideways with one hand while pointing the tip of the needle at the side of the beaker. Carefully, you begin to squeeze the syringe and the indigo liquid begins to drip out the needle’s tip and trickle down the side of the beaker. As the extract hits the surface of the clear liquid, deep purple crystals seem to flutter out from the point of impact into the liquid instantaneously. Feyds lips part in amazement, unable to tear his gaze away from the process

“How does it work?” he asks, watching as a batch of thin, needle-like crystals start to gather at the bottom of the beaker while the bulk liquid remains colorless. It’s as if all the color of the extract has been contained within the crystals.

“I use the first liquid to remove the compound from the scales and make a concentrated extract. I then add the extract to a bulk solvent which our compound of interest is insoluble in. The compound forms crystals when the liquids meet because the second liquid is in great excess compared to the first,” you explain, drawing up more extract and adding it to the beaker in the same way. Once you’re out of extract, you squat down to bring your eye level to that of the beaker. “It’s perfect. I don’t think the crystallization has ever gone that well.”

You’re absolutely beaming as you swirl the crystals suspended in the liquid, admiring how they twinkle in the light. He can’t deny that your excitement is contagious. You collect the crystals by filtering the mix through another filter and spread out the crystals on a metal sheet to allow them to dry before removing your safety glasses, and Feyd follows suit.

“This is the compound I was referring to that night at the Pools of Ashora,” you say to Feyd. “If we dissolve the crystals in water and drink it, it allows people to retain their body’s water content and reduced the frequency at which people needed to drink water.”

“Fascinating…,” Feyd trails off, staring at the delicate crystals scattered across the surface inside the fume hood.

“When I was on Youra, I tested the elixir myself,” you say. Hearing you say that you’ve done that, a bolt of fear goes to his heart at the thought of you just drinking a novel chemical. Feyd’s eyes quickly lock onto you, and his neck stiffens. His mind swirls with distress at the possibility of you getting hurt. You may look okay now, but was the elixir difficult for you to stomach? Did it hurt you in the moment?

Looking at him, you’re immediately in tune with his reaction, and you lift your hand up to rest on his arm to calm his nerves. At your touch, he immediately relaxes. “Don’t worry, Feyd. I am alright. There’s nothing to be worried about. We’ve done plenty of trials since I first introduced this fish to you. I assure you it’s safe. I’ve had all of my best scientists on this project, and I had the best doctors in Youra monitor my vitals for two days after the fact.” Feyd nods, knowing if anyone is competent enough to keep you safe, it's yourself and the Youran doctors and researchers. “We still don’t know the exact mechanism of the compound in the body, but we do know there aren’t significant negative side effects on people. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Feyd replies, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your waist and pull you close enough that your lips are almost touching and you’re both staring into each other’s eyes. “I will always put my faith in you and your work.”

“I’m glad to hear,” you reply, your breath fanning out across his face, which sends shivers down his spine. “That means a lot, Feyd, we’ve been working hard the last few weeks for this.” Grinning at you, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips your head up toward his, catching your lips in his. You quickly take off your gloves and hold his cheeks in your palms, savoring the intimate moment.

A knock at the door sounds through the room. Feyd grumbles in annoyance as the tension between you releases. You and Feyd look at each other before ending your embrace. You call out “Enter!” in the direction of the doors. A military advisor enters the lab in full uniform with his head low. He immediately drops to his knees in front of both of you to show his respect.

“Baron, Baroness,” he says. “I am deeply sorry for interrupting you both, but I bring critical news from Arrakis.”

“Very well,” Feyd says, straightening up and peering down at the man kneeling before him. “Out with it.”

“There has been an attack by the Fremen. They destroyed eighty percent of the most recent spice crop.” You can tell by the way the man shivers that he is afraid. Nobody ever wanted to be the one to break bad news to Feyd-Rautha. “Count Rabban attempted a counterattack.”

“‘Attempted?’ What happened?” Feyd growls, his eyes flashing in dissatisfaction. You catch Feyd’s hand in your palm as it flies in the direction of the knife he keeps on his person. You shake your head. You tell him there is no use in killing this man because it would be a waste with just a look.

“Y-Yes, my Lord,” the man says, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You can hear him beginning to hyperventilate despite his best attempts to steady his breath. “Rabban went after the Fremen, but the dust and debris from Rabban’s initial artillery attack made the visibility so poor on the battlefield that only Count Rabban and a few others survived. They were ambushed in the haze; it was a massacre with a casualty rate of seventy two percent and climbing.”

“Over half?!” you gasp, your own fists beginning to clench at Rabban’s blunder.

“Rabban says he saw the Fremen prophet, Muad'dib, on the battlefield before he fled. The Fremen… they are dedicated to him. They kill for him, Baron. Our spice operation is in jeopardy. We await your command.”

Feyd stiffens, a vein threatening to pop on his temple. He sucks in air through his teeth, infuriated at Rabban’s continued incompetency. The advisor recoils at the noise, shuffling backward toward the door.

“You are dismissed,” you call to him with a huff. A wave of relief washes over the man as he bows and thanks you before slipping out the door.

“Rabban is a damned fool!” Feyd shouts once you’re alone. “He has had every chance to rectify his mistakes on Arrakis, but he seems to leave his brain behind when he makes decisions and lets this Muad'dib win every time! And now I hear news of abandoning the battlefield at the sight of this prophet? He is a coward! An absolute imbecile! If something doesn’t change soon, the Emperor will take Arrakis from us!”

You reach your arm out and rest it on his shoulder. In moments, you’ve quelled Feyd’s initial outburst until he’s only seething with fury instead of being on the verge of trashing the entire lab. “I think it’s time to relieve my brother of his duties,” Feyd says after he takes a deep breath. “We shall go to Arrakis to do it. I want to see the look on his face and the hope drain from his eyes when he knows he’s failed. I will take over the operation on Arrakis. We will do what my brother was incapable of.”

“In that case…,” you say, preparing two glasses of water, adding a pinch of the crystals to each. The water immediately turns a luminous indigo, and you hand Feyd one of the glasses, which he gladly takes. You raise your glass in the air. “To victory and to House Harkonnen.”

“To victory and House Harkonnen,” he replies, connecting the rims of your glasses and drinking the entire glass in one go. The elixir is salty and rich on his tongue as if he’s drinking the essence of the tropical ocean. As the elixir flows into him, he feels a warmth pulsate throughout his body. He isn’t sure if this is truly the effects of the elixir or just a placebo, but Feyd feels powerful, like he could slaughter a thousand men and still have a hunger for more. As he meets your gaze, you give him a knowing look. You feel the energy, too. You both shed your laboratory coats and leave the room to prepare for your journey to Arrakis.

The preparations before and journey to Arrakis went without a hitch. You had opted to choose Harkonnen battle gear over your own, but you and Feyd still agreed on concealing your knives under a black Harkonnen dress cloak, still not eager to let anyone know of your true nature. Arriving in Arrakeen, you notice the striking architecture, made up of geometric slabs of tan stone layered to create a fortress to protect its inhabitants. This time on Arrakis, Feyd doesn’t feel the heat like he used to. It’s as if his body is fighting back against the harsh environment on the desert planet. You feel it, too. You were initially concerned because you had only tested the elixir during the dry months on Youra, which paled in hostility in comparison to Arrakis, but seems the elixir’s protection is more than sufficient.

You and Feyd walk the halls of the fortress side by side, heading to the room where all of the Harkonnen strategists and military officials are. You see them gathered around a digital map projected by a computer in the middle of the room, which shows the locations of all the Harkonnen forces in the north of Arrakis. Upon seeing their Baron and Baroness side by side, they all freeze and bow.

“Welcome to Arrakis, Baron, Baroness” one of them says. He opens his mouth to continue but Fed cuts him off.

“Enough,” Feyd hisses at him. “I have orders for you. You are no longer to follow the word of Count Rabban. As of today, he is relieved of his duty as Planetary Governor of Arrakis. You will report directly to and receive orders only from me and your Baroness.”

The room of men immediately shout “Yes, My Lord!” in response. A smirk forms on Feyd's lips at their responsiveness, and he instructs them to hit the Fremen with old-fashioned artillery. As the orders are executed by the Harkonnen military, you watch the map intently as the targets on the map turn green, indicating the Fremen bases are hit successfully. All of the military advisors’ eyes widen in surprise at the genius of Feyd’s strategy as the reports of complete annihilation from the ground forces roll in.

They all begin to applaud Feyd and as their chants fill the room, your heart fills with pride. Feyd has finally proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was always meant to be the leader of House Harkonnen. As the applause continues, you see Rabban appear in the doorway, a look of surprise disgust on his face. You notice he’s still wearing his nightclothes, and your eyes flash between him and Feyd as Rabban approaches Feyd, Rabban’s legs still stiff from sleep.

“Leave us,” Feyd instructs the others in the room, who promptly file out. They keep their eyes on the floor, not daring to look at Rabban. They know people who end up alone in a room with Feyd after repeated blunders usually don’t exit the room outside of a body bag.

“What are you doing here?” Rabban growls at Feyd.

“It’s early morning. What are you doing here?” Feyd quips back. Rabban lets out a frustrated huff.

“You can’t just waltz in here,” Rabban says through gritted teeth. “And how can you bring that woman into the inner sanctum?”

“How dare you refer to your Baroness like that!” Feyd roars, grabbing Rabban by his collar. “If you have forgotten, dear Brother, I am Baron now. I will do as I please and take my wife wherever I wish!”

Feyd throws Rabban back and he falls on his back hard. In desperation, Rabban tries to scramble to his feet again, but as soon as he’s almost upright, he feels his knees buckle from under him as you kick the backside of his knees in. Rabban’s forehead collides with the stone floor with a visceral crack, and he feels his arm caught in your grip behind him. He groans as you push his arm to the verge of overextension. On his neck, Rabban feels the cool tip of a blade threatening to pierce his skin, which sends a chill down his spine, his head still spinning from impact.

“You should learn to respect your superiors,” you whisper to him as Feyd’s gaze is fixated on you. The picture before him has a fire rising within him. His breath turns thick and heavy, seeing you over Rabban, your blade on his neck and your foot on his back with a fiendish smile on your lips. “I would have expected more from my brother-in-law… You are a disgrace to House Harkonen,” you drawl, pressing your dagger’s tip into Rabban’s neck enough to draw blood. Dark crimson blood trickles down Rabban’s neck and he squirms. You remove your foot from his back and step forward to place your shoe by his face. You take the opportunity to kick his cheek in a little with the toe of your shoe before the heel of your combat boot hits the floor by Rabban’s face with a firm thunk. “Kiss my feet, and I may spare your life.”

Rabban quivers under your hold, his palms spread over the stone floor. He considers trying to escape. He could try to press his body up and avoid the blade on his neck and try to sweep your legs out from under you, but he quickly realizes that you are in control. Any movement like that would end with your knife in his chest, back, or neck. Despite his position being compromised, he hesitates to kiss your foot How could he, Glossu Rabban, kiss a woman’s shoe in submission?

“You heard her, Brother,” Feyd hisses, stepping toward you both as he basks in his brother’s terror. Feyd stops in front of his brother and squats down to look at him. “Kiss her feet. Now.”

After a moment, Rabban quivers and presses his lips against the leather of your shoes. As he does, you see how miserable and pathetic this man below you is. It's truly a shock that this oaf is the brother of your Feyd, who is confident, domineering, and skillful in every way.

“You made a good decision obeying, Rabban,” you say, releasing the blade on his neck. “I would have wasted a perfectly sharpened knife slitting your throat if you hadn’t cooperated.” You step back from him as he clambers into an upright position. His hand flies to his neck, feeling the blood trickle down his neck and seep into his nightshirt.

“You are hereby relieved of your duties as Planetary Governor of Arrakis,” Feyd grins at the pitiful sight before him. “You will return to your quarters in the meantime and wait for future instruction.”

Rabban leaves in defeat. Once the doors shut behind him, you and Feyd smirk at each other, and Feyd rushes to you giving you a tender kiss. “I love you, Baroness,” he murmurs, completely infatuated with you.

A few days later, you stare up into the atmosphere of Arrakis. The Emperor’s craft has just entered the atmosphere. You and Feyd share incredulous looks and you immediately make your way to where the emperor will be docking.

“What could the emperor want?” you ask Feyd as you walk.. “We restored spice production. It’s never been more efficient.”

Feyd shakes his head, deep in thought. “I do not know, my love.”

“I don’t like this, Feyd.” you whisper to him, trying not to let anyone else hear and Feyd nods in return. “What could have summoned the emperor to Arrakis?”

“We shall see,” he replies. Rabban arrives and bows to you both, which makes you frown. Rabban hasn’t been involved in House Harkonnen’s operations since he was removed. Nevertheless, he still proceeds into the throne room before Feyd or you can dismiss him.

Inside the throne room, the emperor is perched on a large throne up a large flight of stairs with his daughter and a Bene Gesserit standing by him. Your eyes narrow seeing the witch’s presence, knowing they have tricks they are not afraid of using to manipulate the great houses. You, Feyd, and Rabban kneel in front of them, bowing your heads. Before any of you speak, the emperor’s voice rings out.

“I am sure you are curious as to why I have come to Arrakis,” he begins. “What do you know of the prophet Muad'dib?” Rabban speaks up first, saying that Muad'dib is a madman.

“Mad?!” the emperor says.

“All Fremen are mad!” Rabban counters, and the Emperor’s fist clenches around the arm of his throne. You and Feyd shoot daggers at Rabban, and he closes his mouth immediately, putting his head down again which casts his face in shadow.

“We apologize for my brother speaking out of turn,” Feyd says to the Emperor. “Rabban has had no part in the latest work of House Harkonnen. He is not a reliable source of information. We know Muad'dib is a figure of the Fremen, and they follow his command.”

“Yes,” you say. “He organizes their forces, and they have been effective in battle against many of our forces by hiding in the sands and staging ambushes. They’ve been effective at destroying our spice harvesters in the past, but we’ve been able to successfully retaliate.” The Bene Gesserit flashes some hand signs at the emperor. She must be able to tell if people are lying or not.

“What of the prophet’s whereabouts?” the Emperor asks, his voice darkening with frustration at your lack of knowledge. The emperor’s suggested scorn directed at House Harkonnen is sour on your tongue, and you grit your teeth.

“We control the north of Arrakis and spice production, Emperor,” you reply, keeping yourself collected. “We believe Muad'dib has fled to the south to hide in the storms after my husband’s last military tactic was successful in neutralizing their northern bases.”

As you utter those words, you feel a tremendous boom propagate through the air, causing the building to shudder. Everyone in the room looks up. Some of the diplomats that have accompanied the emperor swallow thickly. You and Feyd exchange knowing glances. Something isn’t right. The Sardaukar forces, who have come to protect the emperor, raise their weapons and get into formation with one line in front of the emperor, who has abandoned the throne in favor of shelter.

The other line of Sardaukar forms a line opposite the entrance way, as more explosions can be heard beyond the walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban slip away, ever the coward. You feel Feyd’s touch on your arm as he beckons you to position yourself behind the defenses with the other diplomats. From your shared position, you both wait and listen intently. The others in the room are paralyzed in a cold sweat, but you and Feyd are silently watching, waiting, and listening, already gathering information on the situation to calculate your next move.

Dust fills the room as another bang resonates throughout the room and the barrier breaks down. The frontline of the Sardaukar advance, weapons at the ready. As they disappear into the dust, you know they aren’t coming back. The room is almost entirely quiet, but through the haze you hear the barely audible but familiar sound of daggers piercing armor, slitting throats, and tearing flesh. The remaining Sardaukar dig their heels in as a figure emerges through the orange debris, wrapped in tan fabrics caked in others’ blood. His face is concealed by a scarf, and the only flesh of his you see are his eyes, blue from spice. He is accompanied by an army. Judging by the amount of noise they made on their arrival, you and Feyd know there are probably hundreds of them. Fighting your way out is not an option. This must be the prophet Muad'dib.

Muad'dib looks around with his blade drawn, seemingly searching for someone as he enters the room. You see him and Feyd make eye contact. Feyd’s eyes narrow at him in curiosity. When Muad'dib does not find who he is looking for, he turns the crowd of people behind the Sardaukar guards. Most of the diplomats instinctively take a step back. He makes eye contact with the emperor before turning to his own forces and hissing something in a foreign tongue which you presume to be Chakobsa, Fremen language. He exits the room back into the crowd of Fremen who chant for him, waving their war banners. You see they bear the hawk insignias of House Atreides. The son of Duke Leto Atreides is alive.

The Fremen advance, easily slaying the last remaining Sardaukar. Many of the diplomats shudder and jump in surprise as the Fremen plunge their daggers into the Sardaukar warriors, who are powerless to stop them. Once they are all dead and their blood is spread across the floor in crimson red pools, the Fremen start grabbing the rest of you by your arms, and you are all dragged away one by one. You are being taken prisoner. You look to Feyd, who gives you a subtle nod as if to say “go along with it,” and you do.

You’ve laid low all in the confinement the Fremen have kept you in all night, not eager to give any of them a reason to kill you. Silently, you’ve been analyzing your situation, trying to figure out a way to achieve an optimal outcome, which you feel is slipping through your fingers. Since you have been taken prisoner, you can only presume that the rest of the Sardaukar and the Harkonnen army have been slaughtered and their bodies burned before daybreak. You and Feyd are likely the last living Harkonnens on Arrakis.

After sunrise, you are called upon by a faceless Fremen, who orders all of the prisoners to follow. You are reunited with Feyd, who takes your hand, careful not to let the Fremen see this gesture of affection as to not allow them any leverage. His touch automatically makes you as at ease you can be, given that you are both captives without allies.

Arriving in a room with the other prisoners, you see the surviving Fremen mingling and congratulating one another. The man from before stands in the clearing of the room without his face covering, his black wavy hair framing his face. Feyd turns to you and mouths “Atreides.” You nod in understanding, and watch as Paul Atreides addresses the Emperor, challenging him for the throne. Looking out the window, you see warships in the distant sky. The other great houses have arrived and Paul Atreides threatens to destroy all the spice fields if the houses intervene.

“Stand yourself or choose your champion,” he orders the Emperor, who turns to Feyd.

“I select Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” the emperor declares. “Get him a blade.” You inhale sharply, knowing this means Feyd must fight to the death against a man who has already slain many in battle and emerged victorious from the bloodbath of the previous night. You trust Feyd’s skill, but you know not to underestimate Paul Atreides. Feyd’s eyes flicker toward you. He knows what you’re thinking and gives you a slight nod as if to promise he will fight his hardest, not for the emperor, but for you. He is presented with a blade by one of the members of the emperor’s council. To your surprise, Feyd pushes it away and turns to you. Coming to stand in front of you, he gestures downward toward your legs, where your daggers are still strapped to your thighs out of sight.

“Feyd, are you sure?” you say to him, your voice small.

“I want to use your blade. Please let me fight for you,” Feyd whispers. You nod and reach down to fulfill his request, drawing one of your Youran weapons from your garters. When you hand it to him, Feyd feels the familiar heft of your dagger in his hand, which makes him grin. Just as he remembers, it’s expertly balanced and perfectly crafted, its pointed tip shining in the low orange light of the room. He smiles, recalling the night you handed him the same blade, the first time he saw your true nature. He twirls the knife in his grip with a flourish of his wrist as he stands opposite Paul Atreides.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, cousin,” Paul says.

“Cousin…” Feyd says, continuing to evaluate Paul for his weaknesses. “You wouldn’t be the first family member I’ve killed.”

His words don’t phase you. You’re well aware of Feyd’s family history. You clasp your hands in each other in front of your chest, willing Feyd to be the victor. Paul Atreides straightens himself and salutes Feyd. “May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul says with a gruff tone, lowering himself into a battle stance and pointing his knife at Feyd. Feyd smirks, raising your weapon. The sight of it in his hand is gratifying for Feyd. Despite standing alone against Paul, it’s as if you are both in this fight together with him wielding your weapon.

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd returns and within moments, they're after each other, having an all out brawl in the middle of the room. They each swipe at each other with reaction times like lightning. The sounds of blades crashing against one another, the low smacks of their bodies colliding, and their grunts of exertion fill the room. You have to admit, Paul Atreides is an impressive fighter. He’s quick on his feet and swiftly dodges and counters many of Feyd’s attacks, but it is obvious that Feyd is the one with strength on his side. The only way for Atreides to win is if he is able to find a way to use that strength against Feyd.

You’re barely breathing at this point. Your facade of stoicism threatens to crumble when you see Paul Atreides’ forehead connect firmly with your husband’s nose. To your surprise, you don’t see any blood on Feyd’s face. Paul Atreides’ head is thrown back after almost bouncing off of Feyd’s nose. Paul’s head seems to be spinning as he stumbles backward on uneven footing. Feyd recognizes Paul’s debilitated state is fleeting, and takes advantage of the moment, striking Paul again. The tangle of limbs is intense, but in the blink of an eye, you see Feyd disarm Paul, taking Paul’s knife for his own.

As they break away from one another, Paul Atreides is heaving, struggling to breathe as the leather bound hilt of your dagger protrudes from his abdomen. He’s wheezing as his own blood seeps into his battle gear. His allies gaze upon the sight in shock, some wincing in second-hand pain.

Feyd approaches him promptly, and grabs Paul by the scruff of his neck, raising Paul’s own knife at him. Paul Atreides uses his own gloved hand to grab the blade, trying to push it away, but Feyd leans in, forcing the blade to slip further into Paul’s grip, cutting the flesh of Paul’s hand open with a sickening noise, the tip of the knife getting closer to piercing Paul’s neck.

The next moment, you feel like screaming. The dagger, once poised to slice open Paul Atreides’ neck, is no longer in the air visible to you. Paul Atreides has used his grip on Feyd’s blade to redirect the tip toward the stomach of your husband. Your hands fly to your mouth, tears threatening to spill. The force Feyd puts behind his blade at that proximity is fatal.

The memories of meeting Feyd on Youra, fighting by his side against Ozran, plotting into the early hours to kill his despicable uncle, your wedding ceremony in front of House Harkonnen, and the moments of tenderness and affection he’s given you in private flash through your mind. Your stomach writhes, and your heart shrivels into itself, and your mind begins to confront the idea that you now must mourn the life you and Feyd had assembled. Another thought flashes through your mind. You’ll likely be killed after this with the rest of the prisoners in this room, and die alone without your husband, lightyears away from your people on Youra and Giedi Prime. You’ve failed.

Through your tears, you stare at the scene as the air and the people surrounding you are completely still. However, something gives you pause. You hear something hit the floor look down to the area under Feyd and Paul’s feet. You spy fragments of metal, broken into uneven shards, scattered across the floor. However, there is no blood to be seen. Your eyes shoot to Feyd, who is also looking down to where they both hold the hilt of the broken knife.

Without a second to spare, Feyd’s hand flies to your knife in Paul’s side, ripping it out of him. Paul cries out in agony, the removal of the knife causing a blood curdling squelch of skin and muscle ripping. The next moment, Feyd slits Paul Atreides’ throat with a grand swing of his arm, sending blood splatter fanning across the floor. The pregnant woman seated in the wooden throne bearing the Atreides crest lets out a high pitched shriek, and she begins to wail, seeing the light from her son’s eyes fade as his body crumples to the floor. A Fremen woman across from you lets out a shaky breath, her lip quivering and tears pool near her bright blue eyes as Paul Atreides’ fresh blood collects in a puddle on the stone floor under the gaping hole in his neck.

Feyd turns back to you, bloody blade in hand and lets out a deep exhale, allowing the tension in his own chest to dissipate. He had thought he was dead, too, but no. He is alive. He is victorious, and he gets to look into your eyes again, knowing that he has done his job for you.

Kneeling, Feyd presents the emperor with the soiled blade. The emperor smiles and pronounces Paul Atreides, the prophet Muad'dib, to be dead and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as the victor. In defeat, the ally of Paul, identified as Gurney Halleck, relays a message to the great houses of the outcome of the fight. The emperor’s reign shall continue, and your husband is alive. You push your way past the others in the crowd and throw yourself at Feyd, who cradles you in his arms, running his fingers through your hair, whispering to you “Please don’t shed any more tears, my love. I am still here… I wouldn’t leave you that easily.”

“I thought I lost you,” you choke out and Feyd shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe away the tear stains on your cheeks.

“You haven’t and you won’t,” he replies, his hands holding your body steady. “Let’s go home.”

—

Holding your knees to your chest, you sit in a private chamber on the Emperor’s vessel as it leaves the atmosphere of Arrakis to take you and Feyd back to Giedi Prime, which was the least the emperor could do given that Feyd nearly died for him. One of Feyd’s hands rests on your waist, holding you firmly in his grip while the other rubs gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb. Feyd watches as your eyes dart side to side, which happens when you’re deep in though.

“What is on your mind, my love?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m thinking about your battle with Paul Atreides,” you reply. “The knife broke when he tried to turn the tables on you, didn’t it?” Feyd nods, bringing his hand down to the spot on his abdomen where the knife was. “May I see where it was?” you ask and Feyd obliges, creating a small bit of distance between the two of you so that you can get a good look at his torso.

You bring your hand to where Feyd’s armor has been sliced open by the blade. Bringing the other hand to his body, you gently spread the layers of fabric and leather apart to look through the hole. Underneath, you see Feyd’s familiar pale skin and his chiseled abdominal muscles that you’ve always loved to drag your fingers across. His skin appears to be absolutely pristine without a single nick or bruise in sight. You bring your head closer to get a better look before saying, “There isn’t evidence of any damage to your skin, Feyd. Your body is like the battle never happened. There isn’t a trace of impact.” As soon as you utter the last word in the sentence, you freeze and your lips part ever so lightly as your mind races to connect the dots. He knows that look on you, and he sees the gears turning in your mind.

“Impact…,” you mumble to yourself. Your eyes shoot up to Feyd’s “During the battle there was a moment when Paul Atreides’ head collided with your nose.” Your hand flies to his cheek to steady his head. You examine his nose, using your hand to tilt his head side to side. Everything about his face is unchanged, which shouldn’t be the case, especially after a fight like that and the headbutt he endured from Paul. You tip his head back. Again, there is no blood or breakage.

Your mind begins to race as you return your hands to your husband’s torso. Your hands fumble as you attempt to remove the layers of armor in between you and Feyd’s skin. Feyd realizes what you’re doing and soon enough he’s shirtless in front of you. You extend your hand out and drag your hand over his stomach. You press your fingers firmly down onto his abdominal region and upper body repeatedly, changing the area you’re putting pressure on each time. He feels solid under your touch and not in the way you’re used to. Feyd has always been bulky and muscular, hardened from years of training, but something about this is different. It’s like his body has the durability of an alloy the researchers on Youra could only dream of engineering, but he’s still flesh and blood. Bring your fingers to your own stomach, pressing your fingers against your own front, and you gasp. “That’s it!” you exclaim.

“What is it?” he asks, knowing you are on the edge of an epiphany.

“It’s the elixir!” you gasp, standing up and holding your head in disbelief “It saved your life!”

“I thought it was only to help the body retain water,” Feyd says as you get up and begin circling the room.

“Don’t you remember? That’s the end result of the elixir, but we were still unsure of the mechanism by which that happens!” you exclaim. “Remember the night I showed you the fish? I said that the fish sheds its scales at the beginning of the wet season. What I didn’t tell you is that the wet season is the only time of year we can get the scales off the fish because they fall off naturally. Our scientists have tried to get the scales before the transition of the seasons, but they've always been unable to pry the scales off or kill them because it was impossible to slice open the fish. No matter how much we sharpened the knives, we couldn’t cut them open!”

“That’s how the fish retain water in the dry season. The fish develop these scales with this compound that transforms their own bodies into a shield from the elements, so that water can’t escape. I’ve always wondered how a fish would be able to survive the whole dry season on a dried up lake bed. This compound is why the fish species hasn’t gone extinct! When they’re sitting in their dried up ponds, no predators can eat them because their bodies are too tough to pierce,” you surmise, delight filling your complexion. “By drinking that compound, the same thing has happened to our bodies! You were able to survive the battle because your skin became this impenetrable barrier that lets you keep your water that just so happens to be impervious to outside attacks as well! That’s also why your nose didn’t break and why Paul Atreides was so disoriented after he struck you with his head. It was as if he rammed his head into a steel wall. Researchers on Youra didn't catch this effect in the clinical trials because we don’t just go stabbing all of our test subjects with knives or subjecting them to blunt force trauma, especially not for a study about water retention!”

Feyd hardly believes what he’s hearing, but he knows it's true. Everything you’re saying makes perfect sense. Memories from the battle flash in his mind. He remembers his arm is suddenly bending toward himself, feeling the rough surface of the broken blade scrape against his abdomen, but the pain he had been trained to resist since childhood never hitting his senses. He brings himself to his feet and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can muster. “You are phenomenal, my dear, I can’t believe you figured that out,” he murmurs to you. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

He lowers his lips to yours, kissing you like he’s never done before. You both cling to one another, relieved you are both alive and safe. Feyd holds the back of your head and runs his fingers through your locks tenderly, thinking about how far you both have come in this short amount of time. Mere months ago, you were a stranger he had the obligation to meet and marry. He knew he would have to enter a loveless relationship with you in the name of alliances. He tried to convince himself you were a woman he wanted to make a plaything out of. Before, he was intent on manipulating, breaking, and exploiting you for his own amusement. Those ideas feel so foreign to Feyd now as he revels in your affections and caresses your cheek.

Looking down at you, he sees you for what you are. You are the most beautiful being to ever exist. Nothing past or present will ever compare to you, and it brings tears to his eyes, knowing you are his wife and he is your husband. You are the culmination of all House Ronen and House Harkonnen have worked for, a true representation of the union of your two houses, and the pinnacle of all Feyd has come to hold dear. You are where brain meets brawn, where tradition meets modernity, and the pride and joy of Feyd’s life. You are simply everything.

Thanks for reading! I can’t believe the series is over (but I'm also considering writing an epilogue, but I have some requests coming down the pipeline, so we'll see about that. lmk if that's something you might be interested in...). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed Knives Dance! :)

Also is it obvious I study chemistry yet?

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@austinbutlerslovers @rougegenshin @itshype@woodland-mist @tian-monique @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @allthingsimagines @meetmeatyourworst @nyaaaaa008 @caroline334 @alana4610 @targaryen-madness

Tags that aren't working for some reason??? @roguegenshin @miaraises

#feyd rautha #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha x reader #dune #x reader

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kyokutsu-sama · 2 months

Text

Headcanons

A/n: So, I'm going o invest more content on my favorite captains of bc because they're hot , badass and deserve all world's attention. Here's some sfw/nsfw headcanons for them✨️

Tw: Nsfw content

_____________________________

Yami :

Sfw

He's super protective of you and that's something he doesn't hide. If any man messes with you (even if you are strong), that guy is officially dead.

You are the only person he allows to pick up his sword and use it on a battle. He trusts you so take good care of his katana because this man is broke and can't afford a new one.

He also likes to go out with you and take you out drinking or playing cards. If you win a bet against him, be prepared because he won't give up until he wins... or until he falls asleep from drinking. He's a terrible gambler but he refuses to accept that.

You usually train together and he likes to see you push your limits. He also likes it when you go on a mission with him so he can see this. He's proud of you and your power.

If he's having another one of his daily battles in the bathroom, you'll be the only one who can come in and give him the toilet paper he's missing because Asta forgot to change it.

(Asta run for your life)

Nsfw

I don't need to tell you that this man is rough and will surpass his limits in the sheets. Good luck to you and goodbye legs.

He loves being between your legs, devouring you and tasting everything you have to give him, probably even getting "drunk" on your juices.

He likes to see you squirm beneath him, the marks he left on you covering your skin (Yes, he really leaves a lot of marks on you), your eyes rolling and your voice calling him so well. Poor bed and poor other members who will listen to you all night

His hands will be all over your body, a lot of physical contact during the act. He loves it when you run your hands over his body too. You can even scratch his skin and bite, he doesn't feel pain. Only pleasure.

There's a lot of dirty talk.

And don't try to tease him, you don't know the risk you're running. Listen, he has no problem with that thing called public places. He puts you against a wall and does whatever he wants.

Regarding the fact that you can't walk properly, don't worry, he carries you everywhere in his strong arms.

He's just my type fr🤭

William :

Sfw

Super cute and kind to you. He is super careful with you, always giving you those sweet smiles that makes your heart melt.

He always likes to check on you to make sure there's nothing wrong or if you're 100% fine.

He's shy and whenever you hold his hand in public or kiss his cheek, his face will heat up from blushing. You just laugh at his cuteness.

He really likes hugs after a long day of work, he feels like you calm his heart and give him good energy.

He's fallen for you since the day you traced his scar with your fingers softly and told him how beautiful he still was. No one had ever done this and he was moved by this affection.

You were proud of him for who he was and not for his appearance and that made him shed little tears.

Nsfw

Do not proceed without your full consent. He wants you to feel good and comfortable.

The touch is soft and delicate, lots of tender kisses on your skin. He doesn't like to leave many marks like Yami, HOWEVER... if you leave some on him, it will cause "things" in him. (It turns him on but he's ashamed to admit it)

I see him being a sub and will let you take over things a lot of the time because he just loves it when you do.

Touch his body, kiss him, take him deep and slow as he likes. This man will have to fight with himself not to come when you ride him and look into his eyes. He goes crazy.

Very gentle with you after the act, always cleaning you and offering you everything you need.

(William, the door to my house is open... you know?🥹👉👈)

Fuegoleon :

Sfw

He is very serious in his role and always wants to have you by his side.

He loves your presence even though he is working hard, and if you help him he will thank you.

He might be a bit like William in the sense that he may be a little shy when you hold his hand or kiss him in public, although he doesn't blush like him.

He always tries to keep you protected and advises you not to talk to Mereoleona too much, he's afraid she'll make fun of him in front of you or drag you to the volcano where she trains.

This woman is dangerous, but having her as a sister-in-law is a gift tbh. She'll beat the shit out of everyone if anyone touches her brother's beautiful girlfriend.

Leo will probably love you because you love and care for his older brother. You two will be great friends.

He likes it when you run your hands gently through his hair when he is resting. This is comfortable and relaxing.

Nsfw

He's the middle ground between going fast when he's feeling excited (after you teased him all day) and going slow and sensual when he comes into the bedroom tired and just wants you to put your arms around him.

He dominates, he likes to be on top, seeing you beneath him arching when his fingers caress you or when he grabs your thighs and thrust you. He lives to see you squirming on the mattress.

He likes to praise you, whispering in your ear how beautiful you are, which gives you goosebumps.

Please run your hands down his back, he loves it and it makes him go deeper.

He hugs and kisses you a lot after he finishes. He is much more relaxed between four walls than in a public place where he hesitates a little with the PDA.

Nozel :

Sfw

Dear, be patient with him. He may be cold to the core but his eyes... they never lie. His look at you is something that many royal ladies who notice him would like to get from him.

He doesn't make long vows of love but look, he's the best with actions and no one will come close to you because he defends you a lot.

Although he and Yami don't get along, they are both overprotective lovers.

Even if you're not from a royal family or something, he won't let anyone discriminate against you for that. That person will disappear without a trace and it's all the work of Nozel fucking Silva.

Serious, but until you give him that little smile that makes him look away in embarrassment. You can see the tips of his ears turning red and you tease him for that.

He ends up smiling for a second and you feel like the luckiest person in the world to witness this event.

Nsfw

Don't underestimate this man, he is a dom and will always show you who is in control. Although I think he has a certain look that he would like you to take control.

Don't fight back, obey. He doesn't accept a no and if you're a brat to him, he'll punish you for it.

If he's having a bad day, he'll probably come to the bedroom to have you in his sheets and relieve himself. Goodbye legs once again...

He will also mark you, he is the only one who can have you and the marks made for him only turns him on.

Not only in the bedroom does he like to see you squirming and calling for him, but also on the office table while he takes a break from work. I don't see him being shy if someone came in but he would probably threaten anyone if they even thought about telling what they saw.

He makes sure you're okay afterwards and will put you in his arms, kissing the top of your head.

#black clover #black clover x reader #black clover fandom #yami sukehiro #william vangeance #fuegoleon vermillion #nozel silva #yami sukehiro x reader #william vangeance x reader #fuegoleon vermillion x reader #nozel x reader #black clover headcanons #Headcanons

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satansamwriting · 8 months

Text

Mk characters reacting to their GN s/o wearing their hats

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Characters : Erron Black, Kung Lao, Raiden

I wrote this because whenever I play MK, I would always wonder what it would be like to wear the hats of those boys.

Mostly because of Kung Lao since I absolutely adore seeing him fight with his hat. It's so funny and cool and I really wanna try it.

Hopefully you'll enjoy those silly little Headcanons. I had a blast writing them. Oh and if you want, tell me in the comment which hat would you be tempted to try/steal the most out of the three? I'm curious :)

Also I discovered while writing those that I had a thing for throwing hats in the air. Don't know why, I just think it looks cool xD.

As usual disclaimer: English ain't my native language so there might be mistakes in this. I'm trying my best to correct them as I see them.

TW : mention of death, blood and decapitation in Erron story

Please enjoy 😊

Erron Black

Something that was established during the early days of your relationship was that Erron loves his hat.

No one is allowed to touch, wear or even go near his hat.

Will rarely take it off.

Would shoot anyone who dares take the hat.

Would take immense care of it.

You wondered what it would feel like to wear it but feared the wraith of your partner.

However, the hat is free real estate if you find it on the ground during battle and the cowboy is too far away from it and distracted.

Then you wouldn’t hesitate to put it on.

You would feel pretty badass with it.

Now entering shitty cowboy jokes mode

You'd try your best and fail miserably to do a cowboy accent.

Erron would never admit it but it would become his favourite thing, seeing you with his hat.

0o0o0o

Screams of agony and rage echoed around the arena. An uprising caused by some rebels not happy with Kotal Kahn being in power was taking place. The Kahn, having safely left the vicinity, entrusted his most brave and fearsome soldiers to fend off the remaining troublemakers. Aka, (Y/n) and Erron, accompanied by a small group of Outworld soldiers, stayed behind to clean the arena. The fight had proven to be somewhat more difficult then they had previously anticipated. Somewhere during the battle, someone managed to knock Erron's hat off. He wasn't bothered by it at the time as he was more focused on winning the kombat and staying alive. However, once his enemy was defeated, he quickly noticed the missing item.

Erron, slightly annoyed by this, scanned the arena but couldn’t find his hat. Not until his eyes landed on his partner.

They were further away from him, fighting against their own opponent. The dust flying around made it hard to see clearly but he knew from the shape of it that, resting on their head, was his hat.

To say that Erron found the sight of them punching a man while wearing the item incredibly hot, was an understatement.

As the rebellion died down, Erron allowed himself to be distracted by their fight. He watched from the sideline as (Y/n) grabbed the hat and threw it above them.

The action drew the attention of the man they were fighting against upwards, his eyes unconsciously following the hat trajectory. Taking the opportunity, they sliced the distracted man's head off. Blood splattered on their face but that didn't seem to bother them.

As the man lay dead, they caught the falling hat and in a smooth gesture placed it back on their head. In the distance, noises of spurs approaching made them turn to the side, tilting the hat toward Erron.

"Howdy partner"

Seeing the giant grin on (Y/n)'s face made the gunslinger's heart skip a beat. Splashes of blood covered their face but his hat had remained spotless. Even when fighting, they took great care not to let the hat get dirty. Behind them, the last rebel died, earning various cries of triumph from the soldiers of the Kahn all around. Erron kept staring at his partner, still not processing how gorgeous they were with his hat on. As they were about to remove the hat to return it to its original owner, a hand stopped them.

"Keep it"

Erron would never admit it out loud that he enjoyed seeing (Y/n) with the headwear. Besides, he had plenty of spared ones. One less wouldn't hurt.

“Much obliged darlin’ ”

Groaning with their attempt at sounding like a cowboy, Erron walked away. He could still hear (Y/n) laughing as they followed behind.

Kung Lao

0o0o0o00oo

You won’t see him without it

Unless it’s to shower or sleep

Takes great care of his hat since well it’s his weapon.

Would feel hesitant to let you touch it after he’s sharpened the edge.

You absolutely love to see him fight with it cuz you find him both attractive and badass while he does

You do express the desire to try it but never get around to trying it

Blame Raiden for always taking your boy out for training or missions

You happened to stumble upon the hat one day at the temple with Kung Lao nowhere to be seen.

You wouldn’t skip a beat before taking hold of the weapon and putting it on.

Liu Kang would find you later and the two of you would start training.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Kung Lao leaned on one of the temple support beams, arms crossed over his chest. From afar, he watched as his partner blocked one of Liu Kang’s flaming fits with his hat.

Earlier that day, Kung Lao had been meditating peacefully with his trusted hat placed beside him, when one of the elderly monks came to him for help. Thinking it would only take a few minutes, Kung Lao had left his hat in its spot and followed the other monk.

The errant took longer than he had anticipated but was done fairly quickly nonetheless. However, once he came back to his meditation place, the hat was gone. Puzzled, he had searched the surrounding area to no avail. Sure, the shaolin monk could have summoned his weapon back to him no problem, but a small voice inside him told him to keep looking around.

He had been near the training ground when he heard the telltale sound of his hat hitting the ground. Because yes this man can recognize the sound of his weapon hitting things.

The sight that welcomed him inside the area almost made him laugh. He wasn’t surprised to see (Y/n) wearing his hat, since he knew fully well about their desire to try the weapon.

Quietly observing the friendly match, Kung Lao was rather impressed. (Y/n) seemed fairly comfortable with his weapon, even imitating some of his own moves flawlessly. A soft smile appeared on Kung Lao's face at the thought of them studying him carefully whenever they would come to watch him train.

Raiden stopped by after a while. Arms crossed behind his back, the Thunder God joined Kung Lao in observing the match.

The Shaolin monk felt a sense of proudness inside him. His partner was wielding his weapon and keeping up with the chosen one. The sight was truly beautiful.

Unaware of the two spectators in the back, (Y/n) had their full attention on Liu Kang, dodging his attacks one after the other.

Wanting to try something crazy, they threw the hat up in the air before sliding underneath Liu Kang's parted legs. Upon straightening up behind the chosen one, their foot connected with the falling hat. Liu Kang barely managed to avoid the weapon as it flew past him and lodge itself in the temple’s wall.

The man turned to face (Y/n), surprised yet amused by the event. There, on Liu Kang’s shoulder, was a small cut left by the hat as it went by him. Which only meant one thing.

“First person to leave a mark on the other is the winner, so this means I won” They exclaimed with a giant smile on their face.

At that moment, Kung Lao made his presence known by clapping. Summoning his hat back to him, he walked toward his partner, Raiden not far behind. Fondness in his eyes, he picked them up and kissed their forehead as a reward.

" You were amazing!"

Lets just say that from then on, Kung Lao would let (Y/n) train with his hat just so he could enjoy watching them kick ass with it.

Raiden

0o0o0o0o

It's more of a fashion accessory than a necessity

Like Erron and Kung Lao, he would rarely remove it tho

Heck, you don’t even think you’ve seen Raiden’s hair once in the long time you’ve known him.

But if you had to guess, they would be white like his brother.

Or he was simply bald.

The idea of stealing the God's hat did pop up in your head more than once

But the thought of pissing off a God for stealing his shit didn’t sound good in your mind.

So you left it to that.

Raiden would sometimes catch you glancing up at his hat and wondered about the meaning of this.

You'd pretty much given up about the hat.

Until the day the hat literally landed in your hand.

It was a particularly windy day at the temple. As (Y/n) roamed around the place without anything better to do, they sighted something strange flying in the wind. Curious about the object, (Y/n) followed it until it was low enough for them to grab it.

Upon closer inspection, the object revealed itself to be a hat. A hat that they knew very well. But the God of Thunder was nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t worry little hat, I’ll bring you back to your owner”

Putting the hat on their head, (Y/n) went on a quest to find Lord Raiden and return the lost item. At least, that’s what they had in mind at first. However, they found themselves quickly distracted from the task as they wandered around the temple.

Somewhere during their search, a monk approached them asking for help to move stuff from one place to another. Being the kindred heart that they were, (Y/n) agreed to help the monk. After a while, they were finally done with the task and went back to their search, the monk thanking them as they left.

This went on and off during the day, with monks asking for help or errants and (Y/n) agreeing. To a point where they had completely forgotten about the hat sitting on their head.

Evening rolled around eventually. Exhausted from their day, (Y/n) found themselves sitting in an isolated part of the temple while nursing a cup of green tea. The wind had settled into a nice breeze which gently brushed against them.

“Good evening (Y/n)”

Looking to the side, their eyes fell on a rare sight. Approaching them was Lord Raiden.There was an air of calmness around the God as he came to an alt next to them. Hands behind his back, he titled his head slightly, making a few strands of hair come loose from the quickly made ponytail. (Y/n) stared, feeling their heartbeat quicken. They could see Raiden's hair and as they had guessed, his hair was indeed white but shorter than they had thought it would be.

Noticing their lack of response, (Y/n) cleared their throat as a way to hide their embarrassment from staring a bit too long. Carefully placing the cup to the side, they stood.

“Thunderbolt, I was looking for you earlier! But it appeared that I got sidetracked and forgot about it.”

Seeing their partner had reminded them of their initial quest.

“ I appeared to have found your hat and wished to return it to you.”

(Y/n) gently took off the item and handed it to Raiden. They had grown somewhat accustomed to the weight of the hat over the hours. So much so that, now with the item gone, they felt weirdly naked.

“It would seem you have taken a liking to it. It suits you well.”

Taking the offered hat in his hand, Raiden thanked his partner for keeping the object safe until it was returned to him. However, the God seemed to hesitate for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the helm of the hat.

"Perhaps you should keep an eye on it for a little longer."

Raiden lifted the hat and gently placed it back upon (Y/n) head. Satisfied, the God of Thunder walked away. Raiden would later deny it to his brother that the mere sight of them wearing his hat made his heart beat faster.

Standing there, the tea long forgotten, (Y/n) watched as Raiden turned the corner. Did he just flirted with them? Touching the hat as if to make sure this wasn't all a dream, they laughed. Who were they to refuse a gift from a God.

//////

Later that night, they would force Raiden to lay down, his head on their laps, so they could marvel and play with his hair.

#mk10 #mk11 #mk9 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk headcanons #mk x gn reader #mk #mk fandom #raiden #mk raiden #raiden x gn reader #kung lao #mk kung lao #mk erron black #erron black #erron black x gn reader #kung lao x gn reader

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phddyke · 1 year

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One thing I love about Willow is that she’s the quintessential “strong female character,” but she also avoids a lot of the pitfalls that tend to make the “strong female character trope” toxic. If I had a daughter, I’d be glad she had Willow as a role model.

For one, Willow is undeniably strong, in both a magical and physical sense. But also! The show gave her an entire arc that demonstrates why holding in your emotions in the name of strength is not a good idea. She’s allowed to be emotional—she’s not a statue like some of these “strong female characters” are.

Not only that, she’s allowed to care about people! She misses and loves her friends! Her Dads! And she has big crush feelings for her friend Hunter! And none of those things, including her feelings for a boy, makes her weaker. In fact, her relationship with Hunter gives her strength. He encourages her not to hold in her emotions, to let it out, and after she does that, she’s badass and ready to battle again.

Hunter does admire her strength and isn’t jealous of it, but he also didn’t teach her—she was like that when they met, and he could tell right away. And he’s not weak himself! Her strength doesn’t cancel his. In fact, she makes him stronger too; he unlocked his Flapjack powers because he wanted to protect her.

Don’t get me started on how he literally caught her when she fell.

(As a bonus, Willow is chubby with glasses and Hunter’s conventionally attractive and she doesn’t have to have a makeover to “earn” him. He liked her right away.)

#toh spoilers #the owl house #toh s3 spoilers #toh s3 #the owl house season 3 #toh s3e2 #for the future #hunter toh #willow park #huntlow

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miguelswifey04 · 10 months

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hello!! :3

i was wondering if u could write miguel o’hara x wife!reader who is also in spider society who is a complete badass like miguel literally worships the ground she walks on and he always agrees with anything she says cause he’s so whipped for her and usually they go on missions together and he loves watching her fight HE JUST LOVES HER TOO MUCH

i would love to see what you do with this :33

have an amazing day/night <3333

I GOT YOU

miguel o’hara x wife!spider-woman! reader

warnings: none; pure fluff

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

how you met miguel was the fact that he miraculously stumbled upon your dimension when he began to travel through the multiverse. you were the first spider-woman he had encountered and it was love at first sight for miguel. he had fallen for you first then you fell in love with him over the course of being by his side during inter-dimensional travels. miguel confessed his love for you and you reciprocated his feelings, and sooner rather than later you both tied the knot—it was a small but a very pretty ceremony. together, you and miguel founded the spider society.

miguel made you his wife and his partner in missions always having you by his side…he never wanted anything bad to happen to you. he felt more at ease that as his wife you could be with him 24/7 and keep an eye out for you. miguel is completely enamored by your strength, skill, and fierce nature, admiring your abilities as a complete badass. he idolizes and worships the ground you walk on, always agreeing with you and standing by your side, completely whipped for you. you were his girl and his darling, of course he would never want to lose you. he’d do anything to make you happy.

“i love you so much, sweetheart.”

“i love you more, miguel.”

it would be moments like those were you both exchanges words of love for one another during missions or when you both work along side each other at the spider society. he’s captivated by your fluid movements, your strategic thinking, and the sheer power you exude. he feels an overwhelming surge of pride and love as he witnesses the intense battles that you fearlessly dive into.

miguel never misses an opportunity to support you and ensure your safety during these missions. he’ll have your back without hesitation, utilizing his own unique abilities to provide cover or diversion, always placing you well-being as his top priority.

as you fight side by side, miguel can't help but feel a mix of emotions: admiration for your strength, pride in your accomplishments, and an overpowering love that permeates every aspect of your partnership. he considers himself blessed to share his life and collaborate with someone as capable and extraordinary as his wife.

your shared experiences and your unwavering dedication to one another have forged a bond that surpasses any obstacle in your path. it’s a connection built on trust, respect, and an unbreakable love that miguel cherishes deeply.

in the dynamic between the two of you, miguel’s admiration for you as his wife is boundless, extending beyond just your fighting skills. he views you as his equal, his partner, and his inspiration. he respects your opinions and values your thoughts, often finding himself agreeing with your perspective because he has complete faith in your better judgment.

your relationship is a balance of intense passion, unwavering support, and a profound love that shapes your every interaction. together, you both navigate the intricacies of your missions, driven by a shared purpose and an unbreakable bond that allows both of you to face any challenge that comes their way.

miguel’s love for you as his wife knows no bounds, and he takes every opportunity to express it in his actions, his words, and the way he reveres you as you both embark on their joint journey within the spider society. miguel and you are unstoppable and nobody will threaten to come between the two of you.

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #spider person #miguel o’hara x y/n #spidersona #spider woman #miguel o’hara x wife!reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o’hara fluff #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #🌱 lin writes

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good-beans · 23 days

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this is so stupid but i always have fun imagining the milgram characters watching their own/others mvs and seeing their reactions, especially for MeMe

That’s not stupid at all, thank you so much for the ask!! It’s sooo interesting to think about! I planned on just posting this drabble, but the more I thought about it, the more I started jotting down headcanons for everyone 👀 Of course there’s the initial disbelief and shock that Milgram can really do what it claims, but once they accept that, they’d have a lot of interesting reactions…

Es gets to watch the video first, then the prisoners are free to watch their own in the privacy of the courtroom/extraction room/wherever. Other prisoners can watch them only with explicit permission from the video’s singer. No one is allowed to watch Undercover except for Es. At first they spend hours looking at those final frames of themself flinching from the camera, hoping to jog any sort of memories, but eventually they give up on it. While actually watching it, they don’t mind the murder silhouettes. While sleeping, however, it has triggered more than one nightmare.

Haruka: He thinks Weakness is very pretty – he’s amazed seeing himself on the screen and hearing his voice, knowing he’s not that good of a singer. Even before his innocent verdict, it gives him a huge surge of confidence. Once he gets to know the others better, he gives them mv permissions, then stares intently at their faces to see their reactions as they watch it. AKAA scares him a bit, seeing his own intense emotions on screen, and he only gives Muu permission to see it. When he’s alone, Haruka pauses the shots of his mother, just to stare for a while.

Yuno: Laughs at the symbolism her mind used in Umbilical. She’s never shied away from sexual words/thoughts, so it's funny the video was as tame as it was. She thinks the song is fun, and isn’t afraid to show the others and sing snippets of it around the prison. Some days it’s too emotional for her to get into it, but most of the time she tries to display a confident attitude about it. After Tear Drop, she’s satisfied with her anger and more overtly sexual images. If anything, she feels too exposed by the shots of herself looking more vulnerable/sad.

Fuuta: He experiences a solid mix of embarrassment at the gaming theme in Bring it On and feeling a surge of pride that he looks badass in the knight’s armor. He’s worried the warden won’t take him seriously with the video game obsession, but he absolutely loves the song and thinks it portrays his toughness and ideals well. He’s less thrilled with Backdraft, everything about it unsettles and embarasses him. He’s thrown by the shot of crossing out his own silhouette – he’d had self-harming thoughts, but wasn’t quite ready to confront them so blatantly yet. Like Haruka, he can be caught pausing the arcade shot just for a moment before turning the whole thing off and storming away.

Muu: She has mixed emotions towards After Pain. She hates seeing herself look so weak and pathetic, but it gives her a lot of hope that her story will be understood. She misses her friends, and seeing them again is bittersweet. She closes her eyes at the moment of the stabbing – she’s only gotten the courage to watch it through her fingers once. She watches INMF once, then refuses to look at it again from shame/horror. Despite Haruka’s begging, she doesn’t let him watch it, either.

Shidou: He asks Es what they saw in Throw Down. Upon finding out his family wasn’t in it, he chooses not to watch it. He believes he already knows all about his emotions and crime, so there’s no need to go through that pain again. He’s tempted to watch it when he’s confused about Es’ verdict, but still holds off. He does watch Triage when informed his family is in it. He spends hours in front of the screen by himself. Only after seeing that one does he watch Throw Down, though he’s still left confused about Es’ decisions.

Mahiru: Absolutely loves TIHTBILWY. She thinks it perfectly describes her situation, and that the song is very cute. She lets others watch it, and unlike Yuno, feels like singing it 24/7. It reminds her of her bf, and she thinks that’s very romantic. Similar to Shidou, she spends a lot of time watching I Love You just to look at her boyfriend. She shows it to everyone, just to show him off and talk about him, even if she does skip over the beginning and end each time.

Kazui: He is very similar to Shidou; he refuses to watch his videos until T2, assuming it would be too painful to watch something he already knows and wishes to avoid. Unlike Shidou, seeing Hinako is far too painful, and he regrets watching it and seeing her so happy on their wedding day. Though maybe he’s still waiting, and hasn’t seen any of the videos yet…

Amane: Magic makes her worry more than anything. She fears she’s poisoned by unnecessary vainness since so much of her video involves cute things, colors, outfits, animals, and is set up like a tv show. She’s also worried that Es and the others will really see her as a child because of how cute the whole thing is. She prevents herself from watching it too many times, but buried under all her fears, it gives her a surge of pride seeing herself so talented and pretty and the star of the show. Purge March only reaffirms her confidence in her crime – the video brings up some awful memories, but it shows her as a leader, a warrior, a hero! It brings her comfort and confidence more than anything.

Mikoto/John: The videos are distressing to both of them, and they spend all their time studying the others’ screentime. Mikoto watches in horror as John does things that line up with his spotty memories, and John panics seeing that his actions distress Mikoto more than they’ve reassured/saved him. John does end up watching his own scenes a few times – it feels incredibly good to appear in a way that Mikoto may finally notice him. He feels seen. Now, logically I think that MeMe would be the final tipping point in which Mikoto finally accepts the situation and his DID, but if I must stick to his canon denial, then I’d say he goes on a whole rant about movie magic andt the crazy things you can do with editing nowadays. He doesn’t have a good explanation on how Milgram found his home and knew so much about him, but he explains everything away as cgi or camera effects. Double manages to sway him a bit more, as he hears John speak so plainly to him. Just as the audience had some debate on who was apologizing at the end of Double, Mikoto and John wonder who is apologizing to whom. Though they both come to the conclusion it’s their own apology, they decide that if it was the others’, they’d accept it and forgive them.

Kotoko: She’s very pleased with Harrow, and is unashamed to show it to the others. Though she’d been able to watch a few of the previous prisoners’ videos, it still shakes her a bit when she realizes that Milgram really does have the tech to look deep inside her. She watches it just a few times – not obsessing over it, but not afraid either. Deep Cover, however, is a once-and-done sort of deal. She claims she’s not letting the others watch it because “they couldn’t handle such harsh but true criticisms about themselves,” but she doesn’t end up watching it anymore herself, either.

#milgram #es #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #fuuta kajiyama #muu kusunoki #shidou kirisaki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #amane momose #mikoto kayano #kotoko yuzuriha #thank you so much! and for being patient 😅#i didnt mean to take so long but i kept chipping away at ideas while i got to this one #these were so much fun to think about!! i went for more emotional ones here but i do have silly thoughts too #i have that silly post about them making a competition after seeing each others mvs #though -even if they dont make it outwardly a big deal like that #i think they definitely would silently compare their videos/crimes to each others and decide whose was better #i still stand by the fact that fuuta asks kotoko if shes a furry after seeing harrow sdfasdf #i cant imagine kazui allowing anyone in the prison to watch his but IF he did #fuuta would also ask if he was a furry after cat ADSFSADF #i think the reactions t1 would be pretty positive/comforting #but in t2 theres a lot less pleasantries and compliments #aside from the obvious deep insights the videos give i think theyd reveal a lot of sweet similarities #like appreciation for flowers or cooking or performance or video games or music genres #but by t2 everyones on edge and suspicious of each other #or ashamed themself :(#i think its really cool imagining who would want to share theirs and who would keep theirs private...#rose posts

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moonlight-prose · 11 days

Text

HURT

➝ 05. MIDNIGHT DOVE

a/n: i never thought it would take a year to finally work up the courage to finish this. i swear it's been marinating in my mind for months. life got in the way as it always does, and well shit happens, but i am gradually attempting to return to this world. if you're new here, welcome. if you're someone who has been here since the beginning, then thank you for sticking my horrible productivity out. i swear i won't disappear again. hopefully.

dedicated to: @themarcusmoreno for being an absolute badass fighter as of late. i hope you know how proud i am of you babes and how much i adore you. a special thanks to @sunflowersteves who has been a MASSIVE supporter of this story. i love you babes! and to @soulores who has listened to me ramble about this fic for hours in the hopes inspo would strike again. te amo te amo te amo!!!

summary: joel never made opening himself up to the prospect of love easy, but when it came to you...it felt like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time in years.

word count: 14k+ (i'm fucking insane)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, cussing, fluff, joel attempting to be romantic, ptsd, grief, deep talks (joel opens up), joel finally telling the truth, p in v sex, choking kind of, roughness, biting lots of biting (both kinds hahaha), tad bit of violence, the dangers of falling in love.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

It was easy to forget how damaged you were in the midst of his affection. An effortless act to allow yourself a chance to heal as you gave yourself over to him. For brief moments, you weren’t the person who had gone through years of pain, suffered through grief so potent you could taste it. You were the person who could sink into his hold, lose yourself in his touch, and simply exist.

With Joel there was no pain, no reminders of what you didn’t have—what you could never get back—because he took all that away. He gave you the one thing you didn’t know you were searching for. Yourself. In whispered words beneath the midnight sky, you found the reflection you’d been so afraid to look at. You saw the person who had been torn apart by the brutality of this world, by the prospect of death you could no longer run from.

He pieced you back together with his hands, attempting to rid you of all those cracks and crevices where pain seeped out from.

And in doing so, he saved you.

“You used to be a contractor right?” you asked, trying not to huff and puff as you trailed after him through the woods.

Briefly you thought you caught the sight of tall buildings in the distance, but played it off as the sun messing with your eyes again. A few days ago the truck broke down, ruining the quick pace of travel you had gotten used to. Which left you both with one option. Walking until your feet were numb and bloody. You hadn’t missed the energy this took, suddenly yearning for trains and planes—anyway to get to Boston as quickly as possible.

Except you didn’t hate it entirely. The bonus was being able to spend more time with him in secluded areas. You liked studying him by firelight, talking with him underneath the stars. Joel was the one who kept you going in spite of the agonizing effort this took. Thankfully the moments you did run into any infected were brief and quick—simply another crack in the bubble you’d built around yourselves.

Something had shifted between the two of you. Changed the tides of your futures and gave you insight into what might be possible once you got to Boston. You saw hints of a life that you might not have seen before. A future with him. You only hoped that he was seeing the same picture you were.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pausing to let you catch up, his hand reaching for yours.

“Impressive,” you said with a smile, pressing your chin on his shoulder as he leaned against a tree. Giving the both of you a small breather before you started up again.

“It paid the bills.”

“Well yeah. But it’s also a cool job. Getting to build things.”

He grinned, his eyes tracing the shapes and contours of your face. “I guess it was.”

“What made you want to be a contractor?” You caught the way he paused at your question, his eyes unable to meet yours for a brief moment. Joel thought he was able to hide his pain so well, behind an impenetrable mask he never removed. But you saw it.

You were the only one who split it down the middle; revealing the man beneath for your eyes to see.

“Uh,” he mumbled. “It was good work. Kept me stable.”

“Joel? Did I say something?”

He shook his head. “We should keep going,” he said, pressing a light kiss to your temple, his lips lingering a bit longer than usual.

Any other person would play that off as Joel being Joel. Yet you felt the tremor in his chest when he took in a breath. You saw the way he placed another brick in his never-ending wall. One that he didn’t want you to break. Frowning slightly, you walked beside him, glancing to see if he would finally revert back to the man from moments ago, but he was lost to the ravages of his mind.

You knew it would take awhile for him to come back to you. So, you waited. You lost yourself in your own thoughts, watching the birds fly through the trees, the sun peeking through the branches and bathing you in warmth. Thankfully the cold was starting to fade with each passing day. Giving way to the weather you liked most. You wanted to ask Joel where you were—which state you crossed into—but he was still gone.

Reliving the moment he hadn’t told you about yet.

You stopped when the forest gave way to a road and finally caught sight of what was in the distance. Only to realize…the sun hadn’t been playing tricks on you.

Skyscrapers stood tall against the sky, the cityscape so famous and iconic you could pick it out from memory. It was ruined from the past, some buildings had fallen from the decay, but you felt your heart flutter nonetheless. New York City. You’d been traveling through the state this whole time and never knew. Your younger self ached in the back of your mind; the one place you had been striving to get to, now arriving too late.

Yet still…you were there. Staring at what could have been your future once upon a time.

“We’re in New York,” you said, your voice tinged in disbelief.

Joel seemed to have been brought back by your stunned reaction, his lips pulling up into a small smirk. “Thought you would have liked to take this way.”

You whirled around to face him, your eyes wide with surprise. “But what about infected? Won’t they be—”

“They bombed most of the city when the infection hit. Took out the worst parts first.” He pointed to the direction of where you assumed the Empire State building once stood. “No one has been here for nearly a decade. They tried to have a QZ on the outskirts at one point I think.”

“And how did that go?” Although you already knew the answer. Simply another repeat of every major city in this country.

He sighed. “They wound up bombing that too.”

“So we’re going around?” you asked, knowing that the only safe possibility was skirting the edges of the city. But a part of you hoped that for once you and Joel could pretend to be normal humans again.

People who at one point in their lives…might have taken a trip to New York City.

“Well…” His hesitation caught your attention. “We’re gonna go around as much as we can, but there’s somethin’ there that still survived all this. So if we’re careful. Then it should be alright.”

You felt the breath catch in your chest. A sliver of hope flickering warm and bright through your body. “And if it’s not…alright?”

“Then we handle it,” he replied, his hand shifting to cup your cheek, thumb running along your skin. “Like we always do.” Those words alone nearly made those three words slip free from your mouth. “What do you say Boston,” he murmured, his head dipping down—lips brushing along yours. “Wanna take a trip to New York with me?”

There were infected everywhere you went, never being able to escape them entirely. That alone weighed your answer towards it being positive. Still you were wary about what could happen. What could go wrong in the midst of your happiness? It seemed that life never changed when things were already awful. The worst only hit when you were finally at peace, content with what you had.

You should have said no, should have told him it wasn’t safe, but his brown eyes held a hopeful glint in them. A look that you recognized. For the first time, the both of you were finally starting to heal from the horrid effects of this life. It was a tragedy that would never be written down. A play not yet finished.

Which ultimately made the decision for you.

How did you want things to end? With a smile on your face, spending time with the man you loved? Or alone.

“Lead the way Texas,” you said softly, dropping your forehead to his chest, feeling him kiss your head softly before he pulled away.

The trip to get into the city would take a day or two, which meant that you had to set up camp for the night. At least until the sun rose enough to guide you. Venturing back into the forest with him, you felt the lightness in your heart spread down throughout your body. A sensation that you longed to hold onto.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been this happy; the feeling almost effortless amidst the pain and destruction of your past. It nearly overflowed, spilling out into the area around you filled with never ending darkness. Joel’s footsteps were heavy against the fallen leaves. As if he was no longer afraid to make noise. Now that the path was clear, his head focused on one direction, you by his side.

Things had shifted drastically since that night. Since you watched a piece of his walls crash to the ground. Giving you a chance to finally see the man he had once been. The Joel you had only met in fragments—memories you weren’t a part of.

A past that you’d never fully know.

“This is as good a place as any,” he said, dropping the bag off his shoulders and onto the ground beside a tree.

“Should I gather wood?” you asked, following his movements—the routine burned into your mind.

He shook his head. ��Not tonight. We’re too close to the city.”

“You don’t think people are insane enough to live there, do you?”

The silence he offered was enough of an answer. Even though you were both far enough away from any signs of life, it still wasn’t safe to assume you were entirely free. You could see Joel grappling with the decision to even go down there, but you knew which side would win the war in the end. One side told him to avoid the place altogether, to keep trekking on until you reached the QZ in Boston. But the other whispered something different.

It beckoned him closer, promising something sweet, a reprieve from the terrors of life that continued to plague both of you. Whatever still remained in that city was enough for him to choose the latter.

“I’ll keep first watch,” he murmured, settling with his back to a tree, rifle placed across his thighs.

“Joel.”

He shook his head. “You need to sleep.”

“So do you,” you replied, in the hopes that he’d relent to you as he had before.

The dark lines beneath his eyes grew with every passing day and you wondered what kept him from sleep. Was it nightmares? The prospect of death around every corner? They were things that were enough to send terror running sharply down your spine, but as long as you’d known Joel he seemed to simply take those things in stride. Refusing to give life the satisfaction of watching him crumble beneath the strain.

Yet now he looked half dead; tired of fighting an infinite battle of fear.

“Come here,” you said softly, hand gripping onto his.

“Darlin’—”

“If you don’t sleep then, so help me Joel I will stay up with you.”

The threat held enough truth in it to spur him into action. You would stay up with him until dawn crested over the city, until you could no longer keep your eyes open. Joel had stamina you didn’t possess. Not anymore. So, he allowed you to guide him forward, his head resting on his pack, rifle placed between your bodies. A safety measure in case the night turned for the worst.

“Shut your eyes,” you murmured, seeing the tension in his body melt away the second your hand pressed to his chest.

He huffed—ever the stubborn man who saved your life—but relented without a fight, his eyes fluttering shut quickly followed by a long exhale. The stars were brighter than you’d seen them; the light pollution of the city, no longer a problem the sky had to combat. So, you shifted, rested your head on his shoulder and watched the stars twinkle in a night sky free from the shackles of humanity.

“You’re supposed to sleep too,” he grumbled, his hand coming up to cover yours, thumb running along your wrist.

“I am.” You smiled at his audible snort.

Silence enveloped the two of you, but it never felt off putting in his presence. In fact you began to welcome it, because with Joel there was always more than just words. His thumb continued to go across your skin, creating a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a docile state. If you shut your eyes and focused on the beat of his heart—the rise and fall of his chest with each breath—you might be able to fall asleep. Except your mind still ran, still on high alert in case of something going wrong.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his head turning slightly until his nose brushed against yours.

“Hm?” You felt your heart skip at the sight of his eyes opening again, the deep brown hue pulling you in.

“What’s goin’ on in there?” he whispered. Joel didn’t need to go into specifics to know what he meant by that. You seemed to pick it up just by the inflection of his words—the tone he used when he spoke. This was no different.

You sighed, wishing more than anything that you could strip your shoulders of the weight they carried. “Nothing. I’m just…it’s nothing.”

“It ain’t nothin’.”

“I’m just…scared,” you said, finally showing a sliver of the truth. He hummed, attempting to show that he understood where you were coming from. “What happens when we get to Boston?”

Because that’s where that gnawing feeling stemmed from. It wasn’t your fear of death, or the terror you felt whenever you thought of Joel dying. No, you were scared of what the future held—what came when this trip finally came to an end. You didn’t want to let him go after everything you’d endured together. For the first time you felt like you found the one thing anyone could hope for in life. A partnership.

He sighed. “We keep going.”

“Together?” There you were laying your hope in front of him, wanting him to give you the answer you longed for.

“Yes,” he replied, watching a smile cross your face—his heart beating a bit faster at the sight. It lit him up on the inside. As if someone injected him with a heaping dose of pure sunlight, claiming it would fix all his broken pieces. Save him from hell.

For a moment you simply watched him, seeing an array of emotions flicker through his eyes. You wanted the night to remain endless. For you and Joel to stay there until the stars burned out above—a safe place with no responsibilities. No fear of death. But you knew eventually you would have to get up and follow him into the city. Boston remained right at the very tips of your fingers, yet getting there felt like a million miles away.

“Joel?” you breathed, bringing him out of his mind and back to the present day.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me something.” You clutched his hand in yours, enjoying the warmth that emanated from his skin. “Anything.”

He turned away, looking up at the sky as he processed your words. And you waited patiently. You found that you’d wait for him no matter how long it took, because it was him and to you…he was everything. He was worth fighting for, worth staying put for. He let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening on your palm until pain sparked in your wrist. You didn’t dare pull away though, too captured by the vulnerability that began to show on his face.

For the first time, he was the glass you couldn’t break.

“I had a daughter,” he said softly, still watching how the stars flickered above rather than the way your face went slack with shock. “Sarah.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes falling to the broken watch on his wrist as tears began to fall from your eyes. That night when you asked about it—watched him close up right before your very eyes—suddenly made sense. Why he never took it off, why it was the most precious thing to him.

It was from her.

“She was…well she is the best damn thing in my life.” He shut his eyes, his eyes stinging with the tears that couldn’t fall. You didn’t dare interrupt him. Joel was baring the part he’d hidden long ago—offering it to you in the hopes that you’d take care of it. “Had the prettiest smile and the best—” He took in a breath. “The best fuckin’ laugh you’d ever heard. Made everyone else laugh.”

You smiled, feeling your tears fall onto his shirt. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is,” he rasped, his hand pulling yours up higher on his chest until you could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers. “On the night of the outbreak. We were tryin’ to get out. But something…” His voice broke, eyes squeezing even tighter. “I couldn’t—and she—”

“Oh Joel,” you whispered, your eyes falling shut as his pain seeped into your heart. It made your whole body scream out and for a moment you wondered how his heart never stopped beating. How had he survived such anguish? How was he still here?

You bit back the sob that threatened to spill free and buried your face into his shoulder, clutching onto his hand to show that you were here. That he could give you this pain to hold and you’d bear it for him for however long he needed. His face turned, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he let the words hang in the air. What more needed to be said? When he had just ripped down the last of his walls.

“I’m so sorry.” The words were a breath on his cheek and you knew they wouldn’t take away any amount of grief. You knew they were simply a band-aid to the gaping wound that would never heal.

He didn’t reply; you didn’t expect him to. So you allowed the silence to fill the air between you, covering you like a comforting blanket. Hiding you from the world until the sun came up. Joel pulled you closer until you practically lay atop his chest, the steady thud of his broken heart echoing beneath your ear. The world had taken so much from him—turned him hopeless—you just never knew the extent of it.

Staring into the darkness of the trees you heard him begin to snore softly, his body now lax beneath you. Except you didn’t move. You remained in the same spot, watching as the world turned a bit darker. The hope seeped out of your body bit by bit now that you understood how much Joel carried—how much he endured.

“I love you,” you breathed, pressing a kiss over his heart, finally shutting your eyes and giving into the soft embrace of sleep.

You woke up to find him gone, his jacket placed strategically over your body to keep you protected from the early morning cold. What you wouldn’t give for a fire to combat the chill that began to seep into your skin. Sitting up slowly, you attempted to catch sight of him through the trees—hoping that he had wandered a bit. But you were left alone with just your pack and his extra gun.

Scenarios began to run through your mind, panic settling in your veins, but you fought against it. You’d been here before. Alone while Joel went off to do who knows what. You knew he would come back—that was a given—but you couldn’t stop the worry from eating at you.

You watched your breath collect in the air as you moved, gathering pieces of wood and rocks to build a fire for a short amount of time. If you were moving today it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to warm up and gain some strength through food. If Joel wasn’t back within the hour you would go out hunting. He’d been generous enough to leave you with a few bullets still in the chamber of his gun.

Which meant he had full intentions of coming back.

The fire sparked quicker than you expected, catching on the brush you packed around the wood and sending heat up towards your face. You couldn’t burn it for long, in case people caught sight of the smoke. Which meant you had to relish in the heat for as long as possible—the stiffness in your body dissipating the longer you sat there.

You watched the orange glow flicker across the wood, consuming it entirely and found you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The sight was familiar—as if you could feel it against your skin with every passing day. Life burned through you with swift brutality and for that mere moment you wondered if it would hurt if you fully sunk into it. Allowed it to destroy you as the flame did the wood that now sat cracked into two pieces—the charred bark falling onto the ground.

A rustling echoed behind you, making you reach for the gun, but the sight of Joel’s graying hair peeking through the woods sent relief flooding through your body. He carried a rabbit in one hand, clutching onto the rifle with the other, and you felt yourself relax just a bit more. Body sinking back into the spot you’d made, legs crossed and hands hovering over the flames.

“Breakfast?” he asked, crouching beside you.

“Don’t mind if I do.” You grinned, pressing your chin against his shoulder briefly, soaking up the warmth of his body.

You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel the smile being pressed against your temple. His lips a soft brush across your skin. If time was kind, you’d be able to stay there. Sitting in the comfort of his presence—the worry that plagued you now pushed to the very back of your mind. It was rare to feel this okay in the comfort of someone else, but Joel made it easy. You wanted to thank him for simply being here, but the words were stuck in your head. Unable to be released.

“How long until we go?” you asked, watching as he cooked the animal over the flames, your stomach clenching painfully.

“Soon as we’re done here.”

The trip into the city wasn’t by any means safe. In fact you were certain it was the most dangerous thing you would attempt in your journey to the Boston QZ. For so long you’d played it safe, but Joel had plans and you would follow his lead wherever he went.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to say you loved him now. In a world where the small hints of anything good were smothered before they could bloom into something more. Except you couldn’t deny what your heart knew was true—what it had been holding onto for months. You loved him. Possibly more than you could ever love someone, and that’s what scared you. Sent a sick feeling into your stomach, your heart twisting violently in your chest at the thought.

Traveling through the city was lethal—a death sentence—but you soon realized it wasn’t the most dangerous thing you could do.

Falling in love in a world intent on destruction was the true risk. Because whether you liked it or not, your entire life could come crashing down in an instant if you lost the man beside you.

Joel was your oxygen. The sole reason you were still alive. You couldn’t lose him.

You both ate in silence, an act that had become sacred to you as time went on. Just a small piece of normalcy that remained—something to remember your old lives by. While you couldn’t necessarily sit at a table and savor the meal. Both of you were content with this. A small amount of peace before chaos ensued once more.

The city called to you—beckoned you closer—and you had to be careful not to give in. There was an unspoken rule in all the traveling you’d had with one another. Joel was the leader in this situation and you were to follow what he said; after all he was simply trying to keep the both of you alive. So you did just that. You waited for him to finish eating and explain exactly how this was going to go down.

“You know…” You picked at the grass beneath you. “I’ve been thinking about what comes next.”

His eyes raised to meet your gaze—the once hardened stare now softened to something you now knew to be familiar. A look he only carried when he was around you. You felt something tug at your chest, warm and inviting.

“I want a home,” you said softly, twirling a dandelion between your fingers. “If that’s a possibility.”

The corners of his lips pulled upwards and you nearly missed the sight. But once you caught it…you couldn’t look away. Joel smiling was a rarity—this you knew to be a hard fact—but when he did the world lit up around him. His smile felt safe. As if he kept every ounce of love given to him in that single look.

“Could be a possibility,” he replied, shifting to where his arm was behind you—his weight leaning on it. “Got a place in mind?”

Heat bloomed beneath your cheeks, small petals of the dandelion flying off. “Nothing too fancy. Big enough for us and…well…it has to be just right.”

Perhaps your mind was playing a trick on you, creating fantastical sights that felt too good to be true, but Joel's smile deepened. A soft light entered his eyes for a brief moment, effectively stealing the breath right from your lungs. He was so beautiful when he smiled. As if he was gifted with it from the gods themselves—his own secret power at the end of the day.

"A house huh."

You nodded, still stunned in place as his smile remained intact. "I miss having a home."

Five words. That's all it took for light to be extinguished like a flame being put out. Sorrow seeped back into his face, his smile faltered, and you felt the world shift beneath your feet. Whatever you said triggered something in his mind. It dragged the memory to the front and forced him to watch with no escape. You know...because you'd been in his place before; you had been a victim to the horror of your own life, privy to the movie that never had an end.

The difference was with Joel you could do nothing but watch.

There was no pulling him out of it, no distracting him, because the memory had already started. So you sat in silence, waiting for it to run its course. Until Joel returned back to you. His smile was gone, face grim once more, and grief stained his soul. But you'd take him any way he was. You'd take him damaged and ruined beyond repair, as he would with you.

"We should get moving soon," he said, voice lower than before, eyes glassy with tears that would never fall.

You let out a breath as your heart sank deeper in your chest. "I'll put out the fire."

He didn't question you or even try to stop you. He simply let you do what you thought was best. Gathering his jacket and gun, he helped you to your feet, the furrow between his brows now set back in place. For a moment...he looked younger than his actual age. A man from the past peeked out, but nothing stayed the same for long.

Nothing good ever stuck.

"Once we get to the edge of the city we'll be out in the open for anyone to see." He slung his pack over his shoulder, handing you a knife to stick in your pocket as an extra precaution for what was to come. "You know I only have one rule darlin'."

Now felt like the perfect time to make a joke—to bring back his smile—but the serious tone of his voice lingered in the air. A reminder that you may be able to take care of yourself on your own, but traveling with Joel now meant you had his life to worry about too.

That alone was something you couldn't risk.

"Follow your lead."

He nodded. "We should be alright, but just in case stick close."

"I will." The idea that you'd stray far from him was ridiculous and he knew it, but the words had to be said. For his own peace of mind.

Somewhere in the middle of the trees there remained an old hiking path. A memoriam of the years that came before, and yet you couldn't picture tourists taking this road. Not even their footprints would survive twenty years of nature. No, this small but distinct path was carved by people traveling towards Boston. You liked to imagine that they made it eventually; that their lives went on in the QZ without issue. But reality always held a harsher reflection than you expected.

Twigs snapped beneath your boots as you trailed beside Joel, eyes set on what remained of the city skyline. Proof that humanity once lived on this planet.

"They'll be deeper inside the city lines," Joel said, dragging your attention away from the ruin. "It's likely there ain't been people for years. But we can’t be sure."

"No reason for activity then?"

He sighed, squinting his eyes against the blaring sunlight. "I'm not sayin' there'll be less. But we might not encounter them much if we’re lucky."

A small amount of relief spread through your chest, pushing against the constant fear that ate at your heart. Devouring it as if you were the meal it had been waiting for. A delicacy of the human body.

"Better than nothing."

He made a noise of agreement, taking the lead and heading deeper into the woods. Eventually they would become sparse, giving the both of you less coverage, until they disappeared altogether. Two decades was plenty of time for nature to reclaim parts of the city, but the cement and stone still remained. A permanent fixture of what used to be in front of you.

The city that used to never sleep, now forced to rest forever.

In the distance you swore you could hear the now familiar screech that haunted your dreams. But it was too far out for you to make out. So you followed Joel, the sun beating down on both of you even through the trees. Sweat stuck to the back of your neck, your fingers slippery on the trigger of your gun. And you both walked in silence—focused on your surroundings. Too anxious to even allow yourselves to whisper.

Yet with Joel it never felt like you were losing time.

How could you? When he was giving back what you lost.

No one else would do this. No one would bother to make sure that you got a chance to visit the city you dreamed about, the place where your future was supposed to be. But he would.

Joel would have given you the sun if you asked him to—if only to see you smile.

Your words from last night continued to rise to the surface, placing themselves on the tip of your tongue, and begging you to open your mouth. Yet as much as you wanted to stand atop the tallest building in the city and shout it from the top of your lungs, you knew you couldn't.

Those words remained hidden in your chest like a wound that could never truly heal. A gaping hole that forced you to bleed out each time you acknowledged its presence.

The sad part was that Joel wasn't the one to rip it open. He was simply someone who managed to stir it awake. He brought it to life with just one look. You started bleeding years ago with loss after loss, until eventually...you stopped trying to close it up with cheap booze and an even cheaper version of what you ached for.

What you needed to sustain you.

"You never told me," Joel said abruptly, shutting down those thoughts within seconds. "About your life."

You smiled despite the effort and lack of breath. "There's not much to tell."

"I doubt that darlin'." He fell into step with you, his hand brushing across yours gently, but even you knew holding hands wasn't a luxury you could afford right now. Not when you'd have to run at a moment's notice. "What was college like?"

Scoffing, you adjusted the strap of your pack. "Parties, hangovers, and lots of coffee."

"Sounds 'bout right."

"Why Joel Miller. Don't tell me you went to college."

He leaned into you, his shoulder hitting yours with enough force to throw you slightly off course. "I didn't. My brother Tommy did. Well...he enrolled."

"Ah yes. The infamous Miller," you joked, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself.

He snorted, wrapping it around your waist instead. "I wouldn't call him that."

"Then tell me about him."

His eyes met yours, grief still pressing against the light that once was there, but you could see something else linger below. A sense of joy that only came when talking about his younger sibling. A relief that he had family still alive, still around for him to worry about. You knew the fear remained that one day...he might not have that person to worry about, that the world would remain just as cruel as before.

That thought hit you harder than you would have liked—the face of your own brother flashing in your mind. You couldn't save him. Shit, you barely even knew if he was still alive or dead. And that in itself was a different type of grief; a horror you wouldn't wish on anyone.

Least of all Joel.

"He was in the army."

A fallen tree came into view, blocking the path. Joel climbed over it first, grunting as he jumped down, his feet slamming hard when he landed. He took your hand as you went next, helping you go softer than him, checking with a glance to make sure you hadn't snagged yourself on the split wood.

You recall your own brother enlisting, although your mother used to claim you were too young to remember the day he left. But you could make out the hazy images of tear filled goodbyes and hugs that lasted longer than normal. He joined to find purpose. You understood that now.

"Nearly gave our parents a heart attack when he came home with the news." Joel huffed, his hand still clasped tightly around yours. "But Tommy was eighteen. And damn stubborn."

You tried to picture the other Miller as you did when Joel first mentioned him, yet still came up blank. They must look alike. Maybe the same nose, or jaw. No matter how hard you tried though, you could see nothing but a faceless man—a blank slate to the one Joel spoke of so fondly.

"He's younger than you?"

Joel nodded. "By a few years."

The thought of Joel trying to be a good role model for his brother made you smile. You wondered if they ever got into trouble together, if there were stories he might tell you one day when you finally found a safe place to live.

"So...he was the troublemaker of the family."

His gaze slid over to you, eyebrow arching slightly in faux surprise. "I wouldn't say that."

You grinned. “Let me guess…” Joel’s hand tightened around yours. “You were the responsible brother.”

“I had to be.”

“He sounds fun. Maybe I should have met him first.” Glancing to your side, you didn’t see as his face darkened. A look of something wild crossed his face, the painful grip on your hand bringing you back as he yanked you forward. “Joel—”

Unexpected. That is what you continued to feel each time Joel kissed you. Unexpected in his action, unexpected in the feelings he buried beneath the rubble of his heart. You felt yourself stumble into his chest, his lips sliding against your roughly, as he gave into that wild unknown sensation.

A hunger that consumed him quickly. Larger than anything he’d known before.

He exhaled, pulling away with reluctance, and you nearly moved forward to take back that fleeting euphoria. His thumb and forefinger pinching your chin lightly kept you in place. Until you opened your eyes—catching his gaze. Want burned in his iris—turning the deep brown a shade of black—but something darker peeked out, a possessive glint. A promise that you were his.

“Trust me darlin’,” he murmured, lips pulling up into a small grin. Your stomach fluttered rapidly at the sight of his eyes sliding down to your lips—his tongue running along his bottom lip. You wanted it in your mouth. “You’ve got the better brother.”

That remained clear the second you met him. But the tease still lingered in the air. A hint of irritation plucked at Joel’s heart as he thought about you and Tommy instead. If there’s one thing he knew it was this: Tommy would make you laugh as often as possible. He wouldn’t quit until he saw joy overtake the grief on your face. But something told him you needed more than humor.

Even as you looked at him like that—eyes soft and hazy with need—he still felt the innate need to prove himself. To show that he was it for you; that no matter what happened next, Joel was going to be yours.

His face darkened and you longed to peel away the layers of murkiness that hid his true feelings.

But that was the thing about Joel. He’d never show you outright what he kept beneath the surface—not unless he was telling you himself.

His hand took yours again, a small kiss pressed to your temple as he started walking. Towards a future so tangible you could almost feel it between your fingertips. How it ebbed and flowed despite the endless mountain ridges you were yet to traverse.

There was no telling where it dropped off. Where this future finally settled, but regardless of what happened, you’d remain. You would choose Joel over and over again, even if this path led to your death. As long as he was safe—as long as he survived. To you Joel was the only thing you could save—having given up on yourself years ago.

You were two broken souls, but given the chance, you’d piece him back together.

You could see that the path veered back towards the forest, probably to some old forgotten campgrounds. A part of you nearly asked him to head that way, but you stopped before you started. The realization dawned on you quicker than you would have liked. How many people never made it home? How many lost parts of humanity still remained in a place meant solely for joy?

A cold unsettling feeling burrowed its way into your stomach, nausea rising quickly to the surface. Everywhere you looked, death stared back with an empty gaze.

A promise already embedded too deep to remove.

This is how it was always meant to go. This is where it would always lead to.

Joel couldn’t see the terror stricken expression across your face. You were in too deep to ask him for a rescue anyways. So you simply remained. Entrenched in the thick darkness. Yet your feet still moved, your body still complied. He led you closer and closer to the outskirts of the city. And where you expected fear to arise, you found nothing but numbness.

An echo of pain that called out to you. How could you fear what you already knew? The infected were no longer the embodiment of your worst horror come to life.

No, that title now belonged to the man holding your hand so gently in his. Squeezing every few minutes in an act of unconscious reassurance. His fate, his life, it all twisted together until you could barely catch your breath.

He turned to glance at you over his shoulder, his lips curving into a soft smile, the lines around his eyes deeper than before. You nearly gasped as you were yanked out of the darkness, warm air brushing across your face. For those few seconds you felt the sunlight against your face. The worries melted away and this is what you were left with.

Pure broken love.

“Tired?” he asked, oblivious to the way you were drowning.

You grinned, moving closer. “Not really.”

“We got a few more hours.”

Perfect.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you could see the sentiment was reflected back in his eyes. He wanted this as much as you. Where the world only existed in time spent alone. Where nothing could harm you here in your infinite haven with him.

Returning his smile, you squeezed his hand softly, doing what you could to burn the feel of his calloused skin into your mind. Whether it took a few hours or a few days, you didn’t mind. As long as it was with him.

Silence.

That’s all you heard throughout a city once plagued by noise. Where thousands of people used to live—creating the hustle and bustle of the city that used to never rest, now an echoey hollowness remained. At last…the city was asleep. And you hated it.

Life should spill out of every crack and crevice of this place, but there was nothing. You felt as if you should grieve for what once was, but no emotions rose to the surface. Instead you were faced with a bottomless pit of something that once existed.

Joel’s hand was replaced with your weapons, his gun clutched tightly in his own grip. You remained on the outskirts, but that didn’t mean you were safe. If anything you were in more danger this out in the open. There should have been something by now. Yet it seemed that fate had a different idea altogether.

In a way, you were beyond thankful, but uncertainty still remained. A reminder that this would only last for so long. Fate offered what it could, and you took without a second thought. There would never be another chance like this—never another moment of peace.

Sweat stuck to the back of your neck as you walked, eyes scanning the area like clockwork. Joel was a few paces ahead, his body tense, finger on the trigger in case of the worst. You hoped it would never come. Neither of you spoke for fear that whatever remained in the abandoned buildings could hear you. The air was sticky with heat and you felt your body begin to dry out the longer the both of you traveled.

“We can rest up ahead,” he called over his shoulder as if your thoughts were projected to him.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

It’s not that you didn’t trust him—you did—but wandering in the city felt like a risk you shouldn’t be taking more than a trip of enjoyment.

“I’ve got an idea.”

You scoffed. “That’s helpful.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t trust me now Boston,” he drawled with a halfway grin across his face.

“It’s kind of late for that…Texas.”

“No shit.”

You did your best to hold back the laugh that bubbled to the surface, but there was no use. You couldn’t stop it now. Joel looked surprised for a split second, his lips parting into a wide smile, until he began to laugh with you. Deep and rough and perfectly Joel.

This. This is what you ached for most. Joy—no matter how small—in a time where the concept no longer existed. If you could bring that to each other even as you fought to survive then you’d be okay.

In the near distance you could see it, a small section of benches surrounded by nothing but overgrown bushes, flower patches, and trees that would have never been allowed to grow that tall. A sense of elation filled your chest at the sight of a park. So out in the open, so mundane in a city quickly being overtaken by nature. Ivy trailed up the buildings as if that alone kept the ruins together, but you’d never seen something so beautiful.

“I got some food left over,” he muttered, rummaging in his pack as you took a seat on a bench covered by vines. “Nothin’ much, but it’ll work till we dig up somethin’ else.”

You took it gratefully, taking in the area with wonder as you caught every small piece that might show a hint of the past. Shop signs were broken off, rubble scattered through the streets, and abandoned cars were lined up like barriers to the inside of buildings. Perhaps people had come through here before, trapping the infected inside as they made their way through the city quickly.

“Do you remember what it was like?”

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, catching sight of the coffee shop sign you were fixated on—half of it gone and broken on the asphalt. Everything here had been destroyed over the years. Taken, ripped a part, and left to rot. Yet the cracks in the streets where plants grew told Joel that life still found a way to flourish. Even as darkness and cruelty became the figurehead of humanity.

“Loud,” he said, biting into the dusty granola bar.

You smiled, shifting to make room for him as he joined you on the bench. “So I’ve heard. The city that never sleeps. I guess it was named that for a reason.”

“People were crammed into every corner.” He pointed up to a building in the distance. Surprisingly it hadn’t collapsed yet. “I stayed there. Fourth floor.”

“Hotel?”

He nodded. “Expensive as shit.”

“That tracks.”

“But I had fun.” He grinned, eyes distant as if replaying moments of his past, reliving what it was like to be in this city at the height of its prime. “Tommy wanted to move here. After the army.”

“Did you…want to go with him?”

Joel huffed, eyes falling to his hands as he broke apart the granola bar—anxiety bleeding off his body and seeping into yours. “No. That life was his. Not mine.”

Counting in your head, you tried to calculate at what age Joel might have been when Tommy came home. What might have happened in his life. Until the conversation from earlier came back to you like a fist to your face. Sarah. You tried to picture him as a young dad, raising a little girl, and suddenly the gap between your years and his felt like a chasm you shouldn’t cross.

A split in the ground so deep you could see right down to the center of the Earth.

“And to think,” you replied, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I could have met you here.”

His laugh was shadowed by pain—grief he’d never let you see in its entirety. “You wouldn’t have gone for me.”

“That’s not true.”

“What with you bein’ a fancy museum worker?” He turned, his nose brushing against yours. “Gettin’ you to look twice at me would have taken some effort.”

You smiled, stealing a kiss. “You’re wrong. I’d have asked you out in an instant if I saw you. Maybe…in a bar.” His laugh was soft, raspy as if he’d been shouting for hours. “Or a park.”

“Yeah?” You wanted to keep his smile. “How would it go?”

“Well…” Pulling back, you pressed a finger to your chin, eyebrows pulling together as you pretended to lose yourself in thought. “I’d begin the conversation, because you’re not much of a talker.” He pinched your side, drawing out a laugh.

“And you’d say?”

Forcing your face into a stoic expression, you grasped his shoulders. “Excuse me sir. Are you a fan of country music?”

He snorted, his body shaking as he broke between your palms. Laughing so hard he nearly dropped his granola bar on the floor. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine the sounds of the city in the background. The echo of what could have been reverberating to you through the years.

This would be it. The moment you knew you were head over heels for the man sitting beside you.

This is where you’d start to plan a future.

“And you’d say…of course, I’m from Texas darlin’.” You did your best to morph your voice into his, but couldn’t get through it without smiling.

Joel cupped your chin, tugging your lips close enough to feel them brush across his—your heart now beating an unsteady rhythm in your chest. “Of course.”

“And I’d say…that’s funny. I’m from Boston.” Sadness seeped into your heart when he looked at you like that—as if you were the only person to exist on this planet. His hope. His lifeline. “And the rest is history.”

He pressed his lips against yours, stealing a kiss soft enough to crack off another splinter of your heart. “I like that version of history.”

“Me too,” you breathed, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep the sting of tears at bay.

You could feel the pain in your feet begin to shoot through your lower back. Traveling steadily with each step. From what you could tell, the sun was dipping into mid afternoon, still early in the day, but late enough to cause worry. Staying in the city past nightfall didn’t bode well for either of you. Yet somehow…you were traveling deeper into the maze of fallen buildings and broken roads.

“Joel—”

He stopped in the middle of the road, his back straight and shoulders tense. You braced yourself for the worst, hands grabbing tightly onto the weapon clutched to your chest. A small chirp of birds sounded in the distance, animals echoing their sentiments back to the broken world around them. Yet nothing sounded dangerous enough to cause worry.

“What is it?”

Glancing back at you, he threw you a cautionary smile, head tilting as if to say join me.

So you followed his instruction. Stepping around the cracks in the street to stand close, facing him as he looked at something behind you.

“We’re here.”

Confusion lined your face, worry filtering through your chest. “Where’s…here?”

“Turn around.”

His hands grasped your shoulders, shifting you until you were staring at the building he was. And for a moment you nearly laughed; claimed it was a good joke walking you nowhere. Only for your eyes to catch sight of the cracked and broken steps before you. Weeds grew between what still remained and the front was blown to shit, but you’d recognize this building even with your eyes closed.

The final destination in the path of your old future.

“The Met?” you whispered, eyes wide in awe at the sight of such a grand building torn to bits.

He pressed his lips to your ear. “Thought you might want to see it in person this time.”

Those three words you uttered last night, barely spoken at all, suddenly felt too small to describe the depth of what you felt. You didn’t just love Joel. You would die for him. You’d take any pain he harbored and carry it as your own. And you’d do all this…because he’d do the exact same for you. Love felt too little in the grand scheme of things.

How could you simply love someone who would bring you the future and lay it at your feet?

“Is it safe?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, tinged by awe.

“Probably not.”

“So we could die?”

“There’s a good chance.”

You smiled, tangling his hand in yours. “I think it’s worth it.”

“Yeah.” He squeezed your palm softly. “I do too.”

Carefully he led you up the steps. A walk that felt surreal after years of dreaming this exact moment. You knew one day you’d get here. Whether that was with a degree and a resume in your hand, or holding the hand of a man who saved you. You didn’t care, because finally…there you stood.

Ivy crawled up the sides of the building, the doors were no longer attached, and you felt as if you were walking into a different universe. The entrance that you’d seen in brochures and pictures somehow looked prettier this way; slowly being captured by the hands of nature. As she shifted the land of humans to her point of view.

The almost crystalline marble shone differently in the direct sunlight. Glancing up you caught sight of the hole in the ceiling. This building must have been affected by the bombing.

“I remember this part,” he said suddenly, an awestruck expression painted across his face. He looked like a young man again, taking his first visit to this grand old museum.

“This is called The Great Hall. And it was Richard Morris Hunt that was the architect on the project. One hundred years ago. Well give or take a few years.”

A stream of words left your mouth without a single thought. Explanations of the different parts that once existed, the historical references for how they were built. And for a moment you felt nineteen again. Fresh out of an art history class; the knowledge once again at the forefront of your mind.

All the while Joel watched with a glint in his eyes, silent to what you had to say, yet focused entirely on you. The museum wasn’t important to him. Hell he barely gave a shit about what used to be here. But something changed in your demeanor as you spoke about art and the history attached to it. You bloomed before his very eyes.

You came alive.

“I wonder if a few of the paintings are still around,” you murmured, eyes averting to one side of the room. “Could we…”

He nodded, readying his gun. “We can try.”

You expected this place to be crawling with infected. At least a few here and there, yet nothing but silence greeted you with each new room you entered. It became unnerving after a while. As if fate was waiting to drop the other shoe, tearing apart something already special.

Hesitation lingered in each step you took, fear crawling along your nerves like a spider, until you entered a room filled with paintings torn apart. Once upon a time it was a gallery, yet now the delicate pieces of history were nothing but a reminder of what happened.

Tucked away on a side wall, you found a painting still hanging. A small crack went through the top corner of the glass covering it, but as a whole the piece remained pristine enough to make out.

“You know that one?” he asked, following your quick pace through the room.

“Allegory of the Planets and Continents.”

“Allegory huh?”

You nodded. “Painted by Tiepolo in…1752.”

“I can’t say I’ve heard of him.”

“He did a lot of allegorical pieces.” You tilted your head, eyes tracing the intricate details that were nearly lost to time. Joel did the same. “I remember seeing this in a class presentation.”

He hummed, his gaze finding its way back to you. “And what does it mean?”

“A number of things really.” You pointed to the center. “That’s Apollo. And those are the gods as a representation of the planets. Mars, Jupiter, Venus. You know.”

“And them?”

You sighed. “Humanity.” His hand found its way towards yours, fingers twining together as you stood there. Alone in a museum together. “They’re waiting for Apollo to take to the skies and bring about the sun.”

“Seems like a lot of work for a God.”

The smile that crossed your face made Joel’s chest tighten. “I guess it was. Although it’s strange. Back then people were waiting for the sun and now…well now we wait for death.”

Pain flared in his heart quickly and without warning. But he did his best to force it down, steadying himself in your hold. Oh how he wished he could tell you the truth. About the past he had yet to accept as his own. About the bullet that never met its mark—the hand that remained unsteady even now.

“We should go soon,” you said, pulling him out of his own mind, and he nearly thanked you. “The sun will be going down eventually.”

He nodded. “Go out the way we came.”

It hurt to say goodbye to a building you’d never been in before. But that’s not where the pain stemmed from. You’d said goodbye to the prospect of what if a long time ago. You had to. This was from losing such a precious moment with Joel—a memory you’d hold onto for as long as you could. For that time…you were simply two people wandering the halls of a museum together. Finally on a date after so long traveling.

Maybe if you had met years before in a bar or in a park. You wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

The sunlight felt different back on the steps, brighter, crueler. As if Apollo was mocking you for such a small hope, such a small dream come to life. Yet even now you couldn’t blame him.

You headed back the way you came through the city. But your feet were weary, your body drooped with each step, and eventually you’d collapse on the asphalt just as the buildings once did. Joel could tell with each look he threw your way, checking to make sure you were in fact following him. He wouldn’t have put it past you to remain in that building.

To make a home with history.

“We can’t sleep here,” he said, pausing to let you catch your breath.

“I know. My feet just…”

He nodded solemnly, squinting against the sunlight. “Wait here.”

“Joel?”

There was no time to question his actions, because you were out of breath as it was, and he was moving further away quicker than you expected. Standing there in the middle of the street wasting sunlight turned your insides with every second that passed. Your eyes caught sight of him turning a corner before he vanished entirely from your sight. And you held onto the thin shred of sanity you had left in your body.

You trusted Joel. A fact truer than anything you’d known in your life.

So you waited, watched your surrounding areas, and held your breath.

If you weren’t so unnerved by the silence, you might have found it enjoyable. Some peace before the two of you went in search of a QZ that may no longer be there. That thought never occurred to you—traveling with Joel kept you distracted enough to where you didn’t focus on the important things. The question that now picked at your heart.

What were you supposed to do if the QZ wasn’t there? Where would you go?

Blind faith is all that kept you going, but that never seemed to be enough. In the end you were left with nothing but disappointment. You’d run all out of faith when it came to the fates. The still healing wound on your side was proof enough of that.

The echo of dried leaves cracking beneath feet signaled to you that Joel must have returned. Whatever he was looking for must have been a bust. The smile on your face and tease right on the tip of your tongue died in moments as you turned. A rock falling to your stomach, filling you with dread.

Dried blood caked down the side of their face. A deep red now a rust brown; a stark contrast to the green moss that covered their torn clothes.

Every time you saw one you felt the punch to your gut grow stronger. As if lead embedded itself in your flesh. Again. Your breath came in short, eyes stuck staring at what was once a person. They stumbled forward, body twitching with every stunted shift. And you wanted to scream. Shout for Joel, but your mouth sealed itself shut, your body rooted to the ground beneath you.

The whole time you were aching for life to return to this city, you forgot. Life already existed here. Mangled and rotting and steeped in death.

But life nonetheless.

They turned, eyes glassy and empty, but somewhere in the depth of them they recognized that you were alive. Your heart pounded against your chest, louder than their fucking screech. It pierced right through your skin, a slice to the already existing wound.

You clutched Joel’s gun, finger sliding along the trigger. It was easy enough to pull, to set the bullet flying towards its mark. And you should have pulled it, should have watched as they dropped, but like an idiot…you hesitated.

Why the fuck did you hesitate?

A pause of silence filled the space, echoing louder than any gun could have, before time slowed before your very eyes. How fucking stupid of you. To think you’d be safe. They clocked your shift back, head twitching, before that horrifying click you’d come to hate echoed in your ears. You were dead the second they started to run, limbs flying and body thrashing, as if the control stemmed to one part.

One sole purpose.

Infect.

“Fuck!” you shouted, ignoring the ache in your feet as you sprinted in the direction Joel disappeared to. If you were lucky he was still there.

Yet life had a way of proving to you that luck had nothing to do with why you remained alive.

“Joel!” You gasped for breath, doing what you could to ignore how they sped up behind you, their screech somehow louder as it echoed off the buildings around you. “Joel!”

If you could get the upper hand you could put a bullet in their skull, but your thought process happened too late. Glancing over your shoulder, you were blinded by their body launching at you. Toppling you to the ground as they scratched for your face, any part of you they could sink their teeth into. You don’t remember screaming, or even calling Joel’s name. You simply fought. You tugged on the loose thread of pure fucking rage that called your name—screamed for you to do survive.

“You piece of shit!” you yelled, managing to hold them off with your forearm, your fingers grappling for the knife attached to your side. “You fucking animal!”

“Boston!”

Yanking it out, you nearly cried in relief as you jammed it into their neck, shoving it in deep enough to hear a crunch as it met bone. Satisfaction pulled at your chest. You didn’t stop there. Dragging it out, you sliced through their shoulder, their throat, any part of them you could reach. Until you were no better than the monster that now lay above you. Lifeless.

Hands came out of nowhere, grasping onto their corpse and shoving it off you. You nearly took a swing at the person above you, the red fury blinding you to anything that could have existed nearby. The feral piece of your heart—the survivor—had been set in motion and they called for blood.

Joel’s hands yanked the knife out of your clutch, his voice calling your name, and for a moment you felt lost to the depths of your own fury. You would have killed him if he wasn’t fast enough to dodge that knife.

“Boston!” He pressed you to the ground, his body sitting on your waist, hands keeping your wrists together. “Baby it’s me.”

The breath in your lungs escaped in a sharp gasp, your body stilling within seconds. Only a few times in your life had you succumbed to that raw emotion that scratched and clawed at your chest. Some days you claimed it kept you alive. Others you ignored its existence in the hopes that it would disappear for good. It was the darkness you refused to see—the one thing you wouldn’t accept about yourself.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled, releasing the hold he had on your hands in order to cup your face. “It’s dead. It’s gone. You killed it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Why…did you leave?”

Leaning forward he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath hot across your chin. “I’m sorry darlin’. I keep doin’ that.”

Inhaling his breath, you did what you could to regulate your heart. “And I keep nearly dying.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Nearly. Not if I got a say in the matter.”

Dirt covered your back as he helped you to your feet, and before you could shake it off, he brushed his hands along your body. Patting it off as best he could. The act shouldn’t have brought tears to your eyes, it shouldn’t have even been noteworthy. But the tenderness behind his touch reminded you what you could have lost.

“I want an explanation,” you said, your voice thick with tears. Thankfully he chose to ignore it.

“I found somethin’.” He pointed to a shop that held no sign, no indication that it was anything before this. “You might like it.”

You struggled to put the knife back in its place—still wary and on edge. “This better be good Texas. I didn’t almost die for nothing.”

Joel didn’t respond, but you caught the flash of something crossing his face. Dark enough to cause worry. And you wanted to ask, to prod and poke at what he was keeping to himself, but the way his fingers tightened on his gun told you enough. He didn’t like to think of you that way. Dead on the ground in a city that he brought you to. A trip that was meant to be filled with joy.

“Follow me,” he stated, pushing open that already broken door.

You half expected to see a shop, something frivolous from the past, but the sight of a garage nearly stopped you in your tracks. A dusty brown cover cloaked something in the middle, but the shape was familiar enough to light up your chest. A car. Joel tugged at the cover, kicking up dirt and whatever else lay atop, but you couldn’t care less.

It’s once beautiful dark red color looked aged with however long it had been here. Never one to know cars, you simply knew that it was expensive—a thing that would have cost the entirety of your tuition at one point.

“How…” you breathed.

“Saw the logo on the window,” he replied. “I figured it was a hardware store until I came in.”

“Does it work?”

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

You deflated slightly. “Can we…fix it?”

The sun was going down faster than you would have liked and Joel knew it. He could see how you were both losing time the longer you were there. But the prospect of having an escape kept him on the edge. His grim expression made the choice for you as you moved to pop the hood. Your bag, now discarded on the floor by his feet.

“I don’t know much about cars—”

“Lucky you got me.”

“Don’t tell me. You’re a contractor who knows cars?”

Joel huffed. “Someone had to help my brother fix up his shitty truck.”

The words were good enough for you as he moved you out of the way, ducking down to peer at the engine. His shirt tugged up his back as he leant forward, his skin coated in a sheen of sweat. If it were any other time and the prospect of this car working didn’t depend on life or death, you would have sat back and admired him.

But the edge from earlier still ran through your veins, adrenaline the only thing that kept you upright and stable. Joel worked silently, cursing under his breath every now and then. Only speaking to ask for certain tools. And you watched the sun begin to dip lower. Suddenly you found yourself regretting never taking auto shop in high school. Choosing wood shop over it in a heartbeat.

“Turn her over,” he said, wiping the sweat away from his neck. You felt warmth pool in your stomach at the sight.

Jamming the screwdriver into the ignition, you turned it slowly, hope cresting at the top of your chest. Only for the sputter of an engine to die out in seconds.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing back at the work he’d put in. “The battery ain’t dead yet and I fixed everythin’ else. Try again for me darlin’.”

You repeated the motion, pressing down on the gas pedal, clutching the wheel in your hand. Whether it was you attempting to force life into the car, or sheer fucking luck, you’d never know. But the echo of the engine roaring to life flooded you with enough relief you fell back into the seat with a smile.

“Joel?”

He looked up, a smile of pride across his lips. “Yeah baby?”

“Let’s get the fuck out of New York.”

Nodding, he tossed your bag into the backseat as you let him slide into the driver's seat. “I like the sound of that.”

The calm of the forest welcomed the both of you with open arms. As if promising the rest you ached for desperately. Miles and miles of trees—of different shades of green and brown—were softly illuminated by the sun steadily dipping in the sky. In an hour or less night would be upon the world and this day, no matter how special, would have to come to an end.

You tried not to think about it; the idea of having to say goodbye to something you’d cherish. What would keep you going if Joel and you were to ever part. What you wouldn’t do to keep the sun in the sky for a while longer. Give up a few years of your own life, of the future you planned with hope filled eyes and empty hearts.

If staying here—in this moment—was an option, you wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance.

Joel slammed the trunk of the car shut, a small box of cans he found buried in the back of the garage, clutched in his hands. Despite the prospect of all this eventually ending, you caught the hint of a smile on his lips. Barely there, yet bright enough to light up your heart like a match being struck.

You found yourself smiling back—heart hammering loudly in your chest.

“We’ve got…” He raised a can covered in dents and coated in a thick layer of dust. “‘M gonna assume it’s soup.”

“Lovely,” you laughed, your face twisting up in disgust as he tossed it to you.

The dust was sticky beneath your fingers, as if something had spilled across it years ago. You figured it was best not to question more than necessary. Settling on the ground, you plunged your knife into the cover, taking a hesitant whiff of something probably expired past saving. Much to your surprise though, a pungent scent of tomatoes greeted you.

“Raviolis,” you exclaimed, delight scrawled across your face.

You wished you could have seen Joel’s eyes go soft, seen the way he practically melted at the expression of joy you wore. Joel Miller remained hard as stone to the rest of the world, but in moments like this, when peace was prominent and life gave way to something other than pain. He allowed himself to feel. For a bit…he was the man he might have been a decade ago.

“Good enough for me.”

Prying the lid off, you watched as he set up stones for a small enough pit. You were far enough in the forest that it would take people several hours to get to you. Far enough away from civilization of any kind. What remained in the city, the bits and pieces left behind, would never be enough to build what used to exist. Like it or not…that part of the world had come to a close.

The chapter sealed and signed off with enough blood to keep it shut forever.

“Thank you,” you said softly as he struck a match from the small box you kept in your pack. “For today.”

He grinned, glancing down at his hands that fiddled with a stick. “Was nothin’ really. You wanted to see the city and we were heading this way—”

“Joel.” Cupping his face, you shifted his shining brown eyes until they were upon your face. Gazing at you with a look he’d never shown you before. “You gave me a day I’ll never forget.” He chuckled, grasping onto your waist gently. “Thank you.”

Those two words didn’t seem like enough to get your message across. You wanted to do the same for him. To give him something he’d remember, but nothing felt enough.

He pulled you closer. “Would have been better if you didn’t get attacked.”

“Well…” You looped your arm around his neck. “I knew what I was getting into when I chose you.”

Something shifted in the air between you the second he led you up those cracked and broken museum steps. The front of the building had been blown clean off by bombs, but you’d recognize it anywhere. The place where your future once led to. A home in your heart for so long. A dream not yet come to life. Joel took care to lead, to put himself in harm's way to keep you safe. But it was more than that.

He gave you time to look.

To take back a part of your past you never got to have.

An act that he’d never be able to do. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t take anything from his past that hadn’t already been destroyed. The watch on his wrist was all he’d keep. But you…he could give this to you. He could heal something in your heart you didn’t even realize was broken.

“I’d do it again,” he murmured, lips sliding along the inside of your wrist, nose pressed to your palm.

Your heart ached for him; body burned for him. And in the lowlight of the sun, you found your hope in him. It glimmered softly, barely within reach, but Joel had kept it for you all this time. He made sure to protect what you couldn’t—what you had given up.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, catching his quickly darkening gaze. “Please.”

The crackle of the flames couldn’t hide his small groan of pleasure as his lips met yours. What he intended to be soft, reverent in a way he’d never been before, shifted rapidly. His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapped gently around your throat to keep you in place. To help him devour you a bit deeper. That alone sent a flutter to rush through your entire body, your fingers digging into his wrist, silently begging for him to press down tighter.

To cut off the air he exhaled into your lungs.

“You got no idea—” He sucked in a breath when your lips met his throat, teeth nipping at the salty skin. Red bloomed beneath the surface as you went, small marks and bruises to prove that he wasn’t dreaming. That this trip was real—that you were real.

He growled, fingers tightening around your throat to pull your lips back to his, a rough breath exhaled into your open mouth. “No idea what you do to me darlin’.”

Sticky warm wet heat spilled into your stomach, flooding your already damp panties. The can was forgotten on the edge of the pit, his touch far more enticing than a few meager pieces of food. If you could survive on one thing alone, you’d want it to be him. You would train your body to sustain itself on his touch, his tongue sliding along yours, his fingers digging into your skin.

He’d become your oxygen, your reason for living.

“I-I do.” You gasped as his teeth dug into your throat, hands quickly stripping you of your flannel. Helping him, you yanked at your shirt, discarding it to the side. Nothing mattered but the feel of his tongue tracing along your skin—the hot mix of his touch and spit made you dizzy. “You do the same to me.”

A soft grunt was muffled into your chest, his hips rising up to grind against something. To gain what little friction he could.

In the midst of kissing him, he managed to drag you into his lap, your knees pressed to the forest floor on either side of his hips. Your body, as close as you could get with clothes in the way. You could feel the heavy press of him against your thigh and clenched around nothing. The needy emptiness that slammed into your body was nearly too much, but you held onto what little fragments of sanity still remained.

You clung to the bits of yourself he wished to consume, knowing the consequences of what might come afterwards.

But how could you give a fuck about consequences when his touch lit you up like the fire to your left? How could you care about anything else? When his lips wrapped around your peaked nipple and sucked at it as if you were his source of life.

His hands slid up your back, skin hot wherever he touched, as he pulled you down into his lap a bit more. Enough to feel the familiar press of his cock straining against his jeans. The sun was nearly gone now, light bleeding through the branches of the trees, and you let the warmth consume you. You relished in its burning caress as he worshiped your skin with his mouth, his hands that had spilled blood for you.

“Need to be—” He bit off with a sharp moan as you rolled your hips down, giving him the pressure he needed. “Fuck keep doin’ that.”

You were desperate for him and you weren’t afraid to admit it to yourself. The infatuation bordered on obsession, but if you were to say that about him he’d finally have to admit the same to you. He’d have to crack open his chest, bleed through your fingers like sand, and allow you to dig your way to his heart. As if you were conducting an autopsy on his body—picking a part each dark piece that he was ashamed to hold onto.

“Touch me,” you whined, digging your fingers into his hair as he dug his into your hips. A burning bruising touch that left you needy.

He grinned, pulling at the button of your pants. “I am touchin’ you darlin’.”

“You—fuck, fuck, fuck—” His fingers slid through your slick, finding their way to the parts of you he’d memorized in such a short time. Your clit practically throbbed beneath his touch, body shuddering as he circled it with enough pressure to electrify your nerves. “Yes.”

“That’s what you want?” The question was irrelevant. He knew this better than you, but that wasn’t what he was asking.

Is this enough? This quick fuck beside a fire as you both hid the real reason. Was his touch, his kiss, enough to show the truth?

Was he enough?

You choked out a soft yes, your lips finding his in a sloppy spit slicked kiss, and his fingers became insistent in their determination to watch you break. Joel had become addicted to the sight. His very own guilty pleasure—yet how could he feel guilty about something so angelic? How could he repent for a sin that he’d give up everything for? What was the point of worshiping at an altar when heaven existed between your thighs?

Eventually his fingers wouldn’t be enough. For either of you. But he was focused on one thing, feeling your pussy spill along his palm. He sunk two fingers into you knuckle deep and smiled as your head fell back, a throaty moan echoing off the trees. You grinded against his hand, fingers tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. And this was enough.

“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, hand still placed around your throat. His cock leaked as it constricted with your swallow and images of what he’d look like in your mouth flashed in his mind.

“M-More—” You gasped, your clit dragging along the heel of his calloused palm.

But you had begged for something else and Joel was never one to deny you. He ripped at your pants as you did the same with his, your lips messy and rough against his. You swallowed his moan the second your cold hand wrapped around his throbbing cock—precum sliding down your palm as he did his best not to finish there and then. He was so fucking wound up that this would be over before it began.

Neither of you cared.

“You’ve gotta know,” he rasped, gripping onto your bare hip as you hovered directly over his cock. Your pussy practically dripped onto him.

“Know what?” you sighed, sliding him through your slick.

He squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of you. The shine of firelight and sunlight played against your skin and Joel felt his body tighten painfully. The view alone nearly made you double over in pleasure, your breaths coming in short gasps as he fought to finish on the front of your pussy.

“That I—” He gasped as you began to sink down onto him, encasing him that sticky heat he’d begun to think was the cause of his demise. He’d never be able to live without this. Without getting to carve his way into your body. “Fuck darlin’.”

You grinned, cupping his chin and pulling his attention back. “I’ll go slow.”

“You don’t have to take it easy on me.”

“Seems like I might.”

A rumble started in the base of his chest, lips curving up as he caught your mouth in a searing kiss you felt down to your toes. The grip on your throat tightened as you began to move slowly, letting him pull out of you slow enough to cause madness to rise in your chest. Like a burn you refused to let go of. Joel had other ideas. He yanked you down with enough force to drag out a high pitched cry from your chest, your mouth falling open in a silent scream when he set his own pace.

Quick and fast and filthy enough to sign your name on hell’s roster. He wanted to fuck himself into your body so deep he was buried there. Wanted to paint your insides until you were leaking him all morning. He wanted to etch himself into your soul.

Permanent and without shame.

“C’mon darlin’.” His teeth dug into your jaw, pain slicing through the pleasure deliciously. “Let me hear ya.”

You curled into him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he pounded up into you. “‘S good,” you gasped, coherency going right out the window.

He grinned, tugging at your throat. “You can do better than that.”

Words faintly entered your mind before disappearing seconds later as he tilted your hips slightly. You scratched at his chest when his cock struck right where you needed him. Right where your mouth began to form words you fought so hard to keep at bay. Words that revealed too much, gave a window into your heart, and if you had the capability you’d shut your fucking mouth. But it was far too late for that.

“You like that?” he groaned, teeth digging into his plush bottom lip as he kept the angle. The veins on his neck were strained, begging for you lick at them, and you dipped down to distract yourself from the words.

The one thing that seemed to catch his attention.

“What was that?”

You whined, wrapped an arm around his neck as you dragged your hips along the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “Nothing,” you mumbled, sucking at his neck.

Only for him to pull you off by your throat, his lips hovering over yours. “What’d you say?”

“I—” You clung to him, begging for the truth to sink back into your chest. But he was staring at you with dark eyes and a parted mouth begging for you to kiss it. He looked at you as if you were ethereal and for that small moment, you believed it. “I love you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hips stuttering in their movement. You watched his eyes go wide, understanding finally dawning across his features, and you prepared yourself for the worst. You waited for him to reject you. The words never came. He pulled you into a kiss, tongue sliding along yours, as he sped up his thrusts. Grunting into your mouth with each one—his body taut and begging for release.

“Yeah?” he panted into your mouth. You nodded, feeling the burn of pleasure begin to flash white behind your shut eyes.

“So much,” you sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks. Something pulled tight in your stomach, building with each stunted move of his body against yours. You needed it, would beg on your knees for it, and Joel was right there with you.

His dark gaze met yours as he finally released your throat in favor of finding your clit. “Say it again.”

Heat rocketed up your spine as you locked down around his cock, his fingers insistent and rough. “I love you!” you cried, trembling in his hold. Those three words you’d been so afraid to say out loud finally spilled free over and over and over again. Until you couldn’t hear them anymore over the loud rush in your ears.

He slammed his hips up one last time, lips finding yours in a bruising kiss, and found his own peak. Spilling into you with a moan, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you pressed up close. You wondered if he feared you’d vanish before his very eyes.

“I love you,” he sighed, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut to your own wide gaze.

The words didn’t register at first, simply flying directly over your head. Yet as silence wrapped around your entwined bodies, sunlight disappearing over the last of the trees, you finally understood. No orgasm could match the absolute bliss that filled your body at the echo of his voice forming those words. Of their soft cadence. He was hesitant to look at you, to face what could finally break him, but your hands cupping his face drew him out of his own mind.

“Say it again,” you whispered, smiling so bright your cheeks ached. “Please.”

Before you could bask in their beauty, he was pulling away. Digging into his pack that lay behind him. You wanted to stop him, bring him back to this current moment, but the glint of something gold caused you to freeze. The breath once again caught in your chest.

For the first time you saw Joel grow nervous. Almost bashful as he lifted his hand and allowed a small green jewel on a gold chain to dangle between the both of you. The last of the sunlight glinted off the emerald and for some reason it reminded you of him. How it shone in those rare moments when light caught it just right. Yet held a darkness to it, a hidden truth yet to be revealed.

“I love you,” he said, pressing the necklace into your palms. “I always will darlin’.”

Tears dripped onto his hands as you clutched the dainty piece of jewelry to your chest. “Oh Joel.”

“It’s not a ring—”

You silenced him with a tear filled kiss, salt spilling across his tongue. He did what he could to wipe them away, but like it or not there seemed to be no end in sight. Not when your heart finally latched onto all those broken pieces you thought were lost. Joel did the one thing you never thought possible. He healed you.

“It’s enough.” You smiled into his kiss, the necklace digging into your palm—carving its shape into your skin. “You’re enough.”

You could see it now. The path your future led to. Not a building, or a job, or even a home. The end of your path—your grand plan—would always and forever lead to him.

#this is so long i don't even know what to say #um...i'm sorry for what's about to happen next????#ANYWAYS I'M JUST GONNA *dips for fear of this flopping*#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller #the last of us fic #my writing

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beefrobeefcal · 4 days

Text

an Ezra & Cricket One Shot: Brass Knuckled Debauchee Summary: Ezra, after abusing your healing talents, returns to make good on his debt... for a price.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 4,752

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), weight gain, eating, edging, soft!dom Ezra being an overall ass, teasing, begging, crying, malfunctioning prosthetic limb, the occasional swear

Author's Notes: requested by two (count'em - 2!) lovely babes for the 900 Friendo Celebration - thank you to @xdaddysprincessxx and @morallyinept for bringing Ezra some love.

Huge thank you to @strang3lov3 , @noxturnalpascal & @bitchesuntitled for their beta badass skills and to my ever lovely beta fish, @neverwheremoonchild. None of you will understand the depths of gratitude I hold you all in.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

You’d cared for him when his appendage was newly parted from his person, after a young woman dumped him off at your meagre midwife’s centre.

You hadn’t delivered a baby in at least eight cycles, but you were busy tending to broken bones and crushed limbs from the mine nearby, so the idea of caring for a wound caused by a missing arm wasn’t far from your everyday.

What was far from the standard men in your care was that this one wouldn’t shut up. Truly. You’d never met someone so close to death spew such a narrative. You almost wished to have him out of his misery just to stop his linguistic vomit.

Thank Kevva for sedatives.

You didn’t even want to know his name, worried that if you had his, he’d need yours and there was no way someone this sick and wounded that could carry on like he’s memorized a thesaurus wasn’t capable of performing a hex or a curse on you.

After three blessedly quiet and devoid-of-narration days, the open wound where his arm once hung from was no longer festering and the fever that wracked his body broke. Despite your own desire to keep him silent, you stopped administering such a high dose of the sedative, and you allowed him to regain consciousness.

For the first little while, all you heard was his steady, deep breathing, so you left the room to grab some water and liquified sustenance for him, figuring that when he would finally come to, he’d be hungry.

“To what do… do I owe the pleasure?”, you heard croaked as you walked softly back into the room.

“Oh good…”, you replied flatly. “You’re awake and talking.”

The remainder of his stay that time had revolved around you doing what you could to keep his mouth occupied enough to keep it quiet; you fed him. By the time he’d left, he’d made you aware of his name – Ezra – and bestowed a nickname on you for lack of giving your own. Cricket. He then made the terrible promise to return to see you and left with a wink and a smile.

Your whole body bristled at the thought of having to deal with him again.

*****

The first return visit he made, his confidence and vocabulary were still obnoxiously inflated. Whining of a bruised rib, you resumed your frustrated feeding to keep him down to two to three sentences and responses between mouthfuls.

The second time he returned, he stated that he had been ‘brutalized by a deviant, one who you should not even be told of his true form else your fragile and virtuous mind be stained’. There wasn’t a single mark on him, save for a bite on his only arm that looked to be self-inflicted. He enjoyed himself, smiling between bites of food.

By the third visit – complaining of a sprained toe - you knew that he knew that you knew what you were doing - and vice versa. Despite this, you fed him, and he ate very well. After several days of ‘healing’, he hauled himself up and it was then that you noted his flight suit looking like it was getting tighter around his middle.

Those visits happened in a fairly rapid succession, but a longer period – more than six cycles at least - lapsed before he darkened your doorway and approached your desk once again. Without even looking up, you knew it was him, having heard his cavalier long-form salutations being crooned out at anyone he passed approaching your unit.

“What now?”, you sighed in irritation, dropping your head into your hand, not bothering to look up at him – something you would come to regret to save yourself future embarrassment. You didn’t see him close your door and lock it behind him.

He approached your desk, and his hand came into view along with a mechanical one; the smooth-as-silk tongued devil was now outfitted with a prosthetic arm that looked like it had been stolen from a brass skeleton and had gears added. Your eyes followed the mechanical limb up to the hem of his shortened sleeve, hiding the joint between it and what remained of his actual arm. The new colour of his clothing caught your attention, too, pulling your eyes to his torso. Yes, it was definitely a different colour. He was no longer in the moss greens and soil browns you’d associated with him. Now, he was in a dark blue flight suit with a gold zipper that looked to just be barely holding together.

Your brain paused to take in what was in front of you.

“No more chirps for me, sweet Cricket?”

His raspy, southern drawl sounded sweeter than you’d noticed before as your eyes took in the added weight on his middle. Before looking up to his face, you noted the way the zipper rippled from the strain and the clear indent his belly button made as the fabric pulled taut across his expanse.

His face. As soon as you took it in, you regretted not doing it first. He’s held you in his big brown eyes’ gaze before, but you’d been able to avoid being trapped. But this time you couldn’t help but let them absorb you. His smile widened as he slightly leaned forward, arms putting further weight on your desk.

“You seem at a loss for word, Crick-“

“You’ve been eating well.”, you managed to croak out in a somewhat aloof-sounding voice, nodding towards his middle.

He didn’t shrink back at your comment; instead, it seemed to embolden him. “You started me on a path of decadence that a mere man such as myself isn’t able to easily shake.”

He stood to his full height, eyes never leaving yours. “Is that all you noticed?”, he grinned, lifting his brass appendage, bringing the crude and simple brass hand to his face, smoothing over his moustache.

Your lips parted then closed and parted again before you were able to spit out, “I saw y-… I see you got a new… limb.”

His eyes gleamed at you, seeing his every move had you further in his grasp. You inwardly scowled, chiding yourself on how quickly you were falling under his spell. Narrowing your eyes, you shrugged at him.

“Looks old.”

If it stung him, he didn’t show it; he simply kept that smile on his face and continued to look down at you from across the desk. “I’m not its first owner.”

The pleasantries had only lasted a few more moments before Ezra moved around your desk and hovered over you.

“I’m here to return the favour, Cricket.”

“...Favour?”

“For all the hard work you put into bringing me back to my full health.”, he cooed lowly as his brass hand cooled your cheek with its feather-light touch.

“It’s nothing... I was just doing my j - “

He leaned over you further, cheshire grin pulled menacingly across his face. His voice slipped into a lower pitch and his eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth.

“Doing your job would have been to send me away when I appeared with erroneous and fabricated injuries and illnesses. You, my sweet Cricket, stepped over and above the threshold of your employment and I intend to repay you for your sweetness in full.”

You sucked in a few shallow breaths and nervously swallowed. This was a side of him you hadn't seen, assuming that he was a submissive and pliant brat who’d chosen you to dote on him. But no. There was no favour he intended to pay back. He was just sizing you up and wrangling you into his web, and now he was out loud declaring that you were his prey. His eyes were dark and fixed on you, in contrast with the gentle smile on his face.

“Don’t be nervous, sweet Cricket. You can tend to your own wounds afterwards. Now, let me hear you chirp.”

His brass arm shot out and gripped your wrist tightly and he pulled you from your seat. Dragging you to the maternity room, he tossed you onto the low soft bed.

“Ezra!”, you squeaked as your body hit the push mattress below you.

He dropped to his knees and crawled up, forcing your legs apart, and his belly barely grazed your middle as his face lined up with yours. You let out an involuntary whimper.

“Oh, sweet Cricket. How badly I wanted you on your back, making those sweet vocalizations your namesake promised me.”

His flesh and bone hand gently grazed your face and moved to the back of your head, softly fisting your hair, forcing your head to stay still as he traced his nose along the contours of your face. His eyes remained half lidded and he watched as your own rolled back when he pushed his knee into the crux of your thighs, knowing he had all but your verbal consent.

“This is all you need, sweet Cricket? Someone to light the way?”

All you can muster as his hold on your hair tightened and his knee applied more pressure was a light whine through your parted lips.

You wanted to respond, but the moment you opened your mouth, Ezra’s brass arm made a clunk sound and began to shudder.

“Oh, for Kevva’s sake.”, he muttered, sitting up on his knees as he examined the arm. It made a mechanical sound before it shuddered again, then a higher pitched noise droned as the arm vibrated.

You watched him sitting between your parted legs as the realization of what he had at his disposal dawned on him. Your eyes widened as he turned and looked at you like a starved man with a wild grin.

“Sweet Cricket, I think I could go for a bite to eat.”

*****

Once you’d gotten some finger foods together and brought them back into the room, you found Ezra laid back in a mountain of pillows on the bed. He nodded his head towards you and raised his hand, beckoning you to him.

“Come on, Cricket. Tend to your weary traveller.”

His eyes were glued to you, cascading up and down your form, as you hand fed him. He’d had a few pieces of the savoury pastries when you felt the cool touch of his brass hand slide between your thighs.

“Curious...”, he mused as he chewed. “… that when I make a certain motion with my appendage, it malfunctions in such an amusing manner that I know you will find benefit in, pet.”

Your brows furrow in question and before you can ask how that could benefit you in any way, the arm made that clunk sound again. You felt the vibration between your thighs and your eyes widened.

“Ez – oh fuck!”, you gasped as he pushed his knuckle up against your mound and held it there firmly.

Your mouth was open, allowing shallow panting breaths to puff out and your eyes were closed with your brows pinched as the shuddering vibrations pulsed against you. You’d never felt anything like this before in your life and you thanked Kevva.

The low amber tones of his voice cut through to you and pulled you out of your silent prayer. “Now, sweet Cricket. We are both here to derive enjoyment from one another given we both now have the intel on each other’s vices. You can’t go holding out on me to seek your fruition – that is not fair.”

He pulled his hand from contacting your core, and your eyes snapped to his, a pleading whimper bubbling out from your pouting lips.

“Uh-uh, Cricket. We will play fair.”, he growled in warning. His smile dropped as his features darkened, and he nodded towards your suspended hand holding a small meat-filled pastry. “Don’t you dare hold out on me.”

Shakily, you brought the morsel to his mouth and as he took it in and let his tongue touch your finger, his hand once again pressed against your core.

*****

Ezra had continued to eat and finished over half of platter. But every time you started to get close to your peak, he would pull his hand away, leaving you a shaking mess.

“P-please… Ezra, please!”, you begged mere seconds away from ecstasy.

“I am not finished, sweet Cricket.”, he said with a mouthful. “You will be sated when I have found my fill, and we are not yet there.”

You could have screamed at him, strangled him in a rage. “Ezra please! I - ”.

The warning look he gave you stopped any further pleading. Your mind reeled, trying to find some way to get relief. You could kick him out and try to finish yourself off with your fingers, but you knew it would be fruitless; you’d never gotten this worked up on your own before and you doubt that you had anything in this clinic that vibrated at that frequency.

As you trembled and panted, Ezra watched, amused at how clearly you were seeking a solution to the problem he’d created for you.

“Cricket…”, he cooed, soothing his biological hand up your arm and to your face. He gently guided your chin towards him. “Sweet Cricket, come back to me.”

When your frantic gaze met his, his eyes softened and creased as he smiled. “I will not leave you unfinished. I repay my debts, darling nurse.”

You sighed in defeat, nodded, and took a deep breath. Your eyes trailed down to his noticeably rounder middle that made the already strained zipper pull at the seams of the fabric. He shifted in what looked like discomfort.

You put down the current half-filled plate of food and reached for the zipper tag, tugging it down. It only got to the beginning of the swell of his belly before you met resistance. You tugged a little harder, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Suck it in.”

“Now, Cricket, let’s not be hast-“

“I said suck it in.”, you snapped back far more forcefully than intended.

Ezra froze then nodded. “Sweet girl, I will try, but…” You saw his middle pull in slightly. “… the profound conundrum I experienced in getting it on…”

The zipper finally moved, and he groaned as his stomach expanded. “Sweet Kevva… such relief.”

You were desperate for him to touch you again, but seeing him fat and swollen before you, knowing it was your work that was filling him out. Ezra watched your gaze turn hungry and almost feral. Granted, he felt that way as he watched you teeter on the edge of falling apart over and over. He wasn’t ready to let the power he held over you go, giving him the drive to get through, bite by bite. But that power began to slip the moment his vulnerable and considerably rounder middle exposed, and it left him feeling uneasy and unsure.

“A change of flavour… is needed, my sweet Cricket.”, Ezra crooned, trying to exude as much confidence he could muster, despite his self-consciousness lingering in the back of his mind. He swallowed down a moan as your blown-pupiled eyes met his. He pushed a faux-confident smile and spoke softer. “Something sweeter, perhaps?”

Letting a small huff escape, you nodded and got up from the bed, cursing him under your breath for having this much power over you.

As you stood in the small kitchen area, waiting for the food rehydrator to loudly prepare the freeze-dried baked goods, you didn’t hear Ezra huff and grunt as he got off the bed and saunter into the kitchen. You weren’t alerted to his presence until his belly hit your back and his brass hand went to your hip.

His nose and mouth pressed against the back of your neck, whispering filth as his hand cupped your breast and squeezed.

“You leave yourself so vulnerable, sweet Cricket... back to the door, not an ounce of concern…. any rapscallion of low morals could take advantage… of your sweet, supple figure…”

You let out a light, breathy whine gripping his hand as he kneaded your breast. As much as you wanted his hands on you, you wanted his mouth on your own more, so you pushed your body back against his, making enough room between him and the counter for you to turn around. His brass hand stayed on the curve of your waist, not offering any resistance, and his other hand cupped your cheek, holding it in place while he kissed you softly. His lips moved against yours like he was able to read your mind, or maybe even needed this point of contact as badly as you did. His mouth parted and his tongue pushed for entrance into your mouth, and once it was granted, the kiss fevered and boiled over. You felt your core throb with need and want, soaking your pants and already ruined underwear, and he crowded you against the counter. So wrapped up were you in his mouth and teeth and tongue, that you didn’t feel his brass hand move from your waist.

In one swift move, Ezra shoved your pants down in the front enough for his brass hand to slip with no barrier into your folds. The cool touch you would have expected from it was long forgotten as the metal now met your body temperature. Still engulfed in the kiss that was beginning to rob your breath, the telltale clunk barely registered in your mind until the vibrations started. Sending a jolt through your body, you pulled your face away from his and let out a shrill gasp.

The timer on the rehydrator went off, and Ezra chuckled darkly, watching your brows draw together and your eyes flutter.

“The rules stay the same, Cricket. Sweet or savoury, I will have my fill and you will have your petite mort. But one will meet the other at the same time.”, he said in a wickedly soft tenor. “Now, you can begin holding up your end, sweet girl.”

Once again, Ezra ripped away any power you might have had or believed you had, edging you with each bite, withholding his metal hand’s vibrations from the moment his mouth was empty to the moment your hand shakily pushed another bite past his lips. Overstimulation mixed with the pent-up fury of being denied an orgasm had you panting rapidly, tears threatening to spill over. High pitched whines and shuddering whimpers were all you could produce, and it was music to Ezra’s ears.

“You… create the most… glorious cricket song…”, he mused softly as he chewed the mouthful. “Keep chirping, sweet girl…”

You were coming to a point where you weren’t sure you would make it. Your brain felt like it was filled with the static from a communicator’s blank channel and your hearing and sight felt fuzzy. The coil tightening in your cunt was hitting a painful level, causing you to drop the next pastry you’d picked up with your shaking hands.

As soon as it hit the floor, Ezra tsk’d you, and pulled his hand right out of your pants. The pained sob that burst from you from the loss of contact was loud and harsh, and the tears finally spilled over, staining your cheeks.

“P-please… I… I can’t!”, you cried out, jutting your hand out clumsily to grab his wrist as he pulled back. His dark eyes scanned your desperate ones, pausing momentarily, before his gaze shifted to one of pity and amusement.

“You can’t what?”, he mocked with a cruel grin. “Can’t what, sweet Cricket?”

A rasped and pained whine peeled out of your throat as your head fell to his shoulder, and his hand gripped your hair and pulled back, forcing you to look at him. You looked ruined. Your cheeks flushed and eyes wet and lidded, your lips parted, turned down and chin quivering. He shoved up back and up onto the counter.

“Oh, come now, sweet Cricket. Don’t look at me like I won’t give you your due.”, he whispered, ghosting his mouth over yours. His brass fingers traced lurid shapes along your inner thighs, causing your body to shiver and that coil painfully wind up in your core once more.

“I asked you for something sweeter, pet,”, Ezra mockingly cooed as he pulled back, your face involuntarily following his to try and capture his lips against yours. He shook his head, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Something sweeter and you dropped it on the floor. It’s precious currency, Cricket, and you mishandled it.”

Your eyes followed his, stuck in the trance he’d put you under. He could have told you to do anything, given any order and you would have obeyed to your detriment. His brass hand moved to your throat, long, metal fingers grasping just tight enough to keep you precariously seated on the edge of the counter. His thicker middle forced you legs open wide, and his other hand took its place between your legs and without warning, he shoved two fingers into your core.

Your mouth and eyes widened as a wrecked gasp escaped you and your hands went to grab onto what ever meaty part of him you could grab for stability. Ezra hummed in response as the pads of his fingers felt the walls of your cannel twitch and flutter at his intrusion.

“Good Kevva, sweet girl…”, he groaned, watching your face contort. “As much as this contraption of a limb can bring me such sadistic joy at your expense, my own digits needed to feel the silken walls of your inner sanctum.”

As he pumped his fingers in and out of you, he dropped his forehead against yours and hummed again, answering your repeated whining pants and moans.

“Keep chirping, Cricket… sing me your evening song… that’s it….”

As you felt your peak come careening in, he felt your walls convulse and slicken up. The soft tenor he’s just lulled you into a steady rhythm with fell away and the low chuckle followed by his fingers being removed made you scream out and dig your nails into the fattened flesh of his upper arm and shoulder.

“EZ-EZRA! PLEASE! FUCK-PLEASE!”, you sobbed out in a shriek.

His brass hand’s hold tightened around your throat, and he shoved your shoulders flush with the wall behind counter roughly.

Your desperate eyes looked him over as best as you could, given the position he had you in. His bloated and full stomach moved with each laboured breath he took and the strain he put himself under to wreck you was fully apparent. You could feel the outline of his clothed hard cock seated against your thigh and the sweat beading on his forehead. He wiped his face and parted his lips to take in deeper breaths; his irises were indiscernible from his pupils as he looked down at you.

You had never known need like this, and you felt as though you were going to succumb due to your lack of orgasm as a final line in the life that Kevva had written for you.

“P…please…”

“Is it my cock you want to be impaled on, pet? You want to whine and mewl while I rut my quiver bone into your sopping celestial cavern?”, he coolly growled, but there was a slight waiver in his voice. You saw the same desperation in the dark abyss of his eyes.

You nodded dumbly and he scowled, baring his teeth, and tore his brass hand off you, trying to make quick work of getting his flight suit off his shoulders. The arms were tight around his fleshy arms, and you shakily sat up and tried to help. Once his arms were free, you tugged the material over his waist, taking note of the roll of flesh sitting just above his waistband, showing just how much he had been indulging. You gave it a squeeze, revelling in the sound he made, sucking his breath thru his teeth at your fingers.

“Marvel the fruits of your labour, Cricket… The destination you set me on course to has made me beyond redemption and unfit for galactic adventuring…”, he grunted breathily, shoving his flight suit off his legs before kicking it off entirely. “You have effectively rendered me useless beyond what effect I am able to wield on you.”

He shoved his mouth against yours before you could respond or ask what he meant, sucking you into a bruising kiss. His hands gripped your hips, pulling your twitching cunt flush with his weeping, hard cock, knocking the plastic plate that held the desserts onto the floor at his feet. Fumbling slightly, he pulled back and gripped his member, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing it in all at once. The sting of his intrusion melded perfectly with the relief of finally connecting, and the sound you made caused Ezra to almost break. His eyes softened and his brows tented, body tense at the gentle yet firm, warm hold you had on him.

“I’m af-afraid I’ve pushed too far to allow for… for niceties and gentle welcomes, sweet Cricket…”, he panted against your face, teeth clenched as he tried to focus and draw this out as long as possible.

“Please move...”, you begged in a strained whine.

“If I move to fast, sweet Cricket, I will... end this fortuitous connection with an... an early release, and that would render me- fuck!... render me less than a gentleman...”

“You’re no gentleman... now shut up an-and fuck me!”

It seemed that your tight walls and frantic begging were too much for Ezra, and he pulled out with a grunt, followed by a whine as he came onto the plate on the floor. The vulgar sounds of his panting breaths mixed with the sploot of his spend had you seeing red.

“You asshole!”, you screeched, shoving him off you.

He panted and held his hands up in surrender as you charged at him.

“Cricket... forgive me! You’re too sweet... your sacred cavern was too - “

The slap you landed across his face stopped his fancy wordplay. “You fucking bastard!”

Ezra’s eyes flashed in anger, and he stood to his full height, towering over you.

“That was uncalled for, Cricket.”, he snarled. “I will take the wrath of meeting an end without you by my side, but I will not allow you to besmirch my good mother with a question of my paternal lineage.”

You stared at him, eyes wide with anger at his audacity, and before you could say another word, he tackled you to the floor. You tried to fight him off but the moment you heard the clunk of his brass arm and felt two metal fingers punch up into your slick heat, you ceased your struggle.

“See, sweet Cricket? I may be a wayward traveler, but even I know the dangers of leaving a woman on the precipice of completion... “

“Don’t stop... please... don’t stop...”

The vibrations of his arm and the smooth curves of the worn metal fingers found a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

“I plan to keep demanding your company each time I move through this sector, and-”

“Oh Kevva... Ez-Ezra!”

He leaned forward and ghosted his mouth over yours, speaking in a low, husky growl, “... if I were to fail you now, what kind of welcome would I receive the next time I darken your doorway?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and your body arched off the floor. Pent up energy burst from your burning cunt, sending wave after wave of precious release through your body. The scream that peeled out of you was dampened by Ezra kissing you forcefully.

His movement slowed and he slowly pulled his brass hand from your core. You were greeted with his grin as he looked over his brass hand.

“You’ve polished only two fingers for me... there are three more.”, he cooed, placing a delicate kiss on the end of your nose. “Next time.”

“N-next time?”

He nodded and stood up with a grunt. You sat up carefully, and it seemed you both took note of the plate on the floor, covered in his cum. The chastisement was on your tongue, but never became words out loud as you were struck speechless as you watched him pick up the plate and fling it out the window.

He turned back to you, standing naked in the kitchen, fat and sweaty, with a grin on his face.

“There is always a next time, Cricket.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect #fat ezra #chubby!ezra #chubby ezra rights !!!#🥩#900 friendo celebration #900 milestone #900 followers #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #thot tank #you asked beefro answered

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draemgal · 8 months

Text

bitch | cassian

cassian x reader who’s a badass and gets in a fight or something like that and he just sits back and watches. azriel wants to step in but cassian is like, “nah she’s got this”

the chilling breeze of the illyrian camp bit at your exposed cheeks as you held cassian’s calloused hand, dragging him behind you as you gunned it for the shops. you were hoping for a new pair of gloves since your mate had ripped yours by mistake, trying to be helpful by tugging on a loose thread. this, of course, caused the yarn to unravel itself.

“i told you i was sorry, baby.” he pouted, allowing you to drag him past groups of people.

“and i told you that i’d accept your apology when my hands are warm and toasty again.”

your fae ears perked at the sound of snickering from the side of you as you continued on. at first, you powered through, but curiosity bit at you.

a group of women stood to the side of you, staring at you. when you met their stare and didn’t balk, one scowled at you.

cassian tried to tug you along, but you dropped his hand and shook your head. between devlon, the treatment your mate received by other warriors, and the tips of your fingers tinted purple, this was the tipping point for you.

striding towards them, your annoyance lighting a fire underneath your winter boots. “care to talk a bit louder, ladies?”

one of the women giggled and propped her hands on her hips. “we were just saying that we were surprised to see that you can’t afford proper gloves, seeing as you’re a gold-digging whore.”

amusement flamed in your eyes and the corners of your lips tilted upwards. “i’ve heard bitch, but never that one. i’m glad to see you busybodies are getting creative.”

you were used to the jealous stares, the comments about how rhysand pays you, and countless other things that you didn’t care about. you pitied them because they didn’t have a clue nor anything better to do.

“don’t you have to return to satisfying your mate? or can you not even do that properly? perhaps i should show him what it feels like to be fucked properly.”

her sentence ended with your knuckles connecting to the skin of her jaw. the other women instantly were grabbing at you—pushing, shoving, trying to grab fistfuls of your hair.

but you were trained.

you countered the attacks flawlessly, not afraid to leave bruises or missing teeth as you swung, knuckles bleeding.

cassian crossed his arms and smiled to himself, keeping an eye on you. azriel rushed up behind him and pushed past, but cassian grabbed his wrist.

“are you dumb? help her!” azriel snarled, but cassian only shook his head.

“look at her, she’s a natural. she’s got this.”

azriel scanned you for injury, but you remained unscathed. he grinned to himself and nodded, patting his brother on the back. “you’re damn right she does.”

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar fic #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian x female!reader #cassian one shot #cassian imagine #cassian acotar #cassian x reader

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nicolegmattos · 3 months

Text

Crowley was drinking alone at the bar. He had finally stopped being miserable at home and had upgraded it to being miserable at a bar not too far away.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea earlier. But now, after drinking quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol, maybe he shouldn’t have come. At least not to that specific bar.

From where Crowley was seated he could see the exact same table he used the last time he was there. When he was surprised by a discorporated Aziraphale just after he thought he had lost his best friend forever.

Best friend. He took another shot.

- Whoa! Easy there, sir - A young woman approached.

The glass hit the wood with a loud noise.

- What do you want? - He could or could not have said that a little more rudely than he intended.

- Oh, I see - She stepped back. - You like being depressed on your own.

- I’m not depressed.

- Is it because of a woman?

Crowley allowed himself the free will of ignoring her. Unfortunately, it didn’t work as well as he thought it would.

- I knew it! - She insisted. - It’s always because of a woman.

- Yeah. Congrats, Sherlock. Have a gold star.

Crowley gestured to the barman and he filled the glass again.

- Is she beautiful?

- Gorgeous - Sarcastically, he went along with it. Maybe she’d leave him alone once she had her curiosity satiated.

- How is she like? I bet I can guess your type.

- Bet you can’t - He grinned and took a sip of his drink.

- Brunette?

Crowley shook his head.

- Blonde. Platinum blonde.

Almost white. And a bit fluffy. Like the clouds.

- Badass? - She continued.

Not exactly.

- Too pure.

- Clever?

- Only when he’s not stupid - Crowley answered, hoping that would put an end to the interrogation.

- Oh - She had the decency to look embarrassed. - Ok.

Crowley finished his shot and left a good tip on the balcony. He should have stayed home.

******

His flat was exactly the same as always. Basically empty. Except from the plants and a good amount of empty bottles of all drinkable things he could think of.

He threw himself on the sofa and took off his sunglasses. After a moment of silence, he allowed some tears to fall down his face.

- I miss you, Angel - Crowley said. To no one in particular.

But up there, somehow, maybe the message got delivered. The Supreme Archangel was now looking at a picture of him and a certain Demon, took in a famous stage in 1941.

- I miss you, Crowley - Aziraphale said.

#long text again #I think this is becoming a habit #let me know if you have any requests #I’ll gladly take them #ask away!#good omens #good omens fandom #ineffable fandom #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #ineffable heartbreak

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wardenparker · 10 months

Text

The Viper’s Bride - ch 8

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

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

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 16.8k 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* Oral sex (m receiving), hair pulling, vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Mentions of Elia's fate (sexual assault and murder). Voyeurism, technically? Intimate touching/nonsexual intimacy. Brief mentions of pregnancy/childbirth/mortality in childbirth. Misogyny. Ellaria being an absolute badass. Stabbing. We respect sex workers here, but Petyr Baelish does not (asshole). Mention of forced medical procedure. Summary: A blissful morning after is interrupted by an unwelcome guest with even more unwelcome news. Notes: I have been waiting entire WEEKS to use this gif. Apologies for any technical difficulties with links and missing tags in this chapter - I posted about it last night but I experienced even more trouble as the night went on. 💖

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Your eyes open with the birdsong the next morning, drifting back to reality from the bliss of happy dreams. Oberyn's frame weighs you down in the plush bed, his leg hooked over yours and seemingly his whole torso on your back with his arms around you to hold you close. With the whole great expanse of bed to lay out in, he has attached himself to you even in sleep. It makes you hum softly and curl even deeper into his hold. As if you could burrow into his side so entirely that you would never have to leave.

Despite the excess and indulgences that Oberyn partakes in regularly, he is also a warrior. A man who has ridden with the Second Sons and even commanded his own company of men. He has warred in multiple locations and lived under the hardest conditions, awake and fighting at a moment's notice. When you move, his eyes open, focusing immediately before he allows himself to soften and hum against your neck. "Does the sun break over the horizon or is my lady wife an early riser?" He rasps into your ear.

"Your lady wife is a light sleeper," you mumble, turning your head to indulge in a long kiss good morning. Your thighs ache from last night's tumbling just as you had hoped and it is a welcome, wonderful feeling. "The birdsong roused me. Go back to sleep, my prince."

"Hmmm." Oberyn smirks at you and shakes his head. "It is too late, my cock has decided to awaken." He growls with a leering look down your body, and his hand slides up to cup your breast and pinch your nipple sharply.

The rasping moan it earns from you seems to please him, and your whole body instantly awakens at his touch. "How does my husband like his pleasure in the morning?" You are entirely soft and pliant at the moment, willing to give him what he wishes as he gave to you last night.

“I think I want my Princess to ride my cock.” He chuckles throatily. “Let me bite and lick your tits while you gallop to pleasure.”

Yes, your legs will ache all the more from such early exertions, but that is the furthest thing from your mind at the moment. You shift in his arms to straddle his waist easily, resting your weight on his thighs for a moment as you look down at him. His half-roused cock lies thick and proud against his belly, and for a moment you hesitate before deciding that he deserves as much indulgence this morning as you can muster. Instead of wrapping your hands around his length to stroke him to hardness, you move back and bend down, taking his cock into your mouth with an approving hum.

Hissing in pleasure, Oberyn’s hand wraps around your plait again, his hips rocking up to chase the tease touch of your tongue. “Fuck.” He groans, enjoying the very pleased look on your face as you hollow your cheeks. “Have you enjoyed sucking your lover’s cock?” He asks, twitching and hardening even more in your mouth.

Not willing to sacrifice having him in your mouth to answer, you hum in agreement and bob your head as if to nod. It is one of Raeden's favorite indulgences and you learned the skill well to please him.

“Hmmmm.” He groans, leaning back against the bed and closes his eyes. “You have talent.” He praises breathlessly. The praise washes through and encourages you to work harder, to take him deeper and use your hand well on what you cannot swallow. His vocal appreciation for your efforts has awoken your own desires, making your cunt ache and quiver with anticipation.

It doesn’t take long for Oberyn to tire of your mouth, talented as it might be. He wants to see you ride him. Tugging on your hair, he pulls you off his cock. “Mount me, wife.” He orders harshly.

You discovered long ago that you despise taking orders in life, which made your position all the more difficult. But in bed with a lover, to be needed or desired that badly is something you have found intoxicating. This morning, it makes you look up at him and smirk boldly, popping off of his cock with a sinfully wet sound. “The prince does not like his seed to be wasted?” You guess with a teasing air as you move forward to position yourself over him.

"I wish to feel your cunt around me." He rocks his hips up impatiently. He has not yet had his fill of your cunt and wants to be inside you before he cums. Although the smirk and sass that you give him makes him even harder, watching you become emboldened by your freedom with him.

You are slower to impale yourself on him than he was to bury himself last night, only by virtue of wanting to draw out the delectable feeling. Your pussy stretches to take him without resistance but it does push a soft moan from your lips. Once he is fully seated inside you, though, you start to move immediately. The feeling of him is too good to waste.

Your cunt lips are stretched wide around him and his hands on your hips move so he can pull your clit back so he can see more of your delicious cunt impaled on him. "Beautiful star." He groans passionately, looking up at you before one hand slides up to cup your breast.

“Do you like to watch me take you, husband?” The idea makes you groan, leaning back to brace your hands above his knees while you move.

"Yes." He grunts, biting his bottom lip until it is plump from the blood. Fingers digging into your skin and he hisses when you clench around him. His grip loosens and he palms it gently. "I find that your cunt is made for me."

“Then your cock must be made for me.” It is boldness that makes you talk that way, you know that, but a part of you almost feels the truth in it. Though – you must remember that you felt that way about Raeden as well. Perhaps you simply enjoy the pleasures of the flesh more than you knew.

Oberyn groans, arching a brow as your answer surprises him and even more, he agrees with it. “Perhaps it is, princess.” He huffs. “Perhaps it is.” Your hips are squeezed, then slapped as you ride him.

He delighted in your sounds last night so you do not hold back this morning. It would be a thing of wonder to feel this free no matter who you have in your bed, and you wonder in the back of your mind what Ellaria will sound like when you one day taste her sex for the first time.

Your sounds are loud, lusty and he doesn't mind who hears them. Proud that you would make your pleasure known when you had confided that you had to be quiet in all your other encounters. While he knows that you will be loud with others, he revels in being the first that you find your voice with.

Your combined moans bounce off the walls of the chamber, echoing down the hall to alert any and all who are up this early that the prince has already begun his work for the day. It is a scene of ecstacy right until the doors open, and for a moment you decide not to care. Let Leyth see you like this. She has seen worse in her time, surely.

"It is interesting that you house your wife in a whorehouse, Prince Oberyn." Oberyn's eyes slide past you and lock on Tywin Lannister, his expression pinched in disapproval as if he has a shit he has been unable to get out. His eyes slide over your bare back, down to your ass and his brow arches, "unless that is not your lady wife bouncing on your cock like a whore, and then I must ask what her price is."

The deep voice startles you more than anything else, making you immediately cover yourself and look over your shoulder in a panic. You have only seen Tywin Lannister on one other occasion – the late king's wedding just days ago – but you will never forget the man's face. It seems to bleed hate in every direction. Before you can even breathe again you have slipped out of Oberyn's lap and burrowed under the many blankets on the bed as if you are trying to disappear.

His breeches are on the table next to the bed and Oberyn grabs them, sliding into them and standing up, hopping slightly as he pulls them up over his hips and turns to look at Tywin. He is not pleased about the interruption and he narrows his eyes. "You have a sense of timing." He huffs, turning his back on him again as he reaches for the butter yellow robes he had been wearing yesterday. Your own gown would be too cumbersome for you to get into, so he will put his robe on you.

The covering is gratefully accepted, and Oberyn wraps you in it with gentle hands and ties it around your waist to preserve the modesty that is so important to you. "Tywin Lannister?" You whisper, barely breathing, and he nods silently that you are correct.

"May we have the room? Or are you a man who allows his wife to hear his business?" Lord Tywin asks, seeming barely interested in the answer.

Oberyn doesn't answer the man, but he asks you a silent question, arching his brow. He wants to know if you wish to stay or go. If you wish to stay, Oberyn will obstinately state that his wife is allowed wherever she wishes to be and she wishes to be by his side. If you wish to go, he will pat you on the ass and send you in to your lover and Ellaria.

The question is whether to cave to embarrassment or to exert yourself as a proud and steadfast wife, and it is a harder question to answer than you are proud of. While it would certainly be more comfortable to leave, that is not the role you wish to fulfill. You nod your head subtly, telling your husband that you wish to stay, and fiddle with the ring that he gave you yesterday for only a moment. "Wine, Lord Tywin?" You ask, as brightly and easily as if he had just stumbled into the sitting room at your father's estate.

His puzzlement only flashes across his eyes for a moment, and he nearly chuckles at how easily you seem to bounce back from the momentary mortification of being taken for a whore. "No, thank you."

"My wife goes wherever I wish and I wish for her to be by my side." Oberyn reaches for the small shawl to wrap around his shoulders. Smirking slightly at how you hold your head high and walk across the room to the table as if you were holding court instead of dressed in his robe with your legs bare.

Lord Tywin watches as you pour two glasses of wine and deliver one to Prince Oberyn, but pays it no mind. As he understands it, the marriage is but days old and done in haste. You will tire of each other before long. "There are matters to discuss," he declares though his air is still as careless as if he was discussing the weather. "Between you and I, Prince Oberyn."

He understands that is yet again another hint to send you away and yet, Oberyn smirks quietly. "Would you like to sit?" Oberyn offers, gesturing to the bed. If he knows the uptight prick he will not take the offer.

"No, thank you." He doesn't disappoint and since you have already offered him wine, Obyern takes a sip of his own.

"I am sorry about your grandson." He tells the man.

"Are you?" Lannister seems surprised at that, but only his voice and not his face or manner would ever let anyone know that.

"I don't believe that a child is responsible for the sins of his father." Oberyn takes a sip of his wine and lowers his cup. "Or his grandfather." He hums. "An awful way to die."

"Which way is that?" The unmoving nobleman barely lifts an eyebrow. You can feel the measured way he stands, the aura he gives off simply by being in such close quarters with him. Tywin Lannister reeks of quiet calculation and strategy, and your dislike for the man grows instantly.

Oberyn turns and faces the man directly, knowing the question would come eventually. "Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?" He asks boldly.

Tywin doesn't fluster or excuse his question. "Some believe the king choked." He manages to keep his voice even and convey derision at that idea at the same time.

"Some believe the sky is blue." Oberyn counters, "because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant." He flops back down elegantly on the bed and looks over at you before back at the head of the Lannister family. "The king was poisoned."

"I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel." The accusation comes as cool and clear as if he was stating a fact, and you have to stop yourself from reacting instantly. A reaction would be defensive and make Oberyn look guilty. Just like defending your brother over stealing sweets as children had always given you away to your septa.

The accusation doesn't phase Oberyn. "I did." He tells Tywin. "This is why I know." He takes another sip of his wine.

"Your hatred for my family is rather well known." Tywin lays out. "You arrive at the capitol, an expert in poisoning, some days later, my grandson dies of poisoning."

"Rather suspicious." Oberyn agrees. "Why haven't you thrown me in a dungeon?" He asks curiously.

You open your mouth to bite back at Lord Tywin but the nobleman mows over you as if he has entirely forgotten you are in the room. It makes you far more angry than you would have expected, but you certainly are not taking kindly to the line of questions he is taking with your husband. "You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?"

Amusement laces Oberyn's tone as he sits up. "You think we conspired together?" He asks.

Tywin doesn't answer, instead he asks again, "What did you discuss?"

"The death of my sister." Oberyn walks towards the taller man.

"For which you blame me." Tywin drones.

"She was raped and murdered by the Mountain." Oberyn stares the man down. "The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you."

The head of House Lannister nearly shrugs, but that would be too undignified a movement. "Here I stand unarmed and unguarded. Should I be concerned?"

"With a witness, Lord Tywin?" You tick one eyebrow up at him, watching your husband saunter closer to the man he names as his greatest enemy. "Or do wives only count as wallpaper?"

Oberyn smirks, proud of your comment. "You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that." He hums. "I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow."

Lannister's eyes flash back to you on the bed but he says nothing to you. His business is not with you this time. "Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge." He reminds the prince, but there is an air of satisfaction there that rings out and you do not like it at all.

"So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?" Oberyn demands.

"Categorically." Tywin murmurs, although it feels as false as his making you for a whore.

Oberyn stares at him for a long moment, rage filling his veins but he simply smirks and turns back to you on the bed to pick up his wine cup. "I would like to speak with the Mountain."

"I'm sure he would enjoy speaking with you." Lord Tywin Lannister is not a fool. He knows there are secrets in this marriage between the infamous prince with many bastards and the daughter from the Vale that all at court had either forgotten about or assumed would end a spinster. He simply does not know what those secrets are. Unfortunately for him, you seem thoroughly infatuated with your husband. That will make you harder to break.

"He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks." Oberyn hums, amusing himself as he imagines snuffing the life out of the Mountain slowly. He picks up a berry from the table and pops it into his mouth.

Tywin seems amused and he starts walking towards him. "I could arrange for this meeting." He offers.

Oberyn is no fool and he sits down on the bed beside you. "But you want something in return."

"There will be a trial for my son. And as custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict." As Lord Tywin comes closer, the conversation now seems to be suitable for your ears as well, and he casts a glance down at you wrapped in your husband's robe before looking back to Oberyn. " I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge." A fact he seems less than thrilled about but has obviously deemed necessary. "I would like you to be the third."

Oberyn is eating again throughout Twyin's little speech and he arches a brow. "Why?"

"Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon." Tywin reveals. "Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now they are our strongest allies.”

Oberyn huffs. "Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen." He snarks. "Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting."

"I will also ask you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors." The Lannister does not miss a beat, though he seems increasingly annoyed at Oberyn’s flippancy. "A residence in the capital dignified enough for your bride, of course, would be offered with such a position."

Obeyrn sets his cup down and turns around. "I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin."

Tywin looks pained as he admits, "we are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold. The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall." Twyin paces past you and towards the window. "And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons." Oberyn turns to look at the lord as he absorbs this news. If Doran knew of it, he did not reveal it before he had left for King's Landing. "Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons."

"You're saying you need us." You murmur in recognition, including yourself amongst the numbers of the Dornish. You may not yet have set foot there, or begun to understand your true duties, but you are a princess of Dorne with Dornish blood in your veins.

Oberyn can tell that your comment irritates Tywin, which means that it is true. "That must be hard for you to admit." He tells the Hand. Tywin jerks his head slightly, fidgeting as if he wished to shake off the unpleasant truth.

"We need each other." He manages after an insincere smile. "You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia's."

For a moment there is tense silence in the room, and then Tywin Lannister makes a grandiose show of holding his hand out to the Dornish prince. An offer is on the table. An opportunity to see through the thing that he knows Oberyn wants more than anything in this world – for his sister's brutalization and murder to be avenged. It is not a truce, but an agreement that each has something the other needs, and you all but hold your breath waiting to see what your husband will decide.

Oberyn stares at the man's hand for far longer than polite, making him think that he might not have sold his proposal. Only when he sees the doubt in the man's eyes does he reach out and capture his hand, shaking it with a smirking warning. "I do things my way, Lord Tywin."

"I did not expect anything else." The older man seems reluctant in his admittance of this fact but at least he has gotten what he needs. "I will have your quarters prepared for you at the Keep. A suite for you and your bride should suffice nicely." When his eyes turn to you they are icy cold. "I hear she is fond of the library."

“We will stay here.” Oberyn insists.

"It is hardly a long-term residence for a member of the small council." Tywin knew this would be a sticking point. That the prince's desire to keep far away from the place where his sister died would complicate issues. "The position affords you the comfort and prestige of a residence in the Red Keep. It is expected."

Frowning, Oberyn’s jaw clenches as he turns towards you. He had not anticipated staying longer than another week, but it might be longer if he sits in the small council. Your eyes are warm, and he smirks before he turns back to the Lannister. “I will need more rooms.” He tells Tywin. “For my lover, and for my servants.” He chuckles. “I have grown very fond of the service I receive here and I do not think the Red Keep can compare.”

The sound that the Lannister patriarch expels is caught between a tut and a chuckle, as if the prince's demands are ostentatious and amusing. A thing to entertain oneself with for a short amount of time and nothing more. A mere trifle. "I will arrange your accommodations," he nods, looking between you. "And send word when your rooms are ready."

“Now if you will excuse me, Lord Tywin.” Oberyn tosses off the shawl and crawls back onto the bed with a lecherous smirk. “I have a gorgeous young wife who I need to fill with my seed.”

"Of course." He strolls from the room without another word, thinking as loudly as he can that the prince's wife is not nearly as young as she should be if he intends to breed her.

Instead of kissing you, or starting to remove your clothes, Oberyn lays beside you, reaching out and caressing your hand. “What did you think of your first small council meeting?”

Waiting until you can hear the door at the end of the hall shut tight, you exhale slowly and look back at your husband with concern. "He wants more from you than he is saying," you murmur, keeping your voice low out of an abundance of concern. This feels like any average week with your upset mother as a child, laying in your brothers' bed with them and trying to figure out how to soothe her. "I do not know what, but we should be on our guard."

“Of course he does.” Oberyn agrees easily. “He is a Lannister. They always want more.” The smirk slides into a frown and he hates the thought of living in that fucking keep for even a day. “But I will not give him more than I wish to,” he assures you, leaning in and kissing your lips. “It means I must decide what I wish to do.” He pulls away and sighs softly, “I must go.” He tells you. “Talk to my men. You stay here with your lover and Ellaria.”

"Will you tell me what you decide?" You ask, concerned that this may be the threshold of what he includes you in.

He nods seriously. “Despite what the north might think, a Princess of Dorne must know what her husband knows.” He understands that he’s not bringing you now, but he needs to have some serious discussions with the men and that wouldn’t happen if he brought you.

"Do what you must, and we will be here for you when you return. But—" Your hand strikes out, caressing his cheek gently. "If you are to talk to your men, take Raeden with you. Ellaria and I will be safe here, and he must know all in order to protect us."

“Do not leave the brothel.” Oberyn cautions you, smirking slightly. “Maybe you and Ellaria can become better acquainted. A bath together?”

"I certainly need one," you huff slightly, half-rolling your eyes. "Or else I shall arrive at your side to the Red Keep smelling of sweat and cum."

“No sweeter scent to be had.” Oberyn chuckles, sliding his hand up your thigh and slapping your ass. “I will need my clothes.” He prompts. “As fetching as you look in them.”

"Of course." If you claimed that you had forgotten that you were wearing his robe it would be a lie, but it is soft and elegant and you cannot say that you do not enjoy wearing it. "My robe is in the other room." As if on cue, a soft moan sounds from beyond the door that connects to the chamber where Raeden and Ellaria slept last night. "It appears that our lovers are awake."

“They are.” He hums, listening to the sound of pleasure. “Should we watch?” He asks you seriously. “Do you wish to see your lover? Or wait until they are done?

"Let them enjoy their time," you decide, hearing Raeden's voice dip deep. Whatever Ellaria is doing, he is enjoying it thoroughly. "If you need to leave immediately, I will understand."

“It can wait.” He tosses his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “Damn Tywin and his sense of timing.”

"He could not have timed it better if he tried." Laying back in his arms, you frown at the thought. "I half suspect that he waited outside the room to make sure he was interrupting."

“It matters not.” Oberyn only hates that you felt exposed. His fingers drag down to the belt he had tied and quickly unknots it. “He will be jealous that he saw beauty he could not buy with his coins.” Once the robe falls open, his hand finds your breast and he palms it. “What does my Princess like in the mornings?”

“This,” you hum softly, leaning into his touch. Though it is not at all the question he is asking. “Will I not have plenty of things to keep me busy in the morning in Dorne? Running your household and seeing to royal duties?” Of course most responsibilities would fall to his brother’s wife, but to run a royal household will be a challenge to learn.

“No.” He hums in amusement. “The servants run the house.” He chuckles. “Is it not the way in your father’s house?”

“I did not think I would be cleaning a palace on my own,” you tease, laughing with him. “But who tells them what to cook for meals? When to expect visitors? Organize social events? Being a well-married woman is all about social engagements, according to my brothers’ wives.”

Oberyn scoffs and shakes his head. “Dorne is different. At least for my house.” He chuckles. “The cooks know our favorite foods and it will be a surprise to see who they cooked for that night when we sit down to eat.” He had thought it particularly genius of his brother’s wife to give them control over the food. “Unless there is a special event and then there will be arguments over what to serve with the cooks throwing things and shouting how their recipes are best.”

"I am sure I will learn what is expected of me soon enough." It sounds as though the things that you have been taught regarding how to run a household and be the lady of the house will not quite be right in Dorne. But this is not the time to agonize over that, considering Tywin Lannister has now bought your husband's presence in King's Landing for at least the next two weeks.

"Yes you will." He has no doubt that you will be a magnificent princess if your reactions to Lord Tywin's intrusion on a private moment is anything to go by. His eyes slide over your breast, watching as the bud of your nipple tightens, pulling the skin together. "How do you feel about staying in the Keep again?" He asks idly. "No doubt your bitch mother will moan to stay." He snorts. "Watch the festivities of Lord Tyrion's head being removed from his body."

"I will adjust, although I admit that the bath here is far superior to the one I had in the Keep," you smile slightly. "And unfortunately, Lord Tywin was correct about one thing. I do enjoy the library." After a moment, and a deep shuddering breath as his fingers continue to tease your skin, you sigh. "Do you think he did it?" From what you saw, the king's uncle looked as shocked as anyone else present. And you had not taken the man for any kind of actor or even a very good liar.

"I do not." Oberyn has his suspicions but he won't share them with you. Not to keep you in the dark, but to keep you safe. "Whoever killed the king had much more to gain than just a petty grievance. And Lord Tyrion had nothing to gain by killing his nephew."

"I suppose we will find out in two weeks." It is longer than either of you thought to stay in King's Landing, and not for a good reason, but you will try to make the most of it.

"It will not be a fair trial." Of that, he has no doubt. "At least you will be able to visit with the queen while you are there."

"She was very kind to me when we arrived." Queen Margaery, for better or for worse, is one of the only friendly faces that you know at the keep. "In fact, she encouraged me by only speaking good things of you. So I likely ought to tell her how right she was."

He hums thoughtfully, pausing his touch as he wonders why the Tyrell girl would speak so highly of him. Unless… "You must talk to her again." He encourages with a nod. "Offer her comfort and support."

"Of course I will." You would not dream of doing otherwise, after having been the person to stand in horror with her on the dais while King Joffrey lay dying. "I would not think to do anything else."

"She wants something from you." He reaches up to cup your chin and tilt your head up. "If there is a time to mention visiting Dorne, offer it to her and see how she reacts."

"I will." It is not a desirable feeling, to understand that the younger woman's friendliness might not have been true kindness or affection for you at all, but that is how the world works. Instead of falling to pieces over the unfairness of a possible lie, you nod. "And I will tell you when we speak of it."

He sees the doubt and the way your eyes dim slightly, hating that you have come to realize that your position makes you a most valuable friend to make. "She is scared, princess." He reminds her softly. "The Lannisters all but hold her hostage. She will have to marry Tommen."

"But..." Your mind whirls back into motion, realizing how little you actually have to regret. "He is...nine years old."

"And she will be expected to bed him." His lip curls in disgust or perhaps pity for the girl. While he was in a woman's bed when he was merely fourteen, he had not had the timidity of the future king.

"I cannot stomach that thought." Especially with your best guess that Queen Margaery is perhaps twice the young boy's age. You shake your head, listening for the last few moments of pleasurable sounds from the next room and lying back in the bed when your lovers fall silent again on the other side of the door.

"At least two of us found pleasure this morning." Obeyrn huffs, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. "We will find ours later. Unless you find it with Ellaria while your Ser Raeden and I are gone."

"Even if I find it with Ellaria," which you are not certain you will do, although the idea is no longer far-fetched. "It will not stop me from wanting to find it with you again tonight."

"Whatever you wish." He promises. "We must make sure the halls of the keep are filled with pleasure."

"And there is a chance we may be the only ones finding it." You huff slightly, but lift yourself from the bed to slip out of his robe completely. You can wear your thin shift to walk into a room whose occupants have already seen you bare. "We should tell them what has passed."

"We will." It would be an insult to both if he were to keep them in the dark about the day's surprising outcome. It would be futile anyway, because Ellaria would sense something is amiss and he is sure that Raeden is the same way.

A small knock at the door is enough, and you crack it open a respectfully small amount. Not to interrupt them the way you had been this morning. "Are you...is it...alright if we come in?"

Surprisingly, there is a shuffling of sheets and fabric in the dark. The sound of clothes being thrown on hastily takes a moment to recognize but Oberyn tilts his head curiously at the cause of such a thing.

Ellaria appears at the door a moment later with a smile and opens it wide. "Our lovers have emerged from consummating their marriage," she hums with a warm smile. "Have you enjoyed your morning as well?"

His brow ticks up, but he says nothing about the pause before. “It would have been wonderful if Tywin Lannister had not shown up and rudely interrupted my cock being ridden.”

The name makes Ellaria frown immediately and she moves aside to let you both in. "What happened, lover?" She asks with concern. Her hand finds Oberyn's easily and she leads him to the bed, assuming you will all sit together while he relates the tale. "What did he want?"

“I have been given a seat on the small council.” Oberyn informs her. “And I will sit on Tyrion Lannister’s trial.” He turns his dark eyes towards his lovers and sighs. “We will be moving into the Keep today.”

"Oberyn." Ellaria's frown deepens measurably. She knows how very little he must wish for such a thing, considering his sister's fate. "Are we to...to stay here?"

He understands what she really means and it makes him frown even more than he already is. "No." He tells her smugly. "I demanded additional rooms for my lover and servants." He juts his chin towards the door. "Cal and Leyth." He tells her. "They come with us. Pay Littlefinger whatever price he names."

"We will arrange it." You may not be as used to handling Oberyn's affairs as Ellaria is, but you must learn eventually. And someone who might try to brush off a prince's lover will do no such thing when dealing with a princess.

Ellaria's brow raises as she turns to look at you for a beat before turning back to Oberyn. "Of course lover, everything will be as you wish." She promises with a smile, leaning over and kissing him passionately, knowing he is unsettled in this turn of events.

Your robe is hanging from the back of a chair at the table along one side of the room, and you slip into it before making your way over to Raeden. "You enjoyed your night?" The question might be unnecessary, but wanting him to be happy and comfortable is your default feeling in regards to your soulmate.

“Very good.” Raeden admits, as he sweeps you into his arms to kiss you rather desperately. Sliding his tongue into your mouth immediately as if to pay penance to you for kissing another.

The comfort of having him near is immediate, letting you melt into his side and sigh open for him like a blooming flower. His arms around you are a protective wall of calm and safety, and a soft whine from the back of your throat is a reminder that you were very much interrupted this morning and you are still feeling cheated from your own pleasure.

“When your new lover is finished kissing his soulmate, Ser Raeden and I will go talk to the Lords of Dorne.” Oberyn tells Ellaria. “You and my wife stay in the brothel.” He cups her chin. “Please.”

"He will never be finished," Ellaria huffs an amused laugh, having found that it is something that Raeden thoroughly enjoys. Still, she sets her chin on Oberyn's shoulder and kisses his cheek softly. "You need only say the word and I will undertake anything for you, my love. You know this."

“I know.” He knows that Ellaria’s loyalty to him is unshakeable and yet he still worries about the murky waters he must tread to find satisfaction for Elia’s murder. “Tywin was not pleased to learn that my paramour was coming with me. He will be less pleased to learn the Princess has a paramour of her own.”

"He can shove his shriveled cock in a bucket of leeches," Ellaria huffs again but this time she rolls her eyes. "I doubt he feels pleasure unless he is on the battlefield. Frigid man." She shakes her head and does not move from his side. "Do what you must, my love."

He smirks, nodding as he reaches for her hand. You and Raeden are still wrapped up in each other and he laces his fingers with hers. "How was your night, my sun? Did your Raeden pleasure you like you had hoped?"

"He is sweet, and gentle." Ellaria smiles as though that is an indulgence. "Not timid, but eager to please. It will take some coaxing to find the animal in him, but I do not mind that."

"Yes, she said sometimes she wishes that he makes her ache." Oberyn turns and drops a kiss on her bare shoulder. "Was it his guilt that made you dress before opening the door?"

She nods - the explanation is a simple one and she gestures to the two of you on the edge of the bed together. "Hers was less so?" Ellaria guesses with a sly smile. "We heard you both."

"You know that I am irresistible." He jokes, winking at his lover. "Her cunt is perfect." He hums. "You will enjoy it." Now that the barrier of propriety has been broken, he has no doubt Ellaria will spend most of the day in bed with his wife. His neglected cock twitches at the idea.

"I will take care of her for you," Ellaria promises.

"Please do," Raeden looks up and his eyes on Ellaria are soft.

Oberyn leans in to kiss Ellaria again. "We must dress and then you will be meeting the other lords from Dorne, Ser Stone." He informs Raeden. "Tell them of what has transpired and what is to come."

"Aye." With one more kiss, Raeden stands and starts to dress, donning the Dornish robes that he now takes great pride in wearing. Oberyn pats his lover's hand before he stands to get ready so they can depart.

In mere moments they have gone, and you look to Ellaria with an unintentionally nervous expression. “Would you share a bath with me?” It is the most normal thing you can think to offer, and would keep the two of you together. Something that you know the prince is concerned with.

Her eyes flash with something indistinguishable but her lips curve into a sultry smile and she sways her hips as she moves towards you. "Of course, princess." She purrs, reaching out and stroking your cheek lovingly as she stares into your eyes. "I will have the servants prepare the bath and I will bathe you myself." She insists. "I am well familiar with the ache and mess that comes with being in the prince's bed."

“Ellaria…” as tempting as that sounds, and it does, you hesitate. “You…are not my maid. I asked because I wish to spend time with you.”

"And I offer because I wish." She promises with a small pat to your cheek. "You could not get me to act as your servant if you wanted." She is not boasting that fact, but it is true. Oberyn would never allow it.

“It is the last thing that I want.” You promise her quickly. “I admire you, Ellaria Sand. For your strength, and your confidence. I—I honestly hope to learn from you…if that is something you would allow.”

Her brows arch in surprise for a moment and the confidence falls away. The woman underneath shines through and her eyes soften as if you were her lover. She cups your cheeks and smiles at you. "Of course, princess." She nods, her thumbs stroking your cheek. "I will teach you whatever you wish to learn."

"You love him very much." That is beyond questioning, and you swallow the accompanying thought in your head as Ellaria takes your hand to guide you out of the shared chambers and down to the bathing room. "And you have lived in Dorne all your life. There is much more you can tell me about our home than the stories my grandmother could remember from her childhood."

Leyth is in the hallway, bringing a pitcher of wine to the room and Ellaria stops her, ordering a bath for you and her. She knows that the water will be ready before the two of you are even down the end of the hall. "I will tell you how the house works. It is very interesting." She chuckles as she watches the servant rush away.

"Please." After this morning's revelation, you desperately want to understand how things are run at the palace. "He told me that things are done differently than the north and now I have no bearing of what I am supposed to do, and–" You look to Ellaria so gratefully. "I do not want to disappoint or embarrass him."

"You will not do either of those things." She promises you with a small smile. "Doran resides at the Water Gardens since Sunspear is difficult to navigate with his chair. Often it is Oberyn who sits at Sunspear in his brother's stead."

"So that is where we reside?" It had never occurred to you that Ellaria and her children would live apart from Oberyn, especially since he has often referenced having his children nearby.

"Yes." She nods. "We often visit the Water Gardens so we have rooms there as well." She smiles. "It is lovely. Perfect for sparring the courtyard or frolicing in the cool waters."

"But most of the time we are in the capital." You nod, beginning to form a better picture of their life. "Prince Doran and his wife rule from the Water Gardens, then? It is fortunate that there is a place for them to reside that is better for his health. And...both staff have adjusted to how she prefers things to be run?" You must sound like an insecure child asking, but you want to do the very best job that you can.

“Mellario is a strong willed woman.” Ellaria nods. “But she is also unique in her ways of ruling. She believes the servants are happier if they feel they have purpose. A say in the running of the household. They created their own cleaning schedules and the palaces are sparkling. The menu is varied and often better than the best taverns.”

"Then that is how it will stay." It would hardly improve conditions or opinions of anyone involved for you to change things that not only work but also make people happy. "My role is then...to sponsor social engagements and to bear children?" Which does not sound like an unfortunate life at all, but you want to be sure you have not missed anything.

“You will be an advisor to your husband. A hand of the throne of Dorne when needed.” Ellaria opens one of the bottles of oil and sniffs, wrinkling her nose and putting the stopper back in it and choosing another. “Lords will come to you to solve their problems when Oberyn and Doran are unavailable. Women in Dorne are not chattel, we are also warriors.”

"A fact I doubt my mother had any idea of." And thank the gods for that, otherwise she never would have forced your father to agree to the arrangement. As horrible as it sounded to you weeks ago, that is how wonderful you find it now. "Is this why you did not want the title for yourself?" You ask her carefully, not at all trying to offend her. "To be free to live as you choose instead of ruling?"

"I am a bastard." She shrugs one elegant shoulder as she unstops another bottle and sniffs, humming in approval. "There would always be someone who would question my claim as Oberyn's soulmate or insult him." She turns back to you and lifts a brow. "I did not wish to have my lover kill that many men on my behalf." She smirks. "And I have no use for formalities."

“Something I excel at, for better or for worse.” You nod in understanding and let her lead you to the bath. “My mother made sure of it, of course.”

She pours the oil into the bath, the smell rising with the steam as it swirls through the hot water. "We all have our purposes." She hums as she pulls the ties to your robe. "You will strengthen the title of my lover and your husband."

"I wish I had your certainty." It is one of the things you envy most, if you are honest, but you offer Ellaria a smile and pull your own shift over your head. She has already seen you naked, there is no reason to be shy.

"You are lovely." Ellaria hums, her eyes sliding over your body with lust and approval at your boldness. She smiles and gestures for you to get into the water. "I will get our soaps and cloths."

“My reasons for being shy in front of you are gone.” The rising water is hot and you slip into it gladly. “I may not have your confidence with new lovers, but I certainly do not wish us to be strangers.”

"Tell me about your first lover." Ellaria gathers the necessary supplies to bathe and she quickly slips into the water after discarding her own gown to join you.

“She was my best friend, besides my brothers. Her father was the maester who kept my father’s library and she was the only other girl I knew who enjoyed reading the way I did.” When Ellaria begins to wash you, you relax subtly. She offered, you remind yourself. “That is how it began. Reading together.”

"Romantic." Ellaria hums. "Oberyn reads to me sometimes, it puts me right to sleep." She knows how to read, she's actually very good at it, but she does not have a taste for reading like her lover does. That man's mind is far sharper than hers and she knows it.

“We would read to each other under the trees in the garden. Fairy stories and histories. Tales of the old world and fictions that our fathers disregarded as drivel for little girls but were full of the best questions about life.” It is good to know that Oberyn has the same taste for reading that you do. It can be something you do together.

"You fell in love imagining together." Ellaria smiles as she imagines two girls reading and yearning for one another. Perhaps stealing a kiss in secret and giggling about in the dark while touching her lips. It is very innocent and her heart aches that you had to hide such a beautiful thing.

"We did." That might be the most accurate way of describing your years as a girl with Brynna, and you never would have thought to put it that way. "As we grew older, she was given a place in the kitchens and my mother became stricter about allowing us to spend time together. It was..." You trail off, looking down at your own hands before managing to look back at Ellaria in front of you. "It was the night I returned from my only other trip to King's Landing that she kissed me for the first time."

She drags the soapy cloth over your shoulders and down your chest. She's not bathing you to seduce you, so she doesn't grope as she cleans. "And how did you feel when she kissed you?" Had you ever been kissed by a boy before?"

"No one ever." You shake your head, deciding to watch her hand as it moves. Revealing this part of you is more exposing than even being naked. "We came home late and my parents sent me to bed right away. But Brynna brought a tray to my room and told me how much she'd missed me and..." It makes you feel a little silly to admit, but you do: "I was only fifteen. And when she kissed me I was so aroused that I moaned and I had no idea why."

Ellaria nods, waiting for you to continue your story. It will do you good to tell your story and have it accepted. She knows you will keep talking, like bleeding a wound of infection.

"For years it was no more than kisses." Despite feeling like you are rambling, you cannot seem to stop. The relief of being heard is far more powerful than you had expected. "Stolen in the garden or late at night in my room. The day that desire became too much for us to bear...I see now how we lied to ourselves. Only men could make love to women, according to my septa. So even though we felt enough guilt and shame to keep what we were doing a secret, we did not call it lovemaking."

"But it was addicting, wasn't it?" Ellaria asks gently. "It makes you crave those stolen moments." She could imagine that being the case, falling together as often as you could and stealing moments of sublime pleasure.

"For almost two years," you admit, finding Ellaria's eyes again. "And then one day I was out in the woods and nearly impaled by a boar. And Raeden saved me."

Her jaw tightens slightly and she relaxes into an indulgent smile. "You found your soulmate.” She nods. "And you felt as if you could not have both."

"It was more than that...we had an agreement." One that seems both childish and useless in retrospect. "I had promised her that when she met her soulmate that I would not come between them. She was free to marry for love and I was not, so who was I to be selfish with her?" You sigh, looking away again and feeling the old shame wash over you. "Instead, I met Raeden first, and she wished me love and luck with him. When she met her own soulmate a year or so later it seemed serendipitous."

"I am sorry." She really is. There has never been an issue of having to deny her feelings towards anyone, especially someone that she has loved. Guilt swirls in her stomach and she focuses on you. "Perhaps you can write to your first lover? Catch up on her life and fill her in on yours."

"I think she would be very surprised to hear all that has happened." Brynna's life is tranquil, as far as you know. Far better than yours was in many ways right up until a few days ago. "Her husband is a farmer, and the last I heard she has birthed two beautiful babies."

"Lovely." She hums. "And soon, perhaps, you will join her in the joys of motherhood." She knows how virile Oberyn is and you are still young enough to be bred easily. Unless you had decided to keep drinking your tea.

"It is in the hands of the gods." It surprises you how much that makes you smile, one hand gently touching your belly as if you must be terribly delicate with your own body when that is certainly not how you behaved last night.

"May the Seven shine on you." There is no jealousy if you wish to carry another of Oberyn's children. Her own womb has already been used many times and he would not love his children any less when he holds his legitimate heir in his arms. The little prince or princess would be raised with their Sand Snake siblings.

"I am...scared," you confess quietly, reaching out to stop Ellaria's arm and find her gaze. "I know that childbirth is not easy. I have seen that first hand. But I...I wish to do this."

"There is a tea." Ellaria smiles, reaching up and caressing your face. "Oberyn brewed it to help me through my labors. It helps with the pain and eases the birth." She's not quite sure what he had brewed but after the labor of the first, he had made it his mission to find something to ease her suffering. "You will have that tea, I promise you."

"Thank you." There is no shame in admitting to a mother of four babes that you are nervous of your first, but it is still a relief to be offered so much comfort. "My brother's wife nearly lost her life with her second child. I–" You tremble a little. "I cannot imagine leaving any of you behind. Let alone my child."

"It is an unfortunate part of giving life." Ellaria won't deny that. Too many women suffer and die while they are trying to birth their babies. "I am sorry you had to worry so about that but you will have my lover to dote on you." She smiles in fond remembrance. "The prince was very indulgent while I was carrying his daughters. I have no doubt he would lavish the same attention and affection on you."

"He loves you very passionately." There is a second part of that thought that you do not dare voice, but you smile at her and lean forward, pressing an affectionate kiss to her cheek. "And you are so very deserving of it. Thank you for soothing my fears, Ellaria. For...if it is not altogether too forward of me...for being my friend."

"I am hopefully to be a lot of things to you." She purrs, reaching out and touching your shoulder. "What we become will come with time, but for now, I am most definitely your friend."

"Oberyn had hoped we might indulge each other while he is with the lords," you admit, allowing yourself to enjoy the warmth of her touch. "But that is up to you."

"We should wait." Ellaria decides, frowning slightly and shakes her head. "There is much to be done to get ready to move to the Red Keep." She looks at you earnestly. "We will need to order plenty of Dornish wine to be found and provided to us, he will be uneasy in that keep."

"I would not want to be anywhere one of my brothers died." The understanding washes over you, extinguishing any arousal that might have been building, and you nod. "And we must see what it will take to convince Lord Baelish to give up Cal and Leyth."

"Yes." She arches a brow. "You will not oppose having them serve you in the Keep, will you?" She knows that you accept Oberyn having lovers, but it is a different thing to have whores serve you.

"I would only object to it if they did not wish to serve us." Maids, whores, servants – it does not matter to you as long as it is work being done of one's own free will. Forced labor and slavery are abominations you will not accept.

“We will have to pay for them.” That is an unfortunate truth. “But they will be free to leave our side once their debt to Littlefinger is paid.”

"That is a relief." There is much to do, and you soak your hair carefully, making sure that no knots have been left behind from the night before while Ellaria washes herself. The two of you are done in the bath before long and you both dry off to don your robes again and go back upstairs.

“I will find Baelish and make sure that he knows that Cal and Leyth are coming with us.” Ellaria hums as she sweeps into the room.

"I will make sure that my things and Raeden's are packed." It was not as if you had unpacked much, especially considering you had only been in the brothel with Oberyn and Ellaria for a few days.

“Good.” Ellaria looks at you seriously. “We are going to a place that will be very dangerous.” She cautions. “Do not speak around the servants unless they are ours.”

"I will remember." You promise her. The maids, as they say, know everything.

She smiles and nods at you before quickly turning back to her trunk to find a gown to change into. Not a normal one that she has no problem tossing to the ground in a moment but one that reminds Baelish that she is Oberyn’s lover and has been for years.

******

There is an unhappy, squat man in Littlefinger’s office when she arrives, and he does not look up from his accounts book. “If you want a whore, go to the front room and wait. If you want a job, go away. No room for novices here.”

Ellaria snorts and does neither of those things. She strides up to the desk and reaches over, closing the book on the man’s fingers. “You think the Prince of Dorne’s lover is a novice?” She demands haughtily.

He looks like the sort of man to whimper and whine and he is - attempting to snatch his hand away and failing. “What do you want?” He demands, trying to wiggle his way out of the book again. “Lord Baelish isn’t here.”

“There are two whores that I want to take with me.” She smirks, leaning over and staring at him with an amused gaze. “Prince Oberyn wants them to come when we leave your establishment.”

“We don’t sell our whores.” The man tells her, gaze obviously aimed down her blouse instead of at her face. “Might trade, though. He can take one if he leaves you behind.”

It’s not smart of the sniveling little weasel to have a dagger out on the table whilst insulting her. Her own temper isn’t quite as fierce as her lovers, but her aim is just as precise. Snatching up the dagger, she buries the tip of the blade into the man’s hand and through the leather cover of his book, pinning his hand to it.

“Seven HELLS!” The weasel bellows like he’s had the air punched out of his lungs, jumping up from his seat only to pull himself back down again immediately when he realizes his hand isn’t going anywhere. “You goatfucking cunt!”

Her eyes flash and her own dagger comes out, pressed to his Adam’s apple just enough to knick the skin. “I fuck a prince, not a goat, you limp dicked bastard.”

“Aye!” He would nod if it would not impale him on her blade, instead his eyes flit between the two weapons in panic. “Oo—of—of course!” He squeaks with his watery eyes landing on her face again. “Wh—whatever you say!”

“Now.” Satisfied that she had gotten her point across and manners would be observed, she pulls the dagger away and resheaths it inside a pocket of her dress. “There is the matter of payment for Cal and Leyth’s freedom from this establishment.” She hums conversationally, a small smile playing on her lips. “I think we can come to some agreement?”

Scrambling for anything to stem the flow of blood sends the man halfway across the room for a length of fabric that was surely hanging in one of the brothel rooms only yesterday. He wraps it around his hand furiously, crying out in pain and groaning in frustration. Littlefinger will have his head for losing Leyth. “Together they are expensive,” he warns, hoping to discourage the desert dwelling bitch.

“More expensive than the price you put on your cock?” She asks, arching a perfect brow and pursing her lips. “Perhaps you would rather I tell the prince that you are unwilling to deal with me?”

“No.” Being unwilling to deal with the second Prince of Dorne could see him dead as well as cockless, and he shudders. “Fifty gold for them both,” he bargains, knowing that Littlefinger paid far less. The least he can do is make his employer a tidy sum.

She knows that he is trying to strong arm her and she crosses her arms. “Your boss has fled the city, he is not coming back. Change is coming to King’s Landing. Thirty gold and be glad to have two less to feed.”

If he were not currently bleeding out through his hand he might fight harder. He might bargain and deal. He might even see his way to getting his own profit out of this deal. But it’s either his life or Littlefinger’s whores. “Fine.” He huffs, Nearly snarling at the pain in his wound. “Pay now and take them today. They are no longer my problem.”

“Done.” She muses, turning on a charming, if somewhat sharp, smile. From another pocket, she pulls a purse of coins and opens it. Dumping the amount, forty coins, onto the desk. “Our bill is settled and we will be leaving your fine establishment. I do hope you have a good day.” She purrs, holding out her hand. “Their keys.”

Frowning heavily, the man pulls a heavy ring from his pocket and fumbles with it for a moment before thrusting it at the woman with a huff. “They are twenty-two and fifteen,” he tells her, referring to the numbers etched in the keys. “Cannot work the fucking latch with one hand.”

Ellaria plucks the keys from his hand and quickly unlatches it to retrieve the keys that she is looking for. “Pleasure, I’m sure.” She snorts, tossing the rest of the keys down on the desk and turning around to sashay out of the room. “Do have someone look at that hand.” She calls over her shoulder.

******

Cal is in the halls when Ellaria emerges around a corner again, having been sent to Please other guests when he was not desired by the prince last night. “My lady,” he bows her head to her respectfully, having heard the screaming coming from the office just minutes ago. “I…trust everything is well?”

“Everything is marvelous.” Walking up to him, she curls her hand around his neck and pulls him in for a soft kiss. “If you have any belongings, or wish to say goodbye to anyone, do it now.” She tells him, handing him the key to his bracelet. Rather than garish chains, Littlefinger had decorative bracelets on the wrists of the people in his brothel.

“Are we going somewhere?” He asks, rather bewildered. Cal had already become very comfortable with the prince, it’s true, but Littlefinger would never send anyone away for more than an errand. It is not as though he was in the habit of lending out his whores.

“You are free from this place.” Ellaria explains. “You are free to come with the prince, princess and I, or you can leave at your discretion.” She pauses, placing her hand on the man’s arm. “Although the prince would love for you to stay with us. Come to Dorne.”

“Leyth?” She is his only hesitation, and he knows that Ellaria Sand understands. That she would not say such things and offer freedoms lightly. There is a catch. There always is. But a whore to a prince is still better than a whore to Petyr Baelish. All he cares about is that his love will not be left alone in this place.

“The other key is for Leyth.” Ellaria smiles, understanding the deep affection and love the two have for each other. She had not missed the subtle touches that are not shared with their patron for the night. She holds up the other key to offer it to him. “Do you wish to give it to her?”

“She is upstairs. With the princess.” He nods and accepts the two keys as the precious items they are. The only times he’s seen bracelets come off of Littlefinger’s whores they were usually headed for the gravedigger’s cart.

“Cal.” Ellaria stops him with another serious tone. “We are offering – not commanding.” She reminds him. “We will need you to act as servants at the Red Keep, but we do not own you. You own yourself.”

“Will the prince pay us?” He asks quietly. No one here ever saw a single coin of what they earned their employer and certainly were never asked for a single damn thing. It was always commanded. “Shelter us? See we are fed?”

“The prince has already demanded quarters for you in the palace and he is a fair man.” She nods. “You eat the same foods we do, and your coins earned are yours to keep. The Dornish crown pays their servants well.”

“Would…” he hesitates, but Cal has felt more comfortable and cared for as a person by the prince that paid for his company than by his own family. “Questions will keep for later,” he decides. “Let us tell Leyth the good news.”

“Delightful.” Ellaria beams, wrapping her hand around the man’s forearm as if he was a lord escorting her through a garden. She feels like he will come with them if Leyth agrees.

The quiet conversation coming from the prince’s quarters is muffled by the usual sounds from the other rooms, but it stops entirely when the door opens. You have been very careful with what you say and to whom today, meaning that you have ceased speaking altogether anytime a new person has come to the rooms. Seeing Ellaria makes you sigh with audible relief. “Have you been successful?” You ask, hoping that the appearance of Cal beside her means the answer is yes.

Her self satisfied smile is answer enough but she nods. “I have. We are ready to leave as soon as we are packed.”

“Nearly.” With Leyth’s help things have gone quickly. “Very nearly.”

“We will be sorry to see you go.” Leyth admits, looking to the elegant Ellaria fondly. She loves Cal very much, that is true, but she has developed a quick affection for the prince’s paramour in addition.

Ellaria looks to Cal and nods. “Why don’t you tell her?” She asks the former brothel worker. She feels like it would be much appreciated coming from the woman’s lover. Sliding away from his side, she walks over to you and takes your arm, turning to watch.

Cal nods, struggling to find words enough when something so momentous is within reach. Leyth was sold to Littlefinger in her twelfth year and has now lived as many years under his thumb as she had in freedom. “My love,” he murmurs, taking both of Leyth’s hands in his and pressing his forehead to hers gently. “The prince and Ellaria, they have…they have offered us a new path.” Placing her key in the palm of her hand, Cal closes his love’s fingers around the metal and nods when he sees the water rise behind her eyes. “She says we are welcome to follow them to Dorne and that there is room for us in the Red Keep as their servants if we wish it.”

“You would be most welcomed.” Ellaria assures the other woman. “But if you choose to go elsewhere, the prince will give you enough money to settle. As payment for the pleasure of your company over the past days.”

“Servants as in…a lady’s maid?” Leyth looks to you with hope in her eyes. The four of you have always been kind to her and to Cal, and she has begun to learn you over the last few days.

“If you wish it.” That would certainly be helpful to you, at the very least. Leyth is clever and very beautiful, and seems to be quite good at reading people’s needs. “But if you should ever find that it does not suit you, or you dislike it, I promise to release you from it with no malice. You should be free to choose your own path.” We all should, is the end of that thought, but you do not add it. It is best to remain unsaid in a room full of people who have not often had that option.

Cal holds her hand and squeezes it gently. “They offer us more than we can ever hope.” He murmurs softly. “It is a most gracious gift we have been handed.”

“Where you go, I go.” There is no question for her in that. Leyth squeezes Cal’s hands tightly and pushes up on her toes to kiss him softly. Normally it is an act that would see them scolded if not punished. Now, for the first time, they are unafraid.

Ellaria hums, pleased by their apparent agreement and she turns to smile at you. “We will need to dress them in something more appropriate, let us give them a moment and dig through our trunks?” She’s meaning hers and Oberyn’s, guiding you to the other room.

“What did Baelish say?” You move straight back to packing, bringing the things that were bought yesterday in the market over to your trunk to secure their safety. The necklace, books, and other trinkets are precious, of course. But the ring that Oberyn chose for you specifically sits on your finger right where it should. The most precious of them all.

“Baelish has fled the city.” Ellaria murmurs. “Apparently with Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion’s wife.” She moves to her trunks and kneels down. Just like Raeden will wear Dornish colors, so will Cal and Leyth. “Amber for Leyth.” She murmurs to herself as she pulls out dresses.

“He will have gone home. The Fingers of the Vale hold little appeal for Petyr Baelish, but Lady Sansa is a niece of Lysa Arryn. I would wager my favorite boots that he has taken her there. To safety.” Carefully extracting a length of cloth to use as a wrap over your dress is the last order of business before locking your trunk. “Does Oberyn have more clothing to be bestowed? For Cal?”

“He does.” Ellaria motions towards his trunk. “Open it and find something for him. Will you?”

The freedom to simply explore your husband’s belongings is strange, but worth Ellaria giving you permission, you feel secure enough that he would not be upset. “He will be happy that they are coming with us.” For assistance as much as for pleasure, you are sure of that. “I only hope that things are not as dour at the keep as he predicts they may be.” A packet of clothing in the prince’s trunk looks to be similar - if a bit finer - to what the carriage driver was wearing the few times you have ridden at the prince’s side. “These will do well, I think?”

Ellaria glances over and nods. “Cal will look good in that.” She agrees with an approving smile. “Once we are back in Dorne, they will be free to wear what they wish. But while we are in King’s Landing, Oberyn would want them to wear symbols of his house.”

“He knows which rules to play by.” And which to disregard or flaunt, of course. But that is a part of his charm. “I will learn the rules that are different in Dorne. As quickly as I can.”

“Dorne will not be hard for you to master.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Despite the reputation they like to perpetuate here, we are civilized. And have greater respect for most under our care.”

“Dorne will expect their princess to have a spine.” The most you can do about that right now is shrug. “I seem only to find mine when my mother is being horrible or when someone I care about is endangered.”

“When you have been expected to be a pretty ornament, it is easy to be cowed.” Ellaria reminds you. “Yet when it counts, your spine is stronger than the Wall. You will do well when you realize your full potential.”

“I hope your faith in me is better founded than my own fear.” Faith which makes you bold enough to lean over and place a kiss on Ellaria’s cheek. “Thank you.”

She turns her head and presses her lips to yours firmly. Reaching up and holding your arms to hold the kiss for a long moment before she pulls away to stare into your eyes seriously. “The last thing I ever wish for you is any kind of hurt.”

“I feel the same.” You can promise her that, although you are reasonably certain that of the two of you, you are the only one left dizzy after a shared kiss. “You are a gift I did not realize that I needed.”

A cloud of doubt passes through her eyes but it’s blinked away and she smirks at you. “Of course I am.” She teases with a wink. “Let us see how the lovers are dealing with their change of fortune.”

“We have found you some new things.” You report with a smile when the door to the other room opens. “Symbols of a new life.” There are tears in Leyth’s eyes and she looks towards you and Ellaria with fear and joy in her expression. “There is no reason to cry.” Immediately stepping forward, both of your arms come around Leyth and you hug the younger woman to you in earnest. “I was scared at first, too. But you know the prince will treat you well. And I promise that I will, too.”

“There–” Leyth shakes her head and bites her lip. “There is something that I must confess before I accept your offer.”

“Tell me,” you insist, your hands moving to her arms to clasp her close. “Whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as so many tears.”

“I….cannot have children.” She admits with a sob and shake of her head. “If– the prince wanted to– I could not give him a child. Or anyone a child. Littlefinger made sure of it.”

“He made sure of it?” Your forehead pinches and your eyes narrow a little, trying to understand her meaning. “The prince will not be upset with you for not being able to bear his child. There are many women without that ability through the decree of the gods. But he may be very angry with Lord Baelish if he has hurt you in some way.”

“I was taken to a man when I was first bleeding.” She explains, looking between you and Ellaria. “He– I woke up in pain and was told that I would not bleed again. And I have not since then. Littlefinger appreciated that I would not have to rest the week of my bleeding like others.

“You have not bled since the first time?” That seems rather impossible to you. Or at least you have never heard of it.

“He took her womb.” Ellaria rasps through gritted teeth. Fury is etched into her face as deeply as your own confusion is. “To avoid losing profit.”

Leyth nods, relieved that Ellaria understands what she is saying but she shrinks back from the fury on the other woman’s face. She hates thinking that the beautiful woman would not find her worthy now of saving. “Yes. I– I am sorry. Littlefinger forbade me from speaking of it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” As horrified – and yes, confused – as Ellaria is angry, you reach for Leyth again instantly. “A terrible thing was done to you by a man who, I am sure, has done the same to countless others. It is despicable but it is certainly nothing for you to be sorry on.” Ellaria advances too, sure steps that have her sweeping the young woman up in her arm as surely as she is putting her other hand on your back. “There is nothing to fear from Oberyn,” she promises, all but coping softly the way a mother might to a frightened child. “There will be children enough in Dorne for you to be surrounded by if you wish it, and if you do not then send them off to their mothers or fathers or their ten thousand Sand siblings. You need not fear us, lover.” The last she promises with a sealed kiss, as tender as could possibly be from a woman who just moments ago looked ready to walk through each of the seven hells.

Leyth’s lips trembles against Ellaria’s, she had been so sure that the prince and his paramour might want to sire a child off of her, the idea had been proposed by several who had come to the brothel. She had no wish to disappoint the one pair she would have wished to do that for. Cal knew, but their love would have never been able to result in a child. Not here. She pulls back and looks towards both you and Ellaria. “I would be honored to be your lady’s maid.” She tells you both quietly. “I can serve you equally.”

“I am not a lady.” Ellaria reminds her, brushing her fingers over Leyth’s cheek.

“You are far more of one than you think.” Though you will never question her role in Oberyn’s life or her sense of self, you can certainly recognize that. “We will be honored to have your assistance, Leyth. Though the things we require your assistance for may differ slightly. And if you ever decide that service is not the life you wish to lead, you have only to tell us.”

Looking over at Cal, she nods. “You have treated us better in the few days we have been together than probably any other time in our lives.” She gushes, reaching up and covering Ellaria’s hand with her own. “The Seven surely sent you.”

“The Red Keep will not be an easy place.” Ellaria warns them. “Oberyn will be strict, but he trusts you both.”

“Of course he must be strict.” She knows that, especially because of the tensions have been rising around the city with the king’s murder. “It cannot be any worse than the brothel with the worst customers.”

“Far less, I should think.” Whatever small comfort you can manage to offer, you’re certainly going to. “Whatever packing you have to do or goodbyes you want to say, go and do them. We cannot be sure when the prince will return and our move to the Red Keep will be swift.”

“Yes my lady.” Leyth beams and bows respectfully before turning and grabbing Cal’s hand to disappear.

“That is one less issue,” you sigh softly. Leyth and Cal seem positively eager for their change in fortunes now that Leyth’s fears have been allayed. “What else is there for us to do here? Only finish packing?” Ellaria knows more of the prince’s belongings than you do and will know of anything is out of place.

“Finish packing and pick out outfits for us to arrive to the Keep.” Ellaria tells you. “He will want to make a statement.”

A statement from Prince Oberyn could be any number of things, but you nod. He had mentioned that there were gowns in his trunk that were meant to be gifts for you. It seems like now would be the time to look for them.

“They will not be as scandalous as you could wear.” She assures you. “However, they are bold dresses.”

“I think anything bold would be scandalous from me,” you half joke, pulling out a gown of fine silk that shines with the same orange as fire. The skirts flutter like leaves on the breeze and the sleeves are no more than glistening gold chains that cling to a cuff to hold their shape. It is nothing like the structured gowns you have worn in the past and would show your body’s natural figure to advantage even while being modestly covered. “Do you have a necklace like the one the prince gave me?” You ask Ellaria, holding the dress up to the mirror in the wall. “The more delicate version of what he wears around his neck?”

“I do.” Ellaria nods. She rarely wears it, as it is meant for the official Martell royals, but he had insisted that she have one after the birth of Elia. “What is your clever mind thinking?”

“That we ought to appear as united as possible.” It is only too bad that there is not also one for Raeden, but perhaps in time. “The three of us would look quite the formidable party if we arrived wearing them together.”

“Of course we will.” She hums happily. “And Raeden will look resplendent in his Dornish colors.”

"He will. That is – he already does." You fluster slightly, as if you feel guilty for being caught not mentioning him quite enough. "I wish we had time to commission a banner for him. For House Stone. But that cannot be done in just one day."

“No, he will need to make sure his banner is something impressive.” Ellaria agrees. “One that he can build a legacy with.”

“I know it is not the name he thought he would make for himself.” Smoothing the dress in your arms, you hesitate for a moment but turn to drape the silk over the nearby bed. “But what he has wanted, more than anything, is to make his family proud. Whether that family will be his parents or this new House, I cannot say. It is only that…I wish for him to have the entire world of happiness. The Seven have surely heard his prayers, and I hope they have heard mine as well.”

“You do understand that he might have to marry?” She broaches the subject carefully. “As a new, emerging house, he would need to have legitimate children.”

“I…am not anxious to think about it. Which is unfair, as he was made to stand by and witness my own marriage.” Being able to admit that to Ellaria is both surprising but also a circumstance that makes you sick to your stomach. “It is surely not a thought for this immediate moment, is it?”

“Of course not.” She smiles and nods, reaching out to pat your hand. “We must get through our challenge of staying in the Red Keep first.”

“Although I am certain the thought will fester now that it has a voice.” You shake your head and step back toward the bed, willing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“I– apologize.” She murmurs softly. “I should not have spoken on it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” She, of all people, understands your own distress at knowing your soulmate’s marriage is now inevitable. “After all…whoever the woman will be…is she not to me, exactly who I am to you?”

“Perhaps.” She nods slightly, not giving voice to the thought that had already passed. She could not break your heart that way and still has not come to terms with it herself.

“I should be lucky if I like her even half as much as you seem to like me.” That is, you should think, too much to even dream of. Whoever Raeden ultimately gives his name to — that wonderfully lucky woman — you can see yourself disliking her in principle. Like some pride-driven mad woman who masks her grief with seeming greed.

“I should hope you would.” Ellaria admits quietly and then changes the subject. “Let us get ready for our latest challenge and face it, putting away these issues.”

“Practical and wise.” The smile you offer her this time is genuine. Unstrained and earnest. “Would you like me to help you change?”

“No.” Ellaria quickly shakes her head and her smile turns sultry. “If you help me change, then we will will get too distracted to manage anything else. Since I put a dagger in the hand of Littlefinger’s man, I feel like we should abandon this place with as much haste as we can muster.”

“You—?” That is unexpected news indeed, and you very nearly snap forward to attention. “Yes, I think you are very right. We should be ready to go just as soon as Raeden and Oberyn return.”

Relieved that you believe the potential reason for her denial, she motions towards your room. “Go change and finish packing. I will join you soon.”

The air seems thicker around the Red Keep than it did in Flea Bottom despite there being fewer people and less activity. The world stands still here, in a way, though most lives continue as usual even in the wake of the king’s passing. The cloud of grief around the keep seems almost tangible, though. As if it were its own living and breathing entity. When the carriage stops at the steps of the fortress that your party will now call home, the collective inhale you take with Oberyn and Ellaria feels like sailors waiting for their ship to capsize. None of you wants to be here and it is each for your own reasons. At least - mercifully - the hand that helps you out of the carriage is Raeden’s this time. He had insisted on riding ahead of the carriage to keep an eye out for anything unusual. Now he squeezes your hand as you step down onto firm ground and offers you a subtle nod that is a promise: Nothing is going to harm you. Not while he is around.

Raeden nods respectfully, his dark eyes on you for a long moment before he finally withdraws his hand to help Ellaria from the carriage. Oberyn will come out last and the carriage behind you with the luggage, Cal and Leyth is already being unloaded. “My ladies.” Raeden bows as he backs up and then stands tall to place his hand on his sword hilt.

There has not been a time since your very first visit to King's Landing that you have actually enjoyed spending time in the Red Keep, and now you feel your own dread run parallel to the prince's. There are people here you would both prefer to avoid and places you would rather not revisit. While Cal and Leyth spirit your trunks away with footman and the prince's driver takes the carriage away to be stored elsewhere on the grounds, you find yourself grateful that Raeden is at your left while Oberyn is on your right. Ellaria on the prince's other arm makes the four of you a veritable wall of formidability. Or it would, if not for the powder-white specter of Queen Margaery waiting to receive you just inside the walls of the keep.

“Prince and Princess Martell.” She smiles graciously, although she is still adorned in head to toe black and then clasps her hands together as her eyes flutter towards Ellaria. “And esteemed guest.” She doesn’t know Ellaria’s name officially, but she nods respectfully. “Welcome to the Red Keep.”

The situation is...precious. To term it gently. And though Margaery was married to the king and she is being hailed as queen by many, it was abundantly clear to all present that the new couple did not have the opportunity to consummate their vows -- which technically renders the marriage void now that King Joffrey has died. Still, you bow your head in respect. "Ellaria Sand, your Majesty." It is a choice, to acknowledge her as queen, and you make it because you know it will annoy Cersei Lannister which will in turn amuse Oberyn. "And Ser Raeden Stone." Your left hand waves to the man to your other side. "Of House Stone."

“House Stone.” Her brow arches in surprise and her eyes fall down to the newly carved signet ring. Her eyes flicker over to Oberyn and understanding flashes in their depths. “Well Ser Stone, I have a feeling you will be very welcomed at court.” She purrs with a small smile. “It has been a long time since there has been new blood.”

As proud as he is - as the title and the reality of it makes him - Raeden draws up just a mite taller despite knowing how many ill intentions truly lurk within the halls of society. "Thank you, your Majesty," he intones with an appropriately deep bow. If only his father could see him now. Speaking to the queen as a peer. Even with Oberyn between you, you can feel the sheer effort it takes Ellaria not to look over at you. Considering the conversation you so determinedly agreed not to have earlier today, your stomach nearly drops with dread. A fact which you hope does not cause the poised and placid expression on your face to waver. "You are very kind to welcome us, your Majesty. I am sure the day has been most trying for you."

“It is not how I expected to spend my first days as a Baratheon.” She admits before she turns to Prince Oberyn. “The rooms you have requested have been prepared and I will inform the servants that Ser Raeden is amongst you. Oberyn shakes his head, unwilling to let go of either of you. “It will not be necessary.” He tells her. “We have decided not to impress your staff with more work and brought our own servants. Ser Raeden is my hand to see about making sure all I wish to accomplish in King’s Landing is done.” He smirks. “It will be good lessons for setting up his own noble household.”

Never mind that Raeden has always lived more amongst servants than he has any experience in ordering them about, he does not fidget or flinch at your side when royalty speaks directly about him. It will be plenty to wrap his head around later on, out of sight. "Perhaps your Grace would enjoy a walk through the gardens later?" Remembering what Oberyn had told you about fostering a friendship with the queen, you are not about to disappoint him now, and you step forward to offer her your hands. "This time must be so trying for you and you have been so kind to me. Allow me to return the favor."

“It seems as though you have robbed the Vale of the kindest woman amongst them.” Margaery looks as though she’s been saved from a hanging noose and reaches out to clasp your free hand. “Perhaps your– Ellaria, would also like to join us?” While she is not one that normally visits with mistresses, this will upset Cersei and she knows that the woman is very close to the prince. To bestow her kindness would only be looked upon favorably and she needs allies.

Unsure what Ellaria might answer to that, you know better than to accept or deny the invitation on her behalf. "That decision would be entirely up to Ellaria, but I think it might be a marvelous way to lift your spirits."

A silent conversation passes between the prince and his paramour before she turns to the queen. “I cannot comprehend turning down an offer from the queen.” Ellaria proses elegantly. “The Princess and I will rally your spirits in such a desperately sad time.”

"We will certainly do everything we can." You squeeze the queen's hands gently before letting go of them. "Thank you for the kind respect of being here to greet our party, but we will not take more of your valuable time this afternoon." Being seen, being received, and then making yourselves scarce will make you worth talking about. It is a tactic taught to you by your oldest brother. "We will call on you tomorrow morning for our garden walk, if that is convenient for you."

“Perfect.” She nods and smiles before she turns away and tries to walk away with her head held high, but there is a nervous tension that was not there before.

You turn back to your group with an expression of bewilderment and reach to grasp Ellaria's hand as if in apology. It is not as though you could tell the queen 'no'. "I think tomorrow morning will be very eventful for us."

“She is scared.” Ellaria watches the path the queen had skittered away on and turns to you and Oberyn. “She is looking for protection if needed.”

"We will see what we can divine tomorrow?" Rather than the statements of surety you had shared with the queen, with your husband you are more inclined to ask questions. To make sure you are doing things that fall in line with whatever his plans might be.

Oberyn nods and he slides his hand up to both of your cheeks. “Get into her confidence. We will need to know what is happening that isn’t being brought before the small council.”

"I will." You would do practically anything he asked of you but simply had not realized it yet. What you do consciously is nod into his hands as though he has given you the most precious instruction in the world.

"Good girl." It is not meant to be demeaning, just praise. Oberyn's eyes soften towards you and his fingers curl slightly, admiring your willingness to enter the games of intrigue and subterfuge that most nobility insisted on playing. He played it as well, but only when it suited him. Leaning in, his kiss is not demanding, but it is a statement to any who pass through the bailey of the keep.

You let it linger longer than you should, you know that. But the infatuation you have with your husband only seems to grow and he is the first person you have ever been allowed to show affection for in public. In fact, he encourages it. Something which you now take full advantage of and let this kiss last as long as it naturally wishes to before pulling away.

“Go settle into our rooms.” He urges you softly, turning to Ellaria. “I will have a meeting with the small council and don’t know when I will be back.”

Ellaria’s own kiss for Oberyn is deeply passionate, and she nods when she pulls away. “I will be waiting for you, lover.” The small smile on her lips twists in your direction. “But I cannot promise that your bride will not have ensconced herself in the library already.”

“Then we will have to drag her away come time to dine together.” Oberyn chuckles. “I imagine there will be several books laying around.”

Your cheeks burn with the teasing but you grin, and even Raeden chuckles softly. “It would not be the first time she has missed a meal for the desire to continue reading.”

“I wonder if she will be so inclined to read her book if her cunt is being licked.” Oberyn muses.

“Gods, Oberyn!” Despite the curse, and the obvious embarrassment, the smile on your lips is pleased and affectionate. It is as if the days of doubting you could care for him have evaporated into air.

He chuckles and steps back, looking towards Raeden. “We will be back soon.” He promises, “but you will be in the small council meeting with me. As my hand.”

“I have never heard of a prince having his own hand.” Raeden’s eyebrow raises, making a smirk. “We will surely be the most talked of arrivals. Although I gather that was your plan all along.”

“Always make an impression.” Oberyn advises seriously, though his own smirk plays on his lips. “It will keep them guessing.”

“As you say, my lord.” Both men look as if they might end up giggling at any moment when Raeden nods and steps back for the prince to lead the way.

“It is good to see that Raeden has become more comfortable around Oberyn.” Ellaria observes, dropping the ‘your’ from her normal description of the man.

“I think perhaps we are all a little more relaxed than we might have been at first.” Certainly you are, though your gratitude for Ellaria and admiration for her are entirely mixed up together.

“It is a new situation for all of us, some discomfort was to be expected at the beginning.” She links her arm through yours and leans into you. “I know my lover did not disappoint you.”

“I—” Embarrassment burns Your face as you begin to walk together, and you have to scold yourself not to look down at your feet. The prince wants you to make an impression but surely not one of an embarrassed schoolgirl. “I should not be surprised that you heard. I imagine those down the hall did as well…”

“He is good at dealing either pleasure or pain.” She hums in amusement. “You should have seen him in the fighting pits. Bloody and sweaty coming out victorious and then ready to fuck all night.”

“Somehow I have no trouble imagining that.” And yet the idea of the man you have married being in the fighting pits at all now terrifies you so you change the subject immediately - landing on a topic that makes you only mildly less sick. “Raeden prefers lovemaking.”

“He is a sweet lover.” Her eyes cut over to you and she flusters slightly. “I hope that our own interlude did not cause any offense?”

“That would be horrifyingly hypocritical of me.” There will never be precisely a good time to breach the subject, but you clear your throat softly and lower your voice. “It had been discussed— that is, between the prince and myself — that..” Desperate to be discreet, you look around you and lower your voice again to barely murmur to Ellaria. “That I will no longer take my tea in the mornings…”

Eyes widening slightly, Ellaria lights up. “A new babe.” She breathes out, almost dreamily. “The entirety of Dorne would be celebrating their birth. A new prince or princess.”

“Then I hope they are swift in their arrival and possessing wonderful health.” Having the first person you tell be the woman who has already borne four of his children makes you nervous in a way you had not expected. As though there may be some part of the creation of the babe that you do not yet know of. “I am anxious for it, but also excited. At the moment I am not sure which is more dominant.”

“It will be strange and wonderful.” She promises, smiling softly. “Oberyn was a most attentive partner while I was carrying all four of my own Sand Snakes. I have no doubt he will be equally enamored with your changing body.”

"It...does mean that I ought to lie with him often..." Something which does exactly present you with any kind of hardship but it does affect the dynamic of your small group.

“Of course.” She knows that. “But it also means that Raeden shouldn’t spill inside you.” She cautions.

“I know.” Biting your lip as you turn another corner and begin to ascend a flight of stairs with Ellaria, you chance to look over at her and keep your voice low. “There are…other ways to enjoy ourselves. Some of which he is better acquainted with than I.”

Your name, your real name comes off her lips and she pauses as if she is about to tell you something before she shakes her head and chuckles. “All will be well.” She assures you.

“Did something happen?” Ellaria has not called you by your name since the first night you met, and though that was only days ago it still brings you concern to hear it. “Have I said something wrong?”

“Nothing.” She squeezes your arm tighter and hustles you along. “I do not believe you could be more perfect if the Seven had created you for our lives.”

She pulls you along beside her with a smile on your lips and though you go willingly, there is an ache in you that you cannot name. Perhaps it is doubt, more than any other thing, but there is something tinging it that makes your smile falter. Nothing about you is perfect. Especially not for people as wonderful as Raeden, Oberyn, and Ellaria.

______

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