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karahalloway · 1 month

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper, Olivia and the Beaumonts arrive in Rome... but not everyone is happy to see them

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: None (for once 🤣)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Lots of Italian and random cultural/historical tidbits in this... but, then again, we are in Italy, so the foreign language aspect will be a bit of a running theme through the next few chapters (sorry...not sorry - I actually learnt some Italian in the process!)

A/N2: @aussiegurl1234, before you ask, yes, I HC that Vito bears a striking resemblance to Michele Morrone 😆

Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

"How is it hotter here than in Cordonia?" I gasp as I step out onto the jet's airstairs.

"Italy is a peninsula," Olivia says from behind me, slotting on a pair of Versace cat-eye shades. "It is more exposed to the anti-cyclones that blow up from the Sahara."

My mouth drops as I make my way down onto the steaming tarmac. "This heatwave... is coming from Africa?"

No wonder it feels like the inside of a furnace!

"It certainly isn't coming from the Arctic!" bemoans Bertrand as he shields his face from the intensity of the rays with an upraised hand. "Though what a welcome change that would be!"

"Brr...!" objects Maxwell with a shiver. "No thank you! I've had my yearly fill of sub-zero temps at Olivia's!"

"You're welcome," comes the snippy response as the Duchess of Lythikos strides past us.

"That said, turning the mercury down a few notches wouldn't hurt..." I remark, squinting accusatorily up at the beating sun.

"The summer heatwaves have been growing longer and more intense over recent years," Olivia advises from up front, "leading to consequent effects on food and water security, power generation, infrastructure, not to mention the added burden on the healthcare system across Europe. It is one of the items on the agenda for Christian's roundtable with the Italian Prime Minister tomorrow."

I frown as I arrive at the passenger-side door of the first in a trio of waiting Porsche Macan GTS's. "I thought this was supposed to be an engagement tour..."

"It is," she confirms as a black-suited Italian sporting close-cropped hair and aviators opens the door for her. "But any foreign visit involving a high-ranking head of state is — by its nature — a diplomatic event as well."

"I guess that makes sense," I concede, sliding into the relative reprieve offered by the SUV's A/C system. "Though you said Christian is meeting with the Prime Minister tomorrow... I thought that was supposed to be today. Did something change?"

"No," derides Bertrand as he settles in next to me. "Today, the King is partaking in a meet-and-greet with the Italian President, followed by a private audience with the Pope while the future Queen is fitted for her wedding trousseau, capped off by dinner and a performance of Tosca at the Teatro dell'Opera in the evening. While tomorrow we have been invited to brunch at the Cordonian Consulate, after which the King has a round-table discussion with the Prime Minister, and day will be closed out by a state gala."

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly. "So, the Prime Minister isn't the same as the President...?"

"The Prime Minister is the head of government, while the President is the head of state," the elder Beaumont instructs as Maxwell squishes himself into the backseat on the other side of me. "The roles are quite distinct."

"Of course they are..." I huff under my breath.

Seems like in addition to Olivia's list of influential Cordonian nobles, I will also need to memorise a textbook on European constitutional history...

Though, now I am doubly glad of the business-like, but nevertheless stylish pale pink, high-necked pencil dress that Bertrand foisted on me this morning — it definitely would not have been great to show up underdressed to such a high-level meeting!

"But we must hurry!" the elder Beaumont proclaims. "We are due at the Presidential Palace in just under an hour, and we still need to fight our way through the notoriously infernal Roman traffic!"

"Not to worry," Olivia assures us with a sly smirk from the front passenger seat. "Vito here knows all the shortcuts."

"That sounds ominous..." I mutter, reaching for the seatbelt on instinct.

"I prefer 'expeditious'," she counters, turning to Vito, who has now taken up position behind the wheel. "Andiamo."

"Certamente, Duchessa," he nods, throwing the car forward with a violent depression of the gas pedal.

The sudden acceleration yanks an inadvertent gasp from my lips as I'm thrown back in my seat... just like on that afternoon in Ramsford when Drake pulled the same stunt on the Beaumonts' driveway.

I feel my throat tighten as I glance inadvertently out the window. God, I hope he's okay...

I know in the back of my mind that I'm probably making myself anxious for no reason. Drake is an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of himself... including in close-quarters situations. He's demonstrated that to me plenty of times.

Yet, I still can't help but worry about him. Especially when he's off in a foreign country (all by himself for all I know...), having left with basically no good-bye, and with definitely no assurance of when he expects to get back.

And while I know that he is doing this for me — so we can collar Tariq and extract whatever information he has in relation to the plot to influence the outcome of the social season... and to answer for what he did to me in Applewood — the wait is killing me. I have no idea where he is, what he is doing, and whether he even has his phone turned on, given the high-stakes nature of his self-appointed task.

Which is why I have held off trying to reach out to him (...even though the baser, needier part of me is itching to do exactly that), as I don't want to be the one to interrupt a crucial moment by setting his phone off with an ill-timed call or text, especially considering the three-hour time difference...

I heave a breath.

I just have to trust him. Like he asked me to at every turn of this increasingly bumpy road that we've been travelling since I left New York. And hope that we are finally on our way out of the woods.

Exiting the boundaries of the airport, Vito navigates the Porsche onto a highway where we are able to pick up some speed. Olivia uses the opportunity to open up her phone, throwing some questions in Italian to her associate every so often as we cruise along. Bertrand is similarly occupied, while Maxwell has slipped on some Bose headphones and is bobbing away to the beat.

Which leaves me to stare somewhat aimlessly out the window, watching the scenery roll by in a bid to keep myself distracted.

But the reprieve ends up being somewhat of a welcome one. The various warehouses and road-side auto lots surrounding the airport quickly give way to a tree-lined thoroughfare, and I find myself basking in the calming effects of the greenery, not having expected to encounter such a bucolic sight on the road to a major urban centre.

Eventually, though, the vegetation gives way to the crumbling walls of some kind of expansive estate that we end up following for a good few miles until the asphalt road changes over to cobblestones and we pass in front the gates of a red-bricked stone fortress that looks like it's been plucked straight from the set of Game of Thrones.

"Wow..." I can't help but breathe as I take in the sight of the towering structure simmering under the light of the mid-morning sun.

"Le mura aureliane," advises Vito from up front, catching my awed expression through the rear-view mirror. "Costruita dall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari."

I nod distractedly, craning my neck as we turn a corner to follow the path of the ancient structure that is somehow still standing despite the clear ravages of time and weather.

Nothing lasts like this anymore...

Making another turn, we pass beneath an arched portion of the wall, and the road before us opens up into a leafy boulevard that takes us into the city proper. And from there, it's one jaw-dropping piece of architecture after another jostling for space between more modern buildings and seemingly never-ending rows of trees.

"I didn't expect Rome to be so green..." I admit to no one in particular as I eye up the unusual-looking shrubs.

"You can thank the Ancient Romans," supplies Bertrand without glancing up from his phone. "They planted the now-iconic stone pines in scores along the major roadways in part to serve as ornamentation, and in part to provide a steady supply of pine nuts, which are an essential ingredient in many dishes, including pesto and various pies and tarts."

"It certainly was worth the effort," I agree, watching the evergreens drift past on either side of us.

Though, as Bertrand predicted, the closer we get to the centre of the ancient capital, the increasingly chaotic the traffic becomes, with cars, buses and mopeds all vying for space on the roads, requiring Vito to make recourse to his own horn as well as various offensive gestures in order to narrowly avoid a slew of accidents... and I suddenly have a slightly better appreciation for why Drake drives the way he does. Because based on my experiences first in France and now in Italy, it appears that on the Mediterranean, might equals right when it comes to priority on the road, and unless you're forceful, you ain't getting nowhere.

Managing to finally extricate ourselves from the constraints of a complicated intersection, we end up on a quieter road running parallel to a long patch of bunkered-looking grass on our left.

"What's that?" I ask, tapping Vito on his shoulder.

"Il Circo Massimo," he advises.

My eyes widen. "That's the Circus Maximus?"

"Sì," he nods. "L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corse dei carri."

"Unbelievable..." I murmur, slumping back into my seat in awe.

There is nothing comparable back home — even the oldest still-extant pre-Columbian structures date to only the first millennia A.D. Whereas here we are, casually cruising past a seminal piece of history that is still embedded into the fabric of the city nearly three thousand years after its construction. And we haven't even seen the Colosseum, or the Forum yet!

Rome really is the Eternal City...

Leaving the green fields of the Circus behind us, we enter a more urban-looking environment as we start to climb a hill. The white- and sand-coloured buildings cluster closer together, and the general architecture becomes more uniformly Baroque, until we arrive in a large plaza dominated by a massive, Neo-Classical structure that towers over everything else.

"Il Vittoriano," Vito offers without prompting.

"Is that where we're having brunch with the President?" I ask, slack-mouthed as I stare up at the imposing building.

It certainly looks impressive enough to house the head of a country!

"Of course not!" admonishes Bertrand. "The Vittoriano is a symbolic collection of monuments built to commemorate the rule of King Victor Emmanuel II and the unification of Italy. The President resides at the Quirinal Palace, which is located on a wholly different Roman hill!"

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly.

"Like she is going to know the difference," scoffs Oliva from the front. "They don't even teach The Art of War in her schools... How can you expect her to know anything about Italian history?"

"Italian history is foundational history!" insists Bertrand. "The Romans were instrumental in shaping not just the course of European, but Northern African and Middle Eastern events for millennia! How can they neglect to teach American children about this?"

"Because the focus is on US history," I tell them wearily as Vito navigates us to the other side of the square.

"Surely that is an afternoon's worth of lessons at most?" the elder Beaumont queries sceptically. "Your country was only founded in the conventional sense of the word in the mid-1600s..."

"Most Americans haven't been to Europe," I remind him, watching the rows of buildings flick past on either side of us as we begin the ascent up another hill. "They don't necessarily have a basis of comparison."

"Sounds like your curriculum is somewhat lacking in scope, then..." he surmises with pursed lips.

"Yeah, well..." I retort dryly, "I don't write the textbooks. Though, speaking of education, is there any chance for some sightseeing? It would be a shame to spend two days here and not actually see anything..."

"While I wholeheartedly approve of the sentiment," Bertrand replies, "I am afraid that you will have to make do with the cultural experiences offered by the various host venues on the official itinerary. Which — I admit — are no Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel, but are impressive and important cultural artefacts, nevertheless. The Quirinal Palace, for instance, so named for the Quirinal Hill on which it sits, is actually the sixth largest palace in the world and has served as the primary residence of such notable figures as—"

I let out a low exhale as Bertrand launches into a full-blown historical recital. And while the details are definitely interesting, I didn't come all this way to listen to a one-man rendition of a Roman guidebook.

Which makes me all the more determined to find some kind of opportunity to slip away from the official tour — even if it's just for an hour to toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain — so that I can experience something of the magic that this breathtaking city has to offer.

When, I have no idea, given the busyness of our schedule, but I managed to orchestrate an escape plan to see the capital back in Cordonia, so I'm confident I'll be able to pull something similar... albeit without Drake's help this time. But despite the set-backs, I'm not about to miss out on this kind of once-in-a-lifetime experience...

With my intention firmly set, the car rounds an uphill corner, and we are suddenly on the edge of yet another expansive plaza secured by a rim of strategically placed concrete planters and a pair of police cars.

Vito pulls to a stop and slides the window down to exchange a few quick words with the officer who has come to greet us.

"Passports," instructs Olivia, reaching into her purse.

Opening up the white, Medusa emblazoned Versace clutch sitting on my lap — which I am sure cost more than what I would've ever made in a month working as a waitress back home, but which Bertrand had insisted on as a 'necessary' Italian-themed accessory — I pull out my shiny, new Cordonian passport and pass it to the front.

Maxwell and Bertrand do the same, and there is a couple of minutes of tense silence while the stern-looking officer inspects each document to verify our identities, while another policeman does a circuit 'round the car with a convex safety mirror.

Finally, the policeman hands the passports back with a curt nod, and waves us through.

"Were they not expecting us?" I query as I slot my credentials away again.

"They were," Olivia advises. "But we are arriving separately from the royal delegation, so the State Police are obligated to run a security check."

"Why?"

The Duchess of Lythikos scoffs back at me. "To ensure that we are not terrorists trying to kill the President with a car bomb... Or did that part go over your head?"

"No..." I hit back sarcastically. "I meant why are we arriving separately?"

She looks back at me with an arched brow. "Would you have preferred to deal with the press?"

"I... No," I admit.

She turns back to the front with a smirk. "Didn't think so."

Vito pulls the car to a stop in front of a small courtyard decked out with a red carpet and intertwined streamers made out in the colours of Cordonia's and Italy's flags. Allard and Schweitzer — who had been travelling in the car behind us — appear to open the doors for us.

Bertrand scoots out of the backseat first, before turning back to offer me his hand.

"Thanks," I say with a sincere smile, grasping his fingers to help pull myself up.

"Always my pleasure," he replies with a genuine smile.

Smoothing my skirt, I gaze up at the somewhat understated-looking entranceway, suddenly nervous about the prospect of acting as a newly-minted ambassador of Cordonia. I mean... three months ago, I was bussing tables at a dive bar for less than minimum wage, and now here I am, decked out in clothes that cost more than the rent I was paying for a fifth-storey walk-up, about to have an official meeting with a foreign country's head of state.

To say that I feel like a fraud is a massive understatement.

"What are you waiting for?" asks Olivia, breezing past me with all the confidence of a woman who's done this a hundred times before... probably because she has. "For the grass to grow?"

"I—"

"I heard the President loves chocolate bomboloni," offers Maxwell enthusiastically, linking his arm through mine to tug me down the length of the red carpet.

"What's...that?" I ask, forcing myself to swallow down the sudden dryness in my throat.

Maxwell's face collapses into an aghast look of shock. "Only the best pastry-based dessert! Second only to cronuts, of course!"

"That's definitely a high bar to hit," I admit.

"Think mini doughnuts with gooey chocolate filling, dusted with powdered sugar," he explains. "They literally melt in your mouth!"

"Except we are not here to indulge infantile cravings for sugary treats," reprimands Bertrand as we pass through the arched doorway. "We are here to partake in important discussions relating to matters of state, and t—"

"Pfft," scoffs Olivia. "Speak for yourself, Beaumont. These meetings are dull as shite. I'm here for the sweets."

I can't help but snort at the unexpected riposte... as well as the resultant sight of Bertrand's jaw hitting the parquet flooring. And I unexpectedly find myself feeling better about the whole experience. Because despite whatever nerves I may be feeling, the fact that Olivia and the Beaumonts are with me means that I am not alone in this.

Passing into the coolness of the building, we are greeted by a middle-aged woman who proceeds to lead us through a veritable rabbit warren of ante-rooms and corridors before we finally arrive in an expansive room dominated by a pair of jaw-dropping crystal chandeliers suspended from a vaulted, hand-painted ceiling.

"La Salle Bronzino," informs our guide, indicating that we should step through.

"Wow..." I breathe, trying to take in the opulence with as much composure as I can.

A slew of camera shutters click to life upon our arrival.

Jerking my gaze down from the delicate, celestial fresco above me, I spot the handful of photographers aiming their lenses at me.

I stifle a groan as I plaster a demure smile onto my face. "I thought you said there wouldn't be any reporters."

"This is an official state visit," Bertrand hisses out of the corner of his mouth. "Of course, there will be reporters!

"Just not as many as there would have been outside earlier," Olivia assures me.

My shoulders slump in acquiescence. "Take the wins you can get, I guess..."

"Ah, you made it!" exclaims Christian, striding up to us with a jovial grin. "Traffic wasn't too terrible, I hope?"

"Nothing Vito couldn't handle," Olivia assures him, dipping into a chaste curtesy as the photographers snap eagerly away.

Christian turns to me with a good-natured chuckle. "And Lady Harper... First impressions haven't put you off, have they?"

"No," I assure him, bobbing down politely as well, knowing that everyone in the room now has their eyes on us. "The exact opposite, actually."

"Excellent," he beams, holding my gaze for a second longer than he did with Olivia. "I have to admit that I have a bit of a soft spot for Rome, myself."

"It really is a—"

"Darling," interjects Madeleine with a steely smile, appearing at her fiancé's shoulder. "You really should focus your attentions on the President. He has been gracious enough to open up his home for us, after all..."

Christian's nostrils flare with the briefest flash of irritation as he pulls back slightly. "Quite. Let us go make the necessary introductions."

Madeleine bristles. "That is not what I—"

Deftly ignoring her, Christian extends his arm decisively towards an elderly man wearing a sombre suit and gold-rimmed glasses. "Shall we?"

"I guess so?" I concede, already feeling myself being steered past the silently fuming countess.

"Now remember," Bertrand mutters next to me as Christian leads us down the length of the room. "In the context of a formal conversation, it is always lei — never tu — when addressing your counterpart, so for the love of all that is holy, please do not—"

"Singor Presidente," proclaims Christian as he pulls to a stop. "Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione."

The President raises his head dutifully. "Certamente."

"Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell."

The Beaumonts bow their heads dutifully.

"Beaumont..." the President frowns. "Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso?"

"Sì," Bertrand confirms. "Egli è nostro padre."

The President is nodding in recollection. "Sì... sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui."

"Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte," Bertrand acknowledges.

"E questa è Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos, un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys."

Olivia holds out her hand. "E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente."

The President drops a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. "Il piacere è tutto mio."

"E finalmente," concludes Christian, "questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria."

The President's brows arc inquisitively. "Singorina Harper... You are... American? No?"

"Sì," I affirm as I offer my hand out. "Ma ho praticato mio Italiano..."

The President's mouth cracks into a genuine smile. "And you are doing very well, Singorina! Tell me, have you visited la città eterna before?"

"No, this is my first time," I admit, also switching to English, now that the formalities are over and done with. "But even the ride from the airport was utterly magical! It's like stepping into history!"

"Sì," the President affirms with a grin. "Us Romans are unspeakably lucky to be able to call such a beautiful city our home. It is a place of many treasures."

"What is your favourite part of the city?" I ask.

The President blinks in surprise at the unexpected intimacy of the request. "That is a difficult question... But if I am forced to choose... it would have to be this little forno next to la Fontana di Trevi which makes a very unique — and very delicious — pistachio croissant. It is not for every person, but if you have a spirit of adventure, then I suggest you try it."

"Thank you," I say with a sincere smile, filing the suggestion away. "I definitely will!"

"I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of sampling this treat, either," Christian admits, with a knowing glance down at me. "But Lady Harper has excellent taste in pastries — she was actually kind enough to introduce us to an American delicacy called a cronut. It was a big hit all around."

"A cronut?" queries the President. "I cannot say I am familiar..."

"Don't worry," Maxwell assures him with a conspiratorial grin. "We'll bring you one. If you'll trade us some bomboloni in exchange?"

Bertrand's already sunburnt face reddens further. "Maxwell! You cannot entreat the President t—"

"You like bomboloni, also?" interjects the President with keen interest.

"Of course!" Maxwell affirms enthusiastically. "Anyone who doesn't like them clearly has something wrong with them!"

"Sounds like you have excellent taste in pastries as well, Signore Maxwell!" chuckles the President.

The conversation continues to revolve around our shared food interests for a few more minutes, until an aide clears his throat from behind the President.

"Accettare le mie scuse," he apologises. "But I am being advised that it is time for the photographs and the speeches."

"Of course," nods Christian graciously, indicating that the President should lead the way to the front of the room where a small podium has been set up.

As the two men peel away from the group, I cast my eyes 'round the space and spot Hana standing by one of the large windows. Giving her a wave, I use the brief break in the proceedings to make my way over to her.

"So, what's the view like from this side of the room?" I ask by way of greeting.

"Quieter than your side," she admits wryly. "You certainly seemed to be having an engaging conversation with the President!"

"We discovered a shared love for sugary treats," I admit. "You should've joined us — you could've bragged about that baking championship that you won."

"It's alright," she demurs with a blush. "It's actually been nice to take a moment to step away from the crowd."

"Oh?" I ask, laying a concerned hand on her arm. "Is something wrong?"

She heaves a breath, as if debating whether to tell me. Finally, she says, "I have been fending off suitors."

My brow shoots skywards. "How many proposals have you had?"

"Since I arrived...? Probably twelve..."

My eyes bulge. "Twelve! That's like two a day!"

"Yes," she concedes with a weary exhale. "Lady Madeleine has been extremely gracious in personally introducing me to numerous eligible bachelors—"

"—but none of them are Maxwell," I surmise.

Her eyes flick up to mine before dropping back down sorrowfully. "No. But for the sake of my parents, I must entertain every available option in an honest manner."

"That definitely sounds exhausting..." I concede. "But hopefully now that we're out of the country, you can catch a bit of a break."

"I am not so sure..." she admits. "I have been advised that a number of well-connected Italians will be in attendance at the opera tonight..."

"Pfft...!" I scoff. "Just take the night off... Pretend to be sick... Run off with Maxwell to get some gelato... Actually enjoy being in Italy!"

Hana blushes. "I—"

The chime of a bell rings out across the room, interrupting our conversation.

Looking up, I see that all heads have turned dutifully towards the twin forms standing on the dais as they prepare to address the congregation.

"Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori," greets the President, "È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazione reale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. È passato troppo tempo da—"

As the speech winds on, I find myself tuning out, given that I am only able to understand every third or fourth word. But, not wanting to come across as rude by continuing my catch-up with Hana, I instead try to occupy myself by examining the two large tapestries suspended on the walls.

A round of applause draws me out of my reverie, and I join in on auto-pilot as the President hands off to Christian. Several more minutes of lilting Italian fills the room, during which time I move my attentions to the Roman-looking busts, wondering which emperors they depict.

Finally, the speeches come to a close, and I heave a sigh of relief.

"Did you understand any of that?" I ask Hana as the President presents Christian with some kind of medal, and the two men pose for photos.

"Of course," she nods. "My parents—"

"—have been giving you Italian lessons since before you could talk?" I finish dryly.

Hana's cheeks dimple. "Not quite that young, but yes. I am what they consider 'proficient'."

"Meaning, you speak it better than I speak English," I joke.

She snorts in response. "I wouldn't say that..."

"But it's true," I say with a smirk, happy to see that Hana's time back at court has not completely crushed her sense of humour.

"Ah, I've missed talking to you, Harper," she says with genuine feeling. "The last few days have felt so busy that I feel like we haven't spoken in months!"

"Yeah, tell me about it..." I agree with a huff. "In the space of a week, I've become a Cordonian citizen, been granted a duchy, gone from number five to number one on Madeleine's shit list, and—"

Hana's eyes widen. "It's not that bad, surely...!"

"It's probably worse," I admit. "And being on the front page of the Cordonian Sun — again — is probably not helping matters either..."

"Yes, I saw that article..." she commiserates with feeling. "I'm sorry that the press are treating you in that manner again."

"Hey, it's not your fault," I assure her. "But the press aren't all bad — I managed to convince Ana de Luca to help us track down the photographer who took those pictures of me and Tariq, and she actually came through yesterday."

"That's great!" she enthuses. "I have to admit that I have not had much success on my side... Madeleine does not permit her ladies-in-waiting to handle any of her private correspondence, including her mobile phones and laptop. And she has only talked to us about the upcoming events on the tour..."

"Well, it was a bit of a long-shot, anyway," I concede with a shrug. "But who knows? We might get—"

"Pardon," interrupts Kiara with a pointed cough. "But the Queen requests your presence."

I roll my eyes with a scoff. "She's not married to Christian yet..."

"But she will be soon," she reminds me pointedly. "So, it is actuellement in your interest to remain on her good side, given that you are now a duchess."

I feel the corner of my mouth scrunch into a mou of dissent, but I force myself not to pick apart the many things that are wrong with her statement. "Fine. Where is Her Majesty?"

"Bidding adieu to the President," she advises. "She has asked that in the meantime I gather the ladies who are to accompany her to the wedding boutique."

"Does she really need an entourage to go shopping?" I ask as we start making our way back to the double doors at the far end of the room.

"It is tradition for the suitors who were not picked at the end of the social season to assist the queen-to-be in the preparations for the wedding, including selecting her bridal gown and trousseau."

"Wonder how many times that's gone wrong before..." I mutter under my breath.

"It is a ritual de beaucoup d'importance," Kiara insists seriously. "The former suitors — and their families — demonstrate their public support for the union via the personal assistance they provide the bride and groom in the lead-up to the big day, as well as in the act of taking on key roles during the ceremony itself."

"Let me guess..." I grumble. "We're all going to be maids of honour, too..."

"In Cordonia, the correct term is 'witness'," she corrects. "They are the ones chosen by the couple to countersign the marriage certificate. Mais oui — it is likely that one or two of us will be called upon in such a manner."

"Great..." I sigh, arriving at the entranceway where Penelope and Olivia are already waiting. "All the things we get to look forward to..."

"Oh, Lady Harper!" squeals Penelope in excitement. "I love your dress! How do you always manage to find such super chic pieces?"

"Uhh..." I say, genuinely taken aback by her enthusiasm. "Bertrand picked this, actually..."

Olivia snorts derisively. "You mean Lord Tweedle-Dee? Please... That man has worse fashion sense than Jared Leto."

"Actually, he—"

"If you lot are quite finished with your asinine chit-chit," snaps Madeline as she strides imperiously past us, "you can pick up your feet. We are already running late for my appointment... Which took months to schedule, so don't you dare make me miss it!"

I meet Hana's gaze with a fish-eyed look. "Ever heard the term 'bridezilla' before?"

"No," she admits with a frown. "But it sounds scary..."

"Oh, trust me!" I assure her as we bring up the rear. "It is! Especially since it sounds like Madeleine is planning to take the concept to a whole 'nother level..."

The story continues in Chapter 19: Field Day

A/N: Translations for the Italian below:

At the airport: Andiamo - Let's go

Certamente, Duchessa - Certainly, Duchess

En route Lemura aureliane. Costruitadall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari. - The Aurelian Wall. It was constructed by the Emperor Aurelian to defend Rome against barbarians.

Il Circo Massimo - The Circus Maximus

Sì. L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corsedei carri. - Yes. The ancient Roman stadium constructed for chariot racing.

Il Vittoriano - This is a colloquial nickname for the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II

At the Presidential Palace Singor Presidente. Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione. - Mr President. Allow me to introduce some additional members of our delegation.

Certamente - Certainly

Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell. - This is Lord Bertrand Beaumont, Duke of Ramsford, and his brother, Maxwell.

Beaumont... Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso? - Beaumont... You know, that sounds familiar. Are you related to Lord Bartholemy, by chance?

Sì. Egli è nostro padre. - Yes. He is our father.

Sì...sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui. - Yes... Yes... He accompanied the former king on many occasions. You look a lot like him.

Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte. - Yes, there is a notable family resemblance.

E questaè Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos,un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys. - And this is Lady Olivia Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, a dear friend of mine, and loyal supporter of the Rys family.

E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente. - My sincere pleasure, Mr President.

Il piacere è tutto mio. - The pleasure is all mine.

E finalmente, questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria. - And finally, this is Lady Harper, the new Duchess of Valtoria.

Sì. Ma hopraticato mio Italiano.* - Yes. But I am practising my Italian. *Italian speakers will note that there is a grammatical mistake here (the correct phrasing is 'Ho praticato il mio italiano'). However, the mistake is deliberate because Harper learnt Italian literally an hour ago, so she's not going to be perfect at it!

La città eterna - the Eternal City (nickname for Rome)

Accettare le mie scuse - [Please] Accept my apologies.

Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori. È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazionereale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. Èpassato troppo tempo da— Your Royal Highness, fellow delegates, ladies and gentlemen. It is my honour to host the royal delegation of Cordonia, our neighbour and ally for many centuries. It has been far too long since—

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

#harper gale #drake walker #drake walker x mc #the royal romance #less than noble intentions #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #bertrand beaumont #hana lee #king liam #madeleine amaranth #Spotify

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basu-shokikita · 7 months

Text

Kloktober 2023 Day 1

Favorite character or OTP

I decided to do both, so here goes this sickeningly fluffy Skwistok drabble from Toki's POV, because he's my favorite and Skwistok is my OTP.

This is my first time participating in this event 🥳 I'll try to do as much days as I can 💪

Golden locks swaying with the wind, dressed in all white like an ethereal being, floating in the skies with a smile that shone like the sun, almost rendering Toki blind.

But, most importantly, the guitar. Playing melodies that had struck Toki’s heart like cupid’s arrow, eternally binding him to the man that seemed more God than mortal.

And then, sapphire eyes bore into him and Toki could’ve sworn he had found his purpose, then and there. He found himself complete for the first time in his life, finally understood, finally seen.

Toki smiled, an unfamiliar joy flooding through his body. Pumping like the blood in his veins, spreading through every muscle and reaching his fingertips, bestowing them with magic.

He never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay there, forever.

With him.

“Toki!” Skwisgaar yelled, waking him from his reverie. “Ams you listkenings?” His guitar was, as ever, resting on his lap.

“Oh!” Toki nodded frantically, almost on instinct. “Yeah, really goods!”

Skwisgaar crossed his arms over his chest, a deep frown marking his features. “I asked if you doughts it was goods enough to be turnsked into a songs.”

“Oh…” Toki repeated, this time deflated as he looked down with shame. “Sorries…I gots distracteds.”

“No shits.” Skwisgaar gave him a judgemental stare as he fiddled with his guitar some more. After a few seconds, he let go of the strings. “Eugh, guess I gots my answers.” He laid his back against the couch, glaring at the ceiling with resentment. “Dildos.”

“What?” Toki got up from his couch to sit on his legs next to Skwisgaar. “No ways, it ams reallies good!”

Skwisgaar didn’t move, only side-eyed Toki with disbelief. “You excpeckts me to believes dat, when you couldn’ts even pays attenskions while I was playings it?”

“Because it gots me thinking about stuffs!” Toki said. “Goods stuff!” When Skwisgaar didn’t seem convinced, he added. “It gots me thinking abouts…us.”

“Heugh.” Skwisgaar snorted. “Whats?”

Toki smiled. “Ours first meetings.” He clasped one of Skwisgaar’s hands between his, delighting in the way his expression contorted with flusteredness. They were a thing but Skwisgaar still wasn’t used to the physical affection part. “You weres soes amazing…” His fingers laced with Skwisgaar’s softly. “I probablies fells in love with yous back den.”

“Eugh.” Skwisgaar grimaced, feigning disgust even when Toki could clearly see his flushed cheeks. “Toki, dat ams so gays.” Awkwardly, he started fiddling with the guitar again, his blonde hair hiding his face.

Toki pulled away and settled in to watch him go. Amused by the reaction, he thought about how far away the days where he thought Skwisgaar was this sort of untouchable God were.

Not that any of it made Toki love him any less.

#kloktober2023 #kloktober #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwistok #metalocalypse #no beta we die like men etc #my writing

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cynical-sprite · 1 year

Text

OTP Prompts Ideas

Imagine person A walking out of the bathroom after a shower, half-naked and wreathed in steam, and B immediately dropping whatever they were holding. Bonus if it’s an animal which gives them the stink eye before slinking away.

Person A has given up on love. Nope. Love is not for them. Forget that…. And then they meet person B and think; “Annnd this is the asshole who will ruin everything.”

Imagine person A of your OTP relentlessly flirting with B in public, just to see B blush.

Imagine Person A of your OTP seeing Person B with bed hair for the first time, and being totally blown away by how cute/hot/etc. they look with their hair being a huge mess. Bonus: if Person A gets flustered when Person B pokes fun at them for liking it.

Imagine your OTP intertwining their fingers together while they’re in bed.

Person A leaving thigh hickeys on person B.

Imagine your OTP getting in a fight and one of them yelling that they love the other one and then it gets really quiet.

Imagine your OTP stuck in an elevator after they’ve had a fight.

Imagine your OTP cuddling under a blanket on a cold winter night. Person A gently wrapping their arms around Person B and lightly kissing down their neck making Person B shiver from something other than the cold outside.

Imagine person A of your OTP wearing person B’s clothes.

Imagine your OTP running into each other under the mistletoe. Person A blushes and goes to suggest that they don’t have to kiss but Person B cuts them off with a kiss.

Imagine person A of your OTP wearing person B’s clothes.Imagine person A of your OTP coming home from the gym all sweaty. Person B sees this and gets instantly turned on.

Imagine your OTP moving in together. They’re unpacking each other’s boxes when they find, ah,interesting things they didn’t know the other person owned.

Imagine your OTP not having enough blankets for both of them and sharing. It takes some doing, but they settle comfortably into each other’s arms and fall asleep listening to each other’s heartbeat, smelling their hair, feeling the rise and fall of their breath. The next morning, they’re still in the same position.

Imagine your OTP waking up at the same time for a midnight snack and Person B scares Person A on accident.

Imagine your OTP living together. The air conditioner breaks during the hottest week of summer and your OTP has to figure out how to stay cool. Alternately, the heating breaks during the coldest week of winter and your OTP has to figure out how to stay warm.

“I sent a selfie of myself in the tub to the wrong number and you responded back with another selfie. Holy shit you’re really attractive.” au.

Imagine person B of your otp uses person A as a pillow.

Being on the brink of admitting their feelings for each other but then getting interrupted.

Both of them being the best friends that everyone just assumes is a couple and no one is even surprised when they announce they’re official because ‘wtf do you mean you weren’t before?’

i fell asleep on your shoulder and you were too polite to move or wake me up au

Imagine your OTP having sex, and one of them gets the hiccups during the session.

Imagine person A somehow loses or breaks their glasses in some sort of city, and after running into a few walls and poles, person B convinces person A to hold their hand to guide them around.

Imagine your otp playing Twister and getting kind of touchy-feely.

Imagine your OTP being walked in on every single time they try to get it on.

Imagine your OTP (or two people from your OT3) having really great sex. Person A keeps loudly moaning “Oh god!” And eventually person B (or person C, upon entering the room) says “What do you want? I’m right here.” Bonus if B (or C) actually is a god of some sort.

Imagine your OTP fucking on a kitchen counter. Extra: Person C walks in on them and just says they better sanitize everything later.

Imagine your OTP having shower sex. When it gets too tense person A ends up slipping and hitting their head off the soap tray. Shower cuddles ensues.

Whenever person A tries to get intimate with person B person C interrupts.

Imagine person A (the tougher one) getting shy about being naked in front of person B for the first time.

Imagine Person A of your OTP eating Doritos and Person B licking their fingers for them when they’re done.

#writing ideas

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scriveyner · 4 months

Text

2023 Wrapped!

A total of 8 fics this year! And I just barely hit my resolution of 150k posted. These stats are insane, by the way, utterly insane. I never expected anything to hit like smarch/kinktober did this year. Fucking wild.

After the jump is a list of the fics this year and a few thoughts on each. A big thanks to everyone for reading this year, and here's to a fic-filled 2024!

stop time, your hand in mine (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (7,257 words)

First fic of the year, and the one that really and truly jumpstarted sskk² stories. I'd dabbled a little prior to this, but really the only thing that existed was the origin fic from 2022, when Acchan and Ryuu-chan were infants.

chase forever down (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (70,985 words)

Holy moly, y'all love vampire fics. The amount of tags this fic got when Things Went Down in S5 still makes me laugh. This is my favorite fic of this year tho, because I had so much fun writing it.

southern air (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (12,557 words)

Pure fluff exuding from every pore. Fun family shenanigans. I love writing sskk² it's just so healing.

crossing paths (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (8,728 words)

SSKK will always be my BSD otp, but I love me some chuuatsu. Doubt it's the last time I'll write some, but I know its reach is limited.

the places we'll go (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (5,022 words)

My sskkbb23 entry, of course more sskk². I really like taking SSKK and showing them possible futures, have you all noticed this, lol.

three minutes more (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (49,900 words)

I honestly and truly did not expect this fic to juggernaut. I have a chat from before kinktober started being all, "well I don't think it will be as popular as chase forever down..." and y'all came in like a wrecking ball and showed me how wrong I was. I am so glad this hit and hit strong for people.

all the love in my heart (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (4,428 words)

Technically this counts as more than one fic but I don't like to list typetriggers separately. Just a bunch of little bites of sskk² goodness, from kid sillies to adults getting their alone time.

so be good for goodness sake (文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs) (1,247 words)

If you can't tell I very much love writing kid logic, and Acchan and Ryuu-chan are just full of it. The best part about writing sskk² fic to me is watching how the characters have changed and settled into new roles in their lives. (And also trying to figure out what new chaos Acchan can kick up, that kid is indestructible and has no sense of self-preservation. Nor what is actually food.)

#retrospective #ao3 wrapped

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keldae · 3 months

Note

Soft OTP Prompts: person B: ‘i never expected it to be you’ person A softly smiling: ‘me neither’

Devi had always loved the stars. As a child, she would frequently climb onto the roofs of buildings in the Lower City at night and lay on the tiles, gazing up at the night sky and dreaming of being far away from Baldur’s Gate. On reflection, she supposed, one of the few upsides of her entire misadventure with being abducted by mindflayers (besides meeting the love of her life and her best friends) was being able to see the stars even clearer in the wilderness than she could in the city.

In the darkness now, she picked her way down an alley in the Lower City, holding Gale’s hand as she led him to a ladder that she had seen earlier in the day. Her half-Elf heritage gave her the benefit of being able to see clearly in the dark; as a human, Gale didn’t have that advantage. And honestly, Devi had to admit, it was nice to be needed by her strong, talented wizard for such a mundane thing as guidance down an alley in the middle of the night, having stolen him away from camp while their companions settled in for the evening.

Finding the ladder, she guided Gale’s hands to the wooden beams, then quickly scrambled up the rungs, hearing the wizard follow her at a slightly slower pace. On this level of the building they had climbed, she could see another ladder that would take her to the highest peak of the roof; once Gale had caught up with her, she led him over to the second ladder and climbed up to the highest level of the building. Short of scaling one of the guard towers on the wall between the Upper and Lower Cities, this was one of the highest points they could reach in Baldur’s Gate.

And the view of the night sky was well worth picking their way down a messy alley. Devi laid down as Gale conjured up a blanket to protect them from the roof tiles, sensing the wizard reclining beside her. “I told you that you get the best view from here,” she softly said with a little grin that he would hear in her voice. “It’s almost as beautiful as that illusion you showed me the other night.”

Gale hummed in agreement as he slipped his arm under Devi’s neck. “Magnificent,” he murmured, gazing up at the stars stretched out over the black void of the night sky. “They look so close, one could almost reach out and touch them.” As if to demonstrate his point, he stretched his free hand out, waving at the stars.

Devi smiled and curled up into Gale’s side, resting her hand on his chest. He sighed in contentment, and for a moment, silence reigned before he spoke again. “While I was secluded in my tower, I spent many nights gazing at the stars – as beautiful as the gods, but equally as cold and distant, and as ungiving of answers or guidance.”

“Mmmm.” Devi’s fingers started tracing a pattern over the orb marking on Gale’s chest, just under his shirt. “When I was a child, I used to spend almost every night on a rooftop somewhere, wherever I could see the stars and pretend I was somewhere other than here. Sometimes my brother would come with me, but after he… he left, I just came out on my own, less and less, until I all but gave up on looking at them.” She shrugged slightly. “The stars are beautiful, but they’re like the gods – aloof and distant and not helpful for much.”

“People who navigate by starlight on the seas or in the wilderness would argue their uselessness,” Gale softly corrected with a slight chuckle. The arm that wasn’t wrapped around Devi’s shoulders came up to cross his body so his fingers could caress her cheek. “And they’re most beautiful when they’re reflected in your eyes, my love. You have a beauty and warmth that no star – or goddess – could ever touch.”

Devi smiled and caught Gale’s hand in hers, turning it so she could kiss his palm. “You would be the expert in such things,” she murmured. “My wise, talented, eloquent wizard.” She kissed his hand again, then softly laughed. “You know that almost nobody would have ever imagined us together, if they’d seen us a year ago? Me, a feisty, uneducated, rebellious thief with no thought or care for the Weave and even less regard for the gods…”

“And me, the brooding, washed-up wizard who believed his talents were wasted and that all he was good for was a lesson in folly and pride, and who believed that he would never find true love in any of the realms.” Gale leaned in to kiss Devi’s forehead, his lips lingering on her skin. “If I had been told a year ago that I would find the love of my life in a short-tempered Baldurian pickpocket with a fondness for daggers and a deeply buried heart of gold, and compassion enough to make up for all that the gods lack, I would have laughed in the face of whoever told me that.”

“And if I’d been told that I would fall in love with a wizard from Waterdeep who prioritised books and his tressym, and who had loved a goddess before meeting me, and who encouraged the best parts of me that I had learned to hide away from the world, I, uh… probably would have stabbed whoever said that.” Devi smiled as Gale snorted a laugh, then shifted slightly so she could drape her leg over his thigh, as close to him as she could get. “I expected my future to include whoever I could sleep with or scam to get ahead and get out of the Lower City, or for that future to end with being stabbed in a back alley.” She let go of his hand so she could trace his face with her fingertips. “I never expected that future to be you.”

In the starlight, she could see Gale’s eyes soften – and he waxed poetic about how her eyes reflected the beauty of the stars, without thought of his own! “Me neither,” he murmured, his hand rising to trace the tip of her pointed ear before caressing through her hair. “But fate has a way of laughing at the best predictions that people can make. I’m eternally grateful that life gave me you, even if its way of giving you to me… left a little something to be desired.”

Devi softly laughed. “You mean not every great love story in Faerûn starts with an illithid abduction and mindflayer tadpoles being shoved into the heads of the lovers in question?”

Gale chuckled. “Love, I believe our story is entirely unique in that regard. I, for one, still can’t believe that you saw a washed-up fool of a wizard, trapped in his own portal, with a tadpole in his brain and a magical bomb in his chest that was killing him, and fell in love with him. If I wasn’t so grateful for you, I would question your standards.”

“My standards?” Devi grinned. “You got pulled out of your portal and landed on top of a grouchy half-Elf thief who also had a tadpole in her head and was mad as all hells about it, and then ten minutes later almost got into a knife fight with another mindflayer victim who happened to be a vampire, as we later discovered. My standards are perfectly fine!”

That made Gale laugh out loud, a moment before he clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his amusement. He stayed quiet for a moment until he was satisfied that he hadn’t disturbed anyone else, then looked at Devi with a smile. “Gods, I love you,” he said, caressing her cheek again. “Short temper, kleptomaniac tendencies, proficient blasphemies, and all.”

“I love you too, my cocky, mildly arrogant wizard.” Devi grinned at Gale’s chuckle and stretched up to kiss him. It was easy to lose herself in his touches as he kissed her back, seemingly trying to convey through his kisses how much he loved her – it was a sensation that made her weak at the knees and wanting him still more than she already had before. She swore she fell more in love with Gale every day that she was around him.

“Only mildly arrogant?” Gale softly asked when they finally pulled apart for air. He chuckled against her lips. “You both humble me and boost my ego, my darling. You make me feel like I can be ordinary Gale Dekarios with you and you won’t judge me poorly; and yet, the way you praise me makes me feel like I could take on the gods themselves.”

“I didn’t fall in love with the legendary Wizard of Waterdeep,” Devi said, smiling as she kissed him again. “I fell in love with the kind-hearted man who read books to me and snuggled me to sleep every night when I was having bad dreams, who just so happened to be incredibly adept with the Weave.” She breathed a soft laugh against his lips as she kissed him once again. “Although the offer to throat-punch Mystra still stands, after I finish killing Shar for what she and her followers did to Shadowheart.”

“The gods should tremble before you, and your temper, and your fierce desire to protect and avenge those you love,” Gale murmured, a fond smile on his lips. “First, we destroy the Absolute, and then we find a way to kill Shar, and then you can punch Mystra. After that, if you haven’t decided to go after any more gods, I’m taking you home with me to Waterdeep and giving you the life of peace that you deserve.”

“Any life with you is one that I want,” Devi breathed out as Gale leaned in to kiss her. “Whatever happens, I want to be by your side.”

“And I want to be with you, from now until the stars fade from the heavens.” Gale kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. “I will not suffer anything or anyone to take you from me, my heart. I am yours, as you are mine.”

Devi smiled at his words, feeling her eyes burn with repressed tears of love for this man. “I love you, Gale Dekarios,” she whispered around another kiss.

“And I love you, Deviali Nulys.” Gale pulled back from their kisses just enough to gaze into Devi’s eyes; the stars overhead made his own eyes shine like he was among them. “My beautiful, perfect, compassionate little thief. How did I become so fortunate as to be here with you?”

“I spirited you away from camp when nobody else was looking and brought you up here?” Devi giggled as Gale rolled his eyes, an affectionate, if slightly exasperated, huff coming from him.

“You know what I meant, you brat.” Gale chuckled and leaned in for another kiss, his teeth just nipping at Devi’s lower lip and making her moan softly. He grunted as she gently nudged him onto his back, then straddled him, knees on either side of his hips and her hands just sliding under the hem of his shirt. “Is this what you want?” he breathed out as he pulled back for air. “Right here, on this rooftop?”

“I want you,” Devi murmured. “Under the stars, with nobody to see or hear us besides the gods themselves.”

In the starlight, she saw Gale’s smile in the same breath that she felt his hands slide up under her tunic, palms warm on her bare skin. “Then you shall have me, in any way that you wish,” he whispered as he pulled her back down to him. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Devi breathed out, easily losing herself in the pleasure of Gale’s kisses and touches and whispered words of love into her pointed ears.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #minor spoilers for Act 3 #deviali #kel writes #kel answers prompts a million years later #romance #lovers #stargazing

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withahappyrefrain · 4 months

Note

For the January OTP Prompts:

“I wish everyday could be like this” about Bradley and Birdie please ❤️

In honor of it being my first day back from winter break, let's see how these two spend Birdie's time off from school!

To call it a winter break was laughable. In San Diego, there was a better chance of getting out of school due to a power outage than due to snow.

Bradley's name for it was much more appropriate: time to snuggle my (future) wife.

"Roo, I gotta get up to feed the animals!" You tried to sound exasperated, but that was difficult with his mustache tickling the back of your neck. You weren't one for sleeping in on your days off, whereas Bradley was the opposite.

"It's too cold Birdie, gotta keep you warm," his voice was slightly muffled from pressing his face against your hair. Your heart flutters upon feeling his strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, keeping you firmly in bed.

"It's fifty-two degrees!" You practically shrieked as you tried to wiggle yourself out of his grip, to no avail.

"Exactly, it's cold," he smiled at the sound of your laughter, music to his ears.

"Aren't you from Virginia?" You scoffed, "Where there are mountains and snow?"

"I grew up near the coast, aka the beach. Now let me kiss you."

Laughter filled your shared bedroom as Bradley flipped you from your side to your back.

You tried to fight back, Bradley would give you that. For a brief moment, you thought you had the upper hand, tickling the sides of his bare stomach. His deep laughter began to fill the room, mixing with yours.

It was a beautiful sight; the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his hazel eyes shined, how he made you feel so loved without saying a word.

You were so lost in the wonder that was Bradley Bradshaw, your hands fell to the sides, allowing him to quickly grab your wrists and pin them above your head.

"No fair," you hiss, "You're playing dirty."

He simply smirked, his head dropping down to your neck, "Thought you liked it when I played dirty, Mrs. Bradshaw."

You tried to ignore the way his deep voice made your thighs clench, fueled by the need to show you weren't complete putty in his hands because he used his favorite nickname on you.

"Well, if that's how you're gonna play," you turned your head to the side, "Shuna!"

Bradley's eyes widened upon hearing the sound of paws hitting the wooden floor, getting louder as they got closer to your bedroom.

Your rescue dog appeared at the door frame, tail wagging upon seeing her two favorite humans.

"Shuna! Go see Roo!" You exclaimed.

"You little- ahh! Shuna!" Bradley tried to cover his face with his arms, but to no avail. Shuna had jumped on the bed and was already licking Bradley, making her affection to him well known.

"Shuna, you gotta stop doing Mama Bird's dirty work," Bradley's arms scooped up Shuna, holding her like one would with a baby (minus the four limbs sticking up).

"Wouldn't have to if dad wouldn't play dirty," you teased, leaning over so Shuna would relieve Bradley and lick your face instead.

Shuna settled inbetween you two, making herself right at home in the bed.

Your hand reached out to pet her and instead found Bradley's, his fingers entwining with yours.

"I wish everyday could be like this," he said softly, looking over at you.

"Me too Roo, me too."

"Of course, to make it perfect, we just need a few little ones running away-" you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your cheeks were burning up at the implication of having kids, specifically Bradley's.

"How about you propose first, Romeo?" You smiled, squeezing his hand.

"I'm working on it. You said eight months was the minimum you needed to date before entertaining the idea of getting engaged, right?" Of course he would remember that, he remembered everything.

"Yes. Entertain a proposal, not accept one."

Bradley's eyes narrowed, gleaming with mischief, "I got two months left to convince ya. I'm confident Birdie."

#my writing #bradley bradshaw #now yall can reblog!#bc i accidentally posted it before finishing it #whoops!#sorry

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gffa · 5 months

Note

Coming as anon to ask, do you ship Bruce with Dick? Their relationship blurs the lines. I've been re reading the comics after many years and 😳

Hi! I don't ship it, no, it's hardcore a father & son dynamic for me, that's always been how it's come across to me since I first got into Batman-related stuff and it's a bit of a personal squick. But like anything else I don't ship, I get where it comes from and I can see why others do, that there's plenty of room in fandom, that one person's interpretation does not negate another's, so I know how to put on my big girl undies and share space with people, even if I personally am not into it. It's interesting actually, because back in the day I had so much energy to try to sway people into my view--by promoting what I liked, not by putting others' views down, even back then I knew nothing turns people off faster than, "This ship is so bad, no one can like this for real, everyone should be into my thing.", like, every time I see that from fandom about my OTP, I only ship Dick/Babs harder!--but since coming back to fandom I'm just like. "Shrug. I'd rather spend my time talking about Batdad and Batson and what makes me enjoy them, I don't actually care that much when people disagree.", it has been legitimately freeing to just not care what others ship, to just have a good time on my own terms instead! So, ship what you want, guys, I hope you're having a blast! And I don't blame anyone for thinking I might ship it, it seems like something I could be into via that lens, doesn't it? But the heart sometimes settles where it will, the vibes any one person gets from a relationship dynamic doesn't always match up--like, this is why I've always defended that it's genuinely fine to be squicked by shipping Obi-Wan and Anakin, by finding them to be a father & son dynamic only, if that's the vibe for someone, then that should be respected, I never want to shove it in their face and will do my best to get it out of their way! I just will square up if someone says I have to interpret it through that lens, because I don't. Or that, because they find the two dynamics to be the same that I have to find them to be the same dynamic--because I very much don't. So that's where I land--I hope you're having a blast and finding others that vibe with you! We'll meet in the middle to talk about other things, just as I do with all my friends who are into things that don't light me up personally. <3

#lumi.txt #who knows maybe if obi-wan & anakin fans had gotten to me with the Daddy Issues On Full Display first #maybe my tumblr would have looked VERY different XD

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agentkaz · 7 months

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kloktober day 1: favorite character or OTP

hiiiii i've never done kloktober before so i'm gonna try it! or at least do day one which means i'm Participating.

originally i was gonna do skwistok but then i was like i ship all these dumbasses together so why not just do that. so here's a small silly thing about some dudes cuddling. metal.

read that shit below

Nathan sat on the middle of the couch in the living room with a bag of chips, staring at the TV. Nothing particularly good was on, but he didn't exactly feel like either changing the channel or getting up.

It wasn't long before Pickles walked in. "Whatcha watchin'?" he asked.

Nathan nodded towards the TV. "Crappy reality show. It sucks. Check this out." Curious, Pickles sat down directly next to him, soon settling in and getting comfortable with his head on Nathan's shoulder. Every now and then, he stole some chips out of Nathan's bag.

After a few minutes, Toki and Skwisgaar came in together. "What ams you watchin's?" Toki asked, turning to peer at the TV.

"Absolutely fuckin' nothing," Pickles said, gesturing for them to come to the couch. "It's great. C'mere."

Toki sat down on Nathan's other side, curling up against him just about immediately, and Skwisgaar sat next to Toki. It didn't take long before he casually leaned over on him. Toki grabbed a few chips out of Nathan's dwindling supply and handed one over to Skwisgaar.

After another few minutes of idle TV watching, amused mockery, chip crunching, and extremely brutal cuddling, Murderface stomped in, apparently in a sour mood. "Oh, I get it, everyone's watching TV without me," he said.

Nathan just stared at him. "We didn't plan on it, okay? Just get on here," he said.

Murderface approached them and Pickles patted the space on the couch next to him. However, Murderface hesitated for just a second and everyone turned to look at him. "INCOMING!" he yelled, and before anyone could protest, he dove at the couch, landing across everyone's laps with a soft thud.

He took Nathan's last chip out of the bag and stuffed it into his mouth. "So… what are we watching?"

#metalocalypse #dethklok #polyklok #kloktober 2023

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spilledsinnamontea · 7 months

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hi i have a question can you give me some levihan headcanons as a couple in modern au?

OMG anon so sorry for not responding to you sooner! I had to sort out my thoughts first because modern AU is not something that comes naturally to me. But anyway, after doing some meditation, I managed to put my incomprehensible thoughts into words… A little too much maybe… I hope you don’t mind 2.5k words of pure nonsense hc from my silly brain.

P. S I know you asked for an established relationship, but I just could not help but also write about how they met (yeah, I’m a sucker for meet cute and imagining my OTP falling in love in various universes).

Anyway, enjoy this long ass headcanon of Levihan’s friends-to-lovers modern au with a sprinkle of university au and a dash of sports romance genre!

Levi and Hange first meet each other at university. Hange is in her 2nd semester (studying Biology) and has an academic scholarship while Levi is in his 8th semester (studying finance) and has an athletic scholarship (yeah, they are THE couple).

One day a fire alarm suddenly goes off in their university building, and so Hange alongside other students on the seventh floor immediately go toward the emergency exit to evacuate.

Hange is oddly calm during the whole ordeal, but she unfortunately gets stuck in the middle of a panicking crowd. She tries to escape the chaos, but her attempt sadly causes her ankle to twist because apparently, someone has just stepped on her shoe.

Hange does not scream because she is too shocked to even let out any words. It does not even hurt, at least not until she shelters herself on one of the corners of the emergency stairs, that’s when she realises how impossible it might be for her to save herself in time.

Levi—whose class is on the eighth floor—is one of those people who acted way too calmly during dangerous situations. He waits calmly near the emergency exit’s door until he can see that the crowds have settled down.

When he finally “escapes” he notices a girl who is limping as she descends the stairs very slowly. She is holding a shoe in her hand while she tries to not put any pressure on the sole of her bare foot.

Levi approaches her as he understands her condition. Without thinking, he offers to give her a piggyback ride. Hange refuses but he insists. He tells her that he doesn’t want to be responsible for someone’s death.

Therefore, Hange has no choice but to agree and she is quite impressed that he manages to walk down the stairs while carrying her without breaking any sweat.

When she sees her face earlier, she thinks that his face is familiar, but she can’t put her finger on it until he brings her to the university’s clinic. She hears one of the nurses call him “Ackerman”. That is when Hange realises that he is a professional athlete who won an Olympic gold medal in tennis at the young age of 20.

Just like that, the pain in her ankle suddenly disappears as her demeanour is quickly replaced by a more excited face. She tells him that she has watched his match on TV several times and she thinks he is so cool.

Levi has heard many people praising him that he can quickly recognise the difference between people who say it just to earn his attention and the people who say it genuinely because they like his play, and he instantly knows that Hange is the latter.

However, before Hange can thank him, Levi is told to leave by a nurse because some more people—who pass out due to the shock—begin to fill the clinic.

He later regrets the fact that he did not even ask for her name.

To his surprise though, a few days later, Levi finds Hange waiting in front of his class. She says she wants to thank him for saving her. She gives him a brochure of a medical museum that belongs to the university, and she invites him to come, saying that she will be his museum guide.

Despite Levi knowing that her offer is sort of an odd way of showing “gratitude”, he accepts it without even thinking about it.

During their museum “date”, Hange excitedly walks him through almost all the collections in the museum. She seems to know everything and so Levi is convinced that she must have eaten an encyclopaedia for breakfast that day.

Levi does not really care about science but the way her eyes sparkle in passion every time she speaks does make him reconsider his earlier judgment about museums and science. They are much more interesting than what he remembers from high school.

After their museum “date” he suddenly asks whether she wants to come to watch him play next week. Usually, his mother will come to watch but she can’t that day because she must chaperone his seven-year-old cousin on a field trip.

Hange answers yes without skipping a beat, and so Levi ends up asking for her phone number so he can give her the ticket for the match.

Hange can’t take her eyes off him during the match, and she is practically swooned by him by the end of it.

Truthfully though, they are already attracted to each other right from their first meeting, but Hange believes that she just admires him for his talent as an athlete. Meanwhile, Levi—despite being aware from the get-go that he likes her—believes that she isn’t interested in him (idiots in love, you know the drill)

YET, despite it all, they gradually start to become even closer to each other. They text each other every day and they will often have lunch at the canteen together when they can. Then, somehow along the way, they just became inseparable.

Their favourite place to be together is the library! Levi will work on his thesis while Hange works on her assignments, papers, or studying for many of the academic competitions that she participates in. However, he quickly found out that she is actually quite distracting even when she is not saying anything.

Hange will come to watch Levi every time he has a practice match nearby and then they will grab a dinner together after that. She has come too many times that the coach and some other athletes recognise and befriend her.

Before he knows it, glancing in her direction before he starts his match has become his routine. Something that he keeps doing for years to come.

Levi will wait for her class to be over then he will walk her to the bus stop. He will wait until her bus is gone from his sight.

Sadly, their little “hangouts” don’t last long though since he graduates a few months later.

It is during his graduation that she meets Kuchel for the first time! Hange introduces herself as Levi’s friend but of course, mother knows best. Since Kuchel comes alone, there is still another seat for Levi’s family in the auditorium, so she invites Hange to accompany her throughout the whole ceremony.

Levi is surprised when he spots his mother sitting with Hange, but he can’t hide his joy when he notices how much her mother likes Hange.

When the ceremony is finished, Kuchel goes to ask someone to take a photo of the three of them together. She also takes a photo of both Hange and Levi together. If you look closely at their photo, you can see Levi being subtly flustered in all of their pictures.

After that, Kuchel invites Hange to come for dinner someday at their house, which Hange complies gladly. And so, a few weeks later Hange comes for dinner at the Ackerman’s house and that is when she meets Levi’s uncle, Kenny.

She is shocked to see Kenny there because Levi’s uncle is none other than a guy who almost “killed” her in high school. The story goes like this: 15-year-old Hange was riding her bike one day right after school when Kenny’s car suddenly struck her from behind. Fortunately, she only suffered minor injuries and he was responsible enough to pay for the medical bills as well as saying, “Yeah, I guess I’m sorry,” to her parents.

Levi realises that he is also at the same hospital right at the same time as Hange because he was asked by Kenny to bring the wallet that he had left at home—something that Kenny eventually used to pay for Hange’s medical bills. They could have met back then, but he is glad that they met much later in life.

Kenny also recognises her as the girl that he almost killed but he jokingly remarks that it is just a work of fate that she gets to meet her boyfriend’s uncle way before the two of them officially meet.

They both deny the “boyfriend” claim, but it is during that moment that Hange realises her true feelings. Like she goes, “OMG do I want to be him to be my boyfriend?!!!! OH SHIT I GUESS I DO!”

After that, she becomes shy around him out of the blue which confuses Levi. He begins to think that his connection to Kenny might have bothered her. Levi, desperately not wanting her to hate him, invites her to an arcade.

Hange obviously has a lot of fun there. She is smiling and laughing, she is glowing with pure happiness that makes Levi come to a realisation that he would be so grateful if he could see her smile every day for the rest of his life.

During their walk home, Hange can’t stop thanking him for her wonderful day at the arcade. But Levi is still slightly worried that she might still hold some grudges against his uncle, but before he can ask about it, Hange cuts him with a question, “Hey, do you want to go out?”

Levi definitely does not see that one coming. It is so out of the blue and it shocks him so greatly to the point that he almost walks into a streetlamp.

But of course, he wants to, duh! So yeah, they officially became a couple after that.

Hange invites Levi to meet her parents not too long after that and well it’s quite easy for their parents to accept him when they can see how happy their daughter is when he is around her.

Hange’s father, who has a hobby of collecting antique cameras, is the one who introduces Levi to photography. He even gives Levi one of his old cameras for him to try, and it does not take long before his camera is full of Hange’s pictures.

Regarding their relationship, since they become busier with their own stuff (Hange with uni and Levi with his professional tennis career), they do not really go out together as often as before. However, they try to always make time to be with each other during important moments. For example: Hange rarely skips watching Levi’s match, be it from the arena or the live streaming. Likewise, Levi seldom misses any exhibition or competition that Hange participates in. He even reads all the articles that Hange had written for many journals.

Generally, they like to keep their relationship private. They are the kind of chill couple who rarely show PDA. But I do think Hange might hug him occasionally when she’s happy (maybe when they haven’t seen each other for a while).

Hange moves into Levi’s apartment after she graduates from uni. However, long before that, she has had plenty of sleepovers there. She has already left some of her stuff in Levi’s apartment, so she does not really pack much when she eventually moves in.

Hange works as a botanist at a pharmaceutical company, and she is considering taking a master’s degree in the near future.

She has a much more flexible—albeit packed—work schedule while Levi has a much more rigid schedule as he has to train six days a week at the gym with his coach. As a result, they begin to have less time together.

However, they understand that they don’t need to meet often. They have deep trust in each other, so their relationship is pretty much secure and low maintenance. Though out of the two, Levi is the one who tends to miss her presence the most.

Hange is the one who overshares, and Levi is the one who will gladly listen to anything that she has to say about.

Hange is also the touchy one! They will be sitting next to each other on the couch watching TV, and in the next few minutes, Hange has already put her head on his shoulder and squeezed his hand.

The first thing that he notices after she moves in is the fact that he will have to listen to Hange and be touched by Hange 24/7 until he dies. But somehow it does not bother him at all. In fact, all he can think about is, “Ok, I guess this is my life now,” with a smile on his face.

Levi enjoys cleaning Hange’s stuff! Hange will sometimes go to work with her laptop and shoes suddenly spotless and shining. However, his ultimate favourite thing to clean is her glasses because he gets to see her beautiful eyes HAHA.

Hange has a hobby of gardening so their apartment is quickly filled up with many potted plants (each one has a name!). She also makes a mini garden on their balcony.

Most of the day, Levi is the first one to wake up since he has to go to train early at the gym, but he always has the time to prepare breakfast for both Hange and him before he leaves. Hange usually wakes up right before Levi leaves, and she will always kiss him on the cheek as a good luck charm.

When Hange has to work in her lab, she tends to work until late in the night so Levi will come to pick her up if he can.

Despite their busy schedules, they always try to at least have dinner together every day. Sometimes when Hange works from home, she will either make a dinner or order something for both of them.

They also try to have lunch or dinner with their whole family (Kuchel and Hange’s parents) every month or every two months. Mostly at their place but sometimes at Kuchel’s house or the Zoë’s house.

They rarely argue. If they do, it is mostly out of their love and care for each other. Levi will sometimes get so worried for Hange that Hange starts to feel that he becomes too micromanaging of her while Hange will sometimes get too engrossed in her work that Levi feels forgotten by her.

Their argument won’t last more than a day though since being away from each other is much more miserable than being together. I feel like they care more about each other than they care about their own ego.

I like to imagine Hange as this one post on Reddit about “I have the biggest crush on my husband.” I mean, that’s so Hange-coded LMAO. I mean, despite having been in a relationship for so long with Levi, she still acts like she just discovered her feelings for him (blushing, nervous, buzzing heart, being shy when she sees him up close, being excited for their date, etc.).

Levi is definitely a lot softer around her! His voice is lower, his frown is absent, and he likes to affectionally touch her hair. This has become so apparent that people like to point it out to him, which he denies!

They will have a super simple and quick wedding! They just wear their best clothes as they register their marriage. Then they invite their closest friends and families to a dinner at a restaurant.

There is no proposal. Hange just casually brings it up one morning to Levi, “Hey, I think we should get married. What do you think?”

It's a good thing that Levi has not yet drunk his tea when she asks that or else the tea could have choked his throat to death.

When they marry, they retain their last name since both of them have prominent careers.

Would they have children? Yeah I like to think they would HAHA

SO YEAH! That’s all that I can think about! Sorry that this has become way too long… I hope you like it Anon! Sorry if you found any typos or mistakes.

Also, thank you so much for sending me this ask! I actually had a lot of fun making (and daydreaming) about levihan in modern AU!

#levihan #levihan headcanon #shingeki no kyojin #thanks anon for allowing me to share this!#some of these hc actually belong to my abandoned levihan fics ;)#the fics might never see the sun but at least fragments of it will :D #asking for a tea #bluemallow

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 2 years

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The Sunshine Undertow (II)

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x f!reader**; Doran Martell x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader (time travel/Outlander AU) (no use of y/n, reader uses a fake name) Word Count: 9.0k Warnings: Smut, semi-public smut, language, mentions of rape (not the physical act), teasing, banter

**Main pairing for the fic. They are end game and the otp but things get messy and there are a lot of feelings across the board. (Gif/moodboard made by me)

Summary: Marcus takes her on a date. Oberyn sees her naked. And Doran knows she’s lying. Thank you so much to TJ @pettyprocrastination for taking a look at this and helping me get some of my confidence back.

[Previous Chapter] * [Series Masterlist] * [Complete Masterlist]

The Night She Disappeared

He looked sharp in the black blazer and matching button down.

“These are for you.”

Marcus stepped into her apartment and handed her a small bouquet of pink and white lilies. She returned the gesture with a kiss on his cheek before setting them in the kitchen. They’d be fine on the counter until they got back from the museum.

“They’re beautiful,” she grinned, slinging the long strap of her purse over her shoulder.

“Just like you,” he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back in for a real kiss on the lips.

She laughed against his mouth. “Oh! So, you’re pulling out every cheesy stop in the book tonight?”

“You know it,” he smiled down at her, keeping her close.

“Are you going to open my door?”

“Yes.”

“Pull out my chair?”

“Yup.”

“Put your coat over the puddle to keep my shoes from getting wet?”

“Highly impractical, but of course I will.”

“Beat up the man at the bar who stares at me too long?”

“I will wait for him to buy you a drink first–you know, because of the economy.”

“Oh, sure, sure, sure,” she laughed.

Marcus’s hand was warm in hers as they drove to the restaurant. He liked to hold her hand over the gear shift as he drove with his left–it was just something he always did, only letting go when he had to pass or turn on the wipers. He kissed her knuckles and held eye contact. He let her pick the radio station. His hand always found its way to the small of her back, like there was a magnet inside them both. When he slid into the booth at the restaurant and brushed his lips against the shell of her ear to compliment her dress, it made her lower stomach flip a little.

Everything was always, unequivocally about her. Her. Her. Her.

Like he promised, he ordered the avocado egg rolls. They were annoyingly tasty. She ordered the chicken, him the steak–they traded bites off of each other’s fork. The food was delicious and they were disgustingly cute. It was enough to make guilt settle in the hollow of her throat about her earlier concerns during her middle of the week lecture. When it came to Marcus Pike–she had absolutely nothing to complain about. But if that were true, why did she feel so shitty about it all?

“You gotta work this weekend?” he asked, stabbing a roasted potato with his fork.

“Like always,” she sighed, doing the same with a caper that was trying to roll away.

“Saving lives,” he beamed and she scoffed.

“More like pumping stomachs of alcoholic frat boys and stitching up thumbs that have fallen victim to kitchen accidents.”

“It won’t be forever,” he encouraged her. “You’ll move on to your next practicum in December, right?”

“Yeah.” She took a sip of her wine.

He cut another piece off of his steak and pushed it around in the sauce before turning to face her, more head on. “You know if you hate it, you can always change careers?”

“I don’t hate it. It’s just that I’m…” she shrugged, feeling guilty for the weight of the conversation. Another thing to add to the already growing pile inside of her.

“Burnt out?” He raised an eyebrow and she nodded again as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I get it.”

She knew he did. If anything the definition of Marcus was ‘understanding’. He took everything in stride. It didn’t matter if it was his work or hers. His parents, halfway across the country in Texas. Her increasing irritations and mood swings about life. Nothing seemed to bother him. He rarely if ever got angry and when she brought it up he attributed it to his job and his desperate need to be a better man than his father.

The chicken melted like butter against her tongue as the waiter offered them another glass of wine. She nodded enthusiastically while she chewed.

“Why don’t we go somewhere this year for Christmas? When you’re on winter break?” Marcus asked, breaking the silence.

She let out a short, abrupt laugh. “Really? What about your parents? They’re gonna freak out if we don’t come spend the week.”

“Meh,” he shrugged. “Let them. We could go somewhere warm. Crystal blue waters, palm trees, sex on the beach–”

“The drink or the activity?”

“Yes.”

They both laughed and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Marcus had taken them in the back door of the museum. He had expertly sorted through the hundreds of keys on his multiple rings and deactivated the alarm with the confident punch of a four digit code.

Every shared look was a secret grin, a playful tongue and cheek. He seldom did anything outside the rules and his playful energy and slight buzz from wine at dinner was infectious. She couldn’t keep her hands off of him. She rubbed against the side of his body, nipping his ear as he worked the door, giggling against his shoulder as he fumbled his keys and tried to capture her mouth.

“Focus,” she teased as he tried to put his hand under the hem of her dress and he scoffed.

“Hard to focus with you looking like that,” he whispered as the door unlocked and he pulled her into the employee only area.

The storage where the artifacts and paintings were stored when not on display was cluttered and dark. The fullness muffled the soft click of his dress shoes as he let the door shut a little too hard in favor of dropping his keys and grabbing her around the waist. Big hands and deft fingers pulling at the soft material of her sundress as she shoved his blazer to the floor and started pulling his button down out from its loose tuck.

“Marcus,” she breathed and he groaned, pulling apart just long enough to pick up his discarded jacket and toss it over the nearest crate. She gave him a questioning look.

“So you don’t get splinters in your ass when I fuck you right here…” he leaned down and kissed her throat and she squeaked.

“Wow–I forget how much I love Marcus without his inhibitions,” she teased and he pinched her thigh.

“I love you too, smartass.”

They pulled apart just long enough for her to hop on the crate, wiggling her butt back and spreading her legs so he could stand between her knees. His thick fingers reached between them to rub her through the silk of her panties while she worked on his belt. He was already hard against the soft front of his slacks and she couldn’t help but rub him through his pants as he pushed up her dress.

“You’re so pretty.”

His teeth at her neck were gentle, but each scrape left her wanting more. Harder. It was too much to ask for him to leave marks, that wasn’t his style. But it still sent goosebumps down her arms every time he added pressure.

“No one’s on duty?” she asked against his mouth as he nosed her head up.

“Joe is–but he sleeps at the desk and never comes in here.” He paused to give her another grin. “You’ll just have to keep quiet. I know that’s hard for y-OU..oof,” he grunted as she tightened her grip on his dick at his quip.

His breath was hot against the shell of her ear as he gripped her ass, lifting her just enough to push inside her comfortably. Over and over. She clung to him. Nails dragging across his shoulders and wrinkling his dress shirt as he pushed her closer towards the edge.

He deserved this. He had deserved the night out at his stupid favorite restaurant. He had deserved her doting affections, and her tender touches, and their shared laughter. When they were like this, she was no longer the ill-fitting puzzle piece. Things were as they should be. Things were good. Sex was their way back to one another, but she felt guilty being the only one who knew they had drifted apart to begin with. She could give him this. She could love him like this.

“Marcus,” she gasped and he covered her mouth with his, muffling her cries as he pounded her hard enough to shake the crate she was perched on.

“Like that?” he groaned and she nodded desperately.

“Just like that–like that–fuck, baby, please,” she whimpered and she reached down desperately for his hand, slapping his arm lightly until he gave it to her. She took his palm and placed it over her own mouth to stop herself from getting too loud. The action made his cock pulse inside of her.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he gave her cheeks a light squeeze and her eyes rolled back slightly.

She knew better than to ask him to finish inside of her–Marcus was too careful for that. And she should have been thankful, but in the moment it was a different story. She knew he didn’t have a reckless bone in his entire body.

His lips found hers in soft kisses, spaced between even breaths as he gripped her thighs, then her ass, like he couldn’t keep from touching her. He nosed at her chin, carefully biting his way down to her ear as he waited for his heart rate to slow. Marcus let out a deep hum of contentment as she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him close.

“I meant to show you the exhibit,” he said gruffly and it made her smile.

“I mean I have a pretty good view from here,” she joked, pointing towards one of the paintings on the wall. “Tell me about that one.”

“Which one?” Marcus turned his neck at an awkward angle to keep from having to leave the comfort of her arms.

“The one with the lady–with the dark hair and the snakes?” she gestured again before going back to stroking his hair.

“Oh, that one,” he nodded. “One of my favorites–Princess Elia Martell. A tragic story, really.”

“Tragic?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, laying his head on her chest.

“Tell me.”

–

Dorne - Now

The journey had taken four days.

In four days she had been chased through the woods, nearly assaulted, and slept three nights sitting straight up on a horse. She had learned to relieve her aching bladder in the woods without falling ass first into a thorn bush. She had subsisted off of hard cheese and stale bread with the occasional dried meat that was reserved for every other day. Magnus had told her it was meat from a snake, she didn’t believe him…at least not entirely. But when Doran gave her a wink and a gentle nudge, she ate it anyway. She was too hungry to care even if it was.

Her ass hurt from the hard leather of the saddle. Her thighs were chafing and she cursed every fiber of her being for falling through time in a fucking sundress. She would have killed someone for a pair of leggings. Kicked a puppy for her mattress and pillow. She would have committed unspeakable sexual favors for her phone and all of her unread emails. She didn't want anyone to ask what she would have done for her toothbrush.

She was dirty. Sweat and mud pooled in places that made her skin feel tight and itch with the need to be clean. She was certain that she smelled terrible, but the man at her back didn’t say anything. The prince at her back seemed perfectly content to keep his good arm around her waist for balance and make idle conversation with her while the others kept their distance.

It was clear no one trusted her. She was an outsider, clearly not belonging and not willing to give them more information than was absolutely necessary. They didn’t ask and her lips stayed sealed. It was better that way.

The first morning, when they had stopped at the river to refill their waterskins and give the horses a break, she had truly been able to look at Oberyn and what she saw nearly made her fall into the water.

He looked…like Marcus.

At first she thought her eyes were deceiving her. They were playing tricks on her and showing her what she desperately wanted and that was to see her boyfriend. Seeing Marcus would mean she was back in Boston. Back in her own time. Back where she belonged. But she wasn’t. And though the similarities were comically astute, the differences still shook her to her core.

Oberyn had a dark line of facial hair, where Marcus was clean shaven. His skin was darker, more time in the sun, the elements, the climate of Dorne no doubt being vastly different than Massachusetts. In fact, everything about him seemed darker, from his coal black hair void of product to his striking eyes the color of river rocks stoic beneath the rushing water. The nose, however, was the exact same. Strong and slightly curved down the ridge. A prominent landmark of his handsome face.

“What is it, princess?”

He had caught her staring.

“Nothing,” she shook her head and turned back to the river, splashing her face with the icy water. She stood back up and went to the horse, wiping her hands on the cloak that hung off of the saddle. “You just–you just remind me of someone.”

His eyebrow raised with interest as he stepped closer to her. He lowered his voice as the other men moved along the bank around them.

“Judging by the heat here,” he lightly touched his knuckle to the apple of her cheek. “And how quickly you looked away from me–do I remind you of your husband?”

She batted his hand away lightly. “He’s not my husband.”

"Betrothed?" He grinned at the admission and then again when she shook her head. “Your lover, then?”

“I guess that’s a good word for him,” she bit her lip and her chest felt tight.

She didn’t know why she suddenly wanted to cry. She was exhausted beyond measure. And it would be a lie to say she hadn’t found some comfort in Oberyn and Doran the last few days. The latter especially. Marcus was probably going out of his mind with worry. He was probably looking high and low, having called the police, her family, her job–and instead she had pulled another man’s arms around her tighter with each passing night.

The excuses piled up. Most of them relied on her fear and the multitude of unknowns about her current situation. But even that didn’t make her feel any less guilty, especially when any attention from the princes made her gut tighten and her heart gallop.

He had said her ‘name’ twice before she pulled herself from her thoughts and looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head and wiped the burning from her eyes. “What did you say?”

“I asked if he was no longer of this world,” Oberyn said, putting a hand on her elbow. “Your lover–is he not alive?”

“No,” she shut her eyes tightly as she suddenly couldn’t stop the tears. “No, I guess he’s not.”

It was the truth. Hundreds of years in the past, Marcus wouldn’t even be born yet–so, technically, Oberyn was right in assuming he wasn’t alive. As ridiculous as the statement was, it still made her breath catch in her throat as she made a soft choking sound and pressed her hand over her eyes to hide the fact that she was about to cry.

“Shh,” Oberyn soothed her with soft mouth sounds as he turned her away from the horse and pulled her into his embrace. “It’s alright. I apologize for asking, m’lady.”

“It’s–it’s f-fine,” she cried harder into his tunic as she let her forehead rest against his chest. “I’m sorry for,” she shook her head and hiccuped. “I’m sorry for crying–”

When she attempted to pull away, he kept his hold firm. “It’s alright.”

His hand pressed gently against her hair and it was the final straw. She sobbed. There was no other word for the dam of emotion that burst from her mouth, from deep inside her ribs. She let him hold her and she sobbed. The aches of fear, frustration, loneliness, uncertainty, insanity–all of it, came pouring out from the deepest parts of her soul and onto his chest. He quieted her gently, soft murmurs of his lips against her temple to let her know he was there, she was safe.

“Oberyn?” Doran asked as he approached and she felt the younger man shake his head lightly.

The retreating sound of footsteps told her that they were alone again and she began to loosen her grip on his clothes. Now she was dirty and covered in tears and snot. How he didn’t find her repulsive was beyond her current reasoning.

“Here,” he said quietly, leaning back just enough to hold a rag in front of her face.

She sniffed and took it, wiping her face and nose. “I’m sorry–”

“Keep your apologies,” he brushed his knuckle under her chin and gave her a kind smile. “They aren’t needed.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded in acknowledgement before releasing her slowly. Nodding towards the horse, he put his hand on her waist. “I can’t use both hands,” he nodded towards his arm still in the sling. “But get your foot in the stirrup and I can give you a boost–as long as you don’t mind my hand on your ass.”

He grinned and it caught her off guard just enough to make her cackle. He looked at her like she had lost her mind. And maybe she had, but she kept laughing. It felt better than crying.

The mountains and forests soon gave way to sand. Large crags of rock and bare trees with gnarled branches stood stoic in the gentle breeze that blew hotly across the open. Most of the area was flat but off in the distance the dunes rose and dipped, and even further behind that stood the red mountains. Everything was shades of burnt orange. The land was made of sunshine and warmth as if the light touched it all and blessed it with an endless summer.

Oberyn had tucked the blanket away in one of the saddle bags as soon as they had made it across the border. Doran pushed the horses a little harder. A little faster. The animals didn’t seem to mind, it was as if they could taste home.

They breached the gates, three large archways that seemed to magically open the moment they came into range. The stone path bypassed the labyrinth that was the city itself and took them right up to the massive palace.

The stone and tan terracotta walls were offset with bronze ringlets that kept the gargantuan towers from all being one color. Large suns with swirling rays were perched on top of each tower, centered over almost every window, and fluttered in the middle of every flag. The sun glittered off of the mosaic trimmings that had been carefully pressed into the corners and the rooftops.

Her face must have shown the level of her wonder because Oberyn chuckled and leaned down by her ear to be heard over the sound of the hooves against the cobblestone.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she agreed, leaning forward a bit in the saddle.

“Do they not have palaces like this in the Massachusetts Kingdom?”

His question was so earnest, she only laughed a little. “Not even close.”

“Well,” he leaned back, pulling up on the reins a bit as they broke through the last gate and up the incline to a set of large, open doors. “Welcome to Sunspear.”

Sunspear.

The name was incredibly fitting. Just like the planet, the palace seemed to be what the entire city revolved around. It was bright and warm and yet, as they got closer, she noted the sentries on the winding walls, and the guards at the entrance with a few people ready to receive them. It was both beautiful and deadly in equal parts.

Lewyn and Magnus rode up first, dismounting with grace and immediately passing off their mounts to the waiting stablehands. They exchanged greetings with a few men in fighting leathers and what appeared to be the customary orange and yellow tunics of the city.

“Magnus!” a gruff voice called out and they looked towards an old man, limping his way towards the horses. “What have you done to my Sevana?” He thrust his cane into the hands of a younger stable hand and lovingly stroked the nose of the horse that Magnus had jumped off of.

“I didn’t do anything, Mel,” Magnus scoffed. “I been riding all night, and I don't need you squalling in my ear.”

“Did you even look at her feet?” Mel raised his voice as he bent over and tapped the beast on the leg and inspected her hooves once she lifted them.

“What am I supposed to do with her f–”

“She served us well, Melvan,” Doran interrupted, making his own horse stop beside the others. “We couldn’t have made it without any of them.”

“Your grace,” Melvan bowed slightly. “You can't expect any beast to carry around something that weighs as much as Magnus without taking care of the poor creature's feet.”

“Listen, you old man–” Magnus started.

“It’s like a cow riding a mouse,” Melvan exclaimed.

She couldn’t stop the giggle that came from her lips and it was much louder than she intended. As all of their heads turned towards her, Oberyn broke into a coughing fit that effectively hid her outburst. He waved them away as if to signal he was alright and when they turned back around he pinched her hip. She glared at him.

“Doran! Oberyn!”

They once again all turned collectively towards the ornate doors of the palace as a woman squealed and called their names. It was hard to miss the large smiles that both men suddenly wore as she ran down the incline.

She wore teal silks that rippled in the wind created by her movement. Her earrings jingled and the gold bangles on her wrists made her sound like a walking windchime. Her dark hair was pinned back with an ornate array of pearls held together with gold thread, and it still nearly fell to her waist. She had the bronze skin and dark eyes of the Princes but her smile was as breathtaking as the palace.

“You’re back early!” she squealed again as Doran dismounted and she threw her arms around his neck.

He grunted, but caught her around the waist as he hugged her tight enough to lift her off the ground. “We had a bit of good luck.”

“I mi–” She started to respond but wrinkled her nose instead and started to push against his shoulders in an effort to get back on the ground. “You smell awful, brother.”

“Do I?” he raised an eyebrow as she took a step back. “Well, in that case…”

He caught her around the waist and rubbed his greasy curls on her shoulder as she laughed and protested. Her small hands shoved at him as she tried to turn and reached to Oberyn for help. “Get off! Disgusting–Oberyn!”

The younger brother slid down from the saddle and held up a finger for her to wait a minute as he reached up and helped her off of the horse. It felt good to have her feet on solid ground. Even if it was filled with more unknowns, it felt good to be somewhere stationary, somewhere that hopefully had a bed or at the very least a couch.

The woman had managed to untangle herself from Doran and shoved him playfully as she hurried over to Oberyn and hugged him tightly around the neck.

“Oh, hey, hey,” he chuckled quietly as he put a large hand in her hair and angled her body away from his arm still in the makeshift sling.

“You’re hurt,” she pulled away just enough to look at him. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I told Aero but he wouldn’t listen–”

“We’ll talk about this later and you can give me an earful about how you’re always right. But first,” Oberyn turned her slightly and gestured to the other woman by the horse. “Mistress Lily Pike,” he nodded to the woman who had his arm around her shoulders. “Elia Martell–princess of Dorne.”

Her heart stopped–the woman from the painting.

“Your sister?”

“Hard to believe I know,” she said with mock sincerity. “Thank the gods I was blessed with mother’s good looks.”

“But none of her common sense,” Oberyn muttered and Elia elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to make him grunt out a puff of air.

“Where did you find this one, brother?” Elia jerked her head to the other woman and the Prince smiled.

“Doran found her,” he started to explain but stopped, a tightness settled in his mouth that she didn’t quite understand, but he shook it off quickly. “Insisted she come with us.”

“Well, you look like you’re in need of a hot bath and some food,” Elia nodded. “And most definitely ten minutes of peace from this sorry band of ruffians.”

“Honestly, if you could give me somewhere vaguely flat, I’d be ecstatic,” she laughed. “I’m tired of sleeping sitting up on a moving animal.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Elia looked positively appalled as she took her hand and started to pull her away from the group. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed…and some better clothes.” Elia eyed the dirty, torn sundress with curiosity.

“Thank you, sister.”

“Thank you, Elia.”

The brothers said almost in perfect unison behind them as the princess waved them off and kept walking. She stopped short when the new woman stopped walking and looked back over her shoulder. Elia gave her a quizzical look before following her gaze.

“What about him?” she asked, nodding to Oberyn. When Elia raised an eyebrow, she continued. “He’s hurt–more than he lets on.”

“I’m fine, Lady Pike,” Oberyn started to protest but she cut him off.

“He’s not fine,” she shook her head. “I bandaged his side but I didn’t have the right supplies. It could get infected–you know, with fever, and–and swelling?” She tried to explain in terms that were more common for the time but Elia looked like she understood.

The princess nodded before looking back to Oberyn with her hands on her hips. “You heard the lady–come along.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes and huffed loudly, but he followed.

–

Elia moved around the room as she collected the things that were needed. She seemed curious about Pike but not distrusting in the least. She listened, and nodded, and offered suggestions as the other woman tried to remember natural remedies from the botany class she took last year. Fuck, she should have taken better notes.

The room they were in now was off to the side of the kitchens on the first floor. It was a warm, bright room that had spices and dried plants and vegetables hanging from racks and shelves. Elia pulled a wooden stool over to the fireplace and shoved Oberyn down into it, standing on her tiptoes in order to do so.

An iron pot hung off of a hook over the flames once Elia had dumped water into it along with a handful of plants that she had first smelled and inspected.

“That’s the queen’s skirt flower,” Elia said as the other woman pulled down a white, spindly plant. “You can use that? I thought it was a weed.”

“Back home it’s called anise,” Pike explained, breaking off the heads and putting them in the pot. “This–biloba,” a fan shaped plant went in next, “And most importantly–garlic,” she added a few bulbs into the pot from the dry storage shelves.

“And they do what, exactly?”

“Clean the wound before you bandage it,” she explained as Oberyn watched her carefully.

The princess handed a spoon and she started to slowly stir the items into the water as it heated up. She cleared her throat and smoothed her teal skirts before sitting up on the table, hands clasped in her lap. “Where did you learn this?”

“I’m going to school to be a doct–a healer,” she corrected, remembering Oberyn’s earlier confusion.

“And where are you learning that? Where is home for you, Lady Pike?” Elia asked, tucking her hands under her thighs.

“Far away.” She focused intently on stirring the pot and not looking at the other woman.

“She’s from the kingdom of Massachusetts,” Oberyn enunciated the strange word very particularly and Elia raised a brow.

“I’ve never heard of that place,” the princess shook her head. “How ever did you wind up here?”

“I–” she bit her lip as her chest suddenly felt tight again. She couldn’t possibly explain the truth to them, but she didn’t have an alternate story. Her shoulders clenched and she could feel the sweat along her brow as she continued to avoid eye contact with the royals at her back. Suspicious didn’t even begin to cover her behavior, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it either.

“My sister loves to ask questions,” Oberyn came to her rescue. “She asks more questions than anyone I’ve ever met and it is dreadfully irritating. She also clearly cannot tell when someone is trying to concentrate.”

“If you weren’t injured, I’d shove you off that stool,” Elia boasted, sticking her tongue out at him as he chuckled.

“You’re distracting my nurse. How is she ever supposed to patch me up with you squawking in her ear?” Oberyn gestured to her and when she looked over her shoulder at him, he winked.

Bastard.

“I do not squawk!” Elia protested and it made the other woman smile. “Lady Pike, I’m going to go get some things together for you–I’ll be back. And if my brother isn’t in one piece when I return, I’ll assume it’s because he annoyed you and deserved it.”

“Thank you.” That made her laugh as she nodded her head in thanks. Before the princess left, she stopped stirring to look back at her. “Also, you can call me Lily, your…highness,” she hesitated, the title not normally part of her daily vocabulary.

“And you may call me Elia,” she returned the favor with a kind smile before leaving quietly. “I’ll be back soon.”

The room quieted around the two of them as the sound of her footsteps quietly echoed down the hallway. She felt Oberyn watching her with quiet interest as she pressed the spoon into the pot, crushing a few of the ingredients slightly. She picked up a few of the clean strips of cloth that Elia had provided, dropping them in the water using the spoon to gently submerge them.

Movement caught her gaze from the side as Oberyn used his good arm to remove his shirt. She tried not to stare at the broad lines of his tan chest, the sparse dusting of hair, and an impressive barrage of scars of various sizes and shapes telling stories of violence and reckless behavior.

Oberyn watched her carefully as she pulled the strips of cloth from the pot and wrung them out. She turned her own stool to face him as she started to undo the belt and shawl that had served as a sling for the last few days.

“Magnus will be glad to have his belt back,” Oberyn observed, making conversation as she peeled the old bandages away from his stab wound.

“I’m sure the rest of us will be glad he has it back, too,” she quipped and he chuckled.

“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to see his bare ass.”

They shared a soft laugh and her fingers pressed gently on his side to angle him where she needed. He was pliant under her touch, only jumping slightly when she touched his upper ribs. She made a mental note that he was ticklish as she moved to clean the wound.

“Can you hold your arm up just a bit–there, perfect,” she nodded as she cleaned the dried blood, carefully avoiding the already forming scab. “It’s not infected. Does it hurt?”

“Shoulder? Yes. This?” he gestured to the stab wound and shook his head. “No. I’ve had worse.” He paused before adding, “Much worse.”

“I can see that.” She dropped the soiled pieces of cloth onto the floor as she grabbed new ones. “I’m sure you have good stories to tell.”

“Loads of them, princess.” He grinned as she lightly tied a longer strip of cloth around his waist to keep the dressing in place. “I’ll have to tell you sometime.”

She bit her lip to stay quiet and instead just nodded. She didn’t want to offend him, but she had no intention of being here long enough for that. She had to get back. Back to Boston. Back to Marcus. She had a life and did not belong in this place, let alone in this century.

He continued to watch her as she continued to work. His soft, brown eyes were equal parts comforting and unnerving–they reminded her so much of Marcus. She cleared her throat quietly and moved the pile of rags to the table. With the stab wound cleaned and covered, she moved back to the pot and stirred it slowly, careful not to slosh the contents.

Oberyn cleared his throat quietly and leaned forward on the stool.

“You know you don’t have to be afraid–you’re safe here.” His voice was gentle as she looked over her shoulder at him. “Especially when you’re with me.”

She bit her lip gently and nodded. “What about when I’m not with you?”

His face sombered slightly as he rolled the tension out of his shoulders. “Just remember you’re an outsider in a world on the brink of war–I don’t envy you for that, Mistress Pike.”

–

Her bare ass was on a table, rhythmically rocking back and forth with a soft thud against the wall as her knees clenched up around his torso. She felt protected. Safe and cherished as big hands pinned her hips in place and held her still. Slightly chapped lips dragged along her collarbone and up her neck before whispering in her ear.

“Princess.”

He had never called her that. Marcus typically stuck with the usual terms of endearment. Sweetheart. Babe. Doll. She whimpered softly and clutched him tighter. Her sex stretching to accommodate his girth as he pinned her with his thrusts.

“Open your eyes,” the voice whispered again as he nipped her ear lobe. “Look at me when I make you come.”

She did as she was told, her lashes fluttering as she raised her gaze expecting Marcus to be looking down at her. But it wasn’t.

Those dark brown eyes bore into her soul as her fingers gently cupped his face and ran along the black hair of his jaw. He kissed her lips like he intended on consuming her with teeth and tongue. She would go willingly into the vortex of his mouth. She wanted to be consumed. Swallowed and kept safe.

“Keep your eyes on me, Princess.”

She sat up straight in an avalanche of pillows and gasped. Her breathing was not ragged but her heart was trying to beat out of her chest as she looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. The events of the last week came crashing down on her as she realized this still wasn’t some crazy dream.

She had been dreaming of fucking one of the princes. It was a toss up on if it was Oberyn or Doran who had been railing her on the table but neither was acceptable.

Fuck.

After she had patched up Oberyn, Elia had taken her to her room. It was gorgeous. A room that one expected to find in a lavish palace. A room fit for royalty. She kept thinking the ridiculousness of it all would eventually wake her up from this bizarre dream and she would be back in Boston. But so far, it was all still very real.

The bed was massive, awaiting her with emerald blankets and a mountain of tasseled pillows, and she all but belly flopped into it before passing out from pure exhaustion. It hugged her comfortably, much more than the bedroll on the ground outside or the back of the horse had. Her aching limbs and joints sang an angel’s chorus each time she rolled over.

The bedroom opened to the outside, gossamer curtains blowing gently in the breeze gave the illusion of privacy as they beckoned out into an open wading pool surrounded by unlit sconces. The air blew the water in a gentle, rhythmic lapping against the stone of the steps as the early morning sun glittered off the surface. Was there not a single thing in this place that wasn’t heart wrenchingly gorgeous?

She lifted her arm slightly and sniffed. She definitely should have taken a bath before she went to bed last night but she didn’t have it in her. Now, it was unavoidable.

As if someone had prepared for her eventual train of thought–a small table had been placed at the entrance to the pool with everything she needed. Glass bottles filled with some type of rose oils, a bar of plain homemade soap, and a stack of lush towels.

Dipping her toes in the water told her it was a little chilly. The sun had yet to fully come up and warm it but it would have to do. It was either tepid water or spend another minute smelling like a horse–she chose the former.

“S-shit,” she gasped as she stepped off the stairs and fully submerged, shoving her hair out of her face and clutching her chest. Goosebumps went down both arms as her nipples pebbled from the drastic temperature change. It wasn’t exactly terrible but it wasn’t nearly as good as her own shower in her apartment.

“Cold?”

She squealed, trying desperately to blink the water droplets from her eyes as she spun around to find the voice that hadn’t been there a second ago. As soon as her vision cleared she saw a smirking Oberyn, staring down at her with his thumb hooked into his belt.

He wore what appeared to be leather riding pants, a loose white shirt was tucked haphazardly in his belt and open enough to reveal his chest. His injured arm was still in a sling but he looked much better than it had the night before–at least he was caring for it properly. Fuck, he was handsome. Handsome enough that it pissed her off.

“What are you doing in my room?” she glared at him, keeping her arms over her chest. The water was clear so she had no doubt he could see plenty, but the principle of the action made her feel better.

“It’s my palace.”

“You mean your brother’s palace?” she snapped and he chuckled.

“Same thing–we share well.”

She felt like there was an innuendo that went over her head and it made her frown. “Do you always sneak in on your guests?”

“Of course not, lady Pike. I knocked,” he turned slightly and gestured back towards the door. “But you didn’t answer. Considering trouble seems to follow you everywhere, I let myself in.” He paused and grinned again. “I was only concerned for your safety, princess.”

“Ha!” she rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, as you can see,” she swept her arm out around the pool. “I’m perfectly fine. Now, get out.”

He had sat down on the edge of the pool and leaned his upper body back against one arm as he continued to look at her. Nothing but arrogance and audacity.

“What are you doing?” she balked.

“Sitting,” he inspected his well trimmed nails like he was bored.

“While I bathe?” she asked. “In case you haven’t noticed–I’m naked. So, get o–”

“Trust me, I noticed.” He smirked without looking up and she had the overwhelming desire to slap him. “Besides, what if you start to drown?” he asked with a shrug.

“The water is barely five feet deep. I think I can manage.”

“Yes, but you’re very tired. You could fall asleep and sink under,” he offered.

“Get. Out.” She tried again.

“What if you need to wash the middle of your back and you can’t reach?”

“Oh, and you’re going to be the one to help me?” she bit back and he nodded. “You have some nerve–”

The door opened again and they both turned and looked at Elia entering the bed chamber. Was walking in someone’s bedroom whenever they wanted a fucking family trait? She sank lower into the water and grabbed the bar of soap from the ledge.

“Oberyn?” Elia asked as she approached. “What are you doing here?”

“We were just discussing that actually,” he offered up a big, innocent smile, and she suddenly wanted to drown herself.

“Knowing you,” Elia stomped over to him and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “You were being a vouyer–how many times has that gotten you into trouble?” He started to respond as he allowed her to pull him to his feet, but she cut him off. “I’ll answer that. Too many, brother, too many!”

She was much smaller than he was but she turned him around and pressed both hands against his back and dipped her head, using her momentum to begin shoving him towards the door. He chuckled and looked over his shoulder at her and winked. He fucking winked.

“Doran wants to see you, Lady Pike,” he called over his sister’s head. “That was my actual reason for coming in.” That bastard.

“Yes, yes,” Elia nodded. “I am well aware of what our brother wants. I’ve got it from here.”

“Enjoy your bath!” he called.

“Out!” Elia huffed as she gave him one last shove through the threshold and shut the door hard. She smoothed her hands down her dress and flipped her long black hair over her shoulders, righting herself once again. “My apologies about him, my lady,” she said as she came back towards the pool.

“Is he always like that?” she asked, running the soap over her shoulders and sinking down to do the same to her aching feet.

“Since the day he was born,” she blew a puff of air up to ruffle her own bangs. “Trust me, I was there.” She moved to the other side of the room and pulled out a stack of clothing that she had hastily laid out last night and started going through the items. “I’ll help you get dressed and then you can go see Doran.”

“Okay,” she nodded, suddenly feeling small. “Am–am I in trouble of some kind?”

Elia paused as she turned around and held the items to her breasts and looked taken aback. “Gods, no. What would make you say that?” She shook her head and placed her choices on the table with the towels. “I’m sure he wants to check on you–you’re a guest of the house Martell. It’s his princely duty to make sure you’re doing alright.”

That made her chest feel less tight as she finished lathering up her body and rinsed. Elia made her way to her discarded pile of old clothes and started picking them up off the floor.

“I have a thousand and one questions of my own for you, but I’ll refrain from asking until you’re more settled in.”

“That’s fair,” she nodded.

“I do have one question, though,” Elia prompted as she turned around with her bra dangling from her finger. “What by the goddess is this? It looks dreadfully painful.”

–

Elia had helped her dress. She had listened intently as she made up a lie about where she had gotten her modern day bra and sundress. She was certain she would be found out but the princess just nodded with quiet fascination.

When the sun was high in the sky, Dorne grew hot. It was clear the land was an endless summer, a warm breeze in the sands, a tropical paradise that required light, airy clothing that she wasn’t entirely upset about. The soft fabric left her midriff exposed and when she tried to cover it up, Elia had gently pulled her arms down and told her she looked exquisite. Her arms were bare and the dress slit up both sides to allow for adequate movement and air flow.

The palace was massive. She had never seen a bigger building in her entire life and without a map she was certain she would get lost. Without a tour guide or flashing neon sign, she was destined to never find her room again.

Her stomach growled while getting dressed and Elia had taken her to the kitchens for a quick bite. Her nerves didn’t allow for much more than a piece of fruit and hunk of bread but it would suffice for now. She was disappointed to see the princess go after depositing her in a study-like room with Doran. But Elia gave her another reassuring smile and shut the door quietly.

“Lady Pike,” Doran smiled as he walked over to her and took her hand gently, kissing the back of her knuckles in greeting. “May I call you Lily?”

“That’s….fine,” she nodded, momentarily forgetting that her entire existence here was a lie down to her name.

“How are you?” He released her hand and guided her to the table, pulling out a chair for her before taking his own.

“Better now that I got a full night’s sleep not on the back of a horse,” she smiled, trying to offer pleasant conversation. She could do this. She could do this. Less was more. If she kept it simple, she could lie her way through a basic conversation.

“Yes, that makes all the difference,” he chuckled with a nod. “Is the room to your liking?” he asked.

‘Apart from your brother barging in on me naked’, she wanted to say, but she refrained. She was talking to a prince for christ’s sake. A fucking prince. She didn’t know the first thing about what she should or shouldn’t say to this man. She was a med student from Boston. She was just a girl.

“It’s stunning,” she nodded quickly before adding, “...your–er grace.”

“Please call me Doran,” he insisted and she nodded again, putting her hands in her lap. He grabbed two small cups and a glass bottle. “Wine?”

“It's morning?” she blurted without thinking and when he gave her a small grin she couldn’t help but return it. “Sure, why not?”

“Dornish wine is the best wine in the seven kingdoms,” he offered as he poured them both a small amount. “But I’m biased.”

She took a small sip, his casual and kind demeanor made some of the tension leave her shoulders. Fuck. That was good. She took another drink, slowly looking around at the shelves of books and trinkets, scrolls and a table covered in old maps and tiny statues. This had to be his personal space. She wasn’t sure what she expected but it was more cluttered than she thought it would be. Where was his throne? His crown? Did he even have one? She was letting her mind wander to every period piece of media she had ever consumed. She was certain not all of it was based in fact.

The balcony opened up to a glorious view of the city and the waves of the ocean could be heard crashing against the rocks in the distance. This place was by every definition of the word and paradise and if she wasn’t so completely out of her element, she would have enjoyed being here.

“I–uh,” she swallowed thickly and put her cup down. “Doran?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll need to travel back to the Red Mountains as soon as possible.” She tried to sound confident, but she was anything but. Even if she made it to the place she had fallen through time, it was still a mystery as to how she was supposed to get back.

“Is that how you plan on traveling back to your home?” he asked, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “To Massachusetts?” When she nodded he frowned. “I’ve been doing my research, Lady Pike, and I have no record of such a place ever existing.”

“You looked into me?”

“Is it not my duty as Prince of Dorne?”

“Well,” she swallowed hard as she folded her hands in her lap and tried to appear calm. “What did you find?”

“Nothing.” He leaned his hand on the desk and gave her a stern look. “Nothing about your late husband either. Or his house. Or which of the families he served.”

“I can assure you–” she tried and he held up his hand and shook his head.

“Think very carefully before you continue to lie to me.”

Her stomach dropped as Doran’s tone became serious. She had never heard him speak in such a way and it made her want to puke. They held eye contact for a moment, his amber gaze burning into her own in such a way that she felt a bead of sweat run down the nape of her neck from her hairline.

“I’m not lying.” She hated how meek her voice sounded.

“Perhaps not,” he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “But you’re not being truthful either.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked and he sighed.

“I understand you are in an unfamiliar place and want to have your secrets,” he continued. “But I do wish to know how, a lady such as yourself, came to be wandering about in the woods, dressed in nothing but her shift?”

She bit her lip gently and tried to formulate her next words carefully. It was probably best to stick to the truth as much as possible but even she was having a hard time grappling with it. How could she possibly expect him to believe her?

“I’m,” she sat up straighter. “A widow.” That was technically true–Marcus wasn’t born and therefore not alive.

“Oberyn said as much. My apologies.”

“I was traveling with a servant,” she hesitated, trying not to make it sound like a question. “When we were robbed.”

“Robbed? How awful.”

“Yes, robbed,” she nodded and the paranoid part of her brain swore she saw the prince start to grin before clearing his throat. “I managed to escape the bandits, I was forced to abandon my horse and my stuff–I ran across that horrible man in the woods–”

“Rhaegar?”

“Yeah–him.”

“Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“You say that like that’s supposed to mean something to me?” she quipped before she could stop herself and he chuckled.

“The Targaryen’s are the ruling family of the seven kingdoms–”

“I don’t care who he is,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “He tried to rape me.”

“And for that I’m very sorry, but he is a knight–”

“What does that have to do with anything? You saw him. You stopped him with his hand up my dress! You saved me!” She could feel her voice getting higher and she hated the tears of frustration that had started to burn behind her eyes.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lady. An unfortunate turn of phrase on my part.” He stood slightly and moved his chair closer to her and lowered his voice. “I need you to understand something.”

“What’s that?” She kept her arms close to her body, closing herself off from him as much as she could. In the short time she knew him, she was certain that Doran was one of the very few people who didn’t mean her any harm.

“You have managed to cross paths with one of the most powerful men in the new world,” he said quietly and she felt like she was going to be sick again. “But he has no power here. Dorne has managed to maintain its freedom from the dragons at our door–you are safe here.”

His words were similar to what Oberyn had told her the night before. Why were they both so concerned with her safety? Just who had she encountered in the woods? This larger than life man who made princes walk on eggshells–

“I just want to go home,” she said quietly, looking at the floor and shutting her eyes.

“I’ll try my best to make that happen,” Doran nodded, leaning back in his seat and taking a large drink of wine. “I’ll have my brother escort you personally. He is due to check in with the Yornwoods Saturday next and would be happy to have you.”

“Saturday next? Which is how long?” She had no idea what day it even was. Fuck. This just kept getting worse.

“In five days.”

“Five days?” she asked with surprise. “What am I supposed to do for five days?”

“That is the soonest anyone can escort you.” He stood up and walked behind the desk, resting his back by putting his hands on the surface. “Until then, the palace and the city are humbly yours.”

“That’s very nice of you,” she stood up as well, feeling as if she was about to be dismissed. When Doran remained silent, she started to move towards the door but his words stopped her.

“Maybe one day soon, you’ll trust me with your secrets, Lady Pike,” he looked down and poured himself another glass of wine.

“I doubt that.”

Her unabashed tone made him grin.

“There is a formal dinner tomorrow evening in the main hall–I’d like you there as my guest. One of my siblings will collect you when it’s time.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order phrased like an invitation. With a nod, she quickly left before she could open her mouth and get herself into more trouble than she already was.

A/N: I am not doing taglists for this story--they are more trouble than they are worth at this point with very little pay off. I apologize for that. If you enjoy it, let me know!

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #marcus pike x reader #doran martell x reader #game of thrones #got fic #tsu #marcus pike

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