#Age of rebellion duty

[tonkiads]

Age of rebellion duty

You will partake in a specialized 4v4 gamemode where your team is pitted against the Horkos in collecting Draconite by killing Horkos miners spawned on the field and deposit their gains to the deposits. Pillage 2 is a modified version of the Soul Rush game mode from the Shadows of the Hitokiri event. The Horkos will also be sending their own warriors to save what resources they can, so beat them to the punch! The enemy have been collecting these crystals to increase their power, so cut their supplies off. Now that you have secured a place inside of Gretar's fortress, pillage what Draconite you can from the Horkos. Reach 1000 Draconite to break the enemy team, then kill them all to win. Secure your Draconite in the Draconite Zones to gain them permanently for your team. Together with him will be s Horkos Guardians, with a Horkos Strategos (lvl 2 Warmogner bot) spawning in independently with Corrupted Armor. Final Zone: Fight the Horkos Phaedon, a highly corrupted Warlord enemy who has a high amount of health and is a level 3 bot.Every other wave will feature a non-corrupted Horkos Archon (lvl 2 Warmonger bot). Zone 5: This zone features Officers (the capture zone will feature a Horkos Guardian) together with a new corrupted Horkos Strategos (lvl 2 Warmonger bot).In the capture zone, a third Horkos Archon that has Corrupted Armor will spawn independently (timing is close to every other wave). Every other wave will feature a corrupted Horkos Strategos (lvl 2 Raider bot). Zone 4: This zone features an Officer together with two Horkos Archons (lvl 2 Raider bots).Every other wave will feature two corrupted Horkos Archons. Zone 3:This zone features some Officers together with two Horkos Archons (lvl 2 Warlord bots).In the capture zone, a third Horkos Follower that has Corrupted Armor will spawn independently (timing is close to every other wave). Every other wave will feature a corrupted Horkos Follower, with an Officer coming to their aid. Zone 2: This zone features some Officers together with two Horkos Followers (lvl 1 Berserker bots).This is the only zone where Pikemen will spawn. Zone 1: You will face a group of Officers (Officers are executable Captains) and Pikemen.The following is the list of zones and what enemies your team will encounter during the game: Each strike will deal 35 damage, but only remove the Draconite for 5 seconds.Īlong side the normal Horkos warriors, there are corrupted Horkos warriors who will feature increased damage and inflict Bleed with every strike. However, the Horkos will send their own Horkos Warrior that has Corrupted Armor (spawning in the next zone), making them impenetrable unless hit by the Draconite weapon, and the Uninterruptible trait. For specific details on the gamemode, check here.Ĭompared to the first Rescue gamemode, your team will also gain access to the Draconite weapon at the end of every odd-number zone captured (Zones 1, 3, and 5) which can be brought to the next zone. On top of this, you will have to face special Viking Horkos warriors in each zone, until you eventually meet the Phaedon at the last zone. However, you cannot progress too quickly as the fortress is encapsulated in poisonous fumes from all the corrupted Draconite, which you have to purify one zone at a time. You will have to escort Ilma, who will act as a companion with an AI of a Guardian, from the Attacking end of the Gauntlet map, up to the barricks, over the drawbridges of the map, to the defending side where the Horkos Phaedon is stationed. Rescue 2 is a modified version of the Emperor's Escape game mode from the Zhanhu's Gambit event. So make your advance carefully as you protect Ilma. Take note though, aside from the Horkos sending their corrupted warriors to stop you from advancing, the fortress itself has been contaminated by Draconite. "Conquer zones and protect the Blacksmith from the warriors of Horkos to reclaim the fortress! Use the Draconite Weapon against Corrupted enemies!"īand together with fellow players in escorting Ilma the mysterious Blacksmith into Gretar's Fortress. On top of all that, Ilma has been tinkering with the Draconite to make new weaponry.! Joining the rebellion as the Viking rebels and their leader, the Jormungandr Fjorgvin. However, the Horkos have stolen the Draconite weapon into Viking territory! Follow Ilma once more as you raid a fort in Valkenheim and face the Viking Horkos to take back the weapon. After the success of the rebellion against the Samurai Horkos, the Chimera Alliance is fully formed.

[tybaltsjuliet]

here's the thing about charles dickens. [discussion of his antisemitism, misogyny, and racism ahead.]

his last, unfinished novel, the mystery of edwin drood, features helena and neville landless, heroic and sympathetic south asian (sri lankan, specifically) characters, and the racism they endure in an english town is relevant to the plot to the point where neville ends up falsely accused of murder. in the wake of the indian rebellion of 1857, dickens applauded the english brutality against "that oriental race," and called for genocide.

fagin is called "the jew" 274 times in the first half of oliver twist. an article in the jewish chronicle asked why "jews alone should be excluded from the 'sympathizing heart' of this great author and powerful friend of the oppressed." at first, dickens dismissed this, and claimed he was just being accurate about london's criminal makeup. but he was moved enough by eliza davis's letters to him on the matter that he halted the printing of the latter half of oliver twist so he could change the text and remove the antisemitic language therein.

dickens was an abolitionist who despised chattel slavery in the united states, and called emancipation a "moral duty." dickens didn't think black americans were intelligent enough to vote, and he wrote an entire character in bleak house who is a joke to be disliked and mocked because she'd rather oversee charity missions to help children in africa than be a proper mother and tend to her own family at home in england.

speaking of one's own family at home in england, dickens smeared his wife, catherine hogarth, publicly so he could justify separating from her and taking up with a younger woman. catherine hogarth was likely mentally ill, likely living with postpartum depression. she was also an author in her own right and loved her family dearly. her reputation never recovered in her lifetime from the claims he made about her. in dickens's novels, time and time again, from nicholas nickleby to david copperfield to our mutual friend to the mystery of edwin drood, men who menace and take advantage of vulnerable women are portrayed as the worst kind of villains, deserving of whatever grisly ends come to them.

charles dickens was both privately and publicly a raging asshole in many ways and the world would be worse off without him, because he wrote for bourgeois, comfortable victorians, the very people who so often failed to "think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys." in the same breath that he calls agnes fleming, who opens oliver twist as an unwed mother dying in a workhouse, "weak and erring," he dares to add that "i do believe that the shade of that poor girl often hovers about that solemn nook-ay, though it is a church." he calculated jo's death to the page in bleak house for maximum effect. but when he wrote of the orphaned crossing-sweeper, "dead, your majesty. dead, my lords and gentlemen. dead, right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. and dying thus around us every day," people listened.

i dedicated years of my life to reading him and studying him and thinking about him and writing about him and his novels. now, i turn to condemn him; now, i turn to justify him. i wish i had a time machine so i could shake his hand. i wish i had a time machine so i could publicly debate him. i wish i had a time machine so i could break his nose.

charles dickens gives me courage and hope. charles dickens makes me want to tear my goddamn hair out. he is everything i despise and everything i love about the victorian age in one; the term "a man of his time" ought to have been invented for him. the leaps and bounds the victorians made for progress in the public good are only matched in greatness by the extremity of their atrocities against their "fellow-passengers" on this earth. the way we think about nearly every modern social ill can be traced back to the 19th century; the way we think about nearly every modern idea of social justice can be traced back to the 19th century. every last one is writ large and small in dickens's novels. he and his age are the greatest contradictions in human history and that's why i can't shut up about them, ever, even when i am exhausted by them, even when i am inspired by them, even when it was two centuries ago and it shouldn't matter anymore, but it does. it always will.

[juletheghoul]

too close

a/n: Yeah. The trailer got me again. I can't help myself!!! Also - I didn't actually want to write feelings for these two but I have no say anymore. They have feelings, they are obsessed with each other and I can't just ignore it lol. Not beta’d and barely proofread- any mistakes or errors are my own. Hopefully you enjoy! (PS I did a little research on fruits in Roman times- they had no word for orange, so any shade of orange was just called red)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus eats pussy and I don't CARE, giving him that gluckgluck3000, creampie, Marcus gets hurt (hurt comfort), hand stuff from him because he's my precious man and he likes to give his girl pleasure, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus (for now?👀), **FEELINGS** let me know if I missed any!

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 5.1k (whoops!)

reblogs are appreciated

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You frowned, despite your station, the confusion and slight worry breaking through the years of training your face to remain neutral. For a moment, you forgot your place.

“But-“ he turned, head tilted in curiosity instead of anger, thankfully, “I am to stay here? You do not wish me to accompany you Dominus? To pour and serve…?” You could not keep the slight hurt from your voice, much to your dismay. 

“No Girl, you will stay here, at the villa.” He saw the confusion, the unabashed anguish on your face and his expression softened, “peace Girl, it is not a matter of not desiring your presence or your service.” You listened to him with a lump in your throat, a wild fear seizing your heart that he might have grown tired of you. 

“I will not have the luxury of a tent, the rebellion is small enough that I can squash it and be back in less than a moon’s turn.” He came close, close enough to have your face tilt up to stare into his eyes. “I would not have you waiting for me in such a meagre camp, I would not have you sleeping in the dirt.” His hand settled on your arm, a soft offering, a reassurance but it did nothing to calm you. You have grown so accustomed to having him close, to ending up in his bed of a night more often than not before heading to your own, naked and pleasantly sore; to falling asleep with his seed trickling out of your puffy little cunt.

“I am comfortable wherever you are Dominus, I could still be of use, to light your fires-“ 

“I would have you here, and safe. That is my decision, and no amount of temptation will sway me from it.” He lifted your hand, pressing his lips to your fingers in silent, but firm apology. You knew there was nothing to be said, you had already pushed the matter far more than would be allowed on a normal day. 

“Your will, Dominus.” You bowed your head, despite the hurt and worry swirling around in your belly. “I will pray to the Gods for your swift victory, and safe return home.” 

He nodded, leaving shortly after. 

Time passed, and a feeling of restlessness took firm root in your being. The house felt empty, despite the attendants and sentinels left to guard them as well as the property. The days found you listless, moving through the motions of your chores and daily duties practically numb. The days were marks on the wall of your mind, praying to the Gods to send him back to you. 

Whispers travelled swiftly through the city, through the market stalls and through the villa itself, most of them rumours and it was difficult to keep your emotions in check. 

He has advanced

He has killed the leaders of the rebellion

He is victorious, already on his way home

He has been hurt

He is dead

He is victorious - Rome's favoured son has triumphed once more

The moon turned, once, and then twice, finally a third time before he was home. The all encompassing relief was short lived however, that wash of relief turned to ashes in your mouth at the sight of him. One of the rumours had been true after all. A sword wound to the side had laid him low late into the battle, it hadn’t killed him, thank the Gods, but it had slowed him down and made his journey home nothing short of agony. 

Your heart raced to see him weakened, every fibre of your being itched to run to him, to press your lips to skin but you refrained. You stood aside, dutifully, letting his trusted soldiers practically carry him to his bed. The older women got to work, bringing fortified wine with all manner of powders and potions to aid in his recovery while you stood next to him, the little half-moon marks in your palms from your nails barely felt like anything compared to the ache in the back of your throat. 

Your eyes would not leave his face. 

He looked so tired, mud and grime still marring his skin as he lay prone on his bed. To forfend the ugly thoughts swirling around in your mind, you focused on the tasks at hand. 

He needs to be cleansed, after he eats something I will boil some water and move gently, leave him to gather his strength. An offering must be made so the Gods will hasten his healing-

“Girl.” His voice was soft, and instantly you rushed to his side. 

“Yes Dominus, I am here.” You took his hand tentatively, your heart soared to feel him squeeze it. 

“Fetch me some broth, and help me to sit up–a few pillows behind me. I would sit upright.” 

You rushed to comply, happy to focus on his instructions. With soft touch, you did your best to prop him up, biting your lip to stop your eyes from welling up when he winced. Once satisfied, you set about fetching hot water and linens, as well as his broth. He sighed at the sight of it, and drank almost all of it within a few heartbeats. 

“Shall I help you cleanse now Dominus?” You brought the basin closer, showing him the steaming water and he nodded. 

Tentatively, you removed the soiled clothes he wore, ears pricked up for any sign of discomfort. He beared it with good grace, keeping the twinges of pain to himself, you imagined for your benefit, and you were grateful. It took time, but finally, you had divested him of everything, and he half sat, half laid on his bed, not an ounce of shame for his nakedness. It was secondary, to see him bare, more alarming was the soiled linens with the dark bloom of dried blood staining it on his side like some grotesque flower. 

He was pale, weak, his injury robbing him of his normal, ruddy health. He watched you, his expression somewhere between exhaustion, and a calm content. 

With gentle hands, you dipped the clean linen into the steaming water of the basin, and methodically cleaned the dirt, and dried blood from his skin. Eventually his eyes closed, soft sighs filled the air with every pass of the warm cloth across his shoulders, down the firm muscles of his thighs, his hands, until you reached the contours of his face. The lines were more defined, this battle had taken a toll on him. 

Your thumbs smoothed over his brows, wiping dust and worry away with a bone deep gratitude that he had come back. He melted into your touch, and you tried and failed to suppress the smile. 

“I must clean the wound, Dominus.” You reached for more clean dressings, giving him a chance to steel himself but he kept his eyes closed. You thought he might have fallen asleep, but he nodded, and so you did what needed to be done. 

To his great credit, he didn’t make a sound. Even as you cleaned at the angry, but healing edges of the wound. He said nothing when you packed it with the poultice one of the women had brought, when you covered it in a clean dressing, even as he drank down the no doubt foul tasting potion to help him sleep. Instead he settled back, and sighed, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. 

You gathered all of the soiled clothing and discarded bandages, and moved to leave him to rest but his hand snatched at your wrist. 

“Wait, Girl, stay. Stay with me–” His words were almost slurred, and he didn’t finish his thought, his hand loosened around your wrist but you stayed, taking great care to lie beside him on his bed, and watched him sleep. Your heart raced with something you couldn’t–wouldn't name, something that threaded through your ribcage like smoke, wreathing its way around your lungs and taking root in your heart. You pressed the back of your hand to his brow, thankful that no fever lurked there and once satisfied that he was indeed resting, you rested your head next to his. 

Sleep took you, swiftly and without warning. 

The world outside was dark when your eyes opened, and it took a moment for you to get your bearings. His warm skin pressed to your arm and you jolted with the memory of his injury. 

“Peace, girl, I am well.” His voice was quiet, but stronger than before, “You did well in changing my dressings.” His praise squeezed at something in your belly, robbing you of any words you might have had. “You must be hungry, go and fetch something to eat and bring it here, I will share the meal with you.” The concern in his voice brought a smile to your lips, his thoughts on you, despite the pain he must have been in. 

“Yes Dominus, shall I fetch more of the potion as well? You should rest-” He raised his hand softly to forestall you. 

“I have rested enough, I would have my wits about me just now. Go on, you may fetch whatever else you need, I would have you sleeping in my bed.” 

His words rung in your ears as you moved throughout the silent house. They shone through your eyes as you piled a serving tray with olives and cheese, with bread and ripe fruits. They camped in your belly as it rolled with something when they repeated over and over like a prayer in your mind as you filled a serving jug with the wine he favoured, they strengthened your grip as you carried it with the utmost care down the moonlit halls of the house, almost sharpening your eyesight to bring you swiftly back to him. 

You set it down between you on his bed, careful not to spill anything or jostle him too much and just in time too, the hunger rung out from your empty belly loud as thunder but you ignored it, your priority was to help him sit up.

“Eat Girl, you are starving. I will pick at my leisure.” He frowned, gesturing to the food and you were grateful beyond words. It was a quiet meal, but comfortable. He usually ate by himself, most of the time while in his study and with you, it was after chores and duties had been completed. Despite all of your trysts and time spent together, it was the first meal you’d ever shared. 

“You do not favour the olives.” He said it without judgement. You shook your head shyly, covering your mouth to speak through bites of bread and cheese. 

“My desire for them is unpredictable.” He tilted his head, “Sometimes, they are all I want. Other times, I cannot stand the sight of them.” You wrinkled your nose, confirming that this time, the latter statement was true.

He smiled, huffing out an amused laugh through his nose.

“What else do you like? I see you favour the fruit, which one do you like most of all?” It was strange to be asked about yourself, no one in your life had ever wondered about what you might of preferred, for anything.

“Figs, I think. Pomegranates too, although peeling them takes a lifetime.” He huffed again, wincing slightly, “Are you in pain? Shall I fetch–” He raised a hand. 

“I am well, continue. Why do you favour them if they are so troublesome to eat?” He shifted a tiny bit, with great effort, turning to face you better. The room was dark, save for the few candles burning and the moon shining in through his window, casting stark shadows across his lovely face. 

“They are worth the effort.” 

He smiled, and finally reaches over to help himself to the food. Something about the darkness, about the quiet seclusion made you bolder.

“What about you Dominus? Is there a fruit you favour?” Your heart raced, fear that you might have overstepped grabbing hold of you but it was for naught, he merely frowned in thought. 

“I prefer plums.” He said after a moment, “I like figs as well.” It was both exhilarating and strange to speak with him like that, in the quiet dark, almost comfortable. “Although–in my younger days we fought in Spain, and there I tasted a fruit I have never seen again, I do not know the name of it but I enjoyed it very much.” 

“What was it like?”

“It was round, a strange shade of red with a thick peel but underneath it had segments like a lemon.” He continued eating, and you were content to sit with him, only moving the tray once he had eaten his fill.

“It is good to be home.” The words came out as a sigh, “I missed it while I was away, more than any other time I must admit.” He shifted slightly and winced again, “Help me lay flat, my back aches from sitting.” He held out his hand and you rushed to oblige, moving pillows and positioning him flat on his back. “That is better, gratitude Girl, let us blow out the candles and settle in.” 

“Yes Dominus.”

“Have you something to sleep in? What is most comfortable for you?” 

“I am content in this, Dominus.” You gestured to your tunic as you made your way around the room, snuffing out the candlelight.

“That is not what I asked you.” There was no bite in his words, but the expectation of truth was plain as day. 

“Most nights I sleep in the nude, it is what is most comfortable for me.” You made your way back to the bed but he did not let you get in. 

“Please, make yourself comfortable, there is no expectation from me, much as I have missed the pleasures of your body. I would have you sleep how you are accustomed.” You nodded once, undressing down to your skin before slipping into bed with him. In the dark, in the quiet, it was peaceful and the sound of his steady breathing worked it spell on you quicker than you would have thought. 

“Gratitude Girl.” He said it soft, and with a full belly and heavy lids, you questioned him. 

“For what Dominus?” The words were almost slurred, as the heavy press of sleep pushed you into the deep pool of blackness. You thought you heard him say everything, but you could not be sure, sleep had claimed you. 

-

You woke with the sun, the first few rays sliding across your skin like water and it was hard to move from your place. In the night, your body had brought you close to him, seeking out the warmth of him. He was still asleep, but his legs had tangled up with yours and it was strange to lay with him like this, both of you nude as the day you were born, yet incredibly comforting. 

You took the time to check over his wound, and were pleased to find it looking much better. The edges of it stitching together, thankfully without corruption. 

“It does not hurt as much as it did before.” His voice was sleepy, “I will be back on my feet soon enough.”

“Let me dress Dominus, and I will fetch you something to break your fast.” 

“Not just yet.” He shifted, and although you helped him, he didn’t struggle quite as much. “Come, lie with me.” He held out his arm, and you went to him, trembling like a leaf to rest your head on his shoulder. “Gods, I missed you, Girl.” He buried his nose into the mess of your hair and something inside you grew and swelled, was fed and made strong by his words and by his skin. 

“I missed you, Dominus.” Truer words had never been spoken by you, the ache for him had been unbearable.

“Did you?” There was something underneath, something desperate and had it not been so early, so peaceful, he might not have asked.

“Desperately Dominus, I feared you had abandoned me, I feared you no longer desired me.” You pressed your face into his neck, breathing him in, his scent, his warmth, him- sustenance

“Come now, Girl, you know of my desire for you, it is like a thirst I cannot quench. A hunger I cannot satisfy, despite my dark moods, despite my sour face, you are a source of joy and pleasure I have not known in some time.” His hand brought your face up, his gaze burned into yours and his words affected you so that tears welled in your eyes. He wiped them away, and the tenderness was too much, a sob clawed its way out from your throat. All of the worry, all of the fear that he might have left you alone in the world, to be sold to another bubbled up and he held you as you cried.

“Do you wish to be free of me? Is that why you cry?” Something in his voice broke your heart.

“No Dominus, no-“ you wiped at your eyes, moving to look him in the eye and the expression you saw in them was almost too much to bear. “I have never been so happy in all my life, I have never felt about anyone, the way I feel for you.” You pressed your lips to his, petal-soft. 

“Sometimes, the things I feel for you are almost too big for my body, I want to be with you always, I want to feel you always. I feared so much while you were gone that I could barely eat, barely sleep-” Your words were frantic, so many things to get out that you could barely speak and he pulled you close, shushing you softly. 

“My heart swells to hear you speak this way.” He reached down, sliding his hand towards the hinge in your knee, to pull it over his thigh. “Peace, let us just enjoy the silence.” You nodded into his neck, letting go of a great breath in your lungs. 

“If I was myself, and whole, I would be pulling every ounce of pleasure from you now.” 

You laughed at the annoyance in his tone.

“Soon enough Dominus, I would have you healthy and healed.” Your hand slid up the smooth expanse of his chest, threading through the curls at the base of his skull. “Once your wound has healed, you may have me any way you please.” 

“Any way?” His tone darkened, and your body responded, thighs clenching, heart racing, nipples hardening. “Any way I please? And what if I want you for a day and a night? What if I want you wet and spread for me in this bed until you’re so full of my gift it spills all over my linens?” The hand that had been softly stroking your back moved down and grabbed at your backside, pulling until the lips of your sex spread open. 

A moan slipped out at the feel of his hands, and he all but growled. 

“Do not make those noises Girl, not when I cannot fuck you how I wish to.” He pulled your face up, licking into your mouth with a hunger you could not satisfy, not in his current state. 

“Dominus, I beg of you not to taunt me, not when we cannot indulge.” You kissed him again, despite your words and finally he pulled away, the tremble of frustration in his grip. You shifted, and felt his manhood press against your thigh, the sight of him, leaking and hard against his belly made you sigh. 

“Do not concern yourself with that, I am ravenous for you, but my body cannot fulfill the wishes of my cock. Go and fetch something to break our fast. I will need you to change my dressing as well, if you could.” He sent you off with a kiss, and with desire dripping onto your thighs. 

“Yes Dominus.” You smiled, and rushed off to do what needed to be done. 

-

Weeks passed, and he healed beautifully. His wound knit together cleanly and with that, his strength came back. More often than not he stood and cleansed without your help, he left the safety of his bed and his chambers and sported a genuine smile as he made his rounds through his house.

You trailed behind him, your own smile in place to see him coming back into himself. 

Things were different. He was different. 

He spoke more, that was for one. Before he would keep his own council, his words were curt and his thoughts would be kept close to his chest. Some nights he reverted to his silence, but it had grown into something peaceful, something comfortable.

The biggest change though, was his attitude towards you. 

For one, he refused to sleep alone. The darkness of night found you tending to his needs and after the candles had been snuffed- he pulled your tunic off and pulled you into his bed, into his arms. 

At first, you thought it was his injury, a fear that he might suffer some setback in his sleep, but as the days passed on and he was well past the point of danger, he still refused to let you go. 

His desire had come back too, much quicker than his body could handle. Mornings would find you in the cage of his arms, with his lust pressed hard and hot at the cleft of your ass. You would pull away so as not to tease him, and he would let you at first, but as his body caught up to him, he stopped letting you pull away. 

Most mornings, he’d whisper how much he missed burying himself inside you, how he couldn’t wait to gift you with his seed while slipping his fingers between your legs and swirling them around your clit, only stopping after you’d fluttered around his fingers. Then he’d send you off to fetch food with a smile on your face and an ever-growing ache between your thighs. 

A part of you fretted as to why he hadn’t taken you yet, as the days passed it was clear that he was well enough to indulge. Another part, a hopeful, possibly quite foolish part of you thought maybe he was waiting for you to ask him. That couldn’t be, could it? You ruminated on your previous encounters, yes–he’d called you forth to warm his bed, but with every recalled memory it was clear that in his own way, he'd let you decide whether to push things or not. A luxury you knew was rare. It was an intoxicating thought though, to think that you could decide when and what you wanted him to do.

So many possibilities. 

When night came, you brought him his meal, and his wine and tried to keep the tremble of excitement out of your hands. You watched him move about his chambers, his strength back to normal as he dipped his hands into the fresh water in his basin. His hair had grown out a little, dark with silver mixed through and that thought struck you again, that he was some beautiful marble statue come to life. An emperor of old, standing before you in all his glory. 

“Dominus-” You called to him, unable to hold back any longer. His eyes raised, finding you as he dried his hands. 

“Before you take your meal, I would ask something of you.” Your voice shook, never had you openly asked him for anything before. He raised his eyebrows, more surprised than anything.

“What would you have of me Girl?” He moved towards you, eyes curious. 

“I would have you–” You stopped him, guiding him to sit on his bed, “I would have you sit here, and accept my mouth.” 

You kneeled before him, staring up at him with your lip caught between your teeth. Your hands landed on his knees, sliding up to pull his tunic up to expose his manhood. For a moment, he stared at you with wide, surprised eyes. 

“I have missed our times together, I have missed you filling me of a night and as much as I treasure your fingers in the morning, I would have you feel pleasure at my hand–or, my mouth.” He did not stop you from exposing him and heat flooded your body to see how quickly his cock responded to your words, to the soft exploration of your hand. 

“You would do this?” His palm landed on your shoulder, sliding up to cup your cheek. “You have no obligation, I would not command you to do this should you not want to.” You spit onto your palm and grasped him in hand and despite his words, he shudderred to feel the way you stroked him. 

“I dream about this Dominus, I desire you so deeply that I ache for you–” You opened your mouth and took the blunt tip of him into your mouth. He moaned, slack-jawed at the sight of you. You placed open mouthed kisses at the tip, and the sensitive underside, stroking at the base of him. His thighs spread, making room for you and you relished the warm strength of them under your arms. 

He tasted like the ocean. 

“God’s above Girl-” You pulled away, smiling as you continued to stroke him, he barely fit in the palm of your hand and with his passion dribbling out and your spit the sounds were loud and slick. Your own arousal unspooled between your legs, the ache intensifying as he tensed underneath you, hissing when you pressed soft kisses to the scar at his side, to the softness of his belly, to the firm golden thighs bracketing you to his hips. 

“Open your mouth.” His confidence resurfaced, and then his hand wrapped around yours, guiding you to stroke him the way he liked. He guided the reddened tip into your mouth. “Look at me when you take me in your mouth, open wide, I want to touch your throat.” You moaned around him, taking him deeper, breathing through your nose in an attempt to stay calm. 

“That’s it Girl, Gods be damned-” His tone was filthy as he held you there, eyes watering until you pulled away, sputtering and messy. 

“If you continue, I will spill in your mouth.” he guided your hand still, slowly stroking himself against your lips, smearing your spit and his salty arousal onto your lips. Never in your life have you felt that powerful, that beautiful, with tears spilling down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. He held himself suspended in his pleasure, awaiting your word. 

“Would you like to spill in my mouth Dominus? Or would you like to fill my cunt?” You held out your tongue, letting him rub the tip of himself against it while he decided. Your heart soared to see the conflict on his face. 

“I would fill your cunt, I have missed it terribly.” You smiled and rose with a final kiss to his cock and once you did, he ripped the tunic off your body. The loud tear of it made you squeal with a mix of shock and excitement. 

“I promise you, I will not last.” He all but tossed you onto his bed, spreading your legs wide for his gaze. “Greedy little cunt, so wet for me.” He spoke in a daze, staring at the place that ached at the mere thought of him. He slipped down and it’s with a shock that you watched him dip down to spear into you with his tongue. Never had anyone used their mouth on you and the sight of it was almost too much to bear.

It’s with a greedy, filthy groan that his lips dragged up to latch around the pert little pearl of you, his tongue stroking, stroking, stroking while his mouth suctioned around it. Your body was a taut string, legs shaking under the strong grip of his hands, holding you to him tight enough to hurt. Your breathing came in pants, the climax was already there, balancing on a knife's edge, so close you could almost taste it.

His hands moved, sliding up to pinch at your nipples and the wave crested. Your hands gripped into his curls, both holding him close, and desperately pushing him away while you fluttered into his mouth. 

You felt the strong muscle of his tongue slide down, drinking you from the source. 

He made his way back up, your slick shining on his face and on his whiskers. You’re almost too shocked, and too shy to look into his eyes. 

“I confess, I have wanted to do that for a long time.” He pulled his tunic up and off as you lay under him, boneless. “I know it’s not something commonly done, but I enjoy it. Did you enjoy it? I felt you flutter.” He raised your leg, wrapping it around his hip while his cock slipped inside you without any resistance. You let out a relieved sigh, finally, he was home. 

“Yes Dominus–” You almost whispered, half-shy as he dropped down, his arms holding himself up on either side of your skull. “No one has ever–Oh–” He snapped his hips hard, unable to hold himself back and already, the need built in your core, robbing you of any coherent thoughts. 

“No one but me ever will.” He kissed you, making you taste yourself and it was so perverse, so exhilarating you held him close, wrapping your arms and legs around him to feel as much of him as you could. His cock pushed and pulled, hitting that special place he owned and with a handful of thrusts, and a punched out groan he filled you with his gift. Finally. 

He watched himself pull out of the mess he'd made, watched in silence as his gift dripped out and onto his linens. 

Things felt different this time, there’s a vulnerability, an intimacy that is almost overwhelming. You pulled his face up, and pressed your lips to his softly, praying that you conveyed the feelings swirling in your chest. He kissed you back, his hand gliding up to wrap around your neck. When you opened your eyes, his brow was furrowed, the same feelings shining back at you through his dark eyes. 

Seconds passed, and the feeling did not disperse. Before he would have sent you away, but he held you close. Wordlessly he pressed his lips to yours over and over, he stroked at your skin, your shoulder and your thigh high on his ribs, your breast, your lips. He moved off, and went about dampening a cloth to clean himself off of you. Once he was done, he brought the food you’d served him and fed you from his own hand. 

You accepted the food, smiling shyly as he watched you, something like affection, like love shining out through his eyes. 

“Thank you Dominus–” He shook his head, a small frown at your words. 

“Call me Marcus.”

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[gothcsz]

Worst Behavior | Secret Service Agent!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~6.1k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Tired of living in the confines of being the President's daughter— you sneak out, only to be caught by the head of your security, Javier Peña.

Tags: smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20s/javier is in his 40s), mean!javi i think, hurt/no comfort?, unprotected p in v sex (be safe), creampie, oral (m receiving), cock worship (i need to suck this man off), fingering, degrading names (slut, whore), semi-public sex (a car in the alleyway because i'm incapable of writing bedroom sex scenes apparently), infidelity (javi is married to lorraine in this au), dubcon (reader is drunk throughout this), no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, if it gets redundant it's because i wrote this at 4 am, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: secret service counts as bodyguard, right? right! this is for @auteurdelabre's amazing trope off with the trope i chose being, well, bodyguard 🖤 i had a lot of fun writing this, rip brat summer you will be missed! let me know what you think besties, i hope you guys enjoy! 🖤

The garden party is just like all the others—stuffy, overly formal, and dreadfully boring.

Crisp white tablecloths, lavish floral arrangements, and people so proper they could break under the weight of their own fake smiles. You sit there, listening to the endless parade of politicians and diplomats, watching them laugh at jokes that aren’t funny, and nod through speeches about policies that barely concern you.

You hate it. All of it. The politics, the empty pleasantries, the way people look at you like you’re a porcelain doll who must be carefully handled. But tonight’s different. 

Tonight, you have a plan.

Feigning a headache? Easy. You’ve been doing it for years, perfecting the art of slipping away unnoticed. You even relish the concerned whispers, the fake sympathy in their eyes. 

She can’t even handle a small gathering. Poor thing.

The moment you’re out of sight, the act drops. The tension releases, and your heart races, not from anxiety but from excitement.

You time your bathroom trip perfectly, ducking out of the guest quarters and navigating through the mansion’s less-frequented hallways.

Slipping past the Secret Service isn’t easy, but you’ve learned the gaps in their routine, the places they don’t check. It takes skill, but tonight, you’ve got it.

You’re free.

The rush of adrenaline is intoxicating. It feels foreign, but oh so thrilling, like the first breath of fresh air after being stifled for too long. You aren’t just her anymore— not the perfect girl with the pressure of a nation’s eyes on you, not the symbol of a legacy you never wanted.

You’re just a girl. You’re you.

The club hits you like a shock to the system, but it’s exactly what you crave. The air is thick with heat and bodies, the music pounding so loudly it thrums through your bones, syncing with the beat of your heart. It’s the opposite of everything your life has been—raw, chaotic, real. You feel the tightness of the dress hugging your body, a deliberate rebellion against the prim, conservative outfits you’re usually forced to wear.

There’s nothing modest about this. It clings to every curve, drawing eyes. 

The alcohol hits fast, warm and buzzing, setting your blood on fire and sharpening your senses. You raise your arms, let the music take you. Let it drown out the noise in your head— the expectations, the responsibilities, the endless duties.

Your date’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer. His fingers dig in just enough for you to feel anchored, his breath warm against your neck. You lean back into him, letting the heat of his body and the thrum of the bass take you somewhere far away from reality.

You aren’t the girl born with a silver spoon shoved down her throat, suffocating in the luxury you never asked for. No cameras, no protocols, no rules. Just you, him, and the music.

His hands are everywhere, gliding over your hips, fingertips brushing the hem of your barely-there dress. His lips press against your neck, and you let your head fall back, enjoying yourself for the first time in forever.

Everything feels hazy, dreamlike. His mouth moves to your ear, the scrape of his breath sending shivers down your spine, whispering something about sneaking off to the bathroom.

The idea is scandalous and that alone makes you want to indulge it even more. You close your eyes, swaying with him, floating.

The world outside of this moment feels so far away. You don’t even notice the man cutting through the crowd, coming straight toward you.

Not until a large, strong hand clamps down around your arm and yanks you out of your date’s grasp.

You gasp, eyes snapping open, and spin around, blinking against the blur of neon lights, your heart jumping into your throat. Your gaze lifts and you see him— Javier Peña. Oh, shit.

You immediately recognize the stern, commanding face, dark eyes sharp even in the low light of the club. He’s the head of your security, the one you juked earlier when you slipped away from the garden party.

And the look he’s giving you right now? It’s killer. Could easily send you to an early grave.

His brows are furrowed in a deep frown, lips set in a tight line, his usual stoic expression sharpened by the flashing lights around you. His jaw is clenched so hard, you’re afraid he’s going to dislocate it. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, burning with barely restrained fury.

You’ve been in trouble before, but this? This is something else.

“Hey, man, what the fuck is your problem?” Your date yells, trying to stand his ground, though his voice wavers a bit as he raises it above the music. For a second, you think he might actually try to do something.

Javier straightens up, his broad shoulders squared, chest puffing out, and it’s like watching a lion preparing to pounce. The guy you’re with, barely older than you, tries to hold his own, but as Javier towers over him, something in your date just... crumbles. The bravado slips from his face so quickly.

“I’d suggest you get the fuck away from her,” Javier growls, his voice low and deadly, “before I have the SWAT team outside drag your sorry ass to federal prison.” His words cut through the air like a knife, and even in the middle of the pounding music, the threat hangs heavy.

Your date’s eyes go wide, panic flickering across his face as he stumbles back. There’s no arguing with a man like that.

The guy might have been cocky a minute ago, but he’s not stupid.

He takes one last glance at you, like he’s weighing his options, but it’s clear he’s already made up his mind. Without another word, he’s scrambling away, blending into the crowd.

The people around you keep dancing, completely oblivious to the scene that just played out. But your heart is still pounding in your chest, your arm tingling where Javier’s grip lingers, and you can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

You glance up at him, breathless, and he looks back at you, his jaw still tight, eyes still stormy. God, he’s intense. And somehow, that only makes the heat between you burn hotter.

He’s livid. You don’t need words to understand that. 

“Peña—” you start, trying to find your voice, but it falters under the intensity of his glare. You’re used to seeing him calm, collected, the perfect professional.

That damn RJF— Resting Javi Face, as you’ve coined it. He never breaks, no matter how much you’ve tried to mess with him in the past.

You’ve spent years teasing him, trying to crack his cool exterior, just to see him react, to get something more than that unwavering stone face. But he never gives you more than the occasional twitch of his jaw, a flick of his brow. 

Until now.

Seeing him like this, thoroughly pissed off, stirs something deep inside you, something that’s both thrilling and dangerous. You can’t help the way your heart skips or how your skin flushes beneath his grip.

You’ve always found him damn near irresistible— ever since the moment you first laid eyes on him when your mom reworked your security detail. He became your personal heartthrob, eye candy for the days when you were stuck inside the house, surrounded by guards and endless rules. 

You’d never act on it, though. Especially since he’s married, that much you know by the golden band that wraps around his ring finger.

However, the way he’s looking at you now, with those smoldering eyes, is doing something to you. More than just a flutter in your chest. Anticipation pools at the base of your spine, and— damn— you’re definitely feeling it between your thighs.

He’s clearly ready to drag you back to the mansion and lock you up for good. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” His voice is gravelly and laced with a level of frustration that almost makes you moan. He leans down, his face inches from yours, and you can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the alcohol-soaked air. It’s dizzying. “I’ve been looking for you for hours.”

The accusation in his tone is unmistakable, but you can’t help the smirk that curls at the corner of your lips. The alcohol you’ve consumed gives you some hardcore liquid courage. “Found me now, didn’t you?”

His eyes flash with something you can’t quite read— anger, annoyance. He takes a step closer, his chest brushing against yours. You’re buzzing all over, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re in trouble, or because the way his presence towers over you is doing things to you that no man has ever done before. 

“You think this is a game?” His voice drops lower, a dangerous edge to it that sends a delicious thrill through your body.

It feels like the music has been put on mute with the way you can hear him so clearly.

You’d definitely pass out if not for how bad you want him.

His fingers tense just a little more around your arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you’re under his reign right now. 

“I didn’t—” you start, but the words die in your throat when he leans in even closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Let’s fucking go” His tone is final, commanding, and it leaves no room for argument. You can’t help but want to push him a little more.

You bite your lip, feeling the pulse of desire starting its familiar beat against your clit.

“Make me.”

The way he yanks you through the sea of sweaty bodies has you stumbling, your heels wobbling beneath you as a surprised yelp escapes your lips.

The liquor in your system makes it all a blur— the music returns all at once and it jump scares you back to your surroundings; lights flashing, then suddenly, you’re outside in the cool night air.

The alley is dark and quiet compared to the chaos inside the building, the only sound now the distant bass reverberating through the walls. His government issued black SUV sits nearby, its tinted windows gleaming under the dim streetlights.

So no SWAT team? Figures, he probably just said that to scare your date away.

He finally lets go of your arm, and you pull away sharply, rubbing the spot where his grip lingered a little too tight.

“I’m not leaving,” you declare, lifting your chin defiantly. You plant your stiletto clad feet, standing your ground, even though the alcohol is still buzzing through your veins, making everything feel unsteady but bold. 

Javier lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he scratches his jaw. His hands settle on his narrow waist, the standard suit and tie he’s always in, making him look even more handsome.

“You’re not leaving?” he repeats, as if testing the absurdity of your statement. He arches a brow, his lips curling in a sarcastic smirk. “You think this is a negotiation? Because I can assure you, it’s not.”

You cross your arms over your chest, the dress clinging to your skin like a second layer, you can damn near see your heartbeat through the material as you lock eyes with him. “I’m tired of always following someone else’s schedule. Living in my mother’s shadow, doing what I’m told, when I’m told. You don’t get it, Peña. You have no idea what it’s like to have every aspect of your life controlled by someone else.” You can’t help but ramble, tongue loose, “I never get a damn second to myself, to do anything I want!” Your voice rises with each word, frustration boiling over, the alcohol making you bolder than you’d normally be. “So, no. I’m staying right here and enjoying my night out.”

Javier’s smirk disappears, replaced by a hard, unyielding stare. His brown eyes remain dark and guarded, the nearby orange street light casting shadows across his chiseled face. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat,” he says flatly. “This is the life you’re stuck with until your mother is out of office. It’s not about what you want. You think you can just sneak away because it’s inconvenient? Because it’s hard?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, swaying slightly. “Easy for you to say, standing there in your perfect little suit, playing agent while I drown every day under the pressure of expectations I never asked for.”

Javier’s jaw flexes. “It could be a whole lot worse. You don’t like it? Too bad. Your mother doesn’t even know you’ve snuck out, and I’m not about to let her find out. I need to get you sober and back to the White House before she realizes you’re missing.” His tone is final, like he’s already made up his mind.

You step forward, eyes flashing with rebellion. “Or,” you play right into his hands, switching up entirely. A slow, deliberate, small smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth.

His eyes narrow as he watches you approach, hands still at his waist. 

You trail a finger along the edge of his tie, tugging it gently, testing his reaction. He swallows harshly, throat twitching at the action. “Why don’t we both stay? Let loose and have some fun,” you purr, low and teasing, fluttering your eyes as you look up at him. “We could both use a night off.”

He grits his teeth and pulls back slightly, but not enough to break the moment. “Don’t,” he warns, tone laden with something that sounds a lot less like anger and more like desire. “You’re drunk. This isn’t happening.”

“Am I?” You are, obviously. “Or are you just afraid that you’ll like it?” You challenge him, cocking your head to the side slightly.

“What’s the matter, Javier? Is your wife not fulfilling her duties at home? Is that why you’re obsessed with me?”

That strikes a nerve. “Enough,” he growls, voice strained and mean. You don’t give a single fuck, leaning in even closer, your lips ghosting over his jaw. His breath is ragged now, hand twitching at his side, as if he’s debating whether to push you away or pull you closer.

You don’t care that this is dangerous, that it’s wrong. All you care about is the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s been holding back for far too long. And maybe, just maybe, tonight is the night he listens to that voice in his head that’s been craving you all along.

“You’re not pushing me away…” you whisper, “Which makes me think that I’m right about your wife.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you feel him tense up. The thrill of his reaction is like electricity.

His silence only emboldens you, makes you lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear as you stand on the tips of your toes. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head, the conflict, the desire.

“So why don’t we just fuck?” you say it so bluntly, it almost sobers you up. Your lips are so close to his that you can almost taste him. The small hairs of his mustache tickle your cupid’s bow. “Get it over with. Scratch the itch.”

His hand shoots up, holding your jaw, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is tight, making you wince as his fingers dig into your cheeks.

His eyes carry a storm, filled with the kind of hunger you’ve been dying to see from him.

“You really do think this is a game, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

He moves quickly, using the hold on your face to pull you in for a bruising kiss. It’s not soft or gentle— it’s hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue as he devours you.

His lips are adamant against yours, rough from the way he’s been biting them in frustration. You can taste the desperation, the pent-up desire.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, your body pressing into his, hands fisting in the front of his suit jacket as you pull him closer. There’s no space between you, no hesitation left. You whimper against his mouth, head spinning from the alcohol still pulsing through your veins and the way his hands have found your waist, gripping you tight.

He pulls away just long enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re out of your damn mind,” he mutters, but even as he says it, his hands are pulling you in again, pressing your hips against his as if he can’t stop himself.

His eyes are wild now, the usual cool detachment replaced with a recklessness that matches yours.

“And you’re loving every second of it,” you murmur back, your lips already brushing against his again, teasing him, daring him to take more.

Javier growls deep in his throat, and suddenly, he’s spinning then guiding you toward the SUV. You stumble backward, your heels clicking against the pavement, barely able to keep up with his pace yet again. 

He pushes you up against the side of the vehicle, your back hitting the cool metal with a soft thud. The contrast between the cold steel and his burning touch sends shivers down your spine. And then his mouth is on yours again, harder this time, his body pressing you into the car, his hands roaming over your curves like he’s been starving for this.

Your fingers card through his hair as you pull him closer, wanting more, needing more. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping against your softness. He nips at the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you gasp.

You arch against him, body responding to every rough touch and kiss. His hands fall over the fabric of your dress, tugging at the hem, sliding it up your thigh.

“Fucking with me all the time just to get me to react,” his fingers press firmly against your clit, teasing through the thin fabric of your panties. The sensation has you whimpering, your head falling back against the metal.

“Then sneaking out like this. I could lose my job over your carelessness.” His teeth sink into your neck, sharp and punishing, making you gasp in surprise, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“But no,” he hisses, his words dripping with contempt as he presses harder, fingers circling your clit in a way that makes your knees weak, hooking one of your legs up on his waist to spread you open further for him “the perfect princess doesn’t give a fuck. She’s too busy whining about being taken care of.” His free hand yanks at your panties, and the flimsy fabric gives way with a harsh tear, leaving you exposed.

The sudden rush of cool air against your hot skin is nothing compared to the feel of his calloused fingers returning to your pussy, spreading the wetness around before plunging two fingers inside you roughly.

The stretch is intense, and you moan loudly, cunt squeezing around his fingers as he works you with a rough precision, like he knows exactly how to break you down.

“You talk a lot for someone who’s fucking a woman half your age,” you bite out, but the words are weak, caught somewhere between a challenge and a plea.

You’re playing a dangerous move here, but the power struggle between you and him is addictive, like a live wire sizzling between you both.

He stops suddenly, fingers still inside you, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His expression is dark, dangerous, and filled with something primal. His free hand comes up to wrap around your neck, the cool band of his ring against your heated skin sends a shock through you, and you narrow your eyes at him, daring him to make his next move.

“Tired of you runnin’ that fucking mouth,” he grunts, tightening his grip on your throat just enough to make your breath hitch. With his other hand, he undoes his belt, the gentle clink of metal the only warning you get before he’s pushing you down roughly to your knees.

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, your heart racing. “Here?” you whisper, your voice breathy, equal parts shocked and exhilarated.

Javier tilts his head, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he strokes himself, his cock heavy and girthy in his hand. “So now you care?” His tone is patronizing, but his eyes are filled with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip as your gaze drifts lower, unable to stop yourself from taking in the sheer size of him, the pressure between your thighs building to an unreachable height.

Without another word, he brings you closer by the back of your neck, and your mouth parts instinctively. Your tongue swirls around the spongy tip, tasting the salty slickness of his precome. His fingers dig into your scalp as he guides your movements, but it doesn’t take long for his hips to start thrusting forward, fucking your mouth with no patience, no hesitation.

The pace is brutal, your throat burning as he pushes deeper. His thighs twitch ever so often and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back just enough to not completely unravel.

Saliva dribbles from the corners of your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks and smudging your perfectly applied makeup as you suck him off with desperation.

Your knees ache from grinding against the rough pavement, but the pain is nothing compared to the mess in your cunt, the need building with every rough move. 

“Who would’ve thought you could be such a slut,” Javier grunts, his hand gripping the back of your head, keeping you in place. His words are condescending, each syllable dripping with lust.

He pulls you off his cock, a string of spit connecting your lips to his flushed head. “You look so fuckin’ filthy like this,” a cruel smirk is on his lips as he directs your mouth lower, pressing your face against his balls. 

Now drunk on him— on the power he’s holding over you, on the taste of him filling your senses— you eagerly obey, your tongue darting out to trace his heavy sack. You moan as you take each one into your mouth, suckling gently, savoring the weight and the taste of him. His low groan above you is all the encouragement you need to keep going, your lips moving greedily as you continue to worship him with no hands.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the rough sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “Had I known you were this good at sucking dick, I would’ve fucked that pretty little throat ages ago.”

His words spur you on, making you feel powerful, wanted, as though you’re giving him something he’s been missing. Something his wife can’t provide. The thought stirs something dark inside of you, a thrill that mixes with the burning in your pussy as you take him back into your mouth, deep-throating him in one smooth motion.

Your palm finally reaches up, fondling his balls as you move, your throat contracting around him with every stroke, the sound of your gagging filling the alley. 

You pull him out again, spitting on his cock and pumping him with both hands, your grip slick as you work him faster, relishing in the way his head tips back, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. 

After a few more minutes of your sloppy, eager blowjob, he groans and yanks you off him, his hands rough as he drags you to your feet. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s thrown open the backdoor of the SUV, damn near tossing you inside before climbing in behind you. 

The moment he’s inside, his badge and gun are discarded to the side, and he grabs you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap as he leans back against the seat. His cock is hard and slick, pressing against your soaked entrance, but he doesn’t push inside yet. 

Instead, he yanks the top of your dress down, exposing your breasts, and immediately latches his mouth onto one of your nipples. His wet tongue swirls around the sensitive bud as his free hand pinches and tugs at the other, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your pussy. 

You moan loudly, your hips grinding down against his dick, sliding him between your slick folds, teasing both of you.

You’ve made a mess of his white shirt and part of his slacks.

You wonder if he’ll go home to her like this. Kiss her with the same mouth that’s kissed you.

Every inch of your skin is on fire, the need to have him inside of you building with every passing second. 

“Javier, please,” you whine, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push yourself down onto him.

He pulls away from your breast with a wet pop, “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension as his hand trails down your body, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Begging for my cock like a whore.”

You bite your lip, your pride long forgotten as you look down at him, a needy expression painting your face. “Please, Javi,” you beg, grinding harder against him, feeling the thick head of his cock press against your entrance. “I need you. Please— fuck me.”

He chuckles darkly, his grip on your hips bruising the skin as he holds you still. “You think I’m just gonna give you what you want after the way you’ve been acting?”

Before you can respond, his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting of the spank making you cry out in surprise. “Javi!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, landing another spank on the other cheek. “You want my cock? Earn it.”

You moan, your body trembling as the pain mixes with the pleasure coursing through you. His words, his rough treatment— it only makes you want him more. “Please,” you sob, your voice shaky as you wiggle your hips, trying to push him inside, the lingering sting of his smacks vibrating against your plush skin. 

He groans, and in one swift motion, he thrusts up into you, his cock stretching you wide as he sinks deep inside. You cry at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing before relaxing as the pleasure of being filled washes over you.

“Fuck,” it feels like his cock has punched you in the lungs, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, riding him slowly at first, your head thrown back as you savor the feeling of him inside of you. “So fucking big.”

Javier grunts, his hands gripping your hips as he guides your movements, bucking up into you as you swivel your hips. “That’s it,” his teeth graze your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper. “Take it, princess. Take every inch.”

You moan loudly, your body then bouncing on his lap as you both lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Nothing else matters except the way he feels inside you and the filthy words spilling from his lips as you fuck each other like you’ve both been waiting for this for far too long.

The sounds coming from both of you—wet, filthy, primal—fill the confined space of the SUV. The smell of sex and leather in the air.

Each thrust of his hips sends you spiraling closer to the edge, your bodies colliding in a frenzied rhythm that makes the vehicle rock with your movements. Thank fucking God the windows are tinted.

Javier’s hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your frantic movements, his cock buried deep inside of you, hitting every spot that makes you cry out in pleasure.

Eyes are half-lidded as he watches your breasts bounce while you hop on his dick.

His lips part, a low groan escaping him as he feels you flutter around him, your pussy tightening with the promise of your impending orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out. He’s close— so fucking close— and the way you’re moving, the way you’re so desperate for him, makes it impossible for him to hold back much longer.

His brow furrows, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face as he thrusts up into you harder, faster— chasing his own release. “You’re gonna make me come, princess,” he groans, his fingers digging into your skin as he bites down on his lower lip.

Your head falls back, your lips parted in a breathless moan as the band inside you snaps. “Javi,” you mewl, barely able to get his name out as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, sending your body trembling and convulsing around him. “Oh fuck, I’m coming,” you gasp, your voice breaking as your orgasm ripples through you. “Harder— please.”

He grits his teeth once he feels you unravel around him, your pussy clenching against his cock. It gets him there with you, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as his hips jerk up harshly a few more times time.

His release hits him hard, spilling into you without asking, but you don’t notice nor care. You both ride out the aftershocks together, tangled in each other’s arms, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, the car still rocking slightly as the final thrusts slow.

For a brief moment, everything is still. Your fingers trailing over his skin as you try to catch even out your breathing.

But then, reality slams back into focus.

Javier’s body goes rigid beneath you, his hands releasing their grip on your hips as if what just happened is sinking in all at once. “Get off,” he mutters, his voice suddenly sharp. “Now.”

You blink, disoriented, still riding the afterglow, but the tone of his voice cuts through the haze. You hesitate for a second, looking down at him, trying to read his expression. There’s no trace of the infatuation that had consumed him just moments ago. Instead, his face is etched with regret, his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight.

“Javi…” you start, but he cuts you off, his hand coming up to push you gently but firmly off his lap.

“Get. Off,” he repeats, leaving no room for argument.

You pull away, your body trembling slightly as you move off him, awkwardly adjusting your dress. The tension is suffocating as Javier quickly pulls up his pants, his hands shaking slightly as he fastens his belt. He’s avoiding your gaze, his brows furrowed in frustration as he runs a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

“We need to go,” his voice is cold and distant, as if the intimacy you just shared never happened. “Before your mother declares a state of emergency on the entire country.”

He digs into his pocket, your ruined panties then are tossed at you and you bite your lip, feeling the sting of rejection settle deep in your chest.

Once he’s fixed his clothes, Javier moves with a tense efficiency, reholstering his gun and straightening his badge like nothing happened.

His movements are mechanical, as if he’s trying to regain control, trying to rebuild that wall he always hides behind. You sit there, watching him in silence, a real icy feeling knotting in your chest.

He doesn’t look at you as he steps out of the SUV, slamming the door behind him forcefully and it makes you flinch. The loud thud echoes through the car, leaving you alone in the backseat with nothing but your racing thoughts and destroyed underwear.

The shame snaps into you then, creeping up your spine and spreading through your body like poison. You wipe the smeared makeup from under your eyes, fix your dress, but there’s no saving it. Literally and metaphorically.

He slips into the driver’s seat a moment later. He doesn’t say a word.

You sink back into the leather seat, the silence absolutely deafening. The back of the car feels like a cage now— your earlier exhilaration has all but disappeared. All that’s left is this gnawing sense of regret swirling in your gut.

The engine hums to life as he drives out of the alleyway, his movements precise and methodical, the way they always are when he’s on the job.

Like he’s already compartmentalizing.

You consider saying something— anything to break the silence that’s strangling you both— but the words die on your lips. What would you even say?

“You should’ve never snuck out,” Javier finally speaks lowly, as if it’s painful for him to even acknowledge the situation. “You’re lucky no one saw you.”

There’s an edge to his words, but it’s not the usual reprimand. Rather just regret, frustration, and anger all wrapped into one.

You don’t respond right away, your eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. “I don’t care,” you finally mutter, more to yourself than to him. “I’m sick of it. Of all of it.” You pause, your throat tight with emotion. “For once, I just wanted to feel like I was in control.”

Javier lets out a harsh breath, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Control? ” He scoffs, his tone biting. “You don’t even know what that word means.”

You turn your head to glare at him, heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not a fucking child.” He chuckles at that, wordlessly saying otherwise. “And you don’t know what it’s like to live my life,” you snap, the frustration boiling over. “To constantly be watched, to have every move scrutinized, to be paraded around like some perfect fucking doll when I didn’t ask for any of it.”

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but his face remains impassive. “None of this is new,” he reminds you, “You knew what your life would be like when your mother was re-elected. It’s not about you anymore. It never was.”

You feel the sting of his words, but you refuse to back down. “Maybe it should be,” you say, your voice trembling with anger. “Maybe I should get to live my life the way I want to. Not the way everyone else expects me to.”

Brown eyes flicker toward you in the rearview mirror for a split second. He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” his voice is tight. “You can try again in four years.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you sink deeper into the seat. “You just want to pretend this never happened.”

Javier’s silence is answer enough.

The rest of the ride is quiet and tense. When you finally pull up to the back gates of the White House, you sigh when your lavish prison comes into view and when he parks right outside the private entrance that you and the rest of your family get in and out of.

Javier glances in the rearview mirror one final time, his expression unreadable, before he cuts the engine and steps out.

He opens the back door for you, his handsome face set in that familiar stoic mask. “Let’s go,” he orders, tone flat, devoid of the erotic emotions from earlier.

You hesitate, a pout forming on your lips, the confidence you’d wielded earlier crumbling to dust. Your legs wobble as you step out, shaky and weak from how he fucked you

He shrugs off his jacket and throws it over your bare shoulders. The gesture would’ve felt protective, maybe even tender, in another moment. But now, it’s a calculated move to cover up the evidence of what you just did. He’s not doing it for you— he’s doing it for his job. 

He walks you inside, his large hand resting lightly at your lower back as if guiding you, but the warmth you once felt from his touch is nowhere to be found. His eyes dart around the hall, scoping the area, making sure none of the other agents that he commands are around to see you.

He nods curtly when the coast is clear, a silent gesture to keep moving. You feel like a liability— something to be hidden away, managed, not the girl who he was just balls deep inside.

The heels you’re wearing are muted against the thick carpet as you walk down the long hallway toward your bedroom. Each step feels like an eternity. 

When you finally reach your bedroom door, he pulls the jacket from your shoulders without a word. You blink back the sting of tears, throat tightening at the action.

He’s not just being distant—he’s erasing you, erasing the moment, wiping it all away like it meant nothing.

Because it hadn’t meant a damn thing. He is married, after all. You were nothing but an easy fuck. A form of relief. Eye candy for him as he was for you.

Without looking back or saying anything, you push open the door and step inside. The soft click of the latch as you shut it in his face echoes in the stillness and you don’t need to look back to know that there’s nothing behind those brown eyes for you anymore. 

[goodqueenaly]

Hello Good Queen Alysanne, I have a question about Jorah Mormont and Lynesse Hightower. Was the marriage doomed from the start? Was there anything they could do to make it work (e.g. Jorah temper her expectations about the Bear Island)? I remember Catelyn said something along the line of she was unprepared for a life in the North, but eventually adapted to it.

Here’s the thing, though: we’re talking about a marriage not just between two very different people from two extremely difficult cultural backgrounds, but one which had not even been on the radar for either until maybe a week or so before it took place - and that I think is being generous with the timeline. Catelyn and Ned had certainly not known each other, in any deeply personal way, before their wedding, and each had certainly grown up (though perhaps somewhat less so, for the Jon Arryn-raised Ned) in a family and a society very different the other’s, but Catelyn had been taught from a young age to be the dutiful inheritor of her father’s political designs - and from the age of 12, had understood that duty meant eventually marrying the heir to Winterfell, becoming its lady, and continuing the Stark dynasty. Likewise, while Ned had never expected to become Lord of Winterfell or marry his brother’s fiancée, he had certainly understood the wartime necessity of taking Catelyn as his bride and preserving the rebellion’s alliances via marriage. This is not to say, of course, that Catelyn immediately adapted to being Ned’s wife and that she never experienced any struggles during her marriage; it took her time to “[find] the good sweet heart beneath Ned's solemn face”, and some aspects of life in the North always remained foreign to her - the godswood sacred to Ned’s faith, or the (ostensibly) bastard son whose origins Ned angrily refused to detail . Nevertheless, I think it’s fair to say Ned and Catelyn’s marriage succeeded, at least in part, because Catelyn came into the marriage understanding the politico-dynastic duty impressed on her for a large chunk of her pre-marital life by her father, because Ned too understood and accepted the the duty he had to marry her during the Rebellion, and because both Ned and Catelyn spent years developing passion and devotion toward one another, alongside that duty.

By contrast, what could even be said of Jorah’s and Lynesse’s respective expectations going into their wedding and marriage? Jorah very explicitly had only married Lynesse because he “could not take [his] eyes off her”at the joust, purely acting on his physical attraction to her. Lynesse, for her part, had no reason to have known who Jorah even was, except perhaps on the most general level, ahead of and even during the tourney: if she was pleased to accept the favor of a hero of the recent war, a lord in his own right and a bannerman of the victorious king’s closest friend, she likely had as little knowledge of Jorah personally as he did her. Compounding that is, as I mentioned, the incredibly short timeframe of their marriage: Jorah asked for Lynesse’s hand immediately after winning the joust, and they married while Jorah was still in Lannisport for the tourney, meaning that they were going to the altar having been quite literally complete strangers at most a week, if not a few days, before the wedding. Even if Jorah and/or Lynesse had wanted to get to know each other as marriage partners before their wedding day - and Jorah certainly doesn’t seem to have been interested, in any event - there was simply no time to do so: before either, but especially Lynesse, may have realized the full implications of what to come, Lord Leyton had already signed away his youngest daughter’s future to Jorah.

In Lannisport, in those bare handful of days, it may have been easy for Jorah, and perhaps Lynesse as well, to imagine their future as one of sunshine and roses. Literally riding high on his very recent and illustrious knighthood and his unstoppable victories during the joust, in the warmth and wealth of the oldest and southernmost city in Westeros, Jorah may have thought that the realities of Bear Island life seemed physically and culturally very far away. Lynesse, still just a teenager and one who, as the youngest of a large and wealthy family, had likely lived a pretty sheltered life, may have seen Jorah as no more and no less than what he appeared as before her - a spectacularly talented tourney knight and war hero, a lord in his own right who could make her a lady of her own castle and House, as her sisters Leyla and Denyse were not. (Let’s never forget the creepiness of Jorah being almost two decades older than Lynesse.) The deliberately fantastic environment of what for lack of a better term we have to call their courtship and engagement - even for the most high-ranking Westerosi aristocrats, life is usually not feasts and tourneys 24/7 - only heightened the lack of reality at the foundation of their marriage; their entire experience of one another had been defined by a purposefully temporary world of pleasure which could never have been sustained.

Consequently, I think both Jorah and Lynesse experienced, on their return to Bear Island, disillusionment so profound that there was no making the marriage work. Jorah tells Dany that Lynesse resented that Bear Island was “too cold, too damp, too far away”, that the Mormonts “had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs”, and that the Mormont “cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews”, but I think these complaints reflect a more fundamental alienation Lynesse was feeling in her new role. Bear Island wasn’t just different from Oldtown; it was a world whose entire life and existence could not be compared to that of Lynesse’s native city. Her faith, her experience with Oldtown’s intellectual and artistic culture and the Reach’s tradition of chivalry, her training as a southron lady - none of that had any place on Bear Island. She was, as Jorah’s aunt and cousins may have reminded her (or commented in her hearing), the lady Jorah “won … in a tourney”, a lady whose “soft hands were never made for axes … nor her teats for giving suck” - in other words, a failure compared to the Mormont ideal lady who had a baby on one hip and an axe in her other hand. She had married a lord, a war hero, and a champion jouster, only to find herself stuck as lady of a castle only so called by courtesy, on an island that to Lynesse probably seemed physically and culturally in the middle of nowhere, with a husband who never again either took up arms in war (at least in Westeros) or distinguished himself on the tourney field.

Jorah clearly grew to resent and eventually hate Lynesse, but he was far from blameless in this situation. It had been Jorah who had, on no greater impulse than his physical attraction to Lynesse, taken a likely sheltered teenager from the only home she had ever known to one only he of the two of them knew and understood; it had been Jorah who had courted (again, to the extent we can call it that) the daughter of one of the wealthiest lords in Westeros from one of the most ancient reacher aristocratic families with absolutely no practical plan on how he could make Lynesse comfortable and happy in this new world; his best option in his mind was to spend money he very well knew he didn’t have and pursue a jousting career in which he knew very well he wasn’t cut out to succeed. Could Jorah truly be shocked that Lynesse “grew wild when [he] spoke of pawning her jewels”, or “moved into the manse of a merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen” after he, Jorah, became a sellsword? Far from fulfilling whatever expectations (again, likely at least founded in unreality) Lynesse may have had of this marriage, Jorah was now asking Lynesse to give up her remaining connections to those expectations and that foundation - the jewels she may have easily received as the daughter of rich Lord Hightower, the position of Westerosi lady marriage to Jorah had offered her.

Ultimately, I think this marriage was destined to fail because neither could ever be what the other may have gone into the marriage expecting. Lynesse could not be forever the tourney fantasy he had encountered at Lannisport - the beautiful highborn maid cheering him on from the sidelines as he won tilt after tilt in a tourney on the heels of his wartime fame. Jorah could not be forever the image Lynesse encountered at that tourney - the lord in his own right, the recent war hero and royally dubbed knight, the spectacular tourney champion. Jorah could not offered Lynesse the life of ease, security, and aristocratic culture she had grown up living with and perhaps consequently expecting; Lynesse could not offer Jorah the perfect highborn southron maid who would at the same time perfectly accept life as a Mormont bride.

[crescenthistory]

in the silence, there is an us

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Throughout their lives, Paul and reader have often found themselves in each other's bed. Childish games after bedtime, late-night studying sessions, nightmares, and a burning need to not be apart.

Part of Paul's point of view can be read here: "you are my favourite silence"

Words: 7.2k

Warnings: not proofread, possibly some inaccuracies about plot details (have not watched dune in ages, i'm just obsessed with paul), best friends to lover, tension, light angst, jessica being a bit rude, reader being an orphan and of a lower social rank, duke leto's death (rip), lots of cuddles and lingering touches, fluff, the whole deal

***

The grand halls of Castle Caladan always had an eerie stillness after sunset. The select servants walked quietly, the sound of waves crashing below barely made its way through the stone walls, and the Duke and Lady Jessica kept to their quarters. For Paul and you, though, this was the perfect time to sneak past the sternness of bedtime. The day never seems long enough for young children whose eyes are still filled with stars.

“Come on!” Paul’s whisper was loud, almost too loud for sneaking around, but you didn’t think long enough to care. The thrill of the game was enough to make both of your hearts race. You were barefoot, your steps making soft thuds against the cool floor as you tiptoed through the hall toward his room.

“If we get caught—” you whispered, but Paul cut you off with a grin.

“We won’t. Besides, who can stop us?”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky confidence. He wasn’t wrong, though. You had never been good at staying still, at obeying the invisible rules set up by adults. With no living relatives to share your name, Paul was more than just a best friend – he was all you had. Him and Duke Leto, whose unwavering sense of duty made him take you in at the Castle when your parents died on a mission he orchestrated. Responsibility above all else, all the qualities he aimed at instilling in his young son. And it couldn’t hurt Paul to have a friend his own age, could it? 

You slipped into his room, both of you giggling like you’d just played the best prank on his sleeping parents. His bed was huge for a 7-year-old, more space than one boy could ever need regardless of his nobility. Tonight, it was your playground, stretching for miles.

Paul scrambled up first, then turned and offered you his hand. “Bet you I can jump higher than you,” he said, a challenge clear in his eyes.

You took his hand, pulling yourself up and laughing as the two of you bounced on the mattress, trying to outdo each other in height and bravery. You weren’t worried about waking anyone. Even if Duke Leto found you – and he often did – his stern reprimands were laced with amusement.

This was not the first time the two children had snuck into each other’s rooms after dark, the activity becoming more habit than occasion. Nights like this were your shared rebellion, a refusal to let the day end just because the sun had gone down, just because Jessica had tucked Paul into bed an hour earlier for bedtime.

Eventually, after you had worn yourselves out, you collapsed side by side on the bed, your breaths heavy from laughter. You stared up at the ceiling, still giggling as the adrenaline began to fade.

“I don’t want it to be bedtime ever again,” Paul said, his voice soft, almost wistful.

You turned your head to look at him, sprawled out on the massive mattress, dark hair in his eyes that reflected the dim moonlight streaming through the window. You understood exactly what he meant.

“Me neither,” you replied with a smile. Your hand found his under the covers.

Neither of you moved as your true bedtime took over, the quiet settling in around you, comfortable and warm. You fell asleep like that, fingers intertwined, with no concept of what it meant to have boundaries. There was just Paul, and you, and the night that was never long enough.

  ***

In the wake of your early teens at the castle, sneaking into each other’s rooms had become less about rebellion and more about comfort. The innocence of bouncing on beds and stifled laughter gave way to whispered conversations in the dark and the shared weight of fears neither of you quite understood yet.

The first time Paul came to your room because of a nightmare, it startled you. You were just about to drift off when you heard the soft creak of your door, followed by the quiet patter of feet. You jerked up from the mess of blankets, blinking into the darkness. Confusion and perhaps a bit of fear grasped you, until you saw his silhouette standing near the edge of your bed.

“Paul?” you whispered, straightening up. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer at first, he didn’t know how. With his tense expression and shadows playing across his face, he looked haunted despite his still small, boy-like frame. You knew him in and out by now, and could clearly read the signs of his nails digging into the skin of his fingers, breathing shallow and uneven. 

“Can I stay?” His voice was rougher than usual, like he was barely holding it together.

“Of course.”

You didn’t ask any questions, it was a silent understanding. Instead, you lifted the blanket, making room for him. He crawled in without hesitation, laying his head on the pillow on your left. His body rigid beside yours for a moment before he relaxed, the tension slowly draining away.

Lying there, you listened to the sound of his breathing steadying, feeling the warmth of his presence next to you, arm against arm. It was quiet, but not silent – the kind of quiet that only existed when you knew someone else was there with you. Someone who understood. Someone who would never judge you for being afraid.

In his newfound safety, Paul drifted off easier than he could in his own bed. Yours was significantly smaller, but somehow softer, and he could actually feel the weight of you beside him on the mattress. He could ground himself in your presence. When he fell asleep, his head fell slightly to the side, his hair brushing against your cheek. 

You, on the other hand, stayed awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. 

You’d always been each other’s rock, but now, something was different. The comfort you found in his presence was deeper, more profound. It wasn’t just about not wanting to be alone anymore, it was about needing him specifically. It brought a smile to your face to know that he found that same assurance in you.

***

The weights on your shoulders materialised and became clearer as you grew beside each other. At sixteen, the favours Duke Leto had bestowed upon you by allowing you residence and education at Caladan felt like a debt more than a blessing. One you had to repay through excellence, through true devotion to any and all training given to you. While Paul tried to seem more lighthearted about it all, it could be felt in the air all the same. You were no longer just two children sneaking around a castle that seemed to never end. You were a future duke and a noblewoman-in-training, navigating a world that seemed to have its eyes on you at every moment.

To earn your gifted title and position and prove yourself worthy of your place as Paul’s friend, you poured over every textbook your teachers assigned you. The study of Caladan, of politics, traditions and customs occupied your mind to the extent that you neglected the occupant of your heart. 

Yet, at late hours, it was always Paul’s bedroom floor the pair found themselves splayed across. 

Sheets of notes, pens and books layed on top of themselves in a system neither of you could have been able to explain to an outsider. Paul against the wall with his notebook, you stomach-down on the carpet, nose buried between the words in your textbook.

“You’re going to wear yourself out.” Paul’s words were muttered, watching you through tired eyes.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Just one more chapter.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“I mean it this time.”

Paul didn’t argue, but you could feel his eyes on you as you worked, his presence a quiet comfort beside you. It had become routine, the two of you studying together, you claimed you worked better that way. Paul occasionally asking questions while you tried to focus on your own work but more often than not, you ended up helping him instead of yourself.

Your one-more-chapter became two more as you tried to retain the information, but your eyelids grew heavier, your focus slipping. The same sentence became burned into your retinas without making much more sense.

Ever so slowly, your head was brought closer and closer to the ink. Eventually it was all you could see before your cheek hit the page – you were out as a light.

Paul watched you for a moment, a soft smile playing on his lips. This was not the first time. He closed his own book and moved quietly to your side. He brought a finger up to brush some of your hair out of your face before he rolled you over. Gently, he lifted you, careful not to wake you as he carried you to the bed. His bed.

It had almost become part of the routine, he watches you exhaust yourself and then ensures you get the rest you deserve. He had done this before, but each time, it made his chest tighten more in ways he didn’t fully understand.

As he laid you down delicately, he hesitated by your side for just a moment, watching the rise and fall of your chest, the peaceful expression on your face. He didn’t realise how often he found himself staring at you like this, wondering when the girl who used to be his playmate had become someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. Someone he wanted to protect, to keep close, even as you worked yourself to the bone. He wanted to tell you you didn’t have to, that he knew and that you were enough. Instead, he let his instinct win and lightly caressed the soft flesh of your arm.

After a brief pause, Paul pulled the covers over you and sat on your edge of the bed for a while longer. He was tired himself, but he didn’t want to move. Not just yet.

***

The past few months felt as if they stretched on for years with how much change and development you were faced with, almost forcefully. Despite your efforts, the older you got, the more you felt like a young girl attempting to parade as a grown woman ready for whatever duties Duke Leto sees fit of you, as a “noblewoman” without any true blood given nobility. 

Paul had been dancing around your worries for a while now, cutting off your worried rants with funny quips and dragging you from the library or training room to the beach when he believed you too worrisome. However, his duties were catching up to him as well, even when he tried to balance on the beam with you. He would be a duke one day, and though he had acted like a prince all his life, this was much more real.

His duties were specifically catching up to him in the form of one Lady Jessica. Reminders, comments, requests to his teachers and staff. She wanted him to start becoming the man he needs to be.

One of her lectures was playing out before your eyes in the library, though it escaped you how it even began. The soft, rhythmic drumming of the rain against the high windows felt like the one thing tethering you this world as she spoke, shadows cast across her face. 

Lady Jessica’s voice sliced through the rain, calm but pointed. Leaving the air around you feeling heavy. You sat at a table beside Paul, as she stood above you, a judge passing through your reading session. Her sharp eyes, blue within blue, never seemed to miss anything.

She had always watched you carefully, ever since you were children – though it wasn’t until recently that you noticed how her gaze lingered on you. Emotion indecipherable, yet somehow your stomach seared from it. She was assessing you on criteria it felt you had no control over. 

“You’re both approaching the age where things will change,” Jessica said, her gaze flicking between you and Paul. Her tone was deceptively gentle, like the calm before a storm. “You can no longer afford to be... careless.”

There was a long pause, a silence that felt charged with unspoken meaning. Paul shifted beside you, and though you didn’t look at him, you could feel the tension in the way he carried himself, alert, almost defensive.

“I’m not just speaking about duties to the House or the formalities expected of you as you come of age.” Lady Jessica’s eyes rested on you, sharp and assessing. “I’m also speaking about the way you conduct yourselves in your personal relationships.”

Your heart stuttered at the implication, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. You did not wish to dig into the meaning behind her words.

This was not the first time she’d given such a lecture, but it was the first time it felt so personal. So aimed. It was understood she must be referring to the hours upon hours you spent together, including in the moonlight. The quiet moments where you and Paul sought each other out, clinging to your comfort when the world felt too heavy to bear alone.

It was never intended to be anything inappropriate. You were each other’s safety nets, just like you had always been. But still, you felt a pang of shame coil in your chest at the thought of it being seen that way.

“You have been given responsibilities that go beyond your own desires,” Jessica continued, turning slightly toward Paul. “You are the heir to the House of Atreides, Paul. Every decision you make now, every relationship you allow to develop, can impact that legacy.”

Paul’s jaw clenched, and for the first time, you risked a glance at him. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his posture betrayed his discomfort. His eyes flicked to you, worry clouding them more than annoyance at his mother’s words. He searched your face for something, and did not seem happy with what he saw, but you ripped your gaze away a mere second after.

He was not thinking about his legacy. In that moment, all he thought about was you and how you were feeling.

Your stomach twisted, and the weight of it all – the difference in your status, the expectations that shadowed both your lives – seemed too much. Lady Jessica was not wrong, and Gods did you hate it. You glanced down, willing the words to settle somewhere far away, somewhere that wouldn’t hurt so much.

“You must understand,” Jessica said, her voice softer now, but no less firm, “the time for childish games is over. It’s time for both of you to take your roles more seriously. The future will not wait for you to be ready.”

The words hit you harder than they should have, like a reprimand for something you had not yet done but already felt guilty about. You wanted to say something, anything to show that you understood, that you weren’t some distraction pulling Paul away from his responsibilities, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you nodded stiffly, keeping your eyes trained on the floor.

Jessica gave a tight-lipped smile you did not see, before turning around to take her leave, pleased with the efficiency of your talk. She was gone, her robes whispering against the stone floor as she left you alone with the silence she had created between you two.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The weight of Jessica’s words still hung heavy in the room, thickening the air between you. You could feel Paul’s gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, not yet.

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Paul finally said, his voice low and careful, like he was testing the waters.

When you did not respond, Paul let out a soft sigh, moving his body towards you. “She’s just worried. That’s all. My mother—”

“Your mother is always worried,” you cut in, more sharply than you intended. You could feel the weight of it all pressing down on you. The constant reminders of how you didn’t quite fit into this world of nobility and politics, how your presence was tolerated but not truly embraced by the one woman you wished to be on your side. “And maybe she has a point. I’ve been distracting you. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t keep coming to you.”

You did not elaborate, you did not need to.

Paul’s expression tightened, and before you could move away, he reached out, gently gripping your hands between his. His touch was warm, grounding, but you tried not to let yourself sink into it.

“No,” he said, his voice firm now. “You haven’t been distracting me. You’ve... you’ve been keeping me sane. It’s not the same thing.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head again. “But your mother thinks—”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

The words were out of Paul’s mouth before he could stop them, and for a moment, he looked almost startled by his own admission. He blinked, as if trying to make sense of his own boldness, before his grip on your hands tightened just slightly, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I don’t care what she thinks about the time we spend together,” he said, quieter this time, but no less intense. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, like the world’s pressing in from every side, and you’re just. Alone.”

You looked up at him then, your breath catching at the rawness in his voice. Paul never let anyone see him like this—not even you most of the time, not fully. But now, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Desperation, maybe. Or something deeper, something unspoken.

“Whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t feel that way,” he continued, his voice low, like he was sharing a secret he’d been keeping for too long. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that keeps me steady.”

Your chest tightened, torn between the overwhelming urge to believe him and the guilt that had been festering inside you since Jessica’s words. You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes made it impossible to say any words out loud.

So instead, you swallowed your thoughts, pressing them deep down where they couldn’t be reached.

“We just need to be more careful,” you said softly, pulling your hands away from his grasp. Your skin still tingled where his fingers had been. “Your mother’s right. We can’t keep hiding away in each other’s rooms. We can’t... we can’t keep acting like kids.”

Paul’s face fell, the tension in his shoulders sagging slightly. His now-free hands went up to rub at his face before he sighed. “But we’re not acting like kids.”

“Aren’t we?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “We’re literally sneaking into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, Paul. We’re still pretending like nothing’s changed.”

Paul was quiet for a long moment, his eyes flicking away from you, as if he couldn’t bring himself to argue. Maybe because deep down, he knew you were right.

But then, just as the silence between you started to feel unbearable, he spoke again, his voice quieter, but full of conviction.

“Nothing has changed though. Not between us.”

The words lingered in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t know how to respond. A part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to the idea that no matter what the world threw at you, no matter what Lady Jessica said, you and Paul would always be the same. The same two people who had spent years leaning on each other, who had always been there to catch each other when the ground fell away.

Yet, you knew what Paul’s wishful thinking sounded like more than anyone else. You knew everything about him. And in this moment, you knew he was wrong. No matter how much you both tried to ignore it, the future was closing in around you.

“I should go,” you said quietly, getting up from your seat before he could say or do anything to stop you. “I need to think.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes was enough to keep you rooted in place for just a moment longer, looking down at him. He still looked so young, his eyes so wide. That familiar ache settled in your chest, the same ache that came whenever you thought about what you were trying so hard not to lose.

“I will see you tomorrow,” you said, and with that you left him to sit with the sound of rain drops against glass.

After Jessica’s most pointed lecture, your unease at night, the one you and Paul seemed cursed to be forever plagued by as children of the castle, had only increased. You woke in cold sweat or you did not wake at all – regardless, you stayed in your own bed, never venturing down that familiar path in the hallway. You hugged your knees for comfort. 

You were a proper young woman. As you ought to be.

Nothing could get you and Paul to stop spending time with each other entirely though, not his mother and certainly not complicated feelings. There was already a lot of that flowing around anyway.

Classes, meals, walks around the hallways, the occasional silent moment watching the waves side by side in a large window. Never late-night visits. Never lingering too much, especially not around Jessica. 

She seemed pleased with your development, so you bit your cheek and played the part.

It had been months since either of you crossed that invisible boundary, but the comfort of those nights lingered in your minds, a shared memory you couldn’t quite let go of. One that you held tight on rough nights.

Ironically enough, it was the nights without thunder or storms that you struggled the most. Gripped by fear and horror, you fought through the worst nightmare you had experienced in many years. Mangled bodies, fire and smoke, Paul’s face distorted by sandstorms that you swear you could feel cut into your fragile skin like class.

The scream was lodged in your throat as you shot up, finally able to pull yourself out of the depths of your consciousness of all that has happened and all you fear will. Drowning in sweat and tears, violently trembling all over, you suddenly found yourself on your feet in the cold hallway.

No coherent thoughts were running through your head, just instinct and an intense need to be saved from your own mind. Even in a waking state, you still felt half infused in the nightmare, seeing the scenes when you blink, as if tattooed on your eyelids.

Almost running down the known path, your hand grazing the wall as you went to stabilise yourself. The rational part of your brain told you it wasn’t appropriate, that you should listen to Jessica, you were both too old to be doing this – but you were not in a rational state of mind right now. Right now you were the same scared little girl you have always been, the one you fear you always will be, and you knew what you needed to do to quiet her screams. 

When you reached his door, you paused, your hand hovering over the handle. What if he didn’t want this anymore? What if he would turn you away?

Before you could second-guess yourself further, the door creaked open, and there he was. Paul stood in the doorway, lit up from behind by a single candle on his nightstand. His eyes were wide as he took the sight of you in, but there was no real surprise etched on his face. However, if you weren’t mistaken, you thought you saw relief in it. Like he had been waiting for you, hoping for you to come.

Paul breathed your name out like a ‘thank you’, stepping aside to let you in before you could even speak. His hair was dishevelled, his shirt wrinkled from where he must have been lying awake, staring at the tall ceiling.

You slipped in past him, already feeling some tension leave your body as soon as the door closed behind you. You weren’t sure what to say. Maybe you didn’t need to say anything at all. Letting your eyes meet his, the look on Paul’s face told you everything you needed to know.

Without a word, you moved toward the bed, and Paul followed, his presence a warm, steadying force behind you. He didn’t ask you any questions, he didn’t need to. You both knew that whatever it was, it was enough to bring you here, to him. 

You hesitated for just a moment, feeling the weight of the years between you. When you were children, there had been no second thoughts, no hesitation. But now, voices were creeping in – but you shoved them aside like his blankets, and climbed into his bed.

When Paul slid into bed beside you, everything felt right again.

The tension in your body melted away as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. You could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and suddenly, the fear that had gripped you moments ago faded into nothing.

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as the last of your tremors subsided. He was your anchor, your constant in a world that was rapidly spinning out of control.

“Are you okay?” Paul finally asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

You nodded against him, but your throat felt tight, your words stuck behind the weight of everything unsaid. The nightmare had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, and it wasn’t just about the dark images in your head. It was the fear of losing Paul, of losing the one person who had been by your side for as long as you could remember.

“I’m glad you came,” Paul said quietly. “I wanted to come to you, but—” He trailed off, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder as if to ground himself.

“I know,” you whispered, finally finding your voice. “I wanted to come sooner.”

There was a pause, and then, after a long moment, Paul’s thumb began tracing slow circles on your arm, his touch gentle but deliberate. It was a gesture of comfort, of familiarity. 

“I’ll always be here,” he murmured, so softly you almost didn’t hear him. “I swear it.”

You opened your eyes and tilted your head up, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His face was serious, his eyes reflecting the weight of the promise he’d just made. For a brief second, you thought he might say more, something you’d been waiting for but weren’t ready to confront. 

Instead, Paul’s expression softened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, the gesture tender, reassuring. It was something he might have done when you were younger, but now it felt different. It wasn’t just comfort anymore—it was a part of the promise.

Neither of you said anything after that. You simply held each other, letting the quiet settle in. The world outside might have been shifting, changing in ways neither of you could control, but here, in the stillness of the night, there was nothing but you and Paul.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, only that, for the first time in a long while, you felt safe. And unfortunately, as the next few days would ensure, it was the last time for a long while as well.

***

When Arrakis claimed Duke Leto, it also claimed something inside Paul.

He wasn’t the same after that day. The boy who had been your partner in rebellion, the one who made you laugh even in the darkest of times, had hardened. His grief was silent, buried under layers of duty and survival, but you could see it. It was in the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought no one was looking, the way his eyes had dulled since your arrival on this cursed planet.

In the middle of it all, you felt lost too. You had lost the closest you had to a father figure in Duke Leto, but worse, you were losing Paul—bit by bit, day by day, as he was forced to become someone you struggled to recognise. This was a different kind of nightmare, one you couldn’t wake from.

After growing used to the luxury of Caladan Castle’s beddings, you found yourself huddled with Paul in a small tent in the middle of the desert, the harsh winds of Arrakis howling outside. There was nothing but sand for miles, and for the first time since arriving on this planet, you felt truly untethered from the life you once knew.

Paul sat across from you, his back pressed against the rough fabric of the tent, his face half-shadowed by the faint light from a small glowglobe. His eyes were distant, fixed on something you couldn’t see, something only he could comprehend.

“Paul?” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He didn’t answer at first, but then, slowly, his gaze shifted to you. There was a fragility there that caught you off guard—a vulnerability that reminded you of the boy you used to sneak around the castle with, the one who used to chase away your fears with a single glance.

Without thinking, you moved closer, kneeling in front of him. His breath hitched as you reached out, gently placing one hand on his arm and the other on his cheek. He looked down at your fingers, as if surprised by the touch, before his eyes met yours again.

You wanted to say something, anything at all, to ease his pain. To take some of the burden off his shoulders, even if that meant taking them upon your own. No words felt worthy enough and died in your throat, while the sentiment remained hot on your tongue.

With Arrakis raging around you, you wanted him to feel some sense of security.

“I’m still here,” you whispered, echoing the words he had said to you when you were the one needing the comfort.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, with a twitch of his lips, something cracked in his expression, something that had been carefully held in place to keep it all in. Paul’s shoulders sagged, the weight of loss and doom pressing down on him all at once.

He didn’t say anything, but when you shifted closer and pulled him into your arms, he didn’t resist. He simply let you hold him, his head resting against your shoulder, his breath shaky and uneven.

You sat like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s presence as the storm outside raged on. The world around you was crumbling, but here, in the faux quiet of the tent, there was nothing but the two of you. You didn’t have words for what you were feeling, but it didn’t matter. Paul understood. He always had.

As if the continued touch broke him, Paul made a sound like a tear-less sob, saving water while still drowning in emotion. His arms tightened around you, holding onto you for dear life.

He murmured something against your neck that you couldn’t hear. You made an inquisitive humming sound as you began to stroke his back, coaxing him through his pain.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered. His voice was raw, it sent ripples through your heart. “Please.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your fingers moving up to card through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Paul. I’ll be right here with you.”

If he wanted to answer, he couldn’t. Instead he let himself have this moment before facing a world that seemed increasingly too big.

***

Life among the Fremen was harsh, unforgiving, but the two of you had learned to survive. It had been weeks since you arrived in the sietch, and every day felt like a battle—against the elements, against the constant threat of danger, against the growing distance between you and the boy you grew up with.

The desert night was deceptively cool, the air carrying a sharpness that contrasted with the oppressive heat of the day. You stood just outside the sietch, gazing up at the unfamiliar stars that stretched endlessly above the dunes. The sky was clear—almost too clear—so different from the comforting overcast of Caladan, the gentle crash of waves a memory long lost to the wind. You inhaled deeply, trying to ground yourself, but the vastness of the desert made you feel small. Disconnected.

There were few quiet moments here, and you took a deep breath as you were surrounded by it.

“I thought I’d find you here.” 

There was a shuffle of footsteps behind you, soft but deliberate. Without turning, you of course knew it was Paul. He came up behind you, standing slightly to your left so you could see him in your sideview. You leaned back, resting your shoulder on his own.

You smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Paul laughed lowly – some things never change. “Neither could I.”

You shook your head, still staring at the stars. “I don’t know if I’ve had a proper night’s sleep since we left Caladan.”

“I miss the rain,” Paul said quietly. “I never thought I would. I used to complain about it when we were kids.”

You smiled faintly. “Don’t lie, you hated being inside when it rained. You’d drag me out into the mud even when it was pouring.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Well, you never said no.”

“I never could.”

There was a pause, one that carried the weight of the past few months – Arrakis, the loss of Duke Leto, the constant struggle for survival. The two of you had grown so used to moving, fighting, planning for the next step, that there had been no time to sit with your grief. No time to just be, in the way you only can with each other.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Paul murmured, glancing at you sideways. “How quickly everything changes. A few months ago, we were on Caladan, complaining about studies, sneaking into each other’s rooms like we always used to... and now–”

“We’re here,” you finished for him, your voice quieter. “In the middle of the desert.”

Paul’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze. You’d been through so much together, seen so much of each other, in ways no one else had. Yet there was still a distance between you now, a hesitation that hadn’t been there when you were younger. 

It was as though you both knew you were standing on the edge of something, but neither of you dared to cross it.

“I was thinking...” Paul started, his voice trailing off. He looked away, frowning slightly as if choosing his words carefully. “Would it be... strange if you stayed with me tonight? Just for comfort, I mean.”

Your heart skipped, somehow caught off guard by the question. There had been so many nights, both as children and as teenagers, where you had found solace in each other’s company. Whether from nightmares, from stress, or simply because being apart felt wrong.

“Not strange, anyone would need a bit of comfort in our situation,” you tried at humour before looking back at him with soft eyes. 

He didn’t say anything, seemingly trapped between his thoughts. Usually when you spend the night together lately it was because of difficult emotions. You open the door for him to talk about his feelings.

“Are you– are you okay?” you asked, searching his face for the answer. 

Paul was always the one holding everything together, always taking on the weight of his responsibilities without complaint. But tonight, standing under the cold desert sky, he seemed tired. Tired in a way that went beyond just sleepless nights.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked out over the dunes, his expression unreadable, though the subtle tightening of his jaw told you he was wrestling with something.

“I’ve been thinking about my father,” he finally said, his voice thick with the grief he rarely let slip. “About everything he wanted for me. For us. How he wanted me to be a ruler who led with compassion, but how can I...?” He trailed off, swallowing hard, and you could see the battle raging behind his eyes.“I don’t know if I can be what he wanted.”

Your heart ached at his words. You had always known Paul felt the weight of his future, but you hadn’t realised how deeply it cut. Stepping closer, you touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention back to you.

“You already are,” you said softly. “Even in the middle of all this, Paul, you haven’t lost that part of yourself. Your father would see that.”

He exhaled shakily, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the world fell away. There was a vulnerability there, one he rarely let show. It made something inside you shift, as though the careful lines you had mentally drawn to protect yourself, to keep things unchanged between you, were suddenly blurring.

“I’m just afraid of losing more,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of losing everyone I care about. Losing you.”

The words settled heavily in the space between you, a truth that had always lingered but was now undeniable. You were no longer just childhood friends. You were no longer just companions trying to survive. There was a throne in your heart, and on it, Paul was more than just a duke. 

“You won’t lose me,” you said firmly, turning towards him and stepping even closer. “You couldn’t. I’m here, Paul, I’ve always been here.”

Paul stared at you, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes softened, the hard edges that had been carved into him by grief and duty melting away, if only for a moment. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you now, something that had been building for years but had never quite been said aloud.

“You don’t understand,” Paul whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t lose you. Not just because you’re the last piece of Caladan I have left... but because I—”

He stopped, his throat working as if the words were too hard to say. But you knew what he meant. You’d always known, hadn’t you? 

Paul took a step closer, the last step separating his body from yours. His hand lifted to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers lingered at the base of your neck, and you were sure he could feel the rapid beat of your heart in your pulsepoint. It echoed the weight of what he wasn’t saying. 

“You can say it,” you whispered, your voice trembling, though you weren’t sure if it was from fear or anticipation.

Paul’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he was on the verge of stepping back, of retreating into that familiar space where he could hide from the truth. But then his palm made contact with the side of your neck, and he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. Breathing in deeply, slowly.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words tumbling out like a secret he had been holding onto for too long. “I have loved you for so long, and I didn’t even realise it. But now, I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Your heart stuttered at the confession, your breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t a declaration shouted from the rooftops, it wasn’t a grand, romantic gesture. It was quiet, real, the kind of love that had grown slowly over years, woven into every shared moment, every laugh, every late-night conversation.

“And I love you,” you whispered back, the words barely audible in the quiet of the desert night. “You’re my best friend, my person. You must know that.”

Paul let out a soft, almost relieved breath, his hand moving up to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his. There was a question in his eyes, one he didn’t need to ask. You answered it by leaning in, lips barely brushing against his, before he closed the final gap with the gentlest of kisses. He was tentative, as though testing the waters of something new, something fragile but real.

It was a kiss that felt like a promise.

It lingered, even when he pulled back ever so slowly, resting his forehead back against yours. 

You both stood there in the quiet, the weight of the desert and the night around you, but the tension between you finally dissipating through your touches.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Paul whispered again, his voice steady this time, though the vulnerability was still there, just beneath the surface.

“I will stay with you every night, if that would make you happy.” There was no hesitation in your voice or your heart. Just love.

A smile spread on his face before he pressed it against your lips in another kiss. Searing, caring, passionate. This was the closest you have seen him to his old boyish self, always happy to bask in your presence.

Letting his hand travel down to find yours, he interlaced your fingers and pulled you back into the sietch.

His room was small, barely big enough for the both of you, a stark contrast to your conditions at Caladan. But as you lay down beside each other, it didn’t matter, you were glad for the excuse to keep him even closer. Paul wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly, and for the first time since Arrakis had stolen everything from you, you felt safe. Safe in the knowledge that whatever came next, whatever trials the desert or the universe had in store, you wouldn’t face them alone.

As you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, you whispered, “We’ll get through this, Paul. Together.”

Paul’s grip tightened around you, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“We will,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

“And I you. No matter what, my love.”

Warmth spread across Paul’s face at the name. He thought, with sleep beginning to cloud his mind, that though there are many uncomfortable changes – that is one he will happily accept. 

For the first time in weeks, you both fell asleep easily, wrapped in the comfort of each other, and the quiet promise of the love that had finally, after all these years, been released into dry air.

[novaursa]

The Crown of Winter Roses

- Summary: Rhaegar starts the Rebellion by stealing his sister, you.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 18+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Rhaegar sat alone in his chambers. The silence of the Red Keep was stifling, yet he welcomed it, for it was in these moments of solitude that he could allow himself to be truly vulnerable, to grapple with the emotions that he kept so tightly locked away.

He thought of you, his sister, Y/N. The memory of your face haunted him, a ghost that lingered at the edge of his thoughts. He could still recall the first time he had held you, a small babe with a crown of silver hair and eyes that mirrored his own. He had been only a boy then, but even at that tender age, he had felt an overwhelming protectiveness. You were more than just his sister; you were a part of him, as if the gods had split his soul and given half of it to you.

He had watched you grow, seen the child you were slowly transform into the woman you would become. The court whispered of your beauty, the poets sang of it. “The Jewel of Westeros,” they called you, and not without reason. But it was not just your beauty that captivated him. It was your spirit, the fire in your eyes that spoke of strength and intelligence beyond your years. You were the only one who could calm the storm within him, the only one who could make him forget, even for a moment, the heavy weight of prophecy and destiny that lay upon his shoulders.

But then, the gods – or perhaps it was his father’s madness – had intervened. Aerys had refused to wait, refused to allow you to come of age. Instead, he had bound Rhaegar to Elia Martell, a match that, while strategic, felt like a betrayal. The memory of that day still burned in his mind. He had stood before the Great Hall, the words of his vows leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Elia had been kind, gentle even, but she was not you. The thought had shamed him then, and it shamed him still.

His father had sent you away not long after, to Storm’s End, to serve as Lady Cassana’s ward. It was a cruel twist of fate, separating the two of you when he needed you most. He had protested, of course, but Aerys had been adamant. He had raved about alliances and security, about keeping you safe from those who would use you against him. But Rhaegar knew the truth. His father had seen the way he looked at you, had seen the way you looked at him. And Aerys, mad as he was, could not abide the thought of losing control, not over his son, and certainly not over you.

He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking in the quiet. He had tried to be a good husband to Elia, tried to fulfill his duties as prince and father. But there was always that emptiness, that hollow space where you should have been. He had convinced himself, for a time, that it was for the best, that you were safer far from the intrigues of King’s Landing, away from the poisonous whispers and plotting eyes. But in his heart, he knew that he was lying to himself. You were his other half, the light to his shadow, the calm to his storm. Without you, he was incomplete.

And then there was the prophecy, the haunting words that had plagued him since he was a boy. “The dragon has three heads.” He had believed, with all his heart, that you were meant to be by his side, that you were the key to unlocking the secrets of the past, to ensuring the future of their House. But instead, you were betrothed to Brandon Stark, a match that made him seethe with a jealousy he could not control. Stark was a brute, a man of the North, with no understanding of the fire that burned within you, the dragon’s blood that coursed through your veins.

He rose from his chair and crossed the room to the small table where his harp lay. The strings were cool beneath his fingers, and he plucked at them absently, a soft, mournful melody filling the air. He had written this song for you, though he had never played it where others could hear. It spoke of loss and longing, of a love that could never be. His voice, when he sang, was low and rough, each word a plea to the gods who had denied him what he desired most.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he whispered, the words breaking like waves against the shores of his despair. “And now you are lost to me.”

He thought of you in Storm’s End, surrounded by strangers, your laughter no longer echoing through the halls of the Red Keep. Did you miss him as he missed you? Did you think of him in the quiet moments, as he thought of you? He did not know, and that uncertainty was a blade that twisted in his chest.

He set the harp down and turned away, unable to bear the sight of it any longer. Duty and destiny, love and loss – they were chains that bound him, unbreakable and cruel. He had tried to be strong, to be the prince his people needed, but he was only a man, and men were weak, fallible. They loved, they lost, they yearned for things they could never have.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he saw your face, your smile, heard your voice like a whisper on the wind. “Forgive me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Forgive me for not being strong enough, for not being able to fight for you.”

But it was too late for forgiveness, too late for regrets. The path had been set, and he was bound to it, as surely as he was bound to Elia. All he could do now was move forward, step by painful step, and hope that, in the end, the gods would grant him some measure of peace.

But deep in his heart, he knew that peace would never come. Not without you.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was filled with the roar of voices, the excitement of the crowd palpable as the knights readied themselves for the next tilt. Yet, amidst the clamor and the spectacle, Rhaegar Targaryen found himself strangely detached, his thoughts drifting far from the tourney field.

It had been years since he had last seen you, years spent trying to bury the longing that never truly left him. He had told himself, time and again, that it was for the best, that you were safer away from him, from the web of power and madness that ensnared their family. But the distance had done nothing to quell the ache. If anything, it had only deepened it, the emptiness in his heart growing more profound with each passing day.

The knights before him clashed, steel against steel, but Rhaegar’s eyes were drawn inexorably upward, to the royal stands. There, amidst the fluttering banners and the noble lords and ladies, he saw you.

The sight of you struck him like a blade, sharp and sudden. You had changed, as all must with the passage of time, but the essence of you remained the same. Your beauty, once remarked upon by the poets and whispered about in the courts, had only grown, maturing into something almost otherworldly. You were resplendent, a beacon of silver and violet, your hair catching the sunlight as it streamed through the high windows, your gown a cascade of pale blue and gold.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to still, the noise of the tourney fading to a distant murmur. It was as if time itself had paused, granting him this fleeting, stolen moment to simply look at you. He drank in every detail, the curve of your lips, the grace with which you moved, the way your eyes sparkled with a light he had not seen in so long.

He could see the way others watched you, their admiration barely concealed, but none dared approach. There was something untouchable about you, something that set you apart from the rest. You were a Targaryen, with all the fire and blood that name carried, and you wore it like a mantle, like a crown.

It was then that his gaze met yours. For a heartbeat, everything else fell away. He saw the recognition in your eyes, the soft widening as you realized who was staring back at you. In that brief exchange, a thousand unspoken words passed between you. There was shock, yes, but also something deeper, something that stirred the embers of hope he had long thought extinguished.

He could not look away, even as his heart hammered in his chest. The years apart had not dimmed his feelings; if anything, they had only grown stronger, more desperate. You were not just his sister; you were his other half, the missing piece that made him whole. Seeing you now, after so long, was like stepping out of a darkened room and into the light. And he knew, in that instant, that he would do anything, anything, to have you by his side once more.

But then the world rushed back in, the cheers of the crowd, the calls of the heralds, the thunder of hooves as the next pair of knights charged. Rhaegar tore his gaze from you, the loss of your eyes on his a physical pain. He tried to focus on the match before him, but his mind was a tumult of emotions, his heart warring with itself.

He had a wife, children. His duty lay with them, with his family, with the kingdom. But the gods were cruel, and they had given him a glimpse of what he could never have. It was a torment, one that he bore with quiet anguish.

When his turn came to ride, he moved almost on instinct, his mind still consumed by thoughts of you. The lance felt heavy in his hand, the armor a suffocating weight. As he rode onto the field, he felt the eyes of the crowd upon him, but there was only one pair that mattered.

He did not know what possessed him in that moment. Perhaps it was the need to show you, to prove that he had not forgotten, that you were still, and always would be, the center of his world. Or perhaps it was something deeper, something primal that he could not control.

When he unhorsed his opponent, the cheers of the crowd were distant, hollow in his ears. His gaze sought you out again, and when he found you, he saw something in your expression that made his heart clench. There was pride there, yes, but also something softer, something that spoke of shared pain and longing.

Without thinking, he dismounted and approached the stands, his steps slow and deliberate. The murmurs rose around him, whispers spreading like wildfire as the crowd sensed something unprecedented was about to happen. His heart pounded, each beat a drum in his ears, but he did not falter.

He stopped before you, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. He could see Brandon Stark’s eyes burning with anger, Robert Baratheon’s face twisting with something darker, but they were of no consequence. Not now. Not in this moment.

Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the crown of blue winter roses, the flowers fresh and vibrant against the silver circlet. He could feel the tension in the air, the breathless anticipation of the crowd, but he did not care. This was for you, for you alone.

When he placed the crown upon your head, his fingers brushed your hair, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. He held your gaze, his voice a low murmur that only you could hear. “For the queen of love and beauty,” he said, the words heavy with a meaning that went far beyond the ritual they were meant to serve.

For a moment, he allowed himself to hope, to dream of a world where you could be his, where you could stand beside him as you were always meant to. But the dream was fleeting, shattered by the reality that loomed just beyond this fragile bubble of time.

He saw the fury in Brandon’s eyes, the confusion and hurt in Robert’s. He knew what they would say, what they would think, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with you looking at him the way you were, as if you, too, felt the same unbearable pull that had haunted him for so long.

He wanted to speak, to say something, anything that could convey the depth of what he felt. But the words would not come. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect, of devotion, and then turned away.

As he walked back to his horse, he felt the weight of what he had done settle upon him. He had defied convention, defied expectation, and in doing so, he had set events in motion that he could not control. But for that single, shining moment, he had been true to himself, to what he felt. And as he rode away, the image of you crowned with winter roses burned bright in his mind, a beacon of hope in the gathering storm.

For good or ill, he had made his choice. And whatever came next, whatever price he would have to pay, he knew it would be worth it, if it meant having you, even for just a moment, in his life once more.

Rhaegar’s pulse thundered in his ears as he waited in the shadows of the godswood, his hands trembling beneath his gloves. The cool air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by what he was about to do, the irrevocable act that would change the course of their lives forever. He could hear the distant sound of laughter, of celebration, the wedding feast in full swing. Lyanna Stark, the Wolf Maid, would be wed to Robert Baratheon tonight, and the halls of Storm’s End would echo with the revelry of that union.

But Rhaegar had no place among the revelers. His heart, his soul, his very being was elsewhere—focused solely on you. The thought of you, promised to another, made his blood boil. The pain of it was unbearable, a gnawing, relentless ache that had driven him to the brink of madness.

It was madness, he knew that. To steal you away on such a night, under the very roof of the man who would wed Lyanna, under the watchful eye of your betrothed, Brandon Stark. But he had no choice. He had tried to resist, had tried to stay away, to let you go, but the gods—those cruel, capricious beings—had bound his heart to yours, and no force in the world could sever that bond.

He had watched you from afar, seen the way you carried yourself, poised and proud, even as you stood beside the Stark boy, your future husband. It had taken every ounce of his will not to storm the hall then and there, to tear you away from the one who claimed you. But he had waited, biding his time, knowing that this was his last chance to act.

He thought of the prophecy again, of the words that haunted his every waking moment: “The dragon has three heads.” He needed you, not just as a man craves a woman, but as a king needs his queen, as a dreamer needs his vision. You were part of his destiny, the key to everything. And if he let you slip away now, if he let you be bound to another, all would be lost.

The sound of approaching footsteps jarred him from his thoughts, and he tensed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. But then he saw you, slipping quietly through the trees, your face pale in the moonlight, your eyes wide and searching. You had come. He had not been sure that you would, had not been sure that you would heed the message he had sent. But you had come.

“Y/N,” he breathed, your name a prayer on his lips as you drew closer. You looked at him, and in that moment, he saw everything—fear, hope, confusion, love. The conflicting emotions in your eyes mirrored his own, and for a heartbeat, he hesitated. What right did he have to do this, to tear you away from the life you knew, from the family who loved you?

But then he thought of Brandon Stark, of the vows you would be forced to speak, the life you would be forced to live. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on madness, that he could not let that happen.

“Rhaegar, what are you doing?” your voice trembled, a note of desperation creeping in. You had always been strong, unyielding, but now, faced with the enormity of what he was about to do, he saw the cracks in your armor. “This is insane. If they find us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted, his voice firm, resolute. “We will be gone before they know it. I’ve made arrangements, planned everything. We can be across the border of Stormlands by dawn.”

You shook your head, taking a step back, and his heart lurched in his chest. “And then what? We run? We hide for the rest of our lives? What about the realm, Rhaegar? What about your children? What about—”

“I love you.” The words burst from him, raw and unguarded, and he saw the shock in your eyes. He had never said it before, never dared to, but now, standing here in the dark, with everything on the line, he could hold it back no longer. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since the day you were born. And I know it’s selfish, I know it’s wrong, but I can’t let you go. I can’t let you marry him.”

Your eyes softened, the fire in them dimming for just a moment. He reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed your cheek, and you did not pull away. “Please, come with me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t be who I’m meant to be without you.”

He saw the conflict in your eyes, the war between duty and desire, and he held his breath, waiting. For a long, agonizing moment, you said nothing, your gaze locked on his. And then, slowly, you nodded.

“Alright,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Alright, Rhaegar. I’ll go with you.”

Relief, so intense it was almost painful, flooded through him. He took your hand, gripping it tightly, and together you turned toward the waiting horse, your steps quick and silent. He glanced back only once, at the great, shadowed bulk of Storm’s End, at the hall where Lyanna Stark would be married to Robert Baratheon, where Brandon Stark would soon discover that his bride had vanished into the night.

He knew what would come next. Knew that Robert would not let this insult stand, that Brandon would be furious, that Aerys, his father, would react with the same madness and cruelty that had come to define him. He knew that blood would be spilled, that the realm would be torn apart, that everything he had tried to build would come crashing down around him. But none of that mattered. Not now. Not with you beside him.

He mounted his horse and reached down to help you up, his hands steady now, his heart calm. This was right. This was what was meant to be. You fit against him perfectly, your body warm against his, your arms wrapped around his waist as the horse moved beneath you.

He glanced back once more, a final farewell to the life he was leaving behind, and then turned his gaze forward.

He knew, deep down, that there would be no forgiveness, no redemption for what he had done. He had stolen you, taken you from those who cared for you, had set a flame to the tinder that would ignite the realm. But he could not bring himself to care. The thought of you with Brandon, with anyone but him, was a torment he could not bear.

And so he rode on, his arms tight around you, his mind a storm of guilt and desire, fear and hope. The rebellion would come, and with it, death and destruction. But for now, in this moment, you were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

The journey south had been a blur, days and nights merging into one endless ride. He had spoken little, lost in his own thoughts, his guilt and desire warring within him. He knew what they would say, what they would think: that he was mad, that he was his father’s son. But this was not madness, not truly. It was something else, something far more terrible. He could not live without you, could not let you be bound to another when you were meant to be his. The gods themselves had decreed it, and who was he to deny their will?

The feeling of you now, riding with him, was both a comfort and a torment. Your face was pale, drawn, but there was a strength in your eyes that had always been there, a fire that burned even in the darkest of times. He wanted to speak, to tell you that he was sorry, that he knew what he had done was unforgivable. But the words would not come. How could he explain what he barely understood himself? How could he make you see that this was the only way, the only path left to him?

He glanced down at you, his heart aching with a pain that was almost physical. You were staring straight ahead, your posture rigid, your hands clenched tightly around the sleeves of your dress. He could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way you held yourself as if preparing for some unseen blow. You were afraid, and that knowledge cut him deeper than any blade.

He had sworn to protect you, to keep you safe from harm. And now he had become the very thing you needed protection from. It was a bitter irony, one that left a foul taste in his mouth. But he could not, would not, let you go. Not now. Not when he had come so close to losing you forever.

The inn where they would rest for the night loomed ahead, a small, nondescript building nestled among the trees. He pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, turning to help you down. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something there, something that gave him hope.

“We will rest here,” he said softly, his voice rough with fatigue and emotion. “It’s not much, but it’s safe. No one will find us.”

You nodded, saying nothing, and he felt his heart twist in his chest. He had expected anger, rage even. But this silence, this quiet acceptance, was worse. It felt like a condemnation, like you had already resigned yourself to whatever fate he had chosen for you.

Inside, the inn was warm, the fire crackling in the hearth casting a soft, golden light across the room. Rhaegar watched as you moved to sit by the fire, your gaze distant, unfocused. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything would be alright. But he knew that was a lie. Nothing would ever be alright again.

He turned away, his hands trembling as he poured a cup of wine. He needed to think, to clear his head. But his thoughts were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of guilt and desire, fear and hope. He had done this, had set this course, and now he must see it through. But the cost, gods, the cost was more than he had ever imagined.

He thought of his children, of Elia, of the family he had left behind. What would they say when they learned of what he had done? What would they think of him, the man who had torn his family apart for the sake of a love that could never be? The thought made him sick, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. But even that was not enough to change his mind.

He took a long drink of the wine, the taste bitter on his tongue. He had to be strong, had to see this through. For you. For the prophecy. For the future that only the two of you could create. He would be remembered as a villain, a madman, but if it meant having you, if it meant fulfilling the destiny that had been written in the stars, then it was a price he was willing to pay.

The door to your chamber stood open, a dark, yawning void that seemed to beckon him. He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to make you understand. But he knew that he could not. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, he turned and made his way outside, the cool night air washing over him like a balm. He stood there, staring up at the sky, the stars bright and cold above him. He had read once that the stars were the tears of the gods, weeping for the fates of men. He wondered if they were weeping for him now, for what he had done, for the path he had chosen.

He thought of you, lying alone in the dark, and his heart ached with a pain that was almost unbearable. He had wanted to save you, to protect you from the cruelty of the world. But now, he was the one who had brought you pain, who had torn your life apart. And for what? For a dream, a prophecy, a destiny that he could not even begin to understand?

He sank to his knees, the cold earth hard beneath him. He had made his choice, and now he must live with it. But gods, it was hard. Harder than he had ever imagined. He had thought that love would be enough, that it would carry him through the darkness. But now, he was not so sure. Now, he wondered if he had been wrong, if he had been a fool.

He looked up at the sky, at the cold, distant stars, and he felt a despair so deep it threatened to swallow him whole. He had done this for love, for a dream of a future that only the two of you could create. But now, standing here, alone in the darkness, he wondered if he had not, in truth, destroyed everything he had ever held dear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. “Gods forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

But there would be no forgiveness, no absolution. Only the long, dark road ahead, and the terrible, inexorable march of fate. He would be remembered as the prince who loved too much, the man who brought the realm to ruin for the sake of a woman he could never truly have.

And yet, despite it all, despite the guilt and the pain and the fear, he knew that he would do it all again. Because you were his, and he was yours. And in this world of fire and blood, that was all that truly mattered.

[tennessoui]

it's been so long since i did a sith obi-wan au so like - how about an au where the sith are almost as established as the jedi (a temple, an order, followers numbering in the hundreds/thousands) but things are a bit more diplomatic in the galaxy (it's definitely tense but not all out war just yet)

so both the sith and jedi orders are alerted to a new rising power in the outer rim.....on tatooine of all places. a slave rebellion, led by shmi skywalker, has toppled the hutts. it's said that this new leader, queen of tatooine, has the Force's favor....but more importantly than that, shmi skywalker is a new galactic player, with a lot of money and a lot of support.....and a son of marriageable age.

cue both the jedi and the sith sending a delegation to tatooine - ostensibly to nurture galactic relations between their orders and the new power, but also to lowkey seduce shmi skywalker's son into marriage/a relationship because everyone knows that a parent's heart follows their children's happiness.

sith!obi-wan aka darth solence is selected to lead the sith seduction attempt. he's pretty confident - after all, he's led hundreds of seduction missions at this point, and he'd suffer a thousand different humiliations for the sake of the order of the sith who took him in after the jedi sent him to the agricorps.

the only problem is that he arrives on tatooine and shmi skywalker's son, anakin, is the most bland, boring, two-dimensional boy to ever breathe. he's completely uninterested in politics, in history, in the Force---he'd rather talk about pod-racing and--and Coruscanti daytime holo shows than anything of actual interest!

good thing the prince's manservant, kitster, is almost always hanging around. he's wrong about many things, obi-wan finds, but he's passionate. passionate and beautiful. oh, he loves pod-racing just as much as the prince, but he's fascinated by the Force and ready to tear obi-wan's eyes out over a passing negative observation on a droid. and did obi-wan mention that he's beautiful? with his golden curls and sky blue eyes and fierce scowl and broad shoulders and prominent eyebrows and even more prominent lips? the sith, as a general rule, appreciate passion, anger. beauty. obi-wan adores them as well.

but kitster the man servant isn't the person obi-wan has been flown to tatooine to seduce--he's duty-bound to seduce prince anakin. even if being around him feels like pulling his teeth out with rusty pliers.

if only obi-wan knew that shmi skywalker is more suspicious about the galaxy than she lets on. more protective of her son, too. if only he knew that her son, anakin, had a best friend growing up named kitster, who owed them both just enough life-debts to convince him to trade places with shmi's son for the length of the delegations' visit.

it's an easy sell after all -- who doesn't want to be a prince for a few weeks, no harm done?

[faeries-child]

Pale wings, grey words

Cassian x reader (illyrian/winged reader)

Warnings: Blood, violence, dark-thoughts, fighting. Minors get out of here.

Summary: On their mission Cassian and Azriel arrive just in the right time to find you.

(keep in mind that I have not yet double checked the text for errors and mistakes, I write these at the middle of the night)

Cassian's POV

Cassian was tired. Really tired, for all he right now wanted to do was: get drunk and sleep for a week. He and Azriel had been on the mission for weeks now. Flying from Illyrian camp to another, again and again and again. Of course both of them had taken this mission voluntarily, for Rhys had had concerns with some more remote Illyrian camps. These particular camps had shown suspicious activity and signs of relapsing back to their old ways. Rhysand had not originally been planning to send them, but recently Cassian had felt the need to take action for the things his people had done. For all the development he, Rhys and Azriel had accomplished in Illyria, Cassian could not have that go to waste. 

So while Rhys was busy handling affairs at the night court, Azriel decided to accompany him, if not little for the reason that he would have a chance to punish people who hurt others like he was once hurt. 

They had been flying for ages now, and Cassian was starting to feel it in his back muscles. Only trees and snow everywhere he looked. And it was freaking cold too. Not that he wasn’t used to it, he had grown like this actually but he still didn’t enjoy it. 

“It’s not a long flight anymore” The spymaster said. 

Cassian could see that Azriel too could use a break. Both males were covered in dirt that had slowly been building on their clothes for weeks. Shadowsinger had dark circles under his eyes for all the work that it required to use his shadows constantly, to stay alarmed at all the hours of the day. It was taking a toll on them both. 

However, before them now opened one of their last camps to visit. This particular camp was also one of the most remote and far away from Velaris. These mindless grunts didn’t like when the inner circle meddled with their affairs. Hell, they didn’t even like when other Illyrian camps had something to say about their business. 

Even so they still had not rebelled against their High Lord, yet. That’s why it was so important for them to keep tabs on the camp and if they were secretly planning a rebellion. It was however unlikely, because the Illyrians in this camp had no interest in expanding their territory, for they already held a big part of the northern sea border. 

It was especially cold this time of the year. The General and his brother landed right in the middle of the village, so no one could have missed their big entrance. Most of the Illyrians just watched them for a moment, then they returned to their duties, training across training fields, repairing houses and everything else. Even if they didn’t show it by their actions, Cassian could feel how the atmosphere tightened. 

“General, what a pleasant surprise. I hadn’t received any messages of you arrival”

Cassian and Azriel turned around, behind them a male, looking to be in his fifties but surely he was way older, standing now before them. His name was Alias, if Cassian could recall correctly. In their files he was marked as one of the ones who didn’t really mind Amaranthas actions, and weren’t exactly thrilled when their high lord broke free from under the mountain. 

“We didn’t send any. We are here to do a mandatory check up commanded by your high lord.” said Azriel in his usual cold tone reserved for people he didn’t stand. “But first show us inside, the flight was boringly long and we should sit down to talk business” 

Alias swallowed once, trying to keep calm. He clearly had problems accepting the way the spymaster was speaking to him. 

“Right this way”

Y/N / oc pov:

“SHIT, shit shit!” you cursed seeing the patch of red on your sleeping mat. You knew that it would  have come eventually but you had really hoped that maybe fate would have been on your side and you would never have started bleeding. 

You knew that as soon as you would set a foot out of your tent, you would be theirs. New laws or no, you were a bastard, lowest of low and a freak. Total true freak. For when you were born they said that your mother was so scared of you that she had buried you in the snow, trying to save her own life, for when they would find out what you were they would kill her for bearing you. 

But you had cried so hard and loudly that they had found you and seeing what your mother had brought to the world, they killed her on the spot. 

And for you, killing a babe would have brought too much attention to the camp, so as soon as you were able to walk and somehow talk, they threw you with the other bastards. Only a tent and one set of clothes with you. And as a female, you were surprised that you had survived even this long.

But for why you were a freak, why your mother had died because of you, the reason was your wings. Not midnight black, but white. Pure white with no specks of  black. Your hair was also white, only a couple black strands falling down here and there. That was the reason, enough reason for them to close you out, spit at you and curse at you for just looking at their way. 

They hated anything that was not like them, did not look like them. And the fact that you were female made it all so much worse. 

You didn’t know why you were like this. Was it your father that you had inherited your features from, it could be because you did not know who he was. Or was it just some mistake in your genes that happened in the womb. You did not know. 

But the blood on your thin sleeping mat made everything a hundred times worse. You had been starving yourself, working to no end and trying every trick in the book to delay this. But in the end nature had taken its course now in your nineteenth year of living. 

You also had no idea what would happen next, whether they would just plainly kill you to stop you from procreating and birthing another like you, or whether they would first take turns on you to test their sadistic theories of you and then kill you. One thing however was sure, they were going to take your wings.  

Maybe you could escape, if you really just tried. If you were gonna die either way, might as well try, right? In panic you began to dress yourself with the warmest of clothes and rags you had been able to collect over the years. You had no valuables that would be worth taking with you, so you just clothed yourself and silently exited your tent.

It was still early morning and the sun had barely risen to greet the snowy trees. Escaping would probably be a mistake, since it was dead winter, and taking your camp's location into consideration it would take hours, possibly a day to reach something, anything really. But it would be worth it to try. 

As silently as you could, you left the tent area and headed into the forest. When you had reached the area where the camp area ended, you started running as fast as you could. You knew that flying would gather you more attention than you wanted. 

couple hours later: 

You had been running for some hours now, your legs were hurting and you were starting to truly tire out. You needed to stop and take a breath but you knew that by now they were after you. 

In the corner of your eye  you could notice something in the bushes now behind you. Could they truly have gaught up with you so quickly. You didn’t think they would be that fast. Could this truly be your end? 

This was the moment they caught you. You heard a big noise and an illyrian male soldier landed right before you, only a few feet from you. You didn’t know him, but you had seen him in your camp and knew that he was one of the males that still kept females as no more than means of breeding. 

It was so hard to breathe. You only wanted to live, but male before you and the one now behind you were making the odds very few. As your last move you tried to charge toward the empty space to your right but the male was fast to catch you and take hold of you from the base of your wing, which hurt, terribly. 

“And look what we have here” was the only thing that you heard before you fainted from the pain now emitting from the back of your head. 

Cassian’s pov: 

The meeting had been tiring and to no surprise to them, they had discovered that the female’s of the camp had not been trained since their last visit. Which was ages ago. At least they claimed that no wing clipping was happening but Azriel had convinced them to stay, as he was heavily suspecting Alias was lying. 

He and Azriel stepped out of the cottage, Alias trailing behind them. Everyone in the camp had woken up, females doing chores and males fighting in the rings, or that was what Cassian had expected to see when he looked at the camp before him. But what he saw, had his siphons glowing in an instance and he could feel how Azriel’s shadows riled up in a less than a second. 

The sight before them was not pretty. Illyrians of the camp had gathered around one of the fighting rings in the middle of the camp. And in the middle, were a young female, her hands tied to a wooden pole and her back and wings exposed. 

And the worst of all, now there were red lines, wounds across her back. There were several of them, some of them on her wings. Her wings. Cassian did not know how he had not seen it. The color of them. White, nothing like he had ever seen before. White, like the snow around them.

He just stared at her. Unable to do anything else, for even though he couldn’t see the female's face, he was captivated. He could hear Azriel’s words, trying to bring him back to this moment. 

“Cassian!” Azriel slapped him in the shoulder. 

He came to his senses and without realizing, moved. He knew that he had to put an end to this right now, before me damage could be caused to the female. He just really hoped that it wouldn’t already be too late. 

Using his wings, Cassian bolted to the people gathered around the female. He moved through them and before one more lashing of the whip could land on the female, the general commander of the night court moved between the girl and the man holding the whip, stopping its lash by grasping it mid-air with his bare hands.

Cassian pulled and the male holding the whip stumbled forward. At the same time Azriel reached them, glaring at the onlookers who did nothing to stop this from happening. 

Cassian looked at the male before him, rage clouding his vision. Men like him were the reason the spymaster and him were sent to this mission. Oh, how much Cassian wanted to kill the brute before him, he didn’t even know why he was so angered. He’d met hundreds of men like him, but for an inexplicable reason Cassian wanted especially to drive his sword through this man's heart. He didn’t have the chance however, for Azriel had already thrown the man completely to the ground, now holding his leg over his head. 

“Who gave you the order to do this?!” The general yelled to the man. 

However the man said nothing, now just whimpering beneath the spymaster’s boot. But Cassian could also hear another voice, behind him he heard a crying voice, breathing heavily. He now remembered the female behind him and cursed himself that he hadn’t realized to untie her the moment he had the chance. Cassian turned and lowered himself toward the female, her head was hung low and her hands were tied to a post. He could not see her face, for it was covered by the long white hair that was now dirty and stained with blood. 

“I will free you now, okay?” he told her, speaking as softly as he could. Reaching for the ropes that kept her hands tied. Hearing his words, the female raised her head quickly and turned to look at him, staring in his eyes. From the look in her eyes Cassian could tell that the female had been somewhere very far away, running from the pain and approaching doom. So far away that she probably hadn’t even noticed that he had intervened. 

Her eyes were like any of the other Illyrians, something between brown and gold. But the look in them, it was striking. Like she was watching right into his soul, but the expression on her face was hatred, fear and pain. Cassian could not help staring into her eyes, like he was possessed. 

He freed the woman's hands, and then caught her as she began falling to the ground. Trying not to touch her wings, he could only imagine the pain she was in. Looking at the pale wings he knew that they needed a healer, fast if she wanted to have full usage of them ever again. Cassian raised his head from the girl, looking before him, for now Alias was standing many feet from Azriel looking furious. 

Trying to conceal his rage Alias spoke to them: “General, take no mind in her. She’s a traitor, her punishment is fit to her crimes. Let my men handle her.” Now Azriel too was seeing red. Both of them could notice that the girl was young, starved to the point that one could clearly see her collarbones and the hollowing of her cheeks. This girl could not have done anything that could have earned her the punishment she was given. 

“Tell me Alias, and what exactly is her sin?” Now it was Azriel speaking, unsheathing his sword and raising it toward Alias. 

“She ran away. And by law I have a duty to punish those that try to flee and sell information to our enemies”

Cassian glanced at the girl. It would be more difficult to get her out if this was indeed true and she did run away. Their laws were strict and Cassian would be at disadvantage if that was the case. “Is this true?” he spoke to her. 

The girl had not taken her eyes away from him for a minute, but now on her face there was no hatred or disgust, but only fear. She looked utterly terrified. 

“They…they were going-” she rasped out to him. Bits of blood now falling from her mouth and lips that she must have been biting to bear the pain. “They- were going to take my wings” she got out. 

And that was the only thing that the general commander of the night court and the spymaster needed. Enough reason to damn Alias for a crime. Cassian wanted to rid his head of his shoulder at that instant, but he also knew that he would have to be questioned and then sentenced by their high lord, if they wanted to avoid possible uprising. 

Azriel’s shadows were already taking grasp of Alias’ hands and then hiding him completely in the depth of those shadows. He would be delivered to the court of nightmares, where he would answer for his crimes. 

Cassian felt the female going limp in his arms. And finally realizing truly how much blood there was staining the ground around them. “Azriel, we need a healer, fast!” 

(This is not my greatest work, but I'll maybe make a part two if I feel like it :,) )

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

One-Shot: Rebels!Rex x Arachnophobic!Reader

Rebels-era Captain Rex x arachnophobic!gn!reader

Word Count: 3,600

Warnings: Arachnophobia, fear, suspicion of treason, blaster threats, spider death

---

It was shockingly easy to trade away a patrol shift. 

Granted, not everyone loved patrols. Especially when the weather was slated to be poor or if you were assigned an overnight patrol. Fortunately, you were willing to do anything else. Kitchen work, ammunitions inventory, latrine duty… you weren’t picky. 

And there was always someone willing to negotiate for a trade. 

It probably helped that Chopper Base was so small. For all you knew, it was the only permanent Rebellion base, and you saw the same faces every day. That was bad for a variety of reasons, both personally and for the sake of the Rebellion, but it meant you knew exactly where to go when you wanted to work out a trade. 

Which was why you were extra confused when Captain Rex walked up to you in the mess hall, knocked twice on the surface of your table, and jerked his chin toward the door. “C’mon, patrol time.” 

You stared at him, aghast. The mess hall was spotless, thanks to your hours of hard work the night before. All of that had been done specifically because you had traded shifts with Pynsu, who was supposed to be on patrol with the captain that night. 

“No, I had KP last night,” you countered shakily. “Pynsu is on patrol tonight. We traded.” 

Captain Rex gave you the single most unimpressed look you had ever seen a human wear. “I’ve memorized every rule, protocol, and procedure the Rebels have come up with. None of them say anything about trading away a duty you were assigned. Let’s go.” 

You would have loved to argue further, but there were two major problems. First, as a captain, Rex outranked you and almost everyone else who consistently worked on Chopper Base. Second, he had already walked away. You had no choice but to dump your tray and awkwardly trot along after him. 

The captain didn’t make it easy to catch up and you were breathing heavily by the time you were trailing at his heels. His pace was brisk, and catching your breath took forever. Still, you had the time since you were apparently starting your patrol on the far side of the base that evening. 

Despite your burning lungs, you didn’t ask Captain Rex to slow down. How could you? He was the most well-known person on Chopper Base, and easily the most highly respected these days. 

His status as a war hero from the days of the Clone Wars was a mark in his favor. He had been a captain then, just as he was now, and he had served alongside some of the most famous Jedi generals. Though the accelerated aging built into clone genes was clearly starting to affect him, Rex was still tough and strong, his tactical skills easily on par with the best Rebel strategists. He was, in short, a living legend.

And, at this particular moment, you were impressed by his cardiovascular health and the fact that he wasn’t even breathing heavy after speed-walking up a hill.

When you reached the makeshift fence of border spikes driven into the ground, you slowed and stopped, trying not to openly clutch at your side. Fortunately, Captain Rex stopped in the same place so you didn’t seem to be giving up entirely. 

The moon was bright overhead, giving excellent visibility of the hills and strange rock outcroppings that surrounded Chopper Base. It was close to the perfect spot for a base - on enough of a hill that you could easily see anyone attempting to sneak up from the surrounding area, but nestled deep enough that you weren’t immediately apparent to anyone who may fly overhead. And no one flew overhead. 

But you cursed the bright moon and the clear view of the surrounding areas for the same reason you didn’t think Chopper Base was the perfect solution many of the Rebellion had believed it to be: the spiders. 

The instant you had gotten close enough to hear the hum of the border spikes, you could see the lurking gray blobs of the spiders and feel the vibrations of their ever-shifting legs hitting the ground. The creatures bobbed back and forth outside of the fence, and you weren’t sure whether they were waiting for an opening or trying to hypnotize you into leaving the safety of the fenced-in base. 

Either way, you dropped your gaze and tried not to shudder.

“Nice night.” 

The bland, almost laughable comment was the first thing either of you had said since you left the mess hall, and you turned to stare openly at Captain Rex. 

You supposed that, if you took the night at face value and ignored the hulking arachnids lurking nearby, it was a nice night. Between the spiders and the bats that occasionally swooped past overhead, the bugs were well under control. The nighttime temperature was almost perfect, and you had already noted the brightness of the moon. If you weren’t terrified, it would have been almost serene. 

“Yeah.”

If the captain was bothered by the shortness of your answer, he didn’t say anything about it. You stood in companionable silence, Rex scanning the surrounding perimeter while you kept your eyes fixed on the ground just outside of the border spikes. 

“You know something I don’t?”

Rex’s question came as another surprise, largely due to the fact that you had been standing guard in silence for almost ten minutes. 

“Sorry?” you asked, trying to focus. By this point, Captain Rex wasn’t going to think you were a true asset to the Rebellion, but you could manage to sound like a halfway intelligent person. Probably. 

He nodded at the ground. Specifically, the section you had been watching. “Looks like you’re expecting an attack from underground. Something I should know about?” 

You forced a laugh, though it held a hint of a shudder. You could hear one of the spider’s jaws clicking even from where you were standing. But you pushed away the awareness of your crawling skin and pulled your gaze upward. And when making direct eye contact with a spider made you want to gasp, you tipped your head further back until you were staring up at the sky. 

“Closer,” Rex commented. “At least you’ll be the first to notice if the Empire launches a ship against us. Want to try one last time?” 

In fact, you didn’t want to, but you let your eyes drift down once more. You were focusing intently on the foreground, as if you were trying to count the dust particles in the air. It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped, and your attention was soon captured by one of the spiders. 

You shuddered, and it was only luck that the captain had turned to look in the other direction when you did. You weren’t ashamed of your arachnophobia, per se… except when you were being particular arachnophobic in front of a living legend and war hero. 

It didn’t help your confidence that Rex was still an extremely handsome man.

“I don’t want to believe you’re a traitor.” 

The statement was calm and quiet, enough so that you didn’t immediately react. For a strange moment, you actually thought he had been talking to himself. But there was a new, terrible tension in the air and you could sense how still he was standing behind you. 

You glanced back over your shoulder at him. He was standing as casually as he had been when you had first arrived at the location, but you noticed for the first time that he had a set of dual blaster pistols strapped to his hips. Rex’s hands weren’t quite touching the grips of those pistols, but they were within easy grabbing distance of the weapons.

Suddenly, you got the feeling they weren’t just for protection from spiders or Imperial infiltrators.

You turned around slowly to face him, easing your hands upward and out to your sides. Whatever was going on, you didn’t want to do anything that would lead to a blaster wound. Or worse.

“Why do you always trade shifts?” Rex asked. Now that you were looking directly at him, you could see the bleeding sharp focus in his dark eyes. 

“I don’t like patrol duty,” you explained.

Rex’s hands dipped lower, drifting close to his blasters. “And it’s just a coincidence that the shifts you trade for end up with you cleaning the comms room alone overnight?” 

“Yes?” 

As soon as you heard the uncertainty in your own voice, you winced. It wasn’t a lie - it really was a coincidence. You had just… never thought about that before. Yes, you were often alone in the comms room, but that was because you were usually there in the small hours of the morning. Droids were left to observe the comms systems if there wasn’t an active Imperial presence in any nearby system. 

“I don’t believe you.” Faster than you would have thought possible, the blasters were in Rex’s hands, both aimed at you. 

“Captain… Rex, please,” you started, but were interrupted by a loud chittering sound behind you. Every part of your body was within the perimeter of the base, but your back was toward the spikes of the fence. The reminder of the giant spiders scuttling around, unobserved in the dark, made you shiver and take an instinctive step forward. 

One of Rex’s hands lifted and the other lowered a fraction. “Stay still. I don’t want to put a bolt through that pretty head, but I will if you force me to.” 

If you weren’t freezing with cold terror, you would have been ridiculously flattered by him saying that you had a pretty head. 

“I’m not a traitor,” you repeated, forcing your thoughts away from the inanity of pretty heads and back to reality of making sure yours continued operating without a blaster bolt through it. “There’s an explanation for all of this. I don’t like patrol duty. Usually, the shifts people want to trade are scheduled to last overnight. And it’s easiest to clean the comms room when only droids are inside.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically. “Because here’s what it looks like from the outside: First, you trade away the only shifts where you have to work with another person. No one to question your motives. Second, you always work at night, and those shifts are all across the base. That gives you time and privacy to gather information. Third, you’re in the comms room at least twice every week. Plenty of chances to make transmissions to the Empire.” 

“That’s not- It- I’m not a spy!” you stammered, outraged, but unable to refute any of what Rex had said. Yes, you had the opportunity to spy, but that didn’t mean you had actually done it. 

“Then explain it to me,” Rex challenged. “Explain why you’ve only worked one other patrol shift and you spent the entire thing refusing to speak with your partner.”

“I’m arachnophobic!” It burst out of you, but you weren’t upset about that. Obviously, you hadn’t earned the captain’s respect. Far from it, if he was accusing you of being a traitor to the Rebellion. It didn’t actually matter if he knew you were terrified of the spiders outside of the base. 

Rex didn’t say anything. More importantly, the blasters didn’t waver from their places aimed at your head and heart. You let more of an explanation pour from you: “I hate spiders. I don’t go on patrol duty because I would be too focused on them to notice if Palpatine himself was standing outside of the fence. It’s best for everyone if I stay inside the base and away from here.”

“Arachnophobic, eh?” Rex mused. He sounded thoughtful, but you were nervous when the blasters didn’t change position at all. “We’ll see about that.” 

“Wh-?” 

Before you could finish asking the shortest question you had, Rex had holstered one blaster and motioned you closer to the border spikes. You took a single step backward, skin crawling. Rex kept you in his sights as he walked in a wide circle around you. He ended up at the border, then used his free hand to wave between the spikes. 

You watched in confusion, then in horror as one of the massive spiders scented prey and started toward you.

Rex pulled his arm back in, seemingly satisfied. He motioned at you with the blaster he was still holding. “Go on.” 

This would be a stupid way to die, you thought, verging on desperate tears. “No. If you’re going to kill me, kill me. Don’t feed me to that thing.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” he explained patiently. “I’m going to test whether you’re really that scared of the spiders. If you are, I’ll believe you. If you aren’t… well, we’ll need enough of you to have a trial and figure out what intel you’ve passed along to the Empire.”

With that ominous statement, he waved you forward again. You weren’t sure exactly how you were walking, since everything below your neck was currently numb, but you found yourself at the very edge of the base’s border. The fence spikes hummed to your left and right sides, not nearly as far in front of you as you would prefer. 

The spider eyed you sharply. Since Rex was safe again and further away from the wall, it had clearly decided on different prey. 

It moved closer in an erratic, skittering sort of movement, clearly intended to be something you couldn’t anticipate. However, you were watching it with an intense focus borne of incredible fear. It had ended up hypnotizing you after all, but not because of any innate ability it had. 

You were still inside the border fence - that was what you kept telling yourself. It was fine, the spider couldn’t actually reach you. Never mind that it towered over you as it got closer and closer. Never mind that you could see something dripping from the fangs it was baring at you. Never mind that you were making eye contact with it and found only fascination and a bone-deep hunger staring back at you…

With the fear and adrenaline flooding your system, you were hyper-aware of everything going on around you. There was a whirr and a soft beep from behind you, but it was so much less threatening than the approaching arachnid that you discarded it immediately. The spider’s steps made the ground tremble under your feet, making the weakness in your knees even more pronounced. 

You could feel its breath. Surely that was impossible… wasn’t it? It was close, far too close by then. Close enough that you could see the walls of its tall body expanding and contracting at regular intervals. You swore you could feel the air playing across your face…

“Okay, you can step back now.” 

The sound of Rex’s voice should have been a relief, but you were far too focused on the massive predator in front of you to worry about minor things like human speech. 

“Step back.” Rex’s voice was more urgent then, but it wasn’t enough to force you into motion. “Come on, get away from there.” 

The assurance was nice, but it was helpless against the icy fear that had overtaken your entire body. The chill was deep enough that you didn’t flinch in the slightest when a strong arm looped around your stomach and started applying steady pressure. 

When you were far enough from the border fence - ‘far enough’ meaning that you and spider wouldn’t touch, even if you both extended a limb - you took such a rasping breath that you realized you hadn’t done so in far too long. The moment you did, it was as if your body shifted from prey mode into a sudden awareness of how afraid you had been. 

Your lungs burned as you took in deep, shuddering breaths. Every limb was shaking, and you couldn’t have gripped anything smaller than a canteen at that moment - tested when Rex handed you his canteen. Instead of drinking from it, however, you opted to sink slowly down to the ground. Your knees simply wouldn’t hold you anymore. 

“Easy, easy,” Rex soothed, squatting beside you as you braced your elbows against your thighs and tried to collect yourself. His hand rested heavy between your shoulder blades, a warm and soothing weight that reminded you to breathe. 

You were shaking, feeling hollow with the slow recede of adrenaline. Still, you managed to pant out the most important question: "Is… it… gone?" 

Rex looked up and you followed his gaze. The spider was still just outside the fence and - as if it were infuriated by your attention - reared up and clawed for you, jaws clattering. 

You hadn't seen Rex draw his blaster, but two loud reports sounded beside you, matching the almost instant holes bored into the spider. It shrieked once, then collapsed slowly onto its side. You shuddered again as you watched its legs curl beneath it. 

"Gone now," Rex told you. "Keep breathing and you'll be just fine in a minute." 

If you kept looking at the spider, you would never be able to focus. You turned your back to the dead arachnid, scooting further away from the fence as you did. Rex gave you an inscrutable look as you did, likely because the movement put you closer to him. 

But you couldn't see anything with your face buried in your hands. Without the visual reminders of everything that had just happened, you felt yourself calming. 

"Did I pass?" 

Despite the palms in front of your lips and the way the words had been aimed at your own lap, Rex heard you. When he answered, there was a tightness in his voice that worried you until you realized that it was laughter. 

"Yeah, you passed." There was a pause, then he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to put you through that. We can't take the chance that the Empire knows about this place." 

"I understand." It felt ridiculous to say since you were still trembling like a leaf, but you did get why they would think you were suspicious. "I really am scared of spiders." 

"No kidding," Rex said, clearly trying not to laugh again. "I've never seen anyone's pulse that high when they were standing still. Between that and the adrenaline spike, I think we should get you back to base." 

"We're… on patrol…" you said slowly. You let your hands lower away from your face, carefully not looking at the spider's body. “We can’t just leave.” 

“Are you going to be able to focus on anything other than the spiders?” 

You grimaced. “They are the most immediate threat.” 

Rex stood, reaching an arm down toward you. “Doesn’t matter if we leave. This is an extra guard shift. All the normal guard shifts are filled. I wanted to make sure we didn’t leave a gap in security if you had been a traitor and decided to fight back.” 

You stared at his hand, wondering dimly if that scenario had been meant for the possibility of him killing you or you killing him. Knowing Rex and his reputation for preparedness, he had probably been covering his bases for either. 

His hand was warm and large, and you had no sooner taken it than he pulled you to your feet. Your knees trembled dangerously, but you managed to keep yourself upright. “I think I want to go back to the base. I- I’m not going to do much good out here.” 

“Let’s go back, then,” Rex agreed, turning toward the buildings of the base. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel warmth at the small of your back, as if he were hovering in case you started to stumble. 

“I do help the Rebellion,” you told him. It was abrupt after the two of you had been walking in silence for so long, but you felt the need to tell him that. “Maybe I avoid patrols, but I help out in other ways. Cleaning, helping in the kitchen, maintaining the weapons.” 

“I know, mesh’la,” he assured you. “You touch every part of this base’s operations other than guard duties. That’s what first drew our attention.” 

“Our?” you repeated, stomach sinking again. “Who else thinks I’m a traitor?” 

“My brothers and I are responsible for the security of this base,” Rex said steadily, redirecting from outright accusations of treachery. “”We noticed that you were everywhere, but always alone. That’s a warning sign for someone who isn’t who they claim to be. It all makes sense now, but you have to admit that it looked suspicious.” 

“I know it did,” you admitted freely. A horrible thought struck you and your voice was tense as you asked, “I don’t have to do this again with Wolffe and Gregor, do I?” 

Rex chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. I’ll tell them what I learned and clear any suspicion from your name. I might accompany you on your next few shifts, but everything else is fine.” 

You frowned. “So you still think there’s a possibility that I’m passing information to the Empire?” 

“No, I don’t,” Rex denied, eyes kind as he glanced over at you. “But I don’t like the idea of you being alone all the time. That isolation isn’t good for anyone, especially with the stress of fighting the Imps. If I’m around, you’re always welcome to spend time with me. I lived with Wolffe and Gregor for longer than any being should ever have to. I could use some good company for a change.”

With some effort, you kept your expression smooth and your breathing steady. You didn’t want to presume anything, but it seemed like Rex might be… flirting with you. 

You smiled at him, heart stuttering when he smiled back. “I’d like that.”

---

Author's Note - Welcome to my experience watching those episodes of Rebels as someone with arachnophobia. It was… not a good time. This is my first time writing Rebels-era Rex, so please let me know if you have thoughts or advice for next time!

Thank you for reading!

[darkesttiimelines]

Throughout history, women have left an undeniable impact on society with their hard work, creativity, and dedication to progress. Unfortunately, their accomplishments have often gone unnoticed, been undervalued, or even stolen. Despite these challenges, brave women of today continue to push boundaries, break barriers, and pave the way for a more fair and equal world. It's our duty to keep going, so that future generations of women can inherit a kinder, more just, and supportive world. By following in the footsteps of the incredible women who came before us, we can create a world where every woman can flourish and succeed, and where their contributions are recognized and celebrated.

Joan of Arc is a patron saint of France, honored as a defender of the French nation for her role in the siege of Orléans and her insistence on the coronation of Charles VII of France during the Hundred Years' War. Claiming to be acting under divine guidance, she became a military leader who transcended gender roles and gained recognition as a savior of France. She was put on trial by Bishop Pierre Cauchon on accusations of heresy, which included blaspheming by wearing men's clothes, acting upon visions that were demonic, and refusing to submit her words and deeds to the judgment of the church. She was declared guilty and burned at the stake on 30 May 1431, aged about nineteen.

Rani Lakshmibai was the Maharani consort of the princely state of Jhansi from 1843 to 1853. She was one of the leading figures in the Indian Rebellion of 1857 became a symbol of resistance to the British rule in India for Indian nationalists. When the Maharaja died in 1853, the British East India Company under Governor-General Lord Dalhousie refused to recognize the claim of his adpoted heir and annexed Jhansi under the Doctrine of Lapse. She rode into battle with her infant son strapped to her back, and died in June 1858 after being mortally wounded during the British counterattack at Gwalior.

Rosalind Franklin was a British chemist and X-ray crystallographer whose work was instrumental in the discovery of the structure of DNA. Her contributions were largely overlooked by her male colleagues, James Watson and Francis Crick, who used her data without her permission or acknowledgement. This theft of her intellectual property and erasure of her contributions is a prime example of the systemic sexism that has historically plagued the scientific community.

Hedy Lamarr was an Austrian-American actress and inventor who co-invented a frequency-hopping spread spectrum technology during World War II that was used to guide torpedoes. However, her contributions were largely ignored and dismissed by male engineers and the military at the time. It was only later in life that she received recognition for her scientific achievements.

Emma Weyant is an American competitive swimmer. She was the US national champion at the individual medley. She qualified for the 2020 Olympic Games in the 400m individual medley and won the silver medal in this event. Weyant finished second in the 500-yard freestyle at the 2022 NCAA Division I Women's Swimming and Diving Championships. She was beaten by William (Lia) Thomas, a fetishist, who when competing as a member of the Penn men's team, which was 2018-19, ranked 554th in the 200 freestyle, 65th in the 500 freestyle and 32nd in the 1650 freestyle. Weyant is the fastest swimmer in the 500-yard freestyle and had her position stolen by a man.

Maryna Viazovska is a Ukrainian mathematician who made a breakthrough in sphere packing, solving the centuries-old mathematical problem known as the densest packing of spheres in dimensions 8 and 24. She was awarded the Fields Medal in July 2022, making her the second woman (after Maryam Mirzakhani), the second person born in the Ukrainian SSR and the first with a degree from a Ukrainian university to ever receive it.

Hannie Schaft was a Dutch resistance fighter during World War II who played a crucial role in the resistance movement against Nazi occupation. Schaft was a former university student who dropped out because she refused to sign a pledge of loyalty to Germany. Nazis arrested and killed her in 1945, just three weeks before the war ended in Europe. According to lore, Schaft’s last words were, “I’m a better shot,” after initially only being wounded by her executioner.

Shakuntala Devi was an Indian mathematician and mental calculator who was known as the "Human Computer" for her exceptional ability to perform complex mathematical calculations in her head. Her extraordinary abilities earned her a place in the 1982 Guinness Book of Records. Her lesser known achievement is that in 1977 she wrote what is considered to be the first book in India on homosexuality titled “The World of Homosexuals.”  

J. K. Rowling is a British author and philanthropist. She wrote Harry Potter, a seven-volume children's fantasy series published from 1997 to 2007. Known for her philanthropy, she was doxxed and harassed after coming out with support for women's and gay rights in 2020. Rowling secretly donated hundreds of thousands of pounds to save 100 female lawyers and their families facing murder in Afghanistan. In 2022, she funded a women's only rape shelter in Edinburgh.

[idkyetxoxo]

Tyland Lannister - A Chance Encounter

Summary - Rebelling against her mother's matchmaking by crawling under banquet tables to escape might be a step too far. Yet, her actions lead to an unexpected suitor who follows her, offering a chance at true connection and challenging the constraints of her predetermined fate.

Pairing - Tyland Lannister x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2046

Masterlist for Tyland • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"That hurts," I mumbled as my mother, with a determined look, moved the handmaiden aside and tightened my corset with a force that left me struggling for breath.

"I can't breathe," I gasped, my hand reaching up instinctively to push her away but she only grunted and continued to pull the laces tighter, securing the corset with a final, unforgiving knot.

She spun me around briskly, smoothing down the front of my dress with meticulous care, adjusting every detail until I was presented as the epitome of perfection in her eyes.

"Be polite, stand straight, do not drink too much, and for the Seven's sake, do not run off again," she instructed firmly, her tone unwavering. These were the same warnings she had drilled into me at the last three banquets.

"I didn't run off," I protested, a hint of frustration seeping into my voice. Her eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and determination, and she silenced me with a stern look.

"Do not test me," she said, exhaling sharply. "I need you to take this seriously."

"Forgive me for not wanting to be treated like cattle for sale," I mumbled under my breath. Her grip tightened on my arm, and she shook me slightly, her face inches from mine.

"You are of age to be wedded. You cannot run aloof forever; we have to find you a good match," she insisted, her voice tinged with desperation.

"You do not look for a 'good' match, you look for a match that will gain you political advantage," I retorted, my eyes blazing with defiance as I pulled my arm free from her grasp. 

"Do not disrespect me," she snapped, her teeth clenched. "You are lucky we have given you this much grace. Many would envy your position."

"It is not grace if I am constantly belittled," I argued, my voice steady but filled with emotion. 

"I will hear no more," she finally mumbled, her voice low and final. She took my hand in hers, her grip firm and unyielding, and began to drag me out of my chambers. 

We walked through the corridors of our estate, descending the grand staircase, my mother's grip on my hand never loosening, her pace brisk and determined. 

When we reached the grand hall, the noise of the banquet greeted us, laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the corner. The room was filled with elegantly dressed guests, their conversations a murmur of politeness and intrigue.

My mother led me through the throng of guests, I followed in her wake, my heart pounding in my chest, the corset making each breath a struggle. 

She introduced me to a series of distinguished guests, lords, ladies, and potential suitors each exchange a blur of formalities and practised smiles.

"This is my daughter," she would say, and I would curtsy, offering a polite greeting while feeling the weight of their scrutiny.

I could feel eyes on me constantly, assessing, judging, and evaluating my worth. I forced myself to stand tall, to appear the dutiful daughter they expected, even as my thoughts raced with a mix of rebellion and resignation.

As the evening wore on, my mother's grip on my arm relaxed slightly, but her watchful gaze never left me. 

I managed to steal a few sips of water, careful to avoid the wine that flowed so freely. Conversations swirled around me, a cacophony of gossip and alliances being forged and broken.

In a rare moment of solitude, I found myself standing near a window, the cool night air a welcome relief against my flushed skin. I gazed out at the moonlit gardens, longing for the freedom they represented.

I glanced at my mother from across the room, her eyes scanning the crowd, searching for me. Beside her stood a young lord, eagerly awaiting the moment she would introduce us. Just before her gaze landed on me, I ducked, dropping to the ground on all fours.

For a brief second, I hesitated, then made my decision. I crawled under a nearby table, the long tablecloth shielding me from her view. I moved carefully, navigating the maze of legs and avoiding the occasional foot that swung in my path.

"Ow," I murmured as someone accidentally kicked upwards, hitting my side. I clapped a hand over my mouth, holding my breath and praying I hadn't been discovered.

Unfortunately, the tablecloth lifted, and a curious face peeked down at me. His eyes widened in surprise, and I could see the question forming on his lips. I quickly put a finger to my lips, pleading for silence. Just then, I heard the familiar voices of my mother and father approaching.

"My lady, what could you possibly be doing?" he whispered his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement. I groaned inwardly, realizing I had no choice. 

Without thinking, I grabbed his arm and tugged him down to the floor with me until we were both under the table.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I spotted the familiar hem of my mother's gown right next to us. I silenced him with my hand over his mouth, our bodies pressed close in the confined space. I could feel his rapid breathing against my hand, and I didn't dare move until I was certain my parents had moved on.

"Follow me," I whispered once I was sure the coast was clear. 

I began crawling again, my hands and knees brushing against the cold floor. To my surprise, he followed without hesitation, his movements as quiet as mine. 

The absurdity of our situation struck me, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I could hear him struggling to suppress his own amusement, but a firm look over my shoulder quickly silenced him.

We continued our covert journey under the table, finally emerging at the far end of the banquet hall. I peeked out cautiously before slipping out from under the tablecloth, dusting off my dress as I stood up. He followed suit, grinning mischievously as he straightened his attire.

Without a word, I grabbed his hand and led him towards the nearest exit. We moved quickly but quietly, navigating through the maze of corridors that led away from the bustling banquet hall.  Each hurried turn a step further from the world I was trying to escape.

The further we went, the quieter it became, until the only sounds were our soft footsteps and the distant hum of the festivities. 

We finally reached a secluded corridor, far removed from the prying eyes and ears of the banquet. I released his hand and leaned against the wall, taking a moment to catch my breath.

He stood opposite me, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. "Well, that was certainly an adventure," he remarked, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"I couldn't stand another tedious introduction," I admitted, my voice still hushed. "Thank you for not giving me up."

"It was my pleasure," he replied with a charming smile. "Tyland Lannister," he continued, introducing himself with a gallant bow before placing a kiss on my hand.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks as I introduced myself in turn, offering a slight curtsy.

"So," Tyland began, his tone light and playful, "what prompted your daring escape?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of the evening's pressures lift slightly. "My mother is determined to find me a suitable match, but her definition of 'suitable' is rather...interesting."

He nodded, understanding evident in his eyes. "I understand all too well," he said.

"What led you to follow me without any explanation?" I asked, a small smirk playing on my lips as I teased him.

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "When a beautiful lady tells you to follow her, you follow," he said simply, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

The words caused a deeper blush to tint my cheeks, and I glanced away briefly to hide my reaction.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You're quite the charmer, Lord Tyland."

"It's a skill one must develop in my position," he replied, his tone half-joking, half-serious.

A sudden burst of laughter erupted from the banquet hall, shattering the fragile bubble of intimacy that had enveloped us. I glanced toward the source of the noise, then back at Tyland, a sense of urgency seizing me. 

The evening had been a whirlwind of emotions, and I found myself craving something genuine, something that would make me feel alive in the midst of all the pretence.

"What would you do if I kissed you right now?" I asked abruptly, my voice a mix of challenge and vulnerability. The question seemed to stun him, his eyes widening as though I had just struck him.

"I beg your pardon?" he stammered, clearly taken aback by my unexpected query.

"Yes or no?" I pressed, a touch of impatience creeping into my tone. 

The frustration of the evening and the sting of my mother's relentless pursuit of a 'suitable' match still lingered, fueling my desire for a daring, rebellious act.

Tyland's gaze flicked nervously across my face as if searching for some indication of my true intentions. "Yes," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without waiting for any further hesitation, I closed the distance between us. My heart raced as I tilted my head slightly, capturing his lips with mine in a kiss that was both impulsive and defiant. 

The contact was electric, charged with the raw emotion and rebellious spirit that had driven me to this moment.

Tyland responded immediately, his hands finding their way to my waist, pulling me closer.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, Tyland's expression was a mixture of surprise and admiration. "I didn't expect that," he murmured, his eyes still locked onto mine.

"Honestly, neither did I," I admitted, taking a step back to put some distance between us. The reality of my situation began to creep back in, and I knew I had to return to the banquet. 

"But I regret to say I must head back. My mother will not be pleased," I continued, already dreading the reprimand that awaited me.

A flicker of sadness crossed his face as he nodded, but then a thought seemed to spark in his eyes. "Perhaps I could see you again?" he suggested a hopeful note in his voice.

I shook my head, a rueful smile playing on my lips. "That would be improper,"

"Not if I am a potential suitor," he countered, his desperation and determination evident.

I stopped in my tracks, turning to face him fully. "You wish to marry me?" I asked, incredulous. The notion seemed absurd, and yet there was a sincerity in his eyes that gave me pause.

He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "What other lady would have me crawl across a banquet floor?" he said, his eyes twinkling with humour and honesty.

The audacity of his proposal caught me off guard, and for a moment, I was at a loss for words. Here was a man who, in a matter of moments, had seen past the façade that society demanded I wear and was willing to join me in defiance of those very norms. 

It was both flattering and bewildering.

"You do not know me," I said finally, my voice softer, more contemplative.

"And yet, I feel I've seen more of your true self tonight than I have of anyone else in a lifetime of formal introductions and polite conversations," Tyland replied earnestly. "You're spirited and bold. Those are qualities I admire deeply."

I studied him, searching for any sign of insincerity, but found none. Instead, I saw a man who was genuinely captivated, not by the social advantages our union might bring, but by the person I had revealed myself to be in our brief, rebellious encounter.

"Your offer is... unexpected," I said, my mind racing. "But I must return now, or risk further scandal."

"Of course," he agreed, stepping aside to allow me passage. "But consider my words. I'm serious about my intentions."

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and excitement. As I made my way back to the banquet, my mind buzzed with the possibilities that Tyland's proposition had opened up. 

For the first time, I felt a glimmer of hope that there could be a future where I wasn't simply a doll for my mother but a participant in my own destiny.

A/n - This was kinda fun to write iwl

[stars-n-spice]

RAAAAHH BAD BATCH SECOND GENERATION!!

Behold! Silly Squad ten(ish) years later after the rescue on Mt. Tantiss!

Or aka my "Somehow the clones magically age normally and Tech is alive" AU in which they all get happy endings and their own families :)

And yes the cadets and Sami also get adopted by the families :D

I will probably post more in depth things about each individual family later but there's some basic information like what their lives are like on Pabu, what the kid's names mean, how they got adopted, and so on about each under the cut!

Guardians Family - The Yuns

Hunter and Jung decided to adopt Mox and Sami (who didn't want to go back to her family)

Later they find and adopt Huihana, thus completing their family!

But it doesn't account for all the other kids Jung and Hunter have adopted mentally and spiritually since they run a school on Pabu

Huihana means "lily/lotus" in Maori and 'Hana' means "one" in Korean

Huihana is half human and half Mirialan - later on when she's older she'll get tattoos similiar to Sami, Mox, and Jung's

Huihana is two years old and the youngest of the Second Gen kids

Mox gets the Pantoran facial tattoo to match with his sister :)

Sami ends up being Jung's padawan basically and ends up adding to her facial tattoo to match the ones Jung has

The family runs a school/camp! Mainly for Force sensitive kiddos, but Hunter also teaches them practical stuff as well

Hunter and Jung are the last of the couples to get "married"

I say "married" because they're already practically married (in a QPR) but they have a whole celebration for the sake of Omega

ScompScope Family - The Cossas

Echo and Viram decide to adopt Deke after he starts to join them on their missions with Rex and Chuchi

And then they have two sons of their own - Tikan and Zisanu - once they feel they've done their part and finally settle down

Put the three together and you get "Dee," "Tee," and "Zee" (that was a complete coincidence btw)

Tika[n] means 'Heavy' in Tsonga

Zisanu means 'Five' in Chichewa

Yeah, their names are meant to honor Hevy and Fives :) I thought it would be fitting

Rex is their godfather (and is totally not bitter about them not being named after him, totally not at all)

Echo and Viram continue to do rebellion work for a while before finally deciding to settle down once their part is done

Every now and then they do go and help Rex though, usually they'll take Deke with them and leave the two others with their Tíos since they're still kinda young (T and Z are not super happy about it)

When they're on Pabu, Echo helps wherever he can and Viram continues her work as a medic and helps out at the clinic

Third of the group to get married - they'd already waited long enough and they decided it was better late than never because they'd pushed off their relationship for the sake of their duties

Starburst Family - The Nultez Clan

When you have a clone and a Mandalorian as parents, you're going to have a TON of kids

Khea had already taken Itri as a Foundling before her and Wrecker got married

Wrecker and Khea adopt Stak in a heartbeat and he becomes a Foundling as well

Marama and Maia are twins (32 minutes apart) and are absolute trouble makers

Marama means "moon/bright" in Maori (fitting with the Star motif of Khea)

Maia means "brave/confident" in Maori (fitting of her personality and her parents')

Elio means sun (again fitting with the star motif of Khea, and going alongside Marama)

Dha'ika is Khea's cat and Lula is the kids' cat

But to be fair, they have a TON of other pets

They basically run a farm on Pabu - Khea still is a mechanic on the side and helps fix things up around the island

First to get married - they'd been dating the longest and it was spontaneous

Techphee Family - The Genoa Family

You do NOT want to mess with the Genoa siblings - they're a force to be reckoned with; intelligent as all hell, charming as fuck, witty, resourceful, talented pilots - they have it all

Except for good eyesight :/

Vela is farsighted

Rangi is nearsighted

Vela means "viligant/watchful" but it's also the name of a constellation taken directly from the Latin word for the sail of a ship (which is fitting considering Phee is a pirate and Tech and her are both phenomenal pilots)

Rangi means "Sky/heavens" in Maori (again, fitting that pilot thing)

Honestly, Rangi is just Mutant Mayhem Donnie if I'm being 100% honest with you (even his voice, I imagine it to sound like Micah Abbey's)

This family is all over the place - while they have somewhere to stay on Pabu, usually they're out exploring the galaxy together and doing various fun (dangerous) things

They practically live in Phee's ship - and they love it honestly

They always bring back souvenirs and stories for everyone whenever they return back to Pabu

Second of the group to get married - you can bet that after supposedly losing Tech, Phee made sure to tie him down and put a ring on him

Sharpshooters Family - The Marr Family

Last ones to adopt because Tay's not confident he's good with kids (it's the one thing he actually doesn't think he's good at)

Because of Tay's insecurities, Crosshair was fine with it just being them but deep down he really did want a kid

So when he was out on a mission helping Echo and stumbled upon an orphan, he didn't hesitate

Took a while for Tay to accept it though because he was terrified he might hurt their new daughter or something, but he soon proves to be a natural

Meet Akona Marr! She's half Nautolan and half Pantoran!

Akona means "to enthuse" in Maori (fits her personality)

She gets a crosshair tattoo to match her Pa and Tay gets something similar and he also caps off his horns so Akona doesn't hurt herself since she likes to climb him

Akona is nonverbal and has a tendency to bite people but her Dads love her anyways

She is spoiled ROTTEN though because like with Crosshair, Tay cannot say no to her

They're a family of fishermen! Tay and Akona are both amphibious races so they enjoy being in the water and Crosshair's enhanced eyesight helps spot fish in the waters despite the glare from the sun

Fourth of the group to get married - Tay took too long to ask (he was nervous) and Crosshair never really expressed wanting a wedding because of everything that went into it and all the attention that was going to be on him during it

💫 Tag List: @stardume 💫 Join the silly squad taglist here! 💫 Silly Squad Masterpost

[dragonworshippersblog]

“Viserys was wrong for naming a female heir, he should have not imposed his will upon the law and he should have known that this would cause rebellions in the kingdom ”

Leaving aside the fact that male primogeniture is a tradition and not a law as explained by grrm, a genuine question, how do you think it is possible to achieve an important improvement in the condition of women in westeros if not with the use of impositions at least at the beginning? Do you think that men are willing to leave aside a system that favors them over women (even more competent) and that makes them have no consequences or few consequences for things which women are arrested or killed? Why would they do that? For the kindness of their hearts? If we were to rely on that women would now live exactly as they lived in the Middle Ages. There’s no way to get more freedom for women without facing rebellion or war, so what do we do? We shut our mouths, do our duty, and continue to hope for a peaceful change that will never happen?

[eliotrosechild]

The Seven Archangels

Lucifer – The majestic archangel of unparalleled beauty and power, Lucifer was once the brightest of the heavenly beings. His presence commands respect and awe, as he radiates elegance and grace. His wings of pure energy and amber light represent his divine origin and his connection to heavenly realms, even after his fall. He stands tall, regal, and mesmerizing, a figure of both light and shadow, embodying the complexity of rebellion, pride, and the quest for ultimate freedom.

Michael – The fierce warrior archangel, Michael stands as the eternal protector of righteousness and the leader of the heavenly armies. His wings blaze with pure amber energy, symbolizing his strength and determination. Michael holds a sword of light, prepared to defend against any threat to divine order. His presence is intense and commanding, inspiring courage in those who follow him and fear in those who oppose him. He is the ultimate force of justice and divine power.

Gabriel – The majestic archangel of revelation and messenger of God, Gabriel carries an aura of peace and divine wisdom. With wings of amber light that spread gracefully, he brings messages of hope and guidance from the divine realms. Gabriel’s presence is serene, calm, and full of grace. His trumpet symbolizes his role in delivering important divine messages, sounding the call to awakening and transformation. He is the voice of clarity, speaking the words of the heavens.

Uriel – The majestic archangel of wisdom and enlightenment, Uriel stands as a radiant guide, holding an orb of divine knowledge. His amber wings shine with the light of ancient truths and higher understanding. Uriel’s presence is calm yet powerful, representing insight, foresight, and the illumination of the mind. He is the one who brings clarity in confusion and light to those walking in darkness, offering the wisdom of the ages and a connection to the divine mysteries.

Samael – The mythical archangel of death and Uriel – The majestic archangel of wisdom and enlightenment, Uriel stands as a radiant guide, holding an orb of divine knowledge. His amber wings shine with the light of ancient truths and higher understanding. Uriel’s presence is calm yet powerful, representing insight, foresight, and the illumination of the mind. He is the one who brings clarity in confusion and light to those walking in darkness, offering the wisdom of the ages and a connection to the divine mysteries. destruction, Samael is a figure of mystery and power. His wings of amber energy exude an ancient, almost primordial force. Known as both an angel of death and a figure of temptation, Samael walks the line between divine judgment and rebellion. His role in balancing creation and destruction gives him a complex and enigmatic nature. His presence is both alluring and terrifying, embodying the mythic forces of life and death intertwined.

Azrael – The fierce archangel of death, Azrael stands as the guide for souls transitioning from life to the afterlife. His wings burn with amber intensity, signaling his role in escorting souls through their final journey. Azrael’s presence is both comforting and formidable, representing the inevitability of death and the solemn duty of releasing souls from the physical realm. His fierce demeanor reflects his role as the angel of death, who stands firm in the face of life’s greatest transition.

Raphael – The mythical archangel of healing and protection, Raphael’s wings shimmer with a soft yet powerful amber light. His presence is one of warmth, healing energy, and divine care. Raphael holds a staff, the symbol of his connection to health and the healing arts. His aura is infused with a gentle strength, capable of mending both physical and spiritual wounds. As the healer of God, Raphael guides and protects those in need of restoration, bringing peace and harmony wherever he goes.

[absurdthirst]

The Dornish Sun {Oberyn Martell x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.1k

Warnings: Step Uncle/Niece relationship, slight age gap, fingering, oral sex (female and male receiving), loss of virginity, pregnancy, childbirth, angst, infidelity, heartbreak, war, murder, rape, threesomes, mff relationship, poisoning, revenge

Comments: Of course a love story with Oberyn Martell would be tumultuous. Especially when the Seven Kingdoms is in chaos and the Baratheon rebellion breaks out.

A/N: You know that scene in HOTD where Rhaenyra leaves her birthing bed to take the baby to see the Queen? That completely inspired this.

🚨🚨DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - this story contains canonical events including murder and rape (Elia Martell)🚨🚨

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Oberyn Martell MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Doran Martell married your mother and took you as his own daughter when you were eight years old. Carrying you away from the moldering estates you were born on and you had finished growing up in the castle at Sunspear and then later the Water Gardens when your father had grown too ill to stay in the steeply staircased fortress with his wheelchair. 

The day you met Oberyn, his youngest sibling and only brother, you had fallen in love. His chiseled jaw, uncaring demeanor and his delight in allowing you to follow him around had created a painful crush for you, your cheeks heating to near flames when he had picked you up as a towering teenager of fourteen. He was your handsome red viper as you heard others call him and you had decided then and there that one day, you would marry Oberyn and become his princess. 

When you were a woman grown, your crush had not waned. Growing even deeper and embedding in your heart to where no one but Oberyn would do, you argued with your papa that you should be aligned with the second born heir to House Martell, solidifying your place in the family and your own succession if Arianne did not wish to take over when your father passed. It did not help that you could tell Oberyn wanted you, his eyes following you as you went about your duties, the small smirk on his lips far from familial affection. 

“Give me one reason, a good reason why I cannot marry for love?” You ask, your jaw set in stubborn determination as you look over at your father, the subject of husbands ones that you are tired of talking about. You do not want any of the men your father has suggested would make good husbands. “You married mother for love.” 

Doran sighs, rubbing his cheek, “that was different. Your mother…Oberyn is your uncle.” Doran argues and you shake your head. 

“We are not blood. He is my uncle in name only.” You counter. Your own lord father had passed when you were aged six, meaning your mother was eligible to marry Doran and thus you have younger half siblings. 

“It will not look good to our enemies. Allowing my daughter to marry my brother…they will cry out in protest.” Doran argues and you scoff. 

“Like the Lannister rumors aren’t worse?” You argue and Doran shakes his head. 

“I do not care about the Lannisters. You are my daughter and you shall marry to help our alliances. A lord from the North, a Stark, has asked for your hand. You will be marrying him.”

“I do not want to leave Dorne.” You frown, unable to even imagine living in the cold north with those joyless Starks. Duty and winter coming are all they care about, you had not been impressed when you had met them two years ago when Ned Stark and another had traveled to Dorne to speak with your father. “I wish to feel the sun on my skin, the sand under my feet. I belong here.” 

“You belong where I tell you that you belong. You will marry the Stark boy. You will allow our alliances to continue and you will do your duty. Seven hells, I saved you and your mother from a destitute life and you shall repay me for that.” Doran’s tone is final, no longer the loving father you’ve come to adore, no, he’s a prince. A leader.

You hiss in anger, pushing away from the table with a loud screech from your chair and rushing away. Heartbroken and angry that your father would condemn you to a fate that in your mind is worse than death. Running through the halls towards the gardens, your slippers are silent on the stone floors and your floating dress flaps behind you. You will not marry a Stark, you will not. 

Oberyn is walking down the hallway when he sees you running. He reaches out to stop you, his hands on your shoulders. “My sun, why are you running? Surely my brother has not been so cruel as to make you run away from the beautiful gardens?” He coos, cupping your cheeks when you look at him, tears in your eyes.

“Father is sending me to Winterfell.” You close your eyes and the tears slip down your cheek. “I am to be wed to a Stark, to live my days in the snows of the North where the sun freezes.” You swallow and open your eyes again, looking into his dark orbs. “I - I do not want to wed into that house. I wish to stay here, with you - and father.” 

The look in Oberyn's eyes is harsh, soft gaze turns to steel as he imagines you in Winterfell, belonging to another man. No, he won't allow it. Despite his brother's urges that he should find a bride, Oberyn has been unable to move on from you. You - you are his niece by name but not by blood yet the guilt of wanting you, of loving you, has never waned. However, to imagine you with another...it's more than Oberyn can take. "Come with me to my rooms, we shall drink some wine and discuss what can be done to change my brother's mind." He cups your cheek before taking your hand, eager to guide you to his chambers.

You follow him willingly and will follow him anywhere. His exile several years ago had been hard to deal with and you had often come to his chambers to sleep while he was gone, the servants finding you asleep in his bed. Now, you spend less time with him since you are a lady, your father wanting you to appear more mature for your station and years. Despite the lax nature of Dorne compared to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, you are still under scrutiny. 

“Oberyn.” He squeezes your hand and you fall silent, entering the large bedchamber and watching as he lets go of your hand to walk over to the pitcher of wine that is ever present on a table along with his favored berries.

Oberyn pours you a glass, handing you the goblet before repeating the action for himself. “Sit.” He orders, pointing to the loveseat and he brings you the wine and sits down beside you. “Tell me why you do not wish to marry a Stark.” He wants to hear you say what he suspects but he won’t show his hand just yet.

Looking away, you take a sip of your wine. It would be better if you were a man and could be expected to speak plainly about such things. Even here you were not supposed to acknowledge the ache you have for a man, not while still being innocent. “Ned Stark is boring.” You whisper. “Too self righteous and I-“ you pause, glancing at your handsome uncle by marriage before you look down at your cup. “I love another.”

Oberyn isn’t dumb. He’s seen the way you look at him and he knows he should say no, that it’s foolish for you to want him…but he can’t. Not when he feels the same. He was exiled, returned home to no one but you. You talked to him, you listened to his stories and he fell in love with his niece by marriage. “Marriage is not always about love, my sun. Marriages are for alliances. Political purposes. Do you wish to put your father at a disadvantage for love? Is this love too great to ignore in favor of your duty?” He asks, having asked himself that same question many times when Doran tried to marry him off but he is far too stubborn.

“What about my duty to my own heart?” You shake your head, dismayed because you thought of all people - Oberyn would understand. “I would not be a good wife to a man I could not endure. How would I lay in his bed, under his rutting body and bear his children?” You bite your lip, sighing and lifting your cup to your lips again. “My father has other alliances, other deals he can make. My heart shouldn’t be a bartering tool.” 

Oberyn’s cock twitches at the thought of you beneath him and the jealousy he feels at the thought of someone else touching you, having you. It makes his jaw clench. “You would rather have passion? A husband who wants to make you shake with pleasure? A man who will suck on your nipples until you are dripping wet, his fingers finding your bundle of nerves, making you moan until he buries his tongue deep into your cunt, working your tight heat until you nearly drown him. A man who will slide his cock into you with the aim to make you cum, make you clench around his length until your thighs are shaking, instead of purely to get you pregnant. Is that what you want, my sun?” He leans closer, his breath washing over your face.

You whimper pitifully at the vivid imagery he creates with his words. Breath hitching and you inhale the sweet scent of wine and berries from his too close mouth. Your eyes flit down, tracing the angel’s kiss on his lower lip and your tongue slides out to wet your own, having wanted to trace his lips so often that you swear you have done it before. You can barely look back up into his own dark eyes and you swear you see lust in their depths. “Yes.” You whisper, nodding and pressing your thighs together to quell the ache there. “I want y- that.”

Oberyn leans even closer, reaching for the goblet so he can set them both down on the table nearby. You exhale shakily as he moves away from you, heart pounding and you are upset he doesn’t want you, tears stinging in your eyes. Oberyn takes a moment, knowing this will change everything but he can’t hold back anymore. He wants you. He turns back, seeing the way your eyes avoid his and he tuts, surging forward to press his lips to yours but before he says “I want you, my sun.”

Melting into him, you moan into the kiss, allowing him to take over completely. Clinging to the edges of his robe, your entire body lights up with the glorious knowledge that Oberyn wants you. “Have me.” You beg when he kisses along your jaw. “I am yours.” You know you shouldn’t, that you should pull away but you don’t think about that. Too caught up in your dream coming true to act rationally. 

Oberyn should pull back, he definitely shouldn't go any further than this but fuck, he has been keeping away for so long, it feels physically painful to pull back from you in this moment. His tongue slides into your mouth and he reaches for you to pull you into his lap, his breath mingling with yours as he methodically tugs on the strings that keep your robes in place.

You aren’t completely innocent. You know the reputation Oberyn has started to cultivate. It was one of the reasons why he was exiled for that dark time when you were younger. He has had lovers and yet you do not hesitate when you feel the warm air from the open windows on your skin. Your nipples are hard from need and you let him unlace your dress and strip you down with an eagerness that can’t be contained as you run your hands along his broad shoulders and slip them under the light linen brocade to touch his heated skin. 

Your touch ignites something in him and he grabs your thighs, lifting you up as he stands and he throws you onto his bed. Shrugging off his robe to expose his chest and upper arms before he strides over to hover over you. “You have no idea, my sun, how many times I imagined seeing these tits.” He groans, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth. 

Gasping out his name, your eyes close in pleasure. Fingers digging into the silk sheets on his bed and twisting them in your hands while he sucks at your breast. The wet heat of his mouth is deliriously good and yet you want more, your dress pooled at your hips and you want to be bare underneath him. “P-please.” You beg, arching your back to offer yourself to him. 

Oberyn isn’t in a rush, especially since he knows you are innocent. “Patience.” He tuts as he lifts up to switch to your other breast, leaning down to take it into his mouth, his dark eyes focusing on you while his hands caress your waist, one coming up to squeeze the breast he just abandoned.

You whimper, biting your lip and trying to just let yourself experience his touch. To not beg for more than he is wanting to give you right now. Your legs shift, thighs pressing together and you take advantage of him without his shirt. You had spent so much of your day drooling over his practices in the courtyards while shirtless and you touch his broad shoulders and back with a happy moan while he bites down on your nipple. 

Oberyn tuts, reaching for your thighs to push them apart so he can press his body against yours, his cock hardening under his robes. He kisses your clavicle, up your neck until his body covers yours. “So eager, aren’t you? You want more?” He teases, pressing feather-like kisses to your jaw while his fingers slide under your gown, caressing your thigh.

“Yes. Please, more.” You whine, enjoying the way that his chest drags against your wet breasts. Your cunt clenches at the hardness that he is slowly grinding against you. “Oberyn.” You are in heaven right now, this is what you have always imagined and your nails drag down his back and you grab his ass in the leather breeches he is wearing, suddenly bolder than an innocent virgin should be. There is no fear, only want and need right now. 

Oberyn chuckles at your eagerness, his fingers sliding higher until he finds your wet cunt, covered by the curls. “Mmm. So wet.” He groans softly, sliding his fingers through your folds a couple of times until he rubs your clit. “You’re so beautiful, my sun. Always - always imagined this.” He admits, knowing he’s tugged on his cock far too many times thinking about you recently. Or had another around him while he imagined it was you.

“I love you.” Your confession slips out unprompted, but you do. It has always been Oberyn since you have laid eyes on him. It will always be him. Your eyes close again and you let out a low moan while he rubs your clit as if he had done it a thousand times before. It was not like you hadn’t touched yourself before but it was so much more pleasurable with his fingers. 

Your confession makes his heart thump in his chest and he knows you didn’t say it for him to say it back, you said it because it’s true. His fingers continue working your clit and he presses his lips back to yours, sliding his hand lower so he can push a finger into your tight cunt.

Gasping in delight and pleasure, your walls stretch around him, the thick finger curling up into your cunt. Grinding down on his hand wantonly, you know that this will be perfect. He is skilled and you love him, your walls clamping down around his finger while you turn your head to nip his jaw with your teeth like you have imagined doing a thousand times. You want to mark him, claim him as your own. 

Oberyn groans softly at your nip, “my little sun has fire.” He chuckles, adding another finger as he pushes the digits inside of you. He wants you to feel only pleasure so he wants you dripping down his wrist. His thumb presses against your clit while his lips find yours again.

Whimpering against his neck, your arm tightens around him while he curls his fingers up. Taken beyond what you had ever been able to do yourself, you feel your legs start to shake while that tension builds up in your core. Hips meeting the thrust of his fingers on their own, your moans are uninhibited and you don’t care who would hear you beyond his doors. 

Oberyn groans when your walls clamp down on his fingers when he presses his thumb against your clit a little harder, sending you over the edge. “So good, my sun. Can’t wait to be inside of you.” He murmurs, working you through it and he is determined to taste you too before he takes your innocence.

You cry out, back arching and colors burst behind your eyelids as pleasure courses through your body. “O-Oberyn!” You cling to him, shuddering and shaking underneath his touch. He keeps curling his fingers as he works you through it until you are panting out, completely wrung out. 

Oberyn groans your name, loving the way you shake and the way you are already so spent. He chuckles, kissing your jaw and he shifts to kneel between your thighs, working on removing the rest of your gown so he can see all of you. “I want to see you, my sun. I want you bare. Mind, body, and soul.”

Lifting your hips, you have no shame as Oberyn strips you down to your skin. Laying in his bed as the evening rays of light shine through the slates covering his windows, you feel like this is where you are supposed to be. Watching as he rocks back onto his knees and looks down at your nude, virginal body. “I am yours.” You whisper, meaning every word. 

Oberyn offers you a soft smile, nodding in understanding, and he caresses your calf before he shifts off of the bed to push his breeches down, releasing his aching cock from its confines. He desperately wants to slide into you but he can’t, he wants to taste you first.

You had not expected his mouth. When you had seen his cock, your leg had spread in anticipation of him climbing between them. Of feeling him deep inside you. Instead you gasp when his shoulders push your legs wider, his chuckle filthy when he winks at you and lowers his mouth to your dripping cunt to lick a long stripe through your folds. “Gods!” You cry out, head tilting back and fingers tangling into the silk sheets again. 

Oberyn’s tongue is eager, sliding deeper inside of you and his nose presses against your clit. His fingers dig into your thighs, pushing them back towards your stomach so his tongue can slide deeper into your cunt. “You taste so good.” He smacks his lips as he pulls back for a moment before he dives back in.

If his fingers were magical, his tongue is even more so. Curling deep inside you to make you squirm before he is pulling out and flicking it against your clit, pulling another gasp out of you. Lewdly learning your body in a way that you had heard of but never imagined would be as good as it is. Quickly feeling your stomach clenching as he lashes your clit again and again with his tongue and pushing you towards another orgasm. 

Your thighs start to shake and press against his head and he knows you are close. He wants you to cum so he continues lashing your clit, sucking and licking until his jaw hurts and when you cry out, he buries his tongue into your walls, wanting to feel them flutter.

It was even better than your first orgasm. The rush of heat flooding your cunt makes him moan and you whimper at the way that he is eager to taste all of you, his tongue dipping back inside you. Your thighs try to close around his head but they can’t at his mercy until you are crying out again and shoving weakly at his shoulder to move him away. 

Oberyn doesn’t move away right away, he smacks his lips, kissing your clit and chuckling at the way you whine so he backs off, kneeling between your legs and wrapping his fingers around his aching cock. “My sun, are you certain that this is what you want?” He asks, wanting to make sure you want him to take your innocence.

“I have loved you since I was a child, Oberyn.” Your eyes greedily stare at him, drinking in how perfect he looks hard and wanting you. You are not scared of his length or size, knowing that he was going to fit perfectly inside you as he slowly strokes himself. “I am sure that I want nothing more than for you to take my innocence.” 

Oberyn nods, certain that he wants you, he has wanted you since your eight and ten name day, knowing you were a woman had shone a new light on you and he has wanted you ever since. “Tell me if it hurts. It will hurt to begin with but we will go slow.” He promises, shifting closer until he can notch his cock at your entrance, slowly pushing into you.

Your soft cry is mixed with tears as he fills you, but they are ones of joy. Lashes fluttering as you feel the weight of him starting to settle over your body and his cock butting up against the thin barrier of your innocence. His lips press against yours before he pushes through the thin barrier of your innocence and hums at the way your body locks up around him.

Oberyn leans closer to kiss away your tears, his heart pounding in his chest as he looks at your beautiful face. “Are you okay, my sun?” He asks, not moving while you adjust to his cock inside of you. You’re so hot, so tight, so wet, it’s hard to maintain control but he will.

“Perfect.” It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open but you want to see him. Reaching up and caressing his sharp cheek while he holds still over you. Wanting to commit this to memory since it is the perfect moment. “Move, my prince.” You beg him softly. “I want to feel every inch of you.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts to move, his dark eyes focused on you in case there’s any pain but all he sees is love in your eyes. It makes his heart twist. He shifts, resting his weight on his elbows so he can bury his face in your neck, kissing along it and breathing you in.

Every push of his hips makes you moan, your arms winding around his neck and your legs coming up to rest on his hips. He feels amazing and you don’t have any of the discomfort that you had secretly worried about with a husband. Oberyn is perfect and the love you have makes it even better. “Oh Gods, Obeyrn.” You whimper. “It’s so- so good.” 

Your whimper spurs him on to make you cum. His arms sliding under you to pull you closer and his hips rock into you, hitting the back of your thighs. “So beautiful. So perfect.” His voice is raspy and he is desperate for you to cum for him one more time.

It is everything that you want, loving how he is starting to move steadily. Closing your eyes and moaning as he fills you again and again with the heavy stroke of his cock. Pushing you towards exquisite pleasure every time he touches deep inside you. “Oberyn.” You whimper softly. 

“That’s it, my love. Cum for me. Please. Cum for me.” He grunts, pushing into you and dropping his hips so the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushes against your clit. You cry out and he knows he got the right angle. “Cum for me. Soak my cock, my sun.” He orders, kissing your neck as his breath is heavy in your ear.

When you go over the edge, your cry fills his ear. Giving into his order and your body shakes underneath him while you go exactly what he orders you to do. Soaking his cock in a hot rush of cum that sounds loud when he pushes through the resistance of your fluttering walls. 

“Fuck.” Oberyn curses at how you soak him, gripping his cock in a vice but he can’t stop himself. He should pull out but the thought of filling you up, putting his seed inside of you and potentially his child has him falling over the edge within a half dozen thrusts. “Fuck!” He growls, pushing his cock deep as he cums, groaning your name while he paints your walls.

You whimper in delight at the warmth of his seed inside you. You know it is risky but you don’t care, moaning softly and stroking his back lightly while he continues to rock his hips as he rides out his high. Relaxing back into the bed when he is done and you can’t help but give a slight giggle, completely worn out by your new lover. “Wow.” 

Oberyn chuckles at your reaction, glad you enjoyed it. He certainly did. “I love you, my sun.” He murmurs, lifting his head to look into your eyes. It’s true, he adores you, always has, and he has loved you since you blossomed into a woman. He kisses you, slow and deeply, his tongue sliding against yours.

You lean into the kiss, enjoying the intimacy of it while he licks into your mouth. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the nap of his neck and you sigh happily, knowing that you have gotten your wish and you will cherish it forever. When he pulls back you smile up at him. “Thank you, Oberyn. I love you.” 

Oberyn caresses your cheek. “Let’s move you over and you can get some rest. You must be exhausted, my love.” He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone, “I love you too. Sleep. When you awaken, we will feast on fruits and cheese, I’ll send for some more wine.” He tells you, brushing your hair back.

Having sex for the first time is surprisingly exhausting. Turning over and curling up against the pillow that Oberyn sleeps on has your eyes fluttering closed within minutes. It doesn’t hurt that he is stroking your hair and shoulder, relaxing you more than you thought it would as you drift off to sleep with a smile on your face. 

Oberyn caresses you until you are asleep, then he carefully, so carefully, tugs on the sheet beneath you, easing it out from under you before he redresses. Striding down the hall, he has the sheet folded up when he enters his brother’s chambers. “Oberyn? What are you doing here?” Doran asks, a weary smile on his face for his younger brother. He loves him but he is exhausting. 

“Let me marry her.” He says, chin pointed in defiance as he awaits his brother’s response.

Doran sighs and runs his hand down his face, looking over to the door as if he expects you to peek around the corner like you had when you were a child. Obviously you had run to Oberyn but he was surprised that his younger brother was entertaining your notion of love. “She will wed Ned Stark.” He tells his brother. “You will choose a wife now? After all this time?” Oberyn had always scoffed at the idea of marriage, unless he was ordered to by his brother and Doran loved him enough that he hadn’t had the heart. 

Oberyn nods his head, “I will choose a wife. I choose her.” He declares.

Doran sighs, “you are going to send me to an early grave, dear brother. She is promised to Ned Stark.” 

Oberyn chuckles, shaking his head. “A man as noble as Ned Stark would surely want his lady wife to be pure. To not provide him with a Dornish man’s bastard.” 

Doran narrows his eyes, growing suspicious. “Oberyn…what did you do?” He hisses and Oberyn takes the sheet from behind his back, opening it to display the blood on the sheets. 

“Your darling daughter’s innocence…displayed on my sheets.”

“Gods be cursed!” There is a book in Doran’s lap that is quickly hurled at Oberyn, who merely ducks it. If his mobility has not seriously deteriorated over the last year, he would challenge the boy who had been the baby of the family. “You ruined her! For what? Your pride? Another conquest? You could have all the whores in the Seven Kingdom and you chose to make my daughter - your niece - your next whore?” Doran shouts, apoplectic with rage. Oberyn is not a liar, if he said he took your innocence, then that is what is staining his sheet. “Did you fill her?” 

Oberyn nods, “I did. You do not wish for Ned Stark to be saddled with my bastard, do you? It will not shine well on Dorne. Dear brother, she loves me. She wants to be mine.” 

Doran shakes his head, “she doesn’t know what she wants! She is a child!” Doran growls. 

“She is a woman. You have to accept that. She knows her own mind, her own heart. She loves me. I - I love her. Marry her to me. No one need know of her predicament. We can protect her. A royal wedding will please the people. Brother, she is ruined if you send her north. We are ruined.”

Doran shakes his head, dismayed and yet there is truth to his words. “You will hurt her.” He predicts sadly, sighing. “Your selfishness has ruined my daughter and our chance to align with the Starks.” He turns his head and stares out the window for a moment before his shoulders slump in defeat. What’s done is done. “You will marry her before your bastard is showing in her belly.” He decides finally in a tired voice.

****

“You may now kiss your bride.” The priest tells Oberyn who grins, surging forward to kiss you while you are covered by the Martell cloak. His fingers caress your cheeks and you smile against his lips, unable to believe he is your husband. The crowd erupts in applause, the wedding pulled together quickly to account for the babe in your belly. One time was all it took to get you pregnant…perhaps. Oberyn has indulged in his betrothed many times before today. Still, you are with child. His child. So it was best to have a swift wedding. “I love you.” He murmurs when he pulls back.

“I love you, husband.” You are beaming with pride as the two of you turn to face the people gathered. Your father’s eyes are less than pleased but he plasters a smile on his face for the sake of the occasion. “Now we have nothing to worry about.” You murmur softly, aware that the raven had been sent to Winterfell concerning your engagement to Oberyn. Rumor had it that Ned Stark had already secured another bride. Catelyn Tully would be a good match for him.

Oberyn grins, pleased at his new bride, and he guides you through the crowd to the private room reserved for you both during the celebrations. “My sun, you look gorgeous. Edible. A gift from the gods.” He leans forward to press his lips to yours, pushing the cloak off of your shoulders so he can grab your ass through your beautiful sun embroidered gown.

“Husband.” You moan, delighted at being able to use that title with Oberyn now. Since that night he had taken you to bed, you’ve discovered how much you enjoy touching him, fucking him. Learning how he likes to have his cock sucked and how he delights in having you act like the sexual creature you are and not hide your lust for him. “I need you inside me.” You whimper, reaching between you to cup his hardening cock beneath his robe. “Since there is no bedding ceremony, I want to dance with you dripping your seed.”

Oberyn hisses in delight at your words. So naughty and he knows he will want to lick it out of you later. Guiding you back towards the wall, he presses you against it and slides his hand under your gown, fingers quickly finding your clit. “Did getting married make you this wet, my sun? Did it turn you on becoming my wife?” He teases and kisses along your neck.

“Yes.” You pant, closing your eyes and moaning as he slides two fingers inside your wet cunt. “I am yours.” Those words were never more true than right now, reaching into his breeches and wrapping your fingers around to him slowly start pumping him just like he taught you. “Tonight- after other are asleep, I want to suck your cock while you are seated in the grand hall.” The wedding had been performed at Sunspear, the seat of power and Oberyn often acted in your father’s stead. You want to suck his cock while he sits on the Lord’s cushion and pleasure him.

“Naughty girl.” He teases and his cock twitches in your grip, “wanting to desecrate your father’s throne because you are so hungry for cock. I love it. I love you.” Oberyn growls, leaning closer to press his lips against yours. “Wanting to please your husband. It’s beautiful. I want to please you too but right now, I want to fuck you.” He withdraws his fingers, pulling your hand from his breeches and he pulls his cock out. Pressing you up against the wall even more, he gathers your gown and lifts your leg to notch on his hip. “Gonna make my bride cum.” He promises, pushing his cock into you with a low groan.”

Your head bumps back against the wall and you moan out his name. Your condition makes you eager and sensitive. “Oh fuck, Oberyn.” You whimper, looping your arms around his neck and grinding your pelvis down as he starts to move. “Fuck your wife,” you beg, loving how that sounds. “Please make me scream your name for all the guests to hear.”

The smirk on Oberyn’s face is wicked as he attempts to follow through on that challenge. “Yeah? My beautiful bride wants to cum so hard, she lets everyone out there know she’s no longer innocent? They will know tonight you’ve experienced a cock buried deep inside of you. They will know that I’ve spilled inside of you. Our babe shall be born early according to them but we will always know that my naughty wife wanted my cock before it was deemed appropriate.” He chuckles, kissing along your neck as his hips slam against yours.

You cry out, loving how wickedly he looks at things. It’s perfect, he’s perfect. Clinging to him while he drives into you over and over again. His mouth devours yours before he kisses along your throat and nips to make you gasp and clench around him. You know about the bastards he has, both girls. You can’t help but know about them since they live here. You love them as if they were your own. “Your next babe. Maybe a son.” You whimper when his cock pushes up against that sweet little spot inside you.

“My beautiful wife is going to provide me an heir? Fulfill her duty?” He hums. You know he hates the societal standards imposed but he is playful and you know he doesn’t care about a boy or a girl. He wants a healthy child. His fingers dig into your thigh, “a beautiful son. My beautiful wife gives me a son.” He muses with panting breaths. “I want my wife to cum. Squeal so loud they all know I am inside of you.”

It’s not hard to do, Oberyn is an amazing lover and you know you are lucky to have a man be concerned with your pleasure. “Obe-Oberyn!” You cry out as he cock continues to hammer against that spot over and over again until your toes are curling and you are squealing just like he ordered you to, your cum soaking his length and dripping down his thighs.

You squeezing his cunt has him groaning, kissing along your neck, and he thrusts a few more times before he buries his cock deep. Knowing you are his, his wife, the mother of his third child, has him cumming quickly. “Fuck.” He growls, painting your walls with his seed as he presses you further into the wall.

A few moments and lazy kisses later, Oberyn is pulling back, your leg lowering to the floor and your dress falling back into place. “Always so good.” You pant quietly, giving a small giggle of happiness as you catch sight of the beautiful gold ring he had put on your finger. The chain around your neck carries the symbol of the house Martell and declares you a princess. Which you had already been before, but now it is as a wife rather than an adoptive daughter.

****

“Push, princess!” The maester orders while your hand maids wipe your sweaty brow. The baby is coming, one more push and your baby is born. Yet Oberyn is nowhere to be found. No one has been able to alert him of the birth and the labors were quick despite this being your first. You scream as you bear down, feeling like you will pass out from the pressure and the pain but a cry fills the room and you chuckle in relief. The maester quickly inspects the babe. “You have a boy, princess.”

The women set about to help you deliver the afterbirth, the maester tying off the baby’s umbilical cord and cutting it before wrapping him in a soft cloth to hand him to you. “Is there any word of my husband?” You demand, looking down and immediately falling in love with his smooshed face and crown of dark hair. 

“No, my princess.” The young servant who will look after the babe as a wet nurse if you wish it, shakes her head, looking down. “None knows where he is.” 

You grunt, whimpering when the afterbirth passes and the women are still cleaning you as you start to move towards the edge of your birthing bed. “Dress me.” You demand, completely naked for the birth. “I will find him.”

“Princess. I- I wouldn’t recommend - you need to rest. Spend time with your baby.” Your hand maid tells you and you shake your head. 

“I have performed my duty. I wish to show my prince.” You grunt defiantly and the handmaids reluctantly dress you, trying to clean off the blood as you stand on shaking legs. 

“Princess. I do not recommend-” The maester tells you but you ignore him, sliding on your shoes as you shuffle down the hall.

It hurts, your stomach still cramping with the birth and every step feels like agony, your cunt swollen and sore from pushing out the Prince’s son. Blood runs down your legs but you ignore it. Your baby is in your arms and he squeaks and settles back down when you open your loose gown and offer him your breast. Having to stop in the middle of the hall to let him root around hungrily before he latches on. Your old rooms is your destination, having an idea that he might be there since you had been in the chamber you shared with your husband.

Oberyn groans as the man takes his cock into his mouth, the woman kissing along his chest and playfully nipping on his nipple. You’ve been distant lately, not wanting him due to your discomfort of carrying the baby inside of you and he has respected that, seeking his pleasure elsewhere. He’s been in this room for gods know how long, enjoying the man and woman he paid for. You are due any day so he is seeking his pleasures before he is a father for the third time. “Fuck.” Oberyn groans, head tilting back as the man takes him down his throat and the door is swung open.

Fury boils in your eyes when you see the man and woman naked in the bed with your husband. The man quickly pulls off Oberyn’s hard cock with a wet pop and the woman gasps at your appearance. Angry that he has not spoken to you about pleasure and needs, that he just decided to do this so selfishly, your heart breaks when you realize your husband missed the birth of his son, his heir, because of his cock. 

You straighten your spine, bringing you to your full height and shoot all three of them a withering glare. “My su-“ You cut Oberyn off. 

“You have a son, my Prince.” You manage with as much grace as you can possibly manage, sweat still rolling down your cheeks from where you left your birthing bed. “Congratulations.”  With your announcement made, you turn to start shuffling back to the rooms you have been living in with your husband.

Oberyn’s eyes widen and he scrambles to get off of the bed, reaching for his robes to dress and the man and woman watch him in confusion. “Coins are on the side.” He points at the chest of drawers and rushes down the hall, catching up with you when you are still stumbling down the hallway. “You shouldn’t be walking. My sun, you should be resting in bed.” He tuts, looking down at the babe who is suckling at your breast.

“I should be resting in bed, but I had to track my husband down.” You hiss, furious with Oberyn and he reaches for you. You jerk your arm away from him, unwilling to let him touch you with the stink of sex on him. “The servants could not find you when my time had come but they should have just followed the smell of whores.”

“You- you said you were fine with my extramarital activities.” He huffs, walking alongside you. 

“Yes but not when our son was being born.” You hiss and he shakes his head. 

“No one came to find me. I would have been there, my love, you know I would have. I didn’t - I didn’t know.” He argues and you shake your head. 

“No one could find you because you were in the whorehouses until you brought them back here. I know you know how to not be found. You should’ve checked in first.” You argue, hissing at the way your body aches. 

“Please, forgive me. I - we have a son.” He coos, looking at the baby.

“I have a son.” You are angry, disappointed and for the first time since you have been married, tears slide down your cheeks. “Go back to your pleasure, Oberyn.” You tell him hollowly. “There is none to be found here.”

Oberyn stops walking, watching as you waddle back to your chambers, and his heart breaks. He knows you need to have time to process this and he will give it to you. He knows you need to be alone and despite his desire to see his son, he walks back to your old room, deciding to write to Doran and announce the birth of his son and heir.

****

“Daughter, you need to give yourself time-“

You shake your head, your baby sleeping in your arms as you look down at the sleeping child. It has been a week since you have given birth and you have not seen Oberyn once in that time. “I have decided.” You murmur quietly, unwilling to see the disapproval in your father’s eyes. “I wish to go be with Elia. I- I need time away.” You blink back tears and shake your head. “You were right, father. He has broken my heart and I - I need to leave. Please, please send me to my aunt.” She was technically your sister in law as well, but you are begging him as his daughter and not as Oberyn’s wife.

Doran sighs, hating to see the hurt in your eyes and he wishes he could take it away but you created this. He knew his brother would break you eventually, he’d warned you, and you paid him no mind. “Very well. Go. I shall arrange for your transport. Do you wish to bid your husband goodbye before you leave?” Doran asks, wanting you to remain here in Dorne and not allow you in the grasp of the Lannisters.

You shake your head, having already packed your trunks before you ever left Sunspear because you would have hired a ship yourself if your father had not approved. “There is no need.” You straighten your spine despite your heartbreak and try to give your father an unconcerned smile. “No doubt Oberyn has not missed my presence and will have no need for drawn out goodbyes.” You feel slightly guilty for not allowing Oberyn to be around your son, but he had chosen to spend time with others rather than you, and your son was too small to be apart from you.

**** 

Oberyn growls as he opens another door, unable to find you or his son. When an unsuspecting servant walks past, Oberyn grabs them. “Where the fuck are my wife and son?” He demands to know and the servant shakes at the fury in his eyes. 

“They - they are gone, my prince.” He answers and Oberyn narrows his eyes. 

“Where the fuck have they gone?” He demands to know. 

“To - to King's Landing.” He answers and Oberyn slings him across the hall, making his way to Doran’s quarters. 

“You let my wife and son go into that fucking lion’s den?” He growls as he enters, no announcement other than the door slamming against the wall.

Doran looks up from the book he has been reading and sighs as he closes it. “I allowed my daughter, the princess, to go and assist her aunt with her children.” He tells his brother flatly. “To let her heal from the heartbreak of your actions.” He frowns in disapproval, knowing that Oberyn had left you to give birth alone and he was not happy with his younger brother.

“Heartbreak? She hasn’t - she hasn’t allowed me to properly meet my son. She has locked me out because I did what she knew I did. It’s not fair, brother, and now you have let her run away and to be in that cesspool with the Lannisters. It’s bad enough that you let Elia go there. Now I have to worry about my wife and son. Fuck.” Oberyn slams his fist against the wall, furious at himself for allowing this to happen, at Doran for allowing this to happen.

“Your wife suffered her birthing pains alone while you were fucking!” Doran roars, the book in his hand aimed at his brother’s head as he launches it at him. “What if she had died? Alone and calling for you? By all the gods old and new, you should think of something other than your cock!” Doran shakes his head, angry that the bastard had ducked the book. “You will not follow her.” He orders the headstrong brother. “Elia will soothe her heart and send her back when she is ready to forgive the hurt you have done.”

Oberyn glares at Doran, knowing that the order will be enforced if he tries to leave plus he knows you need time. He will write you a letter and have it sent to King's Landing, hoping you will soften and return home sooner rather than later. He hates not having you here where he knows you are safe. He loves you, he truly does, and he knows he has needs, you know this, but he shouldn't have let them interfere with his duty to you. With a sigh, Oberyn nods and makes his way back to his quarters to write his letter.

****

Tears burn your eyes and your throat is thick with emotion, eyes skimming across the ornate scrawl that Oberyn produces when he puts quill to paper. “My sun, my heart is heavy without you in Dorne, the sun in the sky does not shy as brightly as it does with your presence by my side.” You close your eyes and shake your head slightly, not wishing to say something out of bitterness as Elia rocks your son in her arms, listening as you read your husband’s letter aloud. “I was foolish, irresponsibly so and I regret that it caused you the pain and heartache you suffer. I wish to make amends. To have your smile brighten the halls of Sunspear and your laughter to ring out through the Water Gardens again.” You sigh, and lift the paper back up with a trembling hand. “Come home, my Princess. You told me that you wished to be in Dorne and she misses you. I miss you, my love.” You look over at Elia in exasperation. “Am I wrong? Should I have stayed?” You ask, knowing that she and Oberyn had been the closest out of all of them and needing her guidance. She has been a Godsend since your arrival in King’s Landing, even with the current turmoil that echoes in the palace halls.

Elia sighs, looking down at your son who has the same features as his father. “You did what you thought was right for you at the time. If I am honest, I think you should return home. You are needed there and I am certain you wish for this one to be raised in Dorne and not this…this hell.” Elia has confided that she loathes the Red Keep. It’s like a prison and she longs for the warmth of the Dornish sun. “You need to go home, my darling, but selfishly? I wish for you to stay. I barely speak to anyone here. My husband is away…the king loses more of himself every day and I long to keep our children safe…even from him. I wish you could stay but my brother needs you.” Elia smiles sadly.

“Come with me.” You reach out and take her hand, squeezing gently. “Dorne will love to have their princess back for a visit. It will do you good to visit with your brothers.” 

Elia shakes her head, “I have a duty to the people as their future queen. I cannot abandon them now. My darling, stay until the end of the week and then I shall arrange travel home for you. Besides, I still have to spoil my nephew rotten.” Elia grins, cooing down at the baby in her arms. “Write to Oberyn. Tell him you shall return home soon and give him hope. Absence makes the heart grow fonder so I am certain I shall have another nephew or niece to dote on by the time I visit Dorne once more.”

**** 

Screams awaken you in the middle of the night, jolting you from your sleep as you immediately reach for your son in his cradle. The sounds of clashing steel and fighting can be heard in the Bailey below your window and you panicked, throwing on your robe and bundling your son against your chest as you rush out the doors of your chamber to seek Elia. The news of the Baretheon rebellion has grown steadily dire and your ship is set to sail when the sun rises.

Servants scramble in the halls, pushing past you in their haste to flee the danger. Dread pools in your belly, hearing the screams grow louder as you race towards the chambers. They are here, the rebellion has reached the keep and they are coming for all who are in line for the iron throne.

Elia screams, her children clinging to her robes when you come into her chambers. “It’s only me. What’s happening?” You ask, terrified and the baby begins to cry in your arms. “Shhhh.” You coo, rocking him. 

“It’s the rebellion. They have breached the Red Keep. My - my - the King will be killed. I have to protect the children. Get into the armoire. With the children.” She orders you and her children. 

“Mama!” Her daughter cries but Elia cups her cheeks once you are all inside of the closet. 

“It will be alright, my love. Let’s be quiet. We need to be quiet.” She tells her children, looking over at you now that you have gotten your son to settle against your breast. Your heart pounds and you pray to the gods that you will be spared, that Elia and her children will be spared.

You know the chances of Elia and the children being spared if they kill the king are low, that you need to flee in the chaos. “Elia, we need to run. We can make it to the ship. Have them sail now.” You plead with her, knowing it will kill Oberyn and your father if something happens to their beloved sister or her children. “There is a passage.” You know of the secret tunnels. “Let us leave now!” 

“I cannot. They will find us in the halls. We are safer here. My darlings, it will be okay. Just let me - let me step out if anyone should come. I may be able to reason with-” The doors are slammed open to her chambers and you squeal, shaking as you wonder who has come in. Foe or friend. The armoire doors are swung open after several moments and you shriek when a mountain of a man grabs Elia by her arm, dragging her out of the wardrobe.

“Leave her alone!” You shout as you scramble out of the wardrobe and stand in front of Elia’s kids where they are huddled in the corner, clutching your son to your chest. “She is the crowned princess!” You are terrified, certain that all of you are going to die right here in these rooms. “Leave now!” You shout. “GUARDS!”

The Mountain shuts the doors and chuckles darkly, withdrawing his sword and you back your aunt and the children towards the window. “Get the fuck out of my way.” He growls, grabbing your arm and throwing you across the room. You grunt, curling your arms around your son, scared that he’s hurt and during that moment to assure yourself that your son is okay, the Mountain grabs Elia. You place your son in the armoire, safe as you rush back towards Elia, trying to protect her but the Mountain flings you across the room once more. “Please! Spare her! They haven’t done anything!” You plead and Elia screams for the guards once more.

You turn from your crumpled position on the ground to watch as Rhaenys, precious little Rhaenys, rushes towards the giant in armor, screaming and beating on his side. Too young to cause any harm to the man, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing the little girl and lifting the toddler up high before flinging her against the wall. Making Elia scream and clutch Aegon to her chest. “No!” You scream, crawling towards the crumpled body of your niece, unmoving on the stone floor with her neck twisted at an off angle.

Elia cries out in anguish when you try to get Rhaenys to wake up but she’s gone, eyes open and glassy. The young boy - the future king - is clinging to Elia but the mountain grabs him, lifting him up by the neck and with a squeeze of his giant hand, he breaks the boy’s neck, making Elia scream in agony when the man flings the boy down beside his sister. You are shrieking, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look at the children and that’s when horror truly makes your blood run cold. 

The Mountain grabs Elia and what happens next makes you vomit. He violates her, raping her while he chokes her, strangling her until she is still and you are frozen. When he is done, he grabs his sword and you retch in horror when he slices her open, her glassy eyes turned towards you. You are shaking, certain that you are next when the mountain wipes his sword on the bed sheets. “I- please. Please.” You choke, begging for your own life and the Mountain walks right past you. 

“Return to Dorne, tell those fuckers what happened here. The Lannisters send their regards.”

The Red Keep has descended into complete chaos, screaming and steel clanging all around you. You bundle your son to your chest, hurrying as fast as you can. Bare feet slipping on the bloodied steps of the palace until you finally manage to escape from one of the side doors. Rushing towards the waterfront, towards the boat Elia had arranged for you to return to your husband. Your hands are bloody, the necklace she has been wearing in your hand and you are blinded by the tears as you sob in relief, seeing the swaying masts of the ship that will bear you back to Dorne.

****

The horse’s hooves attract the attention of the palace, the servants immediately approaching the messenger who swings off of his horse and rushes into the palace. When the doors open, Doran and Oberyn look up, both of them in the middle of discussing the harvest festival celebrations when the messenger approaches and hands the letter to Doran. 

Oberyn impatiently awaits his brother’s rendition of the letter but the prince pales. “Doran? What is it?” Oberyn frowns and Doran hands him the letter with a shaky hand. Oberyn frowns, taking the letter and his body goes cold when he reads the news that his sister, niece and nephew have been murdered by order of the Lannisters. Robert Baratheon is now king. “She - she’s - oh gods.” Oberyn wants to be sick and his blood boils at the murder of his family. “What about my wife? And my son? Did - there’s no news of them. Is she - is he -? Doran.” He stumbles as he stands up, “I need - I need to go to King's Landing. I need to find them.”

Doran feels sick, his heart breaking at the loss of his sister and her two babies. He knows their deaths had to have been cruel. Otherwise, why would they have put a two year old and one year old to death? “No.” 

Oberyn’s head snaps towards Doran and he grits his teeth furiously. “No?” He hisses. “My sister - her children are dead! My wife and son are there.” 

Doran shakes his head, knowing that if his brother goes to King’s Landing, he will start another war. “We will wait until there is more news.” He tells his brother. “We will have our maester send a raven to the citadel.”

“I cannot. I will not fucking sit here while my sun…she’s your daughter. Are you not worried? I cannot - I cannot just fucking sit here. If the Lannisters wish for war, I shall single handedly bring it to them. They will pay!” Oberyn roars, anger masking his pain.

“Now is the time for cooler heads.” Oberyn’s temperament has always been one to rush into battle when he is feeling provoked but now is not the time. “We must not make a mistake. For Dorne. I love my daughter and wish she were here safe and sound, but she is not.” He does not mention that it is because of Oberyn that you are not where you belong. “Elia’s body along with the children are being shipped back to Dorne.” He swallows thickly. “Now is the time we mourn.”

“You don’t want revenge? They killed Elia. Her children. We should be sending the fucking Dornish army to their door now. The Lannisters have concocted this scheme. We must retaliate. Now. Brother, please. Do not let them get away with it.” Oberyn pleads, needing the anger to distract him from the pain of not knowing your status.

“We would be sending our army to their deaths without proof.” Doran rationalizes. “I am angry. I am sad.” He swallows harshly and shakes his head. “Still, it is my duty to do what is best for Dorne, not just the Martells.”

“Fuck your duty. Fuck Dorne. This is our family and you, as usual, don’t do anything to avenge us. Doran, you - you disappoint me once again. I shall have my own revenge.” Oberyn promises and growls as he makes his way through the halls, staff avoiding him as he shoves open the doors to your chambers, burying his face in your pillow as he allows himself to cry, to mourn, and to pray that you and his son are safe.

****

“My Princess, we will be docking at Sunspear within the hour.” The nervous deck hand waits for you to turn your head, to give some clue that you have heard him, but you just stare at the city as it grows closer every second that ticks by. 

It has been a long week. One that you can recall every second of and none at all. A shadow of yourself as you cling to your son and try to banish the images of Elia and her children’s deaths from your mind. Still wearing your nightgown that you had been wearing when you fled the Red Keep, no women’s clothes on board and what little clothing they could spare was used for your son’s nappies. 

The spires of the palace loom in the distance and you wonder if Oberyn will blame you for not saving Elia, or maybe he will blame you for not dying with her.

When the horn sounds that the boat is docking with Elia and the children’s remains, Oberyn makes his way to the dock, wanting to see the caskets and he has been pulling his hair out for a week, trying to find word of your status. Whether you were alive or dead. He has to know. When he sees you stumble down the ramp of the boat, his eyes widen. “My sun!” He shouts, running towards you and he wraps you in his arms, the baby between you as he holds you close.

“Oberyn.” You gasp when you feel his arms around you, wanting to close your eyes and melt into his safe embrace but you cannot. “She’s dead, Oberyn. Elia- the kids, they are dead!” You sob, breaking down for the first time since that horrible night. “I- I could not stop him!”

“It’s okay, my love. It’s okay. You’re safe. You are both safe.” He feels relieved despite the fact that his sister is dead. He has you. He hasn’t lost you. “You’re alive.” He chokes, tears stinging in his eyes and he pulls back so he can cup your cheeks, looking into your eyes. “It’s okay. You couldn’t - there’s nothing you could do. It’s okay. You’re home.”

“I was- the baby- he lifted her and threw her against the wall-“ you babble in a near panic. “She- oh gods Oberyn, her neck- she was gone and then the sweet little one- he-“ your voice cracks. “They were gone and then he raped her! He raped her on the bodies of her children!” You shriek. “I couldn’t stop him! I couldn’t- he- he raped her and then he killed her like she was nothing!”

“Ssshhh.” Oberyn coos, bringing you into his chest, “it’s not your fault. You couldn’t do anything, my love. Let’s calm down and let me take you inside the palace. You need to be in your home.” He murmurs, kissing your hair and he leans back to look down at the baby. “Gods. He has grown.” Oberyn leans down to kiss his son’s head. Fury beats in his chest, but that will not help you heal right now, looking like you are about to expire on your feet. 

You don’t understand why he is not upset, why he is not furious with you. Your sobs give way to hiccups and you let Oberyn lead you away from the ship, the caskets containing the bodies of your family slowly being raised up from the hold to be transported to the castle. You step onto the hot sands of Dorne with your bare feet and you sigh softly, happy to feel it after what has happened.

Oberyn rubs your back as he guides you back into the palace, everyone looking at you since you are still wearing your nightdress. “Obbaron is safe. You are safe, my sun. The gods have answered my prayers.” Oberyn is relieved and he is sad but selfish, happy you are safe and home…finally.

In the palace, you are stripped out of your filthy and ragged nightgown and placed in a large, lovely bath. You refuse to let your son out of your sight, making the servant tut and disappear to tell on you to Oberyn. You can’t let him go right now. 

Oberyn heard of your insistence that Obbaron be in your arms in the bath and he makes his way to your chambers after he asked for some food to be sent to you. “My sun, let me take him while you bathe.” Oberyn says as he walks in, eager to see the son he barely got a chance to hold before you left for Kings Landing.

You hesitate, almost refusing but you know that Obbaron will be safe in his father’s arms. The servants have all disappeared, leaving the bathing room and you nod after a moment, letting Oberyn come and take your son from your arms. “Be careful.” You choke out before you can stop yourself, even though you know it is foolish. Watching the children being struck down in front of you has affected you, making you tear up again as you step into the large pool of water. Your husband has seen you naked before, even if he did not wish to see you that way anymore - you would not hide yourself.

Oberyn watches you get into the bath and he can’t believe how beautiful you are. Even when wrecked with grief, you are still the most gorgeous woman he has even seen. He rocks the baby, looking down at his beautiful son and he leans down to kiss his forehead, thanking the gods that you are both okay.

You groan as you sink into the water, relieved to be able to clean yourself again after a week on ship. It’s selfish, wanting something like this when your poor aunt will never take another breath. Making you close your eyes so you don’t cry again before you pick up the cake of perfumed soap to start scrubbing every inch of your body, needing to feel clean again.

“I’ve missed you.” Oberyn confesses, knowing that now he needs to be completely honest. Life is too short. He needs you. “I love you. So much. I’ve missed you every single day since you’ve been gone.” He admits, “and our beautiful son.” He looks down at Obbaron.

You snort softly, not disbelieving him completely but finding it hard to believe that he had spent the last months pining for you. “I am sure you found comfort somewhere.” You murmur softly, relaxing into the bath. “I cannot believe for a moment that my husband was celibate while I was gone.”

Oberyn snorts, “alas my cock could not get hard for anyone other than you during your absence. Perhaps your departure forced me to reconsider what is important to me and I know now that I cannot live without you. You are - you are my world and I refuse to live in a world where you do not exist. I was - if you were dead…” He trails off, unable to put the thoughts into words. “I love you. It’s always been you and I need you. More than even I thought possible.”

“You fucking other people did not upset me.” You tell him, your voice level and sure. You have had a lot of time to think about why you were so furious and heartbroken when you discovered Oberyn in your old chambers with others.  “If I had not been carrying Obbaron I might have joined in.”

Oberyn frowns, knowing you had discussed sharing your bed prior to your marriage, deciding to wait until after you had given birth. “You were upset that I chose to fuck over being by your side.” He states and you nod, knowing it seems foolish now. Most men do not come to their wife’s bedside during birth. “I do not wish to share a bed unless you are involved.” He tells you, knowing he made that decision as soon as the guilt hit him. He wants to be fully invested in this marriage and your pleasure is his pleasure.

You eye him in surprise, shocked that he would say that, but Oberyn seems sincere. Your heart melts slightly and you give a small nod. “I have missed you.” You confess. “Elia had- I was due to sail for Dorne just that next morning. To return to you.” It seems important that he knows you didn’t come home just because of the rebellion and his sister’s murder. You blink back tears and swallow heavily. “I wish I had been able to return like that. Simply because I wished to.”

Oberyn's heart aches, wishing that had been the case but it's not and his entire body yearns for vengeance. "Me too." He whispers, looking down at his son once more who has fallen asleep against his chest, exposed by the gapping in his robes. "My sun...I - I haven't slept. I haven't eaten. My worry that you -  I didn't know if you were alive or dead. It was destroying me to not know and yet I lived in fear of knowing in case you -" He chokes, unable to speak the words.

You shuffle to the edge, reaching for Oberyn and stroking his arm as he holds your son. “We are here, safe with you, where we belong.” Your eyes slide down to your sleeping son and you give a soft smile. “He is comfortable with you already, he knows his father.”

Oberyn smiles sadly, “you both should’ve been here the entire time. Not just - not just now. He should know his father. I don’t blame you for leaving, my sun, but I want you to know I missed you every single day you were gone. I love you. And him. I don’t wish to lose you again.”

It’s what you want to hear, all you wanted although you don’t wish to hold Oberyn in a cage. “I love you, my prince. I am willing to share you, as long as no one else comes before me.”

"For now, I wish to have my wife. Tonight, I want you. To worship you and show you how much I love you. Tomorrow, we mourn my sister and her children. In time, I will have my revenge but tonight, I want to make love to my wife." He declares, his dark eyes focused on you.

Guilt settling over you, you look away, knowing you need to be honest with your husband. You couldn’t have known that he had decided to be celibate since you had boarded a ship for King’s Landing. “I must confess something to you.” You whisper. “I have had several in my bed while I was at the Red Keep. All women.” You assure him. “I did not want to risk carrying another man’s child while I am married to you, but I found pleasure in others.”

Oberyn’s cock twitches as he thinks of you in bed with other women. He can’t blame you for it. You are doing what he did but you had left, decided to leave him and go to Elia. He cannot be angry with you. “My sun, I do not blame you for seeking pleasure. I wouldn’t have minded watching.” He chuckles before his smile falls, his eyes meeting yours. “Would you have come home? If Elia…would you have come home?”

“I was already coming home to you.” You give him a bittersweet smile. “Elia told me that selfishly she wished me to stay but that her brother needed me more than she did. Her last days were- they were as peaceful as they could be.” You assure him. “We talked of Dorne and she was making plans to come home for a visit.” You bite your lip. “I wish I had convinced her to come with me. To just leave a few days earlier.”

Oberyn swallows harshly, “it wasn’t your fault my love. It was - the Lannisters. They will pay. I vow they will pay. Elia…gods bless her soul…she was stubborn like all Martell’s so I doubt you could’ve done anything to make her leave. Do not blame yourself.”

You relax, happy that Oberyn does not blame you. You look at the babe in his arms and you wish that things are different but they are not. The only thing you can do is move forward. “Lay the baby in the cradle.” You urge him, suddenly in need of your husband. “Join me in the bath. I need to feel you.”

Oberyn nods, shifting to stand up now the baby is asleep and he gently places him in the cradle across the room before he works on removing his robes and breeches. Once he is naked, he strides over to the bathtub and you shift forward to allow him to get in behind you. As soon as he is in, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you back into his chest, groaning at the feel of you in his arms. Finally.

You moan softly, leaning back against his chest and closing your eyes. It’s the first time in over a week that you truly feel safe. Relaxing against him and letting the silence fall between you. There is much more that needs to be said, but right now you just want your husband to hold you. “I love you.” You whisper softly, knowing that it would always be that way. It would always be Oberyn.

Oberyn caresses your arms, kissing your neck and he sighs, “I love you too,” into your skin. He breathes you in, relieved to have you in his arms again and he caresses every inch he can touch, just wanting to feel you and reassure himself that you are here.

You feel his hands start to roam over your body. Caressing and squeezing you, reassuring himself that you are in his arms. Turning your head, your lips graze his jaw, pressing kisses to his thin line of a beard that frames his face. “I want you.” You murmur softly, already feeling the first pangs of arousal.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs, not wanting to push you if you aren’t ready. You’ve experienced horrors that men at war see and he doesn’t want to push you. He has lost so much, he can’t lose you too. He needs you to fucking breathe. “My sun, tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel alive.” You whimper, grabbing his hands and bringing them up to your still nursing breasts. He doesn’t squeeze harshly, but you moan when his thumbs brush over your hard nipples. “I want to banish the images in my mind and replace them with my husband fucking me.”

Oberyn understands what you mean. Some of his whoring ways are the result of the horrific memories of the battlefield. Nights spent with lovers distract from the things he had seen. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” He orders but kisses along your neck, his fingers plucking your nipples and your responsive moan has his cock twitching against your back.

“Yessss.” You moan and tilt your head back so that you are leaning against his shoulder. “Touch me Oberyn.” You beg, eyes slipping closed as you let him play your body like an instrument.

Oberyn caresses your chest, his lips tracing your neck and shoulders until his hands dip lower. Caressing your stomach that carried his child and he secretly wishes to see you round again, do it properly this time. His fingers dip lower, playing with the curls above your cunt until he finally, finally, presses his finger to your clit.

Gasping, your legs thrash in the water as Oberyn starts to rub your clit. Pressing firmly and stroking you just like you need as you groan in his arms. This is what you need, to be surrounded by him, his scent in your nose as you kiss his pulse. Mindless to everything but the way he is making you feel. “Yes, Oberyn, yess.” You pant softly.

He groans, kissing along your neck as his cock hardens against your back, his fingers rubbing your clit and he wants you to cum just like this. “I love you. My sun. My wife. My love.” He coos, “cum for me.” He murmurs, breathing you in after being apart for so long.

It doesn’t take long, just a few more minutes of his magical fingers against your clit and you are crying out. Shuddering against him while he pushes you through pleasure until your chest is heaving and you are breathless. “Inside me.” You push his hand away and turn over, wanting to ride your husband in the bath. “Need you inside me.”

His hands immediately grip your hips, dragging you close so you are hovering over him and his lips immediately around your nipple, biting and sucking while he reaches down to position himself at your entrance. “Ride my cock. I want you to make yourself cum.” He orders, cupping your cheek while he kisses up your chest.

The only thing he is wearing is his chain with the family crest. Wrapping it up on your fist, you sink down onto his cock with a moan. All the fingers in the world will never feel as good as his cock. “Fuck, Oberyn.”

He watches you, dark eyes getting even darker as he watches you sink down onto his cock, your silk walls gripping him like no one else can. You’re gorgeous and his wife. “Fuck, my love. You always feel so good. Such a tight little cunt.” He coos, gripping your chin to make you look at him.

He is the only man you have let in your body and he knows it better than anyone. His cock spearing up into your deliciously and you clench around him at the lust in his eyes. “Your cunt.” You promise, grinding down onto him and swiveling your hips to make you moan. “Fill me up Oberyn.” You plead softly, looking into his dark eyes that are reflective in the child you made together. “I want to feel you for days.”

He growls, suddenly feeling desperate after he could’ve lost you from his own stupidity. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you against him, his cock thrusting up into you to make the water spill off the sides of the tub. “Should have never let you go. Should’ve worshiped you so you didn’t leave.” He murmurs against your mouth.

Whimpering, you turn into his kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth and your hand curls around the back of his neck. Moaning every time he thrusts up into you, it becomes a symphony of mewls and panted breaths as he rocks his hips up frantically.

Your breath mingles with his and his hands are everywhere, sliding down to squeeze your ass, pulling you into him to help you rock on his cock as he thrusts up into you. “Gods, I love you.” He groans, his lips attached to your neck and he sucks to leave a bruise beneath the skin.

“I love you.” You pant, closing your eyes and tangling your fingers into his hair as you rock up and down on his length. Rolling your hips faster as need builds and you know that you’re going to cum soon. “Please- oh fuck, I’m so close.”

Oberyn immediately presses his fingers to your clit, rubbing it harshly while he leans closer to press his lips to yours. “Cum for me, my sun.” He orders against your mouth, his cock twitching inside of you as his own orgasm nears.

It’s so good, blinding pleasure crashes over you as you buck in his arms. Gasping and crying out when your walls clamp down around him as you soak his already wet cock with a torrent of your juices, barely able to rock on him as your thighs shake.

Oberyn’s fingers dig deep into your ass, working you on his cock while he seeks his own climax. Your walls flutter around his cock, gripping him, and he hisses when you lean forward to bite down on his jaw. “Cum.” You plead and it sends him over the edge. His cock buried deep as he thrusts up into you, painting your walls with his hot seed.

You whine at the heat flooding your womb, leaning in and kissing him gently. “I love you so much.” You promise, pressing your lips to his between words. “My prince, my husband.”

“My princess. My world.” He vows, pulling you close and you giggle at the water that splashed onto the floor. “Leave it. It will be dried.” He tells you and kisses your nose then your forehead. “I - I shall thank the gods you have returned to me.”

****

“You are lovely.” You look in the mirror at the beautiful woman that had been assigned to be your handmaid while you are going through your second pregnancy. “What is your name?” Her fingers are still where they are braiding your hair and her dark, kohl lined eyes look up to meet yours. You know her name, but you wish to talk candidly and to ask questions is the obvious choice to begin. To show interest. 

“Ellaria, my princess.” The woman smiles, her expression is soft and you instantly feel attracted to her. 

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” You coo and Ellaria flusters. You take her hand and bring it to your lips, kissing her palm and she inhales sharply. 

“Not as beautiful as you, my princess.” She responds breathlessly.

She is perfect for your bed. You haven’t missed the way that Oberyn’s gaze followed her when she was introduced and you find her most attractive. “Tell me Ellaria,” you turn and look her in the eyes. “How would you feel about joining Oberyn and I in our chambers tonight?” You ask, smirking slightly at the idea of surprising your husband.

Ellaria’s eyes widen but she smirks, after a moment. “I would be honored to join you and the prince, my princess.” She answers, her fingers caressing your neck and shoulders and you shiver in delight. She finishes your hairstyle and leans down to kiss your cheek. “I shall count the moments until I can be in your bed.” She murmurs and you turn your head to press your lips to hers, wanting to kiss her before tonight. You are impatient.

Her lips are soft, sweet as you reach up and cup her cheek. Deepening the kiss and sliding your tongue into Ellaria’s mouth, you push up to your feet so you can stand with her and hold onto her hips as she starts to kiss you back.

Ellaria caresses your back, her tongue sliding against yours when the doors open and Oberyn strides in. His eyebrows raise and he chuckles. “Looks like my princess is being well looked after.” He grins and slides up behind you, kissing your neck. “Have you asked her, my sun?” He murmurs in your ear, his hands gripping your waist.

You pout slightly that your plans have been ruined but you turn and press your lips to his when you break the kiss from Ellaria. “I had hoped to surprise you.” You huff slightly, nodding and turning back to the servant with a smile. “As you can tell, both the prince and I are eager for you to join us.”

Ellaria flusters, a smile on her face as she leans back to look at you and your husband. “Please let me pleasure you both. I want to please my prince and princess.” 

Oberyn smirks, reaching out to cup her cheek, “let us pleasure the princess. She is carrying my child and I am certain that your tongue on her clit would help her relax.”

You moan at the idea and nod, biting your lip. “Why don’t you show Ellaria how wonderful your cock is while she devours my cunt?” You suggest. “I know you have not been able to fuck me as hard as you wish and I think our girl will enjoy screaming your name.”

Oberyn’s cock twitches at the thought. You’ve already discussed him fucking others and you have given your permission for him to cum inside the ones you like. Ellaria was included in that consent. “Strip my beautiful wife out of her robes before you follow suit and show me how beautiful the female form can be. I want to worship at the altar of two gorgeous cunts.” Oberyn coos as he begins to strip off his own clothes.

You give a small, excited giggle as Ellaria moans quietly and you let her guide you toward the large round bed. “He’s got a wonderful cock and his fingers are magical.” You promise her while she pulls at the thin ties of your robes to pull them off your rounded body.

Her hands are deft, quickly undressing you and her hands caress your bump for a moment before she begins to remove her own clothes. When she’s naked, you turn back towards your husband. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? A true Dornish gem.” You coo, reaching out to cup her breast and Oberyn loves seeing you so free. “She’s perfect for us. Ellaria, lay my princess down and suck on her sore tits while I push my fingers inside of your cunt.”

It takes you a moment to get comfortable but soon you are on your back and Ellaria’s lips are pressed to your skin, kissing up your side before she wraps her lips around your nipple. “Oh!” Your back arches and you cry out in pleasure, your breasts so sensitive since your pregnancy. “Fuck, Oberyn, make her feel-feel good.” You order your husband as he kneels on the bed behind her.

Oberyn groans at the sight of Ellaria bent over as she sucks on your tits and that makes him eager to lean down and slide his tongue through her folds, making her moan out in delight around your breast. You caress her side, eyes closed as you enjoy her hot mouth and you can hear your husband’s tongue diving into her cunt.

The sounds of pleasure fill your chambers, licking and sucking accompanying muffled moans. Your fingers stroke Ellaria’s cheek and through her hair while she sucks in your breasts. “How does she taste?” You ask Oberyn, knowing that she must be delicious, kissing her had been wonderful. “My sun, she is tangy and sweet like your favorite Dornish wine.” Oberyn praises as he lifts his head to wink at you over her shoulder. “When you taste her, you will hate to pull away.”

You grin, “I can’t wait. My handmaid shall be spoiled by us. Her cunt will never be without pleasure.” You promise and Ellaria moans, kissing down your stomach, over your bump until she is between your thighs. Oberyn shifts to accommodate her and he kneels behind Ellaria, knowing she’s wet enough to take him so when her tongue slides through your folds, he pushes into her with a deep groan.

Her moan makes your entire core clench. Vibrating through you wonderfully and your fingers tangle in her hair, your eyes watching your husband’s face as she obviously clenches around him. He looks gorgeously wrecked and you don’t feel jealous, instead you are eager for him to rock into her. Ellaria’s tongue slides through your folds and flicks against your clit.

“How does her tongue feel, my love?” Oberyn asks, his hands gripping Ellaria’s waist as he rocks into her a little harder, sending her tongue deeper into your cunt. “Incredible.” You sigh, shifting to look down at Ellaria as her face is buried in your cunt and you look up to meet the eyes of your husband. “Fuck, you look gorgeous, my sun.”

The three of you work closer to orgasm together. Moaning when Oberyn thrusts into your handmaid and pushes her tongue deeper inside your cunt. You rock your hips up to meet her eager tongue and your hands cup your breasts, toying with your nipples.

Oberyn wants you to cum and Ellaria to cum before he does. Reaching over your handmaid, he presses his thumb to your clit while Ellaria’s tongue dives deep. “Cum for us, my sun.” He orders, his dark eyes meeting yours.

Your eyes slip closed and you cry out, your thighs pressing against Ellaria’s head while you come apart. Heedless to everything but your pleasure as she licks into you.

Ellaria works you through it, her head knocking against Oberyn’s hand until his thumb finds her clit, rubbing it to push her over the edge when his cock twitches inside of her, his orgasm nearing. “Cum for us, sweetness.” He coos, bending over to kiss her shoulder.

You can tell the second she starts to cum. Oberyn gently bites her shoulder and her entire body stiffens. Crying out loudly, it’s the sweetest sound you have heard mixed with Oberyn’s groan. He rocks into her faster, his hips slamming against her ass he fucks her through her high and chases his own. “Cum baby.” You order Oberyn. “Fill her up. I want to see your seed drip from her gorgeous cunt.”

Oberyn clenches his jaw, sweat beading on his brow as he rocks into Ellaria, her cunt dripping from her orgasm and it only takes a few thrusts before he is cumming, painting her walls with his seed. “Fuck.” He pants, eyes closed until he forces himself to look at you, see your expression as his cock pulses inside of your handmaid.

You smirk as you watch the two of them. Reaching out and caressing her cheek where her chin is resting on your hip. “Beautiful.” You coo softly, watching Oberyn as he watches you. “How was your first experience with the Prince?” You ask her curiously.

“Exquisite, my princess.” Ellaria declares breathlessly. 

“Good. I would like you to share our bed. I will require pleasure in the lead up to birth and my husband shall require a beautiful cunt to lose himself in. Would you be interested in being that woman?” Oberyn smirks at your question, pleased to see how you own your pleasure now without embarrassment or hesitancy.

Ellaria’s eyes widen and she twists, looking back and forth between you and Oberyn, who just pulled out of her cunt and moves to settle down beside you and strokes your stomach. He arches an eyebrow at her with a smirk and she flusters. She had been days away from seeking out the brothels to work before she had been brought to the palace to be your handmaid.  Now she was being presented with something beyond her wildest dreams. “I do not know what to say.” She admits quietly and you don’t want to push her, but you want her to say yes. “It is thrilling to know that you would want me that way, but if you should grow bored?” She doesn’t want to be on the streets again, worrying about what food will fill her belly. 

“If that day ever comes, you would still have a place in our household.” You look over at Oberyn who nods seriously.

Ellaria bites her lip, looking at you and the prince, and it’s easy to make her decision. “Very well. I would be honored to be in your bed every night. Whatever you wish of me, it is yours.” Ellaria promises and you shake your head. 

“Only what you wish, too. We will not force you to do something you do not wish to do. We are all about pleasure, aren’t we my love?” You coo at Oberyn, caressing his chest and he nods. 

“Very much so. I only want pleasure. No pain.” He murmurs, his eyes meeting yours and he swears he falls for you again, unable to believe this strong woman is his wife. It’s incredible to watch after knowing you as a shy young woman.

You smile at Oberyn, unable to resist kissing him again before you reach for Ellaria. “Only pleasure. And you will be treated with respect.” You promise her, unwilling to tolerate anything else. “The prince will simply have a princess and a paramour who he can have together without there being any harsh words.”

Ellaria nods, grinning as she cannot believe how lucky she is to be able to share a bed with the prince and princess. Her birth into poverty has not held her back and she is determined to ensure she remains by your side for a long time, pleasuring you and serving you as your handmaid. “Let us wash up and we shall get some food. I want some berries then I want to fuck my wife while she makes her beautiful handmaid cum with her tongue.” Oberyn smirks, eager to fuck again.

****

“You look exquisite, my love.” You coo, reaching up and caressing Ellaria’s cheek before you adjust one of her braids. “Perfectly matched and stunning.” The deep plunging V of her dress is shocking for the women of the North, but it matches the low neckline and high slits in the skirts of your own dress. Both of you dressed to accompany Oberyn to the wedding of Joffrey.

“You are anxious, my love.” Ellaria coos, walking over to Oberyn whose back is tense as he looks out of the window to the streets of Flea Bottom. “I hate being here. With those bastards that killed my darling sister. I yearn for blood.” He growls, tensing when Ellaria’s hand touches his back.

You had refused to stay in the Red Keep, not wanting to return to the very rooms that Elia had been killed in before your eyes. Despite the years that have passed, you feel as strongly as Oberyn. You join the two of them and lean over to kiss your husband's cheek on the other side of him so that both of you flank him. “They will pay. The Lannisters may have dealt us a blow, but we will make sure their house is ground to dust and forgotten.”

Oberyn clenches his jaw, nodding in response and he hisses when he imagines getting his revenge finally. It’s been years since Elia was killed but he’s desperate for vengeance. “The Lannisters…I will kill every last one of them.” He vows and turns his head to press his lips to yours. He grabs Ellaria, dragging her closer so she can press her lips to yours too, the three of you entangled. 

You moan into the kiss, your hand on your lover’s hip. Both of you will need to keep Oberyn calm and keep him from acting rashly. He was hot headed sometimes but with both of you by his side, he can be reasoned with. Together, all three of you will raze the house of golden lions to the ground.

****

The wedding was boring like all royal weddings, lengthy and tedious but when you attend the reception, Oberyn is eager to sip the wine and feast on the berries Ellaria is feeding him. You can feel eyes on you, so many are unused to seeing a prince and princess with a paramour in King's Landing where lovers remain banished to the shadows. “Lover, shall we take a stroll?” You ask Ellaria, wanting Oberyn to have a moment with the young knight who is eying him from across the way. Perhaps tonight, another shall join you in your chambers.

Smirking, you nod and lean over to press your lips to Oberyn’s lips before you stand. Moving over beside Ellaria, you link your arm through hers happily and pick up your goblet to carry with you. You had specially asked for watered down wine discreetly, not wanting Oberyn to worry about your secret for now. “Let us go make scandalous conversation with the noble ladies here.” You tease with a joyous smirk. They would not dare insult you to your face as the princess of Dorne.

Ellaria grins, happy to be beside you and support you during this time of torment, the dreaded capital, and the Lannisters. “I didn’t know the Dornish were so accommodating to their whores.” Cersei approaches and you stiffen your back, staring at the queen. 

“I didn’t know the Lannisters were so accommodating to murderers.” You counter, glancing over at the Mountain who is striding past, watching over the king. 

“My princess. Come, let us walk. You do not need the stress.” Ellaria says, caressing your arm and you glare at the queen before Oberyn joins you, wrapping his arm around your waist, his own jaw clenched. “Cersei. The queen mother as you are now.” He quips, narrowing his eyes when Tywin approaches behind his daughter.

Cersei’s eyes narrow back at Oberyn before she plasters a fake smile on her face. “Tell me,” she hums, turning towards you, “how do you stand the whispers as you walk around merrily with your husband’s whore. She’s birthed four? It’s it four? Bastards?”

Oberyn narrows his eyes before he chuckles, looking up at Tywin. “I suppose four bastards are better than keeping it in the family, isn’t that right, Lord Tywin?” He quips, making Cersei’s smile drop. 

Tywin is cool as he responds, “you should know all about that, marrying your niece after all.” Oberyn’s hand twitches with the urge to stab the older man but your grip on his other arm has him pausing.

You give Tywin a smile that tinges on acidic. “While I might have been the Prince’s niece by marriage, at least we can be sure that there is no common blood.” You tsk and shake your head before you glance at his daughter. “It is a wonder that the King and all the Baratheon children inherited the golden locks of the Lannisters. Almost as if dear Robert’s seed was impotent.”

Cersei hisses through her teeth and the urge to slap you is great but people are watching so she maintains her composure. "Lannisters just have stronger characteristics." She counters, "but my late husband adored the golden locks of our children." She declares expertly and Oberyn scoffs. 

"Perhaps those characteristics are best left in this generation. Your son has chosen a bride with whom he shares no blood relation...a blessing for the kingdoms." Oberyn stabs, making Tywin clench his jaw.

“Indeed.” You smirk as you lift your cup to your lips, nodding at the queen mother as you take a small sip. Grimacing slightly at the bitterness of the wine. “Pity that the king's wedding did not merit casks of good wine to be opened.” You cough, shaking your head slightly.

Ellaria frowns, watching you cough more and Oberyn grows concerned when you start to wheeze. "What - what is happening?" He cries, "my love. Breathe!" He orders, slapping you on the back but you continue to choke, your face contorted. "Maester. Someone get a maester. She - she is with child!" Oberyn shouts, growing more panicked by the second.

Clawing at your throat, you hear the panic and commotion around you, the cruel ring of Joffrey’s laugh as you struggle to breathe. “Dornish bitches cannot handle good wine.” He scoffs, black dots appearing in your vision as you vaguely watch as he swipes his own goblet up and takes a large gulp, as if to prove he is superior.

Oberyn catches you as you collapse, his heart pounding and he tries to tell you to breathe. He begs you to breathe but you rasp and soon enough, you go still. Oberyn shakes you, “please my love. Wake up. Breathe.” He pleads as your glassy eyes stare at him, blood dripping from your mouth and his following roar of anguish can be heard across to Flea Bottom.

Joffrey starts to sputter and choke, drawing attention away from your prone form. Grasping his throat and turning purple as he tries to breathe. Making the smirk on Cersei’s face fall as she screams, rushing from her spot standing over you to where the king has collapsed.

Oberyn doesn't give a fuck that the king is suffering the same fate. His body cradles yours as he wails in agony of losing you. You are the sun in his sky, the air he breathes. He chokes, "please, my sun, come back to me." He begs and Ellaria is kneeling beside him, cupping your cheek as she begs you to wake up too.

**** 

“Please, my love.” Ellaria reaches for Oberyn’s arm, trying to gently coax him away from your body. “The maester needs to close the casket so it can be loaded up onto the ship.” Her red-rimmed eyes speaks of her anguish and heartbreak as she looks down at your still form. “She wants to go home, to be buried in the sands of Dorne.”

Oberyn can’t tear himself away from you. The grief weighs him down every single step he takes. His vengeance threatens to overwhelm him but he knows he cannot risk Ellaria. He has already lost so much. He has to return home and then form a plan for his revenge. Perhaps he can meet the Targaryen he has heard whispers about, assist her with her fight for the Iron Throne. “I love you, my sun.” He whispers, leaning down to kiss your lips before he allows the maester to close the casket. “What shall we do without her, Ellaria? She is - was my entire sun. Now my days are dark.”

“We will go back and hug your babies.” Ellaria whispers softly. She knows that Oberyn loves her, just like you had loved her, but there was a special bond between you and the prince. “And plot our vengeance.”

“The baby.” Oberyn chokes, “she was - she was with child again.” He swallows harshly, barely processing how much he has lost. The love of his life and a child. His other children, twelve in total, are safe in Dorne but he mourns his loss. “I - I am not sure I can live without her. How are you- you appear to be stronger than me.”

Ellaria shakes her head. “No, I am weeping on the inside but I know she would want me to be strong for you.” She murmurs, staring at the casket as the Dornish soldiers had traveled here with you, start to carry your casket to the ship. “She had not announced she was pregnant yet, how did you know?”

Oberyn smiles wistfully, “I know her. Her breasts were sore and she came quicker than normal. She couldn’t hide it from me. I knew she was with child.” He chokes, tears in his eyes as he looks at his lover, your lover. “Let us get on this ship before I do something stupid like rush into the Red Keep and slay every Lannister I see.”

Ellaria wraps her arm around Oberyn’s waist and the two of them lead a mournful procession of Dornish soldiers as they trail behind the cart loaded down with your body.

Once they are on board, the casket is laid in place and Oberyn walks over to run his fingers along the wood. He will ensure you have a proper casket when you return to Dorne. He leans down to press a kiss where your face would be when he hears the pounding. “Gods.” He frowns, “Ellaria. Come here. Do you - can you hear that?” He asks, wondering if it’s his imagination

Sobbing, you beat against the box you are in. This was not supposed to have happened. Waking up in darkness with little room to move, you had cried out until your sore voice had given way. Certain that you are in hell and that the gods are punishing you as you continue to try to get someone’s attention. The noise of the cart and horses, the docks and the men are loud, muffling your cries for help. “I’m alive!” You scream, your voice cracking. “Open it! I’m alive in here!” 

Ellaria’s eyes widen. “She’s awake! My prince, she’s awake!” 

Oberyn’s eyes widen back and he waves over the guards. “Open this fucking casket now! Now!” He demands and the men rush over. They all work to pry open the box and when the lid is removed, Oberyn inhales sharply when he sees your beautiful eyes meeting his, wincing from the light. “Oh my sun. You’re alive.” Oberyn reaches out to grab you, lifting you out of the casket and into his arms, his lips kissing you all over as he sobs in relief that you are alive.

You gasp in the sweet fresh air of the docks, salty and clean. Squinting your eyes against the harsh sunlight, you feel Oberyn’s arms around you and his prayerful kisses in relief. It hadn’t been supposed to happen this way and it chills you to think that you could have been locked in that box until there was no air. You couldn’t warn Oberyn, not if it had to be believable. “It worked.” You hadn’t expected to be out for as long as you were, but you hadn’t died and that was all that mattered. 

“You - you were dead. Poisoned. I- fuck- we thought we had lost you.” Ellaria comes to kneel down, wrapping her arms around you and Oberyn, her own tears wetting your gown. “You’re alive. My princess. We thought -” She chokes and Oberyn kisses your forehead. “We thought you were dead. I’m so sorry, my love. We shouldn’t - the Maester declared that you were dead.”

You reach up and caress Oberyn’s face, turning to kiss Ellaria gently. “It is okay, my loves. You did not know.” You assure them, turning and kissing Oberyn fiercely. “Tell me that it worked.” You can see his brow knit together in confusion. Looking around and lowering your voice, you whisper, “tell me a Lannister is dead. Their cups were poisoned.” 

Oberyn frowns, wondering what you mean until he remembers the death of Joffrey. “My love. Joffrey…he’s dead.” He declares, “he’s dead and he - you - you took the same wine to poison it? What if - it could’ve killed you. I thought it did.” He chokes, pressing his forehead against yours. “Why did you do that?” He demands to know, not wanting to believe that you did something so stupid yet so genius.

“To avenge my dear Elia, to repay them for the anguish that they have brought to our family.” You give a small giggle, pleased that you had taken out the king - the one that would hurt their egos and house the most. “Forgive me for not telling you.” You beg, looking from Oberyn to Ellaria. “I knew you would not let me go through with it if you knew. My plan was to drink only a little and get sick so there were no doubts cast on our house. I have been exposing myself to the poison over the last few weeks to build up a tolerance.” 

Oberyn pulls you even closer, “you silly woman. What - the baby - you aren’t - you aren’t with child?” He asks, confusion on his face as he wonders why you’ve been so off lately. You’ve been a genius, seeking revenge in a way that no one would know but he prays you are okay after the maester inspects you.

You shake your head gently and reach out to cup his cheek. “I would never put your child in danger.” You promise him. “My symptoms were because of the poison and the antidote I was using.” You explain. “I am sorry I worried you. I was hoping more of those bastards would drink. But at least we can know we took her son from her and her daughter prefers living in Dorne.”

Oberyn kisses your forehead, relieved that you are okay. “Do not fret, my love. We will ensure you are with child soon enough.” He chuckles, “I am just relieved you are well. I could not live without my sun. Gods…I adore you.” He vows, cupping your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours, sweet and chaste in a reminder that you are okay.

You smile, reaching out to cup your husband’s cheek and you reach out to take Ellaria’s hand with your free one. “I love you.” You murmur to them both. “They have learned that Lannisters are not the only ones who pay their debts.”

Oberyn kisses your forehead. “No, the Martells get their revenge.” He responds, unable to believe he’s married to such a formidable woman. He could never live without you, ever. You are everything to him. You always have been. You are the light of his life. His sun.