#people only tend to bite their opponents when they are desperate. afraid even.

[pyreshe]

one of my favorite tiktokers is on a h.unger games kick and I am being SO well fed-

#her username is luckyleftie she does media analysis and i hope she finds money on the ground #like this one where she spoke about enobaria and her teeth and how #shes known in the capitol for being so vicious and ruthless shes had filed her teeth into points bc she won her games ripping someones #throat out #but. the video points out that this kind of thing is not the move someone who is winning the fight makes; #people only tend to bite their opponents when they are desperate. afraid even. #and that her leaning into that persona of viciousness could LARGELY be for her protection- #shes done like 10 of these videos and im obsessed w all of them #just sent jo one about mags #gore cw #ask to tag

[concussed-to-pieces]

Her Dove, His Falcon, Their Shield Part One

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn/Reader/Ellaria

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Disclaimer for Game Of Thrones writing here! This installment contains a reader that is a ruff tuff cheeto puff, a damn juggernaut. STRONK. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to culturalrebel and hulia for recommending me compilation videos, as well as to @zeldasayer for inspiring me to write a hella buff reader. This is peak indulgence, pauldronsexual hours bois. I wax poetic about Ellaria, it’s a great time. I'll see you all with part two on Monday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @culturalrebel @huliabitch @absurdthirst @helplessly-nonstop

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains depictions of canon-typical violence, allusions to canon-typical abuse, depictions of sexual activities with a pregnant party and vague allusions to breeding kink. Stay safe!] 

You were sure your fingers were broken.

The pain flickered sunlight-bright behind your eyes every time you had tried to move your pinky or your index, your entire right hand so gristly you didn't dare to look at it after you had bound it up as best as you could.

You clutched your hand to your chest, forcing yourself to focus. The wharf. You had to reach the docks. That had been your plan this morning, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. 

You crept through the shadows, dashing away your tears with your threadbare shawl. Your weeping would only be a sign of weakness, urging the vultures to circle on your corpse before it was even cold.

The creak of timbers heralded your arrival to the waterfront and a soft sigh of relief left your mouth when you spotted who you were looking for. The sailor that had promised you passage was there, leaned against the wall of the nearby harbormaster's quarters. He glanced up at the sound of your voice when you hailed him, tipping his head.

"Well well, look what the cat dragged in." He chuckled, wandering hands already tugging at your shawl. "Have you brought the payment, my dear?"

You pulled forth a small purse of coins. "I know it is less than what we promised, but I was unable to-" The man clicked his tongue, obviously disappointed. "I-I am certain we can come to an agreement, please." You begged desperately. You were so close to your escape!

"Darling, we had a deal." The sailor chided, sounding like he was scolding a child. "You bring me the payment, and I convince my captain that having a woman on board our vessel isn't bad luck. Now, at the eleventh hour, you decide you want to bargain?" The man crowded you back against the wall, his face inches from yours when he muttered, "I don't barter with whores." The blow caught you unawares, the back of his hand connecting with your cheek. You shut your eyes when he raised his hand again, gritting your teeth in anticipation of stifling your noise. 

Gods, you were so tired of this.

"What are you doing to that girl?" A man's voice demanded, his distinctive Dornish accent thick with either drink or weariness. "Get away from her or I will cut you down where you stand, you cur." 

"She is hurt, lover." That voice was lilting, intrigued, a woman's voice. "Look at her hand, and the way her face is turned. She has been struck."

You abruptly felt the sailor's weight removed from your body, the sudden action making you cringe back against the wall. Large, trembling fingers eased your wounded hand away from where you had it protectively curled into your chest. "What has happened to you, sweetling?" You didn't dare to open your eyes and the man tsked after a moment, relinquishing your hand. 

"Lover, we must get you onboard, your wounds-" 

"A moment, Ellaria. This…" A hand touched your cheek, making you start and open your eyes. Dark, textured leather armor met your gaze, the surface spattered rusty with blood. Your breathing stuttered. You didn't dare to look up at the man who wore the armor, staring at his chest as hard as you could manage.

The hand slid beneath your chin, tugging your eyes reluctantly upwards as your shawl slid off of your head. You gasped when you caught sight of his face. The man appeared battered, the sides of his head badly bruised at the temples and cheeks. There were livid contusions that looked suspiciously like large handprints, as if someone had attempted to crush his skull with their bare hands. His left eye was bloodied, laced with spiderwebbed veins and swollen half-shut. The fingers that touched your face were still shaking, his other hand pressed to a dressing that wrapped around his left elbow.

"Not a girl, I see. A woman." The Dornishman said quietly after enduring a moment of your impolite gawking. "And as such, I cannot make this choice for you."

You swallowed hard. You had heard stories about the people of Dorne, about Sunspear and the supposed depravity that took place there. True, you had been hoping to get aboard a ship and go somewhere, anywhere, as far away as you could manage. And with that sailor denying you passage...

The man's deep brown eyes saddened at your silence. "Would you stay here and endure this mistreatment from men like him, simply because it is familiar?"

You shook your head, fleetingly meeting his gaze and opening your mouth. "I have never been on a ship before, m-my lord." You attempted a belated curtsey. You had no idea who this man was, but it was best to err on the side of caution that he was of a higher social ranking than you. Most people were.

He seemed amused if anything, a pained smile crossing his haggard features. "You will soon grow to love it, little dove."

"If it pleases you, my lord." You demurred in a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. Were you trading one cruel man for another? They often hid their true intentions until their audience was gone. But the woman at his side...she didn't seem fearful. "I have naught to offer for my passage but this, my lord." The small purse of coins jingled softly as you extended it to the man in front of you. "I am uncertain how much distance it will buy me, but I am not afraid of hard work."

The man waved it off, cupping your hand around the purse. "Do not trouble yourself with such things, my dove. Our time grows short." 

…

You had been warned of the sea illness, but you appeared to be able to ward off the heaves if you stayed above decks. The fresh salt air stung your cheeks, yet you refused to move from your spot by the railing. You made yourself scarce beside a pile of coiled rope, staying out of the way of the sailors bustling about and watching everything with wide eyes. Your injured hand was still cradled to your chest, but you had no attention for it as you hungrily devoured your surroundings.

King's Landing had been an area tinged gray, dour with gilded suffering. The golden sunsets that would pour through the high windows of your barren room paled in comparison to the sunset you were witnessing now. It was as if the horizon itself was ablaze, a cacophony of reds and oranges that turned the ocean brilliant. You had never seen such a sunset in all your years, and you prayed that it was a good omen. 

The sailors sang as they worked, all of them settling into a rhythm in order to keep everything running smoothly. It was fascinating to watch men pulling lines taut and tacking the mighty vessel into the wind, the ship nimble enough to respond to such rapid adjustments.

"There you are, little dove." Ellaria swayed easily with the motion of the craft, one hand resting on the shrouds to keep her balance. You started in surprise, having not noticed her approach. "You enjoy watching the sailors?"

"They are incredible, my lady." You replied honestly, cocking your head to the side. "I know very little about sailing, but surely their skill is unmatched? You must be immensely proud."

Her laughter was a beautiful noise, just as beautiful as she was. "My lover will be pleased to hear such flattery from your lips! He takes great delight in sailing. Now come with me, flattering dove. We must have the healer tend to your hand." 

You shakily climbed upright, gripping the bannister with your good hand as if your life depended on it. The journey back to the elaborate cabin was fraught with peril for you, and you envied Ellaria's gauzy, simplistic garb every time your heavy skirts got caught on the various cleats and belaying pins. 

Ellaria opened the cabin door and ushered you into the darker environment, tutting between her teeth. "Lover, you should not be upright." She scolded.

The wounded man (now heavily bandaged), shot her a lazy smile from his place at a desk, quill resting on a half-used sheet of vellum. "I know, Ellaria. She tried her best to tell me so as well."

An older woman (the healer, judging from her no-nonsense expression) rolled her eyes and dusted off her hands, approaching you rapidly. You flinched back and she slowed, her gaze flicking to Ellaria in question.

"We encountered this sweet dove on the docks. It is her hand, Ael." Ellaria said quietly, taking your arm. "Come, sit. Ael will not harm you."

You were settled onto a soft cushion and the healer slid your hand into her own, her touch light and careful while she unwrapped your bruised fingers. "How?" She asked, her voice just as quiet as Ellaria's.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the memory, biting your lip. "It was an accident, I didn't mean...I upset him."

"Him?" The man asked, leaning forward and then grimacing in pain. "That man on the docks?"

"N-No, my master. I am...well, I suppose I was, a-a helpmate of sorts. Shield-maiden. I...helped him to don and doff his armor, and I," you hesitated, "well, did whatever was asked of me."

Ellaria made a noise in her throat. "So what crime did you commit, to earn such punishment that would render you useless for your primary task?"

"I...I broke two of his fingers." You extended your uninjured hand in a gesture to allay concern. "I did not mean to! It was an a-accident, he had a trial to prepare for today with a fearsome opponent. His mind was elsewhere, and when I went to slide his gauntlet on-"

"What was your master's name, little dove?" The man interrupted you, his expression thoughtful. 

"His name is Ser Gregor Clegane, my lord. An enormous man who has been dubbed The Mountain." 

"You mentioned a fearsome opponent. But with a master such as that, who was this fearsome opponent?" 

"A prince of Dorne, my lord, one of your own! Can you even imagine?" You sighed dreamily, vaguely aware that Ael was giving you an odd look. She probably thought you childish, still swooning over faceless royalty. "I was told that he was an immensely fierce and clever man, though not in such forgiving language." Then, forgetting your place, you muttered, "I hope that he roundly trounced Ser Clegane."

The man burst out laughing, but winced and held his jaw as Ael fixed him a stern glare. You were certain your confusion was quite bare on your face. "Apologies, I do not laugh at your misfortune, little dove. Rather, at the providence of it all." He explained, still chuckling. "You are to thank for his terrible temper and sloppy work at the trial, then?"

"Oh, you witnessed the duel? What happened?" You asked excitedly, rocking on your seat in anticipation. 

"Oberyn, stop teasing." Ellaria murmured, sounding almost like she was chiding him. 

Oberyn. 

Your heart leaped into your throat as the man tossed you a pained smirk, moving to the pile of cushions and blankets on the floor. "Y...You? You are-?" Your voice failed you.

"Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, a fierce and clever man among many other virtues?" He drawled, looking like the cat that ate the canary as he gingerly reclined on his soft throne. "None other than, sweet dove."

"They are so deliciously genuine, lover." Ellaria crooned to him while you felt your skin flush hot with embarrassment. "They had nothing but lovely things to say about your crew, and now this? Such courtesy."

"Truly?" Oberyn (Prince Oberyn! your mind shrieked in horror) asked, his tone bordering on surprised. "And all of that, without even knowing who you spoke to? Rare courtesy indeed." 

"I...I am so sorry if I've offended you, your highness." You whispered, "I know there is no excuse for my ignorance."

"Nonsense! I owe you a debt, it seems!" Oberyn replied cheerily. You dared to look up, finding him with a hand pressed to the side of his well-bandaged jaw. "Ser Gregor sought to crush my skull after I had run him through. Clearly, it is thanks to you that he could not maintain his grip and I escaped with this colorful bruising."

"So you killed him?" You asked, knowing full-well that the hope in your voice was unbecoming.

"If he is not dead yet, he will be soon." Oberyn seemed outrageously pleased with himself, though his eyes were strangely melancholy. "Justice has been served. I only wish that I could have stayed to witness him breathe his filthy last, but it seemed that the royal family had other plans regarding the outcome of the trial. I thought it better to take my leave before they decided to finish what Ser Gregor began."

You ducked your face into your elbow, trying to quickly hide your tears. Ellaria caught your chin though, her confusion evident. "Why do you weep, little dove?"

"P-Please forgive my loss of composure! I w-weep for myself, my lady." You hiccupped, the words spilling out of you. "I suffered much by the hand of that man. To know that Ser Clegane is in agony or already perished…it feels like a precious gift, yet I should take no joy in the knowledge. To luxuriate in his demise makes me no better than him."

"You are alive and he is not. Luxuriate in that, if you will not give yourself the satisfaction of indulging in vicarious revenge." Oberyn murmured, his tone troubled. "Did he shame you, little dove?" 

You raised your eyes to his and he must have seen the truth there, even though you said softly that you had heard of him doing far worse than what had ever been done to you. "I believe I was one of the luckier ones, your highness."

The prince cursed under his breath, rubbing his temples. "I will be overjoyed to be back in Dorne once again. King's Landing is fraught with madness. A wonder that it still fills me with fury! I am half-dead." He muttered. 

"Indeed you are, lover. You ought to be resting." Ellaria chastised him, her tone fondly concerned.

"Yes, my love. I am immensely weary. But council me before I slumber. What shall I do with this unforeseen ally?" The prince asked, waving a hand in your direction. "They spake so sweetly to me, and I could have been the lowest man in all of Dorne. Such honesty deserves reward."

"Not to mention that without their aid, your head would have been crushed." Ellaria pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "And I would not be able to do this."

"You graciously offered me passage, your highness. That is more than enough-" You began to protest, wincing when Ael tightly bound your fingers together once again. 

Oberyn dismissed your reasoning with naught but a slow flick of his wrist, yawning widely. "Ellaria, the weariness has ensnared me. Do with them what you wish, my love." He mumbled, sinking down into the nest of blankets. Ellaria studied you for a time as you sat silently, letting Ael tend to your hand. You didn't dare to meet her eyes, so frightened that she might view you as defiant. 

"I know you must be used to making yourself small, little dove." She finally spoke softly. "Take heart, the people of Dorne are not so cruel as those you have encountered." Ael had finished wrapping your fingers and Ellaria encircled your wrists, the other woman searching your eyes. "Men use such pretty terms to describe the anguish their counterparts inflict upon us. Shamed, as if you were a naughty child." She shook her head unhappily. "I would promise you your heart's desire, for it is because of you that my beloved still breathes. Anything you wish, you need only ask."

You stared at her dumbly, trying in vain to blink back the fresh tears that rose at her practical words. 

Ellaria tutted, her hand rising to smooth over your tangled hair in a maternal fashion while the tears spilled down your cheeks. "You are exhausted, little dove." She soothed, a gossamer sleeve catching your tears and patting your face dry. "Sleep now. I will ask you in the morning."

...

You woke to someone gently brushing your hair, the groan of timber and faint sounds of water all around you. Certain that you were dreaming, you hummed and shifted your weight, snuggling a little closer to the lap your head rested in.

"Dove, are you awake?" Ellaria. You nodded sleepily, trying to remember who that name belonged to. "I had hoped to be done before you woke." She sighed. "Try to stay still for me, sweet. I will be finished in a few moments." 

As you felt her begin to plait your hair, your mind slowly seemed to shake off the warm haze of sleep. The Mountain. Your hand. Prince Oberyn--

Gods, Prince Oberyn! You flinched, wide awake now. Ellaria patted the top of your head, obviously satisfied with her handiwork. "There! Beautiful." She said decisively. "You slept so soundly, my little dove! You needed the rest, I imagine."

"My lady…" Right back to where you had started, you nearly wept all over again. Your life had been devoid of tenderness for so long, cut off from any warmth or care. Now here was a small smattering, a ray of sunlight through the clouds, and you were utterly in a shambles. "I apologize for my turbulent emotions." You breathed. "I am at a loss."

"Hush, little dove." The woman murmured, a finger tucking beneath your chin to tilt your face up. "You are so pensive! I would see you smile. Breakfast, perhaps?"

You hesitated, your stomach knotting uncertainly. "I do not know if I will be able to, my lady. The ship...I am unused to its motion." 

Ellaria smiled at you, a genuine, soft smile that wrapped around your soul like a secret. "We shall eat above decks, my dove. Something light, to baby that green belly of yours."

Gods, was she teasing you? You had no idea what to think as she got to her feet and extended a hand to you. The light played across her golden skin when she helped you rise, even more of her body on display in today's garb. You felt like a drab sparrow beside a brilliant goldfinch, trying vainly to smooth the wrinkles out of your skirts as you followed behind her.

The sky was blue overhead, the sun just slightly above the horizon. It was still early, though normally you would be going to sleep at this hour.

Your shudder had nothing to do with the brisk sea wind.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Ellaria said gladly, tilting her head at you. Her brown eyes fairly danced with good humor, like she was sharing a joke. 

Your heart clenched in your chest and you swallowed roughly. When you agreed with her, you were unsure of whether you spoke of the sky or the woman beside you. 

After a light breakfast, Ellaria left you to your own devices. You continued to watch the sailors with awe, thankful that they all seemed perfectly content to ignore you.

It did not take long for the prince to grow bored in his confinement, his complaints growing louder and louder until he emerged onto the deck. Half-dressed, Ellaria following after him bearing a light golden wrapper, Oberyn stalked to the railing and stared moodily across the water at the other ship that had departed alongside his at King's Landing. 

"Had I not promised Cersei that I would bring that miserable pile of driftwood to her child, I would scuttle the whole affair." He muttered, stroking his facial hair. Ellaria attempted to drape the dressing gown around him, beckoning for you to come assist her. "Even after all the harm she's done, I will not cause undue grief to...ah, my dove!" The sight of you seemed to shake him from his doleful contemplation, and you couldn't help your flush when the prince idly brushed his fingers over your cheek after you had succeeded in helping Ellaria. "Have you decided what you might ask of me, little dove?" Inhaling a bracing gulp of air, you nodded. The prince inclined his head, tucking Ellaria into his side and then raising his eyebrows at you in silent query. 

"I ask...I-I ask two things of you, your highness." You winced when your voice squeaked nervously. "First, I humbly request that you hear me until the end. What I will ask...I know that it is laughable." The prince frowned, but nodded. "I was trained for much of my years in the manner of a soldier, as my mother bore my father no sons. That is how Gregor found me." You steeled yourself. "I would like to continue my tutelage and, once I have become a full-fledged warrior, I would ask to join your soldiers and fight under the flag of Martell."

"Why...Why would you ask for that?" Oberyn queried, his tone one of immense confusion. Ellaria looked bewildered as well.

"After everything that has...happened, to me, everything that has been done to me, I am no longer fit to marry." You explained, doing your best to be ginger with your speech. "Yet, I would serve the man who slew Gregor with my very life. All I can ask for is the chance."

The prince lifted his hand, laying it across the back of your neck and tugging you to lean close. He pressed his forehead to your own, his eyes searching yours. "Not a dove at all." He murmured finally. "A falcon. You will have your wish and one better, my falcon. I will not see you amongst the rank and file of soldiers in my brother's army. You shall train as a knight." His hand clapped your shoulder warmly. "A knight of House Martell. It will be difficult! But I know you would not expect ease after the life you have endured." He glanced at Ellaria. "What say you, my love?"

Ellaria's smile was soft and a bit sad. She cupped your face, touching her forehead to your own as well. "Elia would have loved the spirit of this one."

Elia Martell. You had heard the stories, of course, but the depth of the anguish you saw in Oberyn's gaze took your breath away. 

The prince nodded sorrowfully after a moment, kissing Ellaria's knuckles. "Aye, she would have. But she can rest easy now, my love, and that is all that matters."

…

"Again!" The battlemaster shouted, his hand extended to direct. "First form!"

You had flourished under the watchful eye of the head warriors of House Martell, training alongside several of Oberyn's own daughters. The strength you had built through your prior training with heavy plate and shield made you unexpectedly hardy, especially when clad in the much lighter leather and chain mail that the Dornish warriors wore. 

You were able to wield a pike on foot with relative ease, and Oberyn saw to it personally that you were granted a larger shield. "If you are to be drawing the enemy's attention, I would rather you are shielded…"

You assumed the first stance, your form wavering ever so slightly when Oberyn and Ellaria emerged from a nearby hallway to observe the training. 

The prince was well on the mend from his grisly ordeal with Gregor, only bearing a slight tenderness in his left elbow during poor weather. He was a truly lucky man. Ellaria was in good spirits this afternoon, her smile radiant as she waved to you. You bowed, panting a little from the exertion of your training. The battlemaster dismissed you with a grin, overused to such royal interruptions. 

Oberyn's younger daughters flung themselves at you in their typical fashion the second they were permitted, all of them piling onto you in an effort to take you to the ground. You struggled valiantly against the assault as Oberyn laughed, the man wading into the mass of bodies after a moment to pluck Loreza from your back. "Such violence from my beautiful children! You are your mother's daughters." He teased with a broad smile, rubbing his nose against Loreza's. 

Dorea danced around her mother, tugging at her hands. "May we go to the water gardens, mama?" She asked, pausing to meticulously straighten her petite bracers. Dorea took the training very seriously. 

Ellaria nodded, patting her on the head. "Alright my little snakes, rise from the sand and go play." She urged, "You have all done so well in your training today! I am very proud." Elia rolled her eyes, shaking her head when Obella and Dorea shrieked their delight. She was, of course, too old to let such maternal praise cloud her impressions of how her training had actually gone. 

You wished you didn't light up as bright as the children whenever the prince and his paramour praised them. You knew that it was foolish. 

"We are both impressed with your progress. It has only been five months and yet, you fight as if you were of Dorne yourself." Oberyn observed after his children had departed, his hand resting at the small of Ellaria's back. 

You went hot at the praise, bowing and stammering, "a-all due to your faith in me, your highness!"

"How many times must I insist that you simply call me Oberyn?" He asked, the grin he shot you making your knees weak. "After all, unwittingly or not, we conspired together as equals!"

"Do not tease her so, lover!" Ellaria chided him. "We had something to tell her, remember?"

"Apologies, my love." Oberyn cleared his throat, and his face grew incredibly serious. "My falcon, we come bearing wonderful news. My paramour is pregnant once again." He announced, "A new Sand Snake will be born in but six months time."

You gaped at him, then at Ellaria, who was beaming. "Oh, that is...good?" You half-questioned. True, the people of Dorne had radically different viewpoints from the rest of the world when it came to bastards, carnal acts and indeed, their sexuality in general. You were still adjusting to such broad views.

Ellaria nodded, thankfully not visibly offended by your hesitation. "In Dorne, children are a treasured blessing, not the death knell that so many seem to see them as." She rested her hands on the nearly imperceptible swell of her belly. "Oberyn wished to ask you to become my sworn knight, to defend me from such trials that pregnancy brings." Her eyes were dancing again; she was joking with you. 

You chuckled nervously, dusting the knees of your breeches off. "I fear I would do more harm than good in that department, my lady." Despite her insistence that she was but a bastard, you always referred to her as 'my lady', just as you always referred to Oberyn by archaic honorifics. 

"Are you greatly concerned with the skirmish I am sending you to, my falcon?" Oberyn asked bluntly. 

You shook your head. "Not at all, your highness. I have faith in my skill, as well as the competence of Prince Doran's military."

"I will be there as well, though only advising in my elder brother's stead." Oberyn sighed wistfully. "You must be twice as fierce on the battlefield, my falcon! Fill my place in the ranks."

"I must be at least six times as fierce if I were to try and match you, your highness!" You protested.

"The genuine nature of your flattery never ceases to raise my spirits, my falcon! Dorne will need your strength." The prince grinned sharply, "And your ferocity. I assume we can expect great things from you?" He extended his forearm and you clasped it, feeling the coil of muscle that lurked beneath the sleeve of his brocade robe.

"You may depend on me, Prince Oberyn." You replied firmly.

...

It was to be a simple pincer attack, your small battalion held in reserve to strike at the most opportune moment. Everything always seemed so straightforward when in the map room.

Now, in the muddy chaos of the battlefield, you planted your massive tower shield as a rallying point for the foot soldiers and warded off the attacks that poured around it like river water. Cavalry thundered past you into the fray, lances up and proud Martell trappings flapping in the breeze. You struck down Dorne's foes without mercy, attempting to do the absent Oberyn justice.

Until you caught sight of Elia, torn from her horse by a greatsword-wielding warrior. She hit the mud hard, barely rolling out of the way of the man's full swing. He landed a glancing blow on her shoulder and you heard her cry out.

You jerked your shield up out of the ground, terrified beyond measure that she would not hear your voice. You gathered your legs beneath you to brace for her weight and shouted, "Lady Elia!" Her eyes met yours for a split-second. "Ninth form!" With your shoulder and knee set into the back of your shield, you tilted the metal.

The smaller woman bolted up and onto your slanted shield, then wheeled and sprang off with her arm outstretched to grapple the warrior's neck. The man was floored by the blow, he and Elia tumbling to the ground. You thrust your spear through the offending wrist that still gripped his sword, your razor-sharp weapon piercing the weak point in his armor and pinning his hand to the ground as he screamed. 

"If any man dares to touch a Sand Snake, he shall lose his hand and his life." You seethed, raising and then crushing the edge of your shield down on his throat. Elia stared up at you, hurriedly accepting your hand when you offered it. "Are you badly injured, my lady?" You asked worriedly.

"Just winded." She jibed but winced afterwards, touching the blood blotting her armor at the shoulder. "Damn it, and perhaps my shoulder could use tending."

"Shall I escort you back to the stratagem, my lady?"

"So courteous! A true knight." She teased, laughing. "Of course, deliver me to the hands of my hen of a father, that he might chatter and squawk about how careless I was." She tossed her head haughtily. "Wonderful."

"I meant no disrespect, my lady." Elia had a rebellious streak that may have very well been the entirety of her body. Fiercely capable and cunning beyond measure, this would be a blow to her pride. But you could not very well permit her to venture on wounded and get herself killed in the bargain, so you herded her gently back towards the stratagem tents.

You were both soaked head to toe with the blood and sweat of battle, so Oberyn's gut-wrenching expression of terror upon catching sight of his daughter was to be expected. "Elia!" He cried, striding out of the tent. "Where is the wound? You would not retreat willingly, you are too stubborn."

"Hush, I am well. Your falcon saw to that." Elia retorted, gesturing at your massive shield. "She clove a man's head off with that simply for touching me."

"He did a sight more than touch you, my lady." You replied stiffly, "I merely retaliated."

Oberyn enfolded his daughter in his arms, squeezing her tightly as you stripped your helmet off. "Straight to Ael with you. You have done well." He praised her, "but this shoulder will need to be tended lest you lose feeling in your hand."

After Elia had departed, you dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your highness. I was not fast enough to keep her from harm."

"Lightning itself is not fast enough to keep that one from being wherever she wants." Oberyn replied dryly, clapping your shoulder and urging you to stand. "You brought her to me, a task which I'm certain she did not make simple. You are…" he trailed off, staring at you. Since you had removed your helmet, you assumed you must have some mud on your face. Why else would he look at you as though he had never seen you before? Perhaps the sun was in his eyes, or maybe your hair was much more hopeless than usual.

You quickly scrubbed at your cheeks, but Oberyn remained silent. "Prince Oberyn?" You queried tentatively.

"You are capable." He managed to finish his thought after several more moments. His voice was strangely faint. "Thank you for returning her hale and whole to me."

"Are you well, your highness?"

"Quite well. Astonishingly so, given the circumstances."

...

You were knighted formally as Ser Shieldove of House Martell on the following new moon. Oberyn winked at you in playful insinuation when you and several other new knights knelt before his brother to be anointed with seven oils, nearly causing you to embarrass yourself by laughing. The younger prince had become markedly more flirtatious towards you after the skirmish, his teasing bold even for his standards. You had dismissed it though, certain that he was merely expressing his gratitude with some flattering attention directed your way.

At the feast that followed, Oberyn and Ellaria flanked you instead of taking up their usual position at the head of the table with Prince Doran. Ellaria in particular was nearly hanging off your arm as the both of them fed you from their own trenchers. His tender touch while he plied you with fruits and the brush of the pads of her fingers against your lips made your throat burn with an odd emotion that you dared not examine. The flavorful dolmas hit your tongue and turned to ash in the wake of Ellaria's beautiful smile and Oberyn's jests.

The prince was regaling anyone who would listen with the thrilling (and greatly exaggerated) tale of you and Elia in the skirmish. "-my daughter, Elia Sand, though wounded, fought valiantly against a warrior seven times her size. Ser Shieldove, thinking quickly as she always does-"

"That is a falsehood, your highness." You protested, making Oberyn and his audience laugh. "I was in a panic. I was so fearful I would not reach her in time."

"What is a skirmish if not an opportunity to embellish?" The prince teased. "As I was saying, Ser Shieldove utilized one of the many tactics she learned in her knightly training…" While Oberyn prattled on, you felt his hand rest idly on your leg. You barely kept from leaping out of your skin when he gripped down a little tighter, his fingers rubbing circles through the gossamer of your gown and the fabric of your hosiery.

"More wine?" Ellaria asked sweetly, refilling your goblet before you even had the chance to nod. 

"Thank you, my lady." You cocked your head to the side. "Are you well? I hope the babe does not grieve you."

Her lovely laughter, combined with the hypnotic press and drag of Oberyn's fingers, made you wish that you could stay where you were forever. "I have done this four times before, my falcon. Or should I say, Ser Shieldove?" She chuckled. "I am prepared for whatever discomfort this little one sees fit to inflict upon me."

You smiled at her, stating sincerely, "I am in awe of you, Lady Ellaria." 

"Of me? Whatever for?" She asked in surprise. 

"Your willingness to bear children. It is...I do not know if I would ever have the strength for such an endeavor." You admitted softly, leaning in a little. "Your joy is pure and rare, unlike anything I have ever witnessed. You are practically aglow. It makes my heart ache and sing all at once, to see you so happy."

Ellaria took your hands in her own, clasping them to her heart. "Ser Shieldove, your flattery has not lost its edge." She murmured, her eyes bright. "Though I know your duties may take you elsewhere, when you have a moment of respite, I...would be more than willing to have one of my midwives explain certain things to you. I understand that fear of the unknown keeps many in the darkness."

Your heart buckled in your chest, hope and terror at war with one another. "I know not whether I...that is, I am uncertain if I am able, Lady Ellaria." You replied in a hushed tone. 

Ellaria nodded, her expression saddened. "I know, sweet dove." After a moment, she rose to her feet. "Oberyn, lover, will you accompany Ser Shieldove and myself to the water gardens?" 

The prince immediately rose and you floundered to do the same, caught off-guard by the sudden request. "Of course, my love." Oberyn's tone was light, but you couldn't shake the notion that he had been waiting for her to say something.

His hand stayed on the small of her back the entire stroll to the gardens, and you found yourself envious of those fingers, envious of her skin. To know such gentle touch, to be able to touch so gently…

During the day the pools were alive with the sound of children of all ages, laughing and splashing about in the refreshing waters. But here and now, the only sounds were the wind stirring the water's surface and the low, inquisitive calls of the bullfrogs. Ellaria settled onto a bench, patting the stone beside her after a moment. You sank down in an unwieldy mass of delicate fabrics, longing for your armor. The dress was beautiful, but it drew so much attention.

"Speak to us, sweet dove." Ellaria implored, taking your hands in her own again. "We would know what troubles you in regards to these delicate matters, without fear of judgement or embarrassment." 

Oberyn cleared his throat, large hands framing Ellaria's shoulders. "The merrymaking of the evening cannot erase the furrow of contemplation from your brow, my falcon." 

You hesitated, staring down at Ellaria's hands wrapped around your own. Her fingers were slender, delicate. "I see the two of you, how tender you are with one another and I wonder if...I wonder whether I might ever find such companionship." You shrugged helplessly. "I am unskilled in these matters. Gregor was...the only one. I do not know if I could ever subject myself to...if I could ever…" You trailed off, biting your lip.

Oberyn muttered an oath under his breath and then quickly apologized, continuing on to say, "Brave, fierce falcon. You were dealt a terrible wound the day that monster stole you away. I had wondered why you did not accept the propositions offered to you by many of the other knights, but I merely assumed it was a difference of our cultures." 

You shook your head shyly. "No, your highness. I find their attentions flattering, yet frightening for this very reason." You were dealt a terrible wound. Oberyn regarding it as such, instead of simply as a normal occurrence for a woman to overcome, was strangely heartening. "Perhaps the wound lingers, festers beneath my skin. Perhaps I shall never be gentle again, and never know myself what such gentleness feels like." You thought aloud, voicing your worst fears. "Perhaps my life will be nothing but roughness and the whirling tumult of battle, my only chance thieved away from me."

"Oh, my sweet dove." Ellaria sounded distraught and you turned your attention to her, surprised when you saw her weeping. Her hands cupped your jaw, tugging you close enough to rest your forehead against her own. "You have such an immense capacity for love, daughter-defender. My heart breaks at the thought of you locking yourself away out of fear." 

"My lady…" Tears welled up in your own eyes and you tried to wipe them away hastily.

Oberyn shifted to the side, his arms wrapped loosely around both you and his paramour. "Do you watch us often, my dove?" He asked quietly. "Does it bring you peace to see how we exist together and with others, as easily as rising in the morning?"

Your throat ached with your tears. "The way that you touch her, your highness-"

"My body was designed solely for the pleasure of my lovers, sweet dove." Oberyn informed you, his deep brown eyes unbearably soft in the dim light of the lanterns. "It is a weapon on the battlefield, but never in the bedroom. Even if I come at my lovers with passion, there is not and should not be fear."

"I am a knight of House Martell, and yet I cringe at something so mundane!" You tried to jest, tried to smile.

"Many a warrior is thrown from a horse once and refuses to ever ride again." Oberyn pointed out, his hand absently stroking over your hair in a calming motion. "If an action has only ever caused you agony, you learn to avoid it." Ellaria tugged at Oberyn's sleeve, whispering in his ear when he bent lower. The prince smiled after a moment, nodding. "Of course. Whatever you like, my love." He agreed.

"Sweet dove, at some point in the future I would like to invite you to witness us in our bed chamber," said Ellaria, the words from her mouth damning and sweet as honey. "We are comfortable with an audience and multiple partners, as you are well aware. We would be more than happy to display the way certain acts ought to be performed." She laughed after a moment. "Truly, if I get much larger I may have no recourse but to ask for assistance when my cravings grow too raw!"

You swallowed, then inhaled raggedly. How long were you planning on languishing in this manner? Ignoring your desires out of fear and anxiety over what had transpired? Though Oberyn had assuaged your feelings of inadequacy, you no longer wanted to be the warrior thrown from your horse. You were a knight of House Martell, in soul and now in title. "I would be honored to witness such a thing, my lady." You croaked out, wincing and clearing your throat awkwardly. 

Oberyn's smile was a fond one, the man placing a kiss on his paramour's forehead. "Never fear, falcon. We shall not push you further than you can go."

…

Some weeks later, the battlemaster woke you out of a sound sleep, his tone one of long suffering. "Prince Oberyn seeks your council, Ser Shieldove. He bade you wear your armor, but bring no weapons."

Your mind whirled. Had something happened? Gods, Ellaria-

You weren't certain if you had ever donned your armor faster. It was scarcely ten minutes before you were striding through the airy halls, your tunic rustling beneath your light armor and mail. No weapons, he had said. What manner of exercise could this possibly be?

The prince flung open the doors of his chambers when you approached, his expression tight yet grateful. "I apologize for rousing you at such a late hour, my falcon." 

You dropped to a knee in typical salute. "What has transpired, Prince Oberyn?"

"Ellaria believed that tonight would be a good night for you to...witness. That being said, she wished for your assistance." The man said delicately. "My love is--ah, how to say this without being crass. She is swollen with child, and yet she craves a certain position." Oberyn raised his eyes to your own. "She reasoned that your strength would be sufficient to keep her balance while she indulges."

Your mouth went dry. "M-My strength?" You stammered. He nodded, studying you intently. His heavy gaze alone had you smoldering, had you nodding without thinking twice. He gestured you onwards into their private chambers, closing the doors after you.

Ellaria, her form barely concealed by the thin curtains of their bed, called your name so sweetly. Like a sinner to judgement you crept close, eyes averted from her nudity. "My dove, there is no shame here." She crooned, one finger beneath your chin urging your attentions to her body. Her kiss to your forehead was gentle, her heavy breasts pressed against your armor with her closeness. 

"Lady Ellaria." you breathed, wanting more than anything to greedily embrace her in your arms, shield her from the world. No one deserved to even look at her, no one--

Except Oberyn, of course. The prince was leaning easily against one of the banisters, one ankle tucked over the other while he observed his paramour with a blissful expression. Only Oberyn. Your heart ached, full enough to burst with your unspoken affection for the prince and his beloved. 

"The prince said you requested my presence, my lady?"

"I want you to see us, my dove." Ellaria said simply. "I may require your assistance, but until then…" She beckoned Oberyn closer and did not finish her sentence. 

The prince cupped her face and kissed her passionately, his smile curved against her lips. Once he was done, however, he turned to you. The bristle of his mustache met your forehead, grazing the skin teasingly before he kissed it. "A kiss from a prince. Let us hope you do not turn into a frog!" He said with a grin.

Ellaria's fingers kneaded at his light dressing gown, spurring him to peel and discard the garment. "Come, Ser Shieldove. Sit on the side of the bed and watch us." She implored.

"Are you certain, my lady?" You asked, hesitation plain in your voice even as your fingers twined greedily into their rich bedspread. "It is not...distracting that I am here?"

"Far from it." Oberyn grunted, chucking you under the chin. "It is a rare treat, to have my devastating falcon in the same bed as my lovely paramour. I will not involve you beyond function, of course, not without your consent. You are the audience tonight, and Ellaria wishes to show you the tender acts I inflict upon her."

You did not trust your voice to reply. You knew logically that there was no possibility of Oberyn causing her harm. You watched his hands, the shift of the candlelight shadows playing across the olive skin. Oberyn was languid in nearly every aspect of his life aside from training and battle, so it was no great shock that he was slow in his approach as well. 

He trailed a single finger down between Ellaria's bare breasts, over the swell of her stomach. Your hands fisted tight enough to ache in the bedspread when Ellaria crooned to him, the sunset-hued fabric wrinkling in your grasp. You were entranced, enthralled as surely as if you had been under some spell. 

"Lover, please…" Ellaria begged, and oh! Her voice was the sweetest music, a wine heady and luxuriant. How did Oberyn resist her? How did he temper his longing, when all you wanted to do upon hearing her ask once was fall to pieces?

"She knows I will satisfy her." Oberyn said softly, as though he had read your thoughts. He lowered his mouth to her breast and her fingers found his hair, cradling him close. His hand wandered lower and lower, seeking out the wetness that had built between her thighs. 

Your gorget threatened to choke you when you swallowed convulsively at Ellaria's trembling sob of pleasure, the prince shooting you a smirk from his prime seating.

"I think our falcon has taken a shine to your mewling, my love." He informed Ellaria quietly. His hand spread her wide, fingers lewdly displaying her plush entrance slick and pink, delicious--you caught yourself leaning in and quickly jerked upright. 

Ellaria noticed your interest, if her moan was any indicator. One hand left Oberyn's hair and reached out over the blankets to you, fingers extended as far as they could go. She fell just shy inches from your arm, blindly fumbling. 

Oberyn carefully scooped her hand back up, kissing her knuckles. "We do not touch her, my love." He reminded her. "Until you need her help to take me, and even then. Our falcon, our dove, she is a warrior, not a plaything." He glanced over at you, his expression mischievous. "It is enough that she wishes to touch you already, my love." His fingers plunged into her cunt and gods, she was wet enough to hear. 

Your thighs clenched and you felt shameful, like an intruder, but Oberyn hummed as if to draw your averted gaze to where his fingers plundered her slick folds. 

"She is much more sensitive when she is bearing." He sounded a little breathless, his dark eyes nearly black in the dimmed lighting. "I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain."

"Two or three?" You echoed him in doubt, your voice rasping in your throat when Ellaria's back arched off the bed. She cried out and Oberyn moaned with her, his own enthusiasm evident in the way he claimed her mouth with his. She was beautiful, skin flushed and damp with sweat, and he was so gentle with her.

"I need you now, lover. I cannot wait, please, please-" Ellaria implored against his lips, and the tender way he soothed her hair back from her forehead made your chest ache. "I have missed you beneath me, my sweet Oberyn."

"And I have missed you, my divine Ellaria." Oberyn helped her kneel, then gestured you closer. "If you wrap your arms around her midsection--"

"Is that safe?" You interrupted warily, concern destroying your propriety. Oberyn just chuckled, rolling off of the bed to divest himself of his pants. You fought the urge to bury your face in Ellaria's neck out of embarrassment.

"Sweet dove," Ellaria's hand cupped your burning cheek. "If this is not to your liking…"

"Of course it--I mean, if-if I...what if I do something wrong? What if I hurt you?" You mumbled. "Men act as though we are unreasonably delicate for expecting an ounce of caution, yet we endure so much at their whim."

Ellaria interlaced her fingers with your own, bringing your palms to her defined hips. "I will not break, my gentle dove." She stated, a defiant toss of her head serving to drive her words home. She was the devoted paramour of Prince Oberyn, after all! Already mother to four of his children, soon to be five. 

Oberyn knelt on the bed and you couldn't help the way your eyes devoured him. His hair tousled, mouth still red from hungry kisses, lean body on full display. The member that hung between his legs had your breath hitching with a mixture of vague apprehension and arousal, how-

You tore your eyes away, tucking your nose in the thick waves of Ellaria's hair as your thighs flexed yet again. She smelled of comfort, of citrus and the spiced strongwine from their evening meal. Ellaria sighed, relaxing her weight back into your arms. "You are so warm, sweet dove."

Oberyn's hand stroked your cheek and you were unable to conceal your flinch. "Do not fear me, gentle dove. I would never harm in the bedroom; here, I am no longer the Red Viper." His tone was grave, and you saw sorrow in his eyes when you dared to look up. "I am simply a man hopelessly in love." His hands covered your own, tightening your grip on Ellaria's hips. "Now, help my paramour to rend me as she sees fit."

You did as you were asked, feeling the anticipatory tremor that ran through Ellaria's body. She wanted him. She yearned for him, canting her hips as far as she could to draw him close. But Oberyn was thorough, coaxing her thighs apart inch by inch and laving her hot skin with thousands upon thousands of adoring kisses. She was on the verge of collapse before he even deigned to lay down beneath her, and now you understood your place in their endeavor. 

She sank down onto his cock without hesitation, a breathless whine of delight leaving her lips while her head lolled back against your shoulder. Oberyn's cry in response was low, wanting, the prince's chest heaving as he thrust up into her. "Ellaria, you beautiful fucking woman." He seethed through his teeth, "Help her take me, my falcon, hold her steady while she tears me apart."

"Oberyn!" Ellaria sobbed, clinging to your arms while he urged her hips forward and back to ride his cock.

"If she wishes for another child, she entices me by laying on her stomach and beckoning me near." Oberyn informed you lazily between arching his hips up to meet his paramour. "When she does I am but her willing stud horse, lost to breed. Her hips fit perfectly in my hands and she begs me so sweetly for another babe, another little one to bring to her breast and nourish. My Ellaria, my beautiful, precious Ellaria." 

Oberyn reached up, his eyes so warm and fond as he cradled Ellaria's face in his large palms. You buried your face in Ellaria's hair again, not wanting either of them to notice the tears threatening to spill over. 

Ellaria nuzzled against his fingers, coaxing a ragged groan out of Oberyn. "Lover, you always know what to do to make my body sing for you." She breathed, planting her hands on his chest and circling her hips. Oberyn swore and gritted his teeth, his head falling back against the pillows. "But I would much rather you sing for me instead."

The prince's voice broke wordlessly in his throat, the noise sharp with longing. Your eyes widened and your whole body tensed at the sound, warmth coating the worn trews between your legs. What…? You had never experienced such a rapid reaction, and all it had been was a simple groan! Your grip on Ellaria tightened unconsciously and she moaned your name, her body pushing back against your armored chest as she rose up onto her knees. 

Oberyn fairly growled at her, one hand clutching at her thigh while the other delved between her legs. She cried out and you could feel her body spasm when he found her center, hips undulating hard to grind herself against his palm. "Come for me, my love, drench me." Oberyn encouraged softly. "Tear my seed from my body, milk me with that divine cunt of yours."

His heated words made you feel like your heart would beat out of your chest. Ellaria tilted her face into your neck, her panting, breathy cries whispering over your skin and making you wish more than anything that you were the one causing them-

She went taut in your hold and you watched Oberyn watch her come with the same blissful expression on his face that he had sported earlier. It was as if his own release was an afterthought, the prince humming to echo Ellaria's incoherent whimpering while he shifted his hips restlessly beneath her. "Keep gripping me, my love, keep-" Oberyn bucked up hard, hands covering your own on her hips to keep her still when he buried himself in her again. His shoulders tensed, thighs trembling as he came with a shuddering gasp of her name. 

Gods, you wished it was your name he spoke with such passion!

Ellaria nearly collapsed, your arms around her the only thing keeping her upright. "I have you." You breathed, cradling her back against your chest. "I have you."

The other woman blinked up at you sleepily, one shaking hand raising to stroke over your hair. "Thank you, Ser Shieldove." She whispered. Oberyn clapped her thigh, carefully tilting her hips and closing her legs once he slipped out from beneath her. 

"Steady, I need to fetch a cloth." He instructed you, nearly staggering when he rose from the bed. "Gods, Ellaria, you will make me swoon one of these days." Oberyn continued, half-laughing and shaking his head. He wrapped his light robe back around his body, looping the belt once and then abandoning it.

You hid your face at the sight of him stretching languidly, his lithe and golden form barely covered by the haphazardly-tied dressing gown. "You can look at him, you know." Ellaria sighed in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "He loves being observed. He preens." She confided, chuckling softly. 

"What are you telling her, my love?" Oberyn called from the washbasin, shooting her a suspicious glance.

"Nothing, lover." Ellaria winked up at you, relaxing into your arms a bit more. "Nothing at all."

"Now, my falcon. Is it your turn?" Oberyn asked conversationally while he tenderly bathed Ellaria's intimate area. The other woman hadn't stopped squirming, trembling beneath his careful ministrations even as she clung to you. 

Panic seized your body at the idea of being naked, being vulnerable, exposed, and despite the hard work the both of them had done, you found yourself shaking your head violently. 

Oberyn simply laughed, dismissing his own words as a jest and easily soothing your terror. 

...

When you returned to your quarters later that evening, you could not remove your armor fast enough. Clad in only your underthings, you slumped into the chair beside your bed and put your head in your hands. 

I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain.

Ellaria's wanton cries rang softly in your ears. The way she had sought him out with her body, sought to be cherished, claimed-

You are so warm, sweet dove.

You flushed hot, rubbing frantically at your eyes. Gods, the way the two of them praised each other, praised you...it hurt, it made your body throb. You bit back a sound of pain, your eyes watering. To be loved by someone, to have their love in return...well, that is what all the songs and stories of man were about! 

Yet here you sat on the outskirts of a camp you dared not approach, gazing at the raging bonfire of someone else's affection. 

And you envied, with a ferocity that made your jaw ache from how tight you clenched it.

Envied Oberyn, for being a prince, being free to do as he wished, being able to trace secret patterns over Ellaria's skin as often as he pleased. Envied Ellaria, for being brave, being so effortlessly sensual, being able to bring Oberyn to heights of ecstasy that you could not even dream of.

You felt like a child that had been happily playing pretend, only to have a bucket of cold water thrown on you.

Your fingers dug into your thighs, rubbing over the scarring there. No, you would never know, would you? You would never know the true depth of another's love. You were not destined for such things, and you had been foolish to grasp for them in the first place.

You had been greedy, overeager to voyeur on the prince and his paramour due to your deep admiration of and attraction to the couple. This was hardly behavior befitting a knight of House Martell! You would have to do better in the future, instead of taking advantage of the generosity extended to you in good faith. All Ellaria and Oberyn had wanted to do was help you, and you had turned it into some lewd fantasy. 

You shook your head at your own thoughts, thoroughly disgusted. You would tear down everything good that you ever had, just to delude yourself into believing you could be bedded by a prince of Dorne and his beautiful lady.

Part Two

#game of thrones #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn x ellaria #oberyn x ellaria x reader #knight!reader #strong!reader #canon-typical violence #oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand #oberyn imagine #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal characters #I apologize if this is OOC #I hope you can ignore it and still enjoy! #I got very indulgent

[overheardatthecontinental]

Kinktober Day 5: angry sex

It took a lot to get John Wick angry. It wasn’t really a natural emotion for him.

He couldn’t blame people who shot at him, not when they were trying to protect themselves. He didn’t get emotional when people betrayed him. That was what people did. They looked after themselves and everyone else be damned. John didn’t even get annoyed at waiting in queues or having bad service.

But then, Helen had the unique ability to make him feel things he had never felt before.

Happiness.

Wonder.

Adoration.

Jealousy. 

Fear.

Joy.

Longing.

Love.

It only made sense that she be the one to introduce him to complete and utter rage.

She knew about him, about his past and the choices he had made to bring him full circle in the underworld. She knew what he did and how he got his money and she never judged him.

But always, in the back of his mind, there was fear. That someone would find her. Thay someone would try to get to him by hurting her.

He was considered more dangerous than any monster and this sweet, kind woman was his one weakness. His only downfall was a 5'7 brunette who put sugar on her rice crispies. 

And, because it was bound to happen eventually, John found himself the target of a particularly angry brother of someone who had once been his target, inside the Museum of Modern Art. On a date. With Helen.

They were looking at an exhibition in block art, joking about the possible meaning each block must hold, when John saw him. Wearing a large coat that could hold any number of weapons. John knew first hand that metal detectors on the doors of museums didn’t mean shit to anyone who truly wanted to get a weapon inside.

Fuck.

And Helen, of course, hadn’t noticed.

She was nearly oblivious to people in the world who set out to do harm.

“I think the small yellow square in the center must represent his anxiety to use any cool colors.” She joked and John carefully positioned himself between the brother and Helen.

They had discussed this, early on in the relationship. That someday, inevitably, someone was going to come after him when she was near. And, when that happened, she needed to follow his instructions. 

“Menelaus.”

She froze, immediately on guard at use of their codeword. Danger was nearby.

“Where?”

“Behind us."

He had a plan for this. It was why he made her always carry a set of keys for his car and at least five gold coins. Why he made her memorize directions to the Continental from virtually anywhere in New York.

But when he told her to run, she didn't. She wouldn't leave him.

And it wasn’t fear, it wasn’t her being a brat. She refused to leave him alone, in danger. 

The rational part of his mind, the side he tended to listen to more often than not, was trying to keep him calm. Was trying to make him understand her perspective. If she had told John to run, he wouldn’t have considered it.

But she didn’t have his training. It had taken her weeks just to convince her to get her to the shooting range. She flat out refused martial arts classes but agreed to attend twice weekly self-defense classes if only to get him off her back. 

It wasn’t enough. 

It wouldn’t have been enough if she had been alone or if he hadn’t been able to wrestle the gun away from the man. 

And that scares the hell out of him.

Pure terror had flooded his system when he realized that Helen wasn’t going to run.

And it had been fine. He had kept her safe.

She was safe.

She was safe.

He kept repeating that to himself but that pure terror had quickly turned to rage once the opponent was disarmed and eliminated.

He was angry that she hadn’t run.

He was angry that she had put herself in danger.

He was angry that Helen had seen him snap a man’s neck.

Mostly, however, John was furious that this was his life.

He had finally found something worth keeping. He had the love of a beautiful and kind and clever woman. And he could lose her. By a gunshot in the MoMA or an attack while she walked down the street. Someone could wire her car to explode or poison her takeout order. Helen was his but Helen was oh so breakable.

And he had lived his life in such a way that, because of him, that sweet and kind and beautiful, clever woman was in danger.

Once he had disposed of his enemy, he had wrapped an arm around her protectively and walked her quickly back to the car. She knew better than to try to soothe him when he was on guard for enemies. At least she listened there.

He got her to the car and then drove back home, white-knuckled. 

John wasn’t sure how the hell he was supposed to deal with the hot rage that coursed through him. Even at his most angry, he couldn’t yell at her. Because it was his fault. It was his fault that this was his life.

It was part of the reason he tried so hard to spoil her. She often resisted but when he could, he bought her wine and clothes and books and whatever he could get her to accept. It was a poor attempt to make up for who he was and what he was and it didn’t matter how many times she told him she loved him, how many times she told him that she accepted him as he was. He would never be enough for her.

He parks in the garage and Helen unbuckles in silence and goes into the house.

John follows, slipping through the door before it shut behind her.

“Let’s talk.” Helen says, slipping her sweater off and stepping down into the sunken living room. She sat on the couch and looked up, looking expectantly at John.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“You’re pissed.”

“You’re understating.”

Helen rolls her eyes, “and you're being dramatic."

"You could have died."

"So could've you!" He shoots back and he has to swallow to keep from raising his voice, "I am trained for this, Helen."

"I know!" And there's an edge to her voice, too, "I get it! You're this big, scary assassin and you know hot to handle yourself but," she looks at him pointedly, "you are also the man who picks up spiders and takes them outside. You are also the man who folds his fucking socks! So forgive me that I don't quake in fear at the sight of you!"

"I don't need you to be afraid of me; I need you to trust me!" He fires back.

"This isn't about trust," she argues and John wants to scream and yell and brake the fucking coffee table in half so that she understands. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be with you!”

John shakes his head, arms crossed against his chest, “I told you to run. You didn’t run.”

“You wanted me to leave you.” And again, there’s that bite in her voice. That stubbornness and sincerity but she just doesn’t get it.

“I wanted you to trust me to protect you.”

“I’m not hurt, John!”

“You could have been!”

“I’m not the one with the bruised knuckles.”

She didn’t get it. She didn’t fucking get it.

“I know what I’m doing! I know how to throw a damn punch!”

“So you can throw a punch. Therefore, I’m supposed to leave you to fend by yourself?”

“YES!” He shouts, surprising himself, “Yes! You’re supposed to leave and get to safety so that I can do what I need to do!” John shakes his head, “If you had been hurt, Helen…”

“What, John? You get hurt every damn time you go out the door! Every time you leave my sight, I have to sit here and wonder if you’re going to make it back to me! I have to sit with the fucking knowledge that no one in your world even knows who I am! You could be hurt, in the hospital, or worse, and no one would even know to call me! Every time you’re late for dinner, I have to sit and wonder if you’re even alive! So no, when you told me to run, I didn’t run!”

John feels his body tensing because, again, that feeling of anger, of hot rage is so foreign. He isn't sure what to do. But he loves her and he has to keep her safe. And she needs to understand that she is the only thing in the entire fucking world that matters.

But Helen just shakes her head, “And you’re going to have to get over it because I’m not going to run the next time, either!” 

Like hell she’s not. John closes the distance, and reaches down. He grabs her shirt and easily pulls her to her feet and he slams his mouth into hers. Her lips will bruise. So will his. He doesn’t care. 

John lets go of her shirt and moves his hand so that one covers each side of her face and he deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth. 

And they have rules. Helen established some early in the relationship, sensing John’s discomfort with intimacy. Nothing crazy… just some ground rules.

The first of which was that beds were sacred. Bedrooms were sacred. His bed at his house, her bed at her apartment, or any other bed they used were off limits for fighting or arguing. Beds were for making love and sleeping. 

Which meant they weren’t going upstairs. Not yet.

Helen makes quick work of his shirt, yanking it from his pants and tearing it open. He wastes no time in doing the same, tearing her shirt from her body as she pushes her pants down and throws her arms around him and jumps. He lifts her and her legs come around his waist. 

She kisses him again, biting his lower lip. John groans and, again, she fuses their mouths together. Her tongue swirls around his, sucking on his, as John carries her around to the other side of the couch. She drops her feet to the ground, leaning up against the couch as John kicks his own pants off and out of the way.

“Turn around.” He tells her, pushing her as he does, so that she is facing the back of the couch. He pushes her head down, forcing her to bend over the back of the couch. 

John reaches around her, burying his right hand in her pussy. She’s wet and ready and that’s just too damn bad because he’s not ready to give it to her yet. His fingers circle her clit until she whimpers and then he slides two fingers roughly inside her. Helen swears, choking back a scream. His thumb resumes rubbing her clit as he curls his fingers inside her and uses his other hand to squeeze at her breasts.

Her hips frantically thrust, desperately trying to get his fingers deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck---!” She swears as her stomach tightens in pleasure.

And John takes them away, leaving her pussy clenching at nothing. 

“If you’d have run,” he tells her, whispering into her ear, “Maybe I’d let you come.”

She tries to turn to face him but he doesn’t let her move from where she is pinned over the couch. 

“I’m not going to apologize.” She growls back at him.

John takes his fingers, still soaked and dripping with her juices and shoves them into her mouth. 

“MM!”

“Good.” He nips at her ear, “Your mouth is better for other things.”

And she moans on his fingers, sucking them greedily. 

Good. That's all she's getting for now.

He uses the hand around her chest to hold her steady against him as he leans over her.

Her tongue twirls around his fingers and John bites ar her shoulder.

She whines and he feels vindicated. Thr helplessness of his fear and anger has mostly subsided as he takes control of her body..

The anger still lingers beneath the surface, though.

She could have been hurt or killed.

Hrr unwillingness to listen could have taken her away from him. And that was not okay.

John gives each tit a harsh squeeze before lowering his hand to his cock.

He's been hard since the moment he ripped her clothes from her body and now, he's going to use her.

He takes his erection in hand and guides it to her soaking cunt.

John slides inside her easily and Helen moans as her pussy clenches around him. Her teeth graze his fingers and he just pushes another into her mouth. The sound that escapes her is ungodly and John thrusts into her hard.

He thinks back to the fear that poured through him at the thought of losing her. The intense terror of knowing Helen was in danger and the hot fury that flowed through him when she was safe again but she hadn't fucking listened. 

His hips increase their pace, harder and faster and she gasps around his finger while his cock drives into her again and again.

"Next time," he growls in her ear, "I tell you to run, you run."

Ahe tries to shake her head but his fingers in her mouth and his hand hold her in place.

"Yes." He tells her, forcing her to nod.

Fine. If she wants to be difficult, he can be to.

"You're the only person in the world I ever have to repeat myself to, did you know that?"

She chokes on his fingers. Good.

"The next time," he slams her into the couch, "I tell you to fucking run," he does it again and she cries out over his fingers, tightening her hot cunt around him, "you fucking run. Do you understand me?"

She protests but it comes out in an incoherent mumble. 

He pushes his fingers deeper in her mouth so that she's forced to lean her head back into his shoulder. 

"This isn't a difficult concept, Helen. I don't tell you what to do often, but I expect you to listen when I do."

Again, she tries to shake her head but she can't escape his grip.

He rolls his hips and she gasps and shakes and he can tell she's getting close again. It doesn't take her much when she's already on edge.

"You want to come, baby?"

She hums and nods and John lets her.

"Yeah, I bet you do." 

He moves the hand on her hip around and rolls her cliy between two fingers.

Helen whimpers and John removes his fingers, "Then you need to promise to run."

Again, she protests and John takes his fingers from her mouth and she gasps for air. He holds the wet digits to her neck, squeezing ever so slightly. 

"Promise me, Helen."

She bites her lip, trying to grind her pussy back against him but John tightens his hand and pins her to the couch.

"You aren't coming until you promise."

"Fuck!"

"Promise me."

She’s fuming, trying to escape from his grip so that she can continue to rock back against him. He’s buried inside her to the hilt but he isn’t moving anymore, leaving Helen wanting.

“John, please!”

“Not,” he says lowly, “until… you… promise. And trust me, Helen ,you are going to want to promise before I decide that I’m done waiting. I will fucking torture you.

"I will fuck you on my tongue until you reach the edge and then I'll stop and come in your tits. And then, I'll do it again. And again. And again until you are a fucking crying mess.

"Or, you can promise me to not be reckless and I'll let you come right now."

Helen whimpers and nods, “Okay, okay! I promise!”

John rolls his hips once, “Good girl. Now what do you promise?”

She huffs a breath, trying to move against him yet again, but trapped by his arms. “I promise I’ll listen! I promise I’ll listen when you’re protecting me!”

And he moves, thrusting into her again as Helen starts to swear.

“Fuck.. yes! Yes, John!”

Helen arches against him, her body stiffening as his hand resumes its teasing ministrations as John pumps in and out of her.

The orgasm builds inside of her and a scream erupts. The only thing that keeps her from completely collapsing are his arms wrapped around her.

John feels the tension leaving his body, his anger disappearing, as he comes. His head rests on her shoulder, breathing in her sweet scent.

He remains buried inside her as he comes, waiting until he is spent to pick her up off the ground. John holds her tightly in his arms and turns around.

“Where are we going?” She whispers.

“To bed.”

#angry sex #angry fuck #john wick #overheard at the continental #incorrect john wick #kinktober 2020 #john wick kinktober #kinktober #fic #john wick fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #john wick fanfic #helen x john wick #helen wick deserved better #helen wick #john x helen wick #pwp

[miss-tc-nova]

All Flustered - Young Xehanort x Fem!Reader

Ah, this, ladies and gentlemen, is a reader after my own heart! Yes, Eraqus is definitely my fluff motivator while I tend to write angst for Xehanort, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him! And you can bet your ass I postponed finishing ‘A SOLDIER’s Memories’ to write this!

Hope this is what you were looking for Anon. 

~~~~~

               I hum to myself, checking over the assignment from last night. The morning sunlight streams in through the classroom window, providing the perfect amount of light and warmth while I enjoy my peaceful moment. Once class starts, I’ll have Tardy Fleetfoot, Smarmy Fluffcoat, and Haughty Swaggerstep to deal with, names courtesy of Tardy himself. They aren’t bad people; none of my classmates are, but peace is certainly a rarity once those three are involved.

               “Do you ever leave this room?”

               Ah, peace is over.

               I pull my gaze from the text to find two of the rabble-rouser trio, Eraqus and Xehanort. The shorter male leans in to take a look at my work. “You’re not done yet? That’s not like the top student.”

               “I finished last night. I was just double checking it,” I reply.

               “Oh. Let me see what answers you got.” Without asking, Eraqus takes my paper and wanders off with it.

               I sigh and start packing up my things, very much aware that Xehanort is still standing there watching me.

               “Seriously, do you ever leave this room outside of keyblade training?” he repeats.

               My ears burn and I only spare him a glance. Xehanort had only joined our class a couple years ago but quickly matched our ranks. There’s hardly a subject he has trouble with and his drive is incredible, though apparently that doesn’t mean he’s above teasing others. He plays indifferent but it’s pretty obvious his classmates have become his friends. He’s smart and confident and strong and I have the biggest crush on him.

               I don’t know what happened. I’d been asked to help catch him up on our curriculum but he refused my help and did it himself in just a few months. As time went on and we had our interactions, I couldn’t help noticing that inspiring confidence and the spark in his eyes at a challenge. There’s just some sort of charm there that has me smitten beyond my control. It’s a terrible distraction in class sometimes.

               But I could never let him know. I prefer observation, letting the others hold most of the attention during class. By nature, that makes me a bit more introverted. Xehanort, on the other hand, is definitely not afraid to speak his mind. Not only would he very likely turn me down in a heartbeat, but the entire class would hear about it. Bragi and Vor might tease me for a while but even after that’s subsided everything would be miserably awkward. That’s one hell I’d like to steer clear of in this lifetime.

               “Yes,” I answer simply. “I just like to get here early. It’s peaceful.”

               “How the heck did I get the number twelve as the second tier ice spell?!” Eraqus exclaims from the table.

               Xehanort raises a brow at his best friend and I can’t help giggling. “Well it was.”

               I collect my things from the window bench and move to the table. Before long, the first class of the day starts.

~~~~~

               “How was that?”

               I drop my shield and give my go-to partner, Hermod, a thumbs-up. “That was great.”

               He looks to his boots. “I think my stance was a bit off.”

               “Well why don’t you give it another go?”

               “Okay.” Hermod and I set up once again but just as he prepares to rush me, we’re interrupted.

               “Excuse me, you two.” We glance back to find Master Odin approaching with Eraqus and Xehanort. “I know you prefer working together, but I need you to work with these two and help them with the new technique.”

               “Uh, yes sir,” Hermod responds dutifully.

               Oh no…

               “Thank you.” With that, the Master ushers Hermod and Eraqus away, leaving me to work with Xehanort.

               Crap!

               Xehanort folds his arms and huffs. “Guess it was a matter of time before we got in over our heads.”

               Trying to ignore the nerves working in my chest, I tilt my head. “You normally pick up keyblade work very quickly without any help.”

               “Yeah, well this one’s not very useful,” he grumbles.

               It’s not very common to see Xehanort perturbed so this is fairly interesting. Still, I know he’s determined so I’ll help him out any way I can.

               “I’m sure you’ll catch on soon enough,” I encourage, insides freezing at the skeptical glare. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got so far.”

               It gives me some joy to have Xehanort flip his opinion on the technique once I’ve sorted out exactly where his problem lies. Soon, he’s on the verge of destroying my shield rather than bouncing off it. At his insistence, we move on to practical application while sparring and he’s certainly got me on the ropes.

               Until disaster strikes.

               My foot catches on an uneven stone and I hit the ground. It’s too late for my opponent to halt his attack and Xehanort ends up tripping over me. I wait for the collision but it’s not nearly as squishing as I’m expecting.

               “Are you okay?”

               Eyes snapping open, I suddenly feel as if I’ve been lit on fire. He may not have been able to stop his fall but Xehanort managed to catch himself and prevent himself from crushing me. He’s still far too close for comfort though.

               Out of desperation to remove myself from the situation, I shove him off me and sit up. “Yeah! I’m fine!” I say, quickly standing and brushing the dirt from my pants. I’m terrified to look at him, terrified that my burning face will betray me. “S-Sorry!” My saving grace comes in the tolling bell. “Oh thank gods!” I breathe, scurrying back into the castle.

               It takes me ages to push the event out of my head. My diversion tactic is the usual: dive head first into my studying. I sneak away to the library which also happens to have a very cozy little window seat. As I settle in, it’s knowledge that washes away my anxieties and consumes the remainder of my day.

               “So you do leave the classroom.”

               Heart stops and blood runs cold. No. He’s not… My eyes flash to the figure strolling along the bookshelves. There’s an all-knowing smile on his lips and the way he approaches is reminiscent of a predator whose prey has zero escapes. He is!

               “Xehanort,” I manage to utter, closing my book. “What are you doing here?”

               “This is a library,” he replies lightly. “Can’t I come to study just like you?” I bite back my response. “But you’re smart enough to know that’s not true aren’t you. So I’ll get to the point: you weren’t at dinner.”

               He’s right. I’d been so focused in trying to push him out of my head that I completely forgot about eating. It had gotten so late, only the bright moonlight from the window was what allowed me to continue reading. “Oh…I completely forgot. I was so busy studying I-”

               “Why are you avoiding me?”

               Without even a minute change in his predatory expression, Xehanort takes another step closer and my body reactively shrinks back. The blood is flowing again and I can’t maintain eye contact.

               “Interesting. Our class’s top student, scared of me?”

               “N-No,” I stammer.

               Clearly entertained, he leans closer. “Then what’s wrong?”

               Snatching up my books, I stand. “I need to go.”

               One step into my flight, a hand takes my arm. I let out a squeak of a gasp when my back meets the wall. There’s a thump right above my head. I keep my eyes clamped shut because I know what meets me should they open; I can feel the warmth coming from him—that’s how close he is. Even more, I don’t even have to look to witness the sheer gratification rolling off him. There’s no doubt he’s enjoying this.

               “What’s wrong?” his smooth voice hums. The mint toothpaste on his breath ghosts across my cheeks.

               “Th-This isn’t funny.” I curse myself for stuttering, but I swear my heart is beating so hard that’s why my voice shakes.

               “Of course it’s not.”

               I finally persuade myself to peek and it was a mistake. His face is only centimeters away, those dazzling argent eyes capturing mine. I can’t look away but the wall won’t let me through.

               “Don’t get me wrong, I take pride in eliciting this sort of reaction from you, but this isn’t a joke.” I can hear the pleased smile in his words but my gaze is still glued to his. I’d never noticed the alluring flecks of deep silver dappled among sterling in those eyes before.

               Not the time for that! It takes so much effort to keep my breath from shuddering. “Then why are you doing this?” I whisper.

               “I’ll admit you’re very subtle, at least until you’re caught off guard. Then you’re very easy to read. I’m impressed you kept your little secret hidden for so long; not even Urd or Vor knew.”

               “No,” I breathe, knowing I’ve been found out.

               “Oh yes. And I’m flattered, really.”

               “Oh no.” I can feel the constriction in my chest and I’m praying to wake up from this dream.

               “Don’t get me wrong.” His finger under my chin forces my face up. “You’re very pretty but above that, you’re smart and quite the little sweetheart too, huh?”

               Feeling vulnerable and stepped on, I mutter, “Would you just get it over with?”

               His eyes almost glow in the illumination of the moon. “Alright.”

               Time stops, or perhaps that’s just my brain. It only took a slight dip of his head and Xehanort’s got his lips to mine. Due to the earlier mentioned problem of brain not working, I don’t resist his lead, falling further and further under his spell with each move. The fog in my head descends into my chest, dissipating that heavy sinking of dread, replacing it with a weightless euphoria I couldn’t have imagined.

               Xehanort breaks away but my lips chase his without my consent, stealing another kiss. When I realize what I’m doing, I pull back as far as the wall will let me, embarrassment blazing across my skin.

               “I’m so sorry,” I apologize in a whisper.

               His chuckle rattles my fragile grip on stability. “Don’t be.” My inhale comes staggered when his fingers slide into my hair. Speaking in the low voice that makes my knees weak, he murmurs, “I very much enjoy seeing how you react to me.” It takes everything I have not to lunge at him when his lips barely graze mine as he continues. “I look forward to seeing just what other reactions I can get from you.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Saturday, I’m taking you to that founding festival coming up. Sound like a plan?”

               I can’t tell if I’m trembling or not, but I manage a steady answer. “Yes.”

               “Good.” Finally he relents and gives me a third kiss but it’s far more casual and relaxed—I still want more.

               The boy breaks away from me, clearly amused at the shaken state he’s left me in. Clinging to the books against my chest, I glance away.

               “You really are cute, you know that?” It’s in a teasing tone but I can tell that he means it. I have no answer to that but my stomach apparently does and I’d like to just die now. Xehanort laughs. “Come on. I bet we can sneak something from the kitchen before they lock everything down.”

               I gasp quietly when he takes my hand and leads me away in confidence. Before we even make it out of the library, I’m smiling away like a love struck fool.

~~~~~

               I’m running a bit late today. My dumb brain wouldn’t let me sleep last night, replaying my moonlight kiss over and over; I’m pretty sure I even dreamt of it. Then I’m afraid that I actually dreamt it.

               Turning the corner, just before I enter the class, I can hear people talking. Xehanort���s in there, talking about me.

               “So I’m taking her to that festival on Saturday.”

               “There’s no way our shy little smarty is going on a date with you,” argues Urd.

               “It’s true. Had her like putty in my hands after just one kiss.” That brings a frown to my face; it’s true of course but he didn’t need to tell everyone.

               Eraqus exclaims, “Wait, you kissed her?!”

               “Yeah,” he laughs. “She’s cute when she’s all flustered.”

               He’d gotten the better of me last night and, while I very much enjoyed it, I won’t go on without it being known that I can be bold too.

               Steeling my nerves, I stalk towards the offender. Silver eyes fly wide open when I snatch fistfuls of his black jacket. With a sharp tug, I pull the boy around. His arms grasp at me as I dip him beneath me and jam my lips against his. For a brief moment, I consider taking advantage of his shock and basking in this feeling of dominance I’m sure will be rare in our relationship. However, seeing as we have an audience, I release my captive and right his posture. Pride and absolute delight fill my chest at the sight of Xehanort’s bright red face and shock.

               “I-um-uh-I-” he stammers, truly at a loss for words.

               “Yeah,” I say, beaming at my friends. “He’s cute when he’s all flustered.”

#xehanort #young xehanort #young master xehanort #ymx #xehanort x reader #young xehanort x reader #young master xehanort x reader #khdr #khdr xehanort #kh xehanort #novas requests #xeha-non #fem!reader