#poly!manorian x reader

As you tossed and turned for all of twenty minutes before you gave up on sleep. Dragging yourself into the bathroom you searched the cabinets for a tonic to help the pain. Letting out a frustrated groan after finding nothing you slam the cabinet. Another wave of cramps hits you, bringing a new numbness to your legs.

You quickly wobble to Dorian’s office, knowing you won’t make it all the way down to the healers on your own. Quietly pushing the door open you shyly poke your head in. Before saying anything you watched Dorian work for a bit. Watching his arms flex as he wrote was doing something to you. Gods your hormones are all over the place.

Making your way into his office you plop down in the arm chair across from him at his desk. Curling up into a ball you give him your best doe eyed look along with a sweet pout. Dorian put down his pen, giving you a matching pout. “What’s wrong, darling?” “Will you go to the healers and get me more pain tonic? We’re out and my cramps are really bad.”

Dorian wasted no time in scooping you into his arms, snuggling you close to his chest. “Why didn’t you say something earlier, darling?” He carries you back to the bedroom, placing you down gently. Kissing your forehead he whispers that he’ll be right back.

A few minutes later Dorian comes back with a pouch full of tonics and Manon following holding what you scented is a bag of sweets. Sitting up you licked your lips as the chocolate reached your nose. Manon smirked at you as she dropped the bag on your lap. Dorian hands you one of the tonics kissing your head again.

Settling into bed you dig into your snacks expecting to be left alone. You let out a cute little yelp as Manon sits next to you, pulling you to,lay against her chest. You notice she’s wearing Dorian’s comfy clothes. As you curious look at Dorian you find he pulling on a pair of threadbare pants.

Climbing into bed he lays between your legs on his stomach as he massages your numb thighs. “We want to stay with you. You need us right now, not work. And besides we’re covered.” You snuggle further into Manon’s chest as Dorian’s magical fingers relax you. Your eyes flutter as the pain melts away.

“Just one,” she grinned at you. 

The problem was one always led to another, on and on until you slowly stopped remembering why you didn’t drink. As she slid it towards you, across the table, you knew you were making a mistake, but kept trying to justify it to yourself. 

The disappointed look on your friend's face when you turned the first two drinks down. 

It’s not like you said you would never drink again. Just that you’d keep it under control.

You wouldn’t go home for a few hours, that’s plenty of time to come back sober. Like you’d said - you’d promised to come home sober. 

Earlier, you’d told them you’d likely be home … but you said likely. They wouldn’t worry. Maybe. The fear of their disappointment, of them seeing you like this, overrode any common sense. You weren’t thinking clearly. If you were, you’d know they’d rather you come home drunk off your ass than not at all. 

Not quite in your right mind, you decided to stay the night at a friends apartment. 

One thing you forgot; the guards, waiting quietly for you in the shadows. Discreet enough you rarely saw them, at least two or three were always there, especially after the threat on your life a few months ago. The reason you’d stopped drinking in the first place. Nobody knew you had a problem. 

-

They watched as you took drink after drink, waiting for you to leave so they could make sure you got home safe. Under orders to make sure you got to the castle, through one of the side gates, without attracting attention. 

“She’s got a high tolerance,” he said under his breath, the man next to him chuckling. You twirled and danced, finally waiting until last call. They knew just how much you’d downed, but you played it off well, appearing mildly tipsy. 

As you strode for the door, arm in arm with a friend - the one who’d funneled drinks to you all night, they rose to follow. 

-

Turning onto her street, the path away from the castle, you only made it a few paces before you were intercepted. 

Shit. 

You’d forgotten they had people tailing you at all times. Felix, and someone behind him you vaguely recognized, his name slipping from your mind. 

“Castle’s this way,” he jerked his chin, an amused smile on his lips, probably thinking you’d just made a wrong turn. 

“I can’t go home like this,” the words stumbled into each other, your cheeks flushed red with alcohol, jerking your arm out of your friends. 

“We have more wine at our place,” a vice-like grip curled around your upper arm. Alcohol numbed you enough you didn’t sense the pain right away. Felix had tensed, eyeing her warily. “Come on,” she coaxed, nails digging in harder, warm liquid pooling on your arm. When you didn’t move - she tugged - hard enough you let out a small cry, your shoulder straining - maybe even popping. 

Everything happened quickly, you were separated from her, a third person, a woman, appeared from the shadows, a flash of metal, you were shoved behind someone. Shielded. Murmurs over the wind - words indistinct but undeniably a threat. If your arm wasn’t hurting like a bitch maybe you’d feel pity. 

It was repeating again. You were too drunk to stop someone, hurting you. Last time you’d barely gotten away. Even though she was a friend, likely meaning no harm, just unaware of your own strength, the realization brought tears to your eyes, quickly hidden as your good arm threw your cloak over your face. 

The guards were good. Not a single passerby sensed anything was wrong. 

They stuck close to you as you headed through the back gate, half-aware of everything around you.

Declining a visit to the healers, just wanting to be with them, you made it to the end of the hall before Manon was shoving through the door, stalking towards you, Dorian behind her. 

You couldn’t - wouldn’t look at them, and tried to skirt around her. She wasn’t having it, stepping to the side to block you. 

Taking a breath, you prepared yourself for the lecture - for the disappointment, only for her to gently lift your arm, gold eyes peering at the spot where your friend had gripped. Blood - that was the warmth from earlier. Why Manon came out so quickly - she’d scented your blood. 

“It’s fine,” you murmured quietly. She lifted it again and you winced, some of the pain catching up to you, the walk had sobered you enough. A small strain that would heal in time. 

“What. Happened?” You could tell her temper was balancing on a paper thin edge. 

How could you begin to explain the shit show? Thankfully Dorian started guiding you back towards the room, giving you time to think. 

After you were seated on the couch, a cup of tea pressed into your hand, Dorian against your side, Manon pacing in front of the fireplace - looking murderous, he spoke. 

“Who did that to you?” You raised your brows, surprised he wasn’t asking about why you were drunk. “We’ll get to that later,” he read your expression, and your head dropped.

“Who was it?” Manon hissed, murderous rage flooding from her. You’d have to convince her not to gut the guards who brought you back here. 

“It was an accident.” You winced as Manon pressed a finger into the fingertip shaped bruises, silently calling your bullshit. “It wasn’t on purpose,” you tried. She didn’t look convinced. 

-

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Dorian sighed, wrapping his arm around your waist. You’d insisted you were fine, ready. He didn’t want to stop you, even though he had a bad feeling - hence the clear orders he gave to get you back. Maybe he should’ve told them to keep you from drinking, but that felt a bit too invasive - and he’d trusted you when you said you were ready. 

You were, for all he knew. There was something else missing - other answers he needed to get. 

“I need you to stay here with her,” he said quietly, to Manon, as you were getting ready for bed, the bathroom door wide open. She agreed - quicker than he thought he would. He was going to get answers. 

Felix, the guard who spent the most time watching you, was waiting at the end of the hall, as if he was expecting someone to come looking for answers. Dorian watched a hint of relief cross the man’s features - probably that it was him, not Manon. He couldn’t blame him, his witch was terrifying on a good day. He gave a detailed and precise report of the night’s events - down to each detail, and Dorian remembered exactly why he requested for him to guard you. 

Objectively, he knew they’d done everything right - but he was still pissed you’d ended up injured, blood drawn by one of your ‘friends.’ As for the identity of the friend, he decided Manon would have to get you to tell her yourself.  

“Thank you,” he said at the end, giving a polite nod as the guard bowed, taking his leave. Dorian pressed his forehead against the stone wall, letting the rough and cool surface center him. Anger would get nowhere tonight. He’d been so fucking proud of you, and the disappointment stung. 

-

The next morning, your head was pounding. One hand shielding your eyes from the sun, an audible groan left your lips. Hungover. 

Hungover. Drinking. You’d broken last night. Fuck. 

The self-loathing hit a moment later. You knew they were next to you, one on each side, probably waiting for you to wake so they could talk, but the last thing you wanted was to face them. One drink, and all of your progress felt thrown out the window. 

“Good morning,” Manon drawled, and you forced your eyes to blink open, your hand to move. Her expression was too neutral. An obvious sign of her holding in her anger. “Who hurt you?” She followed up. 

Hurt? There was a tinge in your shoulder. Vaguely, you remembered one of your friends gripping you, her nails digging in, the wet drop of blood against your skin. “It was an accident,” you said quickly. 

She pulled the sheets down, revealing the angry blue-purple bruises, small indents of fingernails, on your upper arm. Her finger traced over them, barely touching. “That is not an accident,” she hissed. 

“They didn’t mean it,” you tried. Manon raised one brow. “Please, don’t hurt them.” Before breakfast, and you were already resorting to begging to keep her from murder. “I’ll promise not to see them again, if you won’t hurt them.” 

Her nostrils flared. You watched her debate it, whether or not to satisfy her bloodlust and rage. Part of you was endeared by this, at her protective streak, but the other part was very, very worried about having blood and death on your hands. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “How do you feel?” 

The words felt like a trap, but you answered honestly. “Like shit.” 

“Good.” Ouch. She ran a hand down your arm, skipping over the bruised area, and gently squeezed your hand. Tender, coming from her. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” You tried to sit up, to catch her and maybe give her a kiss or hug, but with preternatural speed, she’d already left the room. 

A pathetic and small broken noise left you, and a sigh reminded you of Dorian’s presence. 

“She’s just on edge.” His voice indicated he, too, was on edge. 

You were still half-raised, staring at the door, when he slid closer to you. Close enough to feel his body heat, but not to touch. Self loathing and destructive thoughts filled you. Maybe they didn’t want to touch you, maybe they thought you were disgusted enough you’d be packing your bags, heading right out of the castle. Your shoulders caved, curling in on yourself, eyes squeezed to fight tears. 

Dorian’s hand rested lightly on your good shoulder. “We’ll talk later.” 

Then he left, and you felt your fears were confirmed. 

Forcing yourself out of bed, you brushed your teeth, washed your face, scrubbed your body near raw - trying to erase any vague scent of alcohol. You had the day off work, and knew they’d both be busy. Tying a towel around yourself, you clutched the clothes from last night in one hand. Without hesitation, you threw them in the fire. The less reminders, the better.

That night, you all had a private dinner in your shared rooms. 

“Why?” Dorian asked, and you could tell he was trying and failing to keep his tone neutral. That was worse - you wanted anger, maybe frustration, anything else. 

“I don’t know,” you fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, the one they’d both given you - not an engagement ring, just a physical representation of your commitment to each other. “I thought I was ready, but … I wasn’t. I gave in.” 

You didn’t need to say what you gave into. It was obvious - the atmosphere, peer pressure, temptation. Glancing up, they both tried to hide it - Dorian more than Manon - but the disappointment was there and gods you hated yourself even more. Subconsciously, you began to slide the ring down your finger. Before it could reach your middle knuckle, Manon’s hand had clasped over your own. 

“Don’t,” she nearly snarled, lifting just enough to slide the ring back up, before retracting her hand quickly, like she couldn’t bear to touch you longer than necessary. At least they didn’t want to leave you. Yet, a voice in your mind whispered. 

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding. Any words might lead to tears. Dorian sent you a smile, but it was strained - forced. Didn’t they understand you hated yourself now? More disappointed and frustrated with yourself than they ever could be? Maybe, maybe not, but it wasn’t worth saying. Quickly gulping down the rest of your water, you excused yourself. 

Finding your favorite chair in the small personal library, closest to the fire, you tried to read, but your eyes scanned the same page at least ten times. Everything would be fine. It wouldn’t happen again, and … hopefully whatever divide came between the three of you would mend. 

-

Manon knew you were avoiding them. But, she’d always been under the impression that if someone needed help, they either had to ask or do it themselves. You’d come to them the first time, and she was waiting for you to do it again. At communal dinners, she watched how your eyes would waver towards the various bottles of wine or liquor, before averting quickly - as if they’d burn you for looking at them. Your hand would twitch if one got particularly close. Dorian had noticed too, and said nothing. Maybe that’s what you wanted? For them to pretend it never happened? 

As another week passed of your distance, she grew tired over it. Fine. If you wouldn’t ask for help, she’d go to you. 

Dorian would be out late, and she headed back to the rooms - knowing you’d already be settling in. 

Inside, she saw something that nearly made her blood boil. A bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, a small note attached to it. You sat on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, physically shaking - staring at it, a haunted look in your eyes. 

Slowly, she stalked towards you. No glasses, the bottle wasn’t open. Getting closer, she picked the bottle up, watching you from the corner of her eyes. You kept your gaze straight ahead, switching to the wall, pointedly avoiding her. At least you weren’t fleeing the room. 

Witch senses helped, and she could tell you only touched the note - not the bottle. 

“We’ve been missing you, come out of hiding soon! First round is on me.”

A female, one of your former friends, signed underneath it. She walked around the couch, placing the bottle out of view, before crouching in front of you, putting herself directly in your line of sight, forcing you to look at her. 

“I told them before,” your voice was just above a whisper, “that I’d stopped.” 

She noticed the blue-purple bags under your eyes, the pain in your eyes. 

“And they still pushed you?” Manon was fighting to keep her temper even as you nodded. “Not very good friends,” she commented. “You should’ve let me kill them.” 

A choked laugh left you, and she thought that was a fairly good sign. “I don’t need blood on my hands,” the corner of your lips tilted. A smile you were fighting rather than forcing, she liked that. Manon knew you liked how protective she could be, even if it irked her you rarely ‘let’ her act on it, not that she always asked for your permission. 

Still, it was about time she got to the point of this. “Do you need help?” 

The smile left, your arms tightened around your knees again. One small jerk of your chin. Manon raised a brow. “Yes,” you sighed. 

Years with you had taught Manon more of what human’s needed, liked, and granted these things grew on her as well. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, chuckling at how you quickly unwrapped and hugged her midsection instead, leaning your head into the space between her chest and shoulder. Before you and Dorian, she never thought she would’ve missed physical touch this much. But, as you not-so-discreetly moved close enough you were nearly on her lap, she realized she didn’t want to go another two weeks without this kind of closeness. 

-

Dorian spotted the bottle of wine tucked away on the kitchen counter first, his eyes widening in alarm. A closer look told him it was still closed, and a note was tied around it. The contents of said note pissed him off. That’s the last thing you need right now. Gazing over his shoulder, he saw Manon shooting him a warning glance. A keep fucking quiet, if he read it correctly. You were there too, curled up around her. 

How long had it been since he spotted the two of you like this? Too damn long. But … Manon had probably been with you for a few hours by now, he could justify interrupting. It was only fair to share. 

Striding across the room, lips curving into a wicked grin, Manon’s golden eyes narrowing into a glare, he sat heavier than necessary next to the two of you, one hand brushing over your knee. 

Your pretty eyes blinked open, small bags lining them. Had you not been sleeping well? He hated that he didn’t notice it before now. 

“Hello love,” he ran his hand up and down your thigh, in calm and soothing strokes. 

“Hello,” you murmured back. 

“Tired?” 

“No,” you yawned, covering your mouth. 

“Mhm,” he slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your shoulders, ignoring Manon’s snarl and carted you off towards bed. 

Manon stood in the doorway, silver hair gleaming, arms crossed. “I have a few reports to read,” she said gruffly. 

“Can’t you do that here?” He could tell you were trying to keep the whine from your voice. Manon’s eyes softened briefly. 

“The two of you are too distracting,” she spun on her heel, closing the door softly behind them, not giving either of you the chance for a snarky reply. 

“I can’t get you to myself for a while?” He teased. You blushed, and his fingers trailed over the heated areas as they turned a brighter shade of pink. 

“Of course you can,” you mumbled, hand running over the back of your neck. You wanted to talk - maybe not wanted, but needed. Dorian needed it as well, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do right now. “Are you mad at me?” You asked. 

Honestly, he reminded himself, and took in a steady breath. “I was at first,” he said cautiously. Resignation showed on your face, along with a glimmer of hope. He’d said at first. Wording was important, and he still treaded carefully. “But, I haven’t been in your … situation, so I can’t say I understand - or what I would have done.” He didn’t recognize the emotion that flashed in your eyes, but it didn’t look negative, so he continued. “I want to help you,” he gripped both of your hands, pressing a kiss to the ring he’d given you last year. “If you’ll let me.” 

Tears started to glimmer, lining your eyes. Maybe you’d wanted help this time, but been scared to ask for it, or were ashamed, or - Dorian reminded himself not to make assumptions.  

“I’d like your help,” you said quietly, blinking. His thumb brushed away the tears, and your head tilted. “Did you and Manon coordinate this?” 

It was his turn to blink. “No,” he shook his head. A pleased expression crossed your face. Apparently that’s what the two of you had spoken of earlier. “Did she ask if you wanted help?” A nod confirmed it. Subconsciously, his lips quirked up at the corners. Figures they'd both ask on the same day, and that Manon would beat him to it. "We'll take it one day at a time," he assured you.

"Thank you," you tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle another yawn and he figured now’s a good time to table the discussion. 

“We can talk more tomorrow.” 

Numb. Empty. Nothing. 

You felt nothing, were nothing, deserved nothing. Or at least your brain told you that. All that existed was this wide, empty, and endless void beckoning you home. 

You were the Queen fighting it off, a barely used dagger in one hand, dead soldiers surrounding you, fighting back the echoes of your past manifested in that horrible empty place. 

“Tell us how to help you,” Manon ordered. Ordered because she couldn’t see another way to get through to you, you figured. She had a point though, and it worked. 

“Touch me. I don’t care. I just need to feel something right now.” 

“Are you sure-” 

“I’m sure,” you turned to them with wide, pleading eyes. Anything that might replace them emptiness, anything that might make you feel even a fraction of whole again. Dorian met your eyes for a moment, an understanding you didn't comprehend flashed, and he glanced over at Manon. Some kind of silent conversation. You couldn't bring yourself to care.

Hands grabbed your arms, pulling you to your feet, tugging you to the bedroom. A sliver of beautiful and pure excitement coursed through you, you cherished and clung to it like it might disappear at any given moment. 

It wasn’t what you expected. 

Rumors. Horrible and wicked rumors spread throughout the castle of you cheating on your partners. Having been accused of it in the past, your body was tense and heart rate through the roof.

“I would never,” you muttered under your breath, running a hand through your hair. 

“Never what?” An amused voice came from behind you. Dorian. You jumped, not having heard him come through the door. 

Three breaths to center yourself. You waved your hand, “you know,” trying to allege to the rumors without actually having to say them. 

“I do not know,” Manon stalked through the open door. “Care to share?”

To anyone else, the words may have sounded sharp or even accusing but you knew that was just her way of speaking. 

“That I cheated,” you dug your teeth into your bottom lip, fists clenching the fabric at your sides, “I’d never do that -“ the words came out in a stream of mumbles and murmurs that barely made sense. 

Dorian centered you by placing a hand on your shoulder, and the words slowly faded. Manon came to stand next to him, grabbing on of your hands. It was awkward in your hold, but you knew the witch was still learning how to comfort and you took each moment for how precious it was. 

You’d missed dinner. Not entirely unusual - sometimes you worked through it, or found a few friends to go out with. But, you would always leave a note if you left the castle. 

He pushed the doors to your rooms open, Manon shortly behind him, and expected to find you at a desk - papers strewn around you, at least three different books open, but you were nowhere to be seen. And neither was a note. 

“It’s possible she forgot.” He murmured, mostly to himself. 

“Forgot what?” Manon stalked over to his side, where he was staring at your desk. 

“To leave a note.” 

“Y/n never forgets.” He watched as the burnt-gold eyes scanned the room, her body stiffening. He didn’t need any immortal senses to feel the panic starting to come from her. “She hasn’t been here in hours.” 

“Then lets go look.” Dorian ran through the places you could be - library, one of the private offices, some of the meeting rooms - maybe you needed a bit more space. 

He strode through the doorways, walking faster than usual. 

-

Manon was on edge. Everything today went as normal - the only exception was your decision to go for a run … but she knew you had meetings after that, and had seen you around lunch. Her mind whirled through every scenario, every possibility, and each becoming worse and worse. 

Panic started to set inside her, iron nails nearly snapping out at the thought of you in danger. She managed to keep some of her cool - hopefully not to stress Dorian further, but she could see the King was already on edge. 

They went through each room, each place she could possibly be, and didn’t find her. Her panic grew stronger by the minute, iron nails snapped out. Until she caught your scent. 

Manon didn’t bother watching to see if Dorian kept pace as she followed the trail. Through rarely used parts of the castle - mostly abandoned. Dread and anger grew in equal measures. If anything had happened to you, she’d rip the throats out of anyone even remotely involved.

-

You were tired, it had been a long day. Countless meetings, exhausting courtiers that made you want to rip your hair out, and you’d decided to go for a run this morning, for the first time in months. It made dealing with everyone easier, but didn’t help your exhaustion - and you were ready for bed before dinner. 

The castle was big enough to have infrequently used passageways, and you found one of your favorites, intending to rest. The late afternoon sun beamed through the windows, warming the sun and stones of the small alcove. A rest couldn’t hurt, you propped yourself up inside it, curling against the warm wall, tucking your knees up, and decided to close your eyes for a few minutes. 

“Y/n,” a feminine voice sounded, and you groaned, stirring. Your neck ached on one side .. where were you? Your eyes blinked open, and it was dark. You’d only laid down to rest for a few minutes, it couldn’t be that late. You felt a hand on your shoulder, and twisted, one hand holding the side of your neck, to see Manon and Dorian. Both looking incredibly relieved, but a little pissed off. Manon grabbed you, roughly pulling you from the alcove. 

“Be gentle,” you protested, but she tugged you upright, scanning your entire body. Looking for injuries. 

“Why the hell would you sleep there?” Her eyes narrowed and her voice sharp. 

“I didn’t mean to.” You said carefully. “I was just supposed to rest.” 

“Stupid.” She hissed at you. Dorian pushed her out of the way with his shoulder, wrapping you in his arms instead. 

“What she means to say is we were worried when we couldn’t find you.” He ran his hand up and down your spin, gently pressing you closer to him. “And that we’re glad your okay.” 

“Don’t do that again.” Manon snapped and you hid a laugh, pressing your face into Dorian’s chest. “Napping in an abandoned hallway-”

“Or leave a note.” Dorian interrupted, his a corner of his mouth turning up.