Author's note: Hellooo helloooo!! This is my first ever fanfic, so please take it with a pinch of salt!! (constructive criticism is appreciated, but pls be nice about it)
I LOVED writing this. Dorian is my favourite throne of glass character and there's definitely not enough him x reader fanfics on here. I wrote this imagining reader as Sorscha, as we were ROBBED of my babies. I would love to bring your ideas to life, so if you have any, PLEASE request them!! Hope you love it as much as I do!
Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst, a little suggestive.
The feeling of his fingers running through your hair, gods, it would never get old. Trying to teach him to braid on the other hand?
“No no.. bring the left under middle, then the middle over the right.”
You tell him for the fourth time as he fumbles with the three strands of your hair. He’ll get the hang of it eventually, but right now, your patience is quickly declining. At least he was trying, you reminded yourself.
“Like this?” he queries, somehow getting it wrong again.
For the Crown Prince of Adarlan, who would one day hold the fate of an entire country in his hands, his inability to follow instructions always baffled you.
He’s trying.
“You know I can do it by myself, right? It’ll be easier if i just-”
“I know.” Dorian frowned at the strands between his fingertips. “Is it so unreasonable that I want to do something for you?”
You turn to look at him. “You seem unusually determined, that's all.”
“I dislike being bad at things.” He shrugged, guiding your head to face forward, already tangling the strands again, a hint of frustration slowly creeping into his voice.
“Mhm... and that's why you gave up playing pianoforte after 3 lessons?” The smirk plastered across your face audible in your voice.
“What use does a prince have for playing an instrument?”
“What use do you have for braiding hair?”
“Answering questions with questions?” A satisfied smile tugged on his lips. “I asked first.”
Arrogant prick.
“You’re insufferable.” You reply, unable to keep the fondness out of your tone.
“And you’re beautiful.”
You swallowed, fighting the urge to push him back onto the bed, climb into his lap and take him right-
“Turn around. I want to try again.”
“Watch me do it, then you try again.”
He hummed an affirmative response and sat back as you reached for the strands behind your head and began braiding, slow enough for him to follow. Dorian bit his lip in concentration, a habit he had stolen from spending so much time with you, or too much time “accidentally” inspecting every feature on your face. His mind trailed off. Those freckles. Those lips. Those eyes.
“Dorian, are you watching?”
You spun around just about quick enough to catch him shake his head, snapping back into the room. You furrow your brows at him.
His brows lifted in reply.
“I said, were you watching? Clearly your mind is elsewhere” you brush out the braid with your fingers and shift to sit on your heels opposite him, “Enlighten me, princeling. What's got that pretty mind of yours occupied?” you asked with a teasing smirk.
“You.”
Fuck. You forgot how good he was at flustering you. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, just enough to be noticeable.
He grinned at the sight of it.
Tease.
“You want to know why I wanted you to teach me how to braid?”
He brought his face millimetres from your ear, then whispered, “Because I plan on keeping you around for a very long time.”
Suddenly, every part of yourself you thought you had control over was disconnected from your brain.
Your head slumped in a desperate attempt to hide the fiery pink on your cheeks. He chuckled. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he loved it.
“Look at me.” he purred, gently lifting your head up, staring deep into your eyes. Gods, those sapphire eyes were even more gorgeous this close. You noticed them flicker to your lips, as if it was muscle memory. You were sure he could also hear the pounding of your heart against your ribcage.
“Speechless?” He murmured, amusement dancing in his voice.
He was right. You couldn't even string together a response. How pathetic.
The room felt unbearably small. Not because of how close he was, or the way his breath felt on your skin. Because of what you knew his words truly meant.
He had thought about his future.
He wanted you to be in it.
Flirting with Dorian was easy. It had always come naturally. This, however? You’ve never heard him sound so serious.
It was both terrifying and thrilling.
The silence had stretched on for too long. Long enough for the expression on his face to shift from pride to fear.
He’d done it too soon. He’d let himself ruin any chance he ever had with you. Gods, he felt so foolish. “Say something.” You could hear his voice threatening to break. “Please.”
You shake your head trying to reassure him, still fighting for the right words, any words, to come out.
“I… should go.”
He pulled himself away from you, brushing a hand through his hair. Before you could even process it, he was halfway across the room, beelining for the door.
No.
“Dorian…”
His name was the only thing you could think to say.
Your legs reacted before your brain could. As he reluctantly spun around to meet your gaze, you rushed over to where he stood in front of the door.
A wave of relief flooded through him.
“Please don’t go.”
You hesitantly reached up to touch his face, leaving enough time for him to object if he wanted to. To your relief, he didn't.
He met your gaze, waiting for you to say what was left unspoken.
“I’m not afraid.”
His shoulders sagged, as if the weight of the world had just been taken off them.
“Say it again.” he replied quietly, leaning into the touch of your hand.
“I’m not afraid.” You tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, a nervous laugh escaping before you could stop it. “It's just… nobody's ever really talked about a future with me before…” you admitted, embarrassed.
The words hung between you. For a moment he didn't respond.
Then, his expression shifted into something softer.
“Yeah?” he replied, tilting his head in confusion.
You gave a small nod, suddenly unable to hold his gaze.
He lifted a hand to cup your face, the rough callouses, presumably from sword fighting and whatever other royal duties he got up to, brushing against your cheek.
“Good.” He replied, his smug tone returning at last.
There he was.
His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his grip not tight, but still possessive. His eyes never left your own.
“Tell me to stop.” He warned
You didn’t.
So he didn’t.
And when he kissed you, you could've sworn your body began to melt. His other hand settled around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your hands found their places instinctively: one gently clawing at the fabric of his shirt, not enough to hurt, but enough to show him just how bad you wanted, needed, him close to you. And the other at the hair above the nape of his neck, giving a teasing tug every so often, “it drives me insane” he told you once, and since then, it's become habit.
He ever so slightly pulled away, then rested his forehead on yours, both of you still breathing unevenly. You had kissed many times before, but not once had you felt that level of passion, that level of desire from him.
His hands moved to grip your hips as he guided you back to the bed. He leant against the headboard, looking at you through his eyelashes.
“Come here.”
And who were you to say no to a prince?
You crawled towards him, the space between you disappearing all over again. He suddenly became very aware of the night gown you wore. And just how little of your thighs it covered when you straddled him.
His focus dropped for a brief moment before returning to your face. As if he was trying, and failing miserably, to stay composed.
“Careful, beautiful girl,” he murmured. "You're killing me.”
The words barely had time to settle before something inside you shifted. You couldn’t decide whether to smile or fall apart entirely.
Instead, you closed the distance between your mouths without a second thought.
His breath caught, he hadn't expected you to answer like that.
You felt his lips curve into a grin against yours. Oh gods. The kiss was dangerous. Unhinged. Desperate.
Slowly, it deepened into something more calculated and less frantic until the urgency slipped away completely, allowing the kisses to grow soft and lazy in a way that made you feel safe. A way that made you realise in his arms you felt home.
At last, you pull away, curiosity lacing your expression.
He didn't let you go far, just enough to take in your face properly.
“What?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “What’s on your pretty mind?”
You hesitated for a second, then blurted it out.
“Tell me about it,” you muttered, fingers idly tracing shapes on his sculpted biceps.
He let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh.
“About what?”
“Everything,” you gently brushed a strand of his hair away from his eyes. “Your future… Just.. tell me about it all.”
He paused, a teasing grin smeared across his face. “Hmmm.. well you're in it.”
You blinked at him.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I don't know what you mean. His eyes glittered with arrogant amusement. “That’s the most important part.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, moving your head to rest against his chest, close enough to hear his every heartbeat.
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I can't stop thinking about the fact that in Tower Of Dawn, we see that Sartaq lives in a mountain camp called WINDHAVEN and it's on one of their THREE SACRED MOUNTAINS and there is also a WYRDGATE on top of one of those mountains, where Maeve came through to the TOG world...
Prythian has a WINDHAVEN camp, THREE SACRED MOUNTAINS, and an OBSIDIAN MONOLITH on top of those mountains that TRANSPORTS you to a safe place...
"Why had Gavin picked this site to build his castle? Had there been something here before? Or something beneath it worth hiding?"
-Crown Of Midnight 111
Thin places have mists, typically have tunnels/labyrinths beneath them, and are mostly near a mountain or river (Ramiel, Doranelle/Mistward, the Farian Gap, the Riverhouse, The Prison)
The glass castle is said to have mists around it's spires, has a labyrinth of prison cells underneath it, and is built on the Avery River in the foothills of a mountain range.
Glass is alot like crystal/quartz; similar to the crystal gates in Crescent City, similar to the crystal arch used to contain the NORTHERN RIFT. The glass spires and bridges make gates/arches...
If you like The Old Guard then you’re one cool person (or perhaps two cool raccoons in a trench coat) and The Old Disaster account knows it! tiktok link below, there’s lots more TOG edits 🤘
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Apparently Luca Marinelli will be working with two great actresses, filming will start tomorrow, this is eighty percent certain news, an ever higher achievement for Luca, I'm proud of him ❣️
