#im a ghost im in the background im haunting you im a vague spot in your memory teehee :3

[pastel-the-ghost]

fucked UP that sometimes kin-affirming stuff gets me so emotional in a negative way

[clonecaptains]

CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS | vampire!oberyn martell x reader

rating: e - for typical oberyn smut & this is a vampire story so there’s some blood and some suspenseful moments! 

word count: 3.7k 

summary: You’re on a tour of the medieval prince Oberyn’s castle. You take a wrong turn during the tour and end up somewhere you don’t expect. Maybe this castle really is haunted. 

masterlist

a/n: this is an attempt at some horror-esque writing and im really excited to share this w/ yall! feedback is much appreciated and as always thank you to my partner in crime @pascalispedro for your help w/ this!!!

Closed for Renovations

Travelling the world alone is a mistake. That’s what your family and friends told you. Maybe they were right. But you needed a time of self-reflection and to do what you wanted to do. No agenda. No time restraints. Other than when tours started, or transportation would leave. You could do what you want and when you wanted.

This week you’re in Spain. You’d seen an advertisement for ancient Spanish castles, and you wanted to hit as many as you could.

It’s a sunny day when the bus drops you and other tourists off at your next castle. You’d leaned against the glass window of the bus on the way in, completely in awe of the sheer size of the estate. The stone showing its age but still standing strong. The sunlight shining on the towers and sturdy walls.

The air is fresh when you step outside the bus. A groundskeeper nearby is mowing the lush grass. There’s a clamor of excitement from the tourists with you. You hear whispers about this castle being haunted.

You don’t believe in ghosts, but there’s still a chill that goes up your spine when you look up. The walls are steep from the ground. And is that? A face you see in the window?

“Everyone gather round for the tour!” the tour guide’s voice distracts you for a moment, but that chill still lingers. You shake your head; you’re letting the whispers get to you.

The tour group shuffles inside and you’re in the middle. You cross the threshold into the main entrance, and you gasp. It’s a gorgeous room, it’s massive. Every wall and floor are dark stone, ancient bricks still mortared together after all these years. Black and red tapestries and velvet carpets and ropes line the walls and floors. Chandeliers and candles line the walls and ceilings. The old fixtures remain but are dark – the more modern fixtures illuminate the space with electricity. Many fixed with fake electric candles to look as if the lights are flickering.

The tour guide is speaking, but you’re only half listening as your eyes are drawn to a large portrait on the back wall. It’s difficult to see in the lighting. Though there are small windows, there’s a shadow cast over the dark painting. The reds and blacks match the rest of the space around it.

The man is handsome. Tall. There’s a glint in his eye, a mischievous look. His robes are exquisite. Black, with dark grey suns sewn in the fabric. A deep red tunic is under the robes, and an expensive necklace hangs low on his neck. Many rings are on his fingers. And the tan skin of his chest is on full display. He’s on the stone steps, hand on the banister. Glancing down you see the spot where this portrait was painted.

“Prince Oberyn Martell, known as ‘The Red Viper,’” the guide points to the painting. “This was his estate. It was given to him by his father the king. Oberyn was due to inherit the throne but was murdered on these very grounds in mysterious circumstances.” The tour guide makes his voice try to sound ‘spooky,’ but you can’t help but roll your eyes at his weak attempt.

“How did he die?” someone in the group asks.

“No one knows how the prince was killed. All that is known is his untimely death came in the south tower. It’s where his body was recovered, and he was buried.”

“Is the south tower on the tour?” another voice asks.

“It’s unfortunately closed due to renovations; however, the north tower is identical and Oberyn’s tomb has been recreated there!” This seemed to satisfy the crowd, but you heard someone behind you whisper about how people mysteriously go missing in the south tower.

“They had to cancel tours because someone always went missing.”

You feel that chill again looking up to the painting of the prince. Was it smiling like that before?

You really need to get some sleep.

The next room you’re led to off the entrance is the dining hall. A long table stretches the length of the room. The tour guide mentions notable guests that would have dined at this table during the life of the prince.

Another portrait of him is above the fireplace.

“This guy was vain wasn’t he,” someone snickers.

“In fact,” the tour guide laughs, “he was indeed. While known for his generosity to his kingdom, he was known for being promiscuous and a host of wild parties. There are dozens of stories of his famous orgies and the lovers he’s taken. There’s a speculation he was murdered for the secrets he knew.”

As the tour continues, you find yourself hoping to find a new portrait in each room. Each one he looks the same. Same strong jawline, same handsome features. The only difference is his pose and the background behind him. Each painting resides in the room where it was painted. And each one is perfectly placed in the room, so a shadow is cast over it. He’s never fully in the light.

It’s disappointing to discover so many parts of the castle are roped off due to renovations. You’d hoped to see the library, or his old bedroom – but both are closed.

“Last part of the tour ladies and gentlemen! The north tower! As I said before, the south tower is closed – so this tower is an extra replica!”

The guide leads the group up a steep spiral stone staircase into the top room of the tower. Immediately upon entering, you notice there’s no portrait of him in here. There’s a fireplace, a few books scattered, and most noticeably, in the center of the room is a stone coffin.

Across the top, is a statue of Oberyn laying on his back. You examine the stone seeing him in further detail in better lighting. He has a crooked nose, and a thin line of hair growing along his jaw. The artistry is beautiful, the craftsman worked hard on the detail. The very stitches of his robes are etched in the stone.

You pause at his neck, there seems to be a small scar. Two in fact. You lean in to touch the stone when the tour guide gasps, “don’t touch!”

The exclamation startles you and you topple backwards. You catch yourself on your hands, but the abrasive stone scrapes the palm of your hand. Frazzled, you part from the tour to look for the bathroom you saw on the way in.

The lights in the bathroom are harsh and unforgiving in comparison to the dimly light halls of this castle. It’s strange to be in a modern room in the middle of something so ancient.

Hissing in pain, you approach the sink sticking your hand in the warm water. There’s more blood that you originally thought, and it smears on your hand making you feel squeamish. You splash cold water on your face and feeling dizzy still – you enter an empty stall to sit down for a moment. To breathe.

There’s something in the air in here. You feel a thickness in the air, a weight on your lungs. It’s hot and sticky, but there’s a chill running up your spine and goosebumps on your arms. You can’t get those shadowy eyes out of your head.

It’s just ghost stories.

You’d read about how scary stories affect the body. It activates your fight or flight instinct, puts you on high alert. It’s perfectly reasonable to be a little spooked in a centuries old castle where there was a sinister murder.

Feeling silly, you shake your head at yourself and get a fresh paper towel to clean off your hand. Tossing it in the trash, you start to make your way back to the tour. It’ll be over soon, and the castle will be closed to the public.

You’d run into the bathroom in such a hurry you don’t remember which way you came in. Suddenly you’re down a hall you don’t remember seeing. It’s a long hall of portraits. Not of Oberyn though. You’re in shock at how gorgeous they all are. Each painting is massive – the bottom of the frame touches the floor, and the top of the frame touches the ceiling. Each portrait is of someone different, elegantly dressed with an even more extravagant room behind them – none of which you recognize.

You know now you’re in one of the closed off hallways.

You won’t stay long, just enough to see the Oberyn portrait down at the end.

You vaguely hear the announcement for the castle closure, but you want just one peek at this painting. Then you’ll leave.

This one is the most beautiful so far of Oberyn. It’s still in a shadow, but you step right up to it to look at it. Behind him is what you can only assume is his bedroom. A fireplace is in the corner and a large four poster bed in the center. He’s in the same red and black robes that you’ve seen all afternoon. The detail on this one is intricate. All the others have been mounted high on the walls – too far away for your eyes to see the tiny details.

Leaning in you look at his neck, to see if there’s a scar like on the stone coffin. You get closer and closer-

“Are you lost miss?” you hear a voice behind you, and you gasp.

“You scared me!” you laugh, turning expecting to see a worker from the castle museum behind you. Only, you don’t see anyone. “Hello?”

Your heart starts pounding. Are you hearing things? Or is this place really haunted?

You turn back around to the Oberyn painting but instead of the painting – it’s the man himself. You scream and turn to run back down the hall, only to your horror to see all of the ‘paintings’ come to life. Each portrait subject takes a step out of the wall – they were never paintings. They were only standing still – a trick of the light allowing you to believe they were paintings.

At first you think it’s a prank, until you see their eyes turn black and fangs in their mouth catch the light.

“Are you lost my dove?” Oberyn’s voice comes as a devilish whisper on your neck. His hand coming to grasp your arm to keep you from running, or perhaps to keep them from getting to you.

“Virgin blood is the sweetest blood,” a man nearby hisses, and you try to pull away from Oberyn.

“Aye,” Oberyn hums bringing your hand up to his lips. He tenderly brushes a kiss to your injured palm. “You had one last month,” he tuts at the man. “Leave her alone!” he speaks out to the long hallway. Most of them turn around and retreat to their rooms. You see that now; the frames were only the doorframes.

The rest of them leave the hallway to move about the castle. It’s well after dark now.

You’re alone with the prince now.

“Are you lost little dove?” he repeats. His voice is thick and smooth like honey. The rich accent coats the air.

“Is this a prank?” you start to cry, “I promise I’ll leave.”

“It is no prank sweet one.”

“Are you real? I thought you died?”

He chuckles, then looks up at you – showing you his four fangs and black eyes. You gasp, and quick as a blink he looks back to normal.

“Are you going to kill me?” the tears still falling from your eyes.

“No,” he shushes, wiping your tears with a long warm finger.

“But he said something about virgin blood,” you sniffle. Your entire world just came crashing down realizing that these creatures do in fact exist and that’s all you can think to say.

“My subjects partake in the pleasurable taste of human blood. It’s like a drug to them.” He’s stalking around you in a circle now, observing you. “I however,” he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing them to the back of your hand, “prefer to partake in the pleasure of, well – pleasure.” His smile is wicked, and you can see his fangs peek out from under his lips.

He pulls you to him, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. His lips part from your hand, hovering above your neck. You tremble in his arms and you wince when he opens his mouth.

This is it, you think. You’re going to die here in some castle in Spain and never see your family again.

Your body tenses, ready for the bite, but instead his lips press on your skin in a gentle kiss.

“I mean no harm,” he purrs. “I cannot say the same for my subjects. For your own safety you may dine with me tonight as my guest and you’ll be free to leave in the morning. If you choose to leave now, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

He offers his hand to you, waiting for you to take it.

Weighing your options – you figure why not? And take his hand.

His slender fingers weave with yours as if you were familiar lovers. He brings your hand up to his lips again to kiss your knuckles. He guides you, leading you out of the long hallway and into the main entrance, speaking softly as you go.

“How did you sustain this injury?” he asks, thumb brushing over the torn skin on your palm.

“I fell. In the north tower.”

“Ah yes, the false rendering of my tomb in the south tower.”

The night continues to get stranger – the electric lights in the main entrance have gone out. The space is illuminated now with the real candle fixtures on the walls.

“Is that how you really died?” you ask. You look at him and look for the scars on his neck but see none.

“It is,” he replies. “But when I was reborn the scars healed.”

He walks you through the entire castle, telling you its secrets. There’s a party going on in every room, men and women’s bodies tangled with each other. Food and wine are everywhere. Oberyn walks casually with you on his arm.

“Does this shock you?” he asks seeing you turn your eyes away from a group of people pleasuring each other.

“It’s – not how I thought this day was going to go,” you laugh.

“Let me take you somewhere quieter?” he offers and leads you back down the ‘portrait’ hall into his ‘painting.’

There’s a tray of food on a table, and your stomach growls. It dawns on you that you’ve not eaten in hours.

“Please,” he motions towards the tray and you hungrily grab a piece of bread.

Hunger gets the better of you, but you’re still suspicious.

“How do I know that you’re not just feeding me so that you can feed off me?” you ask him. “I don’t want to be eaten.”

He chuckles at your frankness and takes a step towards you.  

“The only part of you I wish to eat,” he steps closer. You freeze and drop the bread in your fingers. “Is that sweetness between your thighs,” he purrs his body now pressing up against yours. His hand cupping your sex through your jeans. “I only need permission.”

You shudder, but you can feel the electricity through his fingers. It’s strong, it’s a magnetic pull. You have no other option but to say yes.

The moment the word exits your lips, the lights in the room dim. The roaring fire quiets down.

His hands reach for your shoulders and he begins to kiss your neck again. This time opening his mouth a little. You can feel the graze of his fangs on your neck – but they do not break the skin.

“Wait,” you gasp and pull back. “Does the door have to be open?” you ask motioning towards the door leading to that hallway.

Oberyn smirks, his left eyebrow lifting.

“The rooms have no doors; it’s so my lovers can pour in and out of whatever room they wish.”

You look down at your feet, not enjoying the idea of being seen by others. You’ve only just barely agreed to be seen by him.

“Fear not,” he coos and hooks a finger under your chin. He snaps his fingers and you hear a slam of a door behind you. Turning to look, you see a door has appeared. You don’t question it. This is already a weirder night than possibly imagined.

Oberyn pulls your attention back to him, and he shrugs his outer robe. Leaving him in the tunic underneath. For a moment you wonder if he’ll have issue taking off your sweatshirt and jeans, but then you think – he must have been doing this for years.

“Why me?” you ask, trying to calm yourself down as he kisses along your neck and under your jaw.

“I smelled you when you first walked in, knew I wanted to taste you,” he licks your neck and you shudder again. He pulls on your sweatshirt – tugging it off you. Your shirt comes next, then your jeans.

When you’re left exposed in your underwear, he licks his lips – he sucks on his teeth making a sharp sound.

“You look ravishing,” he hums – tracing his finger along your shoulders and down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He shrugs his tunic then, leaving him in pants only. That chain and rings also remain on his tan skin.

The trembling never stops. His intoxicating presence is clouding your judgement, the alarm bells in your mind are being muted. It was only just a few hours ago that you were learning about this man, and now he’s unhooking your bra with swift fingers.

“Here sweet one,” he coos and guides you to the bed for you to lie down, “your knees shake.”

You lay back and he comes to lay down next to you. He props up on his elbow, and his other hand comes to grasp at your breast. Fingertips trace around your nipple, he chuckles when it perks for him. He pinches your nipple then with two fingers and you jolt. He does the same to your other breast, and his mouth comes to rest on the other. His lips sucking, his fangs ever so slightly grazing. It’s hot in the room, stifling. That chill up your spine is no longer a chill, but deep arousal. It’s not in the back of you neck anymore, it’s pooling between your legs.

When he’s satisfied that you’re satisfied, he slithers off the bed and kneels between your legs dangling off the bed. Those quick fingers dance along your panties and he looks to you for permission, which you give with a sigh. He tugs them down and parts your legs with his hands before you can close them in your shyness.

It doesn’t scare you to have his dangerous mouth so close to you. In fact, the first touch of his tongue almost kills you from pleasure, not from fear. His fingers tease your opening and slide as far as they can go. You gasp roughly when you feel a cold ring pressing against your slick wet entrance.

His lips suck on your sex while his fingers move inside. The combination of the two has you toppling over the edge in no time.

No one at home will believe this.

As you come down, he stands to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. He pushes you back further on the bed so that you’re resting on a pillow. You look around for a moment, taking in the scene. From this angle, you can see the closed door, if it were open, you’d have a view of the entire hall. There are no windows in this room, only paintings and tapestries. Oberyn comes into your sight then, very tan in the orange glow from the fire, and very naked. The flames catch his necklace and rings, they shine even in the dull light.

You blush to see him so naked, but it arouses you all the same.

“Are you alright my dove?” He purrs laying down on top of you.

You nod, growing to like this pet name he’s given you. You have no thoughts in your head about what tomorrow will bring, only that you feel the tip of him at your entrance. His skin burns like a furnace, you thought he’d be cold. But it’s quiet the opposite.

He kisses your lips hungrily when he pushes inside. Your hips rise up to meet his and his hands wrap around your body to hold you to him. He swallows your cries and your body tingles and burns with the intense heat and pleasure he’s giving you. His thrusts are sure, slow, and heated at times, but fast and harsh in others. It’s as if he knows exactly what your body needs to reach that delicious high that you’re chasing.

His lips move down to your neck when your orgasm closes in. He’s pushing, thrusting hard and fast on that spot that has you seeing stars. Your body shakes, pulses, quivers. He bites on your neck when you come undone, the pleasure pounding in your veins. You’ve never felt like this before, never felt this good. Your entire body thrums from the nerves and exhilaration of having been taken to bed for the first time. The pleasure is blinding.

The rest of the night is a blur to you, your orgasm so strong.

The next thing you remember that’s clear – is you wake in the morning in the bathroom. A worker comes in to find you on the floor.

“Are you alright?” she asks, panic in her voice at finding a person so early in the morning.

“I think I must have passed out,” you laugh. But you don’t remember anything. The last thing you remember was scraping your hand and coming here to clean it off.

She laughs politely, but then turns to leave quickly. You shrug it off and try to remember what happened last night. Now it’s last night that is a blur.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel a sharp pain in your neck. You gasp to touch the wound to feel four holes. The memories all flooding back.

You turn to look in the mirror to get a better look at your neck. The pain is getting worse, it’s white hot.

You gasp then when you see – you have no reflection.