#oberyn martell reader

[storiesforallfandoms]

littlest lion ~ oberyn martell;game of thrones

word count: 3182

request?: no

description: after witnessing the littlest lion sibling’s abuse at the hands of her queen sister, he decides that not all lannisters are as terrible as he once thought

pairing: oberyn martell x female!reader

warnings: swearing, verbal abuse (it’s cersei so...not surprisingly), much use of y/n, a little bit of a re-write on the canon of got to say that tywin had a second wife and another child so that it makes sense for the reader to be the youngest lannister

masterlist (one, two, three)

Everyone in all of Westeros knew the Lannister siblings to be cunning and pretentious. For the most part, those assumptions were right. Cersei and Jamie were definitely both of those things - Cersei more so than her twin brother - and Tyrion’s general distaste and apathy for everything could be misinterpreted as pretentious.

But then there was their youngest half sister, (YN).

Born to Tywin and his second wife after the death of his first, (Y/N) Lannister was the complete opposite to her older siblings. She was kind and shy, which often resulted in a verbal lashing from Cersei. Tyrion was indifferent to (Y/N), but treated her nice enough. Jamie just ignored her unless he was with Cersei. Cersei despised her sister with every fiber of her being. She never wasted a breath to inform (Y/N) that she wasn’t a real Lannister, despite her being a true born to Tywin.

She tried to pretend like Cersei’s words didn’t affect her. It would only result in more taunting if she did. But (Y/N) had spent countless nights in her chambers sobbing over whatever Cersei had said to her that day. She dreamed of the day she would be able to leave her sister’s kingdom (although technically it was her son, Joffrey’s, but everyone knew Cersei was the true leader), but it felt like that day would never come. (Y/N) was well into her adulthood with no prospects of getting married. It didn’t help that Tywin hadn’t arranged a suitor for her in her younger years, and now that Joffrey was king the task fell to him and Cersei, but Cersei would not approve of any suitors for her sister.

“She needs someone to bully,” Tyrion had told (Y/N) once. “The only way you will ever marry is if you manage to find someone who will take you away.”

(Y/N) hoped that Joffrey’s marriage would bring Cersei enough joy that she would not think to be cruel to her. (Y/N) made herself unseen to Cersei as much as possible while the wedding was happening, unless she was called upon.

Unfortunately for her, Cersei still found reason to call upon her.

(Y/N) entered the throne room where Cersei was speaking with Joffrey. She curtsied, waiting for the two to notice her. She was sure Cersei was intentionally keeping Joffrey’s attention when her legs began to shake, threatening to collapse from under her.

“You may rise, aunt,” Joffrey finally said.

(Y/N) stood straight. “Your grace, you summoned me?”

“Upon my mother’s request,” Joffrey confirmed. “She wishes to speak with you in regards to my wedding day.”

(Y/N) tried to keep her expression neutral as she turned to Cersei. “What can I do for you, sister?”

“Don’t call me that,” Cersei hissed.

“I apologize, my lady.”

“I called you here to ask what you intend to wear to the king’s wedding.”

(Y/N) blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Have you become hard of hearing? What do you intend to wear to your king’s wedding?” She enunciated each word as if (Y/N) were a child. Joffrey was smirking from his throne. He reveled in his mother’s cruelty just as he reveled in his own.

“I...I suppose a gown from my wardrobe,” (Y/N) said.

Cersei scoffed. “Please, your wardrobe is so common. It would be humiliating for you to show up like that.”

A lump began to form in (Y/N)’s throat, but she tried to swallow it down. “I have no other options, though, and the wedding is in a matter of days.”

“I’ll have to get my seamstress to work on a more appropriate gown for you then,” Cersei sighed.

(Y/N) felt a heavy pit in her stomach. It was starting to make sense why Cersei had called her here. It wasn’t truly to figure out suitable wear for the wedding. It was so Cersei could once again humiliate (Y/N). She had no doubts that her sister would have her seamstress make the most hideous dress for (Y/N) to wear to the wedding. It would be an embarrassment for (Y/N), and it would mean it would be less likely for any potential suitors to show interest in her.

Tears were welling in her eyes. She was trying to fight them back, but it was a losing battle. “May I be excused, your grace?”

Joffrey glanced at his mother. She sighed and turned away, so he waved (Y/N) off. As she began to leave, she heard Cersei tell her son, “What a pathetic woman.”

(Y/N) all but ran from the throne room. She hurried out the doors of the castle into the palace’s garden as her tears finally began to fall. Her body was wracked with sobs as she fell onto the nearest bench. She felt so struck and so helpless. She would never get out of Cersei’s clutches as long as she lived, and there was no one in the world who could save her.

“I wonder what it is that causes a lion to cry.”

(Y/N) jumped at the sound of a voice. She looked up to see a handsome man in a yellow robe stood in front of her.

“Apologies,” she said, quickly wiping the tears from her face. “I was no aware that there was anyone else here.”

“No need for apologies. This is your home, you are allowed to cry anywhere you wish.” He sat next to her, looking at her as if studying her. “But the question still stands: what makes a lion cry?”

“You know who I am.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyways, “Everyone in all of Westeros knows who the Lannisters are. Even if I didn’t, your golden hair would have been a clue.”

(Y/N) had to break their eye contact because this handsome man was intimidating her. Not in a bad way. His looks were just making her feel tongue tied.

“It was nothing,” she said. “I apologize for disturbing your peace.”

“The little lion is surprising,” he commented. “She cries, she apologies. Very un-Lannister.”

“I am no Lannister. At least, not to my own siblings.”

A look of realization passed his face. “I believe I am starting to understand.”

Tears were forming in her eyes again. She couldn’t cry in front of this stranger. Not again. It was bad enough that he had already caught her once. Cersei would have her head if she found out that (Y/N) was making the family name seem weak.

“Would you like to go for a walk, little lion?” he asked.

His voice was quiet and soothing. If she didn’t know any better, (Y/N) would’ve thought he was mocking her. But one look told her he was being genuine. A walk through the garden definitely sounded like a good idea.

He offered her his arm and she took it. As they stood, he told her, “My name is Oberyn Martell, brother of Doran Martell.”

“The Prince of Doran,” (Y/N) said.

Oberyn smiled. “You know of my family too, then.”

“One must know all the families of Westeros, as not to let down their guard,” (Y/N) recited. “Or to not make a fool.”

She could see Oberyn look at her, but she wouldn't dare look back at him. Instead, she changed the subject, “You must be here for my nephew’s wedding.”

“I am. My brother was invited, but he was very busy, so I am taking his lace.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay then.”

“I am already enjoying it.”

(Y/N) smiled, her face burning from the compliment.

She showed Oberyn around the garden, the two of them trading stories and getting to know each other. For a brief moment, (Y/N) was able to forget about everything. It was a brief moment of happiness and feeling like she was actually wanted.

They came to stand at a perch that overlooked the kingdom. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden he over everything. (Y/N) was acutely aware of Oberyn’s hand brushing against her own, but was trying not to focus too much on it. Oberyn’s presence was starting to make her feel dizzy, but not in a bad way. It was an intoxicating feeling. She never wanted it to end, but at the same time she was worried about making a fool of herself in front of him.

“This visit has already brought many surprises for me,” Oberyn said.

“How so?” (Y/N) asked.

“For one, I have found that not all Lannisters are as terrible as their reputation would have it. And two, I am finding myself enjoying time with a Lannister.”

He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. She drew in a shakey breath at the action. Oberyn’s deep brown eyes were watching her again. She hoped her legs would not give out from underneath her as she felt them growing weak.

“I have been enjoying my time with you as well, my Lord,” she said.

“Please, call me Oberyn. I am but a second son, not a Lord. Besides, I do not intend for these formalities between us to last long.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You are ambitious.”

“I am a man who knows what he wants, and it is seldom that I do not get what it is that I want.”

Her heart was beating so fast she thought she may pass out, or that Oberyn may hear it. She had never had a man tell her that he wanted her, and she realized she had never wanted someone so much either. In just a short period of time, Oberyn had managed to completely steal her heart. There was nothing in the world that could ruin this moment, or this connection.

What she didn’t realize was that her sister was watching the two of them from inside the castle.

~~~~~~

The sun was nearly completely set when Oberyn and (Y/N) finally parted ways. He had kissed her hand once more and told her he would come looking for her the next day. (Y/N) was so lightheaded that she practically floated back to her room. She was just about to enter her chambers when a voice asked, “Did you have a good evening with the Dornish prince?”

She turned quickly to see Cersei stood at the end of the long hall. Suddenly, everything came crashing back down to Earth around her.

“He is very lovely,” she responded. “I apologize that he kept me for so long. I did not intend to miss out on dinner.”

“It was lovely without you.” 

(Y/N) winced. She put her hand back on her door, intending to escape into her room and hopefully salvage whatever good feelings she could from her time with Oberyn.

“I know you are not wise, (Y/N), but I truly hope you are not stupid enough to fall for Oberyn Martell.”

(Y/N) looked at her sister in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he is not a man who settles for one woman. Everyone knows that he will fuck anything that walks - man or woman. He was already visiting the brothel here before his arrival.”

Her breathing began to increase. “I...I didn’t...”

“Oh my word,” Cersei breathed. “You have fallen for him, haven’t you?”

The tears were forming again. (Y/N) quickly blinked them away so that Cersei wouldn’t see. “He was treated me as if I was an actual person. That is more than I can say for anyone in this castle. I apologize if it makes me stupid because I was happy to feel wanted for once in my life.”

“He only made you feel that way so he could take your maidenhood,” Cersei retorted. “He will not make you a wife, he will make you a whore. And then he will return to Dorne while you are here, weeping over his departure even though you were the fool who fell for him. It will be left to me to pick up the pieces he left behind.”

Cersei was shaking her head as she turned to leave. (Y/N) was hoping that she could finally escape her sister’s cruelty for the night, but then Cersei paused to add, “I mean, really, (Y/N). Why would a prince of all people want to marry someone like you? The last born child, from a second marriage, who has not been wed by the time she reached her maturing age? You are pathetic.”

(Y/N) didn’t wait for Cersei to leave. She shoved into her room and slammed the door shut. Her tears began to fall before the door was fully closed. She didn’t even have the strength to make it to her bed this time. She collapsed into a heap against the door, burying her head in her skirts as she began to sob.

How could she be such a fool? How could she let herself believe that she had finally found someone who wanted her? That she might just escape from Cersei once and for all? What Cersei had said may have been cruel, but (Y/N) knew there must be some truth behind the words. There was nothing remarkable about (Y/N) that would draw in the attention of someone like Oberyn, unless he just wanted to try and get into her bed. He saw her at her weakest and he preyed on that, the same way that Cersei always had.

“Stupid,” (Y/N) whispered to herself through her tears. “You are stupid.”

A knock came at the door.

“Go away!” (Y/N) called through her tears. She wasn’t in the mood for anyone to see her like this, or to have to be humiliated further.

“It is me, little lion.”

She paused. How had he found her room? Why had he come for her? Surely he wasn’t about to try to get into her bed already.

Against her better judgement, she stood and opened the door. When he saw her tearstained face, Oberyn’s expression filled with sadness. He reached for her, and she allowed him to pull her into his embrace.

“I am so sorry you are treated this way,” he said.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

He nodded. “I will admit, I followed you once we had separated. I wanted to see if you would be intercepted by either of your siblings before you reached your room. I saw the Queen Regent approaching, so I kept a distance to hear what she would say to you.”

“Then you heard what she told me about you.”

(Y/N) pulled away from Oberyn. She knew she shouldn’t listen to anything Cersei said, but she couldn’t help that her sister’s words had once against gotten to her.

“I did,” Oberyn confirmed.

“And is it true?”

“It is true that I went to a brothel before I arrived at the castle. It is true that I enjoy intimacy from anyone who is willing to give it to me, regardless of gender. But it is not true that I was only kind to you to try and take your maidenhood. What I said in the garden, I meant it.”

“Why?” (Y/N) asked. “Why would you want me? Out of all the beautiful women that I am sure you have seen, both noble and not, why is it me that you desire for?”

He cupped her face. He wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumbs as he looked down at her. “Because I believe you to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

(Y/N) scoffed, but Oberyn said, “It is true. From the moment I saw you in the garden, weeping over what I am sure was another verbal lashing from your sister, I was taken by your beauty. You are a beautiful woman, both inside and out. I am completely taken by you, (Y/N), and it upsets me greatly that you are made to think that you do not deserve that kind of love.”

She wanted to be happy by what Oberyn was saying. She did believe him. She could see the sincerity in his eyes. But knowing that Oberyn was taken by her that much just made her heart ache more, because she knew that they would never be allowed to be together.

“Cersei will never approve,” she said. “She will not let me marry and escape this place. If you show any interest in me, or voice that you want me to be your wife, she will deny it.”

“Then I will take you away from here.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

Oberyn looked over his shoulder to be sure no one was around. (Y/N) stepped back into her room and motioned for him to follow. She closed her door, giving them some privacy to speak freely.

“She cannot stop me if I take you before she realizes you are gone,” he said. “We can leave after the king’s wedding and return to Dorne immediately. She cannot stop you once you’ve already gone, and if she tries then you will have an army of Dornish men waiting to defend you. Myself included.”

“How will we get my things out of here before she can stop us?” (Y/N) asked, glancing around her room.

“Pack what is essential,” Oberyn told her. “Just one bag of essential things. Whatever you cannot fit I will replace once we return to Dorne. We can put it in my carriage before the wedding, and once it all ends we will leave immediately. I did not intend to stay long after the ceremony anyways, so it will not seem suspicious if I take my leave so quickly.”

Tyrion’s words were playing in (Y/N)’s head. “The only way you will ever marry is if you manage to find someone who will take you away.” She had thought for so long that it was an unreachable desire to find someone who would want to take her away. She almost wanted to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming.

“You would really do that for me?” she asked.

“Of course I would, my little lion,” he said. “You do not deserve the life that you are living here. Even if you do not want me, I will still take you away and let you live a happier life.”

“I want you,” she whispered, almost worried that saying it out loud would make everything fall apart.

But Oberyn heard her, and he smiled. “When we are in Dorne, I will court you as I should, then I will make you my wife.”

(Y/N) couldn’t find the words to say how much she wanted that. She just smiled, then leaned into Oberyn’s embrace. She mentally counted the days until she could be free from her prison, but then decided not to think of how long till it would happen. Instead, she focused on what she was going to have after she had finally gotten out of there.

Oberyn.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Wrap Around Pt.1

Pairing(s): Oberyn Martell x Martell!Reader, Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand

Warnings: siblingxsibling implied, longing

Words: 2033

Summary: Oberyn was beside himself at the return of his baby sister (y/n). For a year she had been off in Essos, experiencing the rest of the world outside of the safety of Sunspear. Now she was returning to Dorne. Returning to Oberyn.

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THE WARNINGS/TAGS

Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

“Her ship still isn’t here yet?” Irritated, Oberyn makes the servant squirm uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze. Normally Oberyn was quick to please and in a jolly mood. There was none of that.

“No, your Grace. Her ship seems to be lagging.” He awkwardly informs the Prince of Dorne.

Near the archway of his chambers, Ellaria was lounging on a long, cushioned bench. She watches as the poor boy flees once given permission by Oberyn. “Calm down, my love. The ship will get here when it gets here. You yelling at squires won’t make it sail any faster.”

His brow was tense on his handsome face. “I haven’t seen my baby sister in a year. I need to see her face. It’s been far too long.”

Ellaria coles and rises, her robes flowing after her as she glides over to Oberyn. Hands smooth out Oberyn’s knotted shoulders. (y/n)’s initial departure had been hard enough on Oberyn. For days after Ellaria stayed by his side as he longed for his sister. Now that she was returning, he was once more growing impatient on her arrival.

She kisses the length of his neck, feeling his form relax under her touch. “You know how arduous traveling by sea is. The wait will be worth it once you see her.”

Closing his eyes, Oberyn sighs and allows Ellaria to lead him to a chair. Dutifully pouring him a goblet of rich Dornish red. Dark as blood but oh so sweet on the tongue.

He should have never let (y/n) leave for Essos. She claimed that she wanted to see more of the world and since she was not allowed to go to Westeros on her own (Oberyn had already lost one sister there, he wasn’t going to lose another), her brothers relented. Giving her a ship to Essos was safer than having her travel in Westeros where Lannisters and Tyrells could easily prey upon her. For so long after Elia’s death, Oberyn kept her safe in Dorne. No one would dare to take his young sister from their own home. (y/n) wanted to spread her wings though. Too headstrong to be tethered down. She was not delicate like Doran and Elia had been. There was venom in her, a will that couldn’t be broken, nor did Oberyn ever want to. He loved (y/n), faults and all of her fire.

“If she comes back with a boy, you must promise not to hurt him.” Ellaria suddenly muses while petting his dark head.

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Oberyn before. (y/n) was of perfect marrying age and much like himself had a healthy carnal appetite. What if she had decided to bring someone home? Perhaps when she visited Trystane in Norvos where his mother lived their nephew might have introduced her to someone. A beautiful foreigner that peaked her interests enough for her to want to bring them home. It made Oberyn’s stomach drop.

“Then the boy must be ready to prove himself. No man is worthy of my sister if they are not prepared to fight me.”

Ellaria knew that there was more to it. Expert hands fann on his broad shoulders and begin to knead them. “Even here, feelings like that are looked down upon.” They never spoke about it. Hardly brought it up because of the sadness that followed. Incest was rife in Westeros, but never in Dorne. Have a lover, even two if you like, but it could never be a sibling. That was the one taboo everyone agreed upon. It was viewed as unnatural, even damnable. And perhaps another reason why Doran was willing to give (y/n) her own ship to travel for months at a time. He saw what Ellaria did: a brother who loved his sister too much for comfort.

Not saying anything, Oberyn gingerly grabs one of Ellaria’s hands and pulls it down so that he could kiss her smooth knuckles. “I just want to see her.”

Off in the distance they could hear the low blow of a horn. Oberyn was on his feet in seconds, a big grin plastered on his face making him look ten years younger.

“She’s here!” **

Your heart rattled the cage of your chest once you caught sight of land and the shining top of Sunspear’s palace, even the looming vegetation of the Water Gardens could vaguely be seen.

The warm Dornish breeze kissed your face, welcoming you back home. Although you had fun during your solo journey, you sorely missed Sunspear and all the people that lived there. You wondered how much your nieces had changed, if they even did at all. Arianne and Tyene had been close companions to you growing up. The three of you spent your early adolescence playing in the Water Garden and flirting with whatever poor boy got stuck in your alluring trap. You loved Oberyn dearly, but you could never have fun with the opposite sex when he was around. Entangle yourself with another woman? Sure, go for it. But if Oberyn caught a whiff of a male scent, he was right there to scare them off. Being with your nieces did a lot of good for you as you were allowed to escape Oberyn at least for a few hours.

You smile to yourself when you think of your possessive brother.

Retrieving a piece of cloth that was normally tied to your wrist, you press it under your nose. After so long it still smelled like Oberyn. Before leaving for your first stop, Lys, you had snuck into Oberynb’s room and cut a strip of fabric from one of his shirts. A token to take with you, for even though he chased all the boys away, Oberyn was your favorite person. More than Arianne and Tyene. More than your older brother Doran. He was your light. When Elia was murdered, Oberyn slept in your room every night because of your haunting nightmares. He pressed you close to his bare chest and you drowned yourself in his calming scent. Cloves, spices, and a bit of natural musk was your security blanket.

The sway of the ship brought you back.

You’d be seeing him shortly. You let go of the scrap of cloth, ignoring it as it fell to the ground. There was no need for it anymore. You were home.

“(Y/N)!!”

Even through the shout, you knew who it was. The closer you got, the more you could make out Oberyn at the dock; hands cupped around his mouth as he called out to you. Two armed guards stood sentry behind Oberyn and Ellaria. Of course they would be the first ones to greet you.

Leaning over the side, you call out “OBERYN!!”

Then, to the deckhands utter shock, you did the unthinkable. Getting up on the ledge of the ship, you dove into the sparkling water below. Their screams were drowned out once the water enveloped you. Breaching the surface, you swim over to the dock’s shore where Oberyn was running to.

“You crazy girl!” Oberyn was laughing as he helped you up and out of the water. His own trousers getting wet in the process but neither of you cared. He grabbed onto you for dear life and nearly suffocated you in his embrace. That’s when you heard the delighted screams of your nieces running into the water as well. Arianne excitedly skipped in, her dress skirts immediately getting wet. Tyene was a little more hesitant than her cousin but lifted up the hem of her dress and waded in. While Nymeria was close behind Tyene, Obara and Ellaria chose to stay on shore.

Even though saltwater stung your eyes and soaked into your clothes, you had never been happier. In the arms of your family you felt secure and loved.

Being drenched from head to toe made the way back to Sunspear’s palace a little uncomfortable, but at least you weren’t the only one. Nymeria had charged in, knocking all four of you into the water. Oberyn’s long hair was dripping as was Arianne’s. The way back, Tyene sulked over her wet attire; silently shooting daggers over at her half-sister.

Before facing your brother Doran, the reigning Prince of Dorne, you desperately needed a bath and a change of clothes. Being in that state was okay when it was in front of Oberyn, not the eldest child of Prince Egemen and Bahar Martell. Even if he was your brother, you still had to appear proper in front of the ruler of Dorne.

Departing from your welcome wagon, you were taken for your required bath. It felt like heaven to slip out of your soiled garments and into the steaming hot water that the maids had quickly supplied for you.

Sprinkling small jasmine flowers into the water made the floral scent begin to rise and fill your nostrils. As fun as your travels had been, this was your home that you had missed.

Hadiye, a hand maid who had been with you for years, goes to answer a knock at your washroom door. You could hear her quiet protest. “Prince Oberyn, your sister is almost done with her bath.”

Quite easily, Oberyn pushed past her. “That’s alright. You forget that (y/n) and I used to bathe together as children. Nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, I want to hear of her adventures in the vast land of Essos!”

Gawking at the prince that was now striding over to your massive tiled tub, Hadiye looks to you and Melisa who had been lathering your hair with essential oils at the time of Oberyn’s disruption. Melisa, who was lower in rank than Hadiye, takes a step away from you and bows in your brother’s presence.

He waves them off. “You two may leave. My sister and I have much to catch up on.”

From her nervous glances at you, you assure the women that it would be alright. Before you left, this had been normal. Oberyn barging in on you as you bathed so he could keep you company and talk. Still, you knew how much this fact made others uncomfortable. “Go on. Let Prince Doran know that I will be ready in a little bit.”

Obedient Hadiye bows and ushers Melisa out.

“Such fretting hens.” Oberyn clicks.

“They surely haven’t changed one bit.”

Finally the two of you were alone. Releasing a sigh as he gets down on his knees, Oberyn sits on the floor; back leisurely pressed against your tub. Of course he never looked directly at you while you bathed. That would be inappropriate.

“So tell me of the year I have missed out on.” **

He had hoped things would be different once (y/n) came home. That her and Oberyn would stop tip-toeing the line of being inappropriate with each other. Yet his retainer had just told him what Hadiye had relayed.

Prince Doran purses his lips and runs a hand over his brow. They had always been too close, even before Elia’s murder. Elia had fretted over the relationship her younger siblings had. She wanted (y/n) to be married as soon as possible, preferably to a Dornish lord so that (y/n) would not have to suffer in a foreign land. Doran knew better. If he were to marry off (y/n), Oberyn would bring upon the apocalypse. Many times he had stated that no man could take (y/n) unless they defeated him in combat. Which more than likely meant Oberyn would kill any potential suitors.

What to do about them was becoming quite a problem for Doran. No young lord wanted to risk their life in order to claim (y/n). His father had taught all he may need to know for ruling Dorne, except for this. Times like this made him miss Elia. Under her care, Oberyn and (y/n) were more docile. Oberyn kept his possessiveness at bay while (y/n) kept her encouragement to a minimum. They clung to one another furiously after Elia’s premature demise.

Even with his paramour, Ellaria, Oberyn kept a tight grip on (y/n) and vice versa. Like snakes entwined in their mating dance.

He feared for his younger siblings. Their attraction to each other would ruin them.

[palioom]

little dove

summary: your first attendance of a huge feast is bothersome, alone and inexperienced as you are. until the eyes of a certain prince won't stop following you.

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; virginity/innocence kink; implied age gap (oberyn is in his early 40s, reader early 20s); fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; some biting

a/n: another fic from last summer, hope you enjoy! ; headers & dividers by @/saradika-graphics

follow @palioomfics & turn on notifs for future updates

• masterlist •

Oberyn had been watching her all night already, his dark eyes following the shape of her wherever she went. Between the bustle of the people, her bright orange glowing dress like the sun, rising and settling as she appeared and disappeared, standing around like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

It was adorable, a smirk gracing his features as he watched her wring her hands, smiling sheepishly when someone approached her. 

So innocent.

He could see the nervousness on her face from where he sat, the uncertainty, clearly not used to people approaching her.

He could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest, exposed by the deep cut of her garments.

Taking another sip of his wine, Oberyn stood, deciding now was his time.

The festivities had been going on for a while, and even though he had planned on celebrating with a group of people in his bedchambers later, she had thrown those plans into the wind the second he set sight on her.

Something just intrigued him, maybe it was the innocence she seemed to harbour, maybe it was her beauty.

Whatever it was, he had to know more, waiving away another woman that approached him with a polite smile, then walking over to the mysterious woman.

She looked around nervously, playing with the rings on her hands as people passed by her, some stopping to talk to her.

Feeling incredibly out of place at this feast, her first big one, she didn't quite know what to do. Her parents were somewhere, as were her siblings.

The lords trying to speak to her made her feel uneasy, knowing she was supposed to find a possible suitor at some point, but wanting nothing more than to flee this place.

In fact, she was thinking about just leaving, when she was approached again.

Tall, dark haired and handsome. The Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell.

She had seen him at his table, stealing a glance every once in a while and looking away when his dark eyes caught hers.

And now he stood in front of her, flashing her a wide smile.

“My Prince.” She said, curtsying as well as she could, perhaps a little clumsily. 

Out of everything she had expected to happen today, she did not expect for him to approach her.

“Do you intend to sulk in the shadows all night, my dove?”

She blinked up at him, once again playing with the rings on her fingers.

“I have not been sulking.” A frown graced her face, a slight tremble in her voice. His presence was intimidating, but different from the other people who had approached her. “I have been observing.”

Oberyn chuckled, taking a small step closer to her, watching her step back just a little in return. So close to her, he could practically feel the nervosity radiating off of her, trying to hold eye contact before they moved away again, looking at anything but him.

“Observing by turning down all lords and ladies who approach you?” He said, watching her fingers stop for just a moment, as if she had been caught, before fiddling with her rings again. “I must admit, I have been watching you for a while - you are the only lady not dancing, not talking to anyone. Just standing in your corner, sometimes moving to follow the servants for a drink or something to eat.”

She stayed quiet. Had she been that noticeable? Just by standing around, hoping for a saving grace?

“I assume this to be your first attendance at a feast this big, am I correct, my dove?”

That nickname.

It made her feel warm, a different kind of warmth than the Dornish weather. Running through her in an unfamiliar fashion, her veins like molten metal, a strange feeling moving up her spine..

“Yes, my Prince.” She said, nodding, but not looking at him.

Oberyn noticed how she became more nervous, smirking at the display in front of him.

“My parents have kept me from them for long, I was only ever allowed to attend small ones.” She continued, sighing. “It is quite overwhelming. I am inexperienced in these kinds of things.”

Her words made him inhale sharply through his nose, still smiling.

If she was inexperienced in this, what else was she inexperienced in?

He had wanted her before, but now the desire for her burned even brighter. Oberyn wanted to show her the things her parents have undoubtedly sheltered her from.

To keep their daughter pure for a potential suitor.

“I understand, my dove. Would you perhaps allow me to accompany you to a place more quiet?”

Usually, he did not beat around the bush when it came to a potential partner for the night.

But it was different with her. If he was blunt he would simply chase her away.

She didn’t look at him, thinking about his question.

All the other men and women that had asked before had made her feel uneasy. Unsure why they wanted to whisk her away, promising a better night someplace else.

But the Prince of Dorne? He made her feel different. A heat and a pressure in her abdomen that she never felt before.

She knew of the rumours, that he took many partners, for whatever they did. Yet, as he stood in front of her, charming smile and good looks, she felt herself drawn to him.

Oberyn reached out, placing a finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I asked you a question, my dove.”

His fingers on her chin made her still, just looking up at him with her big eyes, lips slightly parted. The touch made that pressure worse, breath hitching in her throat.

“My Prince, I’m-” She stumbled over her words, unsure what to answer.

He just chuckled, a sigh leaving him. “You are quite easily flustered, my dove. Come with me, please.”

Holding out his arm for her to take, he hoped she would. Such an innocent, pretty thing. There was something so endearing about the way she was behaving.

She swallowed hard, looking from his face to his arm, hesitating for a moment. Something drew her to him, and after another moment, she hooked her arm into his with a nervous smile.

Oberyn walked her away from the feast, the noises dying down behind them as they walked the long corridors.

“What did the other lords and ladies ask of you, my dove?” 

She sighed, glad to be away from the bustle in the halls, but feeling uncertain now, a throbbing at the apex of her thighs distracting her.

“They wished to take me away for some fun. I’m unsure what they meant exactly.” She didn’t look at him, too nervous to meet his dark, piercing eyes. 

It was intimidating, she had never been in the presence of a man other than her father or her brothers alone. She knew how to behave, for the most part, but nonetheless was it a little scary.

Oberyn smirked, looking down to her, seeing how she only stared at the floor or ahead of them. 

“You did not know what they were implying?” He asked, a bit amused but genuinely curious. “My little dove, you must be younger than I thought or your parents simply were too careless with your education.”

She remained quiet, her cheeks growing hot. 

A sense of shame washed over her, that he thought she was too young. It was as if her friends were with her, giggling and whispering because of something she didn’t understand.

And when she asked, they never explained, finding it too amusing to laugh and belittle her.

There was something she was missing out on, and she hated not knowing what.

“My dove, you do not have to be ashamed.” He said, his other hand coming to gently rest on hers. “If you wish, I could show you.”

He had been right about the assumptions of her being a virgin, too innocent for her own good.

Walking next to her, he felt something else besides the desire for her, a need to protect.

As if he was the only one allowed to show her, that anyone else would simply take advantage of this fact.

Now her eyes met his, brows furrowed. 

“Show me?” She echoed his words. “How? What exactly?”

Oberyn just smiled, eyes leaving hers to look at the guards standing by the door of his chambers.

He stopped, not too far away from the door, looking back at her.

“Do you wish for me to show you, my dove?” He asked, brushing back a strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. “If not, I understand.”

She should be wary. Despite him being the Prince of Dorne, she should think about this. But she was curious, so curious about what this thing was that she had been missing out on.

And there was still that feeling inside of her.

“Yes, my Prince.” She said with a small nod. “I am curious, please.”

He chuckled, his knuckles brushing over her cheek. “Please, call me Oberyn, my dove.”

Moving along, the guards allowed them to enter, the heavy door falling shut behind them. Oberyn let go of her arm, walking over to a table to pour himself some wine, then offering her a cup.

She took it with a small nod, taking in his quarters. They were richly decorated, the bed massive.

Just how she would imagine it, if she had ever spent time on that before meeting him.

Taking a sip of her wine, Oberyn laid a hand on her waist with a gentle smile, pulling her closer to him.

“Most people stare when they first come here.” He said, his hand wandering up and down her side. “Don’t be nervous, little dove.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. That was easier said than done, the heat inside her becoming unbearable at this point.

His hand on her side felt like it was burning her, even through the thin fabric of her gown. Like it was hot coals placed on her.

“Have you ever been kissed, my dove?” He asked suddenly, eyes searching hers. Pulling her just a little closer to him.

She shook her head no, slowly. Heart beating in her throat, he was so close to her. 

She could feel the warmth of him, twirling the cup of wine in her hand.

“Would you allow me to?”

There was some hesitation inside her, her hands stilling. Should she allow him to? She wanted to, somehow.

Often had she imagined what it felt like, kissing someone.

Her answer came in the form of a nod, her head barely moving.

Oberyn smiled, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“Oh, my little dove.”

Despite his growing desire, he moved gently, bending down to place his lips onto hers. The small gasp that left her made him chuckle, his other hand coming to rest on her hip and pull her hips flush against his.

She stiffened beneath his touch, liking the way his lips felt on hers, surprisingly soft, while his beard and moustache tickled her skin. Holding onto her cup tightly, she closed her eyes, humming when he deepened the kiss and she tried to match his movements, clumsy and inexperienced.

When he parted from her, she chased after him, opening her eyes when she couldn’t. Oberyn laughed at that, staying close to her, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

She looked adorable, the way she greedily breathed in air, lips slightly parted. Still too nervous, too stiff.

“What do you think, my dove?” He asked, leaning closer again so their noses were almost touching. “Would you like for me to show you more? There is quite an array of things I could assist you with.”

His fingers curled into her hip, and when she nodded, he only smiled wider.

“I promise to be gentle, my dove. A beauty such as you needs to be handled with care.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but it didn’t matter, because as soon as he kissed her again, more eager this time, her mind went blank.

His hand briefly left her hip to take the cup from her hands, placing it on the table next to them, before it was back, pulling her against his chest and making her gasp.

Letting his tongue glide against hers at the opportunity, Oberyn heard her muffled moan, relishing in the sweet sound.

The way she tried to kiss him back was delightful, so tender and new, trying to keep up with him.

Slowly he manoeuvred her back towards the bed, having to hold onto her waist as her steps became unsure, stumbling backwards once, her cheeks glowing even hotter.

The throbbing only became more intense, and when they reached the bed and he gently pushed her to sit at the foot of it, she squeezed her thighs together, looking for relief.

There was a wetness now that felt foreign to her.

Oberyn noticed, amused at the display.

“Are you aching, my dove?” He asked, his hands coming to the belt tied around his waist.

Aching.

It did hurt, but in a different way. Not like a bruise or a cut.

She nodded. “A little. My Prince- Oberyn, what- I don’t understand what is happening.”

Poor thing. Her parents had done a horrible job to prepare their daughter.

To leave her in the dark at such an age.

She watched him undo his belt, letting it fall to the floor before motioning for her to move further back to the middle of the bed.

“You’re aroused, my dove. You feel the need for cock.” He explained, shedding his robe, then crawling over her. “Have you seen a cock before, little dove?”

Her mouth went dry as she watched him undress, now only clad in a dark orange tunic and his breeches. 

Aroused.

Of course. But was she really aroused by him? In need of his cock?

She nodded, and she could see a flash of surprise grace his features. 

“In the bathhouses, yes.” She tried to hold his gaze, now hovering over her and letting his hand glide down her side. “From afar.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek, then her neck, hearing the breathy moan spill from her lips, feeling her back arch slightly.

“In the bathhouses…” He repeated in a whisper, still some amusement in his voice. “Yet you don’t know a thing about this… about desire and fucking.”

The word felt vulgar, so close to her ear.

And she felt embarrassed again. That she didn’t know more, that she didn’t understand she was aroused just by him being near her, by him kissing her, by him hovering over her.

“Do you want me to show you, my dove? The thrill of desire?” He asked, still mouthing along her neck, gently, just feeling her as she squirmed, her own hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. “How to fuck?”

Her breath hitched in her throat when he sucked at the junction of her neck and shoulder, a throaty moan leaving her.

“I- I do not know, Oberyn.” She stammered, fingers digging into his shoulders. The throbbing and the pressure were distracting her, just needing relief. “It hurts, it really hurts.”

His hand moved lower, down her side and to her thigh, gathering her skirts before it dipped below them.

“I can help you, my dove.” His hand wandered between her thighs, finding her dripping already, a soft sound escaping him at the feeling. “Oh, my dove. Wet and gushing like a waterfall and I have barely touched you.”

He sounded pitying almost, his fingers slipping between her folds, raising his head to watch her face when he found her clit.

A hiss left her, looking at him with wide eyes at the foreign feeling. It felt good, strange but good.

“Have you never touched yourself before? Brought yourself to the peak of pleasure?” He asked, drawing slow circles into her clit, with featherlight touches. 

She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes open, her legs opening further.

“Never, I didn’t know-”

“You poor thing.” He cooed, kissing her. 

When his fingers left her again, she whined in protest, one of her hands reaching out to grab his wrist. 

She didn’t even really know what was happening, simply that his touch felt good and that she wanted more.

Needed more.

The burning sensation inside her was so consuming and overwhelming while also hurting her.

“Oberyn, please, continue.” She said, guiding his hand back down but he escaped her grasp. 

“Do you know anything about this, my dove? About fucking, the feeling of something stretching you open? Feeling somebody’s naked skin against yours?”

Stretching her open? It sounded painful, she couldn’t imagine how anything could do that, and where.

But she didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to embarrass herself further.

She shook her head again. “No, I don’t.”

He chuckled, his hand coming up to tug one of the straps of her gown down her shoulder, then further down her arm, exposing her breast.

“My little dove, so innocent, so pure.” A sigh left him, watching her face as he touched her breast, just lightly brushing over the hardened nipple. Nothing could have prepared him for just how much her innocence spurred him on. “I will take care of you, just allow me to do so.”

“Please, please, Oberyn.” She whined, desperate. His hand felt good on her, back arching off the bed and into his touch, her head thrown back as she closed her eyes.

This was what she had missed out on, something so good and intense. If only he could touch her again.

Slowly Oberyn undressed her, slipping the garment down her body and kissing each inch of newly uncovered skin. Taking in how she whined and moaned, took in a sharp breath or hissed at the sensation.

She felt exposed, once he sat back and pulled the gown down her legs, his dark eyes raking over her naked form as she laid before him, resisting the urge to cover herself.

So sweet and pure. And he would be the one to ruin her, to taint her beautiful body.

Thank the Gods it was him and not someone else.

“So pretty.” He said, a hand gliding up and down her thigh, the other working open his tunic. “My little dove, all for me to enjoy. I shall show you the heights of pleasure.”

She watched as he shed the garment, exposing his toned torso, the muscles under his skin moving. She was mesmerized, despite having seen this so many times at the bathhouses, when she came to find her siblings or her parents.

His hands moved down to his breeches, opening them just as slowly as he had done with the rest of his clothing.

“It seems as if my little dove has found something she likes.” He chuckled, shedding the last piece of clothing, kneeling between her spread legs, just as exposed as she was.

Cock heavy and throbbing, her eyes were fixed on it.

It was bigger than what she had seen before. But she didn’t know if she should mind that.

“Don’t be scared, my dove.” Oberyn said, moving to hover over her again, one hand on her thigh, his cock brushing against her stomach. “I’ll prepare you to take me.”

“Take me?” She asked, gasping when his hand found that sweet spot again, applying more pressure this time and leaving her breathless.

He hummed against her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin, taking in her sweet sounds.

So adorable, needing to be taught. Not knowing what pleasures awaited her.

His hand moved lower and he felt how she stiffened when one finger pressed against her hole.

“Don’t be scared…” He repeated, slowly pushing a single digit in, groaning when he felt her squeeze around him, her nails digging into his shoulders with a whine.

It felt strange, his thick finger inside of her, moving in and out slowly. Yet it also felt good, her hips rolling on their own, legs opening wider.

“Oberyn-” She moaned, voice breaking, the pressure inside her easing just a little. 

His mouth found hers again, continuing to move his finger slowly, his cock twitching at the thought of burying himself inside her soon.

“Tell me how it feels, little dove. You might be ready for another finger soon.”

She whined, concentrating on the foreign feeling, the stretch when he pushed a second finger in.

“It feels good, my Prince- Oberyn.” She breathed, her mind feeling as if it was floating on a cloud, hissing when he scissored his fingers inside of her. “It hurts a little, but it feels good.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek and down to her jaw, then down her neck again.

“My dove, you feel splendid, gripping my fingers so tight with your sweet cunt.”

Something inside her built, blood hot like molten metal as it rushed through her, building her higher and higher until he took his fingers from her again.

A noise of protest died in her throat, his teeth softly sinking into her shoulder.

He grinned at that, lifting his head to look at her, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a deep hum.

“Finer than any wine.” Oberyn said, positioning himself so his cock was lined up with her. “My dove, I promise to be gentle. It may sting nonetheless.”

She nodded, drowsy and wanting nothing more than this ache to end. He said his cock would help, and so she wished for nothing more than him to enter her where his fingers just had been.

“Please, help me relieve this ache.” She said, feeling him against her, so much thicker than his fingers.

Oberyn watched as he entered her, grunting at how tight she still was, seeing her eyes squeeze shut and take a sharp breath.

It stung, he hadn’t lied about that, his lips finding hers as he pushed in further, muffling her whimpers while he buried inch after inch inside of her.

All the way until he was fully sheathed inside of her, hips flush against hers, one of his hands coming to rest on her thigh, squeezing it gently.

“It hurts, Oberyn.” She breathed when he broke from her, looking back at him, his lips on her cheek again.

“I know, my dove. You will feel better soon, don’t you worry.”

It was so new, the sensation of being filled, of him inside of her and stretching her out just as he had said.

Overwhelming, someone being so close to her, inside of her, his hot skin against hers, his soft lips on her cheeks.

The pain slowly fading into a need, the throbbing returning, as did the pressure.

Her hips moving on their own, making him chuckle, the sound vibrating against her chest. 

“Are you sure you wish to continue already, my dove?” He asked, kissing a spot just below her ear that sent a shiver through her. “I cannot stop myself if we do, your cunt is simply too tight and inviting.”

She nodded, whispering a silent please.

So he slowly pulled back, setting a lazy rhythm of shallow thrusts, her dragged out moans like music to his ears, a little symphony written just for him as he drove back into her over and over again.

“You feel perfect, my dove, what an honour to teach you about the pleasures of the flesh.” Oberyn groaned, his hands grabbing her legs and wrapping them around his hips, making her whimper loudly. “You won’t find a nicer cunt than that of this little virgin dove.”

She let him move, rolling her hips, trying to meet his thrusts, that something inside her building again, becoming stronger this time.

If this really was what she had been missing out on, what she had been ridiculed for, she never wanted it to stop now that she had it.

The feeling pleasant as the ache became less and less present.

Oberyn had to hold back to not just drive into her with his entire force, losing himself in how good she felt, but still wanting this to be something good for her, as much as he desired her.

Already knowing he would seek her out again and again, her innocence far from gone, her sounds so sweet in his ears, her hands so soft as they grabbed at him, trying to find purchase on his body.

“My dove, you are close, I can feel you.” He rasped, his movements becoming sloppier, lips dancing over her skin. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Close to what?” She asked, words catching on her breath, feeling something but unsure if it was what he meant.

Gods, she was so adorable.

“Oh, you will see, my dove.”

His hand moved between them, finding her clit.

And with just a few movements, something snapped inside of her so suddenly and with such force that all breath left her, a strangled noise catching in her chest as her veins burned, the pressure in her abdomen released. 

She was trembling, holding him against her tightly as he kept moving, thrusts harsher now.

“There you are, my little dove, isn’t that wonderful? The heights, the peak?”

It was a pretty sight, her face contorted in bliss and pleasure but also so shocked by what was happening to her, by these new feelings.

She could only whine, falling silent when she heard him grunt deeply into her ear, stilling above her.

Spilling himself deep inside of her before rolling off of her, not separating but rolling her with him so she came to rest on top of him.

She felt exhausted suddenly, the euphoric feelings still coursing through her veins.

And he felt solid beneath her body, catching his breath just as she did, his hands carding through her hair.

“Now, my dove, how do you feel?” He asked, watching her face as she rested on him. “Are you satisfied?”

If anyone had told her just a few hours ago that she would land in the bed of the Prince of Dorne, she would have laughed at them.

But now, it seemed quite nice.

She nodded. “I feel exhausted, but I am very grateful for what you showed me.”

A smile stretched her lips wide, he liked it. She seemed to be less nervous.

He chuckled, one hand wandering down to smooth over her back. Normally he would be far from done, already planning another round of pleasure.

But she truly seemed too exhausted by this. After all, she hadn’t even known about any of this until now.

Her eyes drifted shut, but she was still awake, listening to his heartbeat.

“Oh, my dove.” He said quietly, kissing the top of her head. “There is so much more to show you, I am far from done with you.”

She felt warm at the idea, curious what else there was to discover. Her eyes felt too heavy to open them again, slowly drifting off into sleep on top of him.

Oberyn simply smiled, sighing deeply.

Yes, he was far from done. 

There was so much to learn, so much to discover.

And he couldn’t wait to see her face once he began to truly teach his little dove.

[lis-likes-fics]

In Beauty

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x wife!Reader Word Count: 2.9k words Prompt: Breeding Warnings: NSFW, smut, breeding, creampie, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, swearing... A/N: I love this man, he's so scrumptious. Thank you and enjoy!

Your hand gently squeezes Oberyn’s arm as you walk beside him, the vendors on the street giving a bow of their heads as you tread through the busy market. You are surrounded by the people of Sunspear, fruits and vegetables and all kinds of goods everywhere you look beneath the blazing sun of Dorne.

You are happy with the sun as it warms your skin, the gold of your gown glowing under its light. Oberyn gazes at you, a smile on his face as he admires your beauty.

“I can feel you looking, my love,” you smile, guiding him toward a booth of oranges. You pick one up and smooth your thumb along the dimpled skin.

“How can I resist when you are as beautiful as the Dornish shores?” He kisses your temple, and you preen under his affection as you fish a coin from your purse and hand it to the vendor with a grateful smile.

Before you can even begin to peel it, he takes the fruit from your hand and pierces the skin with his thumb. You chuckle, looking up at his face and admiring the curve of his nose. “My husband, the poet.”

He laughs, discarding orange peels aside as he walks to feed the earth. “You flatter me, my dear.” He hands you an orange slice, and you take it gratefully. It bursts in your mouth, its juice rich and sweet.

You hum, “I tell only the truth.”

You hear the giggle of some kids as they run through the streets. A few people grumble as they bump into a few things along the way, but they care little, continuing to run wild.

Upon seeing you, their eyes widen in wonder and their faces split with awestruck smiles.

“Princess!” a tiny voice chirps, and the others join in the excitement as they rush over.

Boys and girls surround the two of you, laughing and gasping as they admire you. “Hello, princess!” “You are so beautiful!” “Move! I was here first!”

You laugh excitedly, bending down to pick up one of the girls. She has soft, curly hair and a button nose, with dark eyes that look brown in the sun. You set her on her hip, smiling as you look around at them.

“Look at how beautiful you all are!” You exclaim. She giggles, covering her face with her palm. “Are you behaving, my darlings?”

They all shout their agreements, nodding their heads. Oberyn steps aside to give you their attention, watching with stars in his eyes. Another girl holds out a tiny hand, clutching onto a pretty flower. “Here, princess!” she says. “For you!”

You gasp, taking the flower from her. “Thank you very much, lovely girl.” She giggles, holding her hands behind her back. You turn to the girl on your hip. “Would you be so kind and put this behind my ear?”

She does so gladly, taking the flower and setting it there with a slightly clumsy hand. She smiles widely. “So pretty,” she coos.

You tilt your head. “Oh, thank you. You know something?” She watches you imploringly. “You are so, so gorgeous, and I want you to remember that. Can you do that for me?”

She nods emphatically, her hair bouncing with each movement. “Yeah!”

“Good,” you hum, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Now all of you do me a favor, will you?” They all agree immediately.

“Each of you take one of these,” you reach for your purse, opening it and holding it out for them, “and go buy yourselves something really nice. Can you do that?”

They gasp as their eyes light up, happily reaching in and grabbing a coin with loud thanks and goodbyes. You set the girl on her feet, kissing her forehead before letting them all go with a wave.

Oberyn’s arm curls around your waist as you replace your purse. “You are quite good with them,” he muses, staring down at you lovingly. “The children always love you.”

You turn toward him, your hands on his as you smile. “Maybe one day one of our own will love me?” you quip, raising a teasing brow.

He chuckles. “My dear, I intend to have a litter of princes and princesses running around Dorne with your smile.”

You chuckle back to him, twirling out of his hold with your hands clasped together. You pull him gently along the path, your head high and your heart pounding.

“Well, it is never too early to start trying.”

~

Oberyn has your back against a wall in no time, tucked between your legs with one over his shoulder and the other struggling to hold yourself up. His hands stroke your thighs, pulling your hips closer to his mouth as you grab at his hair and his broad shoulders for something to hold onto.

“Oberyn,” you moan, your jaw twitching as it falls open in bliss. “You are so good.”

You can feel the curve of his smile against your folds, his tongue darting out to lick between them as he tastes the sweetness that leaks out of you. “That is it, my love,” he purrs against your cunt. “Tell me how good you feel...”

You grind your hips lightly into his face, not bothering to stifle any moans, especially in the comfort of your chambers. Your legs feel weak, like butter melting under the heat of his touch. His tongue delves inside of you as his nose nudges your pearl, needy and pulsing for more of him.

A breath catches in your throat. “Oh, fuck. Keep going.” He answers you with a flicking tongue at your sensitive pearl, licking and sucking and trying his best to pull you closer and closer to the precipice.

“Let me taste you,” he pleads, his voice strained as he continues to work at the pleasure coursing through you.

Your back arches and your hips buck against his mouth as the pleasure snaps like lightning, shocking your system as you gasp his name. He devours you, hungry for every part of you that you have to offer. His hands grip at your flesh as you shudder against him. You moan helplessly, his insistent licking driving you toward oversensitivity until your shudders are quick jerks that make pull his head back by his curls.

Oberyn paints you in loving kisses, all over your thighs and your knees and your folds as he waits for your eyes to crackle open once more to take him in. You look down at him, smiling hazily and running your fingers through his soft hair.

“You always enjoy that far too much, I think,” you chuckle, catching your breath still.

Oberyn presses a long kiss to the bend of your knee, standing to his feet and stroking your sides as he goes. “I do not believe that would be possible.” He envelopes you in a deep kiss, one full of passion and desire as he grabs at naked skin.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, breathing him in with a content sigh. You feel his hands dip down and brace yourself as he hoists you up with your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You smile, continuing to press kisses into any skin your lips can find.

He carries you away, only to lay you down on the bed. His body never leaves yours, pressed flush against you as you share in each other's heat. You taste his lips, humming and sighing as he loves on you, letting his warm hands roam your warm body until you feel pliant beneath him.

“How many were you considering for the first carry?” he whispers against your throat. With a gentle kiss, he smiles. “I was thinking two or three.”

You throw your head back into the plush bed, letting out a hearty laugh. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck and the muscle of his bicep. “Only one,” you insist. “The first will already tear me apart, I don't need to be torn twice as much.”

He kisses along your jaw, painting you in them and warming you from the inside out. “No matter,” he says. “Either way, I shall give you a Martell baby that will be as beautiful as you and I.” He slips a hand down your thigh, dipping between them as he drags a finger along your slit.

Your breath hitches, caught on his touch. His mouth parts as yours does, curving into a lustful grin that breaks off with another hum.

He curls them within you, pumping them slowly as your arousal gathers on his fingers. Your brows furrow, and he cannot help but to admire your beauty as you lay beneath him, eager to feel everything he has to offer.

“I hope you do not mind if I wish for it to take a few tries,” your words break off into a whimper as he retracts his fingers. He sets them between his lips, sucking them clean. “I would very much like to continue enjoying you for as long as possible.”

He lifts his head, dragging his hand to your hip and encouraging your leg around his waist. “Oh, my paramour,” he purrs, hissing through his teeth as he strokes his cock two slow times. “Do you really think a bigger belly will stop me from having you?”

You breathe in shakily as he slowly pushes his cock inside of you, filling you inch by glorious inch. Your head tips back, hands tangled in his hair. You relish in the feeling of the stretch, drunk on the feeling.

He rocks his hips slowly, staring at your face and watching the way it twists and shifts through your pleasure. “I intend on fucking you over and over and over again.” His voice is soft and soothing, but deep in his chest. You listen to him with breathless moans.

“Oberyn.”

“I will watch you grow round with my babe. I will watch this belly swell until you can do no more than sit all day.” His thrusts slowly increase in speed and strength, spurred on by his own words and his own thoughts. “I will continue to touch you, and taste you, and fuck you until the babe comes. And once you've healed, I will take you again and again until you are pregnant once more.”

By now, he's holding you still as he fucks into you. You are dizzy with pleasure, with racing thoughts all swarming with Oberyn and his intoxicating words. One of his hands plays over your belly as he thrusts into you with stifled grunts, the other holding you close to him as he watches you dissolve.

Your lips graze one another, too hazy to make full contact but too eager not to touch. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist and let him have his way with deep, fervid thrusts.

“Oh, my love,” you moan, back arching, fingers numbing. “Keep fucking me, put your child in me.”

His voice is deep, rougher now with the growing lust circling his throat. His thrusts are so deep that you see glistening stars behind your eyelids with each stroke. His hands continue to travel along your body, eager to hold you and to feel you and to enjoy the way you shudder and fall apart.

“I am going to breed this delicious cunt,” he promises. His words drop lower, a darker intent that has gooseflesh rising along your skin. “I am going to fill your womb with my cum and keep fucking it into you to ensure you become pregnant with our child.”

His thrusts are faster, filling the air with slick sounds made of the intense smacks of skin against skin. You hold him close and moan in the short space between you, nearly choking every time he drives his cock so far into you that you feel like you can no longer breathe. His hands caress your skin, groping your breast just to roll and flick your nipple between eager fingers.

You are breathless, struggling to keep up as the pleasure swarms in your head and in your bones, coursing through your veins until you feel like the sandy beaches of Dorne, letting the tides lap over you in large, consuming sweeps.

Oberyn lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder, the other following quickly before pressing his thumb to your clit. The new angle allows him to go deeper, the blunt head of his cock punching against a place that makes your lips part, open moans flooding the air.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp. “S-so deep, so good.”

He leans down, essentially folding your body in half. He gathers your wrists in one hand and lifts them over your head. “Take it, my love. Take it all for me,” he rasps.

You flutter around him as he coaxes you closer and closer to this blissful high. Your hips buck into him, meeting his thrusts with an eagerness that matches his rhythm, which slowly becomes less and less nuanced as he gets closer to reaching his own high.

Your lips form an “O”, and he watches your eyes screw shut, watches your body arch and your brows pinch. He leans farther down, his lips hovering over yours.

“Look at me,” he says, a quiet purr upon your skin. “I want you to see me when you come apart. I want you to see me as I fill you so full of my cum that it leaks down your legs when you walk the streets of Dorne, so everyone knows that you are mine and I am yours.”

His words are sending you into a frenzy. You can hardly think straight as you imagine it—him holding you close, dressed as a royal, skin bathing in the sunlight as the people around you bow down while his seed leaks from your womb.

“Oberyn,” you moan, your lashes fluttering as you struggle to keep your eyes open. He is so beautiful, especially like this: with flushed skin and parted lips and lust-blown eyes. “So close. I’m so close.”

“Keep watching me, darling. Keep looking me in the eyes,” he huffs. He lets go of your wrists in favor of brushing his fingertips along your jaw as his thumb keeps circling your clit, tightening that knot in your belly so ready to snap.

It catches you by surprise—which catches him by surprise. You gasp, your lips parting in a wide shape as you stare into the depths of his eyes. He breathes in with you, mirroring your desire with all the love included. The pleasure is a rolling tidal wave that drowns you in ecstasy until you cry out.

His hips stutter as they fuck into you with a few last thrusts, filling you to the brim with his love for you. “Perfect.” His voice is strained, heightened by a pitch or two as the bliss chokes him. He pumps you full, the warmth spreading through your body until all you know is heat.

He mutters something or another under his breath, caught on the moment and the pleasure as you both ride your eyes together with the occasional sloppy kiss, breathing each other's air and sharing each other's desires.

Your body aches and shudders as you finally come down, the clenching and the tightening and the crashing settling into something bearable. You lay against the bed, finally noticing the sheen of sweat coating your flesh and his as you continue to soak in the other's heat.

He stays inside you, letting your legs off his shoulders and easing them instead around his waist. He leans some of his weight on you, a comfortable amount that has you sighing longingly and limply holding him close.

When you tilt your head tiredly, he guides it back. “No, no, keep looking at me. I want you to remember this.” His voice is soft, a loving lull as he smiles down at you. “I want you to remember the moment we made our first child. How good it felt,” he presses a kiss to your collarbone, “how close we were,” he kisses your neck, “how well you did for me,” a gentle, slow kiss to your lips, “how much I love you.”

You smile lazily, pulling him back in for another long kiss. If he focuses hard enough, he can still faintly taste the orange on your tongue. “I love you, my heart,” you whisper against his lips, giving another chaste kiss.

He hums, finally, reluctantly pulling out of your sopping cunt with a sigh. He eases onto his side wrapping his arms around you. “You must stay in your back a little while longer, my dear,” he says. He pulls you close to him, nuzzling into your neck as his nose presses into your shoulder.

You hum. “It still might take a few tries,” you whisper. “We must be certain it has taken root...” You smirk over at him, raising a tired hand to push a lock of dark hair from his forehead.

His hand falls to your belly, his thumb stroking lightly. He smiles when you clasps your hands together, holding them there and staring at each other like the world no longer exists outside of the other.

“Believe me,” he says, “we will not stop trying even after our maesters know for certain that you hold a babe in your beautiful belly.”

Your smile is almost as devious as his. “Oh, well… If it must be done.” Your noses nudge before joining him in another kiss.

Pedro Pascal taglist: @watercolorskyy @queermaxwooo @papichulo120627 @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @minigirl87 @notzammm @motopoppp @lover-of-books-and-tea @feyresqueen @quickslvxrr @hc-geralt-23 Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa @rozendiors @seabasscevans @hc-geralt-23

[hauntedfictionland]

❝His dear princess❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bastardphobia, mentions of death and grief, kissing, marrage of convenience and grumpy X sunshine trope, Jace is down bad, flirty!reader, guilt and anxiety and happy ending;)

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This is one of my first house of the dragon fics ever, so I truly hope it's not too bad. Jacaerys is one of my favourite characters in hotd after Alicent so I really wanted to get his characteristics and behaviour right. Also, I didn't like the way they showed his grief after Luke died, as if he just moved on after two or three days. But overall, I enjoyed writing this:)

Jacaerys was infuriated with you.

You—his betrothed, acted like you owned the castle as soon as you strutted in. Speaking with no formality and a sharpness in your tongue that only infuriated him further. And especially when you did not seem to care for his heritage, who he was. The heir to the iron throne. Yet you acted as if he didn't exist to you. As if he meant nothing to you.

A marriage pact with the martells was only one of convenience. You, a princess of dorne, he, the firstborn son of queen Rhaenyra. Yet, they were stuck in dragonstone, and needed support to match the strength of the green armies. His mother needed this arrangement more than the martells did, and you made that very clear by acting carelessly and so freely, like you were in your own home. By taunting him, sitting at the great council table with your legs on them, a coin in your fingertips and a smirk in your lips. He hated it, he hated especially how good you looked.

He hated being betrothed to you already.

Rhaenyra had told him martells were rather, open and modern people. They took part in adultery even after being married, especially with the consent of their own partner. He did not know how anyone could be okay with such acts. He did not know what to expect when he met you, but it certainly wasn't how you commented on his face, calling him one of a beauty. It was inappropriate, calling a prince by such bold remarks on the first meeting, yet you did not seem to care.

But what edged him to his limit was the day you called him a bastard.

Jacaerys had been worried, he couldn't find you anywhere. Not that he cared, he was just stressed you would create another ruckus. He looked around everywhere, the garden, the great council, the dining hall, your room, even his room, but you were nowhere to be found. His chest tightened, a restlessness growing in his stomach. It seemed he always felt that way without being with you for too long. Not because he missed you—of course, but because he wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly.

He was going around circles, head spinning with a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Where were you? did you flee the castle? or were so bored of him you went to the city to a brothel in search of another man to keep you company. Anger and jealousy filled in his chest at the mere thought of that.

Jacaerys did not seem where he was going, many thoughts inside his head, before he harshly opened a door to the library. And to his surprise, there you were, a book in your hand. ‘Adventures of Aegon the conqueror’, he could read the name of the book by how you were holding it. He felt he could breathe again. By the loud sound of the door opening your head flitted towards him. Your usual smirk growing up your lips. Something that made his heart flutter in a way he didn't want it to. He clenched his jaw, holding his fists in a tight ball.

“Where have you been?” he asks, desperate tone in his voice.

“Ah, Prince Jacaerys.” you smile, closing the book and turning your attention towards him. He hated how your eye lashes fluttered, your hair falling down in just the perfect way. “I've been gaining some Targaryen knowledge, as you can see. Since we are to be married, I thought I should know my husband's family. Don't you think?”

Husband.

That word rose heat to his cheeks, quickly clearing his throat.

“I'm not your husband.” he spoke, in a tone harsher than he intended, “At least not yet anyway.”

You smile wider, making his heart race. He was always a bit stubborn, and uptight. Yet you were always so carefree and light, always so kind with his demise. He didn't know what to make of it all. A curious look grazed upon your face, eyebrows furrowing. You sat up, walking onwards another shelf of books, lips pursued. Before looking at him.

“I have always wondered, hmm,” you say, your finger coming up to your lips, “do tell me prince Jacaerys, is it true that you were born out of wedlock?”

His eyes widened, “What did you say to me?”

You either did not notice the offend and defensiveness in his tone, or simply pretend not to. Turning to look at him, “I mean, all Targaryen children have white hair. Do they not? Even if they did not, none of your formal parents have black, dark hair like yours.”

His breath hitches, all of the insecurities he had contained in a jar of fireflies fled out the second you brought out his hair. A wall rising inside him. You were acting as if you just did not ask the most dangerous question ever. As if it did not matter to you.

“How dare you insinuate such filthy claims?!” his voice rises, almost shouting. Your eyes flicker surprise for a moment, before turning back to the usual stoic look.

“Ah, you are offended.” you state, as if he shouldn't be, “I meant no harm, my prince. I have no problem with you being a bastard. In fact, it only makes you more interesting. The thing I don't like is your distaste for the truth. One should own up to who they are.”

Bastard.

You, called him a bastard. He isn't able to speak for a moment, too tongue—tied. You....think of him this way too? you? he can't hear as you speak further, a ringing in his head. It only intensifies. Only when you start talking about dorne is when he snaps back from his haze.

“And I have thousands of brothers and sisters back in dorne, no one cares ther—”

“I don't care, what you dornish do back there, but here you don't speak to me with filths of a claim.” he grits, his voice cold, “I am the queen's son. And if I hear you say one word about that again, I will see you hanged.” his words held so much malice in them, one would believe it to be true.

Of course, he could never actually do that, the blacks needed martells armies more than ever. His mother couldn't afford them raging war at her and joining the green's side. And, he could never harm you either. It was just a baseless threat, one he said out of anger and insecurity. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on your face; hurt. But even worse, fear. Before he could even begin to take them back, it was too late. Your spot, where you stood, was already empty.

You had seen him less and less after that. Of course, you were your usual self. Taunting and teasing him, but something was off. Something distant. He hated it. He hated how much he missed it. Your remarks, your witty replies, your cockiness. He wanted it back. He wanted you back.

Next time he sees you, it's in a completely unexpected place. Dragon—pit. He was about to ride on Vermax to patrol the skies, when he stops. There you were, sat on the hard rock, legs swinging at the edge of it and his dragon's head in your hands. You..you were feeding him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he shouts, eye wide.

You turn your head to him, a smirk on your lips grows. You enjoyed the fact he was on his nerves, furious.

“What does it look like? I'm feeding this cute little angel right here.” you coo, talking to his dragon in a baby voice. Vermax was known for her temper, yet with you it magically dis—appears? a little bit inside him was flustered, heart beating faster than ever that you and his dragon, a very important part of his life, bonded flawlessly. But he shrugs it off, he has to. Flushing over you isn't his duty.

Protecting you is.

As much as he would like to deny it, you're his now. Lawfully so. And he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Especially Vermax. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if his own dragon were to be the cause of, of.. your demise. His throat burns, even the mere thought of harm coming to you feels as if he's being drowned to death. After Luke, he cannot lose anyone. Jacaerys cannot lose you. Even if that was the first thing he tried to do after meeting you. You were the most part of his frustrations yet the only thought when he's in his bed at night.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, his voice harsh, as if you were his child and he was scolding you for doing something childish.

“Have you had no fear? you could have died what were you even thinking?!” you falter for a moment, upon seeing the trembling of his hands and the tightness in his voice.

“Jacaerys—”

“No!” he interrupts you, “You, you could have been...do you even realise..”

Your eyes widened as he struggled to even breath, huffing for air anxiously. You quickly get up, walking towards him. He's so much inside his head that he doesn't notice your hands coming up his face, slinging through his dark curly hair. An act that slowed and claimed his beating heart down. Your soft palms make contact with both his cheeks, a peaceful shush in your voice and he finally breathes. Properly. He sighed, eyes closing as his hands came up to hold yours.

This, you, him? this felt oddly peaceful. This felt like home. Vermax watches the whole interaction with a quiet huff, turning away back to the pits. You nudge closer towards him, resting your forehead against his. Love. This felt like love. “Promise me” he starts out, his voice low and timid, “promise you will never do that again.” Instead of putting on a fight like you usually do, you nod, gently caressing his cheek. His head leaned further into your touch, putty in your hands.

“I promise.”

That, gives him great relief. “Good.”

Time seems to slow down, Jacaerys could count every freckle on your nose to cheeks, every small cut in between your knuckles or lips, every curve of smile you put on. And all the scents coming from your body that drove him crazy. You notice his lips still trembling, and above your judgement, you decide to kiss it better. He inhales a sharp breath as your lips touch his, but makes no movement to push you away. It's gentle, barely brushing against his. Jacaerys realised how they fit perfectly amidst his, and how much he was craving it all these months until he finally tasted them.

You slowly pull away, hesitantly. His eyes are still closed. Hands crawling up your waist. He speaks again, a whisper almost.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He's talking about the library, and you smiled softly, shaking your head.

“It's okay. You can't get rid of me that easily, Jace. Should have known that when you got betrothed to a dornish princess.”

You had already forgiven him. But he didn't want you to. He didn't want to be at your mercy this easily, not when he wasn't able to forgive himself. You, you had crept your way into his heart when he didn't want you to, and now he never wanted to let you go. It was all your fault.

“No I...” he shakes his head, “I never should have said that. Not only because it was so wrong but also because it was completely untrue.” Jacaerys swallows his breath, every bit of him wanted to turn away and never look back, but he couldn't do that. “I have been called names, about my heritage. Ever since I was a child. About my parenting and what not. And it's very...when anyone talks about it, it's like a bandage ripping off a new and fresh wound. No matter how many years pass by, it's still like that for me.”

You nod your head slowly, in understanding. This was raw. He had finally told you one of his darkest parts, his worst fears, and you hadn't run away.

“I understand. I should have never said that. I did not know it was like this for you.” He feels relief in your words.

But there was still something he needed to let out.

“But I...” he didn't know how hard this was for him until he started to actually say it, “I really could never mean it. What I said. Even if you have committed the worst treason or crime, even if you had taken my heart and carved it out, I still wouldn't be able to do one thing that might be even close to harming you. Believe me I have tried. And I have failed.”

He looks away from you, cheeks closing red. Jacaerys had just poured his heart out and gave it to you. But the chances of you, and feeling the same? were very dim. He sees stars when he sees you, what do you see? just him? or even worse? a filth in the name of a true born prince. A gasp leaves his lips as your fingers trace the outlines of his jaw, trailing down to his neck to his chest. You stopped at the red and black three dragons symbol made on the polish cloth he wore.

“Why do you think I agreed to this marriage? not because of this.” you point to the very symbol engraved on his chest, of the house targaryen, “If it was just for this, I certainly would have never.”

He turns his head back to you, confusion in his face. He also feels a bit of guilt in him. At first, he only agreed to this pact because his mother had no choice. Because of your house. Nothing else. And you're saying that his house didn't even matter to you when you agreed to this betrothal? then why? you did not even know what he looked like, and you simply agreed?

“Why then?”

That's the question that's now left in him. Why, if his house and title didn't matter?

“Well,” your lips curl up, a glint in your eyes, as a blush arose your cheeks, “From years I had heard stories of Targaryen princes. How arrogant and unkind they were, your cousins, Aegon and Aemond, well I certainly didn't hear anything good about them. And then you came. The velaryon prince, the son of the realm's delight, born with a kind heart and a fierceness to protect. I knew I had to marry someday, but I only agreed to marry you because I knew—you wouldn't mistreat me. Because I fell in love with the stories of the dark haired prince who had the most beautiful brown eyes ever, who protected his brother when he was a child himself, who stole my heart before he even claimed it.”

Jacaerys doesn't know what to say, his throat falls dry. It doesn't feel real, when he's wanted something so dearly and someone just gives it to him freely; it does not feel real. You do not feel real. But you are. He knows you are when your hands tug at his collar, his face close to you as you pull him towards you and your breath fanning on his cheeks. He knows this is real, and it's better than any dream he's ever had.

“I do not want our marriage to be an unhappy one.”

You say, a plea in your voice.

He smiles, wide. And he doesn't even have to make an effort this time, “For me, the words unhappy and you? well they don't go in the same sentence.”

That seals it for you, he can see that. As you kiss his words, an unspoken understanding and passion in it. Jacaerys realises he could get used to this. Kisses, hugs, reading each other books, waking by the warmth of your body besides his; in fact, there's no one else he'd rather do it by. And nothing he would want more.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[guiltyasdave]

delicate

pairing: modern!Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: ~3.9k

summary: You meet a mysterious man at a club. He's just as attracted to you as you are to him.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, very soft dom!Oberyn, protected p in v (who am I), dirty talk, fingering, anal play (m receiving), a hint of angst, romance because I can't help myself

a/n: written for @dancingtotuyo’s on repeat drabble challenge, based on the song delicate by taylor swift. this is honestly just feral, i have nothing to say for myself.

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates!

Lights are flashing, colors dancing over the exposed skin of your arms and shoulders; the bass is pumping, making your whole body feel like it’s vibrating from within. You’re clinging to your friend, your arms intertwined as you navigate your way through the crowd of people to the bar.

You first see him as you’re gulping down your drink, welcoming the cool liquid in your parched throat. Your eyes are observing the crowd, flying over him and then flickering back to take a second glance. 

He’s gorgeous, his dark hair a mess, a beard framing his face, his skin shining under the lights. He’s wearing a shirt that flows around his body, threads of gold weaving through the fabric and reflecting the dancing lights. It’s almost entirely undone, giving you a generous look at the expanse of his toned chest, at the sun-kissed skin that you feel a sudden urge to run your fingers over. A massive gold chain with a lock hangs around his neck, an accessory that you’re convinced would look absolutely ridiculous on anyone else. But on him, it somehow only accentuates the strong cords of muscle that ripple under his skin in a way that makes you want to lick your lips. 

He moves with a confident ease, his body in tune with the stomping beats, his whole being exuding an almost cocky self-assuredness. You keep drinking him in, fascinated in a way that you can barely understand. You realize that you’ve been staring when your friend follows your line of sight and you hear her quiet gasp beside you. 

“Haven’t seen that one around before,” her voice floats into your ear over the music and you shake your head in silent agreement. You’d definitely remember if you did. 

You both watch him move with the body of a woman next to him, watch him bend down to whisper something into her ear, watch the way his lips curl into a smug grin as she grinds against him in reaction to his words. 

“Too late, I guess,” you laugh, downing the rest of your drink and tearing your eyes away. 

The two of you head back into the crowd, swaying your bodies to the beat. You try to get lost in the feeling of it, but your eyes keep searching for him, hungrily grasping at the glimpses of him that you can spot. Eventually, you watch the retreating backs of both of him and the woman head toward the exit, their bodies closely intertwined. Like you said, you try to shrug it off, too late. It’s not a big deal, there’s more than enough other guys around you. 

But you don’t go home with any of those guys, none of them able to catch your interest the way he did, and when you lie in bed in the early morning hours, your head pleasantly buzzing with the remaining alcohol in your bloodstream, you still see him behind your eyelids. 

A few weeks go by and while you hope to catch him every time that you’re out, there’s no trace of him. It isn’t until your friend’s birthday celebration, a tradition that the two of you have kept up for years, that you see him again. 

Again, you’re leaning against the bar, your eyes aimlessly drifting over the dancefloor while you’re sipping on your drink, when you spot him. He’s wearing another colorful shirt, his chest almost entirely on display, and he’s shamelessly grinding against another young man as they’re both moving to the beat. You can’t tear your eyes away, apparently staring so intently that he catches you and throws you a wink across the room. 

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and almost turn away, but he’s already on his way, moving towards you with a cat-like grace, effortlessly weaving through the crowd of moving bodies. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning into you so close that his breath fans hot against your ear, causing goosebumps to rise on your neck. “Saw something you like?” 

You grin at him over the rim of your glass, biting your lip and nodding. He mirrors your grin, an almost predatory glint in his eyes. He’s even more gorgeous up close, a light sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes a smoldering brown, his dark hair a mess with strands sticking to his forehead. You take in his toned chest, his broad shoulders and you desperately want to touch your hands to his golden skin. A foreign accent is lacing his words in the most delicious way, only adding to the pull that you feel towards him. 

“Let me buy you another drink,” he purrs and you accept, thanking him and offering him your name. You relish in the way you have to lean into him so that he can hear you, greedily soaking in his scent and his body heat that make your mouth water. 

His name is Oberyn, you learn, a name that sounds foreign on your tongue and you could swear that a quiet growl rises up his throat when you repeat it back to him. 

You’d love to spend your evening dancing with him, pressing your body against his, find out if moving with him feels as good as it looks from the outside. But it’s your friend’s birthday, and you’re gonna stick together, dance the night away with each other and no one else, the way you do every year. 

He shrugs it off when you tell him as much, an unbothered grin on his face as he promises you another time then. His hand wraps around your wrist, the warmth of it sinking into your skin as he pulls your arm out towards him, a black marker suddenly in his other hand. 

“What are you–” you begin to ask, but your voice dies at the sight of him pulling the cap off with his teeth, something that really shouldn’t affect you this much. 

He bends over your arm and it takes your hazy mind a moment to register that he’s writing numbers onto your skin. You’re getting lost in the feeling of his hand on you, even in such an innocent place, and your thoughts are already jumping to fantasies of how it would feel trailing up your arm and over your body. 

“There,” his voice floats into your ear and you almost jump. The smug look on his face leaves no doubt that he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. He leans in close again, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. Your mouth feels dry. 

You look down at your arm, now adorned with digits in black ink. A phone number. 

“Give me a call,” he smirks, and leans in even closer, until his lips move against the shell of your ear and a shudder runs down your back at the sensation. “Just think of the fun things we could do.” He throws you another wink and slides away from you, back into the crowd. 

You text him the next day, worried if it’s too soon, if it makes you seem desperate. Then again, you have to admit to yourself, you are desperate. Desperate to hear his voice again, desperate to feel his hands on you again. Texting him is less awkward than you had hoped, his demeanor putting you at ease almost immediately. You catch yourself smiling at the screen, already down bad for this man. 

You’re in bed, struggling to calm down enough to sleep when your phone’s screen lights up the darkness of your bedroom from where it’s lying on your nightstand. 

He’s asking you to meet him in a dive bar, right now, if you want to. You’re reluctant at first, once again worried to appear too eager, but the almost magnetic pull that you feel towards him eventually leads you out of your apartment and to the address he sent you. 

He’s waiting for you in the back, just like he told you. Wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt, the fabric stretching around his broad chest in a way that makes it hard not to stare, dressed much more casually than you’ve come to know from him. It doesn’t take away from his persona one bit, he’s still exuding that energy that seems to let him command every room he’s in, that makes it so hard for you to resist him. 

He buys you a drink and pulls you into a corner booth with him. Talking to him is easy, he’s an attentive listener and his quick remarks make you laugh, leaning into him when you do. You learn that he’s not from around here, that he flew in to visit friends but that he’s thinking about moving here permanently. It almost scares you, how giddy that prospect makes you, the idea of having the chance to keep seeing him. His arm finds its way around your shoulders eventually, his fingers drawing shapes over your skin. The innocent contact makes you feel like a teenager, suddenly sixteen again. 

He walks you home later, his arm still wrapped around you, pulling you into his side. It feels good, a sense of safety and intimacy that you feel yourself getting lost in. You had thought that he was hot, that he would be a fun hookup, but as the minutes tick on, you realize how much you already like him. How much you want this feeling to last. 

It feels so natural, turning around to face him when you reach your building, both of you leaning in simultaneously until your lips meet, like it’s the only possible way for this evening to end. You think that it is. 

Kissing him feels even better than you had envisioned in your mind, and you melt against him, one hand braced against his chest while the other comes up to pull at the hair in the nape of his neck, needing him closer, not ready to let him go. He’s cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks, and you feel him smile against your lips. You lick into his mouth, revel in the groan that rumbles deep in his chest. 

You don’t let go of him, holding onto his hand when you pull him up the stairs, soak in the feeling of him pressed against your body when you unlock your apartment door, let him connect his lips with yours again when he walks you backwards down your hallway.

Everything about him feels so right, so safe and yet like the most exciting experience you’ve ever had. You breathe him in, ecstatic with the sensation of his broad form against you, with the way you feel his muscles move under your fingers where you’re grabbing at his shoulders.

He lets you lead him into your bedroom, his hands still all over you. You push him down to sit on the edge of your bed and he follows your lead, sinking down on the mattress with an easy grin on his face, regarding you with hooded eyes. He wraps his hands around your waist as you’re standing in front of him and he pulls you closer. His fingers find their way below the hem of your skirt, dancing over the supple skin of your thighs, slowly inching up higher. 

You whine, already squirming under his touch, and his grin widens. 

“So soft,” he coos up at you, tightening his grip on your thighs and moving you to straddle him, your legs already spread wide to accommodate the thickness of his thighs beneath you. One hand comes up to cradle your face again, his thumb nudging at your lips and you flick your tongue against the digit, making him chuckle. 

“And so pretty,” he continues, leaning in to connect your lips once more. You want to melt into him, let him consume every fiber of your being. 

Your hands tug at his t-shirt, pulling it up, desperate to satisfy the need to be closer to him, to feel his bare skin against yours. He helps you, lifting the fabric over his head. You’ve seen most of his chest before, but not like this, not revealed just for you, in the dim light of your bedroom, yours to look at, yours to touch. He somehow seems even broader without clothes on and you’re almost transfixed by the thick cords of muscle of his arms and shoulders that are on display for you now. 

He chuckles again, placing another kiss at the corner of your lips. 

“You alright, princess?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, feeling breathless, overwhelmed with how much you want him. 

His hands splay over your thighs, fingertips dipping beneath your skirt again, slowly, teasingly skating higher. 

“Take this off for me.” It’s phrased like an order, but it’s still so soft, not leaving a doubt in your mind that you could say no if you wanted to. But you don’t. You want him to see you, want to feel his eyes on you, want to have this hungry look that’s trained on your face burning all over your body. 

He groans when you obey, a deep, rumbling sound that goes straight to your core and you know that he feels your thighs clenching on top of his. His mouth is on your bare skin within seconds, kissing and sucking, his tongue moving against you like he’s going to devour you. 

You arch against him with a whine when he circles your nipple, first with his fingers and then with his tongue before sucking the sensitive bud between his lips. It’s all encompassing, the wetness of his mouth, the strong grip of his hands, the heat of his chest seeping into your skin where you’re pressing yourself against him. 

“Please, Oberyn,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing that you need more. His responding moan sends vibrations from his mouth straight through you, before his fingers dig into your waist and he flips you over, until your back is resting on your sheets and he’s hovering over you, your thighs still spread wide around him. 

The image alone is enough to send another wave of arousal through you, the way he looks just as wrecked as you feel. His large hands spread your thighs wider as he leans back, his eyes trained on your panties, where you know the fabric must be soaked already. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles again, more to himself than to you. His eyes fly back up to meet yours, almost black, his pupils blown wide. “Can I take these off?” He dips a finger under the lace covering your hip, pulling it away and letting it snap against your skin. 

“Please.” You don’t care how desperate you sound, not when he looks up at you with the most sinful smirk on his face. His hands grasp the fabric and you lift your hips to help him pull it down, but his smirk widens as he tears the lace in half, ripping the shreds off of your body. 

“Fuck,” you whine, not a single thought wasted on the fact that those were some of your favorite panties, every part of you focused on how badly you want his hands all over you. 

His eyes stay focused on your expression, eagerly drinking in your every reaction as his fingers dip between your legs, so close to where you so desperately need him. He groans when he feels the wetness seeping from your folds, swirling his digits through it before reaching your clit. He’s ghosting over the sensitive nub with barely any pressure, but it’s enough to elicit a moan from you, your hips canting up to follow his touch. You’re distantly aware of the pleas that are falling from your lips, giving way to a loud whine when he finally sinks two thick fingers into your heat. 

He thrusts into you, curling them just right, and his name tumbles out of your mouth again, laced with pure need. You watch in fascination when he sucks his slick-coated fingers into his mouth, eyes still trained on your face, a rumble forming in his chest at the taste. 

“Tastes so sweet, princess.”

Your thighs fall open wider, shamelessly offering yourself to him, to his eyes, his hands. You reach out, grabbing at his waist, the need to feel all of him nearly overwhelming. His fingers intertwine with yours, pulling your hands away from his body. He lifts them up to his mouth and presses soft kisses against your knuckles, a whisper of patience on his lips before he lets go of you and rises up to rid himself of his jeans. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, a needy sigh escaping you when you think about feeling him inside you, about the way he’s gonna stretch your walls. You sit up, eagerly reaching for him again. Your fingers wrap around his cock, mesmerized by his girth, and he hisses when you move your hand over his length. 

You hear the crinkle of plastic and then his hand is on yours, gently tugging it away, much too soon for your liking. You watch as he puts the condom on with practiced ease, the sight of his own hands on his cock enough to send another wave of arousal through you. 

He’s back on you before you know it, sliding in between your spread legs, his large hands splayed over your upper thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes are trained on your weeping pussy, a hungry darkness in them. You whine when he rubs his cock through your wetness before tapping against your clit.

“You want this?” he asks, his voice husky. 

“Please, Oberyn.” Your desperate plea breaks off into a filthy moan when he sheathes himself inside of you, breaching your tight walls with the most delicious sting, and you feel your eyes rolling back into your head. 

Pleasure grows inside of you as he starts to move, slamming into your pussy in a forceful rhythm. You feel so full of him, the sensation almost overwhelming as he hits the perfect spot over and over. The wave inside of you crests so suddenly that you barely realize what’s happening, the need that you’ve felt brewing all evening finally reaching its peak. 

You gasp his name, nails pressing into his shoulders as he fucks you through it, until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. He slows, moving in and out of you with shallow thrusts, his lips on yours once more. 

You stay like that for a moment, arms wrapped around him, holding him close while you bask in the bliss that you’ve just experienced. But his continuous movements have the hunger for more growing inside of you once more. You meet his thrusts with your hips, needy to feel him deeper again. He props himself up, and it’s sinful how good he looks, his face glowing, a sheen of sweat on his skin. 

You suck one of your fingers into your mouth, eyes wide and holding his gaze, feigning innocence. He watches you, a curious glint in his eyes, as you trail your hands from his shoulders down his back until you reach his ass and pull him further into you, fingernails digging into his flesh. 

You let your saliva-covered finger reach further, gently massaging the puckered ring of muscle and he gasps, thrusting into you with so much force that it jostles your whole body and you cry out, the sensation of him so deep inside you a heady mix of pleasure and pain. 

“Fuck,” he grits between his teeth as you keep up your ministrations, delighted to have this effect on him. “Fuck, princess, just like that…” 

You bite your lip, grinning up at him. “Do the girls back home touch you like I do?” 

He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, his movements never faltering as he gathers your wrists in his hands and pins them down on the mattress beside your head. 

“No. And you’re gonna make me come if you keep this up, but I’m not finished with you yet,” he purrs, leaning down and sucking bruising kisses into the soft skin of your throat, the scratch of his beard only adding to the sensation. You free one of your hands from his grip to tug at his hair, your fingers burrowing in the soft strands at his neck and scratching against his scalp. 

“You can give me one more, can’t you?” His voice in your ear makes you shiver and you nod, a breathless please on your lips. 

“Good girl.” His kiss is soft against your cheek before he pulls away, his thrusts speeding up, as he grabs your hips, holding them up, giving you no choice but to take him. “Touch yourself,” he demands, the tendons in his neck straining with exertion. 

Your fingers are on your clit within moments, rubbing against it, slick with your arousal. The coil inside you tightens again, desperate for release once more. 

“Give it to me princess, come on.” His voice sounds wrecked, and it’s the thing that makes you leap over the edge a second time, stars exploding behind your eyelids as you pulse around him, pure pleasure soaring through you. 

He comes to a stuttering halt, hips pressed flush against yours, and his groans are almost enough to make you want to come again. He falls forward, forehead pressed against yours, and you share a lazy smile. 

You think that he really is the most beautiful person that you’ve ever met.

You fell asleep curled against him, your head resting on his chest and soaking up his warmth, with his arm around your shoulder, but when you blink awake to soft morning light falling through your curtains, you are alone. You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. You’ve seen him at the club, he’s probably in a different bed almost every night, you shouldn’t be surprised that he snuck out of yours in the morning. And you sure as hell shouldn’t be disappointed. 

You get up with a sigh, pulling a t-shirt over your head and padding down the hall to the kitchen. You come to an abrupt halt in the doorway, met with a sight that you hadn’t expected. He’s standing in front of your open fridge, the expanse of his back bare and turned towards you. There’s a swoop of excitement in your stomach.

You exhale loudly and he turns towards you, an easy smile on his lips. “Good morning.” His voice sounds raspier, still thick with sleep. 

“Hey,” you say, returning his smile. He closes the distance between you and cups your face, the sensation of his thumb against your cheek already a familiar one. His lips find yours and you get lost in the feeling of it, in the fantasy of this being your every morning, in pretending that he’s yours. 

When he pulls away, the words are out of your mouth before your mind is able to catch up.

“I think I really like you.” 

You want to bite your tongue immediately, to take them back. Too early, the voice in your head screams. Your eyes widen as you search for something else to say, but he doesn’t waver, still regarding you with that relaxed smile on his handsome face.

“Is– is it okay that I said that?” 

He hums, his large hand still on your cheek. 

“I think I really like you too.”

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider putting a smile on my face by reblogging, commenting or sending in an ask <3 thank you for reading!

[missyorkswhore]

Pedro Pascal with weapons, this is the post

[zialltops]

but especially when he’s this joel in wranglers & a cowboy hat 😏

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Who owns you?

Summary: You fall from grace as a group of raiders destroy your lavish community, taking in you as a macabre spoil of war

warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder of unnamed characters (community), kidnapping, man handling, gang bang (not in this chapter but yeah), humiliation, virginity loss, reader being basically a sex slave, unprotected p in v, threats, darkness overall

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader

series masterlist

Your boots padded on the uneven ground as your heart hammered on your chest, what was left of your community rising in flames. Once the habitat of the most prosperous survivors of the Cordyceps outbreak, reduced to ashes and death; and you, it's only remain.

You didn't even know of what you were running from, just doing it the second the alarms went off; it meant chaos, worse, Raiders.

That was what spared you. Your short flowy dress snagged on branches, red cowboy boots that were mostly a fashion statement proving themselves not ideal as you stumbled face first into the cold, sharp ground.

"What do we got here?" You heard a thick accent drawl, and your shivering body jolts your head upwards. A man, wearing a thin striped shirt and a thick, beige vest; His eyes are shaded by dark sunglasses and all that is recognizable is a thick mustache and a curved nose. "Are you alright?"

The rifle on his hand looks at you threateningly, as you retreat on bruised knees; The man takes off his glasses, realizing how intimidating he looked. "Oh-I'm sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you."

You slowed your movements, gazing up at him, studying him. His chuckle still pulled at his lips softly. "I-I, My home-My home is being invaded by raiders."

You spluttered, and his eyes soften in understatement, body crouching to lift you off the ground. His arms were strong and tanned, and the way his hands wrapped around your arms gave your mind the slight fuzziness of comfort.

"Anyone with you?" He asked, his accent so foreign, you shook your head. "Alright, let me take you somewhere safe, mhm? can you tell me slowly what happened? My name's Javi, by the way"

You nodded, mouth blabbering everything you could remember, from the siren to the gunshots ringing to the fire; his hands never leaving your skin as he softly nudged you to follow him. He cooed at you, face scrunch in worry.

You didn't realize you were walking back into camp until the smoke hit your nose, making your head snap around wildly.

"Javi?" You ask, the name sounding bitterly in your tongue as you see him, lips pressed into a thin line to suppress laughter. Panic fuels into you as you see the group of men, thrashing the city. The boutiques, the stores, everything you knew.

Their gaze fall on you. Slowly, one by one, as they arise from the remains of your town; they are like walking dead, eyes hungry. You realized Javi's grip on you had become tighter, stopping you from moving.

His laughter rings in your ear as his arms envelop you, making it harder to breath. The man around you crowd closer, and you see flashes of your faces as the fear of the imminent swoons over you. You faint, knowing as soon as your eyes shut together that you are going to regret it.

The man, Javi, holds you tightly as you feel your knees buckle and your vision starts to swim. His strong arms keep you upright, even as the world around you begins to spin and darken at the edges.

Javi's voice reaches your ears, muffled and distant, as if he's speaking to you from the bottom of a deep well. "Easy there, sweetheart. I got you. You're safe now."

As your vision fades and your consciousness slips away, the last thing you see is the leering, hungry faces of the men surrounding you, their eyes glinting with a predatory light. The last thing you hear is Javi's low, rumbling chuckle, filled with a dark amusement that sends a shiver of dread down your spine.

The world goes black as you slip into unconsciousness, your mind reeling with the horrors you've witnessed and the unknown dangers that lie ahead. In the back of your fading consciousness, a small voice whispers a warning - that you may have escaped one nightmare only to stumble into an even darker one.

When you wake up, the first thing you see is an unfamiliar wooden roof; your muscles ache as you attempt to move, the hard mahogany floor hard against your spine, as if the soft blanket sprawled beneath you was non-existent.

"Finally." An unknown, Texan-accented voice sang; your head whipped painfully to see him. Your heart picked up, as behind the man were more.

You had seen him before; he stopped by your camp for food once. You cringed as you recalled how the townspeople turned him away, asking him if perhaps yesterday scraps were good enough for him.

“Feral stray” they had called him.

You remember getting a peek out of him, by the gates, his broad shoulders and pepper and salt hair branded into your mind.

Close behind him another man stood, same greyed hair, though he looked taller and held a scar along his cheekbone; his face was scrunched up, but his eyes told a different tale.

And then was Javi; you wanted to scoff as your mind recognized the nickname he told you to call him. He had taken off his sun glasses, dark eyes sliding up your face as he held a pleased grin, proud of his little catch.

You couldn’t get a proper look to the rest of the men as the “feral stray” spoke once again.

“Fuck, she looks terrified.” He commented, though no pity took place in his tone; a deep growl that warmed his skin.

You accessed the situation; they were bigger, stronger and more than you, but they stilled in their place, eyes raking slowly and precisely over your shivering form. You weren’t tied up, just laying there, and if you ignored hard enough the way Javi-Javier- had grabbed you before you fainted, there could be a simmering chance they were truly trying to help you.

“I-I-“ You staggered, but your brain couldn’t think of one thing to say in this situation. You planted your hands on the floor as you pulled yourself to sit up.

A breeze ruffled your skirt, and you eyes widened, feeling an unfamiliar chill in your core. A hand shot to your thighs, fingers gracing your most intimate place that you found bare.

“Looking for this?” Another men spoke, far more rough looking than the rest as he held your panties in his ringed finger. He laughed, eyes narrowing under brown tinted sunglasses.

Your hope was out the window, and you wished you’d be out the window too.

“I-please,” you managed to croak out, your best fake smile pulling at your teeth, as if attempting to back away. “I-I don’t want trouble.”

You suddenly weren’t a girl trapped in a house with seven men, but a highly esteemed comedian as the room erupted in laughter.

“Trouble?” One of them repeated, the one who looked the youngest, with short dark hair and a trimmed beard that shaded around his jaw; he gripped his dark yellow shirt as he cackled.

“Little girly doesn’t want trouble!” a thick, cow-boyish accent hollered as he took off his hat and pressed it against his chest.

You didn’t know if to laugh along or to cry, so your gazed fixed itself on the only one who wasn’t laughing; “feral stray”.

His glare was set on you, and you prayed and prayed he wouldn’t remember you, stealing a glance of him through the watch tower as the Community leader sent him away.

“That’s a pity,” He sighed, words profound and careful. “cause we do want trouble.”

With two long strides of his strong kegs he was besides you, looking down at you. Your mouth clamped as you pleaded with your eyes, tears kissing the brim.

Seven men.

One you.

Trapped in a house.

They were going to kill you.

Raiders were ruthless, never to be messed with, at least that’s what your community taught you, and by the cold, dark eyes that were posed on you, you knew then that it was true.

Stories flood your mind, murders, vandalism, theft, but never rape, despite it being the only reasonable thing this bunch would want to do to you. You had never heard about it.

“Please,” you attempted once more, hands sliding you away as they become clammy against the hardwood floor. “I-I’m no good, I’m a virgin, please-”

Their laughter dulled at your words, not suddenly, but intriguingly. You could hear some groans, some “sweet jesus” under their breathes.

“Feral Stray” bent at his waist, knees popping with effort as he reached his hard, calloused hand to grace your cheek.

“You know what they called me?” He asked.

Feral stray.

And he waited for you to answer, but you couldn’t. It was like kicking a bear that was already mauling you.

His fingers laced between the threads of your hair, still fresh from your expensive shampoo. You see his muscles flexing before you feel the stinging pain across your scalp. He tugs harder.

"You know what they called me, your stuck up, bitchy community?" He growled, and you whimpered. "Come on, pretty girl, give me the answer."

You felt as if he was going to rip out your hair, and you feared he might do it. Your neck craned painfully, looking at his furious face as a small trace of mockery, amusement was hid in his dark eyes.

"F-feral stray." You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

"Louder!" He screamed, the sound ringing in your ears as his face etched closer. You felt hot tears cascading down your cheeks, blurring the vision of the men in front of you.

"Feral Stray!" You yelped, as loud as the knot in your throat allowed you to say it. The grip stayed tight, pain blooming to your temples along the dull thump thump thump of a headache.

Suddenly you were pushed face first, your hands rapidly supporting you against the hard floor. You sighed, no longer feeling the head-exploding tension in your scalp.

A pair of hands pulled your hips up, forcing you to support them on your wobbly knees. Your head hung low, tears wetting the blanket beneath you.

"look who's the dog now," The man chuckled, a hand running over the expanse of your back. You sobbed at his words through ragged, half filling breathes. "that's it now, little puppy, come on now, bark."

Shame filled your cheeks as you slowly turned to look at him, pleading silent eyes, begging for it to be a joke. But he looked sternly at you, hand gripping your waist.

"Boss said to bark, puppy." The second eldest said, the one with the white t-shirt and the scar.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

"Seems like we got a disobedient one," Javi teased, boots etching closer to your line of sight. You dared to look up, look him in the eyes. "Bark baby, or you're gonna get in a lot of trouble."

His eyes looked slightly softer, still hungry and disturbed, but for a moment you had a deja vu of how he found you, even thought it was mere hours ago. The dusking sky outside told you so.

"P-please," You whispered to him, feeling the urge to cling to his leg. "please don't make me."

A grin tugged at his lips as he let out an amused breathe.

"There there," He cooed. "Not disobedient, just shy, am I right?"

Your head seemed to be locked in place as you attempt to nod at him.

"Well, she can't be shy when I'm asking her to suck my balls." The one who was holding your panties blurted; if you were looking at him you would have realized he had done a line of coke off of them.

"Patience, Dieter." The youngest one reprimanded him. "We can't expect a highborn girl to act so whorish on our whims."

"Like any good mare, just needs to be broken in." The cowboy one joked, making them laugh.

It felt so dystopian, how they joked about the situation. They could joke about it, while you stood shivering like a leaf.

"Don't get too excited," The scarred one spoke, with the regality of a Roman Emperor. "Boss is going to be the one to deflower her."

It irked you now, the casualness of all of it. The way they spoke of you like if you were merely a piece of meat, an animal even. Your knuckles turn white as you clutched the fabric beneath you, the warm blossoming from "Boss'" hand now unbearable.

"Do I even get a say?" You barked, immediately clamping your lips shut.

There were no slaps, no hair tugs, no pushes. All seven cold gazes directed to you. The hand on your back shifted towards your ass.

"Glad you asked," He grunted, kneeling behind your body as his immense back roamed over your flesh like a silent threat. "You don't."

You bit your lips as his touch became more demanding, kneading handfuls of flesh as he slowly pulled your thighs apart, your knees giving in. He hummed as he looked at you, and you never felt as bare.

If you looked forward, you could see the other men, hands wandering over their legs as they observed the scene, and if you looked backwards, you would see the look in his eyes. You opted to look down, the sound of zippers going down and Feral Stray's groans filling your ears.

"Haven't properly introduced myself," He spoke, pulling your ass cheeks apart and a breathless gasp from your lips. "Name's Joel; but you won't be calling me that."

You sensed an interchange of glances before Joel's fingers slipped once again into the hair at your nape, touch so gentle it almost cooled the sting of the previous grip, and pulled you up to face the men.

"Marcus." The one with the scar grunted, feeling your gaze on him.

Before you could continue to stare at him, the youngest one shifted “Oberyn.” he said, smirking.

“Whiskey.” The cowboy huffed, though you could tell it wasn’t his name. Not that it mattered as you felt Joel paw at your flesh.

“Dieter Bravo,” the coke-snorting one said, pulling up his sun glasses. “you may know me from the movies, did a shit ton of them back before the world went to shit-“

“Not now.” Joel bellowed, annoyed. His hands skimmed up and down your thighs, as if warming you from the biting cold.

Your eyes shifted to the one at the back of the room, the one wearing a baseball cap. He was deadly silent, had been all the time; you wouldn’t have noticed him if Javier wouldn’t have moved out of the way.

As they traced your stare, he lifted his eyes from the thing-looked like a toy helicopter- he had been fidgeting with. “Catfish.” He huffed, uneasy, returning his attention to the toy.

Silence wavered, only broken by your gasp as you felt one thick, calloused finger traced your slit. Fresh tears sprung as your neck gave out, once again facing the floor.

Two thumbs pulled your lips apart, exposing your most vulnerable oar to Joel; a deep seated growl roared through his chest as he observed.

"Gonna take your time?" Javier asked, leaning against the mossy green wall.

You felt his finger delve between your folds, touch warm as he pushed a little dipper; a soft whimper escaped you as he finally pressed a pointer finger at the top of your slit.

"Just this once." Joel muttered, deep in thought as he begun circling your nerve, weakening your elbows as your body urged you to lean forwards. Your nails dig into the wooden floor, urging you to stay up.

Their eyes, pairs of dark brown eyes posed on you, each glimpse of fresh skin they could get, your chest heaving and shining softly with a new layer of sweet, your jean jacket becoming unbearable under their hot gaze. Shame, shame warmed you up too.

They noticed, the dampness beading on your skin, cheeks red and heavy pants. How could they not? they were staring at your every move, how you shivered with Joel's swift touches on your clit, how you clamped your lips tightly, everything. If one wouldn't notice, at least the over five would.

"Getting warm there, honey?" Oberyn wondered, and you refused to meet his eyes.

"I think she is, why not shed a layer?" Whiskey teased, the low fap fa fap getting louder. It cringed in your ears.

"Acacius." Joel commanded, your brows furrowing, questioning if you had forgotten a name, or if there were more of them.

Your question was answered when Marcus thick thighs appeared in your vision, only recognizable by his worn down grey jeans. He pulled the jacket down your shoulders, the movement brief but forceful enough to let a small sound that you had withhold, all due to Joel's unwavering touch on your clit. He lifted one arm, gently, slipping the oversize denim off as you supported yourself in his scarred arm. The men almost moaned at the sigh of more exposed skin, and he finally pulled off the jacket.

He lifted himself on his knees, bulging crotch grazing against your forehead as you felt a tug on the soft cotton dress. Your head shot up, stuttering your words.

"P-please."

You didn't even know what you were begging for, an unfamiliar heat spreading through your core to your belly and to every bit of flesh you owned.

He looked down through almost black eyes, continuing to tug the fabric off your body until it came to your armpits. You wouldn't budge, hoping to sympathize with any trace of humanity in him.

For a few seconds he stopped, and you almost let out a sigh of relief as he dropped the dress; but then, his hands gripped around the hemline of the arm holes and a powerful screech of fabric ran through the air. After that, he continued ripping through the dress until it pooled beneath your quivering form.

The only thing you still had on was a flimsy bralette and your red cowboy boots.

Dieter commented something about it matching, but your mind race to the feeling of Joel pulling his hand away.

"This too?" Acacius-Marcus-you didn't even know now- asked, pulling at the clasp of your bra.

"Yes." One of them sighed, not Joel. He didn't break it, just let it slide off your arms.

The scene was almost ridiculous, clad in only fashionable boots, but it got them going. A palm smoothed down your shoulder blades, forcing your chest into the blanket and your discarded clothes. Before much warning, you felt two thick digits sink into your hole.

You cried, whining, trying to get away, but the hand was pressed to firm and in front of you Marcus still was there, working his belt buckle off. The sting opened your walls, and his pace was deliberately strong; in and out, against the sloppy holes that pushed tightly.

"Easy," He chastised, pace never faltering. "Gonna hurt more if you fight it."

You obeyed silently, fingers twisting against the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin growing louder as Acacius shifted beside you. You clenched your eyes, wishing to ignore everything as Joel sawed his fingers in and out of you.

The pain diminished, briefly, and your hand slapped against your mouth to stifle any pleasurable sound. He chose to scissor his fingers inside of you, preparing you for the inevitable.

It was normal it felt good, you knew that, that the way he was touching you was meant to feel good, but still shame crept over you as a coil begun tightening in your lower belly, cunt eager to take it in deeper.

Despite your efforts, whimpers and breathy moans escaped your palm, brows furrowed in submission as you felt him pull out his fingers, thighs shivering and rubbing to dissipate the pleasure that had struck you.

It lasted little, for the hot tip of his cock begun pressing against your entrance. You snapped out, grabbing Acacius thighs in order to get away as your hips were held prisoner in his hands.

"N-No, no please," You whimpered, but the other pair of hands tugged at your forearms, pulling you up to face him. With a steel grip, he forced you to plant your arms over his shoulder, back stretching and twisting as Joel pushed you onto his length.

"Hold-fuck-still," He grunted, pushing a girthy inch. Face inches apart from Acacius, you couldn't evade his glare as his hands clamped on your forearms. You stalled, getting lost in the enigma that held his face.

You pursed your lips as Joel brought you down further on his cock, pain irradiating from your core as he stretched you. As you attempted to move, Acacius held onto you with a force that told you he could dislodge your arms if he wanted to. From over his shoulder you saw blurry visions, the other men stroking their cocks, eyes like hyenas waiting for left overs.

The pain was unbearable, growing each time as you felt yourself being ripped apart by his cock, groans and moans were chanted in your ears, forcing you to take it.

"Fuck," He grunted, voice lost in pleasure. "So-fucking-tight."

He punctuated his words sheathing more of it into your core, though you felt as if you couldn't take more, as if he was fucking all the way to your guts. Your cunt clamped on his cock.

Acacius doesn't let up, his grip on your arms tightening as he forces you down further, impaling you on Joel's massive shaft. The pain is blinding, your walls screaming as they're stretched beyond their limits, forced to accommodate his incredible girth.

Joel grunted, his face contorted in pleasure, lost in the tight, wet heat of your core. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, holding you in place as he continued to thrust, driving his cock deeper with each powerful surge.

As Acacius leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy against your face. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, holding you captive in their gaze. "Take it, you fucking slut," he growls, his voice rough and demanding. "Take his fucking cock like the greedy little whore you are."

The other men watch, stroking their own hard shafts, their eyes gleaming with sadistic lust. They enjoy the show, reveling in your suffering and Joel's pleasure. The room is filled with the crude sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, guttural moans, and your own cries.

Joel's thrusts become more forceful, more punishing. He's chasing his pleasure, using your body for his own gratification. The pain is overwhelming, tears streaming down your face as you feel yourself being split open, ripped apart by his relentless assault. Acacius smirks at your tears, his grip on your arms not loosening even for one second. 

"Fuck, she's gripping me so tight," Joel groans, his words punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. "Gonna... fuck... fill this cunt up..."

Acacius' fingers dig into your soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises, holding you mercilessly in place as Joel uses you like a fuck toy. Your body jerks and bounces with each violent thrust, your tits swaying hypnotically to the hungry hyenas.

"Look at them, whore," Acacius hisses, nodding towards the circle of men fisting their cocks, their eyes wild with lust and greed. "Look at how much they want to ruin your holes too. They're going to love wrecking your sloppy cunt after Joel's done flooding it with cum."

Joel lets out a guttural roar, his fingers sinking into your hips, leaving finger-shaped bruises. Your vision blurs as he hilts inside you with a final, brutal thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your clit. At the same time, his cock throbs and pulses, erupting deep inside your core.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuccckkk..." he bellows, his hot seed flooding against your unprotected womb, painting your insides white. Your stomach bulges slightly from the sheer volume of his release.

Acacius' grip becomes loose as your body shivers, loosing strength with each final thrust Joel gives you. Soon enough, you cascade down his body, head laying weakly against his thigh as his open zipper rubs against your cheek. Your aching muscles betray you,

"There, there," Joel cooed, almost mockingly as his hand raise shivers along your spine. Your eyes become blurry as all you can hear is the men chasing their release and pain slowly overtakes your body, leaving you numb, almost lifeless. You found a strange sense of comfort from the warmth emanating between Acacius' legs, almost as if you wanted to curl up closer, but suddenly, you were pealed off by a sharp grip on your hair.

"Fuck, gonna cum in this throat-"

It all happened so quickly, but the one in the back, the only one who wasn't jerking off to all of this, shot up, stopping Javier with a harsh "WAIT" that shook the room. Hands slowed down, and gazes shot to him.

Catfish, he had said, rubbed his face in distraught as he hesitated his next words.

"Let her sleep, it's her first night."

You weren't focused on the laughs and hollers, but in Javi's leaking shaft mere inches from your lips; you have never seen one so close, each vein and ridge and it's pink tip, it's musky scent filling your nose.

"Awww," Dieter teased, pumping his cock with your underwear. "so sweet little Frankie, let the slut sleep huh?"

The Cowboy, Whiskey, chuckled. "Look at your pants boy, you are no better than us-"

"Alright." Joel cut them short, standing behind you. "She can sleep tonight, not gonna get much sleep in the next days..."

Tag list:

@tateypots

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 2nd

Day 2: Piercing // Double Penetration // Voyeurism

Oberyn Martell x F!Reader x Marcus Acacius

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Threesomes, oil as lube, unprotected sex, double penetrations, two cocks/one hole, mentions of pleasurable pain, mentions of bisexuality, cream pie

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It is not often that Oberyn Martell is surprised. He has seen things, experienced things along his travels. Riding with the Second Sons and brawling in the fighting pits of Mereen. A Prince of Dorne, he has done as he pleased and as a result, he has carved out a reputation as the Red Viper and not limited himself on the pleasures of the flesh. 

Setting his cup down, he leans forward, his eyes disbelieving and he shakes his head. “You have never shared a woman?” He demands. “Or a man? It is possible if the man in question is experienced enough.” He huffs and continues on. “Truly? You did not have a whore suck your cock while she was plowed by another? Or shared her tight cunt, stretched over both of your cocks?” His voice is dripping with disbelief and awe that such a pleasure would be denied to the general in front of him. “Or perhaps a cock in her ass and another in her cunt? None of those pleasures have been bestowed upon you?”

The strong, sweet Dornish wine nearly goes up his nose as Marcus Acacius chokes at the blunt way of speaking that the prince has. He has discovered that this man, royalty, is plain speaking and can be biting if provoked, his wit sharp and his dagger sharper. From what he has found since arriving in the seat of the territory of Dorne, he has found all of its people to be bold and brash in a way that makes him envious. 

“No.” He shakes his head and sets the cup down on the table that he is seated at with the prince. Answering the questions that he has and asking his own of this realm that seems so different from Rome. “There were orgies, but I- I was often training with the men.” He explains. “I did not attend many events.”

That makes Oberyn snort and shake his head, his other hand stroking your thigh idly as you lounge on his lap. “He didn’t attend the orgies, Dove.” He murmurs to you, glancing at your lips and leaning in to steal a kiss simply because the urge takes him. 

Marcus shifts, glancing away from the moment because it seems that the prince has no qualms about showcasing his affection for you in front of anyone. He’s not immune to attraction, he’s had his own share of women and a few men, but it was always just a singular encounter. 

You know what Oberyn is thinking the second that his hand slides under your thin, silky dress. Bare underneath and already wet for him as his fingers dance up your thighs as his tongue slides against yours. Used to the way his mind works and the way that he will demand that pleasures be explored. Cupping his cheeks, you pull back from the kiss to peck his lips and turn to look at the general as he stares at the banner that hangs on the wall behind the table. The banner of house Martell. 

“He is handsome.” You concede playfully, giving voice to the thoughts that are mirroring his own. You know that Oberyn is attracted to the other man, even if he is older than Oberyn himself. Your finger runs down the edge of Oberyn’s jaw as Marcus’s head snaps back towards you, his eyes wide when he hears your words. “I would not mind taking his cock.” 

You talk about him as if he wasn’t there. Boldly and bluntly, just like the man you are seated on. Noticing that Oberyn’s fingers are drawing your dress up, he quickly glances away and tries to ignore the low chuckle of amusement. 

"What about both of us, Dove?” He nearly chokes again when he hears the question and underneath the soft linen tunic he is wearing, his cock twitches despite his shock. 

You tut, leaning in and kissing the bare skin above the thin line of hair that frames his jaw. “As if I would have it any other way, lover.” You huff, moving back and nipping his ear with your teeth to make him hiss. Your eyes watch Marcus and you smirk when he doesn’t look outraged at the prospect. 

“A cunt is a glorious thing.” Oberyn reaches down and taps your thigh with the hand that is not pushing your dress up and you obliged him, spreading your legs so that the general can see your cunt. “It stretches to birth our children,” he coos, slowly stroking your folds and you watch as the general’s eyes are very closely following his movements. “You do not think that your cock will fit with mine?”

His mouth is dry and he gulps down a swallow of the wine, nearly slamming the cup down and he clears his throat. “I had not thought of it in that way. He admits, licking his lips and finding himself more than intrigued by how it would feel. 

The prince smirks and leans in to kiss your jaw below your ear. “Go make sure his cock is hard enough for you to sink down on.” He tells you, pulling his hand away and letting you stand to move over to the other man. 

This is happening. Marcus watches you and there is little smugness in his stature as he opens his arms for you to straddle him. His cock will not be a problem, already hard and starting to lift the folds of his tunic when you lean in to kiss him. You are a beautiful woman after all.

He's not shy about kissing you once your lips are pressed together. You know that the general would not be untried but it is thrilling to know that he can take command like your lover. It will make an interesting combination. 

His hands are surprisingly greedy as he pulls your thin dress off your body. The sword calloused hands scraping deliciously on your skin as he palms your tits and then your ass. 

You know your lover is watching, he enjoys watching you when you want pleasure with another. 

His tunic is easily removed and you enjoy the differences between the men you will have tonight. Marcus is broader, fuller in his chest and arms than your Red Viper. Both men are strong, deadly, but in contrasting ways. If you think of Oberyn as a spear, then Marcus would be a battering ram. 

You are wet enough that it is easy to sink down onto the thick cock of the Roman general. Making him moan into your mouth and his hips jerk up, pushing deeper until he is buried deep. Oberyn hums behind you, the shuffling of fabric telling of his own clothes being removed and you turn to find him with a hand around his cock as he slowly strokes himself. 

“Are you- sure you can take both of us?” Marcus pants, his own eyes fixed on the prince’s cock and feeling slightly doubtful since he knows his own is just as impressive. “Will it not hurt?”

Your eyes flutter slightly and your walls tighten around his cock as you think about it. “Some hurt feels good.” You admit breathlessly, “the pinch of pain will be far outweighed by the pleasure.” 

The scented oil that Oberyn keeps on his belt is used, applied to his cock and you smile when you hear the slickness of it. “The prince will make sure that it is good.” You coo to Marcus. “That oil helps, much better than spit.” Turning your head, you nip his earlobe with your teeth, making him moan again. 

Marcus holds you waist, waiting to be instructed as Oberyn moves behind you. Your prince caresses your ass and reaches down, his hand cupping the balls of the other man and the root of his cock, chuckling when he groans loudly and twitches inside you. 

“He will be good in our bed.” Oberyn kisses your shoulder, letting go of Marcus to turn your head towards his for a kiss. Tender and brief before he is leaning in and pressing his chest against your back, his hips shuffling closer. 

Marcus can do nothing more than to hold you still, almost breathless as he feels the head of the other man’s cock slide against the base of his shaft and press against it. He’s had a cock pressed against his before, but this is different, his cock already being tightly held by your cunt gives this a new sensation. 

“Let me in, Dove.” Oberyn coos, caressing your back as he adjusts slightly, finding the perfect position to push the head of his cock inside you. 

Moaning, you lean into Marcus’s chest, already breathing heavily as Oberyn rocks his hips shallowly, slowly letting the head slip inside you before he groans your name. “She is tighter now, no?” Oberyn chuckles at the way the general’s eyes seem to glaze over in passion, his fingers digging into your hips to anchor you to his lap. 

It’s intense, there is no way that it could be anything but when you have two well endowed men occupying the same space inside your body. Every gasp and whimper of pleasure that comes from any of the three of you makes you wetter, your cunt gushing and dripping over their cocks. Adding Oberyn’s entrance and making it even more pleasurable as Marcus gets the added sensation of having his cock stroked without even moving. 

When his hips are flush against your ass, all of you moan. “She is- fuck-” Marcus groans, closing his eyes and his cock pulses inside you, already close to cumming. “It- I can’t-”

Oberyn chuckles breathlessly and reaches around you to caress the general’s cheek. “He is overwhelmed, Dove.” He coos, enjoying the wrecked look on the other man’s face. His own cock twitches inside you, eager to move. 

“Move.” You gasp out, your eyes slipping closed as you relax. “Both of you. I want to feel you.” You can feel Marcus’s thighs trembling, the unspent energy in his arms as he starts to lift you off his cock slowly as Oberyn pulls his hips back.

You whimper, feeling achingly empty as both men pull back to where just the tips of their cocks are inside you, only to make you yelp when they drive back into your body in unison. Oberyn growls and Marcus moans, each man taken with the feeling and your reaction to it. 

It seems to break something inside the Roman general, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss while he starts to pump his hips up, driving his cock into you at a pace that steals your voice. 

You can tell he’s lost in the pleasure, the scrubbing of the two cocks against one another as the pace shifts to alternating thrusts, the constant friction that is aided by the oil and the slick of your cunt as it weeps in pleasure from their attention. Moans lift to the heavens and are breathed into your skin when he pulls away from your lips to bury his face into your breasts. 

Oberyn is never a passive lover, his hands stroke your body, cupping your tits as Marcus descends into them, his clever fingers teasing your nipples until you are moaning in ecstasy.

 The steady buildup is almost maddening as the angle of Marcus’s cock pierces something deep inside you and makes you beg for more. Every thrust feels like they are pushing into your stomach, stretching you out even more. They are using your cunt and you love it, the desperation in Marcus’s thrusts is matched by Oberyn’s, each man working towards their goal of pleasure and making you scream. 

Curses tumble from their lips and yours, everything forgotten but the way they feel buried inside you. Every time they pull their hips back, your body mourns the loss of the fullness but the perfect moment where both cocks are even inside you makes up for it. 

They push you higher, every thrust makes your body sing and light up in utter hedonistic bliss. “Marcus - Oberyn!” Your eyes roll back, body poised to be pulled apart by the next thrust while your core curls in on itself. Lighting up, your body heaves and bucks between theirs pressing into you. Keeping you in place while they rock into your cunt over and over again. The next cry is even louder, your cunt spasming around their lengths as you soak them in hot waves of slick. 

Marcus hisses, white hot pleasure racing up his spine as he drives his hips up. Giving over to the needs of his body as he manages to pump into your three or four more times before he is trying to bury himself deep into your cunt. 

Oberyn moans, feeling the heat of his spend filling you, coating both of their cocks as he continues to work in and out of your cunt. His teeth clenched together as he reaches down and swipes some of the other man’s seed mixed with your juices to taste. 

Groaning, his pace picks up, his hips slapping against your ass furiously to make up for the fact that the general is starting to soften inside you. “You enjoyed yourself.” He observes breathlessly, smirking at the other man’s relaxed and drained expression. Like he had just exhausted himself. You moan and clench down around them both again, making Oberyn moan your name. 

“Fuck yes.” Marcus chuckles, watching in awe as the prince continues to fuck you, his cock still sliding against his and making him twitch even though he is spent for the moment. It makes him wish he was younger and could harden again almost instantly. Finding the entire thing the most addictive and erotic thing that he’s ever done in his life. Enthralled when the prince stiffens, pushing deep and flooding your already filled cunt with another wave of hot cum. 

All of you pant, you lean against the general’s chest and listen to his heart beat as he reaches down and gathers the combined fluids from all of you, bringing them up to lick his own fingers clean with a groan. “What do you think of it now, Acacius?” Oberyn asks, grinning when you clench around them again. 

“I think we will need to do that again.” Marcus hums, grinning lazily and wondering what other pleasure he will find while he is in Dorne.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Wrap Around Pt.4

Warnings: siblingxsibling implied, longing

Words: 2367

Summary: You and Oberyn enjoy Elia's wedding.

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THE WARNINGS/TAGS

Part 1 Part 2   Part 3   

There couldn’t have been a more beautiful day than the one of Elia’s wedding to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Your elder sister was covered with the most precious fabrics imported from Essos. Clinging to her torso and flowing outward in an elegant skirt with embroidered beads and tinkling bells. Her lashes were long, lacquered by a special blend of kohl and honey. Without a doubt a vision before your eyes, you had never seen your sister quite as radiant as she was on that day.

The groom, equally dazzling for the eyes to behold. In the great Sept of Baelor, they stood side by side as the Westerosi sept drolled on and on about the light of the Mother and perseverance of the Warrior that would keep them both safe in their matrimony. Rhaegar’s typical Targaryen traits were enhanced by the harsh black of his suit, plates styled as if they were dragon scales. Blinding silver hair was pulled back into a lengthy braid down his back. They were charming side by side, tying Dorne and Westeros together.

You and Oberyn had traveled far as the wedding ceremony would take place in King’s Landing. Under the domed ceiling, you and your brother watched Elia become tied to the Targaryen prince. Holding his hand as a gentle type of sorrow overwhelmed you in that moment. No longer would you be able to run down the hall and jostle her awake by jumping on her bed. Elia was no longer just your sister, she belonged to Westeros now and would one day be expected to become a dutiful queen. Sunspear would feel vacant without her warmth. If only she had married a Dornishman. That way she would at least be closer to you if you wanted to see her. King Aerys had believed her to be the only one worthy of marrying his heir; after all, she was one of the only princesses in the Seven Kingdoms. It was meant to be an honor, that’s what Doran told you.

Having noticed the tears brimming in our eyes, Oberyn squeezed your hand to let you know that he was still there and that everything would be okay. You knew for certain that you would not lose Oberyn to marriage anytime soon, probably not ever. He would always be by your side and if he could help it that would never change. He was a constant that you refused to relinquish.

You hold onto his hand and will your tears to dry, this was not a cause for sorrow, you should be smiling and celebrating along with the others present. This was monumentous for your sister. One day she would become Queen of Westeros. This was the dream match of a lifetime for Elia and you wanted to be happy for her. Even her groom was dazzling beautiful. The greatest opportunity that would ever come by Elia. The match had made Doran pause briefly before accepting the marriage proposal. While Westeros and Dorne were on fairly good terms, many still looked down upon a 'foreign' princess being wed to their crown prince. Elia would be surrounded by Westerosi, leaving her to be the only Dornish presence in the capital. You worried that eventually when Rhaegar would be forced to leave her side that Elia would experience unfound loneliness. She had always had friends and family around her. Now she would be isolated from those that loved her dearly. What did these people know about your beloved sister? Would they know how to stop her tears before the spilled out of her eyes? Certainly not. They wouldn't know the first thing to do when she wasn't feeling well and how to best deal with her weak constitution.

Westeros better treat her right. If not, well, you would have to think about moving to the capital to be with her. You didn't like the idea of leaving Dorne permanently for Westeros. You loved your homeland more than any other place you had visited. The people were lively and unjudgemental and had an open mind. Why would you live anywhere else? You would do so for Elia. But if you were to leave Dorne, you were sure Oberyn would follow right behind you.

Your face was already flushed from the bottomless glasses of wine you had consumed as you waltzed up to the bridal table where lords and ladies were giving the happy couple gifts and their blessings. The Great Hall that housed the iron throne was already becoming stuffy from the many bodies that were dancing and drinking and merely having the time of their life. Candles and lanterns illuminated the venue and also cast a warm glow over everyone. Music danced around the hall from the performers that had been gifted for this special occasion. When it was your turn, Elia broke out into a shining grin and introduced you to Rhaegar.

"A pleasure to meet you, Princess." Rhaegaer takes your hand and kisses your knuckles as was custom for highborn ladies. "Your sister has told me so much about you."

"All good things I hope." You tease and smile at your older sister.

"Well, I had to warn him that you can be a little imp." Her laughter filled you up with content. All you wanted was for Elia to be happy after years of having taken care of you and Oberyn which certainly had not been easy.

Leaning forward, you kiss both sides of her cheeks. "Everything is so lovely, Elia and you look quite the vision."

"Your wedding will be just as lovely, I'm sure." Elia smiles at you in that endearing way that had you thinking that you would die for your older sister if the need ever arose. You loved her so much that you just couldn't bare to tell her that you most likely would never marry. There would be no point in it, at least in your eyes. Not if you couldn't be with the person your heart was craving for.

You cast a secret glance ove rthe festivities and immediatgely find Oberyn canoodling with a group of lords and ladies, probably entertaining them with one of his adventures.

As if feeling your gaze on him, Oberyn looks your way and smiles as he continues talking. That smile meant just for you. Easy to hide your blush from obtrusive eyes, you realize Elia hadn't been fooled. Of course not. She had practically raised you and Oberyn. When it came to her younger siblings, nothing flew over her head.

Her smile became strained and you immediately regretted your cockiness. You hung your head slightly as Elia turns to her groom, her pleasant smile having returrned. "Wouldn you mind terribly if I left for a few moments?'

Rhaegar grinned, taking her hand in his and giving it a chaste kiss. "Whatever my bride desires."

Maybe you would reconsider marriage if you found a potential suitor as handsome as Rhaegar Targaryen, for he rivaled Oberyn in terms of looks and charm.

A blush made your sister's cheeks glow, seeing the gleam in her eyes. She was truly in love with Rhaegar, that much was already clear. Good. At least you owuldn't have to worry about Elia being stuck in a marriage she detested.

Elegantly, Elia excuses herself and moves around the table to take your arm and lead you away. She lead you further and further away from the party until the sounds of laughter and music became a distant buzz. The halls of the Red Keep were eerily quiet as Elia finally releases your arm.

"Oh no. You have that look on your face you always get before scolding me." You nervously say but she is not in the laughing mood. It put a damper on her beautiful face and otherwise jubilent atmosphere.

"I need you to be serious, (y/n)" Elia whispers, her eyes glancing down making her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. "From now on, King's Landing is my home. I won't be at Sunspear to keep an eye on you and Oberyn. Don't try to deny it. I know. I've always known."

Your stomach performed acrobatic tricks inside of you. Never had Elia mentioned the odd dance you and Oberyn tiptoed around. Oh, you were aware that she may have an inclining; she would be blind not to notice the longing looks you and your brother shot one another. Lingering caresses that a brother shouldn't dispaly toward his sister.

You wanted to curl into yourself. "Elia, lets not ruin your wedding."

She shakes her head, face filled with determination and. . . fear? "My love, I need you to listen to me and heed my words. I love you both dearly, but I'm worried about you and Obberyn. I will no longer be able to keep an eye on you. You must not cross the point of no return with him. Please, for my sake. I know you love each other intensely, but its a love that can never come to fruition. You know that as does Obery. It's. . . immoral and if Doran were to ever discover you two, I know he'll force you to marry a far away lord. If anyone outside our family were to discover your secret. . . it can be a cause for imprisonment. For my sake, please. . ."

Tears blinded you before you could hastily wipe them away. It utterly broke you to agree to such a thing but you would do anything for Elia. Besides. . . you already knew that there could be no actual romantic relationship with Oberyn. It would forever be an impossible love that would haunt you. "Okay. . ."

Relief made her shoulders sag but there was still a melancholy in her eyes. "I'm sorry, (y/n). I know one cna't control who they fall in love with."

Your chest was hurting as you were supressing the overwheliming devastation that was swallowing you up. Shaking your head, you try to put on a brave face for your sister. "No, I know. . . It's alright. You should get back to your husband."

"(y/n)-"

I'm alright, Elia. I just need a moment to compose myself."

She hesitates to leave you, her natural instinct forbidding her to leave when she knew you were sad. Despite her wavering feelings, Elia sulks away; back to her party and prince.

Only when you knew she was out of earshot did you crumble against a stone column and succumb to your grief.

A truth you had known all along: You and Oberyn would never truly be together. It was sinful to even entertain such an idea. A brother and sister could never cross that boundary of blood. All along, you were aware of this while you thought you were harmlessly flirthing with Oberyn and he back.

"(y/n)?"

You choke on your own sobs at Oberyn's voice. Through your wet eyes, you look up at him. Handsome Oberyn who you had the misfortune of being his sister.

When he saw your tears, Oberyn immediately crouches down to touch your stained cheek. "Who did this to you?"

A bubble of laughter pushed past your tears. "I did."

"Now why would you do such a mean thing to my sweet sister?" Oberyn smiled a little to ease your distress. His thumb goes to wipe away your t4ears but you turn your face the other way. His gentle touch only made your heart ache even more. Oberyn pauses before leaning away. "I saw you and Elia leave the Great Hall. She came back alone. That's why I went searching for you. What happened?"

You fiddled with yoru fingers, refusing to meet his prying eyes.

"What did Elia say to you?"

"Nothing bad. . . She just wanted me to promise that I'll behave myself around you from now on. Since she won't be living at Sunspear anymore. She's worried about us." Making sure to put an emphasis on that last word, yyou dare to finally lift your eyes.

Oberyn closed his eyes, leaning on his hands. "Oh. . ."

With a sniffle, you wipe your nose with your sleeve, not caring if it was unladylike. "I promised not to do anything that might warrant unwanted attention to us."

"Meaning?"

"You know what I mean." You held onto his attention, the furrowing of his brows and the dark shadows that flickered in his eyes. Oberyn wasn't stupid.

A shaky sigh deflats his chest. "We can't help it."

You nod. "I know. But everything Elia said to me is true. What we've flet between us for so long isn'nt right. If Doran sees what Elia does-"

"I'm not afraid of Doran."

"That's not the point, Oberyn. The point is that its not right for us to feel the way we do for eachother. I have to keep you at arm's length. It's for the best. Aroudn you, I feel like it would be so easy for me to slip and succumb to our feelings. We've already toed the line of whats appropriate for siblings. Each time its harder and harder to pull away."

His jaw ticks and you know tis painful for him to hear all of this. Neither ofyou had ever spoken about your incestuous feelings, it wasn't necessary to address it until now. It couldn't be avoided any longer.

You grasp his hand. "We can never cross that line of morality. That doesn't mean I'll love you any less."

Tenderess softened his features, smoothing ove rhis scowl as he lifts your hand and presses it agains this lips; the same hand that Rhaegar had briefly kissed. "You will always be the light of my life. That will never change."

"Can you really accept it? Your a creature who craves a physical relationship."

"I'll do anything to keep you in my life, (y/n)."

You wanted to cry all over again. For the love you would never have and the void in your heart that would always be vacant. No other man would ever live up to Oberyn. While you oculd have your flings and meaningless sex, no mand could fill up the palce that had always been meant for your brother.

Taglist:

@hoziersfairy​

@rosaliedepp​

@iiconicxpersona

@hiroikegawa

@msmorningstaarr

[pedgito]

march is over and we're heading into tlou season which i am awaiting with too much anxiety, energy has been so low over here but i've been attempting to read on nights when i have some time. as expected, lots of pedro characters but a few additional blorbos that i've been obsessed with lately.

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 24

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ a love so fine by @joelsdagger — ☁️, 🌶️

An evening in with your husband helps to quiet the brain noise. 

↝ little lamb by @chaotic-mystery — ☁️, 🌶️

You and Joel decide on the future of you two when he sees how well you mother the lambs.

↝ in the soft light of morning by @eupheme — ☁️, 🌶️

In the morning hours like this, the promise of spring slipping through the cracks of the curtains, it’s enough to almost make him forget. Tucking away everything he’s done, forcing it back down his throat and locking it away. Here, he’s just a man.

↝ brighter times by @gutsby — 🌶️ (DDDNE, noncon)

You’ve always been Joel’s favorite. Always.

↝ stranded by @pedroscurls — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)

Your car breaks down on the side of the road and a stranger decides to help you out...and you have no choice but to accept his help.

↝ be quiet, or i'll make you by @tobeholyistobeempty — 🌶️

The world ended in disaster. You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms. You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

↝ orange colored sky by @/eupheme — ☁️, 🌶️

A soft summer weekend is spent at the lake with Joel and his family

↝ nice and slow by @joelsknees — 🌶️

A quiet horny morning with Joel. Send tweet.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ the raid (+ steve murphy) by @toxicanonymity — 🌶️ (DDDNE)

A DEA agent finds you on a drug raid, and he and his partner take you home with them. They keep you locked up and make some changes in your life, starting with getting you off drugs. They share you and have sexual tension (at the least) with each other. You happen to enjoy them... But it can't stay like this forever, can it?

↝ that won't ever be me, bebita by @iknowisoundcrazy — ☄️

Javi and Steve go missing. With los pepes at large, you and Connie wait up and worry for your loves.

↝ the morning commute by @/iknowisoundcrazy — ☄️

In the midst of Escobar’s desperate war for control in Colombia, your morning commute is disrupted when you find yourself tangled up in his latest bomb threat.

✎ — 𝐄𝐙𝐑𝐀 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓)

↝ like family by @max--phillips — 🌶️

Ezra had entertained dozens of your fantasies and helped you indulge in kinks you’d never even fathomed before meeting him. You trusted him implicitly, with your body, mind, and soul. You could tell him anything, and he’d take it in stride. He’d never judge you or shame you (unless that was the agreed upon point of the scene, of course). He was older than you, more experienced; he’d seen everything and then some. The stories he told are part of what drew you to him initially. Despite all this, it did not stop the panicked fear of rejection from flooding you with one accidental slip of the tongue.

↝ more by @moonlitbirdie — 🌶️ (read on ao3, DDDNE)

You want Ezra to take you while you’re asleep.

✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ keep driving by @thundermartini — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)

An unexpected stop in the middle of nowhere for an investigation on a Halloween Festival leads to the scariest encounter of your life.

↝ because of you by @almostempty — 🌶️ (DDDNE, noncon)

You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

↝ good kitty by @sizzlingcloudmentality — 🌶️

Dave wants a cat but ends up with you. his favorite thing to do? letting the kitty drink fresh cream.

keystrokes by @mothandpidgeon — 🌶️ (DDDNE, noncon/dubcon)

You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for.

✎ — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

↝ forbidden fruit by @/cavillscurls — 🌶️

Upon his return to Dorne, you give your husband a warm welcome.

✎ — 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 (𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒)

↝ inescapable by @cavillscurls — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)

Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him.

✎ — 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐎

↝ don't give up on me by @punkshort — ☄️, 🌶️

Should you give up on the man you love when he disappoints you, or do you give him another chance?

↝ 30,000 feet by @yxtkiwiyxt

You meet a handsome stranger on a flight.

✎ — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

↝ miss possessive (+ gareth emerson) by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️

You cannot help but be possessive over your boyfriends...wait no, boyfriend. Just your boyfriend. Not his best friend.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐊

↝ when he's the neighbour by @jolapeno — ☁️, 🌶️

Matt hears you through the wall.

✎ — 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

↝ late night visits by @stellamarielu — 🌶️

Somehow your neighbor is always finding himself at your front door hoping to find relief through casual hookups, but you both can’t deny your feelings any longer.

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you’re taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

[whoredyceps]

“Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

» if there was a column people waited to read every week, it was yours. famed sex-columnist, and the heart of new york city's dating scene, you give a play by play of your love life and what it all means. the readers of your column begin to notice a reoccurring character, beyond the flings and awkward second chances. will he become the main character, or are you doomed to croon about the tragic dating scene?

» author's note: this is a new series i'm staring based off this post i made! it's a 'sex and the city' based fic series. each entry is a different character from the ppcu, so each chapter will focus on a character. they will all be standalone fics, and you don't have to watch sex and the city to understand the plot. let me know your thoughts! :)

» the playlist link

⌕ old dogs, new tricks ༝ joel miller

⌕ easy come, easy go ༝ javier peña

⌕ time and punishment ༝ din djarin

⌕ plus one is the loneliest number ༝ oberyn martell

⌕ the fuck buddy ༝ frankie morales

⌕ take me out to the ballgame ༝ jack daniels

⌕ what goes around comes around ༝ marcus acacius

⌕ the baby shower ༝ reed richards

⌕ just say yes ༝ clint

⌕ coulda, woulda, shoulda ༝ lucien de leon

⌕ the domino effect ༝ javi gutierrez

⌕ out of the frying pan ༝ the epilouge

[biggestsimponhere]

“I'd never sing of love if it does not exist, but darling, you are the only exception”

Once again this man is so hug shaped and i need a hug

[cavillscurls]

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

oberyn martell x f!reader

Upon his return to Dorne, you give your husband a warm welcome.

warnings/tags: MDNI. we’re grazing passed most GoT oberyn lore. husband!oberyn x wife!reader. switch energy all around. cheeky flirts!!! brief exhibitionism. dirty talk. period specific pet names. fruit as an aphrodisiac. food consumption. food play. playful biting. oral (f receiving, m implied). bit of face riding. past piv referenced. reader has pubic hair, but is otherwise nondescript. smut is kinda short. wc: 2k.

➻ for @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality ’s writing through the seasons challenge! ty both for organizing this and letting me participate. my prompt was oberyn + summer + “show me how much you missed me.” this is unbeta’d and prob not my finest work but… enjoy! x

The days grow long without him. The nights, even more so. 

At least after dawn, you have the company of the sun, warm and enveloping, bleeding in from your shared balcony through gauzy curtains and kissing your skin almost as gently as he. But by the fortnight, you’ve grown tired of its presence. No heat can replicate the fire your husband so expertly stokes inside you. 

The word is his carriage will arrive by noon. There is a bit of grit, impatience, in the way you usher your ladies from your chambers once they’ve completed your delegated tasks: clean sheets, making up the bed, refilling the decadent chalice of Dornish wine, and setting a stick of incense to burn. 

Lemongrass. His favorite. 

You have yet to change from your nightgown, undoing the delicate buttons until the silken fabric pools around your feet at the base of the bed, and you’re left bare. Your skin prickles with anticipation, heart stammering in time with the horse's hooves that approach in the distance. Carefully, so as to not disturb the beautiful array in which the pillows have been splayed, you crawl up the mattress, easing yourself back into them comfortably. You’re propped up enough that you can still eye the entryway, but your knees fall unabashedly apart, a sharp breath sucked through teeth when the cool air hits your cunt, already glistening with want. 

Your eyes flutter shut, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. A proper welcome home for the Prince of Dorne—yes, you’re certain he’ll be pleased with this display. 

You hear him before you see him. Gliding footsteps, the silken echo of his voice, an eruption of laughter light as air. It grows louder, and with it, the coil in your stomach wound tighter. The latch on the door clicks, and when they part, his eyes find you immediately. 

Sharp features fall flat, only briefly, and then, a sly sort of smile stretches across his cheeks. You note the guards on either side of him, both sets of shoulders pulling taut. They quickly avert their gazes, squirming where they stand—they know better than to stare. Nonetheless, their eyes can’t help but flicker now and then towards the decadent invitation splayed across their Prince’s mattress. 

Something like honey rumbles through the air, low and amused, the sing-song laughter of your husband. He offers both of his men a generous nod when they drop his chest of things near the doorway and quickly scamper out. 

As soon as the doors shut, Oberyn’s eyes are on you. 

“My lady,” he purrs, taking slow, sauntering steps to the center of the room. His eyes rake the path of your body, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily when they land between your spread legs. 

You flash him your most delicate eyes. “My lord,” you echo, tilting your head accusingly. “You have certainly kept me waiting long enough.” 

Again, his laughter rings. Louder this time, rattling your bones until your skin feels like it glows. 

“My apologies,” he says, placing an earnest hand on his heart. The other curls tight around the strap of his satchel, hung over his shoulders, broad and muscular. He wears his robes, yellow as the sun, stitched with the Dornish crest. You take special appreciation in the way it dips low over his chest, revealing a sliver of sun-kissed skin. Your fingers itch, longing to undo the knot that ties the rest of him away from you. “Though you must know my departures always cause me great concern regarding your…  appetites.” 

“Mm,” you hum, digging your teeth into your bottom lip to suppress the budding amusement. “Perhaps you will just have to make up for lost time.” 

This pleases him, and you watch with lust-glazed eyes as he makes his prowl towards you. He stops only once, eyes still trained in your direction, when he plucks a chalice off the table at the center of the room. His throat bobs with each generous gulp of wine, plump lips sheen and sighing a sound of refreshment. Your thighs twitch, impatience, little bumps of flesh prickling your skin and your nipples grown painfully hard. 

He slides the sack off his shoulder and onto the edge of the mattress, licking at his teeth, sharp and eager for a taste. An animal. A Viper. 

Early in your union, there was a time when you may have shied away from such lewdness. The intensity of his eyes on your bare skin bloomed embarrassment, shame even. But no longer. Not when every inch of you has been marked by him, one way or another. When his whispers of praise and worship are embedded into your skin, and he makes good on harnessing that shame and flourishing it into desire. When he’s given you a taste of power. Control. 

He hoists a knee up onto the bed, and you tsk your tongue. 

“Nuh uh,” you chastise, shaking your head and batting your sweetest eyes. “Not like that.” 

You point a single finger his way, waving it up and down the length of him. He throws his head back, amused, and makes quick work of undoing his robe and shucking his trousers down his legs. The wits you have worked so hard to keep momentarily falter, and your eyes drift to his impressive manhood, already hard against his abdomen. 

Saliva fills your mouth, an urge to taste. He’s made you this way, really. Something insatiable. Only because he is so generous, and while you have not dared to ask, you are certain most men cannot please as long as your husband does. Hours, entire days spent with him buried inside of you, and he never seems to tire. 

“I brought something for you,” he says, breaking your reverence. He reaches for and rummages through his satchel and plucks something from it, round, a beautiful shade of marigold. 

“A citrus from Highgarden.” He turns the fruit around deft fingers, eyeing it like a prize. “They say it is their sweetest delicacy,” and his devious gaze slides toward you, “but I told them we possess something far sweeter.” 

A laugh, breathy and dazed, seeps passed your lips. Always a man of theatrics. 

“Alas, you will have to make good on your word, then,” you challenge, arching a brow, and you think you see the jaws of a viper pry open, salivating, just before it feasts on its meal. 

He pierces the fruit with his teeth, tearing through skin and all, and crawls up between your legs until the sweet juices are dribbling over your lower belly. Droplets tickle your skin, rolling onto the covers, and traveling down, down, down, coating your mound of hair and glistening over your cunt. 

He makes quick work of bullying his shoulders between your spread thighs, and you are suddenly on high alert. Craning your neck forward to get a better view of him, the way he licks his lips and eyes your drenched folds as if he has struck gold. 

“Perfect, little cunt,” you hear him murmer before he leans forward and sinks his teeth into the plush of your right thigh, sucking a mark onto your skin. 

You squeal, hands clambering for his hair, and he’s tossed the fruit aside in favor of cradling your thighs in his palms, pulling them even further apart so that he may sample the whole of you. 

“Gods, I missed this,” he growls, soothing the flesh he’s marred with a kiss before switching to the other thigh. “Missed you, wife.” 

He casts his eyes up at you now, and you tremble at the sight. Needful eyes, pouty lips, a countenance that promises the world. You rake a gentle hand through his curls before curving it under his chin, tilting it towards you. 

“Show me,” you whisper, and his pupils grow in size. “Show me how much you missed me.” 

He heeds his command, and his tongue slithers up the seam of your cunt, hungry and precise. He knows your body well now, a musician and his fine instrument. It’s easy to sink into it, allow yourself to fall back against the pillows, and relish the way he strums you. Drinking the juice of fruit and your essence alike. 

“Yes,” you sigh when he laves his tongue over your clit, suckling on it. He is dutiful, as if you are the blood-born royalty, sworn his shield, and spear, and mouth, and cock all to you. 

He makes good of these which have been promised, you think. A loyal soldier, a fierce lover. 

He only breaks to gasp for air, a little rumble of a growl in his chest as if the interlude is some heinous intrusion. He fucks his tongue inside of you, the curve of his nose tracing your swollen pearl, and his hands grip your thighs tighter when they begin to tremble. 

You tilt your head up just enough to bask in the sight of him, and you moan rather loudly to find him already looking, dark eyes blown black. 

“Oberyn,” you purr when that comforting coil begins to brew in your belly, coursing out through your thighs, to the tips of your toes. He hums in acknowledgment, in triumph, and encouragement, and the subtle vibration is just enough to send you soaring for the peak.

You reach for his hair again, weaving your fingers through the strands, and he doesn’t protest when you yank him forward, pressing his face further into your core. In fact, he looks emboldened. Eyes almost glittering with the prospect of getting you where you need to be. 

You thrust your hips against his face unabashedly, savoring every bump of his nose and plunge of his tongue. You’re panting, eyes rolling towards the ceiling, a song of pleasure on your lips. You almost hear it before you feel it—the surge of wetness he slurps out of you, and you see stars. Curling your toes tight and squeezing your thighs around his head, he never lets up. Forces you to ride the highs and lows of your release on his face, and only when your body falls completely slack, tiny tremors coursing through it every few seconds, does he pull back. 

“I was right,” he rasps, and he makes no effort to wipe you from where you stain his cheeks and mustache. Only extends his tongue in every direction he can to savor every drop, smacking his lips and grinning widely. “Sweetest in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

You humor him with a soft laugh, still breathless. But your focus is elsewhere, dazed eyes looking him over, your top-teeth sunken into your bottom lip. He still has yet to make up for his absence, and your thirst has not been quenched. 

You reach for his shoulders, satisfied in the way he allows you to maneuver his body on the mattress, eagerly coaxing him up toward the pillows and over onto his back. He arches a curious eyebrow, but has little protest for the way you straddle yourself over his thighs, sticky fruit juice and arousal slipping from between your legs, coating his, his belly, his now painfully hard cock that rests beautifully against his abdomen. 

“Hush, now,” you chastise him when he opens his mouth, that boyish look on his face a clear indicator that whatever he has to say, he’ll say in jest. But you have no more time for jokes—your attention has sunken elsewhere. 

You shuffle further down his thighs until you can bend your back and dip your head low enough to hover your lips over him. You see the way his cock jumps and his face falls, replaced with awe. 

Now, you’re the one grinning. 

You place a chaste kiss on the leaking tip of him. 

“My turn to taste.”