#oberyn martell fluff

[eufezco]

oberyn’s kisses are hot. he definitely knows what he’s doing. his hands are everywhere but mainly cupping your cheeks to hold your face in place and caress your skin there with his thumbs. he hums into the kiss, bites your lower lip down, sucks on your tongue. he loves teasing so before he kisses you, he gets really close to you, walking slowly in your direction while looking at you with his big brown eyes, trying to look innocent but you know what his intentions are. and when he's in front of you he waits until you can't stand it any longer, until your breaths mix, until your lips are half-open and you are on your tiptoes trying to catch his lips.

on the other hand, javier is more aggressive. his lips are dominant over yours, his hands hold your hips in place while bringing you closer to his body or he uses one of them to squeeze both of your cheeks while kissing you. he'd probably trap you against a wall using his body to keep you from escaping him. his kisses do not stop there, they always lead to more. he would take advantage of any free moment to help you jump on his desk, or hold your ass while you wrap your legs around his body, or to get you in the back of his car. his lips never leaving yours while he mumbles things against your mouth. sometimes you cannot figure out what he’s saying but just the vibration of his deep voice against your mouth is enough.

the first kisses with din were kinda difficult. your eyes were closed shut, his helmet was lifted just enough to leave his lips out. one of his hands holding his helmet and the other one around your waist. you were scared of cupping that little part of his cheeks that was showing, would that be wrong? but once he finally revealed his face to you, your hands were everywhere. against the cold armor on his chest, tugging at the root of his messy hair, squeezing his cheeks to pull him closer... and din is so hungry for your lips, his kisses are so wet because he can't get enough of them. din’s so passional because he has been repressed for a long time. and his lips always move to kiss your cheeks and your neck, tickling you with his beard, but they always come back to your lips.

joel thought he would never kiss someone again after the outbreak happened. he was not the thirty-one-year-old man that all the girls in the neighborhood were in love with, he was old now, and the idea of love was not for him. but then he met you and you touched him with such a delicacy, and your lips were always so soft compared to his chapped ones, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands while you kiss him because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable so he waits until you place them on your hips. you can feel how confident he grows when he’s aware of how much you actually want him because his lips press harder against yours, and his fingers dig into the skin of your hips, and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Clearly Not Me

The second prince of Dorne is famously a punk-ass rat. He's never had someone put him in his place before, let alone a bartender that was serving him.

Oberyn Martell x Reader | 1k+ | cw: gender neutral!reader, modern au, bartender!reader, crack fic, dummy!Oberyn 'Bobby' Martell, typos, etc.

A/N: @sloanexx likes feeding my fic demons

Tagging: @multifandom-fangirl4 @pinksirensong @aralezinspace

"What can I get you?"

A man in a sits down in front of me. And though I was busy wiping the bar top, I could see he was wearing a bright yellow shirt.

"You're new here," he speaks as I arrange a few glasses and bottles.

I put some away in the back station and the cabinet beneath the bar, "not really." I straighten up with a sigh and lock eyes with him. I lean on the bar and repeat, "what can I get you?"

The man with dark hair and an exposed sternum raises a thick brow at me. He props his elbows on the surface between us. It was apparent to me that his top was not really a shirt, with how open it was, or yellow, but a mix of gold, browns, oranges, and like hues. It had intricate patterns that would've made him look tacky had it not been as apparently expensive as it looked. What a pompous asshole.

But then again, everyone in this fucking place was. I mean I was just serving a Lannister two seconds ago, and not the self aware one.

"I would know you if you weren't new," he says, resting his right fist down, "and you would know my order."

Ahh, gotta love asshole hour.

I lean forward, making sure not to let my annoyance seep through my sweet smile, "should I guess or will you just tell me what I can get you?"

The man chuckles. His smirk is lopsided. He licks his teeth and leans in until we're less than a foot apart, "a dry Manhattan with some olives on the side."

I nod and pull back, "dry Manhattan and olives."

I begin to work on his order.

I can feel him watching my every move, but I could honestly not care less.

"When did you start working here?" he shifts on his bar stool to watch me as I walk across the bar. I smile back at a regular who waves me goodbye. Prince Viserys gives me one of his greasy smirks and I return it with a polite one. I walk back to the man I was serving.

The said man eyes the Targaryen. He turns back when I reply, "about a month."

He purses his lips in thought, "makes sense. I was in Dorne at the time." He straightens up and clears his throat after saying this. He waits for me to react to his words, looks like he's half dreading it, but what he fails to realize is that he's acting far too guilty with someone who doesn't give a fuck.

I begin to mix his drink. He relaxes slightly at my missing reaction.

"You made friends with Viserys Targaryen within a month?"

I raise a brow at his words and set my shaker down, "are you my friend?"

He chuckles, shifting his weight on his elbows, "well, we've just met my dear."

"Then why would I be friends with Prince Viserys?"

I pour his drink.

He chuckles again, "he's not really a prince who says goodbye to people though."

"Well," I place an olive on his Manhattan and hand it to him, "maybe he liked my drinks."

I hand him his extra side of olives as he takes his drink. He raises his Manhattan with a brow, "maybe."

I watch him take a sip. He licks his lips after and turns to his margarita glass. He nods and smiles, "it's good."

I tilt and raise my hands at that.

I walk off to attend the back station. I realize that this man must really love hearing himself talk when he starts talking again even though my back is turned to him and I'm carrying a shit ton of glasses.

"He tips well?"

I scoff out a chuckle and look at him to see if he was being serious.

With the way his lips purse beneath his stupid mustache and how he clarifies, "Viserys, I mean," he's clearly pretty damn serious.

"With all due respect, none of you tip well," I retort as I put away the washed glasses into the cabinet.

He narrows his eyes and pushes his shoulders back, "I find that offensive."

"You know, save for maybe Tyrion Lannister," I add.

He scoffs and mutters under his breath, "you place me beneath a Lannister."

I pretend I don't hear it.

"Well, you'll know me well enough after tonight."

I do not withhold the face his words illicit because I was turned back to him again. I finish tidying the glasses with a sigh and turn back to him, "alright, Mr. Yellow Shirt."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Yellow Shirt pulls his head back in offence and furrows his brows, "this is not a shirt."

I raise a brow and walk over to him.

"It's a robe," he words sternly.

I make it a point not to apparently react to his words. Leave it to rich people to wear the most ridiculous things outside. I mean a robe? Really? My mother would have smacked me if I did that.

I lean over the bar and examine his clothes. He eagerly stands and flaunts it.

I mean it is a pretty good robe-- the man grins from ear to ear and stretches his arms out --but still.

I raise my brows at him and nod, "and so it is."

He chuckles and sits back down. He moves his drink aside and pops an olive in his mouth, "only three like it in the world, and all of them belong to me now."

Gosh, I better shut this down before he goes off and thinks I actually want to talk about it.

"Good for you, Mr. Yellow Robe."

The smile on his lips flattens. I fix the tools behind the bar.

I feel the man try to burn me with his gaze but I don't give him the satisfaction of looking back at him.

I cave when he gets eerily quiet.

He's immediately on the defensive, "my name is not Mr. Yellow Robe, and this is not any yellow," he motions to himself, "it's mustard yellow. #e1ad01," he leans on his elbows again, "I would know."

I cannot contain my expression. I'm honestly surprised he knew something like that. It both makes me gain respect for him while simultaneously thinking he's a bit looney.

"Alright the-"

"Oberyn Martell," he cuts me off and sits up straight.

Ah.

There it is. That's why he's such a prissy princess, because he is one.

I decide to do what I always do when people here introduce themselves to prove a point, I smile and introduce myself back. It normally gives me a chance to take hold of the conversation since these big names don't expect a nobody to match their energy.

True enough, Oberyn stills in his seat.

I wipe a glass, "you got a nickname, Oberyn Martell?"

He pulls his head back, "what?"

I watch a line form between his brows. I hold back a chuckle. Didn't the folks who write the gossip spreads call him Prince of the People because this man is for the streets?

I shrug, "what kind of nicknames does a kid named Oberyn grow up with?"

He furrows his brows.

I raise mine when I think of something, "Bobby!"

His ghost leaves his body, "what?"

"Like for Robert!" I place the glass bow, "Bobby! Or Bob," I tilt my head, "Bob suits you well, I think."

Bob's jaw drops as he scoffs, "I am not a Bob."

"Bobby then," I smile, "Bobby's cute. Bobby's sweet. Bobby's an approachable baby boy who buys you bubblegum cotton candy."

He looks like he's actually about to turn a shade of red. Mustard and Ketchup.

He takes his glass and mutters before drinking, "do I look like someone who buys bubblegum cotton candy?"

I chuckle as he downs his entire drink, "only to people who call you Bobby."

He lets out a breath as places his empty glass down.

"You know," I decide to further fuel his flame, "you and the prince of Dorne are actually both Bobbys."

I mask my chuckle at his mortified look with a smile when I turn greet a woman who calls for me from across the bar. I walk up to her, chuckling under my breath as I take her order.

I walk back to my station near Bobby to make her drink.

Bobby watches me and stretches his neck, "I'm not the prince of Dorne, if that's what you're getting at."

I stop in my tracks and knit my brows as I look at him. Oh, so we're playing this game? I shake my head, "of course you're not." I look back at my drink.

Bobby takes a moment to register my words. He quips back, "what?"

I ignore him in lieu of finishing making my drink. He does not enjoy this one bit and raps on the table to catch my attention. I usually don't entertain rude interactions like this, but I couldn't help myself.

I look back at him, nearly gagging in laughter over his sour expression. I finish the order before deciding watch to reply. I match his expression, "the prince of Dorne would never wear something so garish, Bobby boy."

I smirk as I walk away with my finished drink, pleased with myself over the choke-like sound he makes at my words.

"Garish?!" he barks then calls out my name.

I hand the woman her order and smile at her when she thanks me, pays, and gets up to leave. I take her cash payment and smile, "now that's how you tip."

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Of Roses and Snakes

pairing: Oberyn Martell x OC!Female!Tyrell

summary: Ella Tyrell gets told what her family had decided against her will. Maybe it was not so bad after all

Word count: 2,5K

Warnings: Angst, fluff, hurt-comfort

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Ella grumbled annoyed as she rolled over in her bed, the sun had been hitting her face for several minutes by then but she had no energy to move until this moment when a banging on her disturbed her peace even more.

"What?!" She called out harshly. She lifted her head as the doors opened to see who had entered her room. She sighed when she saw Margaery walk into the room already all dressed up and ready to conquer the day and make the boy-king fall for her charm.

"Is it not too early, sissy?" Ella asked, sitting up with a pillow clutched to her chest. Margaery gave Ella and wavering smile, almost looking like a wince. The future queen sat down on the bed beside Ella and reached over to grab her hand, the expression on her face was some sort of apologetic which raised alarms in Ella's head.

"What is it?" Ella questioned curiously, she was not one to fear easily. She laughed in the king's face when he suggested wiping her when she expressed her disgust at the wine they had, apparently that insulted the taste of the mother king. Cersei smirked at Ella seeing her son defend her only for the smirk to be wiped off when Ella burst out laughing, smoothly she recovered and mentioned that she was not one for wine anyways but prefered ale in its stead, that satisfied Joffrey but Cersei hated her guts for that.

"The Queen mother has somehow convinced father of something, sissy" Margaery finally spoke, Ella was half relieved that she was not the only one holding the conversation between the two of them. However the other part of her wondered what queen Cersei had up her sleeve.

"What could possibly be so bad that you had to wake me so early?" Ella pushed her duvet off herself as she spoke. She sighed when her feet touched the cold tiles and she moved to the table a couple of feet away in her room. Her eyes squinted as she looked out of the window where the sun was rising, it had been for several minutes before Margaery had entered.

"It involves you" Margaery uttered looking down at her hands in her lap. Ella picked up her chalice, filled it with the disgusting wine they had in King's Landing, and took a huge gulp in preparation for whatever Margaery had to say. She did not fear wiping, no she feared Cersei using her cunning mind to hurt her, she knew she had the power to, it was no secret that Cersei was happy to abuse the power she had.

"What could she possibly have convinced the idiot?" Ella rolled her eyes. She filled her cup again but took a small sip this time. Margaery squirmed almost uncomfortable while the seconds ticked by, she was trying to form the words in her head, wondering how she could break the news to her sister, her unsuspecting sister.

"They plan on giving your hand away" Margaery's words were hurried Ella nearly understood nothing of them. The chalice in Ella's hands cluttered down on the floor in shock and the wine spilled all over the tiled floor. Margaery jumped at the sound of the metal piece hitting the floor.

"What?" Ella cried out in disbelief, she knew her father was dumb however she did not think him dumb enough to make such a decision without at the very least asking for her consent.

"Calm down, please, sissy" Margaery stood up from the bed and walked over to where Ella stood, making sure to not step on the wine and ruin her dress or shoes. One of her arms wrapped around her younger sister in comfort snapping Ella out of her shock.

"When did you find out?" Ella allowed Margaery to detour her towards an ottoman where the two of them sat down. Margaery trapped Ella's hands in between her own, trying to push her comfort through their touching organs.

"Just now, I came immediately after I found out however I could not hear well and do not know who they have in mind" Margaery sighed. She was heartbroken for her younger sister, the fact that they were born merely eleven moons apart led them to be the closest of friends and they rarely left each other's sides as children and adults. Margaery could only hope that the match would be less violent than her own and Ella would end up with a pleasant man.

"Thank you for warning me" Ella took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. "I should have known her silence never meant peace" Ella laughed at how ridiculous she sounded, Cersei and peace were polar opposites and could never meet.

"Should I expect you when we break our fast?" Margaery asked, her hand tightening over her sister's. Ella and Margaery always broke their fast together, whether it was at home at Highgarden, or whether it was family or merely the two of them alone.

"We shall see" Ella smiled at Margaery not wanting to worry her older sister, although neither really acted their age difference, many thought them to be twins.

Ella paused in the middle of her sentence to her sister when suddenly the sound of someone clinking their knife against their glass echoed around the room. Everyone who was invited for supper with the royal family paused, unsurprisingly Cersei wished the entire council and all the royalty that had traveled for Margaery and Joffrey's wedding to attend the supper. So everyone and anyone in court was in attendance and more.

"I would like to begin this supper by thanking you all for making the journey to travel this way whether it was long or short, and we welcome you with open arms and hearts. The king and I are very happy with your presence for his upcoming wedding to Lady Margaery Tyrell" Cersei's voice echoed throughout the room with false happiness, Margaery had told Ella all about what was conspiring between her and Cersei. Ella turned to watch Cersei with her eyes squinted suspicious of the Queen mother.

"I would like to use this opportunity to announce on behalf of Lord Mace-" Cersei turned to look at Ella's father who nodded with a stupid smile on his face which made Ella wince, how in the world did her father last so long she had no idea and she could not wait for her elder brother Willas to take over the Lordship of Highgarden and they be done with their father. "-that on the morrow two weddings shall take place in stead of one, both his daughters shall marry" Cersei's eyes slid over the crowd analyzing their shocked expressions.

Margaery reached over to grasp Ella's hand in shock, the two girls' eyes widened, they had expected a betrothal but not for her to be married the next day alongside her sister. Ella turned to look at her grandmother who was shaking her head in disappointment meaning she had no idea either. There was rarely anything that Olenna Tyrell did not know so this was near a miracle.

"Lady Ella Tyrell shall be wedded to Prince Oberyn Martell on the morrow" Cersei announced pointing at the handsome prince sitting near where Ella was sat with only her grandmother in between. Ella had met the prince before along with his paramour who seemed not to be in presence at the supper.

"What?" Margaery whispered horrified. Her eyes trailed to Joffrey who was grinning evilly. Ella's heart dropped, all her dreams of falling in love and finding a loyal and respectable man were thrown out of the window with one sentence from Cersei's lips. She was being given to a man known for how lustful he was, he took his paramour with him wherever he went, and he was literally residing at a brothel.

Ella swallowed thickly fighting every urge in her body not to drop the smile from her face, indifference hardly maintained on her face. Her hand was holding Margaery's in a death grip and the other one was engulfed in her grandmother's warm hands. Ella turned to smile at her grandmother as the people around them broke into applause and cheers.

Oberyn was way older than Ella was, he had eight children already all from different whores and paramours while she was barely into her tenth and fifth nameday. Ella allowed her eyes to finally trail to Oberyn at her grandmother's other side to find him already looking at her analyzing her, trying to read her. She gulped and nodded at him before turning back to Margaery not seeing his reaction.

Margaery attempted to give Ella a reassuring smile but failed when her eyes trailed to look at Oberyn who was siping his wine with a neutral look on his face

"Excuse me, grandmother, I feel tired and wish to retire for the night" Ella whispered to Olenna. Olenna gave her granddaughter a small smile and patted her arm as Ella pushed back her chair and stood up. Ella breathed deeply to calm her racing heart before plastering a sweet smile. She moved away from the table and weaved her way through several tables accepting congratulations with a polite smile and a squeaky-sounding "thank yous".

Once outside the hall Ella could not help but take a second deep breath. she leaned against the wall trying to regain her composure. The cold stone walls felt like heaven against her heated and sweaty skin, she was shocked no one mentioned how flustered and ill-looking she must have looked.

She had dreams that were thrown out faster than a horse dump would have been. She had dreams of touring all seven kingdoms and meeting as many families and people as possible during her journey. She dreamed of reading as many books as she could, filling a library of her own, and maybe even writing her own book or books but those dreams were just demolished by Cersei Lannister.

"I never expected marrying me would be such a dreadful thought" Ella jumped when a gruff voice spoke a couple of feet away. She turned to find Oberyn standing a couple of feet away from her watching her, studying her and trying to see her reactions, her intentions.

"Your Grace, it is not like that" Ella almost tripped over her skirt while trying to curtsy, her cheeks were turning from embarrassment. The prince of Dorne just caught her sulking over marrying him. Too many things wrong with this one interaction, first and most important was that the Ladies did not sulk.

"I would be honoured to be called our wife" Ella's mask fell back in place once the shock had worn off. Oberyn however looked annoyed but to the horror of Ella, she did not wish to offend him, she did not wish to have a miserable life more than it already was.

"Do not sugar coat the situation, we both know we are not the partners we wished to have" Oberyn walked over to where she was still standing and leaned back against the same wall she was leaning on before he interrupted her panicked thoughts.

"Your Grace?" Ella turned to face, her face showed just a little bit of how truly shocked she was.

"Ella I am way older than you, I am not an idiot to think you wished to marry a man my age" Oberyn crossed his arms, his eyes roaming all over her face much to her shock. She had expected that a man with his reputation would be delighted to marry a young thing like her, she was awaiting to see his eyes roam her body and see her figure and probably make comments like she's heard other men do to their betrothed including Joffrey.

"My Prince-" Oberyn cut her off by raising his hand rendering her silent. The move irritated her beyond measure but before she could voice that Oberyn opened his mouth and what came out of it shocked her.

"Call me Oberyn, only Oberyn"

Ella was baffled, she knew men loved their women either calling them by title or a nickname, they loved to boast, they were small-minded like that.

"Oberyn, I do not mean to offend you-" Ella sighed. Her eyes were fighting not to water, they stung and hurt and she was sure they were turning red as well. Her hands fisted her dress to keep her composure but it seemed her moment of silence to get her thoughts and words straight yet again was interrupted by the prince standing in front of her.

"I do not intend to cage you little rose, your place is not in a cage but a garden" Oberyn raised his hand to touch her cheek, his fingers were gentle but rough to the touch, calloused with decades of training. He may be known as a master of poisons but he was a warrior still and no less than any guard in the palace, Ella knew that, she had seen him train in passing.

"Just know that as my wife you will be free, free of this court and their expectations. I will not expect you at my beck and call for you are no servant. I will not expect you to welcome me into your bed whenever I please for you are no whore. I do not expect you to be bred and bear me children even sons for you are no breeding mare" Tears weld in Ella's eyes as Oberyn spoke. One of those traitorous tears rolled down her cheek but his thumb was already prepared to wipe it off.

"You say that now but then the court will pressure us-" Oberyn raised his other hand and placed his forefinger over her pouting red lips. He wished to kiss them, taste them, just a small taste but he forced control over himself.

"I will not listen to them, I am not some weak-minded Lord. I am a Prince of Dorne and I shall take you there with me after the wedding" Oberyn promised. Ella took a deep breath to control herself before speaking again.

"There are many things we need to speak of but no time, tomorrow I will become your wife whether we like it or not" Ella took his hand in her own and started to rub small circles over his knuckles, she felt like she should comfort him too, after decades he was being forced to settle for her when he had voiced time and time again that he wished not to marry.

"I promise to care for you, little Rose" Oberyn promised, raising their intertwined hands and kissing her knuckles gently. Ella could not help the blush that crept up her neck and on the apple of her cheeks turning them into what they were called, blood red apples. His lips were soft and his moustache scratched her hand but she found herself not minding it. Her mind even wondered if she would get any beard burns from it if she were to let him in her bed and she found herself not minding this match as much as she did earlier.

[multimuseficreblogs]

𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 (𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓) ❅ all abel morales x male reader 𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲 (𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕) ❅ all jake x male reader 𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐲 (𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒈𝒆) ❅ all jonathan x male reader 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 (𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕) ❅ all marc x male reader 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 (𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓-𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆) ❅ all miguel x gn reader ❅ all miguel x male reader 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 (𝒆𝒙 𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒂) ❅ all nathan x male reader 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨 “𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐞” 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐚 (𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓) · all santiago x male reader 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 (𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕) · all steven x gn reader

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𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐫𝐤 (𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒓 𝟐) ❅ all dave x gn reader 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 (𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆) ❅ all dieter x gn reader

𝐝𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 (𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏) ❅ all din x gn reader ❅ all din x male reader 𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐲 (𝒏𝒚𝒑𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆) ❅ all dio x gn reader ❅ all dio x male reader

𝐞𝐳𝐫𝐚 (𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕) ❅ all ezra x gn reader ❅ all ezra x male reader

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞 “𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡” 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 (𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓) ❅ all frankie x gn reader ❅ all frankie x male reader 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 “𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲” 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐬 (𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒏: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆) ❅ all jack x gn reader ❅ all jack x male reader 𝐣𝐚𝐯𝐢 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐳 (𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕) ❅ all javi x gn reader ❅ all javi x male reader 𝐣𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐧̃𝐚 (𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒔) ❅ all javier x gn reader ❅ all javier x male reader

𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 (𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒔) ❅ all joel miller x gn reader ❅ all joel x male reader

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐨 (𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒆𝒔) ❅ all marcus x gn reader ❅ all marcus x male reader

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐞 (𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕) ❅ all marcus x gn reader ❅ all marcus x male reader

𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝 (𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟒) ❅ all max x gn reader ❅ all max x male reader

𝐦𝐚𝐱 𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 (𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔) ❅ all max x gn reader ❅ all max x male reader

𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 (𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔) ❅ all oberyn x gn reader ❅ all oberyn x male reader

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐫 (𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍) ❅ all pero x gn reader

𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 (𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏) ❅ all tim x male reader

𝐆𝐍 + 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

❅ pedro pascal & oscar isaac characters ❅ marvel ❅ misc. fandoms

[andy-15-07]

The Soulmate Connection

Pairing: Pedro Pascal!characters x female reader

Word Count: 4525 | requests are open! (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Ancient Rome (Marcus Acacius)

The sun burned over the Colosseum, its relentless rays glinting off bronze armor and sweat-slicked skin. General Marcus Acacius strode through the chaos of the training grounds, his presence commanding respect and silence. Soldiers moved aside instinctively, their chatter dying down as his sharp gaze swept across the field. Each step he took echoed with authority, his crimson cape trailing behind him like spilled wine on the sands of war.

In the corner of the grounds, Y/N knelt beside a young recruit who had taken a nasty fall during drills. Her hands moved with practiced ease, pressing a damp cloth to the boy’s forehead and inspecting the gash above his brow. The faint scent of medicinal herbs clung to her like a second skin, an aroma Marcus had come to associate with the healer who had become an unspoken presence in his camp. As she worked, her brow furrowed in concentration, stray tendrils of hair slipping free from her braid to frame her face.

“You’ve been busy,” Marcus observed as he approached, his voice low but carrying authority. The young recruit stiffened and attempted to sit up, but Marcus waved him off with a quick motion. “Stay still. Let her finish.”

“And you’ve been reckless,” Y/N replied without looking up, her tone as sharp as the scalpel she carried in her kit. She tied off the bandage with a practiced flick of her wrist and finally met his gaze, her eyes steady and unflinching. “Your men need rest, not endless drills.”

A rare smirk tugged at Marcus’s lips, the expression softening his otherwise stoic features. “A healer with a sharp tongue. I’ll remember that.”

“You’d do well to listen,” she countered, rising to her feet. Though he towered over her, she refused to be intimidated, standing her ground with a quiet confidence that intrigued him. “They’re not machines, General. Push them too hard, and you’ll break them.”

“They’ll endure,” Marcus said, though his tone lacked its usual certainty. “They have to.”

Their exchanges became a regular occurrence in the days that followed. Marcus would find excuses to visit the infirmary, his inquiries about the health of his soldiers gradually giving way to questions about Y/N herself. He learned that she was the daughter of a merchant, her life upended by a raid that had left her orphaned and destitute. She had joined the army’s retinue out of necessity, trading her skills as a healer for protection and a sense of purpose.

“I’ve seen enough death to last a lifetime,” she admitted one evening as they sat by the fire, the flickering flames casting shadows across her face. “If I can save even one life, it feels... worth it.”

Marcus listened in silence, his own thoughts a whirlwind of conflict. He had spent his life taking lives in the name of Rome, his hands stained with the blood of countless enemies. Yet, in Y/N’s presence, he found himself yearning for something he couldn’t quite name—a sense of peace that had always eluded him.

Their bond deepened with each passing day, their connection forged in moments both grand and mundane. Marcus would seek her out during the quiet hours of the night, their conversations ranging from the stars that glittered above to the burdens they carried in their hearts. He found solace in her sharp wit and unwavering compassion, and she, in turn, was drawn to the depth of his resolve and the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

But fate, as it always did, intervened. Rumors of a plot against the empire reached Marcus’s ears, forcing him to leave for a dangerous campaign in the northern provinces. The night before his departure, he found Y/N in the infirmary, her hands busy mixing a salve for a soldier’s burn.

“You’re leaving,” she said without looking up, her voice tight with emotion.

“I have no choice,” Marcus replied, his tone heavy. “Rome comes first.”

Y/N set down the mortar and pestle, turning to face him. “And what of the promises you made? The future we spoke of?”

“I will return,” he said, stepping closer. “If the gods are kind.”

“The gods are fickle,” she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Marcus.”

He reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek. “I swear to you, I will come back. No matter what it takes.”

Their lips met in a kiss that spoke of all the words they couldn’t say, a desperate attempt to hold onto something that was slipping through their fingers. When Marcus rode out the next morning, the memory of her touch lingered like a brand on his soul.

Weeks turned into months, and the letters from Marcus grew sporadic before ceasing altogether. News of his death reached the camp in the form of a weary messenger, his words a dagger to Y/N’s heart. She retreated into herself, her grief a silent storm that left her hollow and aching. Yet, even in the depths of her despair, she clung to the hope that their story wasn’t truly over.

Late at night, she would sit by the fire, her gaze fixed on the horizon as if willing Marcus to return. She whispered his name like a prayer, her voice carried by the wind to places unknown. And though the world moved on, a part of her remained anchored to the memory of the man who had promised to find her—if not in this life, then in the next.

Medieval Dorne (Oberyn Martell)

The sun was merciless in Dorne, its rays caressing the sands like a lover, burning hot and relentless. Oberyn Martell reclined lazily in the shaded alcove of his family’s palace, a cup of Dornish red wine balanced in his hand. The languid heat made time feel suspended, yet Oberyn himself was always a restless force—a man who thrived on movement, passion, and the art of indulgence.

It was in this heat that Y/N arrived at Sunspear, her caravan dust-streaked and weary from weeks of travel. She was a healer by trade, summoned by Doran Martell to aid in the care of the sick and injured in the city’s outskirts. Word of her skills had reached even the ruling family, and Doran, pragmatic as always, saw the value in employing someone of her expertise.

Oberyn first saw her in the palace gardens, where she tended to one of the servants who had taken ill from the heat. Her hands moved deftly, her touch gentle but firm. She was not like the noblewomen who adorned the court, their beauty polished and distant. Y/N was raw and real, her hair tied back to keep the sweat from her brow, her clothes practical rather than ornate. Yet there was something about her—an energy, a quiet strength—that caught Oberyn’s attention.

“Do you always work so hard, or is this just for show?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing as he approached.

Y/N didn’t look up, her focus remaining on her patient. “Do you always interrupt people who are busy saving lives, or is this just for fun?”

A laugh escaped Oberyn’s lips, rich and genuine. “I like you already,” he said, settling himself on a low wall nearby. “You’re different. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a dangerous one.”

“I’d say the same about you,” she retorted, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were sharp, unyielding, and Oberyn found himself grinning like a boy caught in a prank.

From that moment on, Oberyn made it his mission to get to know her. He found excuses to visit the infirmary where she worked, bringing with him fresh fruit, wine, and an endless stream of stories. Y/N, initially wary of his charm, soon found herself disarmed by his wit and the surprising depth of his intellect. He spoke of love and loss, of battles fought and lovers mourned, and she saw beneath the surface of the infamous Red Viper—the man who lived as if every day might be his last.

“You hide your pain well,” she remarked one evening as they walked through the gardens, the scent of jasmine heavy in the air.

Oberyn shrugged, his expression unreadable. “We all have scars, Y/N. Some are just easier to conceal.”

“And some fester if you don’t tend to them,” she replied, her gaze steady.

Oberyn stopped, turning to face her fully. “And what of your scars, healer? Do you tend to those?”

Her breath caught, the weight of his question pressing against her chest. “I try,” she said softly. “But some wounds... they never truly heal.”

Their connection deepened as the days turned into weeks, their conversations a dance of words that left them both breathless. Oberyn was captivated by Y/N’s strength and resilience, while she found herself drawn to the passion and vulnerability he so carefully hid beneath his bravado. They were two souls marked by the weight of their pasts, finding solace in each other’s presence.

But Dorne was a land of intrigue, and Oberyn’s life was a web of alliances and rivalries. When a plot against the Martell family came to light, Y/N found herself caught in the crossfire. She was abducted by a group of mercenaries hired to destabilize Doran’s rule, their goal to use her as leverage against the family.

When Oberyn learned of her capture, his fury was like a storm unleashed. He rode out with a small band of loyal fighters, tracking the mercenaries to a secluded hideout in the mountains. The rescue was swift and brutal, Oberyn’s spear cutting through his enemies with deadly precision. When he finally found Y/N, bound and battered but alive, his relief was palpable.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, his voice raw as he knelt before her, his hands gently untying the ropes that held her. “I can’t—won’t—lose you.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “You’re not rid of me that easily, Martell.”

In the aftermath of her rescue, their bond only grew stronger. But Oberyn was a man who lived on the edge, and Y/N knew that their time together was fleeting. When he left for King’s Landing to champion Tyrion Lannister, she begged him not to go.

“There’s no justice there, Oberyn,” she pleaded. “Only death.”

“I cannot run from this,” he replied, cupping her face in his hands. “You know that as well as I do.”

“And what am I supposed to do if you don’t return?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“You’ll live,” he said softly. “You’ll live, and you’ll remember me. And one day, we’ll find each other again. In this life or the next.”

When news of his death reached her, Y/N felt as though the world had been torn asunder. But even in her grief, she held onto his words, believing that their story was far from over.

1980s Colombia (Javier Peña)

The humid air of Bogotá felt thick, stifling even in the late hours of the evening. Javier Peña leaned against his desk, eyes scanning the reports that covered the table. The war on drugs was a relentless force, but even the ever-present threat of violence couldn't quite quell the worry gnawing at him. Y/N had been sick for weeks now, and though she assured him time and time again that it was nothing serious, Javier could see the signs—pale skin, hollow eyes, and a cough that wouldn't quit.

Their first meeting had been purely professional. Y/N was a healer who had come to the city to assist with the growing number of injured due to the escalating cartel violence. Javier had been struck by how different she was from everyone around him: calm in the midst of chaos, capable of soothing pain in the way words never could. He had found excuses to stop by the clinic where she worked, asking for updates on the injured, only to leave with far more than he had bargained for. Over time, those visits became personal, the line between work and something deeper blurring in ways neither of them had expected.

Tonight, however, was different. Her condition had worsened, and he had asked her to meet him, hoping she would finally admit the extent of it. The door to the small apartment creaked open, and Y/N stepped inside, her presence as magnetic as always, despite the illness that weighed her down.

"You look like you've been working yourself to the bone," he said, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. "You should be resting."

Y/N gave him a half-hearted smile as she set down her bag. "I told you, it's nothing. Just a little fever."

Javier didn’t buy it, but he didn't push either. Instead, he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this, Y/N. This fight, this constant danger, it's not the only thing on my mind anymore."

Her gaze softened, and she sat down beside him. "Javi, I knew who you were when I met you. The risks, the danger, they come with the job. But you're not alone in this."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of their unspoken connection filling the space between them. But as the night wore on, the reality of Y/N’s condition became more apparent. When she tried to stand, her legs buckled beneath her, and Javier caught her, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Y/N..." His voice cracked, a rare break in his otherwise composed demeanor.

"I'm sorry, Javier," she whispered, her voice faint. "I didn’t want you to worry."

"You don’t have to do this alone," he insisted, holding her close. "You’ve been a part of this fight with me from the beginning, and I’m not going anywhere."

But as much as he wanted to believe those words, Javier knew the truth. The doctors had warned him that the illness Y/N was fighting was too far advanced, that there were no more options. And now, as he held her in his arms, it felt as though the clock was ticking down on the time they had left.

In the days that followed, Javier found himself in a battle not against cartels, but against time itself. He spent every possible moment with her, trying to keep her spirits up as her health deteriorated. The clinic was full of wounded bodies, but it was Y/N’s fragile one that haunted him.

"Promise me something," she whispered one night, her voice barely audible. "If I don't make it... don’t let this break you. You have to keep fighting."

Javier’s breath hitched in his throat, but he nodded. "I promise, Y/N. I’ll carry you with me, always."

Her hand reached up to touch his face, her fingers cool against his skin. "In another life, maybe we could have had more time."

Javier felt his chest tighten. "In another life," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

The night Y/N passed, the city outside seemed quieter than usual, as though even the world itself was mourning her loss. Javier sat by her side, his hand clasped in hers, as the light slowly left her eyes. And in that moment, he promised her, just as he had when they first met, that no matter what, he would carry her memory with him—for in this life or the next, they would find each other again.

Post-apocalyptic America (Joel Miller)

The world outside the small cabin was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that spoke of impending doom. Dust settled in the corners, and the dim light filtered in through broken windows, casting long shadows on the cracked floor. Joel and Y/N sat on opposite sides of a weathered table, their bodies worn and their minds racing, as the unmistakable symptoms of the infection began to creep over them.

They had known it was inevitable. The bite marks on their arms had not been deep, but the fever, the dizziness, the way their bodies felt foreign as the infection spread—it was all too familiar. Joel had seen it happen before to others, and he knew the pattern. There would be no cure. No miracle. They weren’t going to make it.

Y/N’s face was pale, her breath ragged, and her eyes carried the weight of a decision neither of them wanted to make. Joel’s own body was betraying him, the strength he’d fought so hard to keep fading with each passing second.

“We can’t let it happen,” she whispered, her voice raw, hoarse. She met his eyes, the unspoken truth between them louder than words. “We’ve seen what happens, Joel. You’ve seen it. The infected—what they become.”

Joel gripped the edge of the table, his hand trembling as he tried to steady himself. He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew. The terrifying thing about the infected was not just the physical change, but the loss of self—of humanity. They would lose who they were. The memories, the connection—they’d all fade away until nothing remained but a mindless, flesh-hungry creature.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “We can’t... we can’t let that happen to us. Not like that. Not after everything.”

The weight of that final decision hung between them, suffocating. Joel had never been a man for big speeches or long moments of reflection. He had done what he had to do, lived how he had to live, always in the moment. But now, facing the end, he found himself wanting more time. Time to hold her, to savor what little they had left.

Y/N stood slowly, the weakness in her limbs a stark reminder of how close the end was. She moved across the room, her feet unsteady, and pulled a knife from her pack. The blade was dull, but it was sharp enough for what they needed. It wasn’t about speed—it was about choice.

“You understand what this means, right?” she asked, her voice low and steady as she placed the knife on the table. “We end it. We take control, before the infection takes us.”

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, but there was no hesitation in his response. He nodded. “Yeah. We end it on our terms, Y/N. No turning into them.”

The room felt colder now, the silence louder than ever before, as they both stood there, each knowing what the other had already decided. There was no more running, no more hope left to grasp at. The world they had fought for was gone. The people they had loved were gone. And now, it was just the two of them.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she picked up the knife. She took a deep breath, and in that moment, everything that had led to this final choice—the losses, the betrayals, the sacrifices—flashed before her eyes. But through it all, one constant had remained: Joel. Her partner. Her equal. Her everything in this broken world.

“We go together,” she said, her voice breaking.

Joel stepped closer, his face drawn in grief, but his eyes steady. He was a man who had lived a lifetime in fear, in loss, but now, with Y/N beside him, there was no more fear. There was only this—this moment of agency, this moment of defiance against a fate neither of them had wanted.

He took her hand, his fingers cold but still strong. “Together.”

There was no more time to waste on words. Without another glance, they moved, placing the blade against their skin, ready to take the decision that had haunted them both for so long. Y/N’s eyes closed, her grip tightening on Joel’s hand, and they both exhaled one final time, hearts pounding, blood rushing through their veins.

The pain was brief, sharp. The darkness came quickly.

Ordinary World (Pedro Pascal & Y/N)

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the bustling city streets. The world around them was alive with motion—people hurried along, cars rumbled by, the distant hum of conversations blended with the soft rhythm of the urban landscape. Yet, in that moment, nothing felt more real than the quiet, unspoken bond between Pedro and Y/N.

They walked together, side by side, the simple act of moving through the world feeling oddly sacred, as if they were part of something greater than the ordinary life they led. The breeze ruffled their hair, and the weight of the world seemed lighter when their hands brushed lightly, a touch that felt like it belonged in every moment.

Pedro glanced at Y/N, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His gaze lingered, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there, walking beside him. "Do you ever get the feeling that... we’ve been here before?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but carrying the weight of a thought he couldn’t shake.

Y/N met his eyes, her heart giving a little flutter as she felt the same sensation. It wasn’t just a fleeting thought, a passing fancy. It was a truth that resonated deep within her chest. "I do," she answered softly, her voice trembling just slightly. "It’s like... it’s like I’ve always known you. Like we’ve known each other for hundreds of years. Maybe even longer. I don’t know why, but it feels so... right."

Pedro stopped walking, his hand instinctively reaching out to hold hers, as if the act itself was the most natural thing in the world. He studied her face intently, as though seeing her for the first time, but also knowing every inch of her. "I don’t know how to explain it," he murmured. "But every time I look at you, I feel like I’ve been waiting for you—waiting for this moment, for this life, for us. It’s like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be."

Y/N squeezed his hand, a gentle, almost protective gesture. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, but it was the kind of shiver that didn’t come from fear—it was a feeling of being home, of being exactly where she needed to be. "I feel it too," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Every lifetime, every moment... I’ve always known it was you. I just... I just never understood how or why. But now... now I do."

They stood there, rooted to the spot, their hands entwined, the world around them continuing as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. There was an undeniable pull between them—an energy that had been building for lifetimes, for eons, and had finally come to a quiet crescendo in this ordinary, fleeting moment.

"I’ve searched for you," Pedro said, his voice hoarse with an emotion he hadn’t been able to put into words before. "I’ve lived through so much, and I always felt like something was missing. Like I was missing you. But now that I’m here with you... it feels like I’ve found everything I was meant to find."

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears, but they weren’t tears of sorrow—they were the tears of someone who had been lost and had finally found their way home. "I’ve never been afraid of the unknown," she said, her voice steady, though the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. "But for so long, I wondered... where were you? Why couldn’t I find you? And now, it feels like... like I was always supposed to find you. Like this was always the way it was meant to be."

Pedro gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek, tracing the path of a tear that had escaped. His eyes softened, the weight of everything they had been through, and everything they still had to face, reflected in his gaze. "I don’t care about the how or the why anymore," he said, his voice fierce with a quiet intensity. "I only care that I’m here. That we’re here, together."

Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart overflowing with a love so deep, so unshakable, that it felt as if the entire universe had conspired to bring them together. "And I’ll always find you," she replied, her voice a soft vow, a promise that had been made long before either of them had ever spoken the words. "In every life, in every world, I’ll find you. You’re not just someone I’ve met—I’ve always known you. And we’ll always be together. Always."

They stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, the weight of time and eternity pressing upon them in the most beautiful, unspoken way. The city continued to move around them, people rushing by, lives continuing, but for Pedro and Y/N, time had slowed. They had found something far greater than the ordinary world around them. They had found each other—soulmates who had crossed paths through lifetimes, drawn together by a force that could not be explained, but only felt.

Pedro leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers. "I don’t know what the future holds, but as long as it’s with you, I’m not afraid of it," he whispered.

Y/N closed her eyes, her soul at peace for the first time in her life. "Neither am I," she whispered back, the world around them fading as all that mattered was the connection between them.

In that moment, they were timeless—two souls reunited, destined to walk through this life and every other, always together.

"I know you more deeply than anyone else, in a way that doesn’t make sense."

Y/N squeezed his hand gently, a tear slipping down her cheek despite the warmth of the day. "Maybe we’ve always been waiting for each other," she whispered, the words carrying an unspoken truth neither of them fully understood. "Maybe we’ve crossed paths in every life... just to find each other again in this one."

Pedro’s thumb gently traced circles on the back of her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. "It’s like I’m meant to be with you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "And it feels like... like we’re not just starting something, but continuing it. As if there’s no beginning or end—only us, always."

Y/N nodded, a quiet sense of peace settling over her. "Maybe we’ve always been soulmates," she murmured, the words slipping out like a prayer. "Just waiting for the right time, the right life, to meet."

They stood there for a long moment, the noise of the city fading away as they held onto that shared truth. The weight of past lives, past connections, and the profound sense of knowing each other was more than just a fleeting feeling—it was their history, their destiny, woven together across time.

And in that moment, surrounded by the hum of an ordinary world, they realized that nothing about their bond was ordinary. The love that had carried them through every incarnation, every twist of fate, was now a living thing between them. Their journey was far from over, but they had found each other again, in this life, in this world—and that was all that mattered.

"We’re not lost anymore," Y/N said softly, her voice filled with a quiet certainty.

Pedro smiled, his heart full. "No," he agreed, squeezing her hand. "We’re home."

[biggestsimponhere]

MY MAN WON HIS AWARD YK THATS RIGHT, JOEL MILLERS NEVER HURT A FLY 🫣😗

[galway-girlatwork]

Of Death and Butterflies

Fandom: Game of Thrones-This is all AU.

Okay...It's here. It took a while because I wanted it just right. I played around with a lot of mythology on this. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by. As a talented, wise woman has said, “I write for me and share with you.”

Rating: Mature-There is angst, angst, smut, teeny tiny fluff.

WARNING: Talk of death and blood.

Central Characters: Oberyn, Lilith and Death

Central Relationship: Oberyn and Lilith (Original Female Character)

Word Count: 7,979

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the mood board, it was a gift by the lovely Freya. Stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

This is for Freya’s Let’s Get Angsty writing challenge.

Freya, I had such a gut-wrenching time writing this. Thank you for letting me partake. I utterly adore you.

Jana, Thank you for your encouragement and telling me you loved it when it was just a baby.

Bre, Ryan and Carole, thank you for the support.

Love you guys

Music Inspiration:

I Will Find You-The Phantoms

Love The Way You Lie-Rihanna

Rescue-Lauren Daigle

River-Bishop Briggs

Whispers In the Dark-Skillet

Summary:

Everyone’s heard the stories of Lilith. Of how she came to be. But are the stories true? Is she really a demon or something else? She was not born of angels but created by Death himself. To walk between the land of the living and dead. But what happens when The Fates intervene and present her soulmate? Countless lives and re-incarnations have been lived and lost. Will Oberyn remember before another life slips between their fingers like sand?

Standing at the doorway, tracing the infinity tattoo on her wrist, the bright yellow glow a sharp contrast to pale skin. Remembering her father telling her that it was a symbol of her refusal to let go of him, the deep ache settling in her chest as she watched the man who didn’t remember her.

Time stood still as she remembered her past, his always elusive. She’d been hidden in a small town, unlike anyone else, skin pale as moonlight, with eyes that saw both past and future, she had moved through her life with an unsettling grace. Rumors always swirled around her, like the mists at midnight. Whispers of how she was the daughter of death but those were merely tales, weren’t they? Surely, she had to have been adopted, a stray taken in by Death, out of pity perhaps or some twisted dark humor. Suspend reality for a moment, how could Death have a daughter?

Truth be told, she couldn’t remember any of her earlier years. All she knew was that Death himself had raised her, taught her to read from ancient books and walk silently across any surface. He had shown her kindnesses too, in his own dark way. On birthdays, there would be a single black rose waiting by her bedside. On difficult nights, he would wrap his cloak around her like the world’s heaviest blanket, dark but oddly comforting.

He never behaved like other parents. He was distant but watchful, a presence that filled rooms even when he stood outside them, his scythe never far, for he was both a guardian and a reminder of what she was, of what she could become. Until him. Until his soul called to her darkness, his vibrancy a contradiction to her darkness. Of course she made her decision known to her father, wanting to claim humanity for this man. Oh but there would be consequences to this.

“Some things,” he murmured, “are better left unknown, child.”

“What would they be Father?”

“Once you know, there’s no going back. Knowledge is a door; once you open it, you cannot close it.”

She felt a shiver creep down her spine but nodded, unwavering. “I know this.”

Death took a slow breath, though he didn’t need to breathe, as if gathering his thoughts.

“You are my own,” he finally said. “But if you choose this path to humanity, he will never remember you when he passes and is reborn. You will be destined to live with him and then without him until you find him again. Until he can fully remember, without any of your powers, this is how it will be.”

“What? Why would you give such conditions? That is torture Father, harsh, even for you.” 

“You were born from a fragment of my own essence, a piece of my soul given life. I carved you from the fabric of eternity itself. You are…my legacy, my beginning, and my end.”

His words filled her with awe and dread. She was not just Death’s child; she was a part of Death himself, as eternal and unyielding as he was. She was made from the very stuff that shaped the boundaries of life and death.

Death watched her closely, his gaze softer now, almost…human. “It will not be an easy existence, but it is yours. It’s my hope,” he added, “that one day, you will understand the power and the burden that comes with it and forget him.”

For the first time in her existence, she hated him. She understood her destiny but she desperately wanted to bend and create her own. Belonging to both the world of the living and the domain of the dead, a bridge between the realms, was a treacherous path, one she was unsure she could navigate. But then she looked up, seeing him step into the room, sharp features illuminated by golden light, spilling in from the high windows, devastatingly handsome as he had always been in every life before this that she could remember. His roguish smile, combined with a piercing gaze, she knew she had no choice. To him, she was a stranger, just another woman who had stepped into his world. A woman who’d been looking for years to find him.

“You’ve been watching me,” his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. A tilt to his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Do I know you?”

Her heart clenched, her father’s cruel conditions, leaving her stranded in this moment, faced with the impossible task of rekindling memories buried by the sands of time. She forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

Stepping closer, movements deliberate, predatory. “Then tell me, why do you look at me as if we share a history?”

Because we do, she wanted to scream. Instead, fists were clenched, nails biting into her palms. The succubus living inside her soul surged within her, whispering of the easy path—seduce him, ensnare him, make him yours, but she couldn’t. Oberyn deserved more than manipulation; he deserved to remember on his own.

“Perhaps it’s just curiosity,” she said instead, voice laced with a false confidence she’d mastered over centuries.

“Curiosity can be dangerous,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “Especially with someone like me.”

“And yet,” she said, stepping closer, “I find myself drawn to the danger.”

For a fleeting moment, she saw something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, a shadow of the man he had been, but it vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her with only the ghost of hope.

That night, sitting by the fire in her chambers, mind replaying every interaction she had with him that day. She had tried to spark something, anything, that might awaken his memories, but it was as if the thread of their past had been severed beyond repair. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, his cryptic warning: He will not remember, and it is up to you to make him.

“Why?” she whispered into the silence. The infinity tattoo burned on her wrist, the pain a cruel reminder of her fate. She had been destined for greatness, her father had said, not to be tied to a man. But what was greatness without love? Without him? Without the other half of her soul?

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, wiping her face, she moved to open it, finding him on the other side, his expression unreadable.

“You haunt me,” he said simply, his voice raw. “I do not know why, but I cannot stop thinking of you.” When they had parted ways earlier in the day, he assumed she would be like every other woman that crossed his path, a body to use, she refused him, someone that was just a passing desire but he found that her presence lingered in the recesses of his mind, causing him to seek her out.

“Perhaps it’s destiny,” she offered, voice trembling slightly.

“Destiny,” he echoed, stepping closer, a hand brushing hers, and for a moment, the yellow glow of her tattoo illuminated his face, eyes widening, a flicker of something deeper sparking within them. “What are you to me?”

Swallowing hard, resolve crumbling. “Everything.”

Brows furrowed as he looked at her, his usual confidence wavering. “Why does it feel like I’ve heard those words before? As if they’re a whisper in the back of my mind, something I cannot quite grasp.”

“Because they are,” stepping back, wrapping her arms around herself, voice barely audible. “You don’t remember me, but I remember you. I remember everything.”

“Then tell me,” He urged, tone more desperate now. “Tell me who you are, who I was to you.”

She wanted to tell him, wanted to spill every memory, every detail of the love they had shared, of every life before this but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Words alone couldn’t reignite the fire that burned between them in every time before this.

“It doesn’t work that way,” she whispered. “You have to remember on your own.”

His frustration was palpable, reaching out, cupping her face in his hands. “Then help me. Show me. I can feel it—this pull toward you. It’s maddening, like I’ve lost something vital and you’re the key to finding it.”

She could feel tears welling in her eyes, delicate hands wrapping around his wrists. “It’s not fair, that I remember and you can’t” she said, voice shaking. “This task is mine alone. One day, in another lifetime, you will remember, I swear.”

His thumb brushed away a tear that slipped down her cheek, bringing it to his mouth, he could taste the salt in it but there was something more, something tugging at him, like his soul wanting his mind to remember. “Then let us make new memories,” he said softly. “If I cannot reclaim the past, then give me the present. Give me you.”

“You don’t understand. If you don’t remember, we’ll never truly be whole. I can’t… I can’t lose you again.”

“Again?” His gaze hardened with determination. “I do not understand but I will remember. Even if it takes a lifetime, I will find the pieces. But you must promise me one thing.”

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t leave,” he said. “Whatever it takes, stay here with me. Let me prove to you that I’m worth remembering.”

She hesitated, the weight of her father’s warning heavy on her shoulders but as she looked into his eyes, she saw a spark of the man she had loved, the man she still loved, would always love.

“I will stay,” she said at last, voice firm despite the turmoil in her heart. “But you have to promise me something too.”

“Anything butterfly,” he said.

She gasped as he called her by the pet name he’d given her two lifetimes ago. She’d found it humorous since anyone who came near her felt nothing but darkness. “Promise me you’ll fight. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how much it hurts.”

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist, where the infinity tattoo glowed brighter than ever. “Always.”

Days turned to weeks, Lilith staying by his side, trying to guide him through the labyrinth of forgotten memories. Some nights, he would wake in a cold sweat, fragments of their past flashing through his dreams. Other nights, they would sit under the stars, her voice weaving stories of the life they had shared but just as he would remember, they would slip through his fingers like sand. Then there were nights she was above and below him, the sex so incredible, he swore he saw colors but when dawn came, some fragments stayed, others vanishing like the stars but he knew she clung to hope, like a life line, praying he would remember not just who she was but what they were together.

“When the sun rises tomorrow,” he said, his voice thick with determination, “I will announce our union to the court.”

“Oberyn, they will not accept me. I am nothing to them.”

“But you are everything to me.”

A hand gently cupped his cheek, palm brushing against the prickly stubble of his beard, as strong arms enveloped her. “As you are to me, love. But tread carefully and remember your promise”

She knew what was going to happen before it did but she could not warn him, it would go against the rules just as the succubus within was demanding she claim him, forcing him to remember. It was primal, tearing at her, knowing when he died, they’d have to wait another lifetime to find him.

The next day, she awoke to chaos. Screams and shouts, piercing and echoing off stone walls, one of the maids bursting into their chambers, telling her to hurry. He had been found lifeless in the palace gardens and upon seeing his body, throat slit from ear to ear, it felt as if she was being flayed alive. Being the daughter of Death, revenge was swift and oh so sweet, finding those that would take him from her, their blood soaking her skin as the ferryman approached, hand outstretched for payment. “You will get no payment from me nor them. Let them wander the shores, I care not.”

Returning home, devastated once more, her path a wake of destruction, she found her father, sharpening his scythe, the click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval.

“Father why has this happened, you need to fix this, now. It is the closest I’ve been to him remembering. I can’t take this constant crushing hurt. We were so close.”

“I cannot. You know this. All the lives you’ve led with him will end the same, until he remembers. My child, you wanted your humanity for this man, this is the price you must pay for it.”

He watched his child collapse on the cold stone floor, great sobs wrenched from her soul, hating to see her in this kind of pain. Enveloping her within the folds of his cloak, shielding her from prying eyes, trying to give comfort as best he could. “Lilith, I must ask, is this man worth what you have gone through? What you will continue to go through?”

“Always father.”

Centuries later, the hum of modern London filled her ears as she sat in her corner office, typing away, stopping mid-sentence to adjust the cuffs of the blazer she was wearing. Modern clothes were so restrictive and quite frankly hideous. She missed the days of wearing flowing gowns, of feeling a breeze tease the fabric against her legs. Now the only time she wore them was on weekends. She would never understand the modern world and all the rules but she followed them like a bitch in heat, strung at the end of a leash.

Finger tips absently running over the tattoo, the soft yellow glow vibrating with her pulse. She knew he was here, his company on the cusp of going public. Sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose, knowing that they would have to start all over in this life. So many lifetimes that she’d almost lost count. Almost. In everyone they always got close but then he would be taken and she’d have to start over. In all the centuries his soul had started over in, none had come as close as the fourth one, when he had remembered the nickname, he’d given her. The butterfly, wings of vibrant yellow and earthy browns, decorated her other wrist, her father displeased with the defiance.

The intercom buzzed. “Miss Scott, Mr. Martel is here to discuss the merger.”

“Send him in.”

She rose, smoothing the black skirt, walking around her desk, nerves making her edgy and temperamental. As the door opened, he entered, his presence still commanding and familiar. For a moment, neither spoke but the handshake they shared felt electric, a jolt that sent flashes of another life racing through their minds. She let the handshake linger for another second or two, seeing the flash of recognition before it was gone. Her succubus, recognizing his soul, roared to life, clawing at heart and lungs, wanting to consume him. Inhaling a deep breath, holding for a count of five before slowly releasing it, she motioned to the chair in front of her desk.

“Mr. Martel, please have a seat.”

He had no idea what had just happened, the whole thing throwing him off balance. When they shook hands, flashes of memories, seared themselves into his sub-conscious. He saw her in a simple gown, smile radiant beneath the sun. Of endless nights beneath the brightness of stars. Of limbs and tongues tangled together, whispered words of love and lust, vibrant colors exploding behind eyelids as she came, his cock buried deep within her body.

“Do I know you?” His voice unsteady.

“Not yet.”

He’d heard those words before. More than once. He was so sure of it but it couldn’t be, could it?

She wanted to scream, let lose all of the rage and frustration. She wanted to rip her father apart for the endless loop of her life. Of finding him only to lose him again. She swore his determination at this game was more of a test than anything. Sitting down, fists clenched in her lap, those nails biting into her palms, forcing herself to remain composed when she actually wanted to slaughter the world. The weight of lifetimes pressed against her heart as she looked down. “So, let’s discuss the merger of your company with the one you are looking to buy.”

She could see the confusion etched into his features, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips parted as if he was about to say something more. But the conversation never switched from business to personal. Two hours later, all papers were signed and documented. “Well Mr. Martel, now that everything is in order,” Sliding a business card across her desk, a single black nail tapping the paper, “Should you need anything else before next week, please let me know.” Standing, she rounded the corner of the barrier between them and went to open the door. Suddenly large warm hands, wrapped around her upper arms, pinning her to the wall.

“I cannot shake this feeling that I know you but I don’t. I’ve never met you before today…” The urge to kiss her, to bury himself within her depths was primal, almost animalistic, mind flooding with images from somewhere in his sub-conscious. Her name rolled off his lips before he kissed her, mind and body coming alive almost as if they had been reanimated, the heat between them so intense, it could scorch the earth.

She was the one who broke the kiss, despite the desperate screams of the succubus, needing to breath. He was always so consuming when passion flared between them. “Oberyn.” She could hear her father’s voice, echoing in her mind, a cruel reminder of their fate.  

“My name from you sounds as if you have said a thousand times before today.”

“Because I have.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” she replied, taking a step back.

Before he could respond, she turned and walked back to her side of the desk, heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. She couldn’t stop the cycle, couldn’t break free of it—not without him. But the question that haunted her more than any other was simple: Would this time be different?

“Good day Mr. Martel.” She was dismissing him, as if the kiss had never happened, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he found her. He was nothing if not persistent. This time, it only took two days.

The heavy wooden door rattled under his fist as he pounded against it again. The narrow street, cloaked in twilight, leaving the small village bathed in shadow. His chest heaved with barely contained anger and confusion as he stared at the intricate carvings on the door—symbols he didn’t recognize but felt unnervingly familiar. When the door creaked open, she stood there, eyes widening slightly before narrowing in a mixture of sorrow and resignation, the flowing black robe clinging to her frame like shadows, tattoo glowing faintly against the dusky light.

“Oberyn,” she said, voice a careful balance of warmth and caution.

“You knew it was me, didn’t you?” he growled, stepping forward until he was close enough to see the faint pulse at her neck, noticing that she didn’t flinch. “I need answers. Why do I keep dreaming of you? Of us? I’ve seen things—a life I can’t remember but feel like I lived. Tell me the truth.”

She sighed, stepping aside, gesturing for him to enter. Her home was small, dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of hydrangea’s and something darker, more ancient. Candles flickered on every available surface, their flames casting shadows across the walls. Here, in this place, she didn’t have to hide behind a façade, didn’t have to pretend to blend in with the modernness around her.

“You always were persistent,” she murmured, closing the door behind him, turning to face him, her expression softer now but tinged with a subtle anguish. “There are rules, Oberyn. Rules I cannot break.”

He stepped closer, dark eyes blazing. “Enough with the riddles. You’ve been in my head. Faces, places, emotions I can’t explain, you’re always there. Why?”

Lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away, walking to the small table in the corner, fingers tracing its edge. “Because you’re meant to remember, all I can tell you are stories of the lives we’ve shared, the love we had. The memories of them, the feelings behind them? It’s all inside you but you have to unlock it yourself. That was the deal.”

“What deal? With who?”

“My father.”

 “Your father? This makes no sense Lilith. You speak in such riddles.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it? I can tell you everything,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But if I force the memories, the cycle will never end.”

He stared at her, the weight of her words crashing down on him. “The cycle?”

She nodded, expression grim. “We’ve been here before, Oberyn. Many, many times. Each life, I find you. Each life, you remember too late, or not at all. And then…” Hesitating, voice breaking. “Then we’re torn apart again.”

“And what happens if I do remember? If I break this… cycle?”

Her gaze bored into his, fierce and unyielding. “Then we’re free. You and I. Free of the cycle that binds us. But the risk is yours to take. I cannot guide you, Oberyn. I can only share and hope.”

Stepping closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I don’t care about rules or deals or your father. I care about you when I know I shouldn’t. I’m not leaving until I understand everything.”

Lips curved into a sad smile. “You’ve always been so stubborn, persistent, demanding. Things I love most about you. But this path, it’s yours to walk.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the air thick with unspoken words, before he reached out, fingers twinning with hers. “If you remember everything, then tell me one thing only I would know.”

Hesitating, before leaning closer, voice a soft murmur against his ear. “You once told me that the stars reminded you of me. Because no matter how far away they seemed, they were always there, lighting your way.”

His breath hitched as the memory, dim and distant, flickered to life in his mind. A warm night, a sea of stars, and her laughter blending with the wind. His grip on her hand tightened for just a second or two before he let her go.  

She saw it, the flicker of something in his eyes, pupils dilating, the pause in breath. “Do you know how hard it is to have hope after so many centuries? I want to believe, to have faith but I don’t know if I can.”

“Te amo, Lilith.” Those words escaping his lips, without hesitation, without pause. It felt as normal for him to say it as breathing.

“And I you.” Those words had been spoken so many times, in so many different languages, Spanish being the last one.

The blackout curtains in her room blurred the line between night and day, casting the space in a perpetual twilight that made time feel irrelevant. Leaning against the headboard, the cool wood grounding him as his gaze stayed fixed on her, her breath, soft and steady, he couldn’t help but replay every moment they had shared. The weight of what had unfolded between them settled deep in his chest, equal parts exhilaration and disbelief.

When their lips met, it was more than a kiss, it was a spark igniting something primal and consuming within them. The intensity of it coursed through his veins, a heady rush that felt like fire and ecstasy all at once. She wasn’t just a fleeting distraction; she was an addiction, a pull so strong he doubted he’d ever be free of it. Laying back down, he gently traced her features with his fingertips, memorizing every detail, as if she might disappear the moment he looked away. The soft glow of the infinity symbol on her wrist, mesmerizing.

“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?” Eyes blinking open, his face inches from hers.

“Is it staring or admiring beauty?”

“I swear you have the tongue of a viper.”

“I am not being deceitful; I am being truthful.”

Moving, body now covering his, bare breasts crushed against the warmth of his skin. “Such a way with words. Tis no wonder woman threw themselves at you.” There wasn’t any hint of jealousy in her voice when she spoke, knowing there had been so many before she found him.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere, I care not where, just as long as it is you and I.”

“Oberyn we can’t just run away.” Although she was wondering why they couldn’t. The job she had? A façade because she knew he would be here, in this time and place.

“It is really running away or is it wanting to be together?”

“How can I argue with such logic?”

“You can’t but first.” Flipping her over so that she was now beneath him, hands spread thighs apart, lips tracing a path down her neck, over the skin of a shoulder, feeling her shiver as his mouth suckled at the skin just above her breast before they wrapped around a nipple, teeth pulling at it until he could feel the hardness against his tongue.

A loud moan bubbled out of her as her back arched off the bed, enjoying the sensations that coursed through her. The demon within roared to life with the promise of him, needing the high only his soul could give them. He always left her breathless, needing more. Reaching down between them, she wrapped fingers around the hardness of him, feeling the warmth of his cock, using long strokes to tease him, feeling the vibration of his groan against her skin, hips thrusting into her hand. With each stroke, she could feel him growing harder and more eager. Increasing the pace, using faster strokes to bring him closer to release and just when it seemed like he was about to explode, she slowed down, teasing him with gentle touches that left him gasping for breath.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of foreplay, he pushed inside her with one swift motion, filling her completely with hard thick flesh, holding himself still for a moment, feeling her cunt spasm around him. Strokes were slow at first, wanting to drag out the pleasure for both of them but the way she gripped him, limbs wrapped his body, his pace became deeper and harder until her cries of pleasure echoed in his head.

Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, each thrust pushing them closer to release. Sweat dripped from his brows onto the sheets below, hearts pounding to the same rhythm. In end it wasn't possible tell whose moans were louder, whose body shook more violently but didn't matter because both knew exactly what other needed. She could feel the pad of his thumb brush against her clit, the orgasm so intense it threatened to drown them both as it fed her succubus, who would never get enough of the man above her. Power seeped from her pores as he came, seed scalding her womb, walls clenching around his cock, as he covered her with his body, warmth and weight seeping into her skin.

He didn’t know how long they laid that way before he rolled off of her, gathering her close, lips at her ear. “Such passion butterfly.”

Sitting up, she looked down at him, eyes wide before she leaned in, brushing her lips along his, body curling around him.

“What is wrong?”

“The nickname…Butterfly. You’ve said it before.”

“There is still something about you I cannot place, something that feels…ancient. It is something that tickled at the back of my mind. Is that why you have the tattoo on your wrist?”

Nodding against his chest, unable to form words, eyes drifting shut, remembering the past times he’s uttered the name. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take, of losing him, finding him. How many more lifetimes would she put herself through this before she simply gave up and claimed her birthright, heart heavy with the weight of truths. Wouldn’t it just be easier to simply let him go? She was tired, so very tired of the crushing pain every time he was ripped away from her.

Fingers found the hollow of jawbone beneath her chin, tilting her head back, seeing cheeks wet, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Where did you go butterfly?”

Shaking her head, she got up, wrapping silk around her, belt knotted tightly at her waist. “It matters not. If you want to go somewhere then let’s go. Anywhere. Spain, Italy, France.” She could feel it, the darkness edging around them, letting her know his time was coming. It could be weeks, could be months but however long they had, she didn’t want it to be here.

They’d been together two weeks, racing across Europe, desperately trying to shove as many memories into this life time as they could. Standing at the edge of the cliff, sun setting on the horizon, the edge of darkness was closing in faster than she wanted, knowing there was nothing she could do. Her father would soon come for him, the details, something she didn’t want to know. Be it natural or taken by force, his death would be her undoing and she would bath in blood, letting it soak her skin as she grieved yet another lifetime. Again, she wondered how many lives she could go through, how many times would she mourn before she stopped, finally letting him go.

Feeling the warmth of him against her back, arms winding their way around her waist, a faint smile given despite the crushing weight of what was to come.

“Hello lil butterfly. Where is your mind?”

“Everywhere.” Turning within his embrace, a palm resting on his chest. “Oberyn perhaps it is time for me to stop. To stop chasing something I shouldn’t have. It’s not fair to you. To constantly have my presence in your life. If I just let go, perhaps your soul could find peace instead of being tormented.” She could feel muscles tense beneath her hand, the way his expression darkened, feeling the shift of power between them. She’d been selfish, thinking she could be what she was and have some type of humanity but watching him die, over and over, with the hint of what could be, wasn’t fair to him. “Fate could give you what I cannot.”

The arm encircling her waist tightened as fingers curled possessively against the small of her back, his free hand came up to cradle her chin, tilting her face up so her gaze could meet his. “Do you think fate holds sway over me, Lilith?” voice low and steady. “Do you really believe that anyone could offer me something greater than you? You speak as if I am the victim but you, giving up, I do believe that would be the cruelest twist of said fate.” Thumb brushed against her jaw as he stepped closer, bodies almost flush, lips curled into a faint smirk. “You’ve told yourself a thousand times, haven’t you? That you are unworthy of what we are? You want to speak of everywhere? That is where you are. In my thoughts, dreams, every heartbeat.”

She hesitated for a moment, warmth spreading from her touch. “I love you more than my existence. It’s why I need to let you go. Human life is so much shorter. You need to live a full life, one where you grow to be a hundred, to have babies, to have all the things that are always taken from you because of me.”

“Lilith, none of that matters if it is not with you. Why can you not you understand that? I would rather go through a thousand lifetimes with glimpses of you, than one in which I never feel the way I do right now. I love you more than my soul. I care not how much time I have in any life as long as you are in it.”

As he slept that night, she grew restless, slipping from the bed, trying not to wake him, she opened door of their room and stepped into another that was foreign to her. Shock rooted her to the spot, and when she turned to go back, the doorway was gone. True she walked the land of the dead and the living but ending up someplace else…Yea that was new. The room was impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that stole your breath and in front of her was a spinning loom, threads weaving images of lives long gone and those yet to come. An almost ethereal figure sat at the loom, she was neither young nor old, eyes shining with smile.

“Come closer child.”

“I think I am fine where I am thank you.”

“Do you know why you are here? It is because Death thought himself clever but even, he cannot rewrite the destiny of another without consequence.”

“You’re one of the fates, aren’t you? What do you mean by consequence?”

“Such a clever child.” Hands hovered over the loom, tugging at a golden thread that pulsed, tangled with one that was inky black. “His soul is tethered to yours, always has been. But your father, severed his memories to spare you the constant pain of loss when in reality, your pain cries out to the old gods when he is taken from you. It was not Death’s choice to make.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he do such a thing? Why take from me what is mine?”

“Because Oberyn’s love for you would bind you to the mortal realm and you have a destiny far greater than being his lover, his wife. You are meant to take your fathers place when the time comes.”

Stepping forward, voice laced with determination. “That is not my choice nor my path.”

The Fate, shook her head, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “It has always been your path my child but we are not without mercy. There is a way to restore all to Oberyn, every life, every love, every moment shared with you but it comes with a price.”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“True. When Oberyn passes in this lifetime, you will have to be the one to guide him to the afterlife. Then you will take your father’s place as Death itself. You will become all that he is. The ferryman, the reaper, the shepherd of souls and you will no longer walk among the living. It is of course your choice to make. Just know that if you choose a different path, the cycle will never be broken. The bond between you both will weaken and eventually his soul will be lost to you forever.”

The weight of Fate’s words carved their way into her heart. “What if I just let it all go now, what would come to pass?”

“His soul would be taken, never to come back into a body. We are offering you this life, children to be born of the union. Children that were taken from you both, many lives ago. Human children that were destined for great things. Hence the knot of threads.”

She thought about every life they’d had together. How his was always cut so short because of her. How every time he passed, it destroyed a little piece of her. Now? They could have a full life. Together. They could chase every sunrise, exist under the stars and never have the fear of that darkness edging around their lives. Voice steady despite the storm raging inside her at what would come to pass after. "Do it. Give him his memories back. And when the time comes, I’ll take my father’s place."

The Fate nodded; her expression inscrutable. "So, mote it be."

She watched in awe as with a wave of her hand, the loom began to turn, the golden thread untangling and rejoining the black strands.

“When he awakens, he will remember all. Past and present. The mark on your wrist will fade by morning. That is when you must face Death. Love fierce and free my child.”

As Fate disappeared, the weight of her decision settled over her. The darkness that was edging around them now gone from her sight and on the morrow, they could begin anew.

She was jerked awake by the dream she’d had. It had to have been a dream, right? In all the years of her existence, she’d never met any of the Fates, remembering that there were those who believed they were even more powerful than the Gods themselves, at least that is what she’d been told. Shaking her head, cursing imagination gone wild, she got up, the robe wrapped around her, she stepped out onto the balcony that joined their room, watching oranges blend into blues as the sun rose over the ocean.

The dreams were relentless, like a montage of things from lives that belonged to him but didn’t. Chambers were bathed in soft orange light from a dawn so many lives ago, its vividness lingering like the scent of flowers after a storm. Silk sheets were pooled at his waist and he could see her, Lilith, eyes focused on him, her laugh soft but lethal, teasing the edges of his mind. Her touch was warm like the sun, setting his skin on fire when he touched her, always yearning for her. But the dreams weren’t what unnerved him the most, it was the memories that flooded him of them. He had been a Prince, she’d been nothing. She’d been a scholar, he’d been passing through the land, seeking shelter. He’d been a bloodied warrior; she’d been his bride. In every life, she’d found him, memories now cascading over him like an unrelenting tide but each one ended the same. Pain, loss, the ache of separation. Over and over, their fates intertwined, his memories, long buried under layers of mortal existence, came rushing back. Waking with a sharp inhale of breath, heart pounding like war drums echoing in his chest, he looked to the empty space next to him, panic causing him to scramble from bed, her name called out. “Lilith?”

Stepping back into the room, seeing him standing there, brows knitted together in fear. “I’m here,” she said quietly, voice a gentle balm against his panic. Walking towards him, she palmed his cheek, eyes searching his. “What’s wrong?”

“I remember.”

“What?”

“I remember. All of it. Spain. That was the last time before now. Every life, you find me. Every life you lose me. How could you endure it?” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. “Butterfly, I do not understand but I remember everything.”

Voice barely a whisper, knees almost giving out at the shock. “It was real. All of it. I thought it a dream.”

“What dream?”

Stepping out of his embrace, she sat on the edge of the bed and told him about the Fates, the loom, the yellow and black threads, the tangled mess they had weaved. How The Allotter had been angry for her father defying them, making his own destiny for her, that they would grant them mercy and allow him to remember. However, she left out the choice she’d made, that when this life was over, she would become what she was meant to be and he would, again, never remember her. She’d decided in that moment, to never let him know, that it would be her secret to keep. She watched as he came to his knees in front of her, arms wrapping around her waist. She didn’t realize she was shaking with the implications of what had actually happened. Heart pounding behind bone. Doubt, like vines, creeped through ribs, threatening to strangle. “Tell me something you remember.”

“A palace. A night beneath the stars. You told me stories of other lives before that one. A knight. A traveler. I was a Prince; you said you were nothing. Egypt. Italy. Spain. I remember all.” He held her close as he stood, nose rubbing against the skin below her ear, feeling the erratic pulse against her throat. “Do not question the how or the why, Butterfly. Just exist in this moment with me.” Lips dragged along the column of her throat, before teeth nipped at her earlobe. “I love you.”

The glow of the infinity tattoo had drawn Death himself to their moment of clarity, and as Oberyn and Lilith stood entwined, the air grew cold, shadows creeping around them until the room was plunged into darkness, words whispered against his lips before she turned, hand holding his. “Do not let go, no matter what.”

A figure emerged from the void—tall, imposing, and cloaked in an aura of eternal stillness.

Death’s presence was undeniable, commanding reverence and fear, yet she held her ground.

“Father,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart.

Death’s hollow eyes, void of emotion, turned to her. “You’ve defied me, Lilith.” His voice was like the rustling of ancient leaves, cold and unrelenting. “You’ve chosen to squander your destiny for a fleeting mortal love.”

Stepping forward, shielding Oberyn as if her defiance could protect them both. “It’s not fleeting, Father. You know this. Have known this. For hundreds of years. Oberyn was my destiny. You kept it from me.”

“Because you were meant for greater things,” Death replied, his tone sharp. “The daughter of Death is not meant to linger in humanity’s frailty. You are power, Lilith, eternal and untouchable. Yet you throw it away for him.” He cast an icy glance at Oberyn, who stood firm, unbowed, his gaze boring into Oberyn, as though weighing the mortal’s soul. “He cannot fathom it. I could unmake him with a thought.”

“The Fates will not allow it and you know this. How many children, human children were lost to us? Human children, Father. The Allotter told me everything. They were destined for great things but you took them from me. From us. You had no right.”

For a long moment, Death said nothing. The silence oppressive, heavy with the weight of millennia. Finally, he took his child’s hand. “You disappoint me,” he said quietly, though the words cut deeper than any shout. “You’ve chosen humanity, knowing it will strip you of what you are. You will age, weaken, and die, like all mortals. And yet, you stand here, unrepentant.”

Lifting her chin, tears brimming in her eyes, holding tight to both hands. One tethering her to her past, the other anchoring to her future.  “I choose this because he is the other half of my soul. The soul you gifted to me when you created me. You made me what I am, someone who could walk both worlds. It is my choice.”

Death’s form seemed to flicker, the edges of his presence blurring. For the first time, a glimmer of something softer passed through his eternal visage—regret, perhaps, or sorrow.

“So be it,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “From this day forward, you are no longer my daughter. You are mortal, bound to the same laws of time and death as the man you’ve chosen.”

The tattoo dimmed completely, fading into her skin until it was no more. She felt the shift instantly—her powers, the divine connection she’d always known, slipped away like sand through her fingers. “I will see you again, Father,” she said softly, watching as he simply vanished, leaving them alone, the heat of the rising sun bringing warmth and light back to the room. Turning to Oberyn, a now mortal heart racing in her chest, head tilted slightly, waiting for something, judgement perhaps, fear but his features showed none of it. Instead, he cupped her face, his lips pressing against her forehead. Eyes closed as she let out a shuddering breath before pressing herself to him, needing to feel, to have him close, wanting to climb into his skin and curl up beneath his heart, knowing they would only have this one last lifetime together. “I love you.”

“And I you Butterfly.”

Turning her, pressing his front to her back, lips finding the muscle of her shoulder, he pushed her forward, until she fell onto the bed, positioning himself on top of her. Fingers finding their way to her clit, gently pressing against it, already feeling her wetness, while a hand slipped around her throat, grip firm but not constricting, feeling her press against the raging hard on he had. “So beautiful.”

His weight was like the sun, warmth sinking into her skin, settling deep in the marrow of her bones. She could feel the orgasm already building, feeling his hardness against her folds, sent shivers down her spine, causing her to arc her back slightly, a silent plea for him to continue. His hand around her throat only added to the intensity of the moment, a gentle reminder that she was surrendering control to him. His movements were slow, deliberate, fingers teasing every ounce of pleasure from her, soft moans muffled by the pillow, his grip tightened slightly. She could feel herself getting closer and closer and when the orgasm ripped through her, he buried himself within her, cock twitching as she clenched around him.

“Beautiful butterfly, coming apart underneath me.” God she was so tight, her slick soaking the sheets as she rode out her orgasm around her. It took every ounce of strength he had to not come, as he kissed along her shoulder, feeling how supple she was, he pulled out just until the head of him was inside before he drove his hips forward. He could feel deep connection he had with her. This wasn’t just about the physical act, it was how trusting she was of him, of how she laid her self vulnerable to him. How her soul had claimed his. Movements became harder, faster, needing to feel her again, an edge of desperation seeping from him.

His name came from slightly parted lips as she came again, feeling the flutter of her walls as he drove into one more time before she felt the pulsing of his cock as he came, his heart pounding against her back, teeth finding her shoulder, the pressure of the hand around her throat, instantly slack, holding her to him. Despite the choice she made, knowing that when this life was over, she’d have to let him go, she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be-under him, surrounded by his strength, his love and his passion.

Rolling to his side, taking her with him, bodies still connected, tongue soothed the spot where he bit her, feeling the indentations of teeth marks. “Forgive me. Tis a sin to mare such beauty.” He groaned when she moved, feeling himself, somehow still semi-hard, leave the warmth of her body. Her lips were at the base of his throat, kissing and suckling at sweaty skin. “Marry me, Butterfly. Then we will go anywhere you choose. Just tell me where, where would you like to go?”

Slightly pulling back, head tilted up, eyes finding his. “Everywhere.”

@almostfoxglove @guiltyasdave @604to647 @morallyinept @tinyglamdramaqueen @pedgito @whocaresstillthelouvre @ease-out-the-clutch @littlemisspascal @jolapeno @kittyfox1107

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[pidgeispunk]

Pedro Pascal Character Headcannons — Cuddles Pt. 2

you can find part one here.

Oberyn Martell:

Oberyn’s a lazy sleeper, but he likes to make sure he’s close to you. Most nights — if not all — he’ll let you chose the position, meaning it sometimes varies night to night. Usually at least one arm is around your body, whether it’s around your waste or holding your thigh, his hands will always find you. He likes the way you seek out his arms in the night, sometimes not even realising you’re doing it. The way your hand laces with his, and you’re pulling his arm up and over yourself. Usually you’ll wake up in a completely different position that you fell asleep in, and most times Oberyn will have moved himself much closer to you.

Pero Tovar:

Tovar almost always sleeps on his back, he struggles to get to sleep any other way. He also can’t not have you cuddled up to him, any time you try and wriggle out of his hold he’ll whine something and pull you closer. Both arms stay tight around you, fully engulfing you as his hands splay across your back. He’s a little insecure that you might up and leave him at any moment, so he takes the advantage of the night to hold you as close to him as he can. It’s like he’s trying to merge your bodies the way he bear hugs you. He doesn’t care if you’re facing him, spooning, or completely on top, he just has to be hugging you.

Agent Whiskey:

It took Jack a while to admit it, but he adores being the little spoon. He’s always so protective over you during the days, especially given his line of work, so when it comes to sleeping, he loves just being held by you. He feels so safe with your arms around him, head tucked over his shoulder as you press kisses to his temple. His larger hands find yours, lacing his fingers with yours and smiling at the way you absentmindedly fiddle with his. He’ll make sure he’s pressed back against you completely, sighing when he feels you draping a leg over his waist. Some nights he’ll turn around in his sleep, getting even closer if that was possible.

Ezra:

Ezra hates how he has to be so on guard during the night. When he first arrived on the planet he barely slept, he would try and guard as much as possible. But now you’ve convinced him to actually get some sleep, you’ve got enough reinforcement on your ship. He keeps his gun on the floor beside the bed, force of habit you could say. But when it comes to cuddles, he’s more than happy to let you curl up on top of him, you aren’t exactly heavy. He lets his fingers run through your hair as a way of calming him down, knowing it’ll also send you straight to sleep. He likes to be sitting up a little, just in case.

Max Phillips:

Max’s is possessive, despite nobody being around it’s like he’s trying to make sure nobody can get to you. He keeps a hand on your thigh at all times, on the leg that’s bent and draped over his legs. He’ll pull your leg higher if he can, just so he can get his hand higher on your thigh. Considering max doesn’t actually sleep, he’s more than happy to spend the 10 or so hours just watching you. He likes the way you curl up at his side, making sure your head’s comfortable on his chest as a hand lays flat beside your head. Sometimes he’ll slip a hand beneath your head, letting you rest on it just because he knows how much you love it.

Javi Gutierrez:

Javi has a habit of fidgeting. You will most likely not wake up in the position you fell asleep in, and half the time the duvet’s been yanked over to his side. He doesn’t intend on doing in, and sometimes he feels quite bad the way he’s left you with almost no cover and very little room. If he hasn’t starfished and almost knocked you off the bed, he’s taken you with him. If he rolls over, he’ll drag you with him. When he moves an arm, it stays around you.

[berryispunk]

Happy Accidents

pairing: Oberyn Martell x trans! reader

summary: a handsome and mysterious stranger enters the coffee shop you’re working at. (modern day AU)

tags: meet-cute!!, fluff, compliments, no physical description of reader, no smut

notes: This is for the secret Santa of @pedrostories ! It was truly a challenge but I hope I did decent. My giftee is @crowandmousewritingco I hope you like it 🥹💛 this is unbeta’d. We die with the sinking ship :)

It is a crazy busy day at the cafe. Nothing unusual for this time of year. When people are so lost in the Christmas preparations, too focused on their own misery to be nice to employees, time flies. You always tell yourself you don’t care. After all it's nothing personal you try to remind yourself. But today, when the fifth person yells at you that they ordered cappuccino without caffeine and not with it something inside of you snaps. You glare at the man who’s dressed in a suit that looks like it costs more than you make in a month.

“Sir, we’re all just doing our job. I am sorry if my colleague made a mistake with your order, but this doesn’t give you any right to be so rude,” you throw at him, your voice threateningly calm causing every pair of eyes on you and for a split second you regret even bothering to open your mouth.

That’s until the man answers, a dismissive look in his eyes as he scoffs “I want to speak to your manager.”

“I am in charge today, so if there’s something you want to discuss feel free, sir, ” you triumph and for a moment it feels like winning, like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that there would be a prize for it anyway.

The man musters you for a moment longer, anger and vanity seeping out of him, tinting the whole atmosphere until suddenly another man steps in, dressed in slacks and a really deep v-neck button down in mustard yellow.

The off white winter coat just casually thrown over his right shoulder, holding it with his big left hand, on every finger a gold ring, each one of it more splendid than the other.

He’s standing really tall, his confidence overshadowing the energy of the suit guy by far. His dark hair, a stark contrast to his golden skin tone, is perfectly trimmed and styled.

You caught yourself staring at him way longer than what would be considered decent as he winks at you and turns his attention back to the suit guy.

“Sir, please step back so the rest of us can make an order as well”, he purrs in a really deep voice. His voice is calm and calculated, but something else swings in the way he talks.

Authority.

The other man frowns a bit at the dark haired man, but instead of protesting he nods, takes his allegedly wrong order and flees the cafe causing the man in front of you to smile satisfied and his attention shifting back to you.

“Sorry,” he says almost apologetically, way softer in the way he talks than moments ago. “Some people just don’t know any manners.”

His comment causes you to snort and he gives you an honest smile back, a warm one that almost makes your heart flutter.

Fuck. He’s attractive.

“Nothing new, especially not during the holidays”, you answer.

“So, what can I get you ?” you ask in trained professionalism.

“I’d like a big black coffee to go, please. And maybe…” he drifts off, taking a step closer to the cake display. “A lemon cheesecake muffin as well.”

You nod in response, packing the muffin in a small paper bag and starting to prepare his coffee.

Your back is turned to him, but you’re really aware that his eyes still are on you. Maybe even checking you out and the thought simultaneously amuses and flusters you.

You think of the way this man handles himself, the way he’s so confident but also so kind should be a paradox. Usually people this confident are cocky and don’t care the slightest about employees like you. But he seems different. In a good way.

As you’re finishing up his coffee order, you decide to ask for his name. Usually you don’t do this here, but you think it’s a sneaky way to know more about this mysterious good looking man.

“Which name can I write on your cup ?” you ask with a professional smile.

“Full name or just my first name?” he asks back while he plays with one of his rings.

“Whatever you prefer,” you reply and he smiles in response as he leans a bit more towards you above the counter.

His gaze on the coffee cup in your hand before his eyes meet yours.

His eyes are dark brown, warm and welcoming.

The smile that still decorates his face reaches his eyes and causes small wrinkles around them.

It’s an honest smile, one that is really rare especially during the holidays but also incredibly flirty.

“Oberyn Martell.” he finally replies. “That’s my name,” he adds and you scribble it onto the coffee cup.

“Okay, Oberyn Martell,” you repeat and let the name ring in your ears, tasting the way it sounds in your own voice.

“Cash or card?” you ask as you place the paper bag and coffee cup on the counter, typing his order in your cash register system.

“Card,” he replies and hands you his credit card, a black american express. You push the payment device wordlessly closer to him and wait for the confirming beeping sound.

“You know you’ve got a beautiful smile” he smirks, causing your cheeks to get hot as your eyes meet again.

“Excuse me?” you ask to reinsure you heard it right while the heat creeps further up your face.

He chuckles cockily and repeats, a bit lower this time.

“I said, you’ve got a really beautiful smile”, his eyes wandering to your lips before they find your eyes again.

You swallow for a moment before you’re able to mumble a “Thank you.”

He shakes his head slightly, clearly enjoying getting you flustered that easily. The smirk never leaving his face as he takes his order from the counter.

“So, can we quit the chit-chat and I ask you for your number instead?” he asks, like it’s the most normal thing ever and not absolutely crazy considering the fact you two just met by accident in the cafe you’re working at.

You blink in disbelief about the absurdity of the moment before your brain kicks back in action.

“My phone number?” you ask back, clearly still puzzled by his bluntness. “I–”

You try to come back with something, anything, to let him know that this is out of line. That it’s too fast, too early, too much. But you can’t.

All you can focus on is this handsome stranger in front of you and the blush on your cheeks.

You finally snap out of your trance-like state and write down your number on a sticky note.

He takes it from you, making sure his fingers brush over the back of your hand as he gives you another charming smile.

���Thank you, beautiful,” he purrs and just as you thought you’re finally able to function like a normal human again, you start giggling like a teenager.

What the hell is wrong with you.

He still holds your hand and place a soft, feathery like kiss on the back of it, his eyes locked on you as he whispers

“I’ll call you as soon as I can, that’s a promise,” he smirks and as he’s in the movement of leaving he adds

“By the way, nice pin,” pointing to the little trans flag enamel pin on your work apron.

Usually people never notice it or just don’t say anything about it. Either because they don’t know what it is or simply because they don’t care but something about the way he noticed and pointed it out makes you giddy.

“Thank you,” you retort and smile genuinely at him.

“I need one of those with the bi-flag. If you have any recommendations where to get those, let me know” he winks and suddenly this man, who’s not even way too attractive for you, is also part of the LGBTQIA+ community and it makes your heart flutter even more.

“Will do,” you snicker. “Bye, Oberyn.”

“Bye, beautiful. See you soon.” he answers with a smile so bright it’s illuminating his whole being.

And as quickly as he came in the shop, as fast he vanishes out of it and leaves you alone with blushed cheeks, a racing heart and a million questions on your mind.

[yeollie-plz]

The Lovers: The Consummation

Knight! Pedro Pascal x Princess! Reader

The Main Series

Synopsis: The Princess and her husband's first night together.

Genre: Smut!!, fluff if you squint

Warnings: smut, 18+, Y/N insert, fantasy settings, fake marriage, contract marriage, age gap, male masturbation, groaning and moaning, innocent reader, slightly innocent Pedro, loss of virginity, p in v sex, unprotected sex (its ok they are married!), kissing, praise kink

Gif credits to owners!

A/N: This is a companion story to The Lovers, sort of a sneak peak to further chapters and their love story.

The princess laid awake in bed, tortured by what she had said earlier. It was one thing to confess your love to someone, but to confess your lust...that was a whole different story. It wasn't like she regretted it, it was more like she had wished it was a love confession first. She knew the way her husband felt about her and to dangle herself in front of him, well.

She pulled the sheets over her increasingly heating face, trying to hide from the world. After hours of trying to sleep to no avail, she wrestled with the idea of sneaking to apologize to her husband. But he wouldn't be awake, would he?

Deciding that one little knock wouldn't wake him, she pushed the covers off of her body. Donning her robe and slippers, the princess left the room and shuffled through the hallway to her husband's door.

Before she could bring herself to raise her hand and knock on the door, she heard groans from inside the room. For second she thought she was hearing things, but then another one came. There must be something wrong, maybe someone snuck into the castle and attacked him, she thought.

Without thinking she hurriedly pushed open the door to see no one in the room but her husband. Sat up in the large chair in the corner, his pants missing, and something in his hands. A look of shock on his face as he snapped his head up to see who interrupted him. When he noticed who the intruder was, his eyes glazed over with an indiscernible look.

"My dear, you've caught me at a very intimate time." He spoke, his hand didn't leave the object between his legs, but he did stop his movements.

"I just wanted to apologize for the way I spoke earlier. It was very inappropriate of me and-"

He let out another groan, stopping you mid speech.

"I'm not sure we should be doing this right now, your voice is about to put me over the edge." He said, a sort of pain underlying in his voice.

"Excuse me?" Put him over the edge? He thinks you are annoying.

"I didn't mean it like that, love. I just meant...can you shut the door and come closer?" You nodded and did as he asked. When you got closer to him the thing in his hand came fully into view. It was a part of him, another limb almost? What was it?

He saw you looking and answered your silent question, "This is my penis, did no one teach you about human anatomy or sex?"

You shook your head, no. He let out a shocked laugh.

"With the way you spoke to me earlier, I assumed you knew a little something."

"I know that sex is reserved for a married couple and it is an act to make a child." You said mater-of-factly. For some reason you felt you needed to prove yourself to him.

"It is the act to make a baby, yes. But, it is also an act of pleasure, an act of pure animalistic lust." You nodded slowly at his words.

"The reason I spoke the way I did earlier, was because I couldn't stand the way my body heats at the thought of you. I needed to tell you."

"I'm glad you did. I'm happy I make you feel the way you make me feel. It's called getting turned on and you telling me all those things got me turned on, so I was touching myself. Have you ever touched yourself?"

You shook your head, another no.

"Want me to show you how? It will help you relieve some of your 'heat'."

You nodded, this time a yes.

"Words darling, tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Want you to...to touch me. I'm burning." With the words of consent, he grabbed your hips and helped you to sit on his lap. His lips instantly latched onto your neck, kissing you slowly.

He made his way to your jaw, before kissing the edge of your mouth. Your face instinctively turned to attach your lips fully to his. He smirked into the kiss. The hands that were on your hips made their way lower, stroking your goose-bumped thighs.

He pushed your robe open so he could see more of you. Your nightdress was made of a thin silk and suddenly you were acutely aware of this fact. Your hardened nipples were on full display. He seemed to notice as well and smirked at this too.

"Oh, my love, if only you knew the things you do to me. The things I want to do to you. Fuck..." His eyes were still locked onto your nipples and you let out a gasp as his mouth was now on them. Soaking your nightdress with his spit as he sucked the buds. That was when you let out your first moan. Not knowing you could make that sound, let alone what it was, you covered your mouth in shock.

He noticed the moan as well and detached from your nipples, to look you in the eyes. He grabbed your hand and gently pulled it from your mouth. Kissing from your hand all the way up your arm to your shoulder.

"That was a good noise, it means you like what I'm doing to you. Please, never hide those."

You once again nodded. He pecked your lips before looking at the blushing, heated mess that you were on top of him. He ghosted his fingers on your stomach, very closely to where you really needed him to touch you. Before he abruptly stood up, lifting you by the hips to keep you locked onto him. He walked the two of you over to the bed and laid you onto it.

He hovered over you, you had never been more entranced by a man in your life before this moment. His tousled hair, his figure, the light beads of sweat just starting to form on his tan skin. He was art.

"You're beautiful." You gasped out.

He laughed, "i should be saying that to you, my dear." He began kissing you again, and if it was even possible there was even more intensity behind it. Each minute that went by you were getting hotter and hotter. You began to feel a wetness between your legs, you had only ever felt it when you watched Pedro spar once before.

"Pedro, I'm..." You trailed off not sure how to explain the situation.

"What? You're what? It's okay, tell me."

"I'm wet, down there." You motioned to between your legs, a different kind of blush forming.

"Oh, don't worry, that's normal. Just means I'm doing my job correctly."

"Oh, I see."

"Let me see if i can help you out down there." He moved his body down the bed so his head was now between your legs. He reached up your thigh and under the hem of your dress, pulling at your panties.

"Is this okay?" He asked.

"Yes." You weren't sure if you going to say no to this man anymore tonight. This was it, you were putty in his hands.

He pulled your underwear down your legs and off of your body, tossing them to the ground. Grabbing the bottom of your nightdress he lifted it up so your mound was now fully visible to him. His fingers made contact with your sensitive clit, sending a shock wave through your body, another moan escaping out. This seemed to spur him on as his fingers began to fully work your bundle of nerves.

With every stroke of his finger, you would moan and writhe in pleasure, you never knew anything could feel like this. Something began to build, as you gasped out at the feeling.

"Wait, wait somethings happening."

He continued his motions, moving very deliberately. "It's okay, let go."

Finally something in you snapped and you saw white. Your legs shook uncontrollably, as your walls clenched around nothing. Pedro continued his motions, gradually slowing so you could work through the amazing pleasure you were feeling. As your breathing became steady, his fingers ceased their movement. He rose back up to look you in your eyes. A blissed out look covered your face as you tried to grapple with reality again.

"What was that?" You asked.

"That was an orgasm, that's what you can do to yourself when you're alone to make you feel good. Just use your fingers like I used mine. It's called masturbation."

"But it feels so good when you do it." You had let it slip without thinking.

He chuckled, "I'm glad, my love, next time I'll show you something even better. But right now, I wanted to see how you felt about making love?"

You eyes widened at the thought of full-on sex. You, obviously, and it scared you. You two were married, but still, its nerve wracking.

"I mean, we are married so it's what we are supposed to do, right?" You said.

"Yes, but I want to have sex with you because I want, no I need all of you. Not just because we are married, but because I love you." It wasn't the first time he had admitted that he loved you, but you never knew that love could make you want something this much.

"It's my first time so I'm just a bit nervous." You confirmed, not ready to say those three words yet. Both of you had gotten used to him saying it and you not saying it back.

"It's, uh, my first time too, actually." This shocked you, with how much he knew you had assumed he had, had sex before. Men weren't exactly held to the same standard as women were about saving themselves.

"I wanted to save myself for the women I married. The women I loved."

"How do you know so much then?" You questioned.

"The other knights talk a lot and loudly. They are very proud of their 'conquests'." He shuddered at the word.

"I see."

He cleared his throat, "So my arm is falling asleep a bit here, holding myself up and all. Should I just walk you back to your room or?"

"Oh! No! No, I want you to make love to me." He smiled at your words, a blush rising to his cheeks.

"And I will do just that!" He pecked your lips again, before wrapping your body into his arms and laying himself down next to you. He kissing you long and slow, letting his arms explore every inch of you. Your hands gripped at his shirt, wanting to feel all of him on you.

As if reading your mind, he pushed back from you and lifted the thin white shirt over his head. He glanced at the nightdress that still adorned your body. You took this as your queue to also shed yourself of your clothing, baring your naked form to him.

"You're beautiful." He mirrored your words from earlier, grabbing your head and smashing your lips back together. His other head reached between his legs and stroked his member.

He laid you down once again and returned to his position of hovering over you.

"So, I'm going to insert myself inside of you. It may hurt a bit so I'm going to go very slowly. Let me know if it hurts too much."

You nodded, words really have been failing you tonight.

"Ready?"

"Yes." The word held onto your breath, like a prayer.

Slowly he began to insert his member inside of you. The stretch was more painful than you had originally thought it would be and you grabbed his hand. He paused, taking this as a sign that you needed a moment.

After a second, he asked, "You okay?"

"It just hurt more than I thought, but I think I'm okay now."

He continued to push himself inside of your walls, stretching you out. Finally, his member was fully inside of you, you let out a breath.

"Can I move?"

"Move?" What does he mean move?

"I'm supposed to thrust myself in and out of you. It's supposed to be very pleasurable for both of us."

"Oh I see, I didn't realize there was more."

"There doesn't have to be, if you aren't ready." He tried to reassure you.

"No, you should thrust."

He couldn't help but laugh at your response but followed it anyways. His hips moved backward, pulling himself out of you. His tip reached the rim of your pussy before pushing fully back inside of you. He continued this motion slowly for a bit before you finally let out a moan.

"Does it feel good, my love?"

Your next yes came out as a moan as he bottomed out inside of you. He kept his slow pace stroking every part of your walls with his dick. The moans got louder and louder, as his pace began to quicken.

Pedro let out a groan at one particularly good thrust. This caused you to clench around his dick.

"Fuck, you feel so good. It feels so good inside you." He praised.

"Can you...can you go faster?" You asked, you could feel the coil in you once again. You didn't know why but you needed him to move faster or harder...or both.

He followed your instructions and began thrusting faster. The thrusts were shorter but they were feeling so much better. Each thrust hit a certain spot inside you that made you see stars. Pedro reached his hand down to rub your clit.

"I'm getting close, I need you to orgasm with me. Think you can do that?"

Now you had lost all ability to speak so you nodded. His lips found yours, as his fingers found your clit. Rubbing circles into it, as he continued his thrusts. His pace got a bit faster as he chased his orgasm and his fingers moved faster as he willed yours to come.

He grunted as he came inside of you, the feeling and noise causing you to tip over the edge as well. You clenched onto his dick as he kept his movements going, working you both down from your highs. When you had both returned to earth, he dropped his body next to yours, member still inside of you.

"You were right, it was very pleasurable." You said after a beat of silence. The only noise in the room was the sound of your labored breaths.

"It was very pleasurable." He agreed.

Looking over at you, he pulled you even closer, and planted a kiss on your head. You two fell asleep in each others arms.

You had just consummated your fake marriage.

Taglist:

@kittenlittle24 @tinypersonharmony @sofiparallel

[eufezco]

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙐𝙎 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 ࿐ྂ

+ 𝙥𝙚𝙙𝙧𝙤 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙇𝙐𝘿𝙀𝙎 : joel miller, din djarin, oberyn martell, javier peña

english isn't my first language !!!

♡️ fluff ☆ angst ☽ smut

other masterlists ✨

JOEL MILLER

SECRET DATE | ♡️ ☆ x babysitter!reader

sarah notices how her dad feels about you and encourages him to ask you out.

ONE KISS | ☽

you deny him a kiss and he doesn't take it well.

WEDDING DAY | ☽

your sister is getting married to joel but you can seem to keep your hands off each other, not even on their wedding day.

UNNOTICED | ♡️ ☆

you said something to joel while he was sleeping that didn't go unnoticed.

SUPER SHY | ☽

when joel's keeping you company while you're showering, he sees something he wasn't supposed to.

MEET AGAIN | ♡️ ☆ ☽ x mom!fem!reader

you and joel meet again at jackson except for the fact that now you have a baby daughter.

FAMILY THINGS | ♡️

ellie is meeting with riley and joel acts like an overprotective dad. you and sarah have to intervene.

JELOUS | ☽ ☆

frank and bill invite you, tess and joel to have dinner at his place and the two men not only realize how you feel about joel but also that you're a little jelous of tess.

PREOUTBREAK JOEL VS POSTOUTBREAK JOEL SMUT HEADCANONS | ☽

DIN DJARIN

SEEING HIS FACE FOR THE FIRST TIME | ♡️

KISSES | ♡️ din djarin, joel miller, oberyn martell, javier peña

[avastrasposts]

I'm so happy he managed to get your attention! He is one hell of a flirty man 😋

A Baker's Dozen - Four

Hello!

I kinda figured you all would like Joel's visit to the bakery! Handy man Joel with his green plaid flannel shirt and tool belt... 🥰

This week's Pedro boy is actually forcing me to adjust the warning level, things get a bit spicier than usual with this one around and I think you'll understand when you see who it is....

Series Master List

The little bakery is buzzing with customers this warm summer evening, you’re serving everyone as fast as possible, cursing the stomach bug that had put the kid who worked extra out of commission for the week. As you ring up two slices of lemon meringue pie for Mrs Callahan from down the street, you notice the buzz increasing in the shop, almost like a wave of excitement. You glance towards the door to see if you can spot the source of the commotion and see a tall, proud looking, man closing it behind himself. His rich yellow jacket is all you have time to notice before you’re pulled back to Mrs Jones asking about the amount of sugar in the Millionaire’s Shortbread (a lot, you assure her, no, it’s not healthy just because it contains peanuts). 

You lose track of the stranger as you work your way through the long line, finally looking up to realize he’s the only one left in the shop, except for little Mrs Levinson who is just stepping through the door. The man gallantly takes a step back and indicates with his outstretched hand that she should be served before him. 

“Please, my lady, I would be offended if you insisted on waiting behind me.” 

He has an accent that you can’t place, vaguely Mediterranean maybe, and clearly very good manners. Mrs Levinson gives him a pleased smile and steps up to the counter to buy her regular weekend dark rye loaf, six chocolate chip cookies and one whole apple and cinnamon crumb coffee cake. 

“The grandchildren are visiting on Sunday, and they love your cookies, dear,” she informs you, “the mother just doesn’t know how to bake, why my son married a woman who can’t cook or bake I will never understand.”

“I’m sure she has many other good qualities and skills, Mrs Levinson,” you smile, this is a weekly complaint. 

“He should’ve married you, dear, how you are still single is beyond me, such a talented girl in the kitchen,” she pats your hand as she hands over her purse for you to count out what she owes. “But Mrs Pike’s son is single, recently divorced, I’ll make sure she sends him here to buy something, he’s such a lovely boy.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Levinson, but I don’t need to be set up, I barely have time to run this bakery, I don’t have time for dating.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find time, my dear,” she winks at you and gives the dark haired man behind her another wink as she turns to leave. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you say to him as the door closes behind Mrs Levinson. 

“No trouble, my lady, I was more than delighted to enjoy the view of such a talented girl,” he says with a confident smile, sauntering over towards the counter. 

Now that he’s not hidden by the crowd you can see that he is in fact wearing a long robe, reaching down below his knees. But that’s not where your eyes are drawn, instead you find yourself actively trying not to stare at the deep v of bare, tan skin visible where his robe sits open, adorned by an expensive looking necklace. You pull your eyes up to his face, putting on your customer smile, and mentally slapping yourself. 

“What can I help you with today, sir?” 

At your words you see his mouth quirk in a wicked grin and his eyes wander over as much of you as he can see behind the counter. Ordinarily you’d be somewhat offended by such blatant staring but…considering your own struggle to not gawk at him, if feels admissible.

“I’m sure you can help me with a great many things, my lady,” he says, the lilt in his voice fitting his strange clothes, and the double meaning isn’t lost on you. You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. 

“Really?” you challenge, “And what else but baked goods do you enter a bakery for?” 

“Depends on the girl, or the woman, working in the bakery,” he smirks, “when the lady of the bakery is as beautiful as you, I’d like to buy a great many other things than her cakes.” 

This line makes you roll your eyes so far back into your head you think they might get stuck there. 

“You really think coming into a bakery and suggesting prostitution to the woman who works there is going to win you any favors?” 

Now it’s the man’s turn to raise his eyebrows and look surprised for a moment, then he bends his head, bowing deeply to you. 

“My lady, I did not wish to offend you at all, I was not suggesting that I would buy any such services from you. Rather I was, badly I’m sure, suggesting that I would like to buy such a beautiful lady gifts, rather than just buying her cakes.” 

He looks up at you, his handsome face giving you an apologetic smile, “Please, truly, I did not mean to offend you.” 

“Alright, I believe you for now,” you reply, accepting his apology with a slight scowl, “So what can I help you with? In the baked goods department,” you emphasize, waving over towards the display cases. 

“I have this,” he says, pulling a bottle of wine from the satchel he has hanging at his side, “it’s cold and delicious on this warm day, but I would like to have something to eat with it. And I saw that you have these,” he points to one of the bags of lemon and almond biscotti in your display case. “They remind me of the small cakes we have back in my city, Sunspear. Will you please let me buy a bag of them?”

“Of course,” you reply, reaching for the biscotti, “Anything else?” 

“An hour of your company?” he says, smoothly, with a smile, “But I won’t offer to pay for it, just beg that you will join me with this wine, and your lovely cakes, as a small apology for offending you.” 

You look at the man standing on the other side of the counter. His confident smirk has been replaced by an apologetic smile, his arms outstretched as if he’s holding himself open for you to review and decide upon. You glance at the clock on the wall, fifteen minutes to closing but the foot traffic outside on the street has trickled down to nothing, everyone is on their way home to enjoy the last of the warm sunshine. It won’t be the end of the world if you close up a few minutes early today. And this man does intrigue you, with his accent and his strange clothes. 

“Ok, fine,” you say, “An hour, but I have no wine glasses.” 

“My sweet lady of the bakery, I’m sure I will survive without glasses, as long as I have your company to keep me distracted,” he winks at you and his demeanor changes back into confidence once again as you wave him behind the counter.

“C’mon then, we can sit out back, but only on the stairs I’m afraid.” 

“I have sat on much worse in my days, I assure you,” he chuckles, “even a prince of Dorne can’t expect to sit only on feather pillows every hour of his life.” 

“You’re a prince?” you ask but it really doesn’t surprise you. He looks every bit like a prince from some exotic country you’ve never heard of. 

“Prince Oberyn Martell, my lady,” he says, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “It is my pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise, I’m sure,” you smirk, his over the top chivalry is making your inner rebel come out, and you gladly direct him to the somewhat crumbling back stairs, fishing a bottle opener out of a drawer on the way. Drinking wine from the bottle on the back stairs, overlooking the trash cans and patchy grass that lines the dingy alley behind your bakery, is probably not something a prince usually does. 

Oberyn is looking around the area outside the door as you bring the bottle opener and the biscotti. 

“Wait a moment,” he says, holding up his hand to you before he unbuckles the belt that’s holding his robe together, and dropping it on the ground. He shrugs out of the robe and shakes it out, spreading the luxurious looking fabric out over the steps and then holding out his hand for you. 

“Please, my lady,” he says, “it will be a little bit more comfortable for you than sitting on the cold stone.” 

“No, but your robe, it’ll be ruined,” you protest, but he shakes his head, “It’s nothing, just a little dust. Do not think me such a feeble prince that I am above getting a little bit dirty.” With his last word he winks at you with a smile, and you can’t help but smile back, taking his hand. 

“I don’t know what kind of prince you are, I’ve never even heard of Dorne.” 

He lets go of your hand as you settle on the top step and he sits himself on the one below, taking the bottle opener from you. 

“Dorne is a beautiful country, warm, much warmer than here, surrounded by turquoise blue ocean, white beaches and fragrant lemon groves,” he says, “And my home, the city of Sunspear, is the world’s most beautiful city, colorful, richly decorated, cooled from the hot sun by our water gardens and palm trees. It is ruled by my brother, the king. I am my father’s second son, fortunately enough for me, for I would’ve made a terrible king.” 

He smiles as he speaks of his home, a warm smile, as he pulls the cork from the wine bottle. 

“Ladies first,” he says and holds the bottle out to you, you accept it, taking a sip of the cool white wine. It really is delicious; crisp, fresh and an undertone of a rich, buttery flavor. 

“This is very nice wine,” you say, giving the bottle back to him and he smiles. 

“Made all that much better by the company.”

“Cheesy, but I appreciate the effort,” you grin and he looks confused, lowering the bottle that he was just about to drink from.  “Cheesy?” he asks, his eyebrow raised in question. 

“Yeah, you know, ‘cheesy’, when something is lame, or over the top, corny?” 

“I assure you, my lady, I did not intend to be over the top with my compliment, if anything, it was not enough,” he smiles warmly at you, and you feel butterflies in the pit of your belly. Either the wine is working very fast, or this strange man and his flirtatious way is getting to you. 

“I could say so much more about your beauty and the joy it is to spend a warm summer evening in your company with good wine and delicious cakes,” Oberyn’s eyes are glinting as he watches you squirm and he takes a sip from the bottle. 

You feel your cheeks heat up and you drop your eyes to your hands, suddenly feeling very flustered by his flattery, distracting yourself by picking at some dry dough caught on your nail. 

“Oh, the biscuits!” he exclaims suddenly and stands up, “We need just a…” he disappears into the kitchen and you look up as he turns around, scanning the shelves before he finds what he’s looking for, “Ah! Just what we need!” he says and returns to the steps, sinking down next to you again with a small bowl in his hand. “The biscuits are to be dipped in the wine, to soak up its delicious flavor and blend with the sweetness.” 

He demonstrates by pouring some of the wine into the bowl and taking the bag of biscuits from you, opening it up. He takes one of the biscotti and dips the end in the wine, letting it sit for a few seconds before taking a bite. 

His eyes hold yours as he slowly chews the biscotti, humming slightly under his breath.  “My sweet lady, this is exquisite,” he says, awe in his voice once he’s swallowed. “I would hire you as my own personal baker any day, would you wish to leave these premises.” 

“Thank you for the offer, that’s very generous,” you say, taking one of the biscuits and dipping it in the wine, copying Oberyn, “but I like running my own business.” 

As you bite into the biscotti you hold back a moan, you’ve never tried this before but now you understand why he insisted, the crunchy biscotti has softened slightly and been filled with the crips flavors of the wine, the lemon and almond adding to the complexity. 

“This is really good, Oberyn,” you smile, taking the second half, “Thank you for introducing me to it.” 

“It was all my pleasure, my lady,” he replies, leaning back against the stairs and taking a sip of the wine from the bottle. When he tilts his head back, his long neck is exposed, even more now when he’s only wearing his shirt, a smattering of freckles on his tanned skin, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. It occurs to you that the man exudes confidence in everything he does, even the way he brings the bottle back down, handing it to you with a small, crooked smile, the way he’s leaning on one elbow against the step just above him, long legs stretched out comfortably in his soft looking leather boots, utterly relaxed even on the crumbling back stairs. 

You take the bottle from him and take another sip, the cool wine slipping down far too easily. From the corner of your eye you see Oberyn take another biscotti and dip it into the wine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. With a small smirk he puts the biscuit in his mouth, closing his soft looking lips around it, sucking lightly while he lets his eyes linger on you. You feel heat creep up your throat, there is such promise in his eyes, such a challenge in his flirting. It’s like he’s daring you to flirt back, to push him just a little to see how he reacts. You feel a familiar heat spread through your core, a temptation to entice him. But his confidence, just the way he takes the bottle from your hand, his long fingers caressing yours with intent, almost intimidates you. If you flirt with him, even just a little bit, you think he might challenge you even more, see how far you’re willing to go, and you’re not sure you can trust your body to resist. His easy assertiveness, the way he leans back against the stairs, his hand now resting just an inch from your waist, it both unnerves you and makes arousal thrum under your skin. 

With a slight tremble to your hand, you take the bottle again and take another sip, bigger this time and it goes down the wrong way, your nerves getting the better of you. With a cough you splutter into the crook of your elbow, your eyes watering. The prince shoots up and immediately puts his hand on your back, patting you lightly a few times before he begins to rub circles between your shoulder blades. 

“Careful there, my lady, are you all right?” His eyebrows have pulled together in concern and he leans forward, looking at your face. You feel the tears that formed spill over and roll down your cheeks as you cough a few more times. 

“Y-yes, yes, I-I think so, thank you,” you finally say with a croaky voice, “it just went down the wrong way.” 

Taking a deep breath, you almost choke again when Oberyn gently cups your face with his large hands and wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, softly running them under your eyes. 

“Can I fetch you some water?” he asks, his voice low and concerned, but you shake your head. 

“No, thank you, I’m ok now,” you say, taking a steadying breath. He’s so very close now, looking into your eyes with a soft smile and you notice how one of his eyes is made amber by the evening sunlight, the other dark chocolate brown, half hidden in shadow. You feel like your brain is spinning in place, wheels turning but not moving forward, as you’re unable to tear your eyes away from his intense gaze. His hands are still on your cheeks, warm and soft even though you can feel the rough calluses on his palms. 

His eyes finally leave yours, only to very slowly move down to your lips, holding his gaze there for several seconds before he looks back up again. His face transforms into a more roguish smile and he drops his hands from your face, moving to pick up another biscotti and dipping it into the wine. 

“My lady, please,” he says, holding it up to you, one hand cupped under it to catch any drops of wine, as he offers it to you, holding it by your lips. 

You don’t know why, but you obediently open your mouth, letting him feed you the biscotti, tasting the tang of the wine and the sweetness of the sugar as you break it off in the middle. The tip of Oberyn’s tongue comes out to wet his lips as he watches you swallow it down, and then he dips the second half in the wine again, and places it between his own lips. All the while his eyes never leave yours. 

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile, and he leans back against the door frame, crossing his arms over his lap. 

“I would kiss you, if you asked me too,” he says, matter of factly, “if you want me too.” 

You reach for the wine bottle to distract yourself while you calm your beating heart, keeping your eyes on him, that smirk still lingering on his lips as he watches you take a small, controlled sip, this time. 

You pour some more wine into the bowl and place the bottle on the top step, reaching for another biscotti and making up your mind. Dipping the delicate biscuit in the wine you look up at Oberyn, holding his gaze while you bring it up to his mouth, mimicking his gesture of cupping your hand under it. A wicked smile flickers across his face as he obediently opens his mouth and takes the biscotti. But he doesn’t bite it in half, instead he leans forward and closes his lips around your fingertips, his tongue licking at them as he takes the whole thing into his mouth. It’s warm and wet around your fingers and he gently sucks on them as he pulls back, a low hum escaping his throat. The touch of his tongue shoots a jolt of electricity through your body, settling firmly between your legs and your breath hitches. 

Oberyn swallows the biscuit and takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth again, with his eyes locked on yours he takes each finger between his lips and sucks them clean. When your pinky leaves his lips he moves forward, taking your chin between  his thumb and finger, holding you steady, your heart beating its own erratic rhythm in your chest. 

“I would kiss you, if you asked me too,” he repeats, looking from your eyes to your lips and up again. 

You don’t trust your voice, so instead you inhale, his warm scent; oranges, cinnamon, sandalwood, filling your nose, and you lean forward. He doesn’t smile this time, instead he mirrors your movement until your lips brush, your heads tilting ever so slightly to come closer together, mouths angeling as he presses a soft, gentle, explorative kiss to your tingling lips. Warm hands slip up your neck, into your hair, large enough to cup the back of your head as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. 

His next kiss is more insistent, his lips parting to taste with the tip of his soft tongue, licking the seam of your mouth. Your body seems to have lost all will to follow your head, it just moves as he moves you, pulling you closer to his lips, opening up to his tongue, letting him slip inside and explore, tangelling together as he tangles his hands in your hair, making you lean closer into him. Without knowing how you got there, you find yourself sitting on his lap, his hand finding your thigh and pulling your leg over. When he puts his hands on your hips and slides your body closer to his, your mind goes blank and you moan into his mouth. He’s distinctly hard underneath you, the thin fabric of his trousers doing nothing to hide the firm length of his cock, and he groans with delight as you roll your hips over him. 

“Sweet thing,” he whispers, his lips momentarily leaving yours, “sweet, sweet lady, I knew your kisses would be as sweet as your cakes.” His fingers dig into your hips, his mouth pressing firmer against yours as he sucks on the tip of your tongue, pulling back just a fraction and trailing kisses and bites over your jaw, down your throat, pushing back your t-shirt to suck a mark into your collar bone, making you keen and whimper under his warm mouth. 

“I wonder if you’re as sweet everywhere,” he mumbles, fingers digging into your hips and dragging you over his heavy length, straining against his trousers, “I would very much like to find out.” 

You lean your head back, exposing your throat to him as he continues to kiss and lick the soft skin of your neck, heat is building rapidly in your body and for a second you feel as if you’re looking down on yourself from above. Straddling the handsome prince on the stairs, sitting on his golden yellow robe, his face buried against your neck, his hands rolling your hips over his erection as you pant to the darkening sky above. With a groan you put your hands on his shoulders and push away, stumbling back onto your feet. 

“You’re dangerous to be around, Oberyn,” you pant as his hands slip away from your hips. His mouth hangs open as he reaches for you. In the dimming light you can see the prominent bulge of his trousers, it makes your mouth water, the image of sliding down over it coming unbidden to your mind. 

“It’s just pleasure,” he says, his voice dark and mischievous, “no guilt to be had over feeling pleasure.” 

“No, but I’m not about to have sex with a stranger on the back steps of my bakery,” you say, taking a deep breath, running your hands over your head, down your face, to ground yourself again. 

“Well, then the question beckons to be asked,” Oberyn grins, “where would you have sex with a stranger?” 

“I don’t have sex with strangers,” you say, shaking your head and quickly stepping past him, into the kitchen again. Behind you, you hear him get up and pick up the bottle, the remaining biscuits and the bowl. Placing them on the counter inside the door he follows you out to the shop as he slips his robe back on, where you unlock the door and wait for him to approach. A big part of you doesn't want him to leave, but you know that if you let him stay, he’ll have you naked on one of the counters within minutes, your body will betray you and let him do whatever he wants. 

“If you let me, I would like to not be a stranger to you,” Oberyn says as he reaches you by the door, “Would you let me come back and take you out, maybe show you Sunspear, my city?” 

“Show me the life of a prince?” you ask, you doubt you’ll see him again once he leaves, “Sure, come back and show me another side of yourself, and I’ll consider whether or not I want you to be a stranger.” 

“You don’t think I’ll come back,” he replies, a crooked smile on his lips, “have I made such a flighty impression on you, such a poor representation of who I am?” He chuckles, taking your hand and bowing low, pressing a feather light kiss to it. 

“I promise, my sweet lady of the bakery, I will come back and I will show you the true colors of a prince of Dorne. Until then I will keep your honeyed kisses close in my memory.”

He opens the front door and steps through it, before turning and smiling back at you, “And I’ll keep your delicious moans even closer on lonely nights.” 

You feel heat rise in your cheeks again as he winks, a mischievous smirk on his face, before he bow lows again and disappears down the street. 

Part Five

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Oberyn Martell Masterlist

To join my taglist

Kinktober 2023-2024

Requests: Open

Oberyn Martell: Ella Tyrell

Aesthetic:

Ella Tyrell aesthetic 2

One Shots:

Of Roses and Snakes

Requests:

[biapascal]

The scene 🫧:

Hey guys, this is another single dad Pedro one shot! 🫧 hope u like it 🤎

This is fictionalllll!!!! The Pedro I write about is fictionalised!!!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

2013

On the set of Game of Thrones, Bianca had always been treated well. Pedro had trained her so that when he was able to participate in scenes, she would not make the slightest noise or cause any trouble. Fortunately, some of Pedro's friends had helped him find a swimming class not too far from the set that Bianca could attend while he was filming. The only problem was the weekend when the class was not in session. Pedro had begged the swim instructor to give Bianca private lessons for a few hours. "It's really necessary," he had told him, "just for this Saturday, it's very important that Bianca stays away from the set today. It took some convincing, and certainly the extra money he had offered him had helped, but the instructor finally agreed. Bianca, however, had other plans. This morning she had woken up alone in the hotel room; it was not the first time, usually Pedro would leave her money to go to the bar downstairs for breakfast and then she would go straight to the pools, which were always located inside the hotel structure. She knew the routine by now. Bianca knew she would not have swimming lessons on Saturday, so while she ate breakfast she looked forward to spending the morning watching cartoons.

Unfortunately, her swimming teacher came over and sat down at her table. "So Bianca," he began, "are you ready for today?" he asked, Bianca looked at him confused. "But today is Saturday, there's no swimming," the man looked annoyed, "Didn't daddy tell you he booked a lesson this morning just for you and me?" Bianca shook her head, "Well, it was scheduled and I have to do it now, I'll wait for you at the pool as usual." The little girl was not too enthusiastic, but she liked to swim and it was so hot that day that a dip in the pool could be a nice idea. Meanwhile, Pedro was getting ready to shoot a certain scene. When he had read the script, he had immediately thought of a way to keep Bianca as far away as possible. It would be fun for him, but he had not felt relaxed until he could confirm Bianca's lesson. The morning brought no particular surprises. Bianca's lesson passed quickly, and in the end it was better than she had expected. Pedro, on the other hand, had taken a while, but finally managed to feel completely comfortable shooting Oberyn’s orgy scene on the set.

After Bianca showered, she waited patiently on a bench outside the pool for her father. Usually Pedro would pick up Bianca during his lunch break and take her to the set. But almost an hour passed without a glimpse of him. The little girl did not pay much attention, as she was engrossed in reading a comic book, until her stomach began to rumble. The child decided to go back inside and ask the young lady at the front desk for help. "Excuse me," said Bianca, "I'm looking for Pedro Pascal, my daddy. I am Bianca," the lady looked at her gently, "Wait here for a moment honey, I will call him now," the woman looked up Pedro's information on the hotel computer and picked up the phone to call him. No one answered. She then tried his manager's number, but still no answer. The receptionist thought they probably had dead phones or no coverage. "I'll tell you what, I'll ask one of my colleagues to take over for five minutes and I'll give you a ride. It's not too far away anyway, they're probably just really busy." Meanwhile, Pedro was stuck on a particular scene. The director never seemed to be happy with the way it was coming out and had him redoing it a million times. When someone pointed out that it was past lunchtime, the director simply replied, "If you are happy with it, you are free to go, but know that if we keep this scene, it will be mediocre.”

And that had annoyed Pedro. He convinced everyone to do it again and postpone lunch until later. When he saw the director's satisfied smile at his words, Pedro knew he had done the right thing and they immediately went back to work. The young lady who accompanied Bianca to the set talked a lot. The little girl could take no more, so much so that halfway there she began to travel with her mind, thinking of something else, not even realizing that she had arrived. There were fewer people than usual. "Do you know where to go, Bianca? You've been there before, haven't you?" the child nodded and after stroking her hair, the receptionist left her alone. Bianca took the same route she remembered from other times, but found no one. She began to walk around to different rooms, but none seemed to be the right one. Finally, she entered a room that seemed more populated than the others.

She looked around but did not see her father. She was about to leave when she heard Pedro's voice; he seemed to be complaining about something. The room was dark, but Bianca plucked up courage and went in. After a few meters she saw the cameras and microphones and the whole crew around. But unlike the other times, the scene was covered by some kind of large tarp. The little girl made her way over until I could find an opening from which to spy on the scene. What she saw was completely new to her. She knew Pedro's stage clothes, but in this case he did not have them. In fact, he had nothing on at all. His back was turned and he was completely naked. Bianca recognized him by his voice and appearance and was about to call him over and ask him why he was undressed when she remembered that they were filming. She stayed looking for a while and just as Pedro was about to turn around, a woman grabbed her by the shoulders. "What are you doing here?!” she knew her, she was one of the makeup artists "I was looking for my father," Bianca replied in a low voice, the woman turned white and looked around nervously. "All right, dear, come with me," she led her as far as she could, into another room. Pedro finished filming a short time later. After all, the director had complimented him and told him that he was a natural.

The man went to get dressed with a big smile on his face, and when he was done, he picked up the phone. He saw a missed call from the hotel and immediately remembered Bianca. How could he forget her? How long had she waited for him in the sun? What if she had felt sick? He felt faint for a few seconds. He quickly gathered his things and ran out of the dressing room, but before he could leave the set he was stopped. "Pedro, Bianca is here." He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the little girl. "Grace, thank you so much."

"You're welcome..." Something in the make-up artist's expression did not convince him, but he decided not to ask any questions. "Did you have fun today?" asked Pedro again in a good mood. Bianca nodded. "You're quiet, did something happen?"

"Why didn't you come to lunch with me?" the child asked.

Pedro stopped and lowered himself to her level.

"Mija, forgive me. Daddy was very busy with the show," he said. Bianca nodded. They continued walking when suddenly the little girl asked, "What is an orgy?" Pedro's heart stopped for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

"Grace had a script with-“

"Oh."

Bianca continued to look at her father, waiting for an answer. "That's the name of the scene we shot today," the actor finally replied. "And that's the name of a place?

"Mh-mh

"It must be so hot in this place," Bianca affirmed "What makes you think that?" asked Pedro laughing, thinking his daughter had made up a story of her own "Why were you all without clothes?" the man froze, not having the slightest idea how to answer. "And how do you know this Bianca?

"I saw the scene," she replied, Pedro went completely pale. "And what did you see in that scene?

" "They were all naked and talking, maybe someone was crying." The man had no idea what to make up. "Um, yes, it was very hot today."

They were at dinner when Pedro realised he needed to tell his daughter the truth, "Bianca, listen, I didn't tell you the truth. An orgy is not a place where it's hot and you can take your clothes off.”

"What is it then?

"It's something adults do, children are not allowed.

"Why not?

"Because it is very boring and noisy"

“Why did you guys had no clothes on?”

" "Because the scene required it" "And why did the scene require it?" Pedro was on the edge. "It was the director's choice.

" "Will you do another orgy?

"

"Let's hope not

" "Can I watch it if you do it again?" By now all the tables around them were giving Pedro dirty looks. At that moment, an acquaintance of Pedro's came over to greet him, then greeted Bianca, who greeted her back by asking, "Have you ever been to an orgy? Daddy did, he said it was for adults." The woman looked at Pedro in confusion as he turned redder than a tomato.

[sunspearesque]

Fruitful

Summary: Oberyn Martell, a lover of great generosity, expresses his love primarily through acts of service. With a keen memory, he spares no effort to exceed expectations in bringing joy to his beloved.

A/N: as the world around me becomes entranced by "the orange theory," my thoughts wander to what he might do for his lover... so i wrote this; a casual smut-less headcanon using my AU, where his lover is my oc, Nala, from my upcoming multichapter fic, Whispers of Vendetta :D i hope you enjoy it, friends xoxo i also invite my fellow writers to do this with their favorite characters and share their headcanons with us <3

In the warm embrace of a Dornish afternoon, he reclined on their balcony, sharing the company of his beloved amid a plethora of succulent fruits and Dornish wine. His daughters engaged in rigorous training in front of them on the ground.

"My mother used to peel fruits for me," Nala chuckled, peeling a pear for Oberyn on the velvety lounge chair they shared. "I despised the stickiness afterward."

"Is that so?" Adjusting his position, he kissed her shoulder. "And why do you find yourself peeling fruits now?" Another kiss, this time on her neck.

"I don't know..." Turning her head to meet his gaze, she smiled. "Perhaps it's because I love you."

Unable to resist, Oberyn's arms enveloped her waist, pulling her close as he showered her cheeks with kisses, eliciting giggles from her.

"But I've never liked pears," she panted after his affectionate onslaught.

Arching an eyebrow, he inquired, "Then what is your preference, my little love?"

"Pomegranates," she answered, her gaze fixed on his lips.

"Exotic," he smirked.

"And oranges."

The Next Morning...

"Veros, I need you to fetch the preeminent farmer in Dorne and send them to Essos. Instruct them to procure the finest orange and pomegranate seeds," Oberyn commanded, his voice cutting through the air. He scanned his surroundings, his eyes piercing, as he added, "I seek nothing less than the absolute best."

"Yes, my prince."

Two Years Have Passed...

Amidst the verdant gardens behind their castle, Oberyn and Nala sauntered, the world a palette of nature's hues. Suddenly, she halted, her gaze fixated on a tree. "I don't recall this tree being here," Nala remarked, squinting to inspect the blossoms.

Smiling, Oberyn embraced her from behind, "Indeed, my love. I instructed our gardener to plant them a few years past."

"I love them." Nala whispered.

"I love you more," he thought.

A Few Years Later...

In the early morning hours, Oberyn stealthily slipped out of their chamber, having received confirmation from their gardener that the trees were poised to bear fruit imminently. For ten consecutive days, he continued this clandestine ritual, checking until the moment arrived when both trees proudly displayed bright, ripe produce. With an exuberant grin, he hastened back to their chamber.

"Nala, my love," he whispered gently, seeking to rouse her.

"What's happened? Are you well?" Nala startled awake, her eyes wide with concern. "Are the girls alright?"

"We are well, my love, fret not." Cupping her cheeks in his palms, Oberyn reassured her, his thumb smoothing over them gently. "I need to show you something."

"This early?" She furrowed her brow, puzzled by his excitement.

"Yes, come on with me."

Taking her hand, he guided her out of their bed, wrapping her shoulders with his shawl. Together, they descended the stairs, exiting the castle, and stepped into their garden.

"What are you about?" she inquired, perplexed, as he knelt before her, tapping on his shoulders.

"Climb onto my shoulders, my love."

At first, hesitation lingered in her gaze, a questioning look that suggested he might have lost his wits—my old man driven to madness.

"And your back?" she reminded him cautiously.

"Climb, Nala," he repeated, a raised brow emphasizing his determination.

Slowly, she ascended his back, perching on his shoulder, her legs dangling over his chest.

"Hold on tight," he advised before rising to his feet, moving slowly toward the tree.

The tree, vibrant and teeming with life, bore numerous flowers, yet the fruits remained elusive, concealed among the leaves, shy of human touch.

He sensed her recognition when she gasped, almost slipping from his shoulders, before he steadied her with his hands on her thighs.

"Oberyn..." she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

Squeezing her thighs on his shoulder, he conveyed reassurance—I know, my little love.

"Can you reach them?" he inquired.

"Yes," she responded quietly, sniffling. She reached out to pluck the bright oranges, three in total. Moving a few paces to the next tree, she picked the sole pomegranate. She used the hem of her nightgown to cradle the fruits before Oberyn lowered himself, allowing her to dismount from his shoulders.

Standing there, holding her gown with the fruits, tears streaming down her cheeks, her lips trembling, she looked at him—her prince, the love of her life. Loving her as if she were the sole soul worthy of such devotion. Seven years had passed, and he had orchestrated all of this because she had once reminisced about her childhood without realizing the impact of her words. He stood before her, a broad grin on his face, proud of his intricate plan. His sweat-adorned bangs clung to his forehead, his chest bare, golden, and tough—tough except when he cradled her in his arms. Dressed in white trousers with bare feet, he looked as majestic as ever. His grin waned as soon as he noticed the tears in her eyes. Swiftly, he moved towards her, cupping her face.

"Why this sorrow, my love?" he inquired, his gaze flickering anxiously between her eyes.

"Not sorrow. I just—just love you," she confessed, breaking into sobs. He enveloped her in a warm embrace, cupping her head, smoothing her hair, and pressing kisses to her temples.

Lifting her face, he kissed her gently, once, twice. He continued until joy eclipsed sadness within her. His kisses persisted until her laughter rang in his ears—and by the Gods, there’s nothing sweeter than your lover’s laughter in your mouth.

"Why did you do all of this, Oberyn?" she queried, gazing at him. "You know I relish the daily fruits we have."

"I know," he replied, kissing her again. "I want you to feel my love for you in these trees. Witness it blossom every moon, taste it, nourish yourself with it, live through it."

Because that’s what your love does to me.

[ajpikeisamenace]

Terms & Conditions Apply - Chapter One

Summary: A "Fifty Shades of Grey" type of take on Oberyn Martell. After he buys tech firm Logistica for its assets, the wealthy, powerful and brilliant Oscar Martin takes interest in Cara Kavanaugh, the programmer whose code he wants to use. Although she feels physical attraction to to Oscar, his reputation for being a playboy, a womanizer, and a bit of a snake prevent her from forming any attachment to her new boss. Despite his flirtations, she resists him for months until one night the tension and chemistry between them boils over and the two find themselves unable to keep their hands off each other. Trying not to fall for him, Cara discovers Oscar has more dark things looming in his past, including a dangerous rivalry with fellow tech magnate, Tyson LaGrieve; a wife that died under strange circumstances, and other secrets Cara can't imagine.

Notes: This reimagines Oberyn in a realworld setting, as a powerful tech mogul. When I started writing this, I wanted to explore the dom/sub and BDSM aspects of 50 shades but I chickened out, so it's really just a spicy romance with very light dom/sub under tones. The FMC is autistic coded.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFMC

Warnings: Extreme dipictions of violence, sex and sexual activities, alcohol use, and discussions of violence, sexual violence, murder, etc. Please read responsibly.

Chapter One: The Prince and The Programmer

Oscar Martin .  The world knew the name.  He was synonymous with innovation and technology, but he was just as synonymous with words like affair and scandal. And he was standing less than 20 feet from me.   I watched as he moved through the office.  His company, MarTech, had just purchased the company I worked for, Logistica. The news had broken a few days before, but now it was official. Logistica was a small analytics and algorithm development firm that had some piece of tech or information he wanted.  That was how he did business; he wanted something, he bought it.  The tech and financial papers called him the Prince of Tech , due to his youth and good looks, but he had a reputation for being a viper in the boardroom… and in the bedroom, if the tabloids were to be believed.

He was handsome; tall and slender, about 38 or so, with dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache.  He moved through the office gracefully, looking around at everything with curious brown eyes.  Those eyes swept over my team in our cubicles, barely registering us as people.  To the likes of him, I suppose we weren’t.  We were peasants.  Cogs in the machine. Not worth bothering with.

But then he paused, and his gaze settled on me. 

I looked away, embarrassed.  But when I looked back, he was smiling at me.  It was a small smile of amusement, but it was definitely there.  He gave me a small wink, so tiny and fast I wasn’t sure if I saw it at all.

Then he turned and followed the group into the conference room. My face felt hot, and I realized I was probably blushing.

“Cara, are you okay?” Lisa Sonnet, my cubemate and colleague asked as she returned from the bathroom.

“Yeah, just feeling a little warm all of the sudden.” I said softly.  Lisa glanced through the glass wall into the conference room at Oscar Martin.

“I can see why, that man is… Oof .”  She said, sitting back down next to me.  “Too bad he only dates super duper models.”

“Super duper models?”

“Like, only the most famous models,”  she said.  “Your Stephanie Allisons and your Nadias and your Tula Faracosis.”  She went on, sitting down.  “The best of the best, with perfectly symmetrical little faces, and tiny perky boobies.”  She continued, gesturing to her own pendulous breasts.  Lisa was in her late 50s and had four kids.  She frequently bemoaned that she used to have a much better body, but her kids had sucked it out of her.

I said nothing. I couldn’t imagine wanting to be involved with a man who was just as frequently on TMZ as he was on CNN.  It sounded exhausting.

“I heard he only dates women until they are 23 and then he dumps them.”  Another team member, Jackie Woller said.  She must have overhead us.  She rolled her chair to the edge of her cube and peeked around the corner at us.  “At the stroke of midnight on your 23rd birthday, he kicks you out of bed unceremoniously.”  she said in a mock ominous, slightly spooky voice.

“That’s Leonardo DiCaprio.”  I said, feeling myself smile a little bit.  I glanced back at the conference room.  Was it my imagination, or was Oscar Martin looking at me?  I ducked my head, counted to 10, and then looked up again.

He was definitely looking at me.  He was leaning back in the chair in the conference room, not paying attention to whomever was speaking.  One of the lawyers, I thought absently.  Our eyes met. He smiled again, and this time, he lifted his fingers in a slight wave.

“Hi,”  He mouthed.

I ducked down behind the wall of the cubicle.

“What’s wrong?”  Lisa said, hearing the ruckus.  Then she looked up. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Oscar Martin is looking over there,”  she said.  “He’s… kinda laughing to himself?”  She said slowly.

“He waved at me.”  I said.  “I’m mortified.”

“We should all stop staring and get back to work before he fires us.”  Jackie muttered.  “Though, he’ll probably do that anyway.  Gut the firm, get whatever tech we have that he wants, and then leave us all on the street.”

I turned back to my laptop; my code was still compiling, so there wasn’t much for me to do. I pretended to be working diligently for the next 45 minutes, and resisted the urge to look up.  However, when I eventually  heard the door to the conference room open, I couldn;’t help myself.

They filed out of the conference room, Oscar Martin shaking hands with lawyers and my boss following behind, looking rather pale. I looked away again, chewing nervously on my bottom lip.  I wondered if my boss had already been canned.  How long for the rest of us? 

“Hello,”  A quiet voice said.  I recognized it, the light hispanic accent wrapping around the word like silk. I looked up to see Oscar Martin leaning on the wall of my cubicle looking down at me. “Oscar Martin.”  He extended his hand.  After a beat, I shook it, but I still didn’t speak.  “And your name is…?” He prompted me.

“Cara Kavanaugh.”  I said quietly.

“Cara.”  He said.  He smiled, a strange look on his face.  Something between surprise and satisfaction..  “It’s nice to meet you, Cara.” He turned back to the others who were waiting for him. “One second.”  He said.  The lawyers nodded.  “I hope I see you around.”  Then he left.

“Did that just happen?” Lisa said, her eyes wide.

“I think it did.”  I said.

“Wow,” Jackie said from her cubicle.

“I caught a whiff of his cologne, ugh, he smells so good.”  Lisa moaned. “Why do you think he was looking at you ? You’re pretty, but you’re no Tula Faracosi.”

I waved her away dismissively, and looked up again as Oscar Martin headed towards the main entrance of the office.  He gave me another look over his shoulder as he went.

What on earth was going on?

After work, I headed to my apartment, idly wondering if I should brush up my resume.  I’d worked at Logistica for about 6 years, starting there right after college. I’d had several positions within the company before becoming the lead project programmer last year.  I didn’t relish the idea of a job search… and while there were no shortage of programming jobs in the world, I had liked working for Logistica.

I opened my laptop, but instead of pulling up my resume, I googled Oscar Martin instead.  His wikipedia page was the first result not from a tabloid.

I read the details about him.  He was 6’1”, Argentinian, spoke Spanish, English, Portuguese, and French, and he had been married once, when he was young.  His wife had died at age 22.  I didn’t possess the Google Sleuthing Skills some of my friends had, so I couldn’t find much else about her.  Cause of death was “unspecified cancer.”  That was tragic.  He had been 24 at the time.  I read about the success of his company, MarTech, and the various companies it had absorbed over the years.  I read about the famous women he was linked to, believed to have dated, rumored to have left broken-hearted.  Taylor Swift’s latest album allegedly had a song or two about him on it. Models, Singers, Actresses all, with beautiful faces and glamorous lives.

And he had smiled at me.  I didn’t think myself unattractive; I have a pretty face, with pale skin, bright blue eyes, and a nice smile.  My hair was actually freshly minted at the salon, and my caramel colored waves were top notch, but I wasn’t a model.  I wasn’t glamorous.  I was a programmer who wrote code. I went to bed at 10:30 after watching reruns of Friends . I had been wearing a men’s graphic t-shirt that said “Tell Your Dog I Said Hi” on it, for crying out loud.  

I made myself dinner - microwaved veggies, minute rice and costco rotisserie chicken, very glamorous- I thought as I sat down to eat, then I watched TV for a while.  Around 7pm, I called my best friend Keith.

“You’ll never guess who I met today.”

“The pope?”

“I don’t think you could be more wrong.”

“Donald Trump?”

“Closer,”  I laughed.  “Oscar Martin.”

“Wow,”  He said.  And then “Oh no,”

“Yeah, so if you know of any outfits looking for a programmer…”  I said.

“I’ll keep an ear out.  So it’s official?”

“He signed the paperwork for the company today.  I suppose it’ll be a few days before we get marching orders.”  I said.  Then I changed the subject.  “How’s Carolina?”

“Doing okay, postpartum has been rough on her.”  He admitted. 

“Can I do anything?”

“Maybe swing by and see her at the shop.  I think she’d like that.”

“I’ll come by after work one day this week.  But let’s let her think it's a surprise.”

“Deal.”  We talked for a bit longer, discussing his infant son and his work, before I finally said good night.

“Thanks for asking about Carolina.  I know you and her-”

“Hey, water under the bridge.”  I said quickly. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

I went to bed that night wondering if my badge would work on the front door of the building in the morning.

The next morning, I arrived at the office and my badge worked.  I was getting into the elevator when I heard someone call “Hold the door!”

I put my hand in front of the door to prevent it from closing, and a breathless Oscar Martin slipped in beside me.

“Good morning Cara.”

“Uh, Good morning.”  I returned, trying to disguise the fact that my breath had caught in my throat.  I studied him out of the corner of my eye.  He certainly dressed like a tech guy; jeans, sneakers, and a yellow, blue and green plaid button down.

“Have you worked for Logistica long?” he asked as the elevator crept up to the 25th floor. His accent was so smooth, giving his voice a musical quality.

“Six years,”  I said quietly.  I felt so awkward making small talk with him.  I felt like Ann Boelyn making cheerful conversation with the man holding the sword.

“That’s a long time in this industry.”  He commented.  “Do you like it here?”

“Yeah, I do, a lot.” I said honestly.  He nodded.  Mercifully, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to my floor.  I stepped out.  He followed me to my desk. 

“I hope I see you later, Cara.”  He said, and he headed to the conference room, where it looked like a meeting had already started.

“Did you really just walk in with Oscar Martin?” Lisa asked as I put my things down.  I sat heavily in my chair. 

“Yes, why?”

“You rode in the elevator with him?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Ballsy.”

“I was already in the elevator.”  I shrugged.

“He’s looking over here again.” Jackie called in a low voice from her cube.

“This is ridiculous.”  I muttered. “You two are being ridiculous.”  I grabbed my laptop. “I’m going to go work in one of the empty offices.”

Shortly before lunch time, an email went out that there would be a catered lunch for staff, compliments of the new owners.  I rolled my eyes, but I wasn’t too proud to turn down a free meal, so at 12, I headed down to the breakroom.

It was a feast.  Kabobs of shrimp, Chicken, and tender steak, exotic salads, grilled vegetables, rice pilaf and more.  The junior programmers had loaded down their plates and were scurrying back to their cubes, but some of the upper management were schmoozing with Oscar as he stood in the breakroom, a plate in his hand, but not eating.

I helped myself to some food and while I was grabbing a plastic fork, Oscar excused himself from the ass kissers and came alongside me.

“How’s your day going?”  He asked, his accent wrapping around the words in an almost sultry way. It would seem there was no such thing as a free lunch.  I was going to have to pay for it by being polite to my executioner.

“Fine, thanks.  And thanks for lunch.”  I said, holding up my plate.  I started towards the door but he fell into step beside me.

“So you’re a programmer.”  He said.  It wasn’t a question, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Yeah,” I said.

“And you worked on the Omega project.”

“I wrote the code for it, yes.”

“I was very impressed with it.”  He said. “That’s actually why I wanted to buy Logistica.”

“My code?”

“Well, your code, and the program it powers.”  He said. “Would you ever consider coming to work directly for me?”

I blinked at him.

“What?”  He asked, perplexed.

“I do work for you, you own the company I work for.”

“Yes, but I have a need for a programmer outside of what I plan to do with Logistica.”

“What do you plan to do with Logistica?” I asked sharply.  Careful, Cara .  I chastised myself.  Fortunately, he looked amused.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I intend to use your code for a project I’m working on.”  I wanted to ask him if it was for his weapons division, but bit my tongue.

“I get the sense you don’t like me much.”  He went on, still following me toward the office where I had set myself up to work for the day.

“I just don’t know you.”  He was right, I didn’t like him, but hopefully this lie would help me keep my job.

“Well, my offer stands; your work speaks for itself, you’re clearly brilliant.”  He said. “Think about it.”

“Thank you.”  I said, unsure of what else to say.  He gave me a perfunctory nod, and then disappeared, presumably back to the conference room.  After lunch, I was pretty full, and the empty office was starting to feel a little too warm. I headed back to my cube so that I wouldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t have much to work on but I didn’t think this was a good time to be seen sleeping in an office somewhere, even if the new boss had just offered me a job.

“Get lonely?” Lisa asked when I sat back down.

“Hot.”  I muttered.

“The rumor mill is flying.”  Lisa said.  “Three people asked if you got let go.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t at your desk.”

“Jesus.”  I muttered, opening my laptop and trying to find something to do to look productive.  The conference room was empty.

“Cara?”  My boss, Kevin McCormick, came up to the edge of my cubicle.  “Can you come with me please?”

“Should I bring my purse?” I asked.

“Just come with me please.”  Kevin said.

I cast a look back at Lisa.  Her eyes were wide.

I followed Kevin to his office.  A man I didn’t recognize was there. At least it wasn’t Betty from Human Resources.

“Hello Ms. Kavanaugh,” the unfamiliar man said.  He was probably 50, with thinning dark hair, and broad shoulders.  He wore a suit.  “My name is Benton Reavis.  I am the inside counsel for MarTech, and Mr. Martin  would like to extend you a rather lucrative employment option.”  He slid a manilla folder across the table to me.  I opened it.

“The salary is listed on the first page.  The additional benefits are listed on the second.  We are proud to offer you full medical, dental, and vision, plus 12 weeks paid vacation,” He went on, but I wasn’t listening.

$450,000.

“There has to be a mistake.”  I said.

“No, there’s no mistake.”  Mr. Reavis said.  “Mr. Martin was very explicit about the offer, particularly the salary.”

“Uh…”  I stammered.  “I can’t- this is…”

“Mr. Martin has reviewed your entire portfolio and employment history at Logistica, and he’s quite impressed with you.  He feels you’ve been under compensated for your work, and he would like to offer you the position of head of development at MarTech.”

“Can I… think about it?”

Mr. Reavis looked surprised.  I suppose it must have been surprising that anyone would need to think about that salary offer.

“Of course, but please be aware that we are actively recruiting so-”

“You’ll have my answer by tomorrow morning.” I replied quickly.

“Very well. My number is inside if you have any questions.”  Mr. Reavis said.  “I don’t think I need to tell you that this is a very lucrative offer.”

“I’m aware.”  I said. “I just don’t think I’m qualified for it.”

“Mr. Martin does.”  Mr. Reavis said with a shrug.  “He’s very rarely wrong about these things.”  I pressed my lips together, and thanked him for his time.

I tucked the folder under my arm and headed back to my desk again.

“Should I get you a box?”  Jackie asked.

“No. I still work here.”

“What’s that?”  she pointed to a folder under my arm.

“Something about the code I worked on for the omega project.”  I said, tucking it into my bag.

“Uh-huh.”  Lisa muttered. “Keep your secrets.”

Towards the end of the day, I headed towards the elevators.  Oscar Martin was waiting for an elevator himself.

“Going down?”  He asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“To the lobby.”  I said, narrowing my eyes.

Now he laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You don’t hide your thoughts very well, and it’s becoming really clear you don’t like me.  Am I going to get a disappointing phone call from Mr. Reavis in the morning?”

“If you mean, am I going to decline your job offer, I haven’t decided yet.”

“I see.  Can I ask what it is about me you don't like?”

“I told you, I don’t know you.  I just know your reputation.” I said. 

“I see.”  He frowned a bit.  “Well, I hope you’ll allow me to show you the real me.”

The elevator opened then, and he gestured for me to go ahead. I did, but he didn’t follow.

“Weren’t you waiting for the elevator?” I asked.

“I’ll get the next one,”  he replied, and I could tell I’d hurt his feelings. That was surprising.  The elevator doors closed before I could say anything else. I sighed.

Once in the lobby, I headed home on foot.  The weather was nice, and it was only 10 blocks.  At home, I studied the job description.  It sounded like a dream, and if the offer was coming from anyone else, literally anyone else, I would have taken it. But my mother had a saying about not getting into bed with serpents.

I sighed.  I had student loans and my rent was going up at the end of the month.  I needed a new bike and I liked to eat out with my friends on occasion.  This job would open doors for me, too.  Oscar Martin knew EVERYONE in tech.  And the salary , I thought again.  It was almost half a million dollars.  Even after taxes,  I would be set.  I could move to a nicer apartment.  And what if I refused?  Then I’d have no job in a few weeks when he eventually gutted Logistica.  Or worse, he might feel slighted.  A man as powerful as he was could easily make sure I never worked in tech again.

I bit my lip, and then I dialed the number on the business card stapled inside the folder.

“Mr Reavis?  It’s Cara Kavanaugh.”  I bit my lip. “I’d like to negotiate a couple of stipulations on your employment offer.”  If he was going to try to buy me, I was going to make him pay through the nose.

“You don’t feel it’s a generous offer?”

“I do, but I’m very happy where I am, and in order for me to leave, I’d like to ask for two additional concessions on Mr. Martin’s part.”

“And what are those?”

“First, I would like assurances that my team at Logistica be kept on and offered positions in the development group should MarTech decide to do layoffs or liquidation at Logistica.  They are good workers and I would like them to be involved in any project I work on.”

“How many team members?”

“Six.”

“And your second concession?

“A hybrid work model.  I would like to work from home two days a week.”  I said.

“I’ll discuss this with Mr. Martin and have an answer for you shortly.”

My phone rang less than 20 minutes later.

“Mr. Martin has agreed to your terms.”  Mr. Reavis sounded surprised.  “Congratulations, Ms.Kavanaugh, and welcome aboard.  You’ll need to report to MarTech HQ tomorrow morning to make it official and so we can provide you with an updated offer letter to match your requests.  The address is-”

“I know where it is.”

“Please be there by 9am.”

“Thank you.”

I sat down on the couch in disbelief.  I was going to be the head of development for one of the biggest tech firms in the world, at 5 times my current salary. Maybe now my dad would finally be proud of me.  

I looked at the framed photo of Keith and I on my side table.  We had been dating at the time it was taken.  I didn’t have feelings for him anymore, not like that, but I had a pang of loneliness and sorrow when I looked at it.  We had been a great couple, but he had said “It’s like a best friend thing, not a love of my life thing.”  when he broke up with me.  He wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t felt that it was a bad thing, that we were friends.  So what if it wasn’t this big passionate thing?  It worked.  We had been happy, or so I’d thought. And then he’d met Carolina, and that had been that.

I leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. I hoped I wasn’t going to regret this. It wasn’t like me to make snap decisions, but if nothing else, I would be able to pay off my student loans in a few months, so even if it all went south, that was a silver lining.

There was something eating away at the back of my mind, though.  I was good at my job, but I wasn’t that good.  Unless he saw some potential in the Omega Project that I didn’t.  It worried me.  But this wasn’t a contract, I wasn’t locked in for any length of time, so I could leave if it didn’t work out, I rationalized.

I normally wore jeans and a t-shirt to work, but I thought I might need to look a little more put together for this… I settled on a pair of dark green trousers and a white top, and set them aside for the morning.  I set three alarms on my phone, then I had another unglamorous meal before I called my parents to tell them the news.  They put me on speaker phone so they could talk to me together.

“You have to get everything in writing.”  My dad said when I finished.

“I know Dad.”

“Let me know if you want me to have Murray look it over.”  Murray was the family lawyer.

“It’s fine Dad, I can handle it.”

“They’re paying you how much?”  My mother was in disbelief.

“Almost half a million.  I’m going to run their whole development team.”  I said, reading over the offer letter in front of me. 

“Cara, please don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure you know what you’re getting into?  The things they say about that man on TV.”

“I’ll be careful, mom.”  I promised. “I’m aware of his reputation, but this is going to open so many doors for me.”

“I worry that if it doesn’t work out he’ll-”

“Mom!”  I said.  “Don’t talk like that, positive vibes.”  I said.  I didn’t want to think about what a powerful man like that would do if it didn’t work out.  And I didn’t want to tell her that I felt like I couldn’t say no, either.

“If you’re sure,”  she said, but I could hear the doubt in her voice. “He’s very handsome.”  She conceded.

“I’m not interested.”  I said.

“Good.”  My dad said. “You do your job, keep your head down, and your nose clean.”

“He really said he wanted to buy Logistica because of your code?” My mom spoke again, but there was an ember of pride in her voice. 

“More or less.  I don’t know if he was flattering me or not, but that’s what he said.”  I said.

My parents talked about the offer for more than an hour before finally letting me go.  I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep.  I was too anxious about the morning.  It was late by the time I dozed off.