#oberyn martell x y/n

[bits-and-babs]

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

summary: With the Great Hall empty, you take an opportunity to gaze upon the Iron Throne without its ruler. You can't help but wonder what kind of monarch Oberyn would make. The King is dead, long live The King.

pairing: Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: 3k

content: 18+ MDNI. SPOILERS FOR GOT, (In order) Reference to death and vague mentions of gore, celebration of said death (Nasty character go bye bye), fingering, PIV sex. This is a @beskarbabs remaster — original post date 2021.

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Summer sunshine bathes the throne room in a golden glow yet does nothing to dispel the cold, unnerving energy that reverberates inside the stone walls. Red refractions from the stained glass sun at the window at the head of the room leak across the floor. You can’t help but consider the stone flags are often streaked with that colour. That those who have paced the stone flags, their footsteps ringing out in the Great Hall, have given the order to paint the Seven Kingdoms that same crimson shade. 

Standing before the steps, you consider the Iron Throne seated upon them, its bleak colours contrasting the warm hues in which the sunlight drowns the room. The Throne surprisingly does not live up to your expectations. You had heard so many stories, forged of a thousand surrendered swords at the conquest of Aegon The Conqueror. Now it stands before you; you can hazard a guess that there are less than two hundred. 

Its symbolism is not lost on you. It had seated some of the evilest men, who had brought terror and despair across the Seven Kingdoms and its people. When you had arrived at King’s Landing and entered the Red Keep before the wedding, you had expected to see arguably the worst of them all, King Joffrey, stare back at you.

Now it was empty.

The crimson that daubs the floor in splotches reminds you of the events just hours before. Reminds you of the lifeblood that leaked from the young king’s nose and slipped down his pale, blotched cheeks, dripping into the golden collar of his robes at his neck. Reminds you of the bloodshot colour of the whites of his blue eyes and the way they seemed to almost threaten to bulge out of his sockets. A gruesome death for a gruesome king. 

You hoped that his mother’s screams, ex-queen regent Cercei Lannister, mirrored those of the countless he had killed in these halls so brutally. Hoped it would bring those dead some peace. That it please the Old Gods and the New so that the kingdom could find peace and crown a more considerate, less destructive sovereign. 

The Great Hall was quiet. With no king to keep the Iron Throne warm, there was no requirement for anyone to be here. With this knowledge, you slowly make your way up the steps, the sound of your soles scuffing the stone floor ringing out in the vacant room. This close, you could regard the details. The ridges of the sword handles catch your eye, and the hilts of the weapons all ensigned with symbols that represented their owners long gone. While it didn’t meet your expectations, it was undoubtedly a throne for a king. 

You cast your eyes over the armrests, reaching out to touch them. They seemed so uncomforta-

“It’s underwhelming, is it not?” 

You snatch your hand back from the Throne with a gasp, like it had scalded you, eyes wide as your head whips around to look at the source of the sound. 

Oberyn smirks, standing in the centre of the large floor before you. His warm energy radiates despite the distance between you, and the golden robes he wears provide some much-needed colour to your bleak, almost desolate surroundings. You had asked him to wear those patterns for the ceremony, confessing they reminded you of the sun-kissed beaches of home. Oberyn agreed, delighted to represent Dorne this way. 

“You startled me, my prince!” You exclaim, pressing your palm to your chest in an effort to steady yourself. Your Viper had always been stealthy. 

“Apologies, My Sun, but you were so lost in thought that I fear I would have startled you regardless,” he muses, slowly crossing the floor. He looks so at ease in these four walls, sauntering as though he owns them. In honesty, this is how Oberyn always acts, but he is expected to uphold respect in the Red Keep and appear humble. He certainly didn’t seem to care much for that expectation now. 

Despite this, he regards you with a whisper of concern. 

“Are you well? What you saw back there… It wasn’t pleasant,” he treads carefully, uncertain how you had handled the events of the wedding, given he had sent you away from the gruesome scene. But, much to your surprise, the only thing that you happened to find grim were Cercei’s pitiful cries of “take him!” You swore they still rang in your ears like the screams of squealing pigs. 

“Just fine, my prince,” you promise him, dropping your hand to your side. You were fine, honestly. While you weren’t often exposed to atrocities in Dorne, you had certainly seen your fair share of them. Choking to death paled in comparison. 

Finally, he steps upwards, making his way slowly up the levels to stand before you. You’re taller than him on the top step, so he cranes his neck to look into your eyes. There is a glimmer in the blackness of his pupils - vindication. 

“And so the boy dies,” he says, voice quiet as he reaches for your waist. He slowly brushes his palm up the curve of your waist. 

“He was a Baratheon, Oberyn,” you remind him, watching how his eyes trace the neckline of your dress. A knowing smirk flickers across Oberyn’s usually measured expression. He knows something you don’t. 

“So they say,” he appears to pick his words carefully, despite your isolation. The walls of the Red Keep have ears, and unsavoury words often come back to haunt the utterer. “I fear his pedigree has come into question.”

A frown pulls at your eyebrows, searching Oberyn’s guileful countenance for an answer to your unspoken query of ‘why?’

“You saw how that wretched boy acted. Are you to tell me he isn’t a Lannister?” He questions you, holding your gaze. His usually warm brown eyes have that very same intense look he aimed at Cercei and Tywin at the dinner. Abhorrence. How were you to deny what he saw, what you saw? Joffrey was a monster, the kind of cruelty he dealt only shared with one family- lion’s jaws would easily maul a stag. Regardless of whose blood had pumped his heart, he deserved every moment he suffered. 

“Well,” you sigh softly, agreeing with your lover, “I suppose if the shoe were to fit….” 

“It does,” he speaks, dismissing any question of the legitimacy of his opinion, “This is a triumph.” You nod firmly, the two of you acquiescing unanimously to this fact. It was of no consequence who Joffrey truly was. The most imperative truth was that his death had devastated the Lannister family, precisely what Oberyn had set out to do. While he couldn’t claim responsibility, it certainly didn’t diminish his appreciation in seeing the panic amongst the blonde-headed savages - the infighting. 

Oberyn’s hand creeps from your waist and down the small of your back, taking hold of your ass and gently squeezing it. His eyes are hooded as you look down at him, iris’ hidden as he gazes down the neckline of your dress. 

“This could be your chance to become king,” you muse, smiling playfully as his eyes snap up to your face, disgust evident if only briefly. 

“Live here in King’s Landing? As sovereign? I would rather be abstinent,” he muses with his own knowing smirk, “not even your bewitching looks could implore me to rule the Seven Kingdoms.” 

You huff, acting disappointed as you cross your arms across your chest in apparent dismay. Oberyn simply arches an eyebrow, the edges of his lips lifting up in intrigue at your little display of audaciousness.

“What is it, My Sun?” He asks you, clearly amused. You purse your lips slightly, playing coy as you reach for the collar of his golden robes and brush your fingertips over the silk, moving them down slowly until you hook them into the leather belt that sits loosely on his waist. You tug harshly, catching him off-guard and forcing him to move up onto the top step beside you. 

“Oberyn, play the game with me. We’re celebrating, remember?” You whisper, looking deep into his eyes. They always reminded you of the bark of the blood orange trees that grew in the orchards in Dorne, the wood a deep brown colour that lightened with flecks of gold in the light. His tan reminds you of the sunshine, his sigil, the very name he affectionately calls you. Everything about him reminds you of home. 

He regards you for a moment, knowing exactly what you want. You want him to imagine what it would be like if he was king- just for a moment. 

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, allowing you this happiness. You grin, launching into questions as you smooth your hands down his chest again, ignoring how his voice dips an octave.  

“What would you wear, My King?” You ask, smiling wide as he places his large hands on your hips. His palms practically eclipse you, which always makes you feel safe, even in King’s Landing. 

“I would wear golden silk,” he muses, turning you ever so slowly until he stands between you and the Iron Throne, his back to it. You watch him for a moment, the deviant look in his eyes, “I would wear velvet, and I would ensure you were to dress just as remarkably.” 

You allow yourself to imagine that for the two of you, always matching to ensure everyone knew you both belonged to each other. 

“And what would you eat?” You ask him, finding yourself lost for words just seconds later when Oberyn takes the initiative to sit himself upon the Iron Throne. He sits back, legs spread wide, looking up at you. Your blood runs cold, and you glance around quickly for a King’s Guard. There’s still no one around. 

“What would I eat?” He repeats your question, smirking as he retakes hold of your hips, “I would order that all the best foods of Dorne be delivered periodically, blood orange, pomegranates.” His palms work their way behind you as he talks, resting on your ass and pulling you forward. 

“Oberyn-” 

“We’d gorge upon the finest venison, the boar from the woods and wash it down with our wine,” he continues, pulling you forward until you were forced to straddle his lap, bracing yourself with your hand against the ‘head’ of the Throne, “We would want for nothing, the finest food always available to me upon my request….” 

Oberyn’s hands pull your hips down gently, rolling your hips against his. He’s stiff in his tight brown pants, his body disclosing his need for you. 

“And I would eat you,” he ponders cheekily, a smirk crossing his lips as he sees your surprise at his readiness to take you here, in the Grand Hall, upon the Iron Throne. You have barely a moment to snap out of your shocked stupor before he’s working at shucking your skirts upwards, fingertips grazing the inside of your thighs. 

Heat sparks up your spine at the realisation- he actually wants to do this. He wants to fuck you now, here. You spring into action almost immediately, working hastily on the belt that encompasses his waist. 

“As for activities, we would have magnificent feasts, drinking the night away. We’d fuck-” he punctuates with a spank to the bare skin of your inner thigh, causing you to gasp, “into the early mornings, with as many whores as you desire….” He trails off with a smirk as you slip the belt open and pull open his eggshell-coloured long coat, adorned with golden patterning to expose his bare chest under his low-cut tunic. 

As you work on the ties of his pants, fingers trembling with anticipation, he slips a finger into your exposed core, causing your back to arch into his touch. Your jaw slackens, the sensation electrified when accompanied by the possibility that anyone could just walk in. The two of you could be put to death for this, as it certainly constituted a charge of treason. 

“So wet for me, My Sun. Does the prospect of fucking me here excite you?” He teases unrelentingly, gazing at the needy expression on your face. You can feel him search for that spot inside you, the one he knows will have you positively dripping with anticipation. 

“I-I’m the one asking questions,” you say, wanting to sound assured and confident, but you find yourself rushing the words so as to not get cut off by a moan. It made you sound ingenuine. Your lover just smirks knowingly, slowly working in a second finger. You’re already so aroused that it doesn’t take much effort. 

“You are?” He murmurs, watching the way you keen for his touch, feeling your hips rock forward in search of contact with that sweet spot inside of you. If Oberyn put his mind to it, he could make you cum in seconds, but he liked to draw it out. Wants to torture you with pleasure. “Ask away.”

You let out a soft moan as his knuckle brushed your clit, fingers buried deep inside your cunt. Drunk on the building pleasure between your thighs, you allow yourself to consider for a moment what kind of king Oberyn would be. With a broken train of thought, as he focused on building your arousal, you find a half-answer of ‘compassionate and just’. 

“How would you wish for your crown to look?” You finally find the strength to ask of him. You work him out of his pants slowly, easing his cock out and brushing the swollen head with your thumb. Even through your lustful haze, you could imagine all kinds of styles he would wear, but always gold. 

Oberyn, though still moving his fingers, seemed to pause to contemplate this. His eyes searched your face, almost as though looking for inspiration. The silence of the Great Hall is cut only by your laboured breathing, the soft sounds of the fabric of your clothes rustling, and the wet sound of Oberyn pleasuring you.

The quiet is almost too much, and you find yourself growing anxious. Only as you turn your head over your shoulder to check for people does the Prince of Dorne take your chin in his free hand, forcing you to look back at him. He always did ask for your undivided attention.

“I ask they do not place a crown on my head,” he finally drawls in that pretty accent you had come to adore, removing his fingers from you and taking hold of the curve of your ass to lift your hips upwards and align you with him, “Just you on my cock.”

Before the words can settle into your bones, he’s sinking himself into you, using his hold on you to bring you down slowly. You both exhale shakily, the sound teetering on a moan and a whine as he stretches you out around him. He grits his teeth together, the muscles holding his jaw pulled tight as your warmth and tightness overwhelm him. 

You begin to circle your hips, grinding them against him as he leans back into the Throne, gliding his hands from your knees and up your thighs, smirking at the obscenely wet sounds that come from where he fills you. 

“Lift your skirts,” he murmurs, gazing up at you with hooded eyes. They are practically black, the pupils having swallowed the brown of his iris’ with need, “I want to watch myself fuck you, My Sun.” You whine softly, not in complaint but in contentment, as you bunch your skirts around your waist higher, exposing the sight to your lover. 

Oberyn doesn’t allow you to put in all the work, grinding his hips upwards to meet yours each time you sink onto his cock. Your head lolls back, enjoying the trail of tingling skin he leaves as his hands brush over the skin of your waist under your dress. You always claimed that Oberyn had sunshine in his fingertips, his touch leaving a trail of warmth as it brushed your skin. You can feel it now, the gentle heat that swirls under your skin as he drags his hand over your abdomen. 

And Oberyn just gazes up at you, dragging his eyes over every inch of you. He loves how your eyes roll back into your skull as he rolls his hips and hits something deep inside you that makes your toes curl. He feels the way the muscles in your thighs twitch at the sensation, and that’s how he knows he’s found it. 

“Right there?” He murmurs, voice so low and smoky that it creeps down your spine and settles deep inside your cunt. You can’t manage words, your voice stolen by the throbbing in your clit, so you just nod in agreement. 

Typically, he would begin to thrust harder, chase his high. But half of the reason this feels so good is the anticipation of being caught. He wants to drag it out as long as possible, so he uses the grip on your hips to slowly rock them back and forth on his cock, ensuring that each time he pushes into that spot inside you. 

You’re clamping down on him, wailing quietly as he teases you. Oberyn was brutal, never settling for anything other than blinding pleasure. But this is almost acute, so strong that you could cry- you do, tears welling in your eyes as he circles your hips slowly, his tongue brushing his lower lip as he watches his dick slide in and out of you. 

The sopping sounds of Oberyn’s cock continually slipping in and out of you ricochets off the ancient stone walls of the Red Keep. Your whines of bliss appear to spur him on, lighting something ablaze in him that had sparked with King Joffrey’s last breath. He’s almost delirious when he speaks but utterly sincere.

“I want you to conceive a child - here on the Iron Throne. I want you full of my seed, knowing he was born for the Throne itself.”

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[madwomansapologist]

Can you do a oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand ?

Can it be that you are a powerfull and sstunning woman leader and warrior and you reject them because you think they dont know struggle feels like , and you meet dany and fall in love with her eventually becoming queen and ...welll queen?

burn it | Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand, Daenerys Targeryen

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand and Daenerys Targaryen | AO3

synopsis: As the commander of the Martell's army, you dream about the day where your people would finally destroy the Lannisters. You share your life with Oberyn Martell, one of the greatest warriors that ever existed, and Ellaria Sand, a woman whose mind is as sharp as yours. It was perfect. Until you meet the dragon.

warnings: female!reader. Elia Martell needs to be avenged. Gregor Clegane needs to die. Lannisters death implied. Eddard Stark my beloved, my hero, the best man Westeros could ever had, my one and only savor. Imagine if the plot line with the Lannisters in Dorne and Daenerys conquering Westeros hapenned at the same time.

note: thanks for your request! So... I could never write those characters as weak cuz I love them and their arcs and actually I think that Oberyn is one of the best characters ever written, so I didn't follow your request in the exact way you wanted. Either way, I hope you like it!

When you're born in a war, you need to understand that no one but your side is human. If you don't, you curse yourself. Because thats gonna be a moment when you'll treat your enemy as a human and that will be the cause of your fall. You never committed that mistake.

Resentful is a great word to describe you. To describe how your mind works. You learned to divided the world in two: the ones by your side and the ones that need to be destroyed. Its only you and them against the world. You, Oberyn and Ellaria.

Few can say they found one great love in Westeros. And you have found two.

Oberyn offers you the tenderness that none could imagine coming from a warrior. You don't fear him seeing your wounds and scars: Oberyn's skin match yours. His pain feels like home. His gentle touch, sharp words, dirtiest smiles: Oberyn was made to defy you.

Ellaria helds you with a security that none could imagine coming from a bastard. You don't fear her hearing your worst thoughts and filthy truths: Ellaria's mind match yours. Her pain feels like home. Her rough hands, straight demands, dirtiest words: Ellaria was made to mirror you.

"The Lannister's ships were seen crossing the Narrow Sea."

Lying your head on Ellaria's chest, feeling the tip of her fingers slowly carresing the naked skin of your back, you almost didn't hear his words. You opened your eyes, glaring at Oberyn. Sitting on the other side of the bed, his dark eyes stared at the celling.

"And what we gonna do?" Ellaria asked. "They are too powerful." Ellaria would keep talking, but she felt your smile against her skin. "Whats on your mind, my lady?"

"The Lannisters are powerful." You supported yourself on your elbowns. Your humid hair, humid because of what them made to you, fell in front of your eyes. Ellaria tucked your hair behind your ear. "But thats not their land."

"So you want to judge them?" Ellaria licked her lips. "I think we could do that."

"No." You reply. Oberyn's stare burned your cheeks. "Lannisters are the ones that love judgments. I don't have energy to waste with their intricate lies. I want a war."

Oberyn disagreed. "We need a judgment. We need to hear to truth. We need to punish them with more than just a sword."

"We would win a war, but a judgment? Have you already forgotten what they did to Eddard Stark? I've never meet a more honorable man, and he was executed for treason. We can win a war."

"Eddard was executed because he was so honorable." Oberyn approached you, moving on the mattress. "We can do better than him. If we play it right we can end their bloodline."

"It don't feel right." You look deeply inside his dark eyes. "My lord, trust me. I feel it in my bones."

"I trust you. With my life. So trust me. We can make them pay." Oberyn slid his callused hands across the row of your column. "Unbowed."

Ellaria kissed his free hand. She made her choice, and it was to trust Oberyn. Looking at you, she let the words slide across her lips. "Unbent."

It didn't seem right. It wasn't the right choice. But nothing would stop Oberyn. Elia was your queen, but she was his sister. 'Was'? Can death separate brothers? Elia is his sister. Not even death can transform a 'is' into a 'was'.

"Unbroken." You ended, crawling to them.

"Repeat that."

You must have heard it wrong. You totally heard it wrong. That is no chance you didn't heard it wrong.

"Dragons." One of your sworn squires told you. "Three dragons."

Followed by your personal guard, armed with your usual weapons of choice, your horse was a extension of your body. You put on your armor to no look weak. You wouldn't look threatening, not with three dragons around you, but you couldn't look weak. The path circling the Sea of Dorne wasn't a concern of yours, all you could think about was Daenerys Targaryen.

She made her way from Dragonstone to Dorne. Why? No ship, no men, no army, but three dragons. If she wanted a war, she would win. But she asked for you. Daenerys Targaryen asked for you. You can't look weak, but that was no reason to go armed for a war.

Approaching the bay, you already could see them. Those dragons made you think about death. About how easy it could be for you to die because they felt hunger. Because they were bored. Because they didn't like your scent. If you didn't need to look strong, if you were just a soldier and not a general, you would be crying of fear.

Carressing what seem to be a squama, all you could see was the long blonde braided hair. Her clothes somehow reminded you of her dragons. You heard that she wasn't a warrior, but now you see what she is: a conqueror. The valyrian blood run in her veins.

"You asked for me." The crash of the waves, whatever the noises dragons made were called, made you scream to be heard. You leave your horse and squires behind, an act of trust.

When she turned it was difficult to not gasp. Daenerys Targaryen. Her beauty wasn't exaggerated. Or her guts. A Targaryen in Dorne? She may have dragons, and it did took you by surprise, but the history shows what your people did to them before.

The only way to defeat Dorne is by turning it into ash. Daenerys don't look like someone that would waist her time on that task.

Daenerys released her dragons. He flew away. She didn't even stumbled with the force of his jump. "Every Small Counsil needs a Lord Commander."

It wasn't a order. A request. A beg. It was just a simple phrase. And with something so simple she said more than anyone could. The Small Counsil server the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I am not a lord."

She look and talk like a conqueror. "And I am not a king."

Your smirk made Daenerys felt something different. Something warm.

"Thats a thing a lot of people before you tried to change without success", you started. "I fight for Dorne."

"But who said you would have to choose between Dorne or my offer?", said Daenerys. Her violet eyes seen to glow. "You're at one 'yes' of ending the Lannisters. At one 'yes' of avenging Elia."

You tried not to look tempted. "The Lannisters are under my watch. You offer me nothing I don't already own."

Daenerys took a deep breath.

"Don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself. People here want justice, a confession, a proper judgment. You don't need that. Not only you don't need, but you don't believe it would work. What you want, what you know would be the best, is to feel the warm blood on your hands. Thats something I can give you."

You looked back. Your little army was far enough to not hear a word of what is being said. And her dragons are loud enough to make you certain of that.

"Why are you offering this to me?"

"Because you hate those who I hate. They killed your queen. They killed my brother, my father, the kids your queen foal."

It wasn't enough. "Lannisters collect enemies. If you want me to be honest, than do the same. Why me?"

"I need a Commander that I can trust. I need a Commander that won't forgot their words and kill me when winds change. I need a Commander that will kill whoever needs to be killed and defend whoever needs to be defended." Daenerys smile at you. "You are loyal to a dead queen. If I avenge her, would you be loyal to a living one?"

Daenerys took off her leather gloves. She reached out for you, showing her pale hand. "All you need to do is to make a feast. Have your fun, but make sure to lock all Lannisters in the room. I will make the rest."

It was difficult. The most difficult choice you ever made. But you couldn't lie to yourself.

You didn't took her hand into your. You didn't opened your mouth ou decorated your face with a smile. You bowed.

"My Khaleesi."

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[puchosdementa]

i luv him guys this is real

[duh-angel]

Missing you

Jack Daniels ~ Agent Whiskey x afab!reader (wc: 2.6k)

“Wish you were here right now, all of the things I'd do. I wanna get freaky on camera” — Cybersex by Doja cat

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18

Warning: Sexual tension | online sex | light voyeurism | sexual toy usage | porn with no plot | Not proofread | no use of y/n. | light praise kink | quicky

backstory: You found yourself in a particularly tiresome mission in the city of Rome. Although the work kept you occupied, it didn’t stop Jack from constantly calling you and expressing how much he misses you. One day, he sends you a special gift.

You found yourself rocking back and forth in your comfortable hotel room chair, captivated by the glorious sight of Rome through the window. The vibrant cityscape, a fusion of modernity and historic charm, held your attention so thoroughly that you could spend hours just gazing at it, if not for the fact that you were currently on a video call with your “boyfriend”, Jack.

The conversation went smoothly, the two of you chatting about your trip and how much you missed each other's company. In the midst of the conversation, Jack's voice suddenly shifted, hinting at a surprise.

"Hey sweetheart, I've got something special for you. Take a peek inside your suitcase, would ya?" 

You glanced at the leather suitcase bearing the renowned S logo, the company monogram gleaming in the center. With a hint of anticipation, you carefully opened it, revealing a box wrapped in blue. You looked back at the camera and gave him a sly smirk, silently inquiring about the mysterious gift. Your mind buzzed with curiosity, wondering what treasures lay hidden inside the deceptively small box.

"Go on, open it," Jack's voice cut through the silence, his tone dripping with mischief and anticipation.

Your heart skips a beat as you gaze at the vibrator nestled in the blue box, a blush spreading across your cheeks. The sleek, purple device seems to wink at you, promising an unforgettable evening. You could feel Jack’s eyes light up with mischief as he saw your reaction on the small screen. A roguish grin spreading across his face.

"Well beautiful, looks like Santa came early this year," he draws teasingly. "I thought you could use some company on your little trip. Why don't you give it a test run for me, hmm?" His voice drops, taking on a husky, seductive tone. "I wanna see you play with it, darlin'. Put on a little show for me."

He leans back in his chair, showcasing his bulge to your hungry eyes. One of his hands casually rested on it, making him groan softly. His brown eyes practically undressing you through the screen, making your body shiver.  "Don't be shy now.” He whispers. "Turn it on, sweetheart. Nice and slow. Let's see how loud I can make you moan from all the way over here."

The heat of your blush intensified. Hell, you felt like you were about to pass out from how overwhelmed yet turned on you were. Slowly, tentatively, you reach for the vibrator, your heart racing as you switch it on. The soft hum fills the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes widened as you felt how your hand quivered from the power of the toy, and you can't help but imagine the sensation it might bring. 

As the vibrations grow stronger in your trembling hand, Whiskey's grin widens. He watched your every move, drinking in the sight of you under his spell. "That's it, baby. Mmmm, you look so fuckin' hot right now," he groans. 

"I wish I was there with you, watching those pretty pink lips of yours wrap around that toy... But I guess this will have to do for now." He palms himself through his jeans, clearly getting off on the show. His free hand reaches for a cigar, lighting it up as he settles in to enjoy the view.

"Go on now, sweetheart. Don't keep me waiting," Whiskey urges, his voice needy with that typical hint of demand. "Bury that toy nice and deep, just like you like it. Fuck, I can almost hear those sweet little moans..."

He takes a long drag of his cigar, blowing out a plume of smoke. His eyes never leave the screen, riveted by your every move. 

You disregarded your pants and underwear in a clumsy manner, feeling almost idiotic to do this through a video call, but in a twisted way, it was filthy, raw. Jack licked his lips, his gaze smoldering with lust as your anticipating legs opened just for him. He's clearly enjoying putting you in this compromising position, eager to push your buttons and drive you wild with pleasure, even from a distance.

With a deep breath, you press the vibrator against your sex, biting your lip as the buzzing warmth sends tingles through your body. inevitably, your back arches and you let out a mix of a gasp and a moan. Your eyes quickly go to the man on the screen, enamored by the sight. 

"You're so goddamn sexy when you let yourself go like this. I love seeing you lose control for me," he praises, voice thick with lust as he chortles. "Now why don't you slip that toy in and out of that tight little pussy of yours and ride it for me? I want you to cum over and over until you can't even remember your own name." 

Whiskey pushes his chair back, legs spreading wider. The heat in his gaze burns through the screen as he waits for you to follow his filthy commands. Slowly, you grind against the toy, looking right into his brown eyes, putting on a show just for him. 

“Ah goddammit.” A loud groan of frustration escaped Jack, followed by the sound of his laptop slamming down as he abruptly ended the call. Your heart skipped a beat, pounding fiercely against your chest as you stared at the suddenly blank screen of your laptop. The sudden disconnection left you feeling both puzzled and worried, a flood of anxiety washing over you.

 The sinking feeling in your stomach grows as you process the implications of Jack's abrupt departure from the call, but before you can dwell on it further, a bright flash of light emanates from your smart glasses, momentarily blinding you. The urgent meeting notification blinks insistently, demanding your attention. In a panic, you instinctively nod, accepting the video conference without a second thought.

As the holographic display materializes before you, you realize the gravity of your oversight. In the heat of the moment, you had completely forgotten about your state of undress, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs. A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you pray that the hologram's limitations will spare you from any potential mortification.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, acutely aware of the toy's presence and the lingering warmth it has left on your sensitive skin. Your mind races with the possibilities of what might happen if anyone were to discover your compromising situation.

Your heart skips a beat as your gaze lands upon Jack, his flustered expression instantly setting your nerves on edge. You can practically feel his eyes boring into you from behind the holographic display, his presence both comforting and unnerving.

With a quick nod, you acknowledge his presence, trying to keep your voice steady and professional as you address him. "Agent Whiskey."

“Agent Wine.” His response, laced with a knowing smirk, makes your cheeks flush with equal parts embarrassment and excitement. 

The way he says your codename, drawing out the 'Wine' with a playful inflection, sends a jolt of electricity through your body. It's as if he's relishing in his knowledge of your compromising position. You squirm in your seat, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs, a constant reminder of your shared secret. 

The meeting drones on, a seemingly endless parade of statistics and strategic plans. Your mind struggles to keep pace, constantly drawn back to the throbbing between your thighs. You try to focus on the cold, clinical data presented, but your body betrays you, each movement a torturous reminder of the toy hidden beneath your body. 

Your eyes dart around the holographic conference table, avoiding the temptation to glance down at the source of your distraction. You know that looking at Jack will only make matters worse, his mere presence a constant tease. But in a moment of weakness, your gaze drifts to his face, colliding with those piercing brown eyes and that infuriating smirk.

A chill runs down your spine as you raise an eyebrow questioningly. Before you can utter a word, Jack's finger presses to his lips, a silent command to keep quiet. Your heart races as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small remote control. Without a word, he presses a button, and the vibrator springs to life, humming softly against your most sensitive flesh.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as the sudden stimulation sends shockwaves through your body. Your hands fly to the edges of your desk, gripping the wood so tightly your knuckles turn white. The vibrations pulse through you, each wave building upon the last, threatening to consume you entirely.

You bite your lip, trying desperately to stifle any further sounds. Your thighs tremble, the muscles quivering as you struggle to maintain control. The holograms flicker and dance around you, but all you can focus on is the relentless throb between your legs, the heat building steadily in your core.

“Is everything okay?” Ginger's eyes sparkled with concern and confusion as she addressed you.

You mustered a composed response, trying to maintain a steady tone. "Yes, I thought I saw a bug. Apologies."

At that moment, Tequila spoke up with a bemused smirk. "A bug? You're afraid of a tiny insect, Wine?" Whiskey chuckles darkly at Tequila's comment, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans back in his chair, a smug grin playing on his lips, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“Yes, a bug.” Your eyes narrowed, teeth gritting together as you shot a warning glare at Tequila. He quickly got the message, backing down with a knowing smile. 

You let out a silent sigh of relief, turning your attention back to the meeting. But even as you try to focus on the discussion at hand, your mind keeps drifting to Jack, to the power he holds over you in this moment. 

You are silently pleading for mercy. But his gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated lust. He revels in this, in the knowledge that he holds your pleasure, your very sanity, in the palm of his hand at this moment.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly, each second an eternity of sweet torture. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste mingling with the sweat beading on your brow. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort to maintain your composure.

Finally, the meeting draws to a close. The holographic displays flicker and vanish, leaving you alone with Jack and the lingering echo of the vibrator's hum. You slump back in your chair, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your denied release.

Jack's gaze locked onto you from across the room, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Sweetheart, you did great," he remarked before adding, "but I'm afraid we have some unfinished business to take care of." 

Tossing the glasses into the bed, you called Jack again, slumping back in your chair, your body trembling with the effort of maintaining your composure.

As the video call connects, Whiskey's smirking face fills your screen, his eyes glinting with wicked delight. He leans back in his chair. "Well, hello there, darlin'," he drawls, his voice low and husky. "Looks like you're all alone now. No more prying eyes to worry about."

His gaze takes over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you sprawled out in your chair, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the screen.

"I couldn't stop thinking about that little show you put on for me earlier," Whiskey continues, a predatory edge creeping into his tone. "The way you squirmed and bit your lip, trying so hard to hold back those sweet moans... Fuck, it was hot."

His free hand disappears from view for a moment, and when it reappears, it's wrapped around the thick length of his cock, stroking slowly. “You did so well" he purrs, his voice a low, seductive growl as looks at you. The way his rough voice turned into soft whimpers with each stroke sent a fresh wave of heat courses through your body. 

His other hand actively looks for the controller, turning the vibrator a level more. It’s more loud, faster and intense, hitting all the right spots in your heat. “Fuck…” You cry out, thrusting your hips into the air as you look at him. 

Your eyes drift downward, taking in the sight of his hand moving rhythmically, pumping his hardened length with slow, deliberate strokes. The knowledge that he is pleasuring himself while watching you only adds to the intensity of the moment, a heady mix of exhibitionism and voyeurism.

"Fuck yeah, just like that," he groans, palming himself harder. "You're so goddamn sexy, baby. The way you're movin' on that... Mmmm, makes me wanna bend you over and fuck you 'til you can't walk straight."

His gaze is intense, burning into you through the screen. "You like puttin' on a show for me, don't you darlin'?" Jack coos, voice low and rough with arousal. "Such a naughty thing, lettin' me watch you play with yourself. I bet you're drippin' wet right now, aren't you?"

Jack’s hand speeds up on his cock, stroking himself faster, getting off on the erotic display you're giving him. The other hand holds the controller, ready to push you over the edge at any moment.

“Just for you.” You utter, struggling to even talk as the level is torturing your pussy, barely able to keep your eyes on him. 

“Damn right it's just for me," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "You're all mine, Agent. Every inch of that sexy body belongs to me." With that he turns one, then another cruel level more. 

Your eyes roll back as the vibrations intensify, the toy mercilessly pounding into your sensitive flesh. Your body convulses, spasming uncontrollably. “Jack!” You cry out, begging him for something you’re not sure about. All you know is that the vibration is more than you can handle. 

"Sorry sweetheart. I just wanna see you lose control. Fuck that pussy 'til you're screamin' my name. Show me how much you miss my cock."

His breathing grows ragged, chest heaving with each labored breath. He's completely entranced by the sight of you, lost in the fantasy of being there with you, taking you apart with his own hands and tongue. "Goddamn, you're so fuckin' hot," he praises breathlessly. 

His words ignite something deep within you, a primal need that demands to be satiated. You arch your back, pressing the vibrator harder against your aching core as you ride the waves of sensation crashing over you. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back the impending release. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until you can stand it no more.

With a cry of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, you let go, your body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you. The vibrator's hum seems to intensify, prolonging your climax, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. Through the haze of your own release, you see Jack's hand move faster, his breath coming in harsh pants as he chases his own end, whimpering your name like a prayer as he cums all over those strong, manly hands of his.

As the afterglow fades, his eyes meet yours, a wistful, almost vulnerable expression on his face. "God... Can we do this till you come back?" he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you lean, a mock pout forming on your face. "Someone's needy," you tease, enjoying the way his brow furrows at your words, making him look like a cute puppy.

Jack rolls his eyes, a familiar gesture that never fails to amuse you. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind his words, only a fond exasperation. “I just miss you.” 

[bumblesimagines]

Headcanon:

Being Oberyn's lover

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

~~~

Oberyn is an infamous man for several reasons, some of which include the rumors of his usage of poison during duels and an interest in the dark arts. Posion-laced swords and dark arts aside, one of the most notable things about him is his multitude of lovers. From men to women, nobles to brothel workers, Oberyn is no stranger to sex and hardly a stranger to love. He may have a wandering eye but his heart remains fiercely loyal to his lovers/paramours and his many daughters whom he deeply cares for despite their bastard status. 

As such, it is no surprise that you catch Oberyn's eye during one of his trips with Ellaria throughout Westeros. He needs little convincing to speak to you and is as smooth as butter when he begins flirting. While he enjoys giggling maidens or blushing lords, his interest spikes when you come off as indifferent to his charm. He is a Dornishman and Dornishmen love a challenge, especially when he notices your eyes linger on him for far too long to be uninterested. 

Of course, Oberyn mentions his interest to Ellaria, for she is essentially his wife and the mother of many of his daughters. Ellaria provides her approval and encouragement, even going as far as befriending you and acting as some sort of wingwoman to her lover. You quickly put together her involvement in Oberyn's plan to woo you and while it's unusual at first, you learn that it's not so odd in Dorne. A cat-and-mouse game ensues and Oberyn's interest becomes all the more clear to others.

Oberyn's main love languages are gift-giving and physical touch, although he'll provide every other love language known to mankind. Since Oberyn's interest extends past sex, you'll be properly courted by him and this will include countless lavish gifts. He is a prince, after all, and his wealth knows little bounds. You can expect a variety of gifts, from clothes to brooches and anything you can think of. You mention wanting something? Expect that very thing sitting in your room the next day. Oberyn is also very handsy with his lovers and always has a hand on them or has them sit on his lap. He's still a prince and gentleman, however, so he will keep his hands to himself until you are comfortable enough with him. Once he has that green light, expect to find his hand resting on your waist or back, and don't be surprised if it wanders.

 You nod along to the lord as he speaks, absentmindedly listening to the conversation about lands and such. None of it really interests you as you're the thirdborn in your family and the likelihood of you ever needing to know much of what he spoke of was slim. The conversation shifts onto his children as he recalls a funny story and then begins the prodding.

"I hear you remain unwed." The Lord hums thoughtfully and strokes his beard. "We've been searching for someone to wed my second eldest-"

"My Lord," A familiar voice greets from behind and sends a welcomed jolt up your spine, unable to contain the smile before it breaks out on your face. Oberyn steps up beside you and his lips curl up in a genuine smile for you, the palm of his hand pressing soothingly against your lower back and slowly creeping to wrap his fingers around your hip. He holds eye contact, even as he speaks to the man. "I'm afraid I'll have to steal this one from you, My Lord." He simply states and without waiting for a response, he sweeps you away from the sputtering lord. 

"Oberyn," You laugh softly and send an apologetic look over your shoulder right before Oberyn leads you fully out of the room. He spins around on his heel and cups your face, his warm skin pressing against yours. His eyes lack their typical sultriness or grumpiness, instead replaced with a fond look that makes you want to look away. He leans forward and kisses you gently. 

"How are you, dearest?" 

Once Oberyn manages to convince the head of your family, you find your belongings packed and ready for Dorne. Oberyn and Ellaria show great excitement and contentment over this, talking about all the things they wish to show you and the people they want you to meet. Dorne is a hot, desert and mountain-covered region but Sunspear is a gorgeous castle surrounded by the ocean and the shadow city. Oberyn's family is welcoming, if not a bit exhausted with him, but they're still warm and kind to you. Though Doran is semi-distant at first, his children are much friendlier and happy to get to know you. After Doran and his children, Ellaria introduces you to the Sand Snakes, Oberyn's countless daughters. Their reactions vary and some are more welcoming than others but all are accepting of their father's decision to take you as a serious lover.

While eager to show you his home, Oberyn first gets you acquainted with your new bedroom and the bed. Oberyn is a versatile lover, although he enjoys being the one in control most times depending on his mood. You can expect to spend a lot of time in bed with Oberyn, and sometimes even with Ellaria. Oberyn is a giver and he'll often have you pinned beneath him until you can take no longer before peppering you with kisses and cooing gentle words in your ear. 

Oberyn is a thoughtful and dutiful lover who ensures you'll never feel left behind or cast away. However, you must be fine with sharing him with others, and even if you find this difficult at times, Ellaria will provide soothing words of advice and comfort. Oberyn will ensure to push away any worries or insecurities and he'll even encourage you to seek out your own lovers, just as long as you always return to him. 

If you are a lady, you can surely expect to fall with child soon after arriving in Dorne. Ellaria, who basically becomes your sister, tends to you and helps you through the process of pregnancy and labor. Oberyn will grow protective during this time and you'll often find him resting his hand over the bump or speaking to it. He'll ensure you are being treated with the utmost care and by the very best. Whether son or daughter, Oberyn will love his child, and the Sand Snakes will be incredibly protective of their newest sibling. 

Oberyn is one of those lovers that still courts you well into the relationship. He continues providing gifts and trying to make you swoon all over just because he feels like it. Getting with Oberyn means having a thoughtful, open-minded lover, a kind sister, and countless deadly stepdaughters willing to fight in your honor if they have to. 

[novaursa]

Hi! 🫂

English is not my first language!

Stark!reader x Oberyn Martell

Where reader is engaged to Oberyn. She was at the red wedding and reader is hurt with Greywind and her direwolf "Winter". They go to Dorne for help. You can choose how the ending goes! Hope you understand what i writing and sorry again for my bad english! 🫣

Shadow of the Red Wedding

- Summary: You attened the Red Wedding and survive. You wake up with Oberyn watching over you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Oberyn Martell

- Note: Let's pretend the reader was smuggled by surviving Stark loyalists somewhere safe while unconscious. Don't think too much about the logic of it. 🙃

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air inside the Twins is thick, almost suffocating. Your head is spinning from the wine, the noise, and the underlying tension you can’t quite place. The hall is alive with music and laughter, but there's something sour in the atmosphere, like rotten meat left too long in the sun. Winter is restless beside you, her silver eyes darting around, ears flicking with every cheer and clang of cups. You scratch behind her ears absently, trying to calm your own nerves more than hers.

You’re wedged between Roslin Frey’s nervous chatter and your brother Robb’s booming laughter, pretending to be more at ease than you feel. Your thoughts keep drifting south, to the warmth of the sun and a pair of dark, mischievous eyes that always seem to hold more secrets than you can pry loose. Oberyn. Your betrothed. The Red Viper of Dorne. He would laugh at this, laugh at your unease, call you too much the wolf in the lion’s den.

Winter growls low in her throat, her hackles rising. You glance down, heart skipping a beat. She’s never like this unless—

The music shifts, a sudden lurch from joyous melodies to something sharp, discordant. There’s a flash of movement, too quick, too chaotic, and then it’s all blood and screams and steel flashing in the torchlight.

“Winter!” you shout, but she’s already leaping, jaws snapping, fur bristling like a storm. She barrels into a group of Frey men, teeth sinking into the arm of one who’s rushing Robb. You’re on your feet, blade in hand—when did you draw it?—and then you’re fighting, the clash of swords ringing in your ears, too loud, too close.

It’s a blur of chaos. You feel the sting of a blade slicing across your arm, the burn of another grazing your side. You slash and parry, trying to reach Robb, to reach your mother—your family, your home, everything falling apart around you. Winter’s a whirlwind of white and red, tearing through the Freys, snarling and snapping, but there are too many.

You see it then, the crossbow, the bolt flying, and Robb’s eyes widening as it strikes. A scream rips from your throat, raw and desperate, but you don’t remember making the sound. Everything slows, like moving through water, and then you’re on the ground, pain flaring bright and hot in your side, your leg—where did that knife come from?

Winter is over you, growling, her fur wet and matted with blood—yours, hers, it’s hard to tell. You reach for her, fingers tangling in her fur, and then there’s Grey Wind, a silver blur crashing through the hall, jaws snapping around the throat of a man who’s raising his sword. For a moment, there’s hope, the wolves together, tearing through the carnage.

But there’s too much blood. You’re slipping, darkness creeping at the edges of your vision. You feel Winter’s weight on your chest, her muzzle pressed to your face, a low whine vibrating through her. You want to tell her it’s okay, that you’re okay, but you can’t seem to find the words. The world tilts, and then it’s all gone.

When you wake, everything hurts. Every breath is a knife in your ribs, every twitch of your fingers a fresh wave of agony. You’re not dead, but you almost wish you were. The ceiling above you is unfamiliar, high and vaulted, and the air smells different, warmer, filled with spices and salt.

South. You’re somewhere south.

It’s a slow, agonizing process to turn your head, and even slower to make sense of what you’re seeing. There’s a shadow in the doorway, tall and broad, and then he’s there, beside you, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch you.

“Oberyn,” you manage, your voice a rasping whisper.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you, and it’s almost unbearable, the intensity in his eyes, the raw emotion you’ve never seen him wear so openly. Then he curses, long and colorful, something about wolves and stubborn northern women, and it’s almost funny, almost.

“You’re not dead,” he says finally, and it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard because of course you’re not. Not yet, anyway.

“I thought…they said…all dead.” He’s shaking his head, and you realize, dimly, that he’s shaking too, trembling like the ground before a storm. “And then you show up here, bleeding all over my nice sheets.”

You almost laugh, but it turns into a cough, and he’s there, hands on your shoulders, his face close to yours, and he’s angry—no, furious—but not at you. Never at you. You wonder if he’s going to kiss you or strangle you, and then he’s doing neither, just holding you, whispering something in that smooth, honeyed voice, too soft for you to make out.

“Winter?” you ask, because it’s the only thing that matters right now. Where is she? Did she—

“Alive,” he says, and his voice is different now, something raw and aching in it. “Your wolf is alive. Nearly tore a hole in our healer’s arm when they tried to get close to you.”

You close your eyes, relief washing over you. Winter’s alive. She’s alive. And so are you. You want to say something, to tell him how much you missed him, how sorry you are for nearly dying, but the words are tangled up inside you, too big, too heavy.

“You’re a bloody fool,” he says instead, his hand brushing over your cheek, gentle now, so gentle it almost breaks you. “What were you thinking, going to that damned wedding? Your brother, your mother—” He cuts off, his jaw tight, and you see it there, the grief, the pain he’s trying so hard to hide.

You want to tell him it’s not his fault, that you had to go, that you had no choice. But you’re tired, so tired, and his hand is warm, and he’s here, and maybe that’s enough for now. You let your eyes close, feeling the press of his lips against your forehead, the last thing you hear before you slip back into darkness is his voice, low and fierce:

“You’re mine, you stubborn wolf. I’m not letting you go that easily.”

[biggestsimponhere]

Why does he always look like he just walked off the pages of a romance novel, Pedro please marry me.

[bits-and-babs]

🐺 Dark Paradise

expect more of these cause the love I have for Lana Del Ray is strong.

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄 — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Oral (f receiving), sad af, mentions of violence, SAD AF. 

oberyn masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist

Arching your back from the bed, you sob out the name that had repetitively dripped from your lips all evening. You’d craved him for so long, what feels like an eternity, begging him to return to bed and relinquish you from the sleeplessness that had been forcing your eyelids open in the darkness. 

The candle on the bedside table flickers a warm gold across the bare skin of your thighs, crowning the Prince with a gilded halo of light. His brown curls wrap around your fingers as you clutch at them for dear life, bracing against the overwhelming torrent of feeling that only he could bless you with, his magic mouth and tongue enchanting you with a bliss that consistently took your breath away. 

“Oberyn-” you sob softly, tears streaming down your cheeks and into the fabric of the pillow that you rest your head against. He hums softly in response, the vibration against your clit that he has wrapped his lips around makes your eyes roll back into your skull, whimpering as the way it skitters down your spine and sparks across your extremities. 

“Oh- Please don’t stop,” you beg him softly, almost breathless as he pulls wave after wave of bliss between your thighs as they tremble against his ears. Your heels push into his spine, between his shoulder blades, but Oberyn doesn’t complain. Instead, he continues to assault your poor clit with his mouth, his tongue, raking his teeth over it. 

“D-Don’t-” you wail, more tears spilling out and wetting your lashes, “Don’t leave- Please don’t leave me like this-”

Oberyn pauses his ministrations, a frown creasing between his brows as he watches your pained expression. 

“My love,” he coos softly, resting his head just below your navel. His curls tickle your skin, his deep brown eyes gazing up at you with confusion. “What makes you request such a thing?”

Sobbing into the sea breeze, you scrub at your face with your palms and dig your nails into your hairline. The agony rips through your chest and buckles your knees, dropping them into the sand as you collapse at the waterline of the Dornish sea. It’s dark, the golden sands lit only by the torch that smoulders in the grains, discarded by your trembling hands. 

‘Today is not the day I die,’ he had promised you that day. He had kissed at your temple, offered the kind smile that he always blessed you with whenever his eyes caught your own. Tywin Lannister’s eyes had been filled with pride, vindication when The Mountain had gouged out those beautiful oak irises with his thumbs, smothering Oberyn and snuffing him out. 

In a way, he hadn’t died that day at all. He haunted you constantly, visiting you in your dreams and entering your mind at every waking moment, refusing to leave. 

Laying down in the sand, you wail his name, begging him to return to bed and relinquish you from the sleeplessness that had been forcing your eyelids open in the darkness, always thinking of him.

[christinamadsen]

BREATH OF LIFE

a/n: day two of haunted hoedown!! so i had this idea for a long time and bombarded @themarcusmoreno (who is also the lovely beta reader of this fic. thank you babes) on discord about it, but it wasn't something i'd ever see myself writing. i don't really like how it turned out, but that's due to working on it so long. i've only ever written one oberyn fic for kinktober two years ago. this event gave me the perfect time to actually write it. so i give you my take on the mythological story of apollo and daphne.

summary: punctured by the arrow of cupid, oberyn is suddenly infatuated with you. you...the very breath in his lungs, the clouds in his sky, the reason the sun shone down on his home. he was in love and yet you couldn't have felt more different.

word count: 3k+

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers, possessiveness, p in v sex, obsessiveness, mythological au, oberyn is possibly ooc.

He could smell the sweetness of flowers on your skin as you traipsed through the forest. As if you were gliding on thin air—the skirts of your nearly sheer dress flowing around your feet. Covering him from your sight. Sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the area in the afternoon glow, and for a moment he swore you began to glow. Your entire being attracted the light as you went.

Oberyn had never felt a love so pure. A love so strong he was willing to rip out his own heart if you asked him to. A love that felt…different.

He had been walking through the Dorne kingdom, celebrating his victory over the recent battle—enjoying the overflow of wine and debauchery that practically flooded the street. Until he felt it. The sharp pierce of something brutal, something painful. He’d collapsed to his knees in his bedchambers, grasping onto his heart—shouting loud enough for someone to hear. But what started out as agony quickly shifted, filling his body with a thrumming warmth—turning into need.

Stumbling out to the balcony that overlooked a dark garden, he sucked in the cold night air in the hopes of it appeasing the growing ache in his chest. The yearning for something unknown. He wanted to go back, to stop this from happening, but his mind had already latched onto something entirely different. Something that practically glowed in the light of the moon.

You walked the garden often at night for a chance to escape from the noise. A brief moment of silence that you could claim as your own. Yet tonight something was entirely different. Almost wrong in a way. You had felt a pain unlike anything you had known before—an anguish that seeped its way into your heart. Closing you off to something.

How ironic that at the same moment you were standing in the midst of the roses, your hand pressed to your chest, Prince Oberyn caught sight of you.

He gasped, eyes wide and body leaning over the edge to catch a better glimpse of you. And for a brief moment he felt like his heart had finally begun to beat. As if it was still until this moment—until he could finally find you in this dark world. You were light—a fixture of beauty he couldn’t tear his eyes away from—and he wanted you. Needed to call you his, to lay claim to your heart and soul.

You were the very breath in his lungs, the clouds in his sky, the reason the sun shone down on his home. Somehow as he watched you wander, your eyes turned up to the sky, he felt a warmth fill his heart—love consuming his being. He was infatuated with you, in love in a way he’d never experienced before. Yet you couldn’t have felt more different.

You were pierced with hatred, your heart filled with utter detestation at the thought of the Prince of Dorne loving you. He’d followed you into the forest that afternoon, following the path your footsteps made in the soft dirt below. Adamant on speaking to you—convincing you that he was the one your heart belonged to. And you allowed it to happen. You skirted along different paths, twisting through the deep thicket of trees, knowing all the while he was close by. Practically attached to your hip.

“I’d ask you to leave, but it seems you’re intent on staying,” you finally called out, stopping in a small clearing, the flowers you’d picked at random now overflowing in your hands.

He stiffened, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest as he had no choice but to step out from where he was hidden. The trees obscuring him from your sight. He felt like a child who got caught doing something he wasn’t meant to. Yet he was merely a man whose hope that you would reciprocate his love continued to grow day by day. Even as you fixed him with a withering stare, your hands clenched into fists and eyes narrowed.

“Forgive me,” he said softly, approaching you with caution. “I didn’t mean to follow—”

You interrupted him with a sigh. “Let’s not lie to one another, yes?”

If Oberyn wasn’t in love with you before, the way you challenged him would have certainly done it. “Okay. I was following you.”

“If you would be so kind as to give me a reason.” You shifted over to a nearby bush, plucking a flower from the green vine.

His mouth went dry, eyes tracing the curves of your body as the sunlight turned your dress sheer. He could see the path of your legs, the slope and curve of your breast, and he caught sight of your nipples pressing against the fabric. In any other moment he would have enjoyed the sight of your beauty—the way you looked like a goddess among normal men. But his cock stiffened so quickly he grew dizzy, his breath catching in his lungs as your eyes met his again.

“Well?” you demanded, keeping your distance.

The bitter flavor of disgust filled your mouth as he stood there, gawking at you like a man who’d never laid eyes on a woman before. He was handsome—you would admit that—but you found that the longer you remained in his presence, the more you hated him. He was like a thorn in your side. And you ached to pluck him out, keeping him as far away as humanly possible.

Yet you weren’t sure where this hatred stemmed from. Why—all of a sudden—did you loathe him? You and Oberyn had minimal contact within the palace. You were there to study, invited as a scholar, which left you no time to socialize among people. Him included. Oberyn was an unattainable man with a reputation that shaped who he was in your mind. Yet there he stood, staring at you as if you were precious gold he wished to shape into the finest jewelry.

“I don’t…” His tongue ran along his bottom lip, heart nearly leaping into his throat. “I don’t understand why this is happening.”

“What? My dislike?”

He winced, the hope in his chest dampening slightly. “Yes.”

You scoffed, turning away from him and wishing you were back in one of Dorne’s libraries. Anything would be better than standing here allowing the Prince to toy with your emotions. You knew he believed that one could love as many people as possible. That there were no limits to his passion. And perhaps he was right, but you would not be one of those people he fell for. You couldn’t.

“There is nothing to explain. I simply don’t like you,” you said, your words harsher than you intended.

It seemed to have the intended effect—just not how you expected. His eyes narrowed, body moving swiftly through the forest until he stood before you. He was taller than you anticipated, the yellow hue of his robes accentuating his broad form, his chest bare beneath. Though hatred ran deep through you—solidifying your opinion of him—you could feel the flicker of yearning begin to simmer in the far depths of your stomach.

Just because you hated the man did not necessarily mean you found him unattractive. You couldn’t tear yourself away from his molton brown eyes, his jaw clenched as he fought the urge to touch you. To drag you forward until his mouth met yours; the sensations that filled his body nearly painful in all their strength.

“Oberyn—”

His hand cupped your chin, pulling you gently until you could feel the warmth of his breath wash across your face. “Don’t you see my dove?”

A sigh left your lips, your body leaning into his touch against your will. “I’m not your—”

“Yes,” he rumbled, his nose pressing against yours, eyes boring straight to your soul. “You are.”

You took in a sharp breath, heat spreading rapidly down your spine until you could feel your body begging for more. How had things become so convoluted? How had you gone from merely existing in the same home as him, to being claimed by him. Others would kill to stand in your spot, to be his, but your heart held an aversion you couldn’t cure. No matter how much you wanted to.

Yet that didn’t stop you from sighing softly, welcoming his touch without question. He grinned at your complacency, seeing the want in your eyes even though your heart said something entirely different.

There would always remain a delicate line between love and hate. So thin it often came across as transparent and at this moment the line no longer existed. You hated him. Whatever pierced your heart had turned you cold towards the man before you—causing love to be frozen behind a thick wall of armor. Yet Oberyn was intent on breaking it down, on proving to you how much his heart was yours.

He took in a breath, inhaling your scent as you sunk further into his hold, fighting the war that waged within you. It wasn’t a simple choice to make—he knew this—but whatever made you loathe him seemed to be a continuous flame that wouldn’t go out with ease.

His lips brushed against yours, heart twisting painfully in his chest. “Don’t you know how sick with love I am for you?” he breathed.

It was the agony in his voice that did you in. Caused you to pull him in close, seal your lips over his, and go against everything your heart was screaming. You despised everything about him. Yet you found a different type of heaven from his lips alone. He licked into your mouth, hand gripping tightly onto the back of your neck as if he were claiming you. Possessing you entirely.

You dug your nails beneath his robe, dragging them harshly down his chest, delighting in the sound you pulled from him. Some wicked part of you—whether borne from the arrow that plunged through your heart, or the searing heat of his hands—wanted him to feel pain. To endure the sharp sting of your touch as you gripped him too hard—pulled him too roughly.

A beautiful and withering dichotomy compared to his ever so loving and gentle touch.

“Tell me you’re mine.” His teeth nipped at your throat, hand grasping for your hip to drag you even closer.

A gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pressing against you—prominent and thick. “I belong to no one,” you spit, sliding a hand into his hair and yanking him up.

Colliding your lips against his and swallowing his moan. He wanted to possess you and even with the strength to fight against the unknown feelings in your chest, you knew you wouldn’t win. Not when he pulled at a part of you that hadn’t come to life before. He poured sunlight into your body, filling you to the brim with its warmth, until all you could bleed and see and taste was him.

Wrenching yourself away from him, you reached for the belt of his robe. Perhaps if you rid yourself of him from your veins things would go back to normal. That night would have never happened. Except that’s not how it was planned; how it was meant to go. The arrow was tipped with emotion, a love so powerful it rivaled the Gods above. It was meant for the both of you.

Yet no matter how much Oberyn believed he could change how you felt—somehow make you desire him as much as he did you—he couldn’t. Hatred had solidified in your heart and removing it was no longer a possibility.

He stepped forward, causing you to stumble back until you could feel the rough bark of a tree pressed through your dress. You moaned when his tongue slid along yours, hands grasping to touch you anywhere he could. And you relished in the bliss that rushed through you. With a sigh your head tipped back, his lips, teeth, and tongue traveling down your chest, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

That heady sensation of lust tasted so sweet on your tongue you fell into it swiftly. Allowed it to overtake your body and control you. Licking at your nipple through the sheer fabric, he grinned at the cry that tore from you. A sound he wanted to hear as many times as he possibly could.

“Sing for me,” he said against your skin, his teeth digging in and eliciting a delicious spark of pain.

“Be careful—” He sunk down harder on the side of your breast until you cried out—ripping at his hair to pull him away. “I’m not a bird.”

He smiled. “You are far better than that my dove.”

“Your emotion blinds you.”

Pushing against his chest he fell back freely, until his body hit the Earth and his line of sight was filled entirely with you. The glow of the sun shimmered behind you, creating a halo around your entire body. Oberyn could feel the breath catch in his throat, his lust blown eyes drinking you in as if you were the sweetest ambrosia. He wanted to paint you, to permanently etch your image into a canvas or on a piece of parchment. But you didn’t give him a long enough time to admire.

You dropped over him, your knees planted on either side of his hips—core right over his throbbing cock. He grunted as you fully sat yourself in his lap, your lips curving into a rueful smile. Eyes filled with enough mirth to poison him.

“I am seeing clearer than I have before,” he murmured, his hand curving around your hip as you rocked forward, searching for some type of friction.

A breathy moan echoed in the air, the throbbing in between your legs growing the longer you grinded down. But eventually that no longer became enough. You wanted to feel him. To fall apart because of him, and without hesitation you began to pull at his clothes once more. He helped where he was needed, gasping when your hand met his leaking cock—spreading the precum down his length with a smile on your lips.

“If I am yours.” You pushed yourself up, positioning the head against your clit and sighing when it pushed against it deliciously. “Then that must mean—” Notching him at your entrance you watched his eyes flutter; his mouth dropping open as you sank down in one smooth thrust. “You are mine.”

“Gods,” he choked, fingers digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m no God Oberyn,” you breathed, your body shaking from the stimulation of simply having him inside you.

“You’re—” His hips shoved upwards, watching your jaw fall open—a cry tearing from you. “Perfect.”

The words sunk into your chest, burning its way through your heart until there was a hole large enough for him to crawl into. A space that belonged to him. Even if it wasn’t there before the arrow was set free—forcing a place for the Prince to enter your life. You had become the ploy used to right the wrongs of what he’d done to upset the Gods—a pawn in the great scheme of their chess game.

Yet you found you had never felt more alive. Never felt such passion—emotions now raw and blinding consumed you entirely. And you let them.

Digging your nails into his chest and rolling your hips against his, you chased the building pressure in your body. Aching for it to break, rush through you like a flood. His hand pressed against your chest, directly over your heart, as his eyes met yours. The brow a blazing fire of lust and an emotion that terrified you to your very core. Love.

He didn’t know you, couldn’t say who you were before that arrow punctured his heart. Yet he now knew the beat of your heart, the way your cunt clenched around his cock with each rough thrust, and how your entire body lit up at his touch. He knew more than he needed to let that emotion swallow him whole. Falling into its jaws with a smile on his face—absolution filling his chest.

“You belong to me,” he rasped, his hips colliding with yours, feet planted on the ground to thrust into you with ease. 

“Mine to fuck.”

Your head fell back, a sharp keening sob crawling up your throat. 

“Mine to keep.”

Twisting your body, he watched your eyes fly open with surprise—your lips forming around his name as he shoved his cock back into you. Your eyes rolled back, fingers clawing at his back, and a garbled sound bouncing off the trees. He wanted to sear the image into his mind. Burn your very essence into his soul until there was no way to be rid of you.

You were the missing piece in his chest, the soul he’d chosen to keep. Sliding his hand down, he pinched your clit sharply and watched as you finally broke. Tumbling over the edge with a hoarse shout—your body bowing off the forest floor. He grinned, falling over you with a grunt, his hips slamming into yours as he chased his release. Desperate to follow you with ease.

Dragging your head up, he sealed his lips over yours, swallowing your sounds. With a broken moan, he finally broke. Spurting into you and watching as your entire body reacted—a soft sound being muffled into his mouth. You could no longer deny the want in your body, the desire you felt with a burning passion. So, you allowed it to devour you—gave into his touch with pleasure.

Hatred still simmered low in your chest, but here in this clearing, you couldn’t find it in yourself to give into its needs. How could you hate someone so intent on loving you? Someone who was ready to give up his soul for yours.

“Mine to love,” he breathed, sliding his lips down your jaw and towards your throat.

You sunk into his hold, sighing softly at the feel of his touch—finally content. “Yours.”

[theetherealbloom]

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST

PEDRO PASCAL

JOEL MILLER

DIN DJARIN

OBERYN MARTELL

MARCUS ACACIUS

REED RICHARDS/ "MR FANTASTIC"

TIM ROCKFORD (coming soon!)

© etherealbloom - all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, or translate any of my original work. none of my work is permitted to be reposted on any other platform.

[happilyhertale]

A royal encounter - Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Summary: Daemon had a great idea to bring a breath of fresh air into your marriage. But his plans were thwarted.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; oral f receiving, fingering (f in v and f in a), p in v sex, p in a sex

Author’s note: To celebrate the one year anniversary of my very first posted story, I've decided to finally post the Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell story.... I hope you like it! And… Thanks for reading my stories for a year! 🖤 I am very happy that you still want to read my stories!

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.3 k

Other stories of mine

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You cling to the railing with your hands. Daemon's hands dig into your hips almost unpleasantly, the marks of his fingernails will be visible for a long time. His thrusts slowly subside and his breath comes heavily. A warm breeze envelops you, here on the balcony of your old chambers. You have sought a little excitement, escaping the boring ball that has lured many lords and ladies to King's Landing. That's how Daemon came to practically push you into your old chambers for a bit of excitement.

You are both still breathing heavily as Daemon slowly pulls out of you. His soft laugh rings out as he gently kisses your nose.

But then this gentle moment is interrupted as someone applauds you and a clap is heard.

For a second Daemon's gaze meets yours before he looks over his shoulder and sees Prince Oberyn Martell standing in the middle of the chambers. He grins, "Perhaps I should have tried harder to seduce a Targaryen princess after all," Prince Oberyn says cheekily. In one movement Daemon pulls his trousers completely up and spins around, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, is the Prince of Dorne trying to make a pass at my wife?" hisses Daemon.

A gasp escapes you and you try to hide your naked body behind Daemon's. Your gaze wanders, searching for your dress, which Daemon had torn off you just moments before.

As Prince Oberyn chuckles, "No... But now that I've seen how much fun you've had, I wish I'd had it too," he says to him. Daemon's gaze falls slightly over his shoulder, seeing you trying to cover your body. He sees you reaching for your dress, which is lying on the floor.

He looks back at Oberyn and his mood suddenly seems more relaxed. He starts to button up his shirt, "I think we were just looking for a little excitement here," Daemon replies.

"But..," Daemon adds suddenly, "if you want to join us, I could certainly be persuaded."

You are pulling up your dress and frowning when you hear his words, "Daemon? Did you just invite Prince Oberyn to a threesome?" you ask him a little shocked.

Daemon hears your words, but before he can say anything back, Oberyn intervenes. 

"A threesome?" asks Prince Oberyn with a grin, "I would have thought you were a jealous husband rather than an adventurous one...". Oberyn's words echo through the chambers and your eyes fall on Daemon again. You know he can be jealous, but this time something else is reflected in his eyes.

Daemon chuckles softly, "We could have a good time in these old chambers here," he says mischievously, "It might make everything a little more exciting." Daemon turns slightly, looking you straight in the eye, "What do you think? Is the Prince of Dorne a threat to our marriage?" he asks you gently. His thumb gently strokes your cheek.

You are not easily embarrassed, but this idea makes you blush. You bite your lip lightly, the pulsing between your legs reignited. Prince Oberyn was a handsome man. No less handsome than your husband, but in total contrast.

"No... he's not a threat. I only love you..." you say softly to Daemon.

Your gaze drifts to Prince Oberyn and his mischievous grin jumps out at you. He begins to unbutton his shirt and his lightly tanned chest is revealed. It is a stark contrast to your fair skin. Gently he brushes his shirt off his shoulders, revealing muscles that are rather small compared to Daemon's – he is defined but slender in stature. You step forward and stand next to Daemon.

But Daemon's gaze follows Oberyn's actions as he unbuttons his shirt, looking at his wife. He sees pure lust in Oberyn's eyes, the brown of his eyes barely discernible – his pupils dilated with lust.

Daemon notices how handsome Oberyn is and feels an excitement welling up inside him.

Oberyn's gaze falls on Daemon's face and notices Daemon trying to hide his excitement, but he sees his eyes fixed on the scene before him. A smile spreads across Oberyn's face. Oberyn walks towards you and slowly kneels on the ground in front of you.

You gasp briefly as his gaze goes up to you and he smiles at you. His hands reach for your dress and slowly begin to lift it.

The blush on your face continues to spread to your cleavage. Never has another man been about to touch you like this.

As Oberyn's voice brings you back to reality, "The blush is much more visible on your pale skin, Princess," he murmurs, "No need to be nervous, you'll enjoy it"

You bite your lip, even though you don't want to be nervous, you feel it flood through you.

You feel Daemon behind you, his hands on your shoulder. His thumbs glide gently over the crook of your neck. However unfamiliar this situation may be, Daemon's touch soothes you.

"Well?" asks Oberyn suddenly, "Do you want me to have her?" 

Your eyes slide from Oberyn's to Daemon's purple eyes. Slightly peeking over your shoulder, your lips meet, "I want you both, Daemon..." you whisper against his lips.

Oberyn chuckles lightly as he lifts your dress further. You're not wearing any undergarments and as Oberyn pushes your dress up to your hips, your light pubic hair is revealed.

"Mmm, the silver hair of the Targaryens..." he murmurs, pressing his face into it. A smile crosses his face, the smile of an artist when he sees the masterpiece he has created. 

You gasp as Oberyn presses his face into your pubic area. You exhale heavily, watching Oberyn enjoy the warmth of your private parts.

Daemon watches Oberyn and a slight, excited growl forms in his chest. Your previous words, "I want you both," also add to his arousal. Daemon's lips gently touch your neck as his hands begin to slide your dress down from your shoulders.

Prince Oberyn lets his tongue slide slowly through your womanhood. His fingers gently pull apart your folds so he can fully enjoy you.

You moan as you feel Oberyn's tongue find your bundle of nerves and gently circle it.

A "mmhmm" sounds from Oberyn as he pushes his face further into you. Your breath quickens as you feel Daemon lightly bite the soft skin of your neck and Oberyn circles his tongue faster. Your moans echo through the chambers.

When Oberyn suddenly lets go of your warm core and you whimper in disappointment. Your eyes fall on Oberyn, who looks up at you. His lips are glistening with your juice. Slowly he stands up and begins to open his trousers. Meanwhile Daemon lets your dress fall to the floor. His hands slide to your breasts, massaging them lightly. His thumbs and fingers grip your nipples, teasing them lightly. His lips continue to caress your neck as another moan leaves your lips.

You are now standing naked in front of them both. And your teeth don't want to release your lip. As Oberyn takes one of your hands and leads you away from Daemon. You take a step and slip out of your dress, which is lying at your feet. Slowly he leads you to the bed.

You climb onto the bed and Oberyn, who is naked himself, lies down beside you and begins to caress your body with his fingers. You see how Oberyn's hot length is already aroused and unlike Daemon's, a dark ring surrounds his size. You can't resist, you run your fingers through the hair. Oberyn grins at you and now he lightly bites his lip.

Your eyes fall on Daemon and you watch as his gaze is fixed on you. A shiver runs down your spine as you see his gaze follow Oberyn's fingers on your skin. Daemon begins to undress, his eyes never leaving you. First his shirt falls, revealing his muscular torso. The scars from all the battles won litter his pale skin. Your arousal rises immensely. As Daemon undresses from the waist down and his arousal immediately springs free, you moan. The way Daemon stands in front of you and Oberyn's fingers find their way between your thighs is too exciting.

Daemon's attention is on you, the love of his life, and the tanned man next to you, caressing you on the bed and sliding his fingers through your wetness. Daemon comes towards you with long strides, gently sliding himself onto the bed with you. His fingers find your hips, reach into your curves as he begins to play around your nipple with his tongue. You moan again as his teeth begin to nibble lightly. 

Daemon's lips slowly glide up your neck. A game of kisses and light bites until he encloses your lips. You breath into his mouth as Oberyn slides his hand to your bottom and turns you to Daemon. You lie on your side, your hand glides over Daemon's chest to his neck while your tongues dance wildly around each other. Oberyn brushes your silver hair aside and begins to kiss your neck softly. His fingers slide down your thigh, until his hand reaches the curves of your bottom and grips firmly. You whimper into Daemon's mouth. Oberyn releases your butt cheek and lets his fingers slide between your thighs. You whimper again as he covers his finger with your wetness and slides it to your butt hole. He applies light pressure and your whimpering repeats itself.

His fingers are slick with your wetness, easing the way as they tease the sensitive spot. He wants to push you further, to see how far you're willing to go. Experimentally, he stroked his fingers against your hole.

Oberyn's breath hitches as your hips begin to move slightly. A soft sound comes from you and your bottom presses lightly against his finger, your slight gasp sending a wave of satisfaction through him. He pressed a little harder, his finger slowly sliding into your tight, forbidden entrance.

The feeling of you around his finger, it all fueled his desire, igniting a primal need within him. He let out a low grunt in response, his own pleasure intertwining with yours.

He could feel his own cock hardening almost painfully, aching for the intense pleasure that only you could provide at the moment. The sound of your whimpering, your vulnerability and need, only served to heighten his own desire to please you.

Daemon's fingers mirror Oberyn's movements as his fingers slide between your legs. His attention is on your clit at first until he slides them inside you. You hear him growl softly as he feels the walls of your cunt already clenching around his fingers.

Daemon looks at you with slightly parted lips, enjoying the sight of ecstasy on your face. "You always take my fingers so well inside of you," Daemon mumbles a little breathlessly, "just like my tongue... My cock"

You whimper again and your fingers grab his biceps.

Daemon growls again and his gaze falls on Oberyn, who grunts slightly as he slides his fingers into your butthole.

"The princess is so tight," Oberyn murmurs and Daemon feels a tingle inside him as he hears the words. You gasp and bite your lip lightly as Oberyn's fingers thrust deeper, his warm breath on your neck.

Daemon lets his lips meet yours again, both of you breathing heavily, his fingers thrusting faster into you, completely wet with your juices. He starts to insert another finger into you and you moan almost desperately. The sensation of your wetness coating his fingers only fueled his desire further, knowing that you are becoming more and more receptive to his touch. He elicits a long whine from you as he curls his digits against your sensitive walls.

You feel the fingers thrusting into you. But this time it's so much more than usual. Daemon's fingers keep rubbing over the rough part of your wet walls, making you whimper, while Oberyn's fingers keep stretching your tight hole, awakening the feeling inside you that you need to feel so much more.

You moan out loud and before you've fully realised it, you feel Daemon's fingers pull out of you and slide his hot length through your wet folds. You whimper slightly each time he grazes your sensitive pearl. You moan even louder as he presses lightly against your entrance and you whimper again at the thought of how perfectly he will fill you.

"I think the princess will be perfectly filled tonight," Oberyn whispers, followed by a slight chuckle, as if he can read your mind. His lips still pressed against your neck as his fingers continue to explore your depths.

Daemon thrusts hard into you and your walls give way to his size. Daemon grunts loudly as he's back in his warm, soft home. His large hand slides to the back of your thigh, but you are distracted by the penetrating thrusts. He grabs your thigh and guides your leg closer to his body, placing your knee on his hip so he can penetrate you deeper.

He thrusts forward again and again, conjuring up the sweetest whimpering noises from you.

When you suddenly feel Oberyn's fingers leave your tight hole, you almost feel an emptiness inside you that needs to be filled. But then you feel his cock sliding along between your thighs from behind. Again and again he rubs it through your wet folds, soaking it with your wetness, while Daemon continues to thrust into your cunt.

Oberyn's cock throbbed with desire while his lips are still pressed against your neck. His breathing becomes heavier and you feel the warmth on the soft skin of your neck as he positions himself at your tight entrance.

You're slightly distracted by Daemon's thrusts and grunts, but you feel Oberyn begin to press the tip of his cock against your butt hole. You cry out slightly, but it ends in a long moan.

With a deep, primal grunt, he presses the tip of his cock against the entrance, feeling the resistance and tightness that awaits him. The whimpers and moans escaping your lips only fuelled his desire, his own need becoming unbearable.

But your butthole quickly gives way. Still slightly stretched by Oberyn's fingers, it almost greedily envelops the tip of his cock. You hear Oberyn moaning in your ear, breathing heavily.

"Gods... Princess... I haven't even been all the way inside you yet and you already feel so divinely tight," Oberyn murmurs breathlessly – you can only whimper.

Oberyn follows Daemon's rhythm and every time Daemon pushes your pelvis backwards, Oberyn takes the opportunity. Your bottom is pushed towards Oberyn again and again and each time he thrusts a little harder to meet your movements.

You feel yourself getting restless and your hand suddenly reaches for Oberyn's bottom. Your hand grips his small, firm bottom and squeezes gently. Oberyn continues to thrust slowly but firmly and you are caught up in the feeling of wanting to feel him deeper, but the slight pain forces you to take it slowly. But your hand starts to push him closer to you as a mix of whimpers and moans leave you. Oberyn stretches you further and further and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

With one final, powerful thrust, Oberyn conquers your tight hole and moans loudly. You cry out briefly, but the pain quickly subsides and gives way to pure pleasure. You realise how completely filled you are. Daemon and Oberyn are now thrusting in unison and you are trapped in their grips – and you don't want it to end. You put your head back and Oberyn immediately turns his attention back to your neck. He bites in lightly as he thrusts into your tight hole.

"Gods... Gods... fuck..." leaves his lips again and again.

With a primal instinct, he grabs your hips and slides closer to you. His thrusts now go deeper. He savours your tightness and the pleasure he brings you. The sound of your soft cries and moans fill the air as Daemon and Oberyn thrust into you, driving them both even further into a state of primal lust.

Daemon's hand is still on your thigh, lifting it slightly as he thrusts into your cunt. Oberyn's fingers grip your hips tighter as his thrusts penetrate you from behind.

Daemon grunts to himself, feeling the unusual resistance on his cock every time Oberyn thrusts into you and it turns him on. He thrusts harder and feels your cunt literally pulsating. His hand slides from your thigh to your breast, gripping it tightly as his lips slam onto yours. A wild kiss, accompanied by whimpers and moans, unfolds between you.

Your foot slides to the back of his thigh, wanting to pull him closer, needing to feel him deeper.

Daemon breathes heavily and grunts as your kiss ends. His eyes are fixated on the sight of you taking Oberyn's cock up your ass as he continues to fuck your cunt. The combination of your actions, the raw lust emanating from you, elicits a primal moan from deep within him.

With each thrust, he feels the lust building inside him and the need for release becomes almost unbearable. But he wants to savour this moment, savour your pleasure, revel in the intoxicating connection you share. Daemon's hand lets go of your breast and slides to your leg again.

His grip is firm and so are his thrusts, which become more intense and violent. The sound of your moans and the beginning trembling of your thighs only fuel his desire and bring him even closer to the edge.

You feel that you are about to come. The sensation of being filled in both holes is almost too much and you feel the familiar pressure spreading through your abdomen.

"Yes... Come on my cock," Daemon grunts, " Show me how good it feels for you to be filled like this," he grunts as his cock starts to twitch dangerously as well. Oberyn starts grunting behind you. He can feel your whole abdomen literally start to clench. His hand slides from your hip to your warm core. You look down, breathing heavily, and see Daemon thrusting into you and Oberyn's fingers begin to rub your clit. You are a moaning mess. The pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

"Be an obedient wife... come while our cocks fill you," Oberyn grunts in your ear as his fingers rub faster.

You only whimper, followed by a loud moan.

"I'm going to fill you up, princess... My seed will fill this tight hole," Oberyn grunts further, thrusting deeper.

And then you come, your cunt clenches around Daemon's cock, milking him and driving him over the edge with you. He growls and grunts loudly, pumping his cum deep into your cunt with deep thrusts.

Oberyn follows shortly after you and dresses your dark walls in white. He bites the back of your neck and immerses himself in the sensation. The grips on your body are firm, the feeling wonderful.

You whimper softly as the grunting around you slowly dies down. There is a smell of sweat and sex in the air. Heavy breathing echoes off the walls. Your light whimpers come to a climax as the two of them slowly pull out of you. Exhausted, you let yourself sink against Daemon's chest while Oberyn lies on his back, breathing heavily. His hand rests on your bum, stroking it gently.

"Maybe I should visit King's Landing more often after all..." mumbles Oberyn as he looks up at the ceiling.

Your eyes are closed, but instead of a reply, you hear a slight chuckle from Daemon.

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Tag list:

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @sylasthegrim @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @arcielee @just-some-random-blogger @softyhwrt @bl4ckph0enix

[eloquentlytired]

now HEAR ME OUT

Ma meilleure ennemie

Oberyn Martell x f!Reader

Summary: Your families hate each other but you are young and in love. Warnings: +18, MDNI, forbidden love, hurt/comfort, soft!Oberyn, so much feelings, arguing, young dumb and so much in love Wordcount: 2,1k An: In honor of the fact that I watched Arcane (and I can't get this song out of my head). I wrote hurt/comfort even though I'm ovulating??? Sometimes I don't understand myself but! I'm in love with it like— please I love soft Oberyn and I feel like I wrote it especially for @iamasaddie Music I worked with: Ma Meilleure Ennemie - Stromae, Pomme

Masterlist

Despite the years passing, nothing has changed.

They told you that such feelings pass. That time divides people and feelings disappear.

So why did yours only grow?

Why did you sneak out of your house every night just to see him?

Why did you feel butterflies in your stomach every time you fell into his arms?

No one could or would explain this to you. No one could stop you from falling for him.

No one could know that it was for him that you were able to do everything. No one else. Only him.

Lying on the blanket in his arms during the longest night of the year, you hoped the sun would never rise again.

The sun's rays meant the end and you didn’t want that. Never again want to leave his side.

You didn’t want to go back to your life where you hated each other, or at least that's what you were told. How could you hate each other when you loved each other? How could you hate him when his love made you want to wake up the next day just to see him again?

“My family has chosen a wife for me.” Oberyn finally dared to tell you the truth that was weighing on him.

Your heart pounded with pain.

You had known this for a few days now. And even though you had known it would happen for a much longer, this hit you harder than you expected.

“I know,” you whispered.

You were afraid to look at him. Afraid of the tears that would flow down your cheeks the second you would see that apologetic look of his.

He would apologize even though he had no control over it. Oberyn was like that. He was good.

Sometimes you thought he was too good for this cruel world that wanted to make a monster out of him.

“You… know?”

He shifted uncomfortably to look at you.

You sighed quietly and decided to face it. You had to do it eventually.

You lifted yourself off his chest and sat down next to him. You could feel his gaze; that burning gaze that needed explaining.

But what could you really tell him?

“We both knew this day would come.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding… frustrated. You looked up to see the anger dancing in his eyes. “Is that all you have to say?”

In a second he was on his feet, walking away a few steps from you.

You watched him with your mouth hanging open, not even knowing how to react. You didn’t expect him to be mad at you. You expected anger and all the other emotions that accompany a breakup, but not this.

He stood there, watching the distant city sleep, and all you could hear was him cursing under his breath.

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked, not understanding.

“I’m not mad at you!” he snapped, facing you. For a moment, you stared at each other in silence as he tried to gather all the thoughts and feelings that were killing him. “I’m not mad at you,” he repeated more calmly, as if he had given up, not wanting negative emotions to dictate what was between you.

“So what do you want me to tell you?” you asked with a quiet snort as you realized how hopeless this situation was. “You want to hear how sorry I am? How much it hurts to know that another woman will be yours?”

“Only you can be mine.”

You fell silent at his serious words. Even though tears danced in your eyes, you couldn’t help but let out a quiet snort that would normally be filled with joy and not pain like in that moment.

“Don’t—” you whispered and looked away from him when it started to hurt too much. The tightness in your chest was getting harder to control; like you were suffocating on your own grief.

“You know what I want?” he asked. His emotions were still boiling inside him, showing just how differently you both handled everything; he could destroy the world with anger while you just wanted to disappear. “I want you to stop talking like you’ve given up on us.”

You blinked a few times, fighting back tears, and looked at him as if his words had pierced your heart.

“What else am I supposed to do?!” you shouted. “I don’t have the power to prevent all of this!” You threw your hands up as if you wanted to blame the gods; because that's what you actually wanted. You hated them for wanting your paths to diverge, for wanting to destroy what was between you.

Oberyn could only watch as your indifference turned into despair and he didn’t know whether to regret that this was what he actually wanted.

“Why should it surprise us when we knew very well that our lives were heading in different directions?” The first tears ran down your cheeks as you smiled sadly. “We knew it from the very beginning.”

You turned your gaze away from him so that you could fully feel the grief and sadness that were taking over your existence.

“Maybe our families are right to hate each other,” you whispered, but the wind carried your words straight to his ears. Hearing it from your lips almost stunned him.

“Wha—”

He only managed to take a step towards you before you mercilessly interrupted him. “At least we would have spared ourselves the hurt if we had listened to them.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged. “I forbid you. Don’t say that.”

Everything in your body clenched at the sound of his hurt.

But maybe it was better this way?

“Am I wrong, Oberyn?” You looked at him coldly, but he still saw sadness and the stars reflected in your wet cheeks.

He knew you, what you were trying to do, and he couldn’t watch you shut yourself off, try to escape. He wasn’t going to let that happen even though your lives were hanging on the edge of the world.

“You are,” he said, confident in his words, so you fell silent. “I could not hate you in this lifetime or the next one. I could not.”

You shivered.

Your world was beginning to fall apart, and with every passing second, you were becoming more and more aware of it. The walls that protected you from reality were beginning to crumble.

“Don’t you understand?” He frowned. “I have feelings for you that won’t go away even if I wanted them to. I burn with love for you like a living fire.”

Suddenly he fell to his knees in front of you, looking at you pleadingly. You choked on your tears and almost let yourself fall into his arms.

You couldn’t.

“What does it matter now?”

“Don’t you love me?” It was the stupidest question he had ever asked you, but in that moment it meant more than ever.

You sobbed as you answered his question to yourself.

You loved him. He was the only real thing in your life; the only one who let you know what life was really about; the one who allowed you to taste happiness.

“You know I do.” You looked at him pleadingly, as if you didn’t want him to cause you more pain.

“So don’t let your regret speak through you. Don’t talk like our love is gone.”

You closed your eyes as his hand came to rest on your cheek. His thumb wiped your tears away and you let yourself sink into the feeling of his rough touch.

Life was more beautiful when you allowed yourself to live in the moment and not worry about tomorrow. Now you couldn’t do that because tomorrow had just arrived.

“Our love won’t change our reality.” You turned your head to break the contact and your gaze went away as if you were hiding deep in your mind.

Oberyn was staring at you like you were a dying star, like you were fading away in his arms.

The flame of the fire was getting smaller and smaller, making the features of your face disappear into the darkness.

That was exactly what he feared; that you would disappear soon and he would never be able to see you again. His fears were accurate because that was exactly what was going to happen in just a few weeks.

“Then let me do it,” he whispered and you snorted quietly.

“H—”

“Marry me.”

You looked at him, not knowing if you had misheard.

You silently watched his shining eyes, in which there was no lie.

For a moment, everything disappeared, as if all the evil had dissolved into nothingness, finally allowing you to breathe; but you still didn’t. You waited, breathlessly, for any sign that he didn’t mean what left his lips.

But he didn’t flinch; so sure of himself and what he wanted.

“Become mine in the eyes of the gods and I swear I will never let you doubt again.”

But you still didn't answer.

You looked like you were at least scared by the words he said to you. He didn't want that.

“How do you even—”

“Just say yes.” He wasn’t going to listen to your words of doubt, he only wanted to hear one thing.

He cupped your face and his hands immediately warmed your frozen cheeks. His touch was nothing but pure love for your cracked soul.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, mentally praying that the gods would hear him, and you simply stared at him; his beautiful face bathed in the last flames of the fire.

You were lost.

You didn’t know what to feel or think.

You knew that your life wasn’t easy and that your wedding wouldn’t be a good solution. Your families would consider it a scandal and would separate you by force.

Your feelings were forbidden.

What you had was unacceptable.

Nothing could change that.

So why did he want that if he was aware of the consequences?

“We cannot,” you whispered.

No one could know what you were talking about, not even the wind. But you knew Oberyn was no fool.

“You once told me about the dress you would wear to our wedding. Ever since that day, I only dreamed of seeing you in it.”

Your heart pounded as he pulled away to look at you; peacefulness in his eyes, as if he had gotten rid of everything that had been weighing on his heart a moment ago.

“Make me worthy of your love,” he continued, gently stroking your cheeks. “Let me take care of you.”

Then you understood.

He knew what he was doing.

He knew what he would do.

He knew he had you in his grasp when your eyes lit up. You were right, he was no fool. He wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t sure you were willing to leave everything for him; if he wasn’t sure that you needed and wanted only him.

Now the answer was shining in your eyes.

Oberyn smiled fondly and nuzzling against yours nose and you could do nothing but close your eyes and melt at the affectionate gesture.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you will marry me.”

“I will.”

His laugh full of joy warmed your heart. A wide smile spread across your face and this time a different type of tears appeared behind your eyelids; tears of joy, pure happiness.

And you started laughing along with him before his lips crashed against yours.

He pressed a hard kiss into you, one that would have knocked you off your feet if you were standing but instead made you fall back onto the blanket.

His lips didn’t let you doubt his love even for a moment and shamelessly took the remnants of your virtue. He took in with his tongue the first and last moan that left your mouth, because even that belonged only to him. Body to body, as if he were shielding you from the entire world, taking upon himself the entire judgment of the gods.

Protecting you from everything, he himself turned out to be your undoing when you decided to give yourself fully to him and entrust your life into his hands.

When his lips stopped showing you love, his eyes started.

He stared at you, caressing your cheek gently, and couldn't even describe what he felt in that moment; knowing that he had all of you.

“Tomorrow by this time you will be mine.” He stole one more gentle kiss. “And by the next night we will be far from this place.”

Tags: @syd-djarin @yorksgirl @puduvallee @bbyanarchist

[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."

[princezzleia]

How come no one write Pedro Pascal's fic about manicure kink? He clearly into manicure and I wish someone wrote it but I have a little idea about it does anyone interesting?👀 which character do you want to see with manicure kink? I mean my heart goes with Joel😅

p.s. 1 if you want me to tag you when the fic is complete you can filled the form > TAGLIST

p.s. 2 this is my first Pedro Pascal's fic so if you have anything to advice please comment!

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Having the attention of Oberyn

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Oberyn being clingy

~~~

Vipers were notorious creatures; quick, deadly, and adept hunters who'd strike and catch their prey before the poor creature even realized its intentions. They were beautiful with scales that glimmered under direct sunlight, smooth to the touch as they slithered against the skin, entrancing with their beauty and charm. The Red Viper was perhaps the most deadly with his ability to dance on the line between a vicious warrior and a dutiful lover. 

But alas, even with their sweet words and gentle touches, one always had to be careful of growing attached to a viper.

With the sun beginning to rise over the dunes in the east and chasing night away with its light, (Y/N) similarly went with the shadows. He moved quietly, managing to untangle himself from the prince without waking him and collecting the clothes Oberyn had haphazardly tossed around his room. Mindful of the crinkling of the clothes, he slipped them back on and spared the sleeping prince one last glance, ensuring his chest continued its steady rise and fall and his eyes remained closed. 

It was not uncommon for figures to be seen coming and going from the bedchambers of the prince, ladies and men alike slipping away for whatever reason after spending a night with Oberyn. Servants barely batted an eye at him when he stepped out into the halls, merely smiling and murmuring greetings before continuing down the halls. (Y/N) could only return the knowing smiles as he returned to his room, finding relief in the fact his elder brother remained in Starfall, although the whispers would no doubt reach him in no time. Those who resided in Sunspear or even in the shadow city sitting at the feet of the castle knew of Oberyn's infatuation with him, how he frequently courted and flirted but was left brushed aside. A game of chase they both equally enjoyed.

"And so you've finally fallen into his jaws," A husky voice purred right as he reached the doors of his bedchambers, hardly needing much else to identify who the voice belonged to. He pushed his door open and turned to face the heiress of Sunspear with the hint of a grin on his lips. "It was only a matter of time. Shame, though," Arianne batted her long lashes, slim fingers toying coyly with one of her dark curls. "I hoped to catch you first." 

"I'm not one of your little knights, Ari." (Y/N) replied, chuckling when her lips formed an exaggerated pout. "Nor am I my cousin."

"You most certainly are not." She laughed, crossing the distance swiftly and tossing her arms around him, purposefully pressing up against him and making use of the sheer silks she so often enjoyed wearing. With her shorter structure, she had to tilt her head up to look at him as she did with everyone else, flashing another smile. "You are much more interesting than Gerold. But alas, I love my uncle, and I will not steal his catch unless he decides to share." 

"Run along then, Ari." (Y/N) gave a small eye-roll, listening to her laugh echo down the hall when she retreated, the purple skirt of her dress flowing freely behind her. 

Once the sun rose and stepped out of hiding, (Y/N) knew it'd only be a matter of time before Oberyn would be on the prowl again, no doubt more determined to find him once he realized he'd snuck out of bed. He kept himself on the move, visiting his usual spots but only lingering long enough for a servant or courtier to be able to point Oberyn in the right direction.

It'd always been fun; pretending as if he wasn't fully aware he was being hunted down by the Red Viper. It'd started as youths when his parents had brought him to Sunspear, back when his siblings, Arthur and Ashara, as well as Elia Martell, were still living and breathing. (Y/N) had never given in to the prince, but he supposed Oberyn had caught him in a better mood than usual.

(Y/N) peeked over his shoulder, his footsteps light and quick while he walked, gingerly plucking a plum from one of the trays once he confirmed he was in the clear. He stepped forward toward the railings overlooking the gardens, searching for any sign of Oberyn or one of his Sand Snakes who'd no doubt betray him in exchange for helping their father. He bit into the plum, tasting the tart flavor from the skin and then a sweetness. He considered heading to the Water Gardens but right as the thought crossed his mind, arms wrapped around him from behind and caged him against the railing.

"Little Star," Oberyn's familiar voice murmured in his ear, lips brushing over his earlobe before dipping to kiss the base of his neck. (Y/N) tried biting back a smile. "You left too soon. There was more fun to be had."

"Was there? I thought that perhaps you'd be... too tired." (Y/N) replied teasingly, taking another bite of the plum before Oberyn spun him around to be chest to chest. His dark eyes narrowed playfully yet he planted a chaste kiss between (Y/N)'s brows. "A man of your age needs much rest, no?"

"You say that as if you're Arianne's age." Oberyn huffed, palms moving to run along (Y/N)'s hips and back with a familiar spark igniting in his eyes. He glanced at the bitten fruit in his hand and arched a questioning brow, the corner of his lips twitching upward when (Y/N) offered the rest to him. Instead of plucking the fruit from his hand, Oberyn swooped in to kiss him, tongue darting between his lips. (Y/N) couldn't help the muffled laugh that escaped him, his hand lightly shoving Oberyn's shoulder and breaking the kiss. 

"I should have known." (Y/N) allowed himself to melt into Oberyn's arms when he brushed their noses together despite knowing fully well how enchanting the Red Viper's eyes were. 

"Come," Oberyn tugged on his hips and kissed the corner of his lips. "You must make this morning's escape up to me, Little Star."

[novaursa]

https://youtu.be/SAxxvlU4o8M?si=A4kzQAl-VmQXZ90V

Can you write this scene but reader!targaryen is married to Oberyn Martell? 👀

Sunspear's Flame

- Summary: You arrive with Oberyn to the capital for the royal wedding. But that was not all you came for.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Oberyn Martell

- Note: The reader is the younger sister of Rhaegar that survived Robert's Rebellion, as she lived in Sunspear during it.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Without further context beyond the link and in attempt stay close to the canon world of ASOIAF/GOT this was the best I could do.

The heat of the Red Keep presses down upon you like the grip of a dragon’s talon, familiar and suffocating. The sun hangs high, casting the shadow of the city’s walls across the cobbled streets as your party makes its way toward the gates. The last time you saw the capital, it was burning under the rebellion’s fury, and now, it simmers with the fevered anticipation of another royal wedding.

You ride beside Oberyn, his dark eyes scanning the city with the sharpness of a blade. His grip on the reins is steady, but you sense the tension thrumming beneath his composed exterior. His fury is always close to the surface when it comes to matters of your family and Dorne's losses. And you—Y/N Targaryen, daughter of Aerys and Rhaella, sister of Rhaegar—bear a tempest of your own, carefully concealed behind your gaze. The memories of your brother’s fall, of your family’s ruin, burn like wildfire beneath your skin.

The Martell delegation rides in colors of red and gold, the sun and spear of Dorne vivid against the sky. Your children, seated on smaller mounts, ride behind you, their faces drawn with the solemnity of the occasion. The streets are lined with onlookers, their whispers threading through the air as you pass, a symphony of curiosity and unease. House Martell has not come to King’s Landing since the war, and now, your presence is a reminder of old wounds yet to heal.

As you approach the towering gates, you see the Lannister banners flapping in the breeze. The city guards, clad in crimson cloaks, stand rigid, watching your approach with wary eyes. And there, at the entrance, you catch sight of him—Tyrion Lannister, flanked by his sellsword Bronn and a small entourage of the royal court. The Imp’s sharp gaze meets yours, a flash of recognition crossing his features before his lips curl into a sardonic smile.

“Prince Oberyn, Lady Y/N,” Tyrion calls out as you dismount, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. “King’s Landing is honored by your presence.” His tone is courteous, but there is an undercurrent of wariness, as if he is bracing for the storm he knows you carry.

You step forward, your gown—a deep, Targaryen black edged with the orange of Dorne—whispering against the stones. Oberyn is at your side, his presence a blazing sun to your cool flame. “The honor is ours, Lord Tyrion,” you reply, your voice steady. “It has been too long since we have graced the capital with our presence.”

Tyrion’s mismatched eyes flick between you and Oberyn, his smile tight. “Indeed. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

A smile, sharp as Valyrian steel, tugs at Oberyn’s lips. “For the most part. Though the closer we came to the city, the more it stank of Lannisters and Tyrells. A reminder of the filth that needs to be cleansed.”

There is no mistaking the venom in his words. The guards bristle, hands inching toward their weapons, but Tyrion merely raises a placating hand. “Prince Oberyn, let us not mar this joyous occasion with hostility. We are all here for the same reason, are we not? To celebrate my nephew’s wedding.”

Oberyn’s gaze darkens, and you feel the shift in his stance, the barely restrained fury that has always burned within him since Elia’s brutal death. “Are we, Lord Tyrion? Perhaps Dorne comes with another purpose.”

Silence falls, the tension thick and stifling. Tyrion’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “What purpose might that be?”

“To see justice done,” you interject, your voice ringing clear as a bell. You step closer, your gaze fixed on Tyrion. “For what was done to my family. To my brother, to my sister-by-marriage. To their children.” The words are knives, each one thrown with precision, and Tyrion flinches, just slightly.

Oberyn’s hand finds yours, a brief, fierce squeeze that grounds you. “Dorne remembers, Lord Tyrion. And we do not forgive or forget. I am here to ensure that the wrongs against my family are set right.” His eyes flick to you, then back to Tyrion. “And to remind you all that there is a true heir to the throne, one with the blood of dragons and the sun.”

Tyrion’s gaze shifts between you and Oberyn, calculating. “I see.” His voice is measured, the mask of the diplomat slipping back into place. “You know, there are many in this city who would see your claim contested, Lady Y/N. Many who believe that Robert Baratheon’s victory was… final.”

You meet his gaze, the fire of your blood rising. “The usurper is dead. His bastards are dead. And his children are no more than the spawn of incest and lies. The people will see the truth in time.” You take a step closer, feeling the weight of generations behind you, the legacy of fire and blood. “We have come to support the rightful claim, and we will not be silent.”

Tyrion studies you for a long moment, then inclines his head. “Your words are bold, Lady Y/N. But bold words often lead to sharp ends in this city. I hope you and your family will find your stay here… comfortable.”

“Comfort was never our aim,” Oberyn cuts in, his smile dangerous. “But I appreciate your concern, Lord Tyrion. Rest assured, Dorne can take care of itself.”

The anomasity is palpable as the two men lock gazes, a silent battle of wills. Then, with a slight bow, Tyrion steps back, gesturing toward the gates. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Prince Oberyn, Lady Y/N. May your stay be… eventful.”

You and Oberyn exchange a glance, and he gives you a small, reassuring nod. This is only the beginning. The game has begun, and the pieces are in place. As you step through the gates of the city that was once your home, you feel the stirrings of something ancient and powerful within you.

Fire and blood. Justice and vengeance. You are a Targaryen, and this is only the first move.