#Oberyn Martell x ofc

[janaispunk]

little lion

pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC

word count: 394

tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, i think that’s it?

a/n: @catchallfangirl gave me the prompt “finally, something we can agree on”, oberyn and thirty minutes to write. this is the result :)

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

dividers by @plum98 <3

She sips her wine, tuning out her father who is rambling on about uniting houses and how much good it would do for the people of the realm.

It’s not about the realm, let alone the people living in it. She knows it, he knows it, everybody in the room knows it. It’s about power. It’s about the iron throne and ensuring who will sit on it.

The man two tables over from hers catches her wandering gaze and raises his own cup in a quiet toast. As he drinks, he winks at her. She hates the blush creeping up on her cheeks, hates the fact that he can see it, even in the candlelight, if the smug look on his handsome features is any indication. She hates his dark eyes, the glinting of the golden chain around his neck, the way it accentuates the panes of his strong chest, his golden skin, visible through his robe.

She needs some air.

Quietly excusing herself, she rises to her feet and leaves the hall, climbing stairs until she reaches one of the higher floors where the thick stony walls open into big windows, overlooking the city below them.

Lights are twinkling in the darkness of the night, until the city gives way to the ocean, moonlight reflecting off of its surface.

She feels his presence before she hears his quiet steps behind her.

“Prince Oberyn.”

“Hello, little lion.”

Goosebumps form on her neck. He’s closer than she anticipated, she can almost feel his breath on her skin. His voice is low, gravely behind her, his accent wrapping around the pet name. The stupid pet name that he won’t stop using and that sounds way too good from his lips.

“I told you not to call me that.”

He tuts gently, twirling one of the long blonde curls of her hair between his fingers, before giving it a light tug.

“Why did you leave?”

“I was bored.”

It might not be the whole truth, but it’s not necessarily a lie, either. He chuckles, still playing with her hair.

“Finally, something we can agree on.”

She turns her head towards him, eyes searching his. He’s much too close. He gently trails one finger over her cheekbone.

“We shall leave the talking to your father and my brother. Let me walk you to your chambers, little lion.”

thank you for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask. interaction is what keeps writers going <3

[sunspearesque]

OHHHHHH MYYYYYY GOD you guys 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ look at oberyn and nala !!!!!!!!! I LITERALLY HAVE TEARS IN MY EYES

@kenobiwanx thank u thank u THANK U so much talented gorgeous amazing human !!!! i’m so very glad i stumbled upon your account in a random Tuesday afternoon and fell in love with your work. thank u for making my vision come true <3

[palioom]

day thirty-one - free day / public sex

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 625

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; public sex, doggystyle, unprotected p in v, creampie

a/n: the final day!! thank you so, so much to everyone who has read, left comments, tags, anything! it was an exciting (also stressful) first kinktober! thanks for making it so enjoyable!! i'll be back to regular uploads on november 8th 🖤

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

Oberyn knew exactly how dangerous it was. Fucking her in a little corner in the private gardens of the Red Keep, having torn her away from the feast to have her to himself. So riled up and hard from her simply sitting on his lap all evening, grinding her pretty ass against his crotch and driving him insane while doing so.

If they were caught, it could mean death. King’s Landing was different to Dorne in that way. They weren’t as open to sex and love up here like they were in the warm south, where the public setting may be frowned upon, but not punishable by losing one’s head.

But exactly that was part of the thrill, his broad hand wrapping over her mouth as he pounded into her from behind, muffling her sweet sounds. Still unable to keep the wet slapping noises quiet, his hard cock plunging into her wet heat over and over again.

“You have to stay quiet, my dove.” He whispered intently, and as if to mock her, slammed into her with a particularly harsh thrust. “Do you want them to find us?”

She shook her head, unable to keep her moans down. He simply made her feel too good with how he was fucking her, with how his hand was holding her by her hip. The obscene, wet noises only added to it.

“I suspect that you do.” He whispered against her ear, his voice so close to her and letting shivers run over her skin. “You want them to see how the Red Viper is fucking you, don’t you?”

Oberyn muffled his own groan against her shoulder, hearing footsteps draw near.

“You want them to know who is spearing open this delectable cunt, making you feel the heights of pleasure.” Rambling like a madman, hissing the words against her skin. 

Not stopping even when voices appeared right on the other side of the hedge, her heart skipping a beat but finding that the shrub was thick enough to not show anything.

Her heart was beating in her throat, threatening to jump out of it as his hand still kept firmly wrapped over her mouth.

“You do, don’t you, my dove?” Oberyn hissed, finally pushing her over the edge, groaning softly when her tight cunt grabbed him harshly. Panicking just a little when a loud noise escaped her, audible even through his hand.

“What was that?” A man said on the other side of the hedge, but not even that could deter Oberyn from chasing his own release deep inside of her. “I think I have heard something.”

The man remained quiet for a moment, silence filling the air, only broken by the wet slap of skin on skin.

“Mayhaps just an animal.” A woman said softly. “Let us go.”

The footsteps disappeared, and she could finally breathe normally again, Oberyn finally spilling himself inside of her with a loud groan.

Entirely uncaring right now if anyone heard, needing to make his fondness of her cunt known to not only her but the whole world.

Nothing could be finer than this.

Slowly he slipped his hand from her mouth, instead steadying her form as she stood on weak legs, giggling like she was drunk.

“I think you wanted them to hear, my love.” She said, her gown sliding down over her ass again, covering her up as if nothing had ever happened.

Oberyn put himself away, chuckling as well. Linking his arm with hers, he smiled softly at the way her legs still trembled when they appeared from behind the hedge.

“Mayhaps I did, my dove.” He laughed, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her. “But you can not say that you did not enjoy it as well.”

[cryptickane]

Sand Dunes

warnings: suggestive no smut, female reader, reader is curvy and larger than average but nothing super specific, reader is insecure about her body, oberyn loves it, bad self image, body worship, short and sweet 1k.

Beneath the scorching sun of Dorne, you walked with short, hesitant steps, keeping your arms ahead of you as if to make yourself appear smaller. The unforgiving desert landscape seemed to amplify your sense of insecurity.

As you strolled through the Water Gardens, you couldn't help but steal glances at Prince Oberyn Martell, who walked beside you with his characteristic confidence. His dark eyes held an intensity that both unnerved and intrigued you, and you wondered what had drawn his attention to someone like you—a woman who felt like an anomaly in comparison to the many slender, elegant women of Dorne.

As you walked alongside Oberyn, you couldn't help but steal glances at the other women around you. They moved with a grace and confidence that seemed inherent to the women of this region, their lithe figures adorned in flowing silks that accentuated their every curve.

Your gaze lingered on them, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place among such beauty. Their laughter, their poise, and their effortless sensuality—all things you admired and, at the same time, felt painfully aware you lacked.In the presence of these women, your insecurities deepened. You glanced down at your own body, your curves more pronounced, your movements more hesitant. You had always felt like an outsider, an imperfect piece in a mosaic of perfection.

Oberyn, however, seemed to see beyond your self-doubts. His gaze remained unwavering, a hint of admiration in his eyes that made your heart flutter with a mix of uncertainty and longing. You wished you could see yourself through his eyes, to understand what it was about you that had captured his attention amidst the splendor of Dorne.

As the sun beat down upon the two of you, you continued to walk beside Oberyn, his presence both a comfort and a source of confusion. You couldn't help but wonder if he saw something in you that you had yet to discover—a beauty that went beyond the superficial, a charm that lay hidden beneath the layers of your insecurities.

Oberyn's gaze lingered on you, and you instinctively tried to make yourself smaller, your steps becoming even more cautious. The thoughts of your perceived imperfections weighed heavily on your mind, and you couldn't help but feel like an outsider amidst the allure of Dorne.

In the midst of your internal struggle, you heard Oberyn's voice, soft and soothing, breaking through the insecurities that had held you captive for so long. "My dear, there's no need to hide yourself. The sands of Dorne may be endless, but they hold no secrets from my eyes."

His words, though unconventional, carried a reassuring warmth, and for the first time, you dared to meet his gaze with a hint of curiosity. There was something about Oberyn's unapologetic acceptance that made you question the harsh judgments you had imposed upon yourself.

The golden sands stretched far and wide, mirroring the curves of your own body, which you had always regarded with a mix of admiration and insecurity. Oberyn, a man of both charm and confidence, had taken a particular interest in you, despite your hesitations. As you strolled through the gardens together, a warm breeze rustling the palm fronds, his eyes never left your form.

His words, like a gentle caress, had a way of making you feel both beautiful and desired, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that defied your insecurities.

"Would you like to tell me what troubles your thoughts, my dear?" Oberyn's voice was laced with genuine concern as he continued to walk beside you, his stride matching your hesitant steps.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze shifting from the distant horizon to the man beside you. Oberyn's dark eyes held an understanding that encouraged you to open up. "It's just... I can't help but feel unsure of myself. I'm nothing like the women here, they're so confident and graceful, and I..."

Oberyn stopped and turned to face you, his expression softening. "And you feel like you don't belong? Is that it?"

You nodded, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. "Yes. I've always been more curvaceous, but it is more visible here, I see the way men look at them, the way they never look at me. I can't help but compare myself to them."

Oberyn smiled, a reassuring touch to his lips. "Would you like to know what I think? You are like the sand dunes of Dorne—unique, with your own allure. The curves that you see as imperfections, I see as the embodiment of the desert's sensuality."

His words were unexpected, and they left you feeling a mixture of surprise and warmth. "You do?"

Oberyn nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Absolutely. Beauty comes in many forms, and it is not practical to confine it to any one ideal. Your uniqueness is what sets you apart, and it is what has drawn my attention."

You couldn't help but blush at his candid admiration. "Thank you, my Prince."

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gentle caress. "You are a treasure, my love. Embrace your individuality, for it is what makes you truly beautiful."

As Oberyn's thumb traced the curve of your cheek, you felt a sense of acceptance and comfort wash over you. In that moment, you began to let go of some of the insecurities that had held you captive for so long, realizing that your uniqueness was something to be celebrated, not hidden behind meek posture or unfitted dresses.

Oberyn, ever the observant man, smiled as he noticed the change in your demeanor, his gaze smoldering as he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a sensuous whisper. "Remember, my love, it's the curves in the sand dunes that make the desert come alive."

As Oberyn's warm breath brushed against your earlobe, your heart quickened in response to his intimacy. He slowly pulled away to look you in the eye. His thumb traced your lower lip with a delicate touch, sending a shiver down your spine. The intensity of his gaze, as he looked at you up and down, left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet an unfamiliar wave of desire washed over you, mingling with your newfound confidence.

[justagalwhowrites]

Days in the Sun: Part of For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Oberyn returns victorious from King's Landing after defeating the Mountain and spends a day with his beloved wife and their daughters.

Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words to be written by April 1, 2024. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author to be paid to PCRF on April 2, 2024 in honor of Pedro Pascal's birthday ❤️ Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Female Reader

Warnings: Basically none! No use of Y/N, Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 2.2k

A/N: Written for @aurasjournal, the OG Oberyn Girlie ❤️ She requested some soft, SFW Oberyn love. This fic takes place immediately after the fight with the Mountain in King's Landing, except Oberyn emerged victorious and unscathed to return home (as he always should have, fight me GRRM.) Enjoy!

For You Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Oberyn was tired of the sea. 

It was fine when viewed from Sunspear, when he was on dry land with the sand at his back. It hadn’t been bad from King’s Landing, either, where there was sun and heat that he could feel on his skin. But that warmth was a poor substitute for your touch as you were so far from him, safe at home in Dorne. 

The journey back to his beloved had not been an easy one, though. Even the satisfaction he had at killing the man who murdered his sister was cold comfort as storms bared down on his ship, bringing harsh winter winds and cold air from the north. 

It would have been better if you were there, you and the three daughters you shared with him. The soft, gentle comfort of your warmth and love would have eased the passage, as would have the high peels of laughter that was so common anytime your daughters were close. But the risk of bringing you to King’s Landing was too great in Oberyn’s eyes. 

Yes, he was traveling as a Prince of Dorne and yes, he was visiting for a state event, but neither title nor time had protected his sister. He could not risk losing you to the lions that prowled in the capital, he could not risk your children together. You had to stay behind and he had to make the journey alone. 

But while the storms early in the voyage had made the days on the water miserable, they had pushed the ship south faster and now, Sunspear was on the horizon, more than a day earlier than expected. 

Oberyn stood at the bow of the ship, a smile on his face as he watched his homeland draw closer. This, he thought, was where he belonged. Where he could feel the sun, where he and you were far from the cold calculation of the Westerosi. 

The port was unprepared for his arrival, dockworkers scrambling to accommodate his ships and the entourage that was necessary when traveling as a Prince of Dorne.

In other times, it might have bothered him. There were things he had become accustomed to in his position and the trappings of royal life were indulgences he much enjoyed. But today, ceremonial greetings and meals would have only gotten in the way of what he truly needed: seeing you and your children together. 

“My Prince,” his advisor who had remained behind greeted him on the dock with a bow of his head but there was no sign of you. Oberyn frowned. “My apologies, there was no raven to warn of your arrival, we were not expecting you for several days at least…” 

“My business in King’s Landing concluded early,” Oberyn cut him off. “I’m sure we will have much to discuss about our relationship with the new king when the time is right. But now, I need to see my wife and she is not here.” 

“No, your highness, I’m afraid we could not find her when we saw your ships on the horizon,” he said. “She left your chambers this morning with your daughters and their guard but did not say where they were going. I am sure you missed the princesses greatly but I’m afraid that there is much to attend to…” 

“If you were not expecting me for several days, surely business can wait,” Oberyn said, already walking away from him. “There are far more pressing matters that demand my attention.” 

He didn’t bother to wait for any of the others to follow nor did he ask anyone for help in tracking you down. He knew exactly where you would be. 

He heard you before he saw you, working his way to the quietest, most secluded part of the water gardens. Hidden away from the pressures and prying eyes of the palace and its stately visitors, the two of you had stolen away to this little place for many hours of your courtship. He had come to think of it as belonging to just the two of you long before your first daughter was conceived there. Now, it was the small homeland of the five of you, a place of escape and belonging and love. 

“Mara, Elia, my loves, you mustn’t play that rough,” you called as Oberyn approached, a smile on his face at the sound of your voice. The guards hovering on the path leading to your corner of the gardens snapped to attention when they saw him. He gave them a nod. “You are sisters, not enemies. Stop pulling each other’s hair.” 

Your back was to the path as Oberyn entered the clearing of palm trees and tall hedges. He took a moment to admire you when you couldn’t see. The curve of your waist as you sat on a blanket in the grass, the way the vibrant fabric of your dress draped over your frame, the arch of your neck as you watched your daughters dust themselves off, grass stains smearing the yellow of their clothes with green. The girls took off, chasing each other around the edge of a small pond and into the trees beyond. 

“I sometimes wonder if we are raising little vipers, not little princesses,” Oberyn said, smiling. You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning quickly to find him there. You all but leapt to your feet, throwing your arms around him as he caught you, holding you close to him. He pressed his nose into your hair, breathing the soothing floral scent of you deep into himself. 

“You’re here,” your voice was muffled, your mouth buried in the crease of his neck. Your voice was tender and wet. “Oh, how I missed you. You were so far from me, I was so worried…” 

“I know, my love,” he ran one large hand from the back of your head down your neck, your back, pausing at the exposed skin to relish the softness of you. “But I promised I would return to you, did I not?” 

“You did,” you said, pulling yourself from him to look him in the eye and he smiled as his gaze traced the familiar and beloved contours of your face. “But I was still afraid. What if they hurt you and I wasn’t there? The journey alone can be treacherous but King’s Landing…” 

He silenced you with a gentle kiss, your lips soft against his own. He resisted the urge to deepen it, to pull you tighter to him and feel all of you in every way he could. 

But there would be time for that reunion later, when he could take his time lavishing you with every ounce of and passion he’d had to set aside in your weeks apart. For now, he was happy to just know you were back in his arms where you belonged. He pulled away from you, cupping your cheek and running his thumb over the softness of your lips, pulling a small gasp from you as he did. 

“I’m back where I belong, my sun,” he said gently. “At your side.” 

You smiled and brushed your nose against his, closing your eyes for a moment. 

“And how were our little vipers?” He asked. “On their best behavior, I’m sure.” 

“If our daughters are vipers, they are vipers because of you, not I,” you smiled, stepping back from you before tucking yourself against his side. His arm slipped behind your back, finding its most comfortable home around you. The two of you began your slow walk around your favorite corner of the water gardens, the giggles of your daughters like chimes on the air. “But… yes, they were well behaved. Mostly. Though the maesters may say different. Alyse…” 

As if on cue, you and Oberyn’s eldest daughter, Alyse, jumped out of a tree, wooden spear in hand, shrieking like a warrior. Oberyn, however, was ready for her, catching her out of the air and laughing as he set her down. 

“Father!” She looked up at him, her wide, brown eyes so like his own. “You’re here! I learned a new attack while you were gone, with the spear, just like you! And if this were war I would…um…I would have…” 

He smiled and rested his large palm on the crown of her small head, bending to be on her level.

“You would have attacked me well,” he mussed her hair. “My little viper.” 

She beamed at him. 

“Why don’t you find your sisters?” He asked. “Have they been learning, too?” 

“Boring things,” she crinkled her nose. “Elia doesn’t like to fight and Mara likes a sword more than a spear…” 

Oberyn felt you tense at the mention of his youngest daughter’s name. You had been the one to suggest it, knowing how he had so dearly loved his sister. You’d proposed it during each pregnancy but he felt as though it wasn’t right, not until his third daughter. She had become the gentlest of his children and therefore the one most like his late sister. She was kind hearted and sweet and smart, loving fiercely and caring deeply. But that also made her the least like him and a constant reminder of what had been lost at the hands of the Lannisters. He tried his best to not let that cast a pall over his relationship with his youngest child but there was always an air of sadness in how he saw her, one that you could feel as well as he. 

“You know, my sister Elia didn’t like to fight, either,” he said kindly. “But we found other ways to spend our days. Can you find Elia and Mara for me, little viper?” 

She smiled a toothy smile and gave him a nod before taking her small spear and darting into the trees. Oberyn looped his arm around you again, beginning your slow walk through the gardens again.

“You spoke of Elia,” you said softly, looking at him with deep and gentle eyes. He nodded once. “You did so happily.” 

“I did,” he said. You watched him closely and he trailed his nose over your cheek to your temple. “I know it has been… difficult, the pain of her loss and how it has colored my life. Not just for me but for you and our daughters, too. But… I believe it will be different now. I killed Gregor Clegane and I forced him to admit to his crimes when I did. I forced the admission of Tywin’s guilt. No more are her killers alongside the iron throne so she can have peace. And so can I.” 

You stopped your slow walk, your eyes searching his before you reached out, trailing your fingers through his hair before kissing him softly. 

“Father!” Elia cried. Oberyn pulled away from you to find her standing beside the pond, the same glow of kindness in her eyes that he had so loved in his sister’s. 

“You’re back!” Mara ran alongside her little sister, Alyse coming right behind. 

“My little princesses,” he smiled and all three of his daughters ran for him. He let them tackle him to the ground, you stepping to the side just before they brought him down. They giggled and climbed on him and he tried to hold all of them in his arms but their squirming bodies and gleeful love were too much for him to bear. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” 

“We’ve missed you, too!” Elia propped her elbows on her father’s chest and smiled down at him. “Are you back for a long time, Father?” 

“Yes, my darling,” he kissed her forehead. “I am.” 

The five of you made your way back to the blanket, you against his side as the girls ran ahead, laughing and playing as they went. There was a spread of your and Oberyn’s favorite foods waiting for you there and the two of you settled in side by side as the girls played. 

“It’s good to see real food,” he moaned, taking a bite. “I sometimes think the Westerosi are sickened by flavor…” 

You laughed and leaned against him, sighing happily as you ate a piece of fruit, watching your children play in the sun. 

“Did you mean what you said to Elia?” You asked, looking up at him from your place against his chest. “That you will be in Dorne - where you belong - for a time?” 

“I did, my love,” he kissed the crown of your head. “There will be nothing to take me away from you or our three children…” 

“Four,” you said, leaning forward to pick up a goblet and take a sip. 

Oberyn paused. 

“Four?” He asked. You smiled and took his hand in yours, gently guiding it to your womb. 

“Four.” 

A smile broke over his face as he looked reverently at the place where his child was growing inside you. 

“Oh, my sun, my beautiful wife,” his thumb brushed against you there. “I’ll not leave my home with you, not for a very, very long time.” 

A/N: Thank you for reading my first foray into writing Oberyn Martell! I hope you enjoyed it!

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite OBERYN MARTELL Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Lemon Cakes & Lust - @thetriumphantpanda

Stripes Of A Tiger & A Bond Formed Of Love - @palioom

The Viper & The Lamb Series - @supernaturalgirl20

Far From Home - @psychedelic-ink Featuring Ellaria Sand

Kinktober Day 5 - @agentwhiskeysdarlin

Does Your Mother Know? - @simpingcowboy

Sweet Reds & Starlight Mornings - @lowlights Featuring Ellaria Sand

Rescue - @deadhumourist GN!Reader

Oberyn Masterlist - @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis Lots to choose from!

The Viper's Bride Series - @wardenparker Featuring Ellaria Sand

Baths & Sunsets - @mrsbrekkers Featuring Ellaria Sand

Meant To Be Series - @radiowallet OFC

Not From Around Here Series - @mishasminion360 OFC

In Name Only Series - @forever-rogue

Wrap Around Series - @lovelyladyabsinthewrites Featuring Ellaria Sand

Flavour - @lavendertales Featuring Ellaria Sand

Little Prince & Sweet One - @redahlia-writes Featuring Ellaria Sand

Messenger Bird - @thosewickedlovelies Featuring Ellaria Sand

The Red Wolf Series - @heartsofbeskar OFC

Dark Paradise - @bits-and-babs

Sit On The Throne - @prolix-yuy

Kinktober 22 Oct 15th - @absurdthirst

Breath Of Life - @moonlight-prose

A Poisonous Truth Part 1 & Part 2 - @rise-my-angel Featuring Ellaria Sand

Holy & Heathen Series - @msmorningstaarr OFC

Happy Ending - @nothoughtsjustmeds Wife!Reader

Even Stars Will Fall Series - @cyantomatos Featuring Ellaria Sand

The Snake & The Dragon - @multifandomfanfiction

First Dance - @hopeamarsu

Aphelion Series - @something-tofightfor & @the-blind-assassin-12 Modern!Oberyn

Kinktober Praise Kink, Wax Play, Public Sex & Lactation Kink - @palioom

Fall In Love In A Single Touch - @ezrasversion

The Viper Longs For Foliage - @nerdieforpedro Plus Size F!Reader

Reaching For The Sweetest Of Peaches - @psychedelic-ink Modern AU

Enjoy The Show - @sweetenerobert M!Reader

A Baker's Dozen - Oberyn - @avastrasposts

Birthday Kiss - Oberyn Martell - @something-tofightfor

My Way - @lincolndjarin

Little Dove - @palioom

The Old Prince Series - @sirowsky

In The Night Air - @lis-likes-fics

Silent Running - @imperatorkhaleesi

The Sunshine Undertow Series - @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa Featuring Marcus Pike

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - A GoT Soulmate AU

Complete

Palm to palm; Skin to skin

Two souls twist from within

A true match to your heart, if you choose

It’s a love to gain, never to lose

Summary: Oberyn Martell has spent his life as a second-born prince enjoying all the pleasures that Dorne has to offer, staving off any notion of an arranged marriage under the guise of searching for his soulmate. But after defeating The Mountain and avenging his sister's untimely death, Oberyn returns home to his brother still without a true heir. And so Doran states his plan: To name Oberyn Lord of Sunspear and have him take a wife, soulmates and lovers be damned. So what happens when the fates of Westeros send him an independent and troublesome woman from the north that just happens to fit the title of both bride and soulmate? Which feelings does one bow to? To bend or to break? And what does it truly mean to be meant?

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Unnamed OFC, Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand

Part 1 - The Arrangement

Part 2 - The Engagement

Part 3 - The Attachment

Part 4 - The Development

Part 5 - The Commitment

Epilogue - The Endearment

Extras

Part 2 Gif Set by @pedropascalsx

First Dance by @daddydindjarin

Meant to Be playlist

Inspo Tag

[prolix-yuy]

For the Bangathon: Snuggling spoon with Javi G or Oberyn?

Ahhhhh we love ourselves a little snuggly sexxin'! Oberyn was calling to me for this one, but it may be a little more tense than we think...

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC

Position: Snuggled Spoon

Word Count: 1419 (see how these get longer the more of them I write? I have no self-control)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), fingering (f receiving), allusions to public sex, cum tasting, hate sex, Oberyn is an affectionate bastard.

Notes: A follow-up to this drabble, because I wanted to see how it all panned out.

“How are your accommodations, little scorpion?”

The infuriating voice of her captor (and failed assassination attempt) drifts through her cell bars. Remaining on her side on the floor, only a few crumpled blankets to soften the uncomfortable stone, she ignores his question. 

It wasn’t the first time the Prince had visited during her imprisonment. She’d screamed and railed against him the first time, tried to claw at him the second. Every spitfire reaction left him with a smarmy smile, standing just out of reach. He pulled little bits of information out of her each time - who sent her (a prominent family tired of the house leaders), what her plan was (to poison him and flee to Westeros), if she’d ever cum that hard with a lover she chose (silence). The game was more intriguing to him than she’d hoped, praying for his attention to drift so she could devise a way to escape. But every passing day he visits, and every day she grows wearier of her predicament.

Today, she’s done with this game. Her stomach is empty yet again, body aching, and hope waning. Her employers feign ignorance of her plan, abandoning her as she should have guessed. There was no one coming to reward her for her loyalty. 

“Oh come now, has all your fire finally burned out?” Oberyn purrs, but she doesn’t rise to his challenge. She’d overheard the guards speaking of an execution date, fast approaching. What does this sparring matter when she’s about to be erased from history? A blip only in the mind of a small few, forgotten when larger matters loom. 

Oberyn hums, then calls to a guard. Her interest piques for a moment, the rusty clank of keys and the creak of her door opening urging her to roll over and watch. The Prince, in his fine mustard robes and heavy jewelry, steps into the cell. The door closes behind him, even though the guard’s wary face hovers nearby. She sits fully, glaring up at her captor. He only chuckles, leaning back against the bars.

“So I have your attention finally,” he drawls, crossing his arms and raking his gaze over her body. They’d swapped her gauze and silk for a rough shift, the fabric barely keeping her warm in the night. The vulnerability makes her skin crawl.

“If it pleases the Prince of Dorne,” she spits, turning to lay back on her side. Her hands itch to press her thumbs into his eyes, but what good would it do? Speed up the sentence from days to minutes?

“Oh come now, little scorpion, I’ve already commended you on how much your subterfuge entertained me,” he tuts, steps light and cat-like approaching. “Easily the most fun I’ve had in months. And all our sparring over these last days. Don’t let your current state tamp out your fury. It’s the most beautiful thing about you.”

She stays firmly turned to the wall as he sits beside her, the heat of his body melting the ice along her spine. Denying the satisfaction of her relief, she bites down on her lip.

“I’ve never had such a…” he begins again, trying to win her attention for some mystifying reason, before he stops. His fingers brush against her bare arm. “You’re freezing.”

She snorts, very unladylike. “Maybe I’ll perish from the cold before my beheading.”

Suddenly she’s surrounded by warmth, eyes shooting open. The man she was conscripted to kill is now draping his robe around her, bare expanse of his chest snug to her back. His breath dances along her cheek, and try as she might a shudder loosens her limbs.

“Little scorpion, I would not have you suffer,” he says, and the somber tone drips wonder on her skin. Perhaps ill-advised, but she presses back against his blazing heat, wondering if all desert men are this scorching or if it’s only Oberyn. His palm comes up to her arm and warms her skin. A reedy sound of relief catches in her throat. 

Before she can protest his hand travels over her stomach to cup her sex. Such boldness would normally result in the loss of a hand, but at the barest brush her core aches. Much as she hates to admit it (and never would to the Prince), she had dreamt of his touch more than once.

“I can warm you much better than this,” Oberyn purrs in her ear, his wicked fingers already creeping below her shift.

“What makes you think I would want your touch, my Prince?” She tries to hold her voice steady but his fingers are already swiping at her folds.

“This,” he gloats, bringing his soaked fingers to her face. Her arousal gleams thickly. “I think you would positively gush on me again.” Without pretense he drags his fingers into his mouth, sucking indulgently. She turns and watches him, pure sin and infuriating charm. His eyes open, and by the gods, they’re ravenous. 

“Will you take what your Prince gives you, little scorpion?” he demands, and every fiber of her being is screaming to deny him, but her parted lips and slow nod betray her. He smiles wickedly, tugging his cock from his pants to slide between her clenched thighs. Passing over her weeping cunt, he props himself up to closely watch her face. 

“I have dreamt of this cunt since you gave it to me, fucked my fist at the memory of you clenching around me,” he spits out, notching his blunt head at her at her entrance. “And now, I’ll do it again. But this time, you’ll scream my name.”

With a forceful thrust he buries himself inside her, the blinding sensation of fullness and sharp pleasure driving her to tuck into herself. He tuts and yanks her back against his chest, hand loosely around her throat as he sets a toe-curling pace. His teeth scrape her ear as he pants.

“Tight, wet, perfect little thing. Did you think your beauty and wiles would keep me from seeing your true nature?” he hisses, plunging his other hand between her legs to pinch her clit between his fingers. All she can do is wail and rock against his hold, hands scrabbling back to grip his pounding hips. “I’ve had many a pleasure, indulged all my vices, but making you cum on my cock as you tried to kill me…now that was a new experience.” 

Her breath whistles out through clenched teeth, wishing her body didn’t mold to his so readily. Nails digging into his hips, he growls and nips at her skin. Her orgasm is fast approaching, cursing and praising his skill as he pointedly strokes her clit and pounds into the perfect place inside. 

“Yes, my dangerous little scorpion, all glittering and deadly, cum for me a second time. I want your cunt to only desire how well I fuck it.” A quick strum of his fingers and her body traitorously snaps around him, only held in check by his grip and the roar of his snarl in her ear. When her body laxes he manhandles her to her back, lifting her hips off the ground as he slaps into her with reckless thrusts. A few more and he pulls out, fisting his cock and mashing his lips to hers as he cums in the palm of his hand. 

His lips are full and soft, the scratch of his mustache and beard burning against her skin. He sweeps his tongue into her mouth, full and domineering, but when she presses back with teeth and a lap of her own his hips stutter between hers. They kiss messily, licking and biting and panting against each other’s mouths until he finally lifts up and looks down at her. The Prince of House Martell, flushed and satiated, eyes just as dark and promising. 

“I stand by what I said during your arrest,” he says lightly, standing and shrugging off the floor-length robe. He drapes it over her body, sauntering to the cell door with only low-slung pants and the golden expanse of his back. She sits up, clutching the robe to her chest still warm. “You may beat us all to the Iron Throne one day, with that tenacity of yours.” 

One hand pulls the door shut…but not quite. Not enough for the latch to catch, but enough for the guards to believe so. Her eyes snap from the door to Oberyn’s eyes, challenge and conquest pooling in them.

“Come try and kill me again if you can, little scorpion.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[msmorningstaarr]

Holy and Heathen - Chapter 9 (A Fallen Star.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter Warnings: fingering (f receiving), full of fluff stuff, oberyn finally being a good hubby;

ao3 | masterlist

Chapter Summary: Oberyn is understanding that part of a duty involves letting go of the past to live fully the present. But some actions demand consequences.

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Before you read... I'm sorry for taking so long. I must confess I feel without motivation nowadays, but I'm trying my best to finish this story <3 likes, reblogs and comments are totally welcome!

Oberyn

Melara slumbered peacefully on his arms as the glimpses of sunshine made its way throughout his private quarters. Her blonde hair was messy and wild in a way he only saw on their first night. The warmth of her body innocently rubbing against his caused a sensation of comfort and relaxation. He had to admit that his life seemed too different and full of guilt as deeper he dived into marital life, but the little lady had nothing to do with it. His fingers traced where he assaulted her. The bruises were disappearing, although still visible. No man should ever be cruel towards a lady, especially when the lady in question was his own lady wife and the day they fought still haunted him until this day, even after her forgiveness.

Last night, he left that tavern adamant on his decision to make that feast as chaotic as possible. Wine had taken control over his head and he wanted to torment his mother, Melara, the drunk ones in the dance floor or simply anyone who would cross his path. He was angry at the world that Elia seemed so happy without him around. Jealousy screamed in his ears as he imagined dragon seed sowing inside of Elia instead of his own. As he rode back to the castle that night, he wanted everyone to feel at least a small part of everything he felt regarding Elia’s pregnancy… until he saw those scared eyes of Melara, not blinking for a moment once Oberyn extended his hand at her for a dance. 

The memory of his lady wife’s frightened gaze made his mind go on a spiral of turmoil and he realised that he had no right to interfere and ruin one more thing for her, not that night. The more he would talk to her, the more he could see the vulnerability through her eyes and how scared of him she was, it struck a chord within him, awakening a sense of responsibility and remorse. As the prince gently ran his fingers over the fading bruises, he couldn't shake the guilt that laid over him. No matter how much he tried to justify his actions as a means to cope with his own frustrations, he knew he had crossed a line.

Oberyn could not upgrade his feelings towards Lady Melara from one day to another swiftly. However, after being inside her walls - beyond fucking her, the dornish prince could see more and more of another side of her. He noticed her fingers intertwining on his every time she wished to speak. He noticed her eyes narrowing as her cheeks blushed once he spoke some explicit sentence. He grinned at how clumsy she could be at times when she would dance with him. He could finally appreciate how soft her lips were every time his own lips encountered hers. Maybe it was still the fear and suspicion over him, but Oberyn finally would feel like his lonely star was falling from the sky and being nearer to him, to become human. Melara was quite different from Elia, but her charm was undeniable and unique under his eyes. Oberyn felt privileged, once the Daynes were not the only ones with a piece of a fallen star; if they forged a sword, involuntarily the salty prince forged a wife.

The sunlight filtering into the room cast a warm glow on Melara's peaceful face. In that moment, Oberyn felt a wave of protectiveness and tenderness. He swore to himself that he would be a better husband, one who didn't let his monsters control him. He couldn't erase the past, but he could shape the future. If Elia could so easily fall for Rhaegar and cast him aside, why not could he grow to like Melara as well? He knew for a fact that his silver princess had the same melancholic gaze as Elia’s silver prince had.

What distressed Oberyn was the fact that Elia seemed to be so happy without him and yet, she held his feelings with enticing words of loving more than one person at the same time. Slowly, his mind had peace with the fact that loving Elia could be nothing more than longing and he knew his sister knows it too, although likes flying near the sun, never daring to touch it. Elia had Rhaegar and she seemed more than happy around him, Melara deserved to feel as happy too. His mother’s words at their breakfast enlightened his head and a sense of duty towards his house and family started to make sense. It could doom everything if anyone could read any content of their letters indeed. He stared at Melara once more and understood a life-changing revelation for his life: being mature was the only way out. He had nowhere to go; he was the heir, he was married and he was a man of his word. Melara’s dutiful presence made sense to him now, once legacy weighed over him.

Carefully disentangling himself from Melara's sleeping form, Oberyn rose from the bed and moved to a nearby table where a decanter of water and a basin were set. As he cleaned his face and splashed water on it, his own reflection in the mirror stared back at him, metaphorically using it as a manner to self-reflect on his actions. For so long, Oberyn never thought of feeling guilt for indulging himself with someone and here he was, drowning in guilty at every time he would remember the evening he fucked the tavern girl. He repeated himself that his lady wife would never know, she was just a servant girl somewhere in the desert village, in a random tavern. He would never see that woman again. The salty prince stared at his silver princess, watching her slender features perfectly shaped on that thin nightgown and slowly his digits traced gentle circles on her cheeks and soon after, waking up his wife.

"Good morning, husband." Melara said, yawning and pulling her hair behind her ear as he curled his lips on a smile. The princess sat on the bed and her eyes seemed wary, her body expression felt tense. Has he done something wrong?

"Good morning, wife." Oberyn replied to her, watching her sit down. The words from Elia’s last letter echoed in his mind and he wondered: could he be capable of loving more than one person at the same time? The salty prince beamed at his wife, who shrunk her body and joined her legs as she sat in bed. Her little eyes stared at him, not blinking for a second and with unexplainable emotions. She seemed to be uneasy, fearful and suspicious, which made the guilty devour his thoughts once more. Did Oberyn have the power to provoke so many hard feelings on her? 

"Look at me properly when I speak to you, princess," Oberyn said, with a smug smile. 

Melara then raised her face and adjusted her posture to stare at him, cheeks burning red in heat of embarrassment.

"Pardon me, husband." Melara tried to cover the bruised marks with her hands as she looked away and tried to leave the bed, but Oberyn was quick to hold her by cupping her face, bringing his silver princess closer to him.

"Don’t be." He muttered, caressing her chin. "Do I cause some sort of fear in you?"

The blonde girl sighed, biting her lips as her eyes stared at the ceilings in a search of words. "I-I…" She tried to speak.

"Be honest to me, Melara." Oberyn endured his words and leaned closer to his wife. "Do I frighten you?"

Already tearing and with nowhere to go, her lips left a low ‘yes’ leave her lips, which made Oberyn stare at her in silence, trying to find his own words to reply to it. However, after some taciturn minutes, his lips would finally open up once more.

"The day I first saw you in King’s Landing you were outstanding, my lady. I have to admit it." He beginned. "I must say I was not interested in you, even told Queen Rhaella I had no desire to grow any type of affection for you… my heart was busy with other people. However, I always thought of you as someone false, secretly involved in debauchery, hiding under righteousness to cover any of your failures, sins you may commit. That thought enticed my desires, I wanted to fuck your holiness away," His hands traced her arms once more, glancing at the upper members. "Still, the night you cried because we touched each other before our wedding I could see you were not lying and you were indeed innocent. And yet I wondered ‘how can someone this naive be this fearless?’ because you have only smiled at me once, at our wedding night after I made you come so much you were close to passing out. Not even one more smile, beam or slight grin after that, my lady." With this sentence, Oberyn held her hands and kissed them, gently. "Ever since I met you, I have been spiralling in guilt, I must confess. I should never have pushed you, assaulted you. I should never raise my voice at you. I should be more compassionate with you. For I have no wish to take the fearless gaze from your eyes, Melara."

"My prince…" Melara tried to speak, but Oberyn came closer and involved his arms around her waist, forcing her to straddle his thighs. She breathed heavily as the bright blue sea of her eyes met his dark brown, widow’s peek. Oberyn rubbed his nose against hers and his words fastly cut hers.

"Please, let me in, Melara." He pleaded, grabbing the back of her neck to pull her closer. "I promise to let my guard down for you to come in too."

Melara slowly touched her lips on his, brushing it as her fingertips caressed his face, allowing the contact between them. Oberyn squeezed her hips and his tongue invaded her mouth, exploring with eagerness and desire. Feeling the heat increase between both of them, Oberyn locked his wife in his arms, wishing that moment to never end. Melara tasted so differently now with sobriety taking care of him. Her smell was everywhere, her lips were plump and soft, her body was hot, nipples piercing through the night dress and rubbing against his bare chest as their tongues danced in full lust.

"My lord… husband…" Melara dropped her words while Oberyn kissed her neck and his hot breath caused goosebumps throughout her pale skin. The salty prince held her tight, pressing her centre against his growing bulge and letting a soft moan leave her lips. He smirked at the sight. "We did it last night… do you wish to do it again?" Then, Oberyn stopped his touches and only held her by the waist.

Her innocence screaming through her eyes went back into something as sweet as honey. Something he found to be annoying the old days now he even thought as sweet to see her eyes intensely gazing at him, mouth dried as she swallowed her spit. 

"You do not wish to be touched?" Oberyn asked, gently.

Melara’s breath caught in her throat as Oberyn’s question hung in the air, and she hesitated for a moment before finding her voice. "No, husband. I do wish to be touched," she whispered, her eyes still locked with his.

Oberyn’s gaze softened as he looked into her eyes, his hands tenderly caressing her waist. "Your desire must matter to me, Melara. I won’t push you into anything you’re not comfortable with." His hands slowly started to hold and lift her simple nightdress as he stared at her. "I know you don’t wish to use my mouth, fingers on you or undress you, but let me do this at least for once." Melara could not blink her eyes and swallowed her own spit as Oberyn kept undressing her. "Let me please you. I am tired of fucking you like an old, frail man… in only one position and almost fully clothed. Let me taste you like you deserve, my lady. Let me see your teats and suckle on them before our children do. Let me swim my tongue on your cunt as I eat you like it’s my last meal. Let me see your bare body underneath or on top of mine." Oberyn noticed her nails pressing against his shoulder and her wetness leaving a small mark on his trousers. He smirked at the feeling and his cock already gave signs of excitement. Her hips were already fully exposed. "I promise I’ll pray with you after we finish committing our sinful activities. I shall go even further and fast with you, so the Gods can see how willing to please you I am."

Melara overheated immediately and pouted her lips, ashamed. "Husband…" She moaned as Oberyn smugly smiled.

"You’re already wet, wife. Let me take care of this." Oberyn carefully controlled her hips, bouncing it back and forth as his fallen star whimpered, riding his thigh. "I see how keen you are when it comes to riding, my wife," he whispered when bit her ear. Melara arched her head back, lifting her arms so the salty prince could finish leaving her nude to his sight.

And there she was, fully naked in his presence. Her hands tried to cover her nudity immediately in shame, however, Oberyn was quick to prevent her actions and admired her nipples on display for him. His glance lowered to her belly and hips and then returned to her face, deeply blushing. "Don’t feel embarrassed. I am already bewitched by your body, my fallen star." 

His fingers reached her lips once more, as a sign of the intimacy he wanted to begin and his digits traced desperate moves onto her soft lips but his own reached her neck to kiss and nibble it. Melara squirmed and Oberyn locked his arms around her thin waist, eager for more. "Lay down," Oberyn softly commanded and Melara complied, still attempting to shield herself from his intense gaze. The vulnerability in her eyes did not go unnoticed by Oberyn, who understood the delicate nature of this moment.

A blend of desire and vulnerability as Oberyn and Melara navigated the uncharted waters of intimacy. Oberyn's gaze lingered on Melara's exposed form, appreciating the beauty that lay before him. His words were both a plea and a promise, a request for consent and a declaration of his intent to please her.

Melara, blushing and overwhelmed, tried to cover herself instinctively, but Oberyn's confident touch and commanding presence prevented her from concealing her nakedness. His admiration for her body, expressed with both words and actions, was a testament to the passion that simmered between them.

Oberyn's fingertips traced the contours of Melara's lips, a gesture that spoke of the intimacy he sought to explore. His kisses on her neck sent shivers down her spine, and the room vibrated alongside her voiced desire.

As Melara remained laying down, her hands covering her breasts and her legs crossed, Oberyn hovered over her. He admired her sunburnt skin, a contrast to his sun-kissed skin, that spoke of Dorne's relentless sun. His fingers gently moved to her hands, coaxing them away from her chest.

"Don't hide from me, my fallen star," he murmured, his voice a blend of tenderness and desire. "I want to see all of you, to know every inch of the woman I wish to please."

With a gentle touch, he guided her hands away, allowing her to lay exposed beneath him. The room seemed to pulse with the shared heartbeat of Oberyn and Melara. As their bodies intertwined, Oberyn carefully split her legs open for him and kept looking at the apex of her thighs, salivating in lust. Following his natural instincts, his index pressed against her swollen clit and it made Melara blush even more – if possible, as she suppressed her moan. "I don’t want you to hide those moans from me either, my wife." He said, circling his finger on her throbbing sweet spot. The silver princess could not hold back anymore and her hands covered her eyes as she tried to release her tension when Oberyn carefully touched her cunt and her throat let out quiet moans whilst Oberyn drove her to pure bliss.

The salty prince felt so satisfied to see her bare body squirming and enjoying herself that his own length leaked that early juice to every small move Melara did under his touches. His index increased his pace on her clit the faster he moved, the louder she screamed and Oberyn was already convinced that everyone in the castle could hear her sweet sounds of pleasure. “Let go, fallen star…” 

Melara already gave signs of an imminent climax reaching her body and immediately raised her upper body to face Oberyn, trembling her body and finally releasing the tension like waves crashing rocks. The prince grinned at her numb body recovering in the mattress after so many actions from Oberyn’s fingers, which he used to introduce inside of his lady wife and take a last sigh from her mouth. He leaves her cunt full of her wetness and tastes it with his own lips, fully pleased to have a piece of her climax with him. “Was it of your liking?” Oberyn asked, laying by her side as the princess breathed heavily.

Melara turned to face him and opened a sly smile. “Yes, husband.” She whispered, closing her eyes to feel Oberyn caressing her face. He could notice how relaxed and less serious she was now, leaving him under the impression that she no longer was under constant guard up to him and finally let him inside her world. “D-did you enjoy it, husband?”

Oberyn smiled mischievously and passed his fingertips over her body. “You have no idea of how much I did, wife.” He replied, now tracing his fingers over her pale skin. “Do you feel any sort of guilt after I did it to you?”

Melara's sly smile lingered as Oberyn's fingers traced over her face and body. The atmosphere between them had shifted, a newfound ease replacing the earlier tension. As Oberyn continued to explore her skin with gentle caresses, Melara's vulnerability and openness were evident.

She hesitated for a moment before responding to his question, her eyes meeting his. "No, husband," she replied softly. "I don't feel guilt. It was... different than I expected. But not in a bad way."

Oberyn's mischievous grin persisted as he observed her reactions. "Different, you say?" he teased. "Well, my lady, we've only just begun to explore each other. There's much more to discover, don't you think?"

Melara blushed at his playful tone but couldn't help but smile back. The walls that had once surrounded her seemed to be crumbling, allowing room for genuine connection and understanding to grow.

Oberyn pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "I want you to feel no shame or guilt, Melara. We are partners in this journey, and your desires matter to me. Whatever we explore together, it's a shared experience."

Melara nodded her head and her eyes seemed to stare at a blank spot, thinking about that small dialogue between them. Oberyn watched her carefully and sat on bed, noticing his member getting flaccid after not engaging in any action. 

Oberyn observed Melara's contemplative expression, realising that their exchange had left an impact on her. As he sat on the bed, he continued to caress her cheek gently, a silent reassurance that he was there with her in the aftermath of their shared intimacy.

Melara, lost in her thoughts, finally turned her gaze towards him. "It's just... I never thought it could be like this," she admitted, her voice a mix of curiosity and vulnerability.

Oberyn chuckled softly. Melara, deep in her thoughts, eventually turned her gaze toward him. "I never imagined this side of marriage," she admitted, her voice soft yet filled with curiosity. "It's both frightening and... intriguing."

Oberyn chuckled, his playful demeanour softened by a genuine warmth. "Marriage is a journey, my lady. It holds surprises, challenges, and pleasures. What matters is that we navigate it together."

As he sat on the bed, Melara joined him, and they shared a quiet moment, the air thick with the unspoken. Oberyn's gaze remained tender, a silent assurance that they were treading this unfamiliar path as equals. “Do you wish to finish your… desires too?” Melara asked, with a hint of unease.

Oberyn smirked and looked at her, surprised with her sudden move. “I had no idea I had unlocked a new personality in you, my lady.” He said, giggling. 

Melara lowered her head, ashamedly. “I thought I should expect to comply with your wishes, husband…” 

Oberyn scratched his eyebrows, trying to think of a response to that passive sentence coming from his wife’s lips. For him, part of feeling Melara as an equal was also in his sexual desires. How could he teach her that she also could be entitled to an opinion? It was a new situation for him, but the prince was trying actively to be patient with her, for he knew well that Faith and her conservative family had put her through. “You are completely entitled to an opinion, my lady. Just like that day you requested me to send Obara and Nymeria away,” he said, staring at her with an arrogant gaze. “If you do not wish for me to fuck you with my cock, then I will not. This part of me and you being equals as a couple.”

Melara looked at Oberyn with a mix of surprise and relief as he spoke. His acknowledgment of her agency in their intimate moments was a revelation, and it resonated deeply with her. She had expected a different reaction, a response that mirrored the societal norms she had grown up with. Oberyn's unconventional approach caught her off guard.

The weight of expectation seemed to lift from Melara's shoulders. Her unease turned into a subtle smile, and she met Oberyn's gaze with newfound confidence. "Thank you, husband," she replied, her voice holding a blend of gratitude and surprise. "I appreciate your understanding."

"Your desires matter, Melara," Oberyn reiterated, his hand finding hers. "We'll explore at a pace comfortable for both of us. And if there's anything you wish to share or ask, know that I am here."

Melara nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. The connection between them deepened in the shared vulnerability, a bridge built on trust and understanding. The room, once charged with passion, now held a different energy, an intimacy that extended beyond the physical.

“Do you still wish to go see Planky Town, my wife?” Oberyn asked, still holding her hand. Oberyn's question brought a twinkle to Melara's eyes, and she nodded enthusiastically. The newfound understanding and connection between them seemed to infuse a sense of joy into the room. As they held hands, the atmosphere shifted from the intimate aftermath of their shared vulnerability to a lighter, more carefree energy.

"Yes, Oberyn," Melara replied eagerly. "I would like that."

Oberyn squeezed her hand affectionately, appreciating the genuine enthusiasm in her response. As they discussed the details of their visit to Planky Town, the air in the room seemed charged with a different kind of excitement. The dornish prince was happy to see Melara interested in blending with her subjects and actually, even surprised. He never really considered her to be a person who actually cared to look after the poor and visit those damp places, but after recollecting the memory of her being a former servant of the Faith of the Seven, her attitude made sense to him. 

“Go to your chambers and fetch your handmaidens to be ready. But make sure to use a veil, I don’t want you to be more sunburnt as we walk through the desert.” He softly commanded his wife, who did as he said quickly, leaving him alone in his chambers to prepare himself for the day Oberyn promised Melara.

————

Oberyn usually rode on horse to the village whenever he decided to visit there, but with Melara in his company, he felt it was most appropriate for her to go on a chariot by his side, admiring the sultry dunes of sand along the way by her window. Before he could get ready himself, the red viper commanded one of his servants to deliver a message to Melara’s handmaidens to fetch her a specific dress he gave her. It belonged to Elia and it was orange, with mustard sleeves, quite similar to a tunic in fact. The dress carried beads and golden pearls embroidered in it and it suited too well with the yellow veil she chose for the occasion. Besides ravishing her with gold and jewellery, Melara only walked with a few accessories: an Seven Pointed silver ring and the Valyrian Steel necklace he gave her, alternating it with a sapphire necklace she carried from her homeland. That day she was addressed with a golden necklace, carved with orange gems. In her hand, Melara carried a small fan to refresh her face as the chariot made his way. It wasn’t a long trip, but Oberyn wanted to make it as comfortable as possible. He thought about bringing his daughters, but figured he would not push them onto Melara’s throat yet. Oberyn felt too distant from his children also, and missed being in their company, although the last events of his life and the constant need to administrate the household alongside Ysilla.

“Do you think the people will like me?” Melara asked, staring out of the chariot window at the passing scenery of the Dornish landscape. The sun cast a warm glow on her features, and her eyes held a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

Oberyn, who was seated beside her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, providing a reassuring squeeze. "I have to admit you are quite the charming person when you seem relaxed as you are now, my fallen star," he replied with a smirk. "Dorne is a land that values strength, resilience, and beauty. You possess all of that. But I do fear they will find your pale skin quite strange." Oberyn joked and giggled.

Melara's lips curled into a shy smile. The orange dress, once worn by Elia, adorned her like a regal mantle. The golden necklace and delicate accessories added a touch of elegance, making her presence captivating.

As the chariot made its way toward Planky Town, the small entourage garnered the attention of onlookers. The common folk paused in their daily activities to catch a glimpse of their Prince and his new lady. Whispers and murmurs followed their passage, the people curious about the woman who now shared the prince's company.

Melara's fan delicately waved in front of her face as she maintained her composure. The bustling sounds of the village grew louder as they approached, and Oberyn could sense the mixture of excitement and nervousness in his wife.

"You'll see, Melara," Oberyn whispered, his voice a comforting murmur. "Dorne is a place that appreciates authenticity. Be yourself, and they will appreciate you for who you are."

As the chariot entered Planky Town, the vibrant colours and lively atmosphere welcomed Oberyn and Melara. The adventure into the heart of Dorne had begun, and the red viper felt ready to present Melara to their future subjects. The salty prince paid attention to Melara and smiled to see how enchanted she was with the small village.

There was no one fanning her and yet, the silver princess seemed to ignore this fact and walked anxiously looking at the traders, merchants and even the street urchins. Her hands squeezed his hand every time someone would offer her something, even a simple bow and a ‘your highness’ as a sign of respect to their overlord. It was the first time Oberyn would see Melara actually engaged in something and actually showing her feelings towards people and situations. She was nothing intense, though. However, the impact the small city had on her was visible in her curious eyes. 

A peasant approached them and Oberyn put his hand on his dagger, promptly staying on guard with his men and gently holding the princess. “Please, my lord, my lady, I am starving…” the man said, faintly. Melara stayed silent in front of him, her hands joined together as she hesitantly moved her lips, apparently thinking about doing something. The princess looked at Oberyn and awaited for any sign of allowing her to act and the prince just nodded, quietly. The man was stinking, his lips were pale and dehydrated, just a few strings of hair on his head and a huge open wound on his right foot. 

“Fetch this man some water and bring him food.” She commanded, kneeling in front of the man. Her hands delicately signed for him to show his feet and embarrassed, he tried to raise her immediately. “My lady…” He fastly tried to speak, but Melara blocked his actions with a strange force. One of her servants quickly left and Oberyn watched her take care of the frail man in front of them. He never could imagine that Melara had a heart of gold like this. Although still serious, she was calmly praying with him and checking on the bloody sore affecting his skin.

“Seven blessings upon you, my lady," the frail man whispered, tears welling up in his eyes as Melara attended to his wounds. The sincerity in her actions spoke louder than any words, and Oberyn couldn't help but feel a mixture of surprise and admiration for his wife's unexpected kindness.

The servant returned with water, food and a few ointments prepared by a random merchant on the street, figuring the silver princess could actually try something to heal the man. Melara ensured the man had enough to quench his thirst and satisfy his hunger. The act of compassion displayed by the princess drew the attention of the commoners, and whispers of approval rippled through the crowd.

Oberyn observed the scene, a subtle smile playing on his lips. His fallen star, who had once been perceived as reserved and distant, revealed a side of herself that few had seen. The contrast between her serious demeanour and the genuine care she bestowed upon the impoverished man created a captivating image.

The peasant, overwhelmed by gratitude, repeatedly expressed his thanks to Melara. "You are a kind soul, my lady. Seven Blessings for you and your lord husband."

Melara and Oberyn replied with a simple nod, her gaze still focused on treating the man's wounds. The prince and princess resumed their journey through Planky Town, leaving behind a moment that resonated with the people; a princess who, despite her noble status, had extended a compassionate hand to those in need.

Oberyn, now seeing Melara in a new light, couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. In only one day allowing himself to grow any sort of feeling for his wife, he would not expect to unveil the layers that comprised the woman who had become his princess. However, stubborn as he is, Elia’s memory still lingered on his mind and traces of guilt haunted him every time he thought about moving on from her, even if he was aware she was already under the spell of Prince Rhaegar and far away from him. It was foolish, stupid of him to maintain his head so obsessed with a forbidden passion that affected him intensely. Despite his growing admiration for Melara's compassion and strength, a part of him remained tethered to the past, unable to fully let go of the forbidden passion he harboured for his sister.

Guilt gnawed at him again, a constant reminder of the choices he had made and the consequences they had wrought. The memory of Elia, her smile and her touch ghosted him and refused to release its hold on his soul. Yet, amidst the turmoil of his emotions, Oberyn found solace in the presence of Melara. Her quiet strength and unwavering compassion offered him a glimpse of hope, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume him.

“You showed yourself to be very skillful using ointments in that man.” Oberyn pointed out, walking amongst the peasants.

Melara just lowered her head and nodded. “In the Starry Sept you learn all kinds of things when you’re a novice,” she replied. “I did took care of a man in the Starry Sept, husband. The former High Septon.” As she mentioned it, her eyes seemed a bit numb, saddened for a brief moment. The familiar melancholy reached her again thinking of him. 

“Is he dead by now?” Oberyn asked, staring at her. 

“Likely, yes.”  Melara replied, lowering her eyes and sighing heavily. 

Oberyn observed Melara's expression, sensing the sorrow that crept into her eyes at the mention of the former High Septon. The weight of the past seemed to press on her, and he could see the traces of melancholy etched on her face.

"Death often finds us all, one way or another," Oberyn remarked, his voice a mixture of understanding and empathy. "In the world we live in, even the highest and the holiest are not immune to its grasp."

Melara nodded in acknowledgment, her gaze fixed on the ground. "It seems you've had your share of encounters with it. The High Septon, your mother and... You possess a kindness not commonly found in our world."

Melara glanced at him, her expression a mix of acknowledgment and sorrow. "Kindness may be a rarity, but it costs nothing to offer it," she replied softly. "I learned that with the Gods."

Oberyn remained silent for a moment, contemplating her words. He couldn't deny the truth in them. In the harsh reality of their world, where power and strength often dictated outcomes, a simple act of kindness stood out. 

The prince raised his eyebrows as he stared at a blank spot amongst the street of merchants. “Since you were so dexterous with the ointments, I should take you to see my stove where I keep my poisons. Would you like that?”

Melara turned her eyes to him, surprised. “So is it true that you know about poisons?”

Oberyn grinned and squeezed her hand. “Yes. Mother had an alchemist from Lys to teach me once she noticed I took interest in the subject. Elia loved watching me manipulate it too.”

Melara looked at Oberyn with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. “The two years I was in Volantis I also learned a great deal with a magister.” The revelation that Oberyn had knowledge of poisons added another layer to the bonding they were forming with each other. The notion of visiting his personal space where he kept such substances honestly bothered him because it was a change of heart he felt he had to do. However, he was no longer interested in making Melara pass as an outsider in his life; the girl, although cautious, seemed pretty satisfied with the sudden change from her lord husband and Oberyn, as a sad bird in its cage had learned to live with the lack of freedom. If he could not have his freedom, he would at least enjoy what was left for him.

"Poisons are a dangerous craft," she remarked, her voice cautious. "What purpose does it serve for you to keep them?"

Oberyn's grin widened, and he continued leading her through the lively streets. "Knowledge is power, my fallen star. And in this world, one must be well-acquainted with various forms of power to navigate it. Besides, it's not only about harm. Sometimes, poisons can be the cure when used with the right intent and understanding."

Melara nodded thoughtfully, considering his words. For a moment, she stopped her walking and faced Oberyn in silence, until she wasn’t. “Why?”

Oberyn faced Melara, with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean, my lady?”

Melara bit her lips and faltered her words there, lowering her head. “Why do you treat me so gently after being distant?” She asked, practically soundless.

Oberyn sighed and squeezed her hands as she stared at him. “Because I no longer wish to fight the cage I was locked into with you. Of what is worth to yearn for freedom if I hurt you in the process?”

“You are not the one to blame, more of one to pity over the fact you could not follow your wish to be a Septa.” The dornish prince cupped her face with one hand, gazing intensely at her as he saw a glimpse of a tear fall from Melara’s eyes right there, in front of a crowd. “We are bound as a couple, you and I, Melara. From the day I took you as my wife, you and I became one soul, one flesh, one heart. If I hurt you, I hurt myself. Therefore, I find no joy in causing you pain. You deserve more than I have given you.”

Melara's eyes shimmered with emotion as she listened to Oberyn's heartfelt words. She reached up to touch his hand that cupped her face, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, my prince," she whispered softly.

Oberyn leaned down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead, his expression tender. "You are my princess, Melara. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that you feel safe and cherished every day."

With that, they resumed their walk, hand in hand, their bond strengthened by understanding and acceptance. As they disappeared into the streets, Melara started asking him questions about Essos, his abilities with poison and studies he did with scholars all around the planet. The silver princess was reserved but it was clear her interest upon Oberyn’s adventures and he could not deny his liking for that interaction and the attention he was receiving for someone he was finally seeing as his equal, not an inanimate object for him to produce heirs.

And with time passing Melara gave him signs of hunger, once both of them had not broken their fasts before leaving to see the village. As a sign of good will, Oberyn let her pick any place to eat by her choice… a terrible choice, he thought. Melara looked at all the taverns and disliked them immediately, almost. ‘The smell is not good’, or she would simply stare at the place for brief seconds until her mind decided it was not what she wanted. Oberyn was slightly annoyed, but complied with an unknown stock of patience with his lady wife.

Of so many tents, Melara chose a quite familiar and specific tavern. Its walls were grey, but it was loud and the food smelled good. The scent of pepper and chicken invaded his nose, alongside Melara’s who asked her husband if they could eat there. 

The address happened to be the same he visited last day and fucked the servant. In all honesty, Oberyn would never want his wife to be in the same establishment where he fucked other woman, knowing that the mysterious commoner he bedded could be there, serving him and Melara. Her eyes seemed so eager to explore the saloon, he had no right to deny her that. So with a sly nod, Oberyn allowed his silver princess to eat there with him. 

As she entered the establishment, the owners of the place quickly arranged for someone to serve the prince and princess and treats of all kinds arrived to them. Fresh fruits, the best dornish red they could fetch and breads of all kinds. Melara thanked them all while her cheeks burned red, once she was not used to having all the attention on her. Oberyn found sweet the way she would react to being pampered and, with time, he felt more comfortable once there was no signal of the girl he fucked being around.

“Get used to being treated like this. People cherish the Martells too much, my princess.” Oberyn stated, smirking before swallowing a grape. Melara pouted and before she could say anything, a loud noise from behind her would reach her attention. Oberyn, for the first time, would feel as if his heart was leaving his chest. The same way he would feel if his mother or nurse caught him doing something mischievous. There she was, the same girl he fucked staring at them. She looked pale and frightened, her eyes were puffy and appeared to be completely flabbergasted after throwing the jar of wine on the floor. Could all that reaction be only due to seeing him?

“Melara.” Said the girl, trembling terribly. How did she know his wife like this? The silver princess looked behind and petrified, stared back at Oberyn briefly before standing up.

“Lya.” Melara replied and the strange girl hugged her, still shaking.

------

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

A Lion Admits Snakes

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x fem!OC

Warning: arranged marriage, toxic family, forced marriage, minor character death, age gap

Summary: When Alies was told she would marry Prince Oberyn, she didn't know she was about to be set free.

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"Alies always knew she'd be married off for political gain; it was an expectation her parents and uncle reinforced. She'd nod in acknowledgement, diverting her attention to the books she cherished, often found in her hands. She grew up quietly, unlike her more boisterous cousins Cersei and Jaime. Spending most of her days in the library, she found solace in the company of her cousin Tyrion, immersed in the pages of various books.

Cersei, describing Alies as odd and quiet, spoke of her as dull and common-looking out of sheer envy. Yet, the truth was far from that. Alies, at a tender age, possessed long, wavy, Lannister golden hair, complemented by perpetually pink lips and eyes as blue as sapphires. She may have been shorter, but her figure was enviable.

The day arrived when Alies was summoned to the small council room in the Red Keep. Every Lannister sat around the table; their gaze fixed upon her. She understood it was the day she would be sent off to her lord husband. "Alies, you likely know why you've been summoned," they said, to which she simply nodded.

Tywin rose and approached her, delivering the news, "You will be sent to Dorne the day after tomorrow. You will marry Prince Oberyn."

The months before the wedding were best described as awkward. Alies wandered around Sunspear and the Water Garden a lot. She rarely interacted with her husband, Prince Oberyn. She felt lonely and isolated even as she wandered around.

Oberyn watched her from afar. He was intrigued by the lioness. She looked like a caged animal, a caged lion. Always wandering through the corridors of Sunspear and the Water Garden.

He had enough of not talking to the woman he would take as wife. He saw her in the gardens and made his way to her.

She sat at a fountain, reading a book he knew all too well. “Trying to poison someone?” Alies jumped at the smooth voice of the prince. She looked up from the book and saw Oberyn smirking at her. She looked down at the book, marking it with a dried flower she found in the book before she closed it. “No, I read the book just out of curiosity.”

She was shy Oberyn noted. His smile got bigger. “I think it is time to get to know my betrothed.” He sat down next to her. “Why have the Lannister chosen you? Thrown you into the snake pit?” He smirked at her.

"I've been chosen because they needed an excuse to get rid of the quiet, soft lion without having to go through the trouble of having me killed and making it seem like an accident or suicide or revenge from another great house." Alies looked down at her hands interlocked in her lap.

"So, by offering you as a wife to me, a steward of the house Martell, they'll let it look as if they've extended a hand of friendship and goodwill." Oberyn shook his head with a scoff. Alies nodded at his words. "Yes, that's the gist of it." She replied softly.

Oberyn turned more to his bride. He had a smile on his lips, but his eyes held a dangerous glint, full of anger. "It's not a bad move on their part. Offering a young wife to an older, established gentleman who is neither too powerful nor too common, but someone who does have the ear of royalty." He watched her body language carefully. Her face was cast to the ground. "...I am sorry that you must shoulder this burden." Her voice was meek.

Oberyn looked sympathetically at her. "You consider yourself a burden?" He softly asked. He couldn’t believe her. She wasn’t like the other lions he had met over the years. All proud, loud, and arrogant. She was the opposite. Soft, gentle, and quiet. Like a little lion cub.

Alies chuckled humourlessly. "Yes. And a dangerous one at that. They will try to manipulate you through me and if... if our union were to produce a child, they will have that over you as well as legitimate blood ties." Alies blushed at the mention of children. She knew about his eight daughters. Alies felt nervous at the prospect of having Oberyn’s children, or even lying with him.

"Why are you telling me this? Are you meant to be their spy?" Oberyn asked her softly. The poison in his eyes was slowly subsiding.

Alies sighed. Her eyes closed as she felt tears sting her eyes. "I am tired of being used by them. And the wedding does not need to occur." She went quiet at the end of her sentence.

Oberyn was confused. "...What do you mean?" She looked over to him. Her sad blue eyes seemed to look into his soul. Strands of her blond hair fell over her face. Her eyes held a glint in them. A glint Oberyn didn’t like very much. "If... If there was an accident, an unforeseeable tragedy, like say... I went exploring alone, somehow slipped from the cliffs, and drowned-"

Oberyn was taken aback by her insinuation. "No. Not!"

Alies was confused. "It is a good plan. I cannot swim and accidents happen all the time-" Oberyn grew agitated. "You're talking about purposely killing yourself!" He was flabbergasted.

Alies’ grew irritated. For a long time, she had this thought. She had a lot of time to think about different scenarios. "Yes! Yes, I am! And in doing so I will free us both from this burden and hinder their plans to destroy this house." Her voice had more fire in it.

Her outburst made Oberyn raise his eyebrow. "No. You're talking nonsense-" Alies stood up. Anger flared up inside her. "This is the only way-"

Oberyn stood up too. His anger was growing too, but he tried to keep it at bay. "It isn't. And if you continue with this insane plan I'll have you locked in your room until after the wedding." She cast her eyes down to the ground. "I am your enemy. Why... Why would you care about my life?"

Oberyn was taken aback as he heard his betrothed speak about herself. "You're a victim of circumstance. On my honour, by my word: we will protect you. I will protect you."

He took her face into his large hands so she could see he meant every word he spoke.

“I never tasted something so sweet but yet so acidic,” Alies exclaimed in wonder. Oberyn smiled at her. “Well, little lion, get used to eating such exquisite fruits. Dorne has an abundance of various fruits such as this.” Alies smiled gently at him before taking another seed of pomegranate from the crystal bowl with the gold rim and popping it into her mouth.

Oberyn grinned at his wife. After their talk in the gardens they had grown closer it only grew stronger by the day. Alies also formed a friendship with Elaria, Oberyn’s most trusted friend and his paramour. His daughters grew on her too. His oldest were nearly the same age as her, which made their family ties a little strange.

Oberyn shared news of an invitation to King Joffrey's royal wedding, causing Alies to scoff at the apparent ploy. Her resentment towards her family surfaced, but Oberyn and Elia found amusement in her response.

“Seems our lion cub already becomes a snake herself.” He mused to his paramour. Elaria smirked. “It seems so, my love.” She was lying on a lounging chair next to the table where Alies and Oberyn sat.

“It’s another ruse to get me to spill anything about you.” Alies hissed. With venom dripping from every word she seethed. “My uncle is a power-hungry fool.” Oberyn and Elia chuckled as they watched Alies's body language change from relaxed to resentment.

Alies looked at her husband with determined eyes. “And you will have your revenge on my family. Revenge for Elia and your niece and nephew.” She softly spoke.

Their visit to King's Landing stirred memories of her impending marriage to Oberyn. Reflecting on her family's manipulations and deceit, Alies found solace in being away from their influence.

The wedding was beautiful. The feast was extravagant. Joffrey had displayed how much of a spoiled brat he was in everything he did. Alies hid her disdain for him and the rest of her family in a cup of wine.

When Oberyn volunteered to fight for Tyrion. As you are seated beside your uncle in the arena Elia is next to you. You lean over, your voice dripping with venom. “If you kill him, uncle, be sure Dorne will rage war against House Lannister."

Oberyn asked his wife to dance so he would distract her from her family. She was in his arms, calm and protected. Her head was on his shoulder.

They hadn’t been dancing long before screams filled the gardens. Oberyn pulled Alies to the back, shielding her from the eyes of her dead cousin.

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[sunspearesque]

Forbidden Fervor

Summary: Douse the fervor raging within, bestow upon me the forbidden release, frigid and honed, dripping with crimson... Let it carve through my dread as relentlessly as time erodes the vigor from an aged soul.

A/N: yo, idk what happened here.. i saw the inspo and we dove headfirst. i’m so very sure old man nasty spirit possessed me or something cause idk how i wrote this.. but yeah enjoy the filth i guess? lmfao.. also, i did use some of the famous lines from the show/books—specifically the scene where he stabby stab the pink little man at the brothel just because :3 the rest tho are the whispers of my little brain hehehoho

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); canonical racism (against dornish people); threat of assault (nothing happens); we hate Lannisters in this house; protective!Oberyn; depiction of injury/attack; use of weapons (dagger); Wet and Wanting™️; primal urges, kinda sorta; a hint of possessive!Oberyn; inappropriate use of weapons; dagger riding (don’t look at me); unprotected p in v; creampie (the man has a breeding kink what can i say?); quoting mr. darcy

WC: 1.9K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

A grand retinue accompanied Prince Oberyn Martell and his wife Nala on their journey north to attend the wedding of Lord Stark's eldest son. The journey was replete with delightful surprises and, regrettably, some less pleasant ones. One of their travel days found them lodged in an inn nestled amidst the forested lands of the North. The weather was cold and crisp, the air dry and biting, causing Oberyn to grumble about the layers of clothing encasing his form. Nala found his discomfort amusing—this man is averse to decency.

As they were enjoying their meal in the inn, a trio of golden-haired men strode in, their disdainful expressions evident as they cast disparaging glances at the other patrons. Murmuring curses under their breath, they took a seat at a nearby table, much to the discomfort of those around them. Nala sensed the tension in the air, recognizing the unmistakable look of Lannisters. She knew all too well her husband's scorn for them. Desperate to diffuse the situation, she attempted to divert his attention away from them, whispering softly, “My love, look at me,” noticing his gaze fixed upon them with obvious contempt.

The Lannister men, oblivious to her attempt to diffuse the tension, noticed her caress on his thigh and exchanged mocking remarks amongst themselves. “Why does such beauty consort with that Dornish bastard?” one of them jeered, his laughter echoing loudly in the room. “This whore should try to get with a real cock... a Lannister one,” another added, patting his bulge and leering at her. “Just give him a shaved goat and an olive oil bottle and be done with it,” the third chimed in before all three joined in uproarious laughter.

Nala could feel the blood charring beneath her skin, her heart pounding in her ribcage as she dreaded her husband's reaction to the insults. She observed the vein running through his neck pulsating beneath his golden skin, indicating the rage boiling within him. Despite his efforts to conceal it, a smirk tinged with bitterness adorned his face, masking the fury that simmered beneath the surface.

With graceful poise, he rose from his seat, his hand drifting toward the dagger secured at his hip—a weapon fashioned in the likeness of two intertwined vipers; its smooth, golden surface gleaming in the dim light of the inn. Slowly and deliberately, he approached their table, his gaze locking onto the perpetrator who had called his wife a whore.

Oberyn's tongue clicked disapprovingly as he addressed the men, his tone dripping with mockery. “Do you know why the world despises a Lannister?” he quipped, his words laden with scorn. “You believe your wealth, your lions, and your gilded pride make you superior to all.” The Lannister men exchanged smug glances, sharing a condescending chuckle amongst themselves. One of the trio stealthily reached for his sword, attempting to draw it from its sheath without detection. Yet, unbeknownst to them, he noticed—he always does.

“May I tell you a secret?” Oberyn continued, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You're not a golden lion. You're just a pink little man who is far too slow on the draw.” With a swift motion, he unsheathed his dagger and plunged it into the hand of the man who had insulted his wife, the same hand he had earlier used to pat his cock. Piercing between the carpals of that hand, it now lay on the table. The man let out a guttural wail, paralyzed in his place as the dagger twisted amidst flesh, bone, and veins.

“When I pull my blade, your friend starts bleeding,” Oberyn stated calmly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Quite a lot, I'm afraid. So many veins in the wrist.” He observed the man writhing in pain before turning his gaze back to the other Lannister. “He'll live if you get him help straight away,” he added mockingly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Decisions,” Oberyn remarked, his head tilting slightly as his gaze shifted to the bleeding man again. “And when you speak of a dornish princess—my wife—you will address her as ‘your highness,’” he continued, his tone carrying a dangerous edge. “Lest you wish for me to sever your tongue at its root.”

He withdrew his dagger from the man’s hand, the Dornish soldiers surrounding him, swords and spears at the ready. One of them addressed him, “What shall we do with them, Your Highness?”

“Nothing,” Oberyn replied calmly, wiping the blood from his dagger with the end of his shawl. "I reckon they've learned a lesson or two about manners from the Dornish, and I expect they'll find their own way out.” With a dismissive wave, he turned to walk toward Nala, who stood frozen with fear, wide-eyed, and breathing shakily.

“Apologies, my love,” he said tenderly, encircling his arms around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Nestling her gently in his embrace, as though she were the most delicate of blossoms.

Ever the viper; deadly, dangerous, unpredictable... and mine.

A familiar primal heat stirred within her, much to her chagrin as she cursed herself for succumbing to it.

Gods be good, this shouldn’t ignite a fire within me and make me crave him and the dagger he wielded in my defense.

She kissed him with fervor, her hands caressing his face, yearning to melt into him and merge with him completely. As they parted, both breathless, he chuckled softly. "I see you enjoyed that, princess?" he whispered, prompting a blush to bloom across her cheeks—was I too obvious?

He pulled out the chair for her to resume her place at the table, a gallant gesture amidst the chaos caused by the departing Lannisters, who left mutilated and humiliated.

Throughout the meal, Nala’s gaze remained fixed on Oberyn, her desire for him evident in her unwavering stare. Yet, her eyes also flickered occasionally to the dagger sheathed at his side, her longing palpable. Catching her subtle glances, Oberyn couldn't help but tease her with a smirk. “My love, you are eyeing that dagger as if it were your lover,” he quipped, his tone playful and suggestive.

She regarded him incredulously, her expression stern, before a laugh escaped her lips, unable to resist his irreverence. “What? People engage in all forms of pleasure,” he remarked casually, a hint of mischief in his tone. “I’d be curious to witness you attempting one of these forms, my love,” he added, raising an eyebrow, his smirk unyielding—the infamous smirk that both infuriated and delighted her.

“How in the Seven Hells would I engage in such forms, Oberyn?" she retorted, her tone a blend of amusement and exasperation, unsure whether to marvel at his wit or roll her eyes at his audacity.

He chuckled, unfazed, and resumed his meal, prompting her to shake her head in bemusement before following suit, both indulging in their food as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

—

As they retired to their chambers, the earlier unpleasant encounter and their playful banter lingered in her mind, unable to shake off the eagerness she felt for him.

Not surprisingly, he seemed equally consumed by their earlier conversation. Upon entering their room and securing the door behind them, he immediately closed the distance between them, kissing her hungrily. His hands roamed over her body, gripping her ass firmly, igniting a fire within her and causing desire to pool between her thighs.

Breaking away from their passionate embrace, he strode to the bed and plunged his dagger into the mattress, securing it firmly in place. Only the gleaming, serpent-shaped handle remained visible.

"What... what are you doing?" Nala inquired, perplexed by his actions.

“I long to see you mount it," he declared simply, taking a seat on the wooden chair facing the bed.

"Mount it how?" she questioned, furrowing her brow in confusion.

"Like you mount my cock every night," he replied with a crooked smile.

She stood in stunned silence, her thoughts swirling with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. The unexpected request from her husband both startled her and ignited a flicker of excitement deep within her. It was not uncommon for him to embrace unconventional pleasures, to seek out new experiences in their intimate moments together.

She offered a gentle smile before beginning to shed her dress, letting the fabric cascade down her form like water, revealing the delicate curve of her clavicle, the supple swell of her breasts and their hardened peaks, her glistening cunt between her thighs, before finally pooling at her feet.

His gaze lingered upon her with a hunger that seemed to devour her, as if he yearned to possess this beauty solely for himself, to adore… to pleasure and treasure... wholly and entirely his.

She moved with grace toward the bed, settling and facing him, her eyes fixed on the dagger embedded in the mattress before her. It was the very same dagger he wielded to protect her, a silent warning to any who dared to show her disrespect.

She lifted herself slightly before sinking into it, feeling the cold metal filling her searing flesh. Her eyes closed, lips parting as she relished the peculiar sensation, the ridges of the handle gliding against her inner walls, deliciously. It was unfamiliar yet pleasing, strangely fitting. She quickened her pace, with each rise and fall, soft moans escaping her lips and filling the room. Her breasts bounced with each movement, a testament to the pleasure coursing through her.

Oberyn watched her with an insatiable hunger, enchanted by her allure. She accepted his offerings eagerly, with devotion, her yearning unwavering as she sought to be filled with everything that was his. Whether his fingers, his cock, or even his dagger, she embraced it all, an extension of him in every way.

He felt the bulge in his breeches grow bigger, his cock throbbing painfully with desire, yearning to pierce that sweet cunt of hers, to fill her with his seed over and over again til it takes. He longed to hear her soft moans as he pushed her to the brink of bliss, feeling her warm, wet, and wanting in his embrace.

He freed his hardened cock, his hand beginning to caress it with slow, deliberate strokes, as she mounted his dagger with unyielding ardor, deriving her pleasure from it. Her gaze met his, lethal and luring, eyes that could have felled him had she not been his.

Her movements became erratic, her moans blending into strained whimpers. She slipped her hand down frantically to circle her soaked clit, driving her closer to her release. Collapsing onto the mattress, she murmured his name, her thighs trembling with pleasure.

Rising from his seat, he approached her, cradled her languid form, and moved her to the center of the bed, laying her on her back. He spread her thighs apart, watching her clenching sex seep her release, delicately. He nudged the head of his cock to her entrance. Her cunt sucked him in effortlessly, eliciting a soft whine from her lips as he filled her. He laid atop her, his weight offering a comforting warmth she had always longed for, drawing her closer to him before thrusting into her fervently.

Mine, my love, mine… all fucking mine, the Others take them all.

He nipped at the tender flesh of her breasts and shoulder, his warmth flooding her as he spilled his cum deep within her, his breath ragged.

After their heaving chests stilled, she gently raised her hand to brush the damp curls from his forehead, meeting his gaze. “I love you most ardently, my fierce viper,” she whispered.

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

The Fox and The Viper: The Moon

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given. Specific Warnings: sexual assault/rape threat(no follow through), gore, blood, death, eventual smut, slooooow burn, drinking, alcohol excess. (Let me know if I missed any!) (Mam-gu = grandmother/grandma in Welsh, anywlyd is a term of endearment, Bore da is good morning)

(Yeah, I caved, I needed to get this out, next chapter will be released on the original release date (12th august) I hope you like it!) Line dividers: Designed by macrovector / Freepik edited by me

Chapter 1 – The Moon

Hari Owens bolts awake, sweat heavy on her brow as her chest heaves from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Lightning arcs across the sky outside her window, the storm had been picking up momentum all day and had clearly reached its apex. But the storm wasn’t what woke her. She groans and looks to her nightstand to see her phone on it’s charging stand. The screen lights up as she moves.

04:17am

“Shit, might as well get up.” She breathes to herself, running her fingers through her long hair, brushing it out of her eyes as she resigns to another night of lost sleep. Hari rolls out of her single bed and crosses the small distance from her tiny bedroom, through the minuscule open plan kitchen-living room into to the even smaller bathroom.

The smell of mould and bleach makes her nose crinkle as she turns on the shower. The flat seemed to always have a bad smell about it, no matter how hard she cleaned. As she steps into the shower the vision of her nightmare flashes to the front of her mind.

The red snake coils around her neck, forked tongue skittering against her jaw as the smell of orange blossom and some heady incense threatens to suffocate her. It’s the same dream every time, she can’t recall when it first started but it couldn’t have been more than two months ago, but every Thursday night the nightmare retuned. It had started as just a pair of green reptilian eyes, staring at her through the gloom. Then the body of the snake had begun to wrap around her leg in one dream, then her torso in another, finally it reached her neck.

But this time it was different, there was a black and silver lion, a giant straw-yellow wolf and a single black deer snapping at her feet. Each is desperate to reach the snake, raking at her body with white hot claws, teeth like knives, and brutal crushing antlers.

As soon as blood had been drawn from her skin the snake struck at the wolf, sending it careening into the darkness. Next the deer was crushed by the tight coiling body of the snake. Finally, the lion was blinded by venom before the snake devoured it whole. As she forced herself to wake from the nightmare, she saw the snake shift and warp into the outline of a man, clothed in leather armour holding a spear.

Hari swears to herself as the water runs cold, the boiler had been acting up all week, and the frigid sheets of water were the last thing she needed this morning. She turns the shower off, shuddering as she wraps a towel around her before calling her grandmother, setting the call to speaker so she could get ready at the same time.

“Bore da Hari, what are you doing up this early?” Her grandmother’s coarse voice crackles through the phone. Hari’s lips curve up into a smile as she brushes her long copper hair into a high ponytail.

“Bore da Mam-gu,” She responds, loving being able to reply with the limited Welsh she knew, “Nightmares again, getting really vivid too.” Hari responds, wiping her face with a flannel washcloth before tucking the phone under her ear as she returns to her bedroom.

“The snake one again? Foresight doesn’t run in the family anywlyd, are you sure you’re not just smoking too much Ganja?” Hari can’t help but smile at the outdated term and the brass balls on her grandmother.

“No Mam-gu, and no-one says Ganja anymore,” Hari rolls her eyes at her delightfully out of date grandmother, “But no, I’m not smoking too much pot. This is the same as when Mum passed, I get the same sweats, the same rush of Power in my veins.” Hari explains, knowing her witch of a grandmother would understand. Carys Owens, or Mam-gu as she often demanded to be called, was a witch gifted with The Knowledge, a way of knowing things about the world, about people that was honed over eight decades of experience and training.

“This is troubling, and with Samhain tonight this is a bad omen cariad, you’re not going out tonight are you?” Mam-gu warns and Hari worries at her bottom lip with her teeth as she shimmies into tight black and silver yoga pants and a matching sports bra before zipping her work hoodie over the top.

“I’ve got a work thing, I’ll make sure I don’t say out past midnight.” Hari says, already cringing from the inevitable scolding from her grandmother.

“I will be calling you at midnight cariad, you best be tucked up in bed with the doors locked and windows shut.” Mam-gu warns and Hari falters for a second, pausing in her search for her trainers.

“I expected to be forbidden from leaving the house, by threat of wooden spoon, you getting soft Mam-gu?” She teases, hoping to get a rise out of the old woman.

“You’re almost thirty Angharad Sian Owens, you have to make your own decisions, but please, be careful.” Mam-gu’s voice is full of concern and Hari takes a deep breath as she spots her trainers under the bed.

“I promise, I’ll check in with you when I get home tonight. Rwy’n dy garu di.” She adds.

“I love you too cariad, now get going, those weights won’t lift themselves!” Mam-gu says and Hari can hear the smile in her croaky tone. Mam-gu is exerting The Knowledge casually over her, and even through the phone she can home in on a person to excruciating detail.

“It’s so weird when you do that Mam-gu, speak later.” Hari chuckles as she hangs up the call, slipping in her air pods and shouldering her rucksack. Whilst she had chatted with her Mam-gu she had stuffed clothes for work and outfit for the Halloween party around her work laptop.

She locks her door, psyching herself up with a few stretches before the ghostly image of the man in leather armour flashes through her mind. She shakes the image from her thoughts, already selecting a pop-punk workout mix as she begins the descent down the fourteen flights down to the street below.

Hari grunts as she finishes her last rep of deadlifts, her muscles shaking with exertion as she releases the Olympic bar. She always finishes on deadlifts, something about the workout gave her a buzz, a sense of achievement. She swipes her towel from the floor and pats herself down before grabbing the cleaning solution and paper towels from the station to her right.

That’s when she sees them, her heart sinks as she continues wiping down the bar and weights before returning them to the racks. Marcus, John, and the third guy who’s name she could never remember always came in like a pack of stray dogs.

“Hey look it’s your girlfriend Dan!” Marcus, the bullish one of the group, all muscle, no neck, and hair like mouldy straw. He was the largest of them all, and Hari always guessed was the most likely to be juicing on steroids. Dan strides over to her, crowding her space as she backs up towards the racks of weights behind her. John mopes behind the pair, dark hair pulled into a short pony tail, eyes averted as the other two flank her on both sides.

“Hey there Hari, you finishing up? Don’t want to put on a show for us today?” Dan drawls, looking her up and down with a predatory gaze. The proximity unsettles Hari, Dan’s reddish-brown hair was slicked back, the smell of too much gel burning Angharad’s nostrils as she backs up slowly from him.

“I need to get to work, please, get out of the way.” Hari says, eyes defiant as she stares Dan down, but her heart is hammering in her chest, if she wasn’t already sweating from the workout she would be now. Dan had pushed her boundaries often, but this was more sinister, calculated.

“Work, work, work,” Dan mocks her with a sing-song tone, “All you do is work, no wonder you’re so uptight.” He steps further into her personal space, the odour of cheap body spray and smell of cigarettes nauseating as Hari’s hand falls to the weight rack behind her. Her fingertips brush against the cast iron plates, feeling for one of the lighter ones, just in case.

“I’m going out tonight actually,” She retorts, trying to diffuse the situation as she grips what she thinks is a 5kg plate, “So I’ll be sure to unwind then.” The rush of her own blood in her ears is deafening as she watches Dan’s lips curve up into a sinister smile.

“Maybe we’ll see you out there, help you get rid of some of that tension?” Dan purrs, placing a hand on her arm.

“Hey!” A masculine voice shouts from across the gym and Hari lets go of the breath she had been holding in, “Hari you alright over there? These guys bothering you?”

“Actually John,” She says, a glint in her eye as she looks up into Dan’s cold dark eyes, “They’ve been harassing me for weeks, I’d like to make a complaint.”

“Fucking bitch, don’t you dare.” Dan growls, his grip tightens on her arm as she stares defiantly up at him.

“Alright guys, back off,” John’s voice booms across the lofty room as he strides over to the group, “I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but you bother her again I’m suspending your membership, permanently.” John squares up to Dan, who still had a firm grip on Angharad’s arm. His broad, well built body towers over Dan as Angharad smiles to herself.

“Alright old man, we’ll leave her alone, probably a frigid bitch anyway.” Dan scoffs, throwing Hari’s arm from his grip before sauntering off with his lackeys in tow.

“You should have said something Hari, I don’t want anyone feeling threatened in my gym.” John scolds her gently but she simply shakes her head.

“It’s alright, I mostly just avoid them, but I would like to lodge that complaint.” Hari says with a smile and he nods in agreement.

“Alright come on, got a few forms for you to sign.” John says as he places a kind hand on her shoulder, steering her towards his office.

The Mountain strikes from high, with crushing blows that would cleave a man in two, but Oberyn knows this game too well, he voids his body to and fro, slipping past the lumbering giant of a man. His spear strikes the sword away, time and time again, until the haft shatters. He spins away from his opponent, theatrics and prideful boasting at it’s finest as he crosses the piste to collect another spear from his squire.

Sweat beads on Oberyn’s brow as the exertion from the fight begins to show. Again and again, he taunts the Mountain, commanding him to confess, to admit to the monstrous acts he committed upon Oberyn’s kin. But every time, The Mountain only responds with further acts of brutal violence. Again and again, he baits, feints, and slashes at The Mountain’s enormous form. Blood spurts across the stone floor as The Viper’s spear tears through the gaps in The Mountain’s armour. The back of the knee, the waist, the neck. All targeted and executed with surgeon-like precision. Finally, growing tired of the silence from his opponent, Oberyn feints high before embodying his moniker, he coils back before launching a beautiful, deadly strike to The Mountain’s chest.

The giant falls with a booming crunch, blood already pooling from the deep wound as Oberyn stalks around his prey. He laughs, without humour, at the dying man and in a moment of sheer, pitiful hubris, pushes his foe too far.

“You’re dying? No, no, you can’t die yet, you haven’t confessed! Admit it, say her name!” He roars as the spear tears from The Mountain’s chest as he dances away. The triumph swelling in his breast as he lords his victory over the man who raped and murdered his sister and killed his nieces and nephews. The Mountain’s hand moves at inhuman speed, gripping The Viper with ease before yanking him down on top of him.

Time seems to slow as Oberyn’s sees the blow coming. The large, armoured fist of the monster who caused his dear family so much pain, so much anguish, would hit with such force he knew he could not bear. He braces for it, stealing one final glance at Ellaria as he realises his fatal mistake. His face is set into a sad smile as he remembers her final words to him.

“Do not leave me alone in this world.”

I am sorry my love.

The Viper closes his eyes.

“Pop, I really don’t like this kind of stuff, it feels disrespectful.” Hari grumbles but nothing stops Poppy Jones when she wants something.

“I’ll just get a reading then, you can just sit with me, please?” Poppy stops in her tracks, her blonde curls bouncing as she comes to a halt by the entrance to the stall. She’s dressed like Alice in Wonderland, well, a liberal interpretation of it with way too much cleavage to really be appropriate for a work function, but Poppy never seemed to mind the ogling looks or inappropriate stares.

Hari on the other hand had settled on going as Merida from Brave. Sporting a custom-made navy and gold gown with a high neckline made to resemble an older Merida which flows perfectly over her muscular body. Her hair falls in long copper waves, a bronze circlet with a fake emerald set in the middle rests just above her thick brows. A thick leather belt pulls the gown together, completing the look.

“Fine.” Hari says with a dramatic roll of her eyes and Poppy squeals in delight as she drags her work bestie over to the two chairs sat opposite the Tarot Reader.

“Good evening ladies, are you here to have your Tarot read?” Hari blinks slowly, the familiar feeling of Power buzzes in the air as she regards the woman across the table.

“Me, please!” Poppy says eagerly, sipping on her fourth vodka martini of the night as she scoots forward on the chair. Hari nurses her beer, a local ale, malty and bitter on her tongue as she tries to figure out what the Tarot reader’s game is.

“I’m just here for emotional support.” Hari says dismissively but she can’t shake the look the old woman gives her. Those dark blue eyes seem to look straight into Hari’ soul, something Mam-gu always managed with her use of The Knowledge.

I know you’re a witch, Angharad Owens, be patient and see me after this reading.

The woman’s voice echoes around Hari’s head like an old-school radio transmission, distorted and crackling, but nonetheless clear. She chokes on her beer, spluttering as she pulls her free hand up to her mouth, eyes narrowed at the old witch before her.

She watches the older woman like a hawk the whole time, studying the cards intently as the reading went on. To her surprise, the reading is as authentic as possible, a few gasps and muttered nonsense-phrases to sell the act, but the witch was the real deal, the hum of Power that filled the air as she read is all the proof Hari needs. Hari rubs the back of her neck nervously, something felt off, she couldn’t tell what, but her heart pounds in her chest like an angry wasp trapped beneath an upended glass.

“Why don’t you get yours read Hari? Come on, I got a great result!” Poppy pleads, usually Hari wouldn’t give into her peer pressure but the amulet around the witch’s neck gives her pause. A red serpent with emerald eyes.

The Viper.

“Alright, please, read my Tarot, Mistress-?” Hari fishes, looking to be respectful but also wanting to have a name to relay back to Mam-gu when she got home.

“Arielle.” The witch smiles, her teeth pearly white and pristine. The sight sends shivers down Hari’ spine.

“Mistress Arielle, please read my cards.” Hari sets down her beer, placing her hands flat on the table, eyes fixed on the cards as Arielle shuffles them. The cards are a glossy, iridescent purple with hints of black, indigo, and teal green as the light catches them. A pair of snakes, locked devouring one another in a perfect circle are set in shaped in gold-leaf against the swirling darkness.

“What do you want to know?” Arielle asks, and Hari takes a deep breath, stilling her mind as she had been taught. Mam-gu was blessed with The Knowledge so Tarot was something Hari was well versed in, even if she was terrible at reading other people’s cards.

Start with something easy, mundane.

“Where is my career going?” She asks calmly as the witch’s lips twitch involuntarily, as if she expected something more.

Slowly, Arielle flips the first card over, The Chariot, Reversed.

“There’s turbulence in your future, you lack direction and must seek out a new path, but that does not always spell disaster, it could be just the shift you’ve needed.” Arielle says calmly, Hari fights the urge to roll her eyes, a very generic answer to a very generic question. But she didn’t expect much more so she let Arielle continue.

The second card is drawn, The Magician.

“Your move is to one of creativity, a book? A manuscript you wish to write? That is the way things are moving towards.” Arielle says with a knowing look in her eye but Hari still doesn’t buy it.

Who isn’t writing a book or a screenplay these days?

She thinks to herself as the final card is drawn.

The Devil, Reversed.

“This path will set you free, to explore the truth you have been neglecting.” Arielle finishes and smiles sweetly at the pair. Poppy is bored, the attention is no longer on her and her drink is balefully empty.

“Come on Hari, that was fun, let’s get another drink!” Poppy says as she stands, tugging on Angharad’s sleeve but Angharad doesn’t move. Every flip of the cards was filled with Power that emanated from the small woman opposite her, this was no parlour trick or con-man’s deception. Arielle was gifted in the same way Mam-gu is, and that both intrigues and terrifies Hari.

“Go on without me, I’ll meet you at the bar.” Hari says without taking her eyes off the witch before her.

“I thought you said this was disrespectful or something?” Poppy pouts but has already let go of Hari’ arm.

“I’ve changed my mind, go on I won’t be long.” She says and it’s all Poppy needs before heading off to the bar, swaying only a little as she does so.

“So, you still think I’m a hack?” Arielle asks, her sweet old lady voice gone, replaced by a no-nonsense, scolding tone that had Hari thinking of Mam-gu.

“You’re a witch, you have the Power, let’s just say I’m not as sceptical as before.” Hari says slowly, her beer warming on the table next to her but she didn’t want to drink it, not right now.

“And you’re a witch too, but you don’t believe it do you?” Arielle responds, already re-shuffling the deck, as if already following Hari’s thought process.

“I’ve never manifested the Power, not really.” Hari admits, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she admits her deep shame to a complete stranger. She was the first in her family not to manifest one way or another, but she did have the Sight, the ability to see the supernatural and the Sense, the ability to feel Power being worked in the world around her.

“Except when you dream.” Arielle pries knowingly and Hari’ eyes go wide in shock.

“What do you know of my dreams?” Hari’ voice is a harsh whisper as she leans forward towards the witch, a spark of anger awakening in the back of her mind.

“Why don’t we find out?” Arielle chuckles softly as she shuffles the deck once more.

The first card is drawn and Hari’ mouth goes dry. The Moon.

“Illusions and intuition, foresight if I’ve ever seen it, that’s what your dreams are are they not? Warnings of what is to come, the Power leaving you breathless and slick with sweat as you wake?”

Hari can’t form words so simply nods, the air is close and the sound of the storm outside rocks the ballroom from without. Arielle draws the second card.

The Chariot, Reversed.

“Aggression, lack of control. Your dreams have you unable to fight back a dangerous foe, or foes.” Arielle nods, no longer looking for confirmation from Hari as she reads, the hum of the Power is like a high-pitched whine in Hari’s ears as she clenches her jaw in pain. Arielle continues unprompted.

The Tower.

“This is troubling, disaster comes with your dreams, sudden upheaval and pain.” Arielle’s smile has faded, as if this wasn’t already known to her. She looks up into Hari’ eyes with sorrow, “I’m sorry Angharad, I don’t know how to help you, but we could do another reading, seek some clarity?”

“Please.” Is all Hari can muster as the dream manifests in her mind again, but this time she’s waking, it’s as if the scene plays out behind Arielle in the darkness of the back room behind her. The red viper is now a man, clad in leather, fighting off three faceless men with animal heads. The wolf, the lion, the stag. The scene continues to play on a loop as Arielle draws the next set of cards.

The Hanged Man, Reversed.

“Needless Sacrifice, but not your own, someone else’s but the act is interlocked with your fate.” Arielle’s voice is barely more than a whisper as she moves through the next card.

The Lovers.

“This confirms my previous statement, who ever is sacrificing needlessly is united with you. You and they are bound to the same fate.” She draws the final card.

The Fool.

“But not all is lost, this person will change your fate, and you theirs. They are a free spirit to your rigidity, a beacon of new hope, if you can withstand the events to come you will be reborn anew, whole once more.” Arielle finishes and sags back on her chair, her pupils dilated so much her irises have all but disappeared.

“Arielle, are you ok?” Hari asks, leaping up to steady the old woman as she threatens to fall from her seat.

“You are a special child, a child of woe and sadness, but it is not all you are, nor all you will be. Thank you for letting me read your Tarot, it was one of the most fulfilling of my entire life.” Arielle breathes in short rasps and her lips begin to turn blue.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Hari roars as the witch passes out in her arms.

Hari’s nerves are shot, her knee bobbing up and down violently as she downs her third double shot of whisky in an hour. She considered calling Mam-gu but it was almost eleven already, she’d do it when she got home.

“Hari, you gotta slow down, the paramedics said Arielle was going to be fine, she was just dehydrated and overworked, this can’t be your fault for getting your Tarot read.” Lawrence rests his warm hand on her shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“I know, I just feel so pent up, maybe it’s the storm.” She responds, the image of Arielle being hoisted into the ambulance burning a hole in her brain. She fingers the red serpent pendant around her neck, the witch had slipped it to her as she was loaded into the ambulance.

“Don’t fear the Viper, you will save him as much as he will save you.”

Hari had been mulling over her words for hours, fingers always touching the pendant, running over the intricate grooves and lines of the incredibly well-crafted piece. The leather thong attached to it looped over her head perfectly, as if it was made for her.

“Maybe, you want me to walk you both home?” Lawrence asks as he glances at Poppy, who lays sprawled out in the booth opposite them, passed out and snoring.

“Nah get her home, I’ll manage.” Hari says placing her hand over his and squeezing back. His soft blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair in the dark light highlighted just how attractive he is. But they’d been there, done that, almost murdered one another over one thing, or another. Cliché as it was, they were better off friends.

“Alright, but text me when you get home ok?” Lawrence says with a sympathetic smile as he downs the last of his beer, hoisting Poppy up gently before draping her arm over his shoulder and walking her out.

“Night Lordie, will do.” Hari responds before considering one more drink before heading home. Then she sees him through the window of the pub. Dark wavy hair, patchy beard and moustache, strong aquiline nose, wild brown eyes, dressed in leather armour. Then he’s gone. Replaced by the flash of lightning against the torrential rain that assaulted the dark streets beyond.

She doesn’t know what possesses her to chase after him, but after the Tarot reading and with the building anxiety in her stomach, she couldn’t stop herself. She runs out into the street, the chill biting at her skin as she scans the cobbled street for the man. It didn’t help that everyone was dressed in costume. The rain soaked Hari though to the skin, making her shiver violently in the late night air.

A flash of movement down a side alley catches her eye and she sees him again, disappearing into the gloom. Every survival instinct, every lesson on how to stay alive as a woman at night went out the window as she chased after him. The smell of urine and refuse fills her nostrils as she darts down the alleyway.

She turns down another side street before calling out to the stranger.

“Hey!” She shouts but the ghostly apparition of the man pauses before disappearing into thin air. Suddenly very aware how alone and vulnerable she is Hari backs out of the alley and heads back to the main street.

“Hey there Princess Merida, fancy seeing you here.” Dan’s cold voice calls from the alley entrance, Marcus and John are on either side of him. Hari says nothing, sweat beading on her brow as she tries to quell the panic in her chest.

“You got us a one month suspension from the gym, you know that?” Marcus pipes up this time, striding forward, blocking the alley further as the trio hemmed her in. Her hand flies to the pendant around her neck, the turbulent aura of Power surrounding her as she backs away from Dan slowly.

“Look I’m sorry I was in a really bad mood this morning, I’ll talk with Steve tomorrow and sort it out.” She barters, raising her hands in submission as she steps back into the alley, trying to put some distance between them.

“Too late,” Dan grumbles, “Watch the alley entrance.” He orders the other two and the sick feeling of dread fills Hari’s stomach as she realised his intentions. The clink of a belt buckle and the metallic slide of a zipper all but confirming it.

Angharad screams.

Staring up at a stormy sky, Oberyn realises quickly he is no longer in Westeros. The smell of wet grass, an acrid smog akin to tar, and the damp odour of rain fills his nostrils as he rocks up onto his feet, his body aches and he looks around the dimly lit courtyard to see he is in the confines of a castle’s bare gardens. The cobbled stones that line the floor, with large patches of grass lined with low walls surrounded by a large castle wall evidenced it well enough. But the looming castle tower at the top of a man-made hill confirmed it.

The noises he could hear were foreign to him, loud rumblings of great clanking beasts, blaring calls of loud, metallic horns and the roar of what sounded like dragons passing overhead were almost enough to overwhelm him. But there were familiar noises too, the simple fall of heavy rain. The peeling sounds of music, albeit more complex than he was used to, and the merrymaking of men and women in the streets were all sounds he could recognise.

Then he heard the screams. Hari’s screams. He couldn’t just hear them, he could feel them in his bones like a siren song drawing him to her. Who she was, Oberyn could not tell, but he knew she was important, knew that only he could save her.

Rushing through the large gatehouse and into the street beyond was like a portal into a different world. Cars, buses, bicycles all whipped along the road in front of Oberyn as he bursts out on to the street. He had no word for them but watched as a large crowd, dressed in costumes and masks for some kind of festival, crossed the road to the flash of a green witchlight on a pole, and high-pitched beeping.

Without a second thought he crossed with them, reaching the other side before the traffic consumed the road once more. He almost stopped in his tracks, fascinated by the vehicles of varying size and shapes, then the scream came once more and Oberyn felt the mindless pull towards a dark alley ahead of him.

Two men stand guard at the entrance, one blonde and ugly, the other ugly and dark haired, or so Oberyn thought to himself. The taller blonde one barks something in a tongue Oberyn cannot understand, but the meaning is clear without words as he shoves Oberyn back forcefully. The Viper laughs, a short, barking sound that seemed to only infuriate the pair blocking his path. In his own tongue he taunted them.

“Let’s dance.”

“Fucking hell guys, get rid of him!” Dan barks over his shoulder as he tries to free his dick from his pants with one hand. Hari fights back with renewed fervour, the hope of the mystery man intervening enough to spur her on.

“Shit!” John yelps as a soft, yet heavy thud rings through the alley. Marcus is down, and in the light from the street beyond reflects in a blackening pool of what must be blood flowing onto the wet cobbles. John flees into the Highstreet before Dan can even turn to face the leather clad man.

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” Dan scoffs, then he looks down to see the unmoving form of Marcus, with John no-where to be seen. He freezes in panic before pushing Hari away and addressing the strange man in very real looking leather armour.

The other man laughs once more, a spirited, audacious sound, before speaking once again in his native tongue. Time seems to slow as Hari watches the saviour from her nightmares lunge at Dan, gripping him by the back of the head before wrenching him away from her. Dan stumbles against the slick wall to Hari’s right and he grunts in pain and frustration.

The mystery man winks at Hari, bright teeth flashing pearlescent in the moonlight, his dark hair plastered against his head from the rain as he locks his dark eyes with her own. The smell of good quality leather, orange blossom and incense fills Hari’s nostrils as he twirls around just in time to parry aside the poorly thrown punch from behind.

She watches in awe as the man from her dreams dances around Dan, ducking and spinning away from every sloppy punch and flailing kick. It was like watching a child play fight with an older sibling. But siblings don’t break each other’s jaws.

The snap of Dan’s head is sickening as he howls into the night air, he falls to the floor, kneeling at the other man’s feet as he weeps and sobs. The rain thunders around Hari as she realises she needs to act. Without hesitation she throws herself between the two men, shielding Dan from any further abuse.

“Enough.” She says fiercely, very aware that this man could very well be as dangerous to her as Dan just was, but something about the way he stares back with unwavering, calm intensity gives her confidence to push him back. She shoves with both hands against his leather-clad chest. He laughs before saying something in his own tongue but she shakes her head.

“I don’t understand you.” She says as the sound of sirens filter through the night air, she acts without thinking and grabs the man by the wrist and runs, he doesn’t resist and they flee together into the stormy streets of Cardiff on Halloween.

I hope you look forward to the next chapter! This is a real passion project for me!

@yvonneeeee @notsosecretspy @jadealicious06 @famouslyanonymous @harriedandharassed @casa-boiardi @pimosworld @brittmb115 @beefrobeefcal

[veritable-trash]

May Our Flowers Always Bloom

guess who spent wayyyy too much time on canva making this(it's me)

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Character(unnamed, 3rd person, minimal descriptors)also this is a fantasy AU where oberyn is a forest prince, canon be damned

Summary: He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips. 

He’d been stunned.

Word Count: 3.3K

Rating: T - no smut, though maybe there will be??? who knows, but also parental death, and at this point i think that's it. let me know if i missed something! my whole blog is 18+ anyways so kiddos SCRAM

A/N: hahahaha holy shit. it's been actually an age since i've written anything at all and then today i said fuck it we write and then i wrote this. this is a little fantasy au with my lover oberyn who i've wanted to write for AGES. canon is not really relevant here other than like general personality and such. i might write a part two, maybe make this a series, but every time i say that i never finish or write it so i'm just gonna leave this here for now and see what happens. more rambles, notes thoughts at the end but i hope you enjoy!!!! also minimally edited basically just skimmed so apologies for any mess :) <33333

masterlist woot woot

~~~~~

She had grown up at the edge of the great woods. 

A bit further from the village than maybe strictly necessary but her parents had always been a little off, at least by the town folks standards. 

They had always turned to the earth, turned to the plants to heal and guide them and she had grown with her toes wiggled into the soft dirt, hands clutching at wildflowers and weeds. She knew nothing else. Hated the noise and the chaos of the town. How people stared and whispered about the wild family out in the woods.

She never felt like she was wild. Almost felt as if the townsfolk themselves were the wild ones. But she toed the line between the “real” world and the world of her creation.

The magical realm of the woods.

Her parents had of course warned her of respecting the forest. That though they tried to live as one with all that the earth provided, there were dangers that lurked among the gnarled roots and towering pines. She must tread carefully and never, ever after dark. 

And she obeyed, but only just. Curled up against the base of the trees, writing or sewing or singing or musing, until the sun barely grazed the top most points of those towering giants high above her and the forest began to melt into darkness and secrets.

Those were her favorite moments, eyes adjusting to the low light, fireflies dancing between the trunks and leaves, the calm silence filtering its way signaling the time for rest, and for some reason she could never explain she never felt danger. Even when she would reappear from the woods, darkness having fully settled and her parents scolding her for staying out so long, she somehow knew nothing would harm her among those woods. 

She was somehow interwoven with the roots and moss and flowers and leaves. 

~~~~~

He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips. 

He’d been stunned.

Oberyn had only just been allowed to venture in the human realm. He was still a child to his mother, the wild unruly one who could not be trusted to keep the secrets of Dorne to himself. To understand that the human realm could not know, never know, about the forest kingdom. 

For even though Oberyn could see her in the brightest light of day, she could not see him. He could only appear as one of those verdant things that always seemed to attract her attention. Only upon his knighthood could he enter the human world. 

And so he watched her. 

Sat with her in those mystic groves. Grew her beautiful flowers to pick and adorn her hair. Whispered to the lightening bugs to guide her home when she stayed till twilight. Followed her through the forest until the very edge, keeping her safe, clearing her way, making sure nothing harmed her on her return home. 

They were both so young when they stumbled upon each other in that wood, knowingly and unknowingly, and he grew to cherish those moments. He had always felt a bit different from his family. Lonely and misunderstood, and for some reason around her he felt whole. A calmness settling over his ever twitching hands that he was constantly scolded for. 

He knew he was young, infatuation fickle and deceiving, and yet he could not lie to himself that his heart somehow felt tethered to her. Even the silent companionship of reading right next to her filled the gapes between his ribs with warmth. 

He would sometimes read over her shoulder at the pages of the newest novel she was devouring, aching to know more about the world she came from. Aching to know more about this girl that haunted all of his dreams. 

If his family noticed a shift in his habits, they paid no mind, ever the youngest child, left to his own devices, but he yearned for his knighthood. Ached to be known to her somehow, for it was torture only being able to ghost soft gentle breezes across her skin. Watch her skin prickle, and the most content sigh to fall from her lips. 

He could go mad with this want. 

~~~~~

Her parents passed soon after her 18th birthday.

It had been sudden and destructive. A trip to the market for more supplies cut short by an overturned cart and poor poor timing. The village had helped her but even with such grief and suffering regarded her with distrust. 

The wild girl loosing her wild parents, it truly is no surprise. Who knows what they get up to in that little shack by the woods. Witchcraft probably. Yes, yes most likely so. 

And when the whispers and worry and pain all became too much, the wood was still always there. The first few months after her parents passing she would run there. Tripping over roots as tears overflowed in her eyes, not sparing those flowers even a second glance as she collapsed in the middle of the grove, sun filtering around her but her body feeling nothing. 

She’d dig her nails in the moss, tearing at it as she wailed to no one and nothing, aching for something to ease the pain of a loose she still did not know how to process. Would lay there, unmoving for hours on end until the numbness finally took over and she was able to walk home, unfeeling and disjointed, reality but a film over her eyes. And even in those most dire moments the wood somehow always guided her home as though the trees opened themselves up to create a path.

Her work continued, mothers came for tonics for crying babes, elders came for salves for their aching limbs, and she continued to bear the mantle her parents had trained her for all these years. She had to make coin somehow and the work steadied her. Reminded her of her mothers calming cadence listing off ingredients, her father teaching her of proper techniques for harvesting.

She grew many years in the span of only a few months, but she had to hardened. Had to strengthen her spine and learn to be sure in herself even when it felt like all her threads were fraying. 

The woods were all that saved her in those trying moments.

It was somehow always warm and soothing, wild flowers littering her path as she traveled aimlessly to cleanse her mind. Picking them one by one to build the most beautiful bouquet that would grace her work table in the cottage. It was a ritual for her at this point in her life, always returning to that sacred groove that somehow gave her the greatest peace she’d ever known. Where worries seemed to melt into the soil beneath her feet and lighten the load on her shoulders just a touch. Always a gentle breeze to remind her of the wonders of the wood. The calm that could be found there. 

Her strides back home were always a touch more assured, a touch lighter, and she somehow knew it was all going to be alright somewhere in the end. And every time she’d step out of the wood, she would always turn around and whisper,

Thank you.

~~~~~

You’re welcome flower. 

He was taller than her now, able to look down into her eyes when she whispered those simple two words that set his heart racing. Sometimes it even seemed like she was looking right at him, eyes somehow connecting even between the realms, though he knew it was not true. 

He’d been at a loss when she’d first stumbled into their grove, tears staining her cheeks. He could not understand what plagued her. Was it heartbreak? Had she loved another? Had they hurt her so? 

It had sent him into a rage he’d never felt before. The jealousy, the want, no the need to hurt whoever had hurt his flower overwhelmed him till he could barely see straight. 

His hands had ghosted over her hunched spine, he’d whispered his sorrow for her suffering and it only drove him crazier.

The knowledge that she felt none of it. Wasn’t able to hear a single word. 

He grew her flowers, sent her breezes, shifted the very earth of the groove to cradle her in the plushest of moss and yet her eyes seemed to register none of it. 

They were hollow and vacant, the pain seeming to have sucked every twinkle that had made his heart skip.

But he never stopped trying.

He couldn’t stop. His flower, as he’d started calling her, was suffering a pain he could not understand but he could try and fix. 

Though he was still but a boy, he wanted to be a man for her. 

He grew brighter blooms, lined a path for her to walk to and from the groove, sent breezes filled with orange blossom and spiced earth to ease her heart, used his powers, though still weak, in every way he knew how, and slowly he saw his flower blooming once again.

The first time she’d picked a flower after that never ending winter of pain, he almost shed a tear. Her eyes had sparkled just slightly and she’d tucked it behind her ear, the softest hum of content gracing his ears. 

He felt as though he had slain the greatest beast that ever lived. 

~~~~~

It had been two years almost to the day after her parents passing that the forest had shifted.

She didn’t know how to explain it but the air between the trees no longer smelled of orange blossoms and cinnamon. 

It just smelled like the dirt and decaying leaves and dampness that came with the forest. 

There were no flowers lining the way to that ever calming clearing like she had grown so accustomed to. No soft breeze pushing her along. 

She couldn’t understand it, and even more perplexing was the single most beautiful flower that she found growing in the center of groove.

A lone sprig of forget-me-nots trembling in a breeze that only held the faintest notes of that orange blossom that she had known for the past two years. 

Something in her heart stirred, body growing both cold and hot all at once, unsure of how to understand what this shift, this change all meant. 

It felt almost blasphemous to pick the flower, and yet she couldn’t leave it all alone in this place that no longer felt like a home to her. So she delicately clipped it at its base and turned around and walk back to the cottage. 

The journey took longer than usual, no guiding flowers or friendly lighting bugs to guide her, and her heart sank further as though she had lost something great once again. 

She gently pressed the flower between the pages of her most treasured journal clutching it to her chest as she watched the forest, as if waiting for something to emerge, the sparkle to return, for the forest to feel like hers again.

But as the sun sank behind the treetops and the sky shifted into the darkness, the forest did not call to her. 

It was the first time in a very, very long time that she truly felt alone.

~~~~~

Oberyn had both not wanted to leave and ached eternally to start his quests. He knew what it meant to turn 20. To reach the age where knighthood must be found in a man, for he had longed for this day all his life.

But watching the confusion and pain on her face as she left the forest that day felt like a knife in his gut. A weeping wound that he did not know he would survive. 

He had been foolish to leave the flower, he knew that. Risky and impulsive and dangerous to say the least but he could not leave her without somehow saying goodbye. Without somehow showing her that he would come back, that he could never stay away from her for too long, but he could not foretell how long his quests would be. No way of knowing where he would go, who he would meet, the man he would become in the distant realms.

There was war out there, struggle and strife, and he knew his family expected greatness from him. When Doran, his older brother, had returned from his journeys, he came back with prestige and honor, but he had also come back with an illness that it seemed no one could heal.

What if Oberyn was left like his brother after his journeys? How many years would he be gone? What if he could not return to his flower? What if she left the forests edge to never be found again?

He could barely sleep the days leading up to his departure, and those final moments with her in the groove brought him to his knees. 

He knew he was young, knew that loves came and went and that there would maybe be others for him to love, but something about her called to him in ways he had never understood. And yet if he wished to truly be with her, to brush the delicate skin of her cheeks, to hear her say his name, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, he had to go. He had to toil and suffer and fight and return back to this place and finally reveal himself to her as he has always wished to.

That was the only way. 

And so a flower he left. A memento of their many years together that she knew nothing about but maybe someday would learn of when the time was right. 

~~~~~

She didn’t exactly avoid the forest after that strange day, but she didn’t tempt the fates so to speak.

There was a change in the energy of the forest, a boundary of sorts she had never felt, cutting her off from something. She no longer stayed into the twilight hours, returning earlier and earlier from her scavenging and harvesting, and even stranger was she hadn’t been able to find her groove. 

It was as though it had disappeared completely, a figment of her imagination. The trees looked the same, the path well worn by her own two feet and yet she could never seem to reach it. It always seemed just around the next bend and it made her brain wobble. 

Her reality was somehow shifting and changing, as though those years after her parents passing had been just a daydream. But now she knew how to survive loss. Knew how to put her head down, focus on her work, her garden, the townspeople, her home. One day in town on an errand she had stumbled upon a scruffy little kitten, skittish and hungry, and had wrapped him up in her arms and brought him home. 

Viper and her were inseparable from that day forth. 

And though every so often she would stare at the forests edge, a wistful sigh escaping her lips, there was a life to be lived. Her life. A life that she had been neglecting for too long and had been too afraid to start.   

Life became a bit easier after that. The realization of wanting a future that made her proud, that would have made her parents proud, focusing her and giving her new purpose. She was no longer that wild girl of her youth, but a woman of healing to those in need. The valley she lived in wasn’t extremely large, but there were enough children with runny noses and achy joints to keep her busy and fulfilled. 

The days, months, even years began to pass in calm waves, time lapping at the shores of her life, peace finding its way back in her heart, her soul.

Though every once in awhile loneliness would come again. A chill in her spine reminding her of all that she had lost, all that she could never have, and the only balm in those moments was pressed between the pages of that old weathered journal. Even years later there still remained a trace of that orange blossom spice between those pages and somehow the blue of the flower remained true. 

She sometimes would worry that one day she would open the journal and the flower would be gone, all traces of those memories erased as if they never existed, but that day never came.

~~~~~

His quest seemed never-ending. The distances he traveled unfathomable even to his understanding. 

It felt like there was no land he had not traversed as he fought and learned and matured. 

A lanky boy no longer but a man, roughened, shaped, cut, molded, and broken apart only to be thrown back together again.

He thought of his flower more often than he cared to admit.

~~~~~

It was the 10 year anniversary of her parents passing. 

A lifetime so it seemed and yet the ache still lingered fresh every year on the day. 

She knew it always would and now after so much time it was more comforting than painful, knowing that she would always hold them close in her heart. The pain now a symbol of love not suffering. 

That morning had felt strangely fresh, the air lighter around her as the sun rose above the mountains, an unidentifiable familiarity weaving through the breeze. 

She entered the forest as she always did, though there was no plan for this walk. No need to scavenge, no pressure to look for fresh herbs. This walk was to mourn, to honor her parents and the memories she held of them in this sacred place. 

Weaving between the trees, it somehow felt new to her, like the light had shifted once again, coloring the path before her in the richest of greens. She closed her eyes for just a moment and could almost hear her mothers laugh echo between the branches and leaves above her. A lone tear trickling down her cheek as she couldn’t help but smile at the thought. 

As she aimlessly moved through the forest, she got lost in her own mind. The memories of so many moments flashing before her as she pondered all that she had lived through. A life so full and yet, today, as it happened every year, she felt lonely. No longer achingly so, but still, there was a life she still desired that had never presented itself to her. 

A love like her parents had.

She was no nun by any means, but no one had ever grasped her attention the way she had always dreamed. Maybe she was fickle, cold and reserved, but her heart had suffered much and for some reason no one had ever felt right. 

Her mind continued to weave through her memories, the forest thickening around her as she traveled deeper and deeper into the green. It had been a long time since she had gone this far, but today it felt ok to keep going. As though a solid hand lay at the base of her spine guiding her gently along. 

All of a sudden the tree line broke, that ancient grove appearing before her once more as though it had been waiting for her arrival. 

Her breath stalled in her chest as memories came flooding back faster and faster. The tears, the flowers, the pain, the joy, the tranquility, the confusion, the comfort, the love. 

She collapsed to the soft mossy floor, the feelings bringing back the strongest deja vu, burying her head in her hands as tears blurred her vision. It felt like some kind of dream, some inexplicable moment of fiction. 

Then the breeze kicked up and she smelled it.

Orange blossoms and cinnamon.

And as she opened her eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks, she saw him. 

A man too beautiful to be real crouching before her, a look of devastating devotion etched in his golden irises.

“Hello my flower.”

~~~~~

whoop whoop of course i left it on a cliffhanger come on now it's the best way to do it :))))))) anyways lifes been kinda crazy and so writing has just been not a priority but i had a lot of fun writing this. i definitely don't like writing dialogue hence ending at this point because there haven't been any interactions between these two BUT i missed this and want to push myself to write again and maybe this is the perfect way to do it. so maybe they will interact soonish who really knows <3 reblogs comments are like super duper appreciated and loved so if you liked it or have thoughts or generally just wanna ramble about how hot this man is come hit my line! anyways hugs kisses the whole gambut of affection and maybe i'll be writing to ya soon <333333333

[justagalwhowrites]

For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Commissions made to donate to the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund.*

Commissions for the main event are closed. If you are interested in purchasing a Commission for Palestine outside of this event, DM me.

Stitches - Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender (QZ Era)

Days in the Sun - Oberyn Martell x Female Reader

Lost & Found - Din Djarin x Curvy!Female Reader

Celestial - Din Djarin x Original Female Character

Cinema - Javi Gutierrez x Curvy!Female Reader

*Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words to be written by April 1, 2024. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author to be paid to PCRF on April 2, 2024 in honor of Pedro Pascal's birthday ❤️ Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

[midnightartemis]

ummmm should I continue this thing I'm writing?

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Part 2

The Engagement

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Eventual Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Preparations are made for a wedding, and both bride and groom are plagued by nerves. WC: 5.8 K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arragned marriage, drinking, mentions of food, allusions to vaginal sex, allusions to masturbation. Oberyn being a sexy little shit. Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

A/N: As always, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank a canvas physically.

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

Part 1 >>> Part 3

Engaged with your heart

Intended for mine

Come to me and I will meet you

In between and all around

If Winterfell was named well, then Sunspear was preordained by the stars above. From her first steps out of the carriage she could feel the heat piercing through her heart, bright yellow streaks singing through the sky and cutting across her cheeks. Still, the chill of the north clings to her bones, a reminder of the home and family left miles and miles behind. She can still feel the puff of Sansa’s breath on her neck from where the two held tightly to one another, a prolonged goodbye that followed her across the territory, her dearest friend’s voice ringing in her ears.

“I should travel with you.”

“You’re needed more here.” 

Cold hands cupped her cheeks, ice blue eyes finding her own. 

“You can still change your mind.”

But she had refused to go back on her word, even as a deep curl of anxiety settled upon her shoulders, a bitter lining along the fur of her winter cloak. That same cloak is clutched in her arms now, a poor substitute for the friend she left behind, the yellow sun beating down upon her as she steps forward to meet her future. 

“My lady,” Prince Doran greets and she smiles despite herself, his smile small but warm. He strikes a formidable figure, even bound in his wheelchair, and when she bows, the respect she gives is heartfelt. She’s glad she had the foresight to wipe the last of the charcoal from her hands before arriving when the prince takes one gently in his own and places a friendly kiss along the ridge of her knuckles. 

Prince Oberyn stands tall beside his brother, the vibrant hues of his orange and gold robes contrasting with his cloudy demeanor. He gives a nod and then a bow, eyes connecting for the first time beneath the fiery tendrils of the Dornish sun. He does not move to take her hand and she does not offer, and yet…

She cannot look away. 

Something swirls low in her belly – nerves, perhaps – as she looks upon the man who she will call husband. 

He is more handsome than any books or rumors could ever truly do justice; a sharp jaw framed with dark facial hair, a hooked nose between cinched in brows, the deep brown of his eyes tracking her as she steps close to stand before him, a peak of tan skin, the column of his thick neck dusted with freckles. She feels like she can track them as easily as she does the stars, her fingers twitching at her side, suddenly desperate with the need to paint the constellations across his body. 

It’s an urge that comes and goes before she lets herself understand the meaning behind it, instead meeting her betrothed’s gaze head on as she curtsies.

“It is wonderful to finally meet you, Prince Oberyn,” she says, repeating the words she had practiced in her head again and again throughout her travels south, proud that they came out steady despite the hammer of her heart. 

Still he does not speak, but at the sound of her voice, his lips part, and she tracks the clench of his jaw as it loosens around the tip of his tongue. He tilts his head again, his eyes shifting, the color like sweet honey as he traces her features from head to toe. She tries not to shrink beneath his stare but it feels a true impossibility, sweat beading at the back of her neck, the slick of it sliding down to pool along her stiff collar. The sun is too high, her dress too tight.

Oberyn’s gaze too warm. 

But then he’s frowning again, looking out and away into the blue sky, fists balled tightly at his side. 

The rest of the pleasantries are tabled for later, the two pulled apart just as swiftly as they were brought together. A pair of women dressed in loose folds of gauze and silk lead her to her chambers with the offer to settle herself before dinner is served, and she leaps upon it, desperate for a cool splash of water on her overheated cheeks and a moment alone to catch her faltering breath. 

Her quarters are larger than she could have imagined, a sight her mind can barely comprehend especially when it feels like the biggest pieces of her heart are still waiting for her between the stone walls of Winterfell. But here in this sweeping space, every corner glowing with a light she did not know exists, she feels as if she could stretch her arms out wide and fill this space completely. 

The sitting room seems to spill endlessly outward, open doorways that lead to a terrace glittering beneath the late afternoon sun, the waves of the Dornish sea rocking a pleasant rhythm down below. It’s familiar, comforting, and already she’s picturing falling asleep to the soothing sound in her ear. Waking up to the creeping rays of a sunrise, the weight of an arm around her bare waist.

She frowns. Shakes her head. The memory is gone. 

As she steps in further, she spies a bed dipped in luscious shades of burgundy, and just beyond that, a porcelain tub. Her body aches to fall into both, the hardship of travel making itself known in the tightness that’s settled between her bones and the fatigue that plagues her mind. One of the women calls her attention away, a secret smiling pull at her painted lips.

“The door just past your bedroom leads to Prince Oberyn’s–”

“Liddy! What are you suggesting?” The other woman gasps, but her smile is just as sly.

“What? It’s not as if the Prince is so concerned with propriety. He’d probably welcome all thre–”

“I think I’m just going to lay down, thank you!” She shouts above their laughter, ignoring the pang of jealousy that threatens to rise up her throat as she watches them leave with their arms woven tightly, heads pressed together as they continue to swap teasing secrets. 

At the mention of his name, reality makes its presence known again, and it’s all she can do not to thrash at her own choices. The room suddenly feels smaller, enough to push her out into the open space of the balcony, sea salt air pricking at her skin. 

Oberyn had been less than pleased in her presence, and it was clear that their upcoming nuptials was not a day he was looking forward to. She couldn’t say she disagreed; it was not as if she had been climbing the trees up north in search of a husband to tie herself to. No — she was here out of duty to her home and love for her queen — but that did not mean she intended to approach the matter with a sour taste in her mouth. 

The Prince seemed to disagree. 

She glances back towards the bed, the archway of a door now visible just behind it. She feels no desire to go to it now, and bitterly, she wonders if she ever will. 

And yet she cannot look away. 

———

Dinner had been tense.

To say the very least.

A sullen Oberyn sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed, his food left untouched. It had been his mood for most of the afternoon, going about his business with a frown stitched permanently into his lips. 

He had barely spoken, his thoughts seemingly twisted in the darkest corners of his mind. Ellaria watched as he stomped from one corner of his quarters to the other, his eyes stealing to the doorway that led to where his future wife was resting, but never once did he move towards it. She had wanted to speak, perhaps suggest, maybe ask for an explanation of some kind…but with a bite to her own tongue, she fought the urge.

The northern girl was seated to his left now, a matching frown curving her features downward. Her movements were stilted as she picked at the plate in front of her, barely more than a bite making it past her lips. She still wore the same dress she arrived in, the heavy brocaded fabric wrapped around her like a fortress. Ellaria wondered briefly how much of Winterfell she still carried inside her, to be able to walk about Sunspear dressed in such a way.

Neither of them spoke a single word throughout the entirety of the meal, lips sealed shut and gazes pointed very much away from the other, leaving Doran and Ellaria to fill the silence. 

Every word felt stilted, awkward, like knives drawn across her skin. It wasn’t long before both she and Doran gave up the pretense of conversation all together, tired eyes meeting across the table in exasperation. She could hear the older man’s steady voice even as he kept his thoughts very much to himself.

Patience, my dear. We must have patience.

Ellaria did not possess the fortitude that Prince Doran seemed to pride himself on. Patience, she has found, never suited her when the ones she loved most were on the line. 

———

“You will go to her.”

Oberyn glances over his shoulder, his refusal burning at the tip of his tongue. He says nothing, instead ignoring Ellaria’s command with a frown and a shrug, turning his eyes back to the sky above. He had needed fresh air after dinner, craved it, like a drug he wished would flood his veins. He had come back to his quarters in a rush, barely gifting the others gathered in the great hall with a parting goodbye. Once in the safety of his rooms, he stripped himself of his robes and headed straight for the balcony, Ellaria trailing each and every step he took. 

“Oberyn.”

Again, he does not answer, fingers curling down and around the banister, knuckles bleeding white from the strain of his grip. He considers the shape of them, the pull of his muscles and the crack of his bones beneath the stretch of golden skin, wondering why he could not use them to piece together the messy shape his life had taken upon itself. 

These hands had studied ancient text, had held babes fresh from his lovers’ wombs, had avenged the death of his sister and her children. They had accomplished all he had set out to do, and yet now they choose to fail him. 

Behind him stands the love of his life, and one room over, the woman he is intended to wed. 

A woman he did not know. A stranger. A mystery.

But that did not stop the urge to reach out to her, to cup her cheek and touch his lips to hers; to take her hand gently and lead her to his bed. He grips his hands tighter to the polished wood, the compulsion following him even now, the want so strong it felt more of memory than daydream. Oberyn licks his lips and swallows, the sound like sand between his ears, before finally turning to face Ellaria, his decision final.

“Not tonight.”

———

And so it goes. Three nights more of the same; Oberyn’s petulant avoidance and silent fuming matched only by his betrothed’s stubborn frown and persistent presence. 

He had grown restless with nerves over the past few days, taken to pacing like a caged animal, torn between wanting to scream and desperate to fuck. He’s lost count of the times he’s sought the solace of his hand, hard cock gripped tight, thinking of anything but her. Anything but visions of her face and clever tongue that seemed destined to tease along the edges of his fantasies. 

He would normally call upon every brothel within the region as a sure distraction, but it’s only Ellaria he seeks out, when his grip grows tired and his knuckles ache. He pressed himself to her fully each time he filled her, tired of the facade, wishing inward and outward for her to be his soul’s match.

And still she haunts him. Haunts the place he once considered his safe haven; now overrun with the very essence of this woman he did not ask for but cannot seem to refuse. 

“As worse a pebble in my shoe and twice over the inconvenience,” his only reply when Doran had asked after his opinion of her. 

In the mornings he watches as she walks the courtyard, arms twined around her chest as if to shield herself from the frigid temperatures she left behind; a truly ridiculous notion considering the heavy dresses she continues to wear despite the warmth shining from up above. By her second day in Sunspear, Ellaria has taken to joining her, the girls trailing at their skirts as the two women walk beneath the shade of the lemon trees. Oberyn can see their lips moving from where he hides up above, though he isn’t sure why he does so. 

They do not spare him a first or second glance.

His mind conjures up the worst of what they could possibly have to discuss, and yet the sight of them arm in arm leaves a pit of something swirling low in his belly. He blames his overwrought nerves as he stomps away from the balcony, impetuous anger and unfurling desire sticking to his heels. 

During the day, she seems to disappear, though he hears the servants speak of her intricacies with kind smiles and earnest laughter. Charcoal nicked from the kitchen, small scraps of parchment along with, and requests for wine tasting of cherries instead of plums. He does not seek her out but it’s as if he can feel her on the other side of his bedroom wall, her furious hands scribbling away, her lips stained a cherry red. 

They are seated beside each other for every meal, her woodsy scent overwhelming and intriguing him, and it is all he can do not to drown himself in cup after cup of Dornish wine. He simply turns away and grits his teeth, leaving the table more hungry than he had been before the meal had ever started.

Come the fourth night, Ellaria has had enough. 

“The wedding is one week away.”

“We shall see,” Oberyn murmurs from his bed, eyes half-lidded as he watches his lover undress, stroking his cock, the pull of his hand slow, deliberate. The last of her clothing falls away and he feels his length twitch in his palm. 

“You will go to her.”

“Come to bed,” he coos, not bothering with a rebuttal, instead spreading his legs that much wider.

Ellaria does not move from where she stands at the foot of his bed, body bare and so very out of reach. 

“Tonight.”

Oberyn sits up, eyes narrowed, and teeth barred, a venomous refusal seeping through his veins like poison. But in a flash he thinks of her — bright red wine and bits of parchment, stained fingers and painted lips — and he falters. 

“Why do you not hate her?”

Ellaria’s smile twitches, but never falters. She crosses her arms as she moves to join him, her body curling easily into his own.

“Why should hate be the assumption?”

Oberyn thinks it seems most obvious but it does not stop him from saying the truth aloud. 

“I am marrying another woman, when it’s you that I…” he chokes off, shakes his head, then starts again. “I love you.” 

He hates this feeling. Loathes it. His confidence shaken. His heart inexplicably torn. Restless fingers reach for her and she complies, long arms resting along the broad shape of his shoulders. 

“I am happy, my Prince. Loved by a good man with his whole body and his fiery heart. He has given me four beautiful daughters and I am honored to stand beside him.”

“But you deserve more,” he hisses, the urge to jump to anger rising up his throat yet again.

She leans in to steal a kiss, her breath warm where it mingles with his own. When she pulls away, her smile is still as it was. 

“You forget sometimes, my paramour, that not all of us wish to sneak away from the life we’ve been given. Some of us know how very different things could be if the scales were to tip in another direction.” 

He nods, unsure if she is right but too tired to fight her on the matter. 

“Go,” she murmurs, lips kissing at the hinge of his jaw. “I will still be here.”

The promise is enough to push him out into the hallway and without a reason why his feet carry him forward. It isn’t until he’s stepping into the grand hall, his betrothed standing with her back to him, that he realizes he had no way of knowing that this is where she would be. 

———

“Trouble sleeping? Or have you been running with the wolves for too long?”

She does not jump at his greeting but her shoulders rise, something like nerves crawling up the the base of her spine at his intrusion upon her private moment. She sneaks a glance back, catching Oberyn’s expression in her sight line. He seems to take her silent reaction in stride, stepping deeper into the room, eyes pinned to her form. 

After a moment’s consideration, she cuts out a reply, her words bitter but her tone soft. 

“He speaks. And here I was only a day away from asking the Lord of Sunspear if his brother was mute.”

“Sharp teeth. Fitting.”

She frowns, turning to face him fully. “I am no wolf, Prince Oberyn.” 

His eyes are dark, casting a piercing stare from where he stares her down. His figure is striking, his shoulders rigid. His head held high. 

“What would you prefer I call you then? A lady, yes but not nearly a Stark and not yet a Martell.”

“I think my name would do just fine,” she offers before turning back around, her eyes tracing the shape of his brother’s throne. 

He says it now, almost as if he’s savoring the feel of it on his tongue, and she ignores the pounding of her heart as it sings for him, and still she can’t help but wonder how it would sound moaned between the silk of his sheets. 

Her frown deepens. 

“What do you want, my lord?”

She hopes he does not miss the hint of sarcasm she touches to his moniker. 

“Less of your presence, to start.”

It is like ice down her back, Oberyn’s stormy glare and tight posture matching the sting of his words. She does her best to wipe the look of pain off her face but she’s one beat too late. The prince does at least have the grace to look half-regretful for his honesty. She steps around him, suddenly exhausted from the unintended confrontation. She gives a small bow, tipping in close enough to smell the plums on his breath, and then it’s gone, stolen like a dream she can’t seem to remember. 

“I will see you tomorrow, my Prince. I hope you sleep well.” 

He calls her name just before she crosses the threshold, a request following in the swell of his baritone.

“Meet me here again. Tomorrow night.”

She doesn't reply, her only answer the soft step of her feet as she walks away.

———

The shape of the water eludes her. She watches the waves rise and fall closely, crashing up and down onto the sandy shore just below the jut of her balcony, wondering how it is they move the way they do. The parchment in her lap sits blank, her finger curled around a piece of charcoal, itching to bring the image to life but unsure where to begin. 

The sea seems so much more alive than she had ever thought it to be. She had tried to ignore it at first, the desire to match its fury on paper, instead keeping her eyes on the lemon trees lining the courtyard. They were familiar even in their newness, a shape she could easily replicate if she wanted. She had been walking amongst them every morning, alone at first and then not. 

Ellaria had proved good company, the other woman seeking her out on her second morning amongst the groves. She politely introduced herself and assured her she did not mean to pry upon her solitude, admitting outright that she was simply curious. The direct honesty was comforting in its own right, similar to the blunt cut of a northern wind. Before Ellaria could take her leave, she offered her arm in request.

“Will you walk with me?”

“I will.”

It was not meant to be a fast friendship. Those things took time. But she could feel a kinship forming that was a balm to the loneliness she had been ignoring with a steadfast stubbornness. 

Ellaria spoke with confidence, not in a way she lorded over anyone, but instead speaking as a woman who has seen a great deal of what the world had to offer. She did not force the conversation of Oberyn upon either of them but instead allowed it to come them naturally, before finally admitting she was the one who had sent him to her the night prior. 

“I know the situation is less than ideal, but I thought maybe…” Her words drifted into nothing, eyes watching Loreza pluck white petals from a low hanging branch, her small fingers gentle. Delicate. 

“Oberyn is as ferocious as the sea, and all the more deadly for it. Some say to be patient with him, to allow his tide to rise naturally.” Their steps slowed, Ellaria’s gaze matching her own, watching her daughter with unfettered love and adoration. “I never could understand waiting when I had legs of my own, content to meet him halfway.”

The other woman’s words carry more weight now than they did this morning. The sound of the sea is persistent in her ears, her legs curled beneath her, her head empty save for the sneered contempt of her future husband. Ferocious. Unpredictable. Loud. In any other circumstance, she is certain she would find him grating; enough of an annoyance to turn her back and never spare him another thought. But she intends to stand firm, the choice she’s made settling the argument before it’s even begun.

Oberyn’s invitation lingers at the back of her mind, and she wonders if he intends to wait for her. Or perhaps he took her silence as a decided refusal. Before she can stop herself she’s unfolding her frame and walking the familiar path back to the great hall. 

He is waiting for her, standing just inside the entryway, his arms crossed behind his back, his posture regal as he takes in the high ceilings and sweeping space. All of him seems to glow, the muted shades of yellow stitched into his robes catching in the candlelight. He seems at home half-hidden amongst the shadows, and she allows herself a moment’s breath, catching herself before she gets lost in the sight of him. She crosses behind him and up towards the center of the room, not able to find the right words to greet him, choosing instead to let her silence speak for her. 

For some time they simply share the space, no words to give in exchange for each other’s presence. Instead they pass the time as they had been since her arrival in Dorne – together, but not. 

It isn’t until the candles have burned down low, the hour far later than the previous night that Oberyn finally speaks.

“You do not like the dresses provided to you?”

She glances down at her dressing gown, thick fabric in shades of grey cinched tightly at the waist. The bulk of it was so very out of place on the sunniest side of the map, practically weighing her down, trapping her where she stood and yet she had clung to it. Desperately so. Her final piece of armor. That explanation is too intimate to give away so soon, and so she simply parrots his words from last night back to him.

“I am not yet a Martell.”

The briefest sting that crossed his features almost felt good in the moment, but alone in her bed she could not shake the guilt that stuck to her insides, sleep only finding her as the sunrise began to sweep slowly across the shore. 

———

“We could call it off?”

It’s their fifth night together in the great hall, but only the third time he’s chosen to speak. They’re both sitting; she curled along the steps that lead to his brother’s throne and Oberyn perched along the high council’s table, one leg propped up, his bare foot flat on the polished wood. She had averted her eyes a little too late, heat racing up her neck and sitting heavy on her cheeks when she realized the prince was bare beneath his robe. 

“What?” she asks, shifting her eyes carefully to his face before pointing them away again. 

“The wedding. Call it off. You could leave in the middle of the night. I would provide you with whatever you need.”

She is quiet for a moment, lips caught between her teeth, picking at her fingernails, soot staining the skin beneath and little done to wash the dirt away. She had considered it. Of course she had, in the lonely hours of the morning, aching for snow and leaves and cold stone beneath her feet, still trying to adjust to the silk and sand of Dorne. And yet…

Something kept her rooted in place, something that felt stronger than honor to a place or love for a queen. But as she sat in silence, struggling for words, Oberyn kept speaking.  

“No one would expect any more than what you have already given. It is not as if you are truly of noble blood.” 

She stands at that, the abruptness of her movements enough to jar him off his perch, both feet falling to the floor below. 

“Do you have any honor? Any at all, Oberyn Martell?”

Her face is twisted, her fists balled tight, and she moves quickly, refusing to let him see the tears that threaten to spill. With fast feet she moves out of his reach and back towards her quarters, one final reprimand slipping from her lips.

“I think you and I have very different ideas on what it means to be noble, Prince Oberyn.”

When she is finally alone, only the flicker of candle light to keep her company on the long walk back to her quarters, does she allow the tears to fall.

———

The smell of citrus always seems to burn brightest in the morning, the rise of the sun matching the yellow tang of lemon on his tongue. Most would think Oberyn to detest the early morning hour, his dalliances keeping him up until well into the night. It is a fair assumption but not always the most accurate.

There is a peace this early in the day; the air carries the slightest chill, the sky not yet filled with a fiery heat, tepid blues melting away to a shimmering orange across the shore. He reveals in it, when the mood strikes, finding solace in a serenity that is not always commonplace in his life. 

The courtyard is quiet, save for the slap of bare feet, Dorea and Loreza racing across the stone path, disappearing up into the lemon groves, and returning to where he and his brother wait, the bright yellow fruit clutched between their tiny fingers. 

Doran takes the offering with a smile, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out as far as he can, the pair of them erupting into giggles that ring out to meet the sunrise. 

“Your papa and I used to do this very thing every harvest. Sucking the juice from the rind until our lips burned.”

The girls hang on his every word, asking to hear more and in the blink of an eye Oberyn is lost in the memory, same as Doran. Two boys racing down the curved steps, the rush of sea crashing in the background, their knees knocking and elbows jabbing, in search of an early summer treat. If he allowed himself, he swore he would hear Ellia’s voice chasing after them in a plea to slow down, her skirts rustling as she did her best to keep up. 

How simple things seemed. 

He’s back in the present before he can properly cling to it, his daughters still laughing as their uncle tears through the thick skin of the fruit for them. Oberyn tries and fails not to notice how his brother’s hands shake from the effort, and a pain he had been dutifully ignoring threatens to rise up. Doran, having caught his eye, is quick to divert the conversation. 

“I hear talk of a quarrel between you and your betrothed?”

Oberyn chuckles, head shaking from side to side, letting his palm cup the curve of his cheek, the first rays of sunshine starting to warm his skin. Certainly he is not caught off guard by the question, but his frustrations threaten to swallow him whole anyway. It seems unlikely he will find peace in this morning. 

“Who in your staff have you assigned to spy on us, my dear brother?”

“You give me far too much credit, Oberyn. This palace may be large but it is still a small world we live in. Word travels of its own accord. I have no need to rush it along. I am a patient man.” 

Doran hands each girl a large slice of lemon as he speaks, and they squeal as the sour taste hits their tongues. Oberyn watches them as they take off, now in search of blossoms for their hair, and he marvels at the simplicity of their hearts. He hopes they can hold tight to it, if only a little bit longer than he was ever allowed. 

“Go on, then. Tell me how I should do the honorable thing and offer her my apologies before tomorrow comes.” 

He should not be so surprised when his brother only laughs, passing him his own slice of lemon with a hearty jab of his elbow, so very reminiscent of all those summers lost in the long ago. 

“Oh, my brother! You are about to be married. You have your whole life to apologize. And with your track record it will be more often than not. I think perhaps you can simply count yourself forgiven if she meets you at the end of the altar.” 

“And if I am alone?”

“Well then,” Doran offers, shaky hands bringing a slice of lemon to his own lips, “perhaps she is not the fool you have made her out to be.” 

———

The layers of gauze and silk draped across her skin feel heavy, a sneaky trick considering how light the fabric felt in her hands earlier this morning. She had chosen the dress from the many left for her in her room, unable to resist the golden hues on today of all days, fingers tracing the vibrant stitching of the sun, crystals that seemed to glitter of their own accord framing the length of the gown. 

Each step she takes feels weighed down, her gait slipping on the polished floor, the beaded sandals tied to her feet foreign and uncomfortable. She shakes out her fingertips, desperate to tug at the necklace fastened around her neck, the ruby red jewels choking back her breath and stealing her voice, but Ellaria’s hand in her own stops her. 

Just beyond the double doors, sealed shut and hiding her from view, is the sound of music, the murmur of a crowd, a call of her name to signal her entry. It overwhelms and saturates, only the crash of the waves and Oberyn’s tempered anger filling the space between her ears. She feels too hot, too cold, and so very suddenly she wishes Sansa was here to hold her other hand. She curses inward, hating herself for refusing her friend’s offer to make this journey with her. How foolish of her to think this would be so easy a task accomplished. 

She can hear Ellaria call her name, once, then twice, and slowly she turns to look at her, trying to steady her heartbeat in the depths of her honeyed gaze. She licks her lips and blinks back the saltwater sting of tears, wishing her words would present themselves clearly.

“I was not until…I had not truly…he does not…” she glances back towards the doors then to the open windows, unable to look into Ellaria’s eyes when she finally admits the truth aloud. 

“I am frightened.” 

“I don’t think there would be anyone who would dare discount that feeling.” 

She nods again and tightens her grip around the older woman’s hand. “Will you…will you walk with me?” 

“I will.” 

They walk together slowly, and if not for the pomp, for the circumstance, it could just as easily be another of their shared moments between the lemon trees. But with each step further down the aisle the crashing sound inside her head booms louder. Waves slamming up against the rocks, drowning out the sense and sensibility of the choice she’s made, and waiting for her at the end of it all is Prince Oberyn.

He is dressed in the palest shades of yellow, save for the chain around his neck, the jewel at the center the deepest shade of scarlett to match her own. He stands tall, hands folded behind his back, his eyes watching as the two women move towards him. The look on his face is indiscernible, his lips parting around a silent question as he looks first to Ellaria, then to her.

She takes a breath in, holding it in her lungs until they burn, smoke and fire threatening to swallow her whole. Her head spins faster with each step she takes, her knees buckle, her steps falter. Beside her, Ellaria is balanced, the grip she has around her arm secure, her presence soothing. It is only when she reaches the altar and the other woman moves a hair away, do the tears she had been fighting all morning finally fall. 

She hears her name again, spoken gently, cutting through the screaming sound of the sea inside her heart. But it is not Ellaria’s soothing voice that pulls her to the present. Instead it is Oberyn calling out to her, and when she looks into his eyes, she finds an anchor waiting for her.

“Take my hand.”

She looks down at his offered hand, his palm open, thick fingers splayed out wide, an invitation and apology waiting in silent patience. She breathes in again, letting it leave her lips softly, slowly, the last of her nerves leaving her to stand tall before the man she’s chosen. 

For worse. 

For better. 

Oberyn’s lips twitch up, the smallest of encouragement, and after what feels like an eternity too long she reaches out for him, sliding her hand gently into his own. 

And the world goes blissfully silent. 

———

Dedications:

Forever and for always grateful for @jazzelsaur and @astroboots for keeping me on track with this one. Oberyn and Game of Thrones in general is so far outside of my comfort zone, and their support of this fic that embraces so many things at once has meant so much to me. I'm literally writing this story a sentence at a time, in between wrapping presents and making cookies and the mad dash end-of-year rush at work. So having the two of them to bounce ideas off of has been nothing short of my saving grace. I love you hoes. Thank you!

Also big thanks to @grogusmum for chatting Oberyn with me in the DM's. I am officially gone for that menace of a man and Hazel has been so wonderful in talking this story with me.