#male original character

[wardenparker]

The Viper’s Bride - ch 1

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst​

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol* A slap! Mentions of menstruation, fleeting mention of a suicidal thought, threats of violence, bathing, so much foreplay, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fingering (anal), MM coupling, MMF threesome, anal sex, oral sex (f giving and receiving), FF coupling, technically this is an orgy. Summary: Upon receiving news of your arranged betrothal, both you and Prince Oberyn of Dorne make your ways to the Red Keep for King Joffrey’s impending nuptials. However, his arrival to the city is significantly more playful than yours. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number seven! This summer we are getting hot and heavy in Westeros with everybody’s favourite promiscuous prince. Buckle up, my darlings, because this one gets spicy right off the bat 👑💖

Oberyn frowns slightly as the oil slicked hands of the servant press into the arches and joints of Doran’s feet, making his older brother hiss in pain. It must be a harsh day for him, his wheeled chair a near constant as it is now too painful for him to walk even short distances. A far cry from the hale and hearty brother he had grown up with as the youngest of the Martell princes. He knows the oil is warmed, the scent of eucalyptus and mint filling the air as it is worked into the skin, hopefully providing some relief. “I can come back, brother. Let you rest.”

“This is important.” Doran insists, not dismissing either man from his presence. His own discomfort is a stark reminder of the sacrifices that must be made for the throne of Dorne. “You know the Baratheon boy is to marry.” The fact that King Joffrey’s mother is a Lannister makes him an unsavory topic between the Martell brothers, even as Marcella Baratheon plays in the water gardens a mere thirty yards away.

Stiffening instantaneously for a moment before he forces his body to relax, Oberyn despised the mention of anything to do with the Lannisters, including that bastard on the throne. Everyone knows the rumors and with the golden mane of the boy and the tales of evils he has done, he’s inclined to believe it. “Gods be praised.” He murmurs sarcastically, reaching for the carafe of wine and the spare goblet that had obviously been left in anticipation of his visit with the elder prince. “What poor girl is marrying that…king?”

“Margaery Tyrell.” The elder prince huffs derisively before leveling his younger brother with a serious gaze. “You are to attend the wedding in my stead.”

Rolling his eyes, Oberyn sighs heavily. It will be two weeks of hard traveling to reach King’s Landing. All for a wedding he does not wish to attend. “I will extend the Martell family’s feelings.”

"You will be gracious and accommodating." Doran warns, knowing that the Martell family's true feelings are not appropriate in any way to be expressed at a wedding. "There will be some other business for you to attend to in King's Landing which is far more important."

“Yes, there is that wonderful brothel down in Flea Bottom.” Oberyn muses, grinning at the idea of bringing Ellaria there. The last time he had come, it had been two years before he had met her.

"Oberyn." His brother's voice has a warning tone to it. "I beg you not to waste your time in brothels on this trip no matter how enjoyable a pastime it may be. There is someone you need to meet."

He snorts and shakes his head. “I have no interest in meeting boring nobles with their equally boring wives.” He tells him. “I’ll be with Ellaria anyway.”

"No, you won't." Doran jerks away from his servant in frustration and turns to fully face Oberyn. "I will not have that woman jeopardize the contract I have signed when the ink is barely dry. Leave her home, Oberyn. She will be here with open legs when you return."

Oberyn’s brow arches up dramatically. Doran has never had issue with Ellaria, even counting her as a confidant in his absence. She is the mother of four of his children and a member of the family despite there being no vows between them. His soulmate. “What contract?” He growls.

"Leave." He hisses at the young man who was tending to him and he backs off immediately, taking the pot of oil back into the interior of the palace as fast as his feet can carry him. "It was time, Oberyn," he intones seriously. "Far past time, but I have let you have your freedom as long as I was able."

“Let me have my freedom?” His hackles rise and his eyes narrow. “I have my freedom because I wish it.” He reminds his brother. “I am not the head of the Martells like you, and you have your heir.”

"I have one heir." Doran bristles, but the raised tension between the brothers is his own fault. A product of the tension and pain he was already feeling today. "If anything should happen to Trystane, it will be you on the throne. And though I have great love for my nieces, none of them can be a princess."

“Our house will endure like it always has.” Oberyn snorts, dismissing Doran’s concern. “If the time comes, I will marry Ellaria and claim my Sand Snakes as legitimate.” He takes a long sip of his wine, humming at the delightfully floral note.

"The chance for that has passed." It is Doran's turn to be dismissive, sitting back again in his wheeled chair and adjusting a cushion under his arm. "Your objections to marriage have been noted, brother, but it is time to make a respectable husband of you. Ellaria will understand. She is an intelligent woman, and I'm sure would not abandon you as your mistress." Oberyn prefers the term paramour, and though it is accurate now, it will be more complicated once things are settled.

“Brother, what have you done?” Oberyn demands, slamming his goblet down onto the table.

"You know exactly what I have done." There is no chance, in his mind, that Oberyn has not deduced that a marriage contract has been signed, but Doran still sighs heavily. "She is the only daughter of a noble family. The father let her go without a match for some time while her brothers all married, but her portrait is beautiful and he assures me that she is accomplished." Reaching for the wine glass that Oberyn has rejected, Doran takes a gulp rather than a sip. "And she has no marks, blessedly."

“The agreement was my soulmate or no one.” Oberyn hisses, his gaze turning withering. “I will not marry some cow faced northerner.”

"Every place is northern to Dorne," Doran waves one hand dismissively and sets the wine glass back down on the table between them. "The contract is signed, Oberyn. You will not make a liar or a fool of your brother by denying it, and I am not going to try to force you to spend time with the girl or even like her. But you will marry her and produce a legitimate heir." The contract is full of terms to be adhered to, and the fairly enormous size of the girl's dowry includes access to trade routes that will greatly benefit the people of Dorne. There is no downside to this arrangement in Doran's mind, aside from having to have this discussion with his brother.

Oberyn’s lips press together in a firm line and his chair scrapes back as he stands. “Then you fuck the girl.” He hisses. “For I will not be gracing her bed.” Turning on his heel, the prince storms away before he loses his infamous temper.

Doran breathes a sigh, reaching for the goblet again to drown his frustrations in the wine that his maester has instructed him to avoid when he is in pain. "Fuck it," he grumbles harshly. Oberyn is going to make his life a living hell anyway, he may as well be drunk for it.

******

“Marriage!” Oberyn scoffs angrily, pacing in front of the lounge where his paramour is currently sprawled. “As if I am some fresh-faced maiden. How dare he sign a contract on my behalf!”

"I smell Mellario behind it," Ellaria admits, watching him pace back and forth like a caged beast. Oberyn had come careening back into his chamber like a sandstorm and now he was seething. "Doran has never had issue with your arrangement before now, and suddenly he is concerned about heirs? I would not be surprised if her change has come."

“Or he cannot get his cock to rise.” Oberyn winces at the idea of his own cock not working, but with his brother’s declining health, he would not rule it out. “I will not do it.” He decides. “We will leave for Braavos if he decides to push the issue.”

"My love," Ellaria sits up, shaking her head. "If you leave here, I would follow. You know this. But you would still have four daughters you would not be able to see and we both know that would break your heart." His children are the most important thing in the world to Oberyn – everyone knows this – and Doran would certainly use them as a punishment for insubordination. "Exile is no choice, Oberyn. Even self-imposed."

Pausing mid-stride, his robes swish around his legs as he turns to stare at the woman who had been with him and by his side for nearly twenty years. “You would have me entertain this idea?” He demands, surprised she would consider this.

“I would not have you be less of a man than you are.” For all her complexities, Ellaria Sand is not the temptress or the snake that some make her out to be. Her genuine love for Oberyn is rooted in as much respect as it is passion, and their four daughters currently have a father that they can look up to as a good and wise man. “What is the worst this girl could be?” She poses the question carefully as he shifts his weight anxiously in front of her, and she folds her hands in her lap. “Ugly? That is not her fault. The sun and good company can make anyone more beautiful. Cruel? Doran has already said you do not have to spend much time with her. Or perhaps childish? Spoiled? Then you treat her like a child and send her to her chamber without a treat if she misbehaves.” There is anger in his face, which Ellaria hates to see, but she tries to be encouraging. Motherhood has taught her that encouragement can be a balm on almost any wound. “So you would be married. What does that signify? Nothing in so far as you and I are concerned. You are still my soulmate, my love. And the father of my children. She cannot change that.”

“You are my sun.” Oberyn reaches down and takes his lover’s hand to draw her to her feet. Pulling her against his body, his broad hand covers the small scar on her side, a knife wound that he had earned in the fighting pits. “My world.” He promises, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, trying to rid himself of the idea of tying himself to another. Ellaria is his soulmate, which is why he had said that he would only marry the woman who bears his marks.

"And no one will ever change that." She vows just as solemnly, giving herself over to the kiss without restraint. There are parts of his world that she does not stray into, or they would have fought with Doran for the right to marry years ago. The elder Martell brother may not mind her as Prince Oberyn's paramour, but she is not what he would envision for a princess of Dorne, nor does Ellaria particularly want such a title. For Oberyn she might have borne the duty of it all, but he never asked that of her and she was grateful. Now, whoever this girl is that is being thrust into their life will bear that burden instead. Ellaria does not envy her the responsibility.

******

“My love, you must calm yourself.” Within the walls of your chambers, Raeden Stone knows that the two of you are safe. Your maid will not interrupt unless necessary and she is sworn to protect your happiness and well-being above everything else, including your parents. “Stop.” Striding across the room, the sword at his side clanks as he grabs your hands filled with dresses, and takes them from you. “We cannot flee under the cover of darkness like we are thieves escaping the sword.” He knows that if he is caught, he will be killed or sent to the Wall as well.

"I won't do it." The very idea is offensive, leaving the taste of burnt crumbs in your mouth and the feeling of insects crawling on your skin, so that even with Raeden clutching your hand all you can think of is being rid of the horrible sensation. This whole horrible situation. Your eyes are already red from tears, their dried tracks left on your cheeks and down your neck, yet still more threaten to spill over as he holds you still. "I won't marry a stranger and move halfway across the world. I won't leave you behind!"

“You will not need to leave me.” Setting the clothes down on the trunk that is meant to be packed for your journey to King’s Landing and then to Dorne, he cups your cheeks. “I will pledge to accompany you.” He promises, his dark eyes boring into yours. His heart aches but he had known this day would eventually come. “I will ride into all seven hells if need be to stay beside you.”

"Why can we not just tell them?" Your smaller hands wrap around his long fingers, holding tight to him as though he might disappear if you let go. "To marry my soulmate should not be such a shocking thing to do, surely?" Having gone over and over it in their time together, you know why. Status. For a young noble woman to marry a bastard of no consequence, soulmate or otherwise, would be unacceptable in any part of Westeros.

“I have no name to offer you, other than Stone.” Raeden reminds you, aware of his station. He had only become a trusted member of your guard when he had risked his life for you nearly three winters ago. No one knew of the shared marks on your skin. No one could know. “No coin, no land, no future.”

"I could be your future." The argument is an old one. Aged and worn like the stones in your floor. The fact that you would abandon your station and your family for him is moot now that your father has sold you. "Three brothers married wealthy wives and yet I am the sacrificial lamb to be offered up to the lecherous second prince of Dorne." The stories of the man's temperament and deeds preceded him, of course. Lusty and vengeful, the second son of House Martell was to be feared never spoken of above a whisper in polite company. And now you have to marry him?

“I have heard he is handsome.” Despite his own heart aching at the thought of another touching you, he has to make this seem like a good thing. “They say he will treat any in his bed respectfully.”

"He could be the most handsome man in all of Dorne and he would still not be as handsome as you." Soulful eyes the color of chestnut shells, plush lips, and a perpetually mischievous smile when he’s pleased, there is no one more handsome than Ser Raeden Stone. Firm muscles and an impressive strength make him as formidable on the battlefield as they do in the bedroom - a fact which you have kept mum about for years now. Raeden's broad frame and towering height envelope you fully when you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest to muffle a sob. "I will never lay with him. Or love him. Not as long as I live."

“You will be his wife.” He swallows as he says those words. “You will bear his children, love or not. And I will protect you.” It will be his own special kind of hell, watching you grow with a child that is not his, marry a man who is not him. “You must not tell him, love.”

"How can you be so calm?" You demand, looking up at him with fear and hurt swimming in your eyes. "My father is sentencing me to stand at the side of another man and you...my love, I cannot believe you are accepting of this?"

“I have no choice but to accept it.” His voice hardens slightly. “If we try to run away together, we will be caught. I will be killed or sent to the Wall.” It rankles, but he had known that one day you would be married off. “I cannot protect you if I am dead or taken the oath.” He growls, shaking his head and leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I cannot risk leaving you alone.”

"Only cruel gods would have given us to each other as soulmates without ever intending to allow our love." It is an unfairness of life that you have lamented more than once, but right now it feels as though a dagger has been plunged through your heart and twisted violently.

“The gods know of our love.” Raeden knows it, sighing softly. “We are together and we will still be together.” He kisses you softly. “I spend more nights in your bed than my own. It will be the same in Dorne.”

"I will not allow it to be any other way." Despite the fear of the unknown, the thing that you can cling to is the strength of your feelings for Raeden Stone. Since the day he arrived rather triumphantly in your life, he has been a constant and welcome presence and you will not allow any power to steal your soulmate from your side. "No prince from Dorne will ever keep you from my arms."

“There is my girl.” Raeden smiles, happy that you are calm again and he presses closer to you. “Now…do you wish that I take your mind off your worries?” He coos softly.

“I always wish for you.” Though time is precious now, as you leave for King’s Landing in just three days and the road is no place for a romantic interlude. Raeden will not even be allowed to ride in your carriage during the journey. His place as your guard demands that he protect you, not indulge in you. Although he is fully capable of doing both.

The grin that you have said melts you flashes across his face and he pulls back so he can remove his belt and sword. “Then let me make you forget about Dorne, forget about marriage and only think of me.”

******

The painstaking journey feels ludicrous, and your weary mother certainly has not made it any easier with her complaining. The decision for your parents to accompany you was entirely your father’s and even then it was only so that he could brag to his small group of friends that he attended the king’s wedding. If this were only about delivering you to your groom, he would have sent you with your guard and your maid and thought no further on it. As it is, you have spent every day sitting beside your mother’s lady’s maid in the cramped and uncomfortable carriage praying that you might get even ten minutes alone with Raeden before the end of the day. It has hardly happened, and you have found yourself near tears rather constantly. Ignorant man that your father is, he imagines you so delirious with joy that you are weeping for your good fortune. The truth could not be further away.

“Do not fret.” Your mother assures you softly. “We have long had daughters marry in Dorne or Dornish brides sent to us.” She reminds you. “While most will look their noses down at a Dornish man, we know he will treat you well.”

“I still do not see why this marriage is even necessary.” And since no one has offered you any sort of explanation, you’re inclined to just ask. “My brothers married wealthy women. We do not need the favour of House Martell. So I am forced to wonder again why I am being offered to them in sacrifice.”

“Change is coming to Westeros.” Your mother leans in, her words quiet and fervent. “Dorne is the last kingdom that still has royalty. You will not just be a lady, you will a princess.”

"I do not want to be a princess." You inform her flatly, ignoring the way her lady's laid looks aghast at your ingratitude. "My own maid had more freedom than I do. At least someone asked her if she wanted to be shipped south like chattel. And she was even able to say no!" Though Clarey had served you since you came of age, your own maid had been able to marry her soulmate and had recently discovered she was with child. Your father had considered himself quite magnanimous for not breaking up that family to send her to Dorne with you.

“You would have your father break his contract with Dorne?” Your mother asks, appalled at the mere idea. “You were born into a noble house. You have grown up knowing your father would arrange a marriage for you. Most are married at seventeen.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment that you are forever ungrateful for the time your father had allowed you to remain unwed. If you only knew the rumors that had swirled.

"If you always planned to marry me against my will then I wonder that you waited so long." Staring out of the carriage window, you can see Raeden up ahead, face drawn in concentration as he keeps constant vigilance over the route you are traveling. "Why not have signed me away to the Starks when I was born?" The bitterness in your voice is obvious. "Then I would have been a queen."

“You will watch your sharp tongue, or you shall be sent to your room without dinner.” Your mother hisses, sitting back and shaking her head. “Your father wanted to hold out hope for a soulmate.”

"I am not a child, as you so love to point out when it is convenient to you." The threat of no dinner is nothing when you have no appetite to begin with. It would be a blessing not to be stared at over a meager meal. "And you can hardly send me to my room when I haven't one. We will not even arrive in King's Landing before first light tomorrow."

Your mother’s hand strikes out, slapping your cheek with a sharp crack. “You will not shame your father and house.” She hisses. “I have long begged your father to marry you off, to stop giving into your childish notions, but no more. You will marry Oberyn Martell.”

If the impulse to cup your own cheek was present, you don’t give in to it, not wanting to show the satisfaction of acknowledging that she has caused you pain of any kind. At the moment all you can really think is that it is good Raeden did not witness your mother striking you, or he may have given himself away with his reaction. “At least in Dorne I will never again be forced to breathe the same odious air you have exhaled.” No one in all of Westeros could ever have mistaken your mother for your ally if they saw you interact in private – it is only her sickly sweet countenance in public that made others think that she had babied or favoured you in any way. More than once in your life you’ve wondered how such a hateful woman could even grow a babe let alone birth four of them.

“You will learn your place soon enough.” She promises you. “You are a woman, not a man.” Her disappointment in you pours off of her in waves. “Be thankful your father did not choose a fat, aging lord.”

“Fat and aging means he would die faster.” At least antagonizing your mother is passing the time, you decide, staring straight ahead at the pompous boil of a woman who has lorded herself over you for the last twenty-five years. “I think I would do very well as a widow.”

“I wonder if your bravery would falter learning that your guard will not be staying with you.” The sly, evil menace in your mother’s voice is clear.

“Of course he will.” Brazen confidence is the tone which drowns out your panicked fear, and you tell yourself not to look outside and give yourself away. That could ruin everything in less than one heartbeat. “He swore to Father to protect me and Father accepted.” If something had changed, surely Raeden would have told you.

“Hmmmm.” Her smile is acidic, her fingers twisting around her handkerchief. “You think you are soooo clever. That I did not know.”

“Honestly?” Honestly you really did not think for a second that anyone besides your former maid knew anything, but you swallow down the boiling acid in your throat and keep your chin poised to stare your own mother down. “I do not know what you could possibly mean.”

“I birthed you.” She snorts, a very unladylike sound. “You think I do not know when my daughter had decided to spread her legs and become a Stone’s whore?”

Of course the thing that bothers her most is that Raeden is a bastard – Stone, as they are named in the Vale – and not an actual concern of safety or care. “I can assure you, that is not the case.” Though saying it would be a waste of breath, nothing you have done with Raeden could mark you as a whore. Just a woman very much in love with her soulmate.

“At least you just bled.” She scoffs. “Not carrying a bastard in your belly.” She leans in, her eyes flashing with malice. “Behave. Or I will allow your father into my bed for the night and he will do as I say. Including making sure your precious Raeden rides home to the Vale with his lord, your father.” She threatens.

Though you have serious doubts that your mother’s cunt is magical enough to control your father’s thoughts, it isn’t a chance you’re willing to take. If Raeden is ordered to return to the Vale and you are forced to ride for Dorne without him, you are more likely to see the bottom of the seas than your marriage bed. “My Lord Father loves me and wishes to protect me,” is all you say in response.

“Your Lord Father will do what makes me happy.” She promises you with a self-assured smirk. “Especially now that I have convinced him to marry you off.”

“It was you?” You should not be so shocked. Her hatred for you has been obvious from the time you were a child and had never seemed to waver. Your father, on the other hand? Doting and indulgent, always picking flowers for you and bringing you books instead of suitors. Your brothers are strong men with discipline instilled in them. You had been allowed to read and dream and sing and ride at your leisure. Of course his sudden change of heart was down to your bitter, angry mother.

“Who else?” She sneers. “Your father would be content to keep you around until you are nothing but a spinster. You are already past your prime. Luckily enough, the Prince of Dorne already has eight bastards.”

The way her utter dismissal of you makes your blood boil is beyond explanation, but as you squeeze your hands together in the pockets of your robe, only one precious thought floats to the surface. “My only solace is that if I should ever see you again after this week, Mother, you shall have to curtsy to the person you despise most in the world.”

“I will not.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I will never bow to a little whore like you.”

“Oh, but you will.” A victory, even a small one, is enough to grasp at as you square your shoulders again. “When I am Princess of Dorne it will be required of everyone save King Joffrey himself. You included.”

“Bitch.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I should have drowned you the moment you slipped from my womb.”

“A regret you will live with forever.” If Knocking her from her wicked confidence is the best you can do in this conversation, you will not take that for granted, for your mother has always been a formidable enemy. “Now leave me to read, Mother. Lest you earn yourself another wrinkle and find your hair a shade greater than it was when we left home.”

“I will be overjoyed to not see your face every day.” She spits, hating that you don’t seem cowed by her threats. “Dorne will be eye opening for you. And everything you deserve:”

“As you say, Mother.” Without another word, you take the small book of histories from your reticule and open it to the place where you left off last night, too distracted by Raeden’s handsome face to give any more thought to words. False confidence is a thing you learned very well in the face of your mother’s vitriol, and apparently on this one occasion it has actually yielded a victory. You may still be terrified of your future in Dorne, but she never needs to know that.

******

“This city still smells like shit.” Two weeks of travel has left Oberyn irritable, grumbling as he pulls his horse up to the gates of the city. “Let us go find comfort and a bath.” He tells Ellaria, unable to stay in the carriage and deciding to ride ahead of the contingent of troops Doran had sent with him.

“At the brothel, my love?” She smirks at the suggestion, far less uncomfortable from travel than he is. “A bath, fresh food, and a good fuck will restore your mood.”

“Of course.” Oberyn scoffs. “I will not accept chambers in that keep.” He hates even being here and seeing it. Wanting to burn it down, considering his sister, niece and nephew died in that keep.

“Nor should you.” As a prince he should have the most resplendent rooms available, but they both know what would happen if Oberyn ever set foot in the Red Keep beyond the wedding in two days. “We will visit this Littlefinger you have spoken of?”

“I had sent word that we were arriving.” He chuckles, smirking at Ellaria because she knows him so well. “Tell me you don’t want a hot bath and an even hotter cunt?”

“If I am honest, I am ravenous for a cunt to bury my tongue in.” There is never any judgment between them, or jealousy, and Ellaria sighs indulgently at the idea of a slick cunt and perky tits to indulge in. “Will you share with me, lover?”

“Always.” Oberyn waggles his brows. “We will pick out a whore together.”

“A favorite pastime.” Ellaria laughs softly. She has not spoken a word about Oberyn’s intended bride since they left Dorne and she won’t until it’s necessary. His mood is volatile here in the northern capital and she does not relish his moments of anger.

“Silk sheets.” Oberyn groans, not willing to admit that he is weary of travel, but he needs to recover. Especially if he is to be meeting this bride. He had decided that the poor girl deserves to be told in person that he will have nothing to do with her.

“Silk sheets. Roasted meats. Wine. Berries and nuts fresh from their trees.” She giggles when his hand slips inside her dress to caress her skin. “And a pert ass for you to bury yourself in.”

“We could get two. A man and a woman.” He reasons, smirking at the idea. “Perhaps we will have Littlefinger line them all up for us to choose from.”

“As many as you like, my love.” After all, it is not as if the coffers of Dorne lack for funds. They have brought a fortune with them under Doran’s insistence that Oberyn shower his intended with gifts – and a second fortune to pay for the bills his natural extravagance will no doubt incur. “We will have whatever you desire. And when you have had your fill we will rest and then begin all over again.”

“Wine.” Oberyn decides, frowning despite thinking of nicer things as the two of them enter the walls of King’s Landing. “I will need a lot of wine.”

Their destination is not far, but the duo of Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand attract attention by virtue of their combined beauty and the onlookers who cluster to gaze at them make their journey last longer. Oberyn sends their driver off with the carriage to find stables nearby and Ellaria wraps her arms around him when he returns to her side in the steps of the building. “Do you hear the false moans, my prince?” She pouts in sympathy for the unsatisfied women inside as they cross the threshold together. “We will make them scream so they never forget us.”

Oberyn smirks, holding her hand with no shame. He does not hide Ellaria, she is his paramour. Much more than that, although that is something that is kept between the two of them, private at her insistence so she does not become a liability to him. “We will, my love. Every whore in this brothel will pout when you leave.”

“Very pretty pouts, I hope.” Ellaria loves a very pretty pout when the time is right. To be begged to come back to bed. To have a lover cry her name with such passion that their heart aches for more. She saunters into the brothel beside Oberyn with her head high and looks around as the prettily dressed woman at the entrance fawns over Oberyn. Everyone fawns over Oberyn, that is of little interest to her.

Oberyn eyes the cunts and tits on display, lifting a brow when he sees earrings through one woman’s nipples. “I see we are in the right place.” He smirks, watching as Littlefinger rushes over to the pair.

“Prince Oberyn.” Though he does not ever bow deeply, he does bow, eyes tracking over to Ellaria with an oily smile. “My lady. What an honour to be graced with your presence. What can we provide for you this morning?”

“My lady?” Ellaria scoffs, making Oberyn smirk and squeeze her hand. “We will be needing accommodations for the duration of our stay in King’s Landing.” Most brothels do not rent rooms and he is sure that Littlefinger’s establishment is no different but Oberyn has learned that his title and the gold of his coin makes things possible when they previously weren’t. “For now, until it is ready, we need baths and whores to join us.”

“The duration of your stay?” The man does not bother to hide his surprise, but smiles broadly like the showman that he is. “I will send someone to ready your accommodations,” he promises, hand on heart. “Our baths are this way,” Littlefinger motions deeper into the building. “Do you have a preference for who should join you or shall I send you a variety to choose from?” There is enough gold dripping from the Prince of Dorne that Littlefinger will unfold the world of pleasure at his feet if that is what he wishes, without worry for his ability to pay what is owed.

“Your choicest men and women.” Oberyn looks over to Ellaria for her approval. “Clean.” He insists, although Littlefinger’s whores are always of a higher caliber than most. “We will send the others away once we have chosen.”

“Leyth.” Littlefinger waves to a tall, buxom girl with orange curls down to her waist. “Tend to the prince and his lady for me,” he instructs her, obviously trusting that she can do the job. “Anything they need, you will acquire for as long as they are here, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The girl called Leyth nods and smooths her thin skirt, looking between the beautiful prince and his stunning lady. “I will be happy to serve them.”

“Good.” The chuckle that bubbles out of Littlefinger is full of approval. “Take them to the baths and then fetch them food and wine.” He smiles at Oberyn, a thing dripping with false charm. “I will send you a selection of company to choose from.”

“Berries.” Oberyn adds, the need for fresh fruit after weeks on the road is great. Ellaria chuckles, well aware of his fondness for snacking, especially when he is fucking.

“Berries.” Leyth bats her eyelashes prettily as she leads the pair down the hall. “Do you prefer sweet things, your Grace?”

“Hmmmm.” He doesn’t answer one way or the other, although his gaze is sliding up and down her form and he reaches out to caress her ass through the sheer robe she is wearing.

She hums right back at him, playful but bidding, and slows her pace slightly to let him touch as they turn the corner to the bathing room. The deep bath in the floor sits full and waiting for paying customers, beautifully tiled with trays of soap and sponges for gently scrubbing skin. The oiled waters smell of flower petals, and two baths are even littered with the things. Leyth walks toward the bath of floral water with a sultry smile and a swing in her hips. “I will wash you with my own hands if that is your wish, after I fetch you food to break your fast.”

“What do you say my love?” Oberyn asks Ellaria. “Leyth and whoever catches our eyes?” He would love to see his paramour’s thighs spread for the orange haired beauty. “Or would you prefer to choose the woman?”

“You are lovely, Leyth.” Ellaria praises, already having decided that she likes this woman’s spirit as well as her figure. “We will see who else catches our eye when they arrive.”

“Show me your tits.” Oberyn commands the woman. Eager to see if they are as perky as they seem or if it is an illusion of the gown she is wearing.

Obedience is necessary to work for Littlefinger, but Leyth is lucky to have been given to this couple she finds so attractive. She slips the ties from her shoulders and lets her silken dress fall to the stone floor with pride. Her body is well worth selling and has given her a good living, so she proudly bares her large tits and curved waist to this prince when he demands it.

“Very nice.” Oberyn groans with a smirk. “They will look lovely bouncing when you ride my cock.” He predicts. “We can undress ourselves.” He promises, turning to Ellaria and pushing aside her own gown so he can cup her bare breast, tweaking an already hard nipple.

Ellaria moans happily when the girl excuses herself to fetch their food, and drops the traveling robe she was wearing to the ground immediately. “Lover…” she sighs, her body arching to seek Oberyn’s touch instinctively. “You were right about this place.”

“Of course I am right.” He teases playfully, leaning in and dragging his nose along her throat. “Now, we need to wash so we can be ready to play when the whores are brought in. I want to feed you fruit while a tongue is buried in your cunt.”

“Leyth is a beauty.” Ellaria disrobes easily and quickly, leaving her things scattered as she steps into the bath built deep into the floor. It is warm and smells sweet, like summer in the Water Gardens. “Pale, but I like her freckles.” She looks up at Oberyn with admiration as he shrugs off his own robes. “I like your freckles better, though.” Especially the one on the inside of his right thigh, high on his muscled leg where she can kiss it before swallowing his cock.

“Just like her tits are gorgeous, but yours have suckled four of my children.” His cock twitches and he kicks off his boots, throwing the loose, pale yellow shirt off and reaching for his leather breeches.

“Hers are bigger than mine.” Ellaria chuckles at the way he loves tits. “Enjoy them, lover. I know I shall.”

“You always do.” He chuckles, thanking the gods that his soulmate is just as adventurous as he is. “Maybe she will be the only one we choose for now.”

“Perhaps.” Sighing as she lays back in the water, Ellaria tilts her head and soaks her hair, enjoying the way she feels cleaner already. “Perhaps we will develop a taste for sun-red hair while we are here.”

“Whatever we develop a taste for, we will indulge in.” Oberyn does not mind sharing her, doesn’t get jealous because she is his sun and world. No one could break their bond.

“Come to me, lover.” She beckons him with both hands, pouting for him prettily. Now that travel is behind them, Oberyn is already cheerier and it lightens her heart. “Soak with me. It has been weeks since we had a bath.”

“With pleasure.” Stripped down, Oberyn strides over to the bath and starts to descend the stairs to join her in the deep tub.

Ellaria moves to him immediately, arms welcoming him home and lips finding his with a deeply satisfied moan. Her legs are around his waist as quickly as his hands find her ass, and his growing cock twitches against her soft skin.

Oberyn turns around, letting his paramour cling to him as he drops down onto the seat under the water. “I love you.” He murmurs quietly against his lips.

“As I love you.” Since the day they first spoke the words to each other they have not wavered, and Ellaria runs her hands across Oberyn’s skin reverently. “My warrior.”

“My sun.” Oberyn squeezes her ass and rocks her onto his hardening cock. “My world.” The passion between the pair has not wavered over the years, growing stronger in a way that could only be because of their soulmate bond.

“Oberyn.” No matter how many times she takes him, the stretch of his cock inside her takes her breath away. Her hands find his shoulders to cling to him as they find their pace, with his grip guiding her as she begins to bounce on his length in earnest.

“Too soon, my love?” He teases, knowing she is far more than adequately wet. She is dripping.

“Never.” She shakes her head before throwing it back, letting her moan ring out through the echoey chamber. “Never. I am always yours.”

Multi-tasking is a gift that Oberyn has. Results of a wandering spirit and a restless mind. It was one of the reasons he had joined the maesters and eventually left after forging eight links. He reaches for the perfumed soap and a rag to wash his lover.

They are fully enraptured with each other when Leyth returns, and she sets the tray down beside them before seeing about pouring two goblets of wine. It’s rare to have pairs of lovers visit the establishment but not unheard of, and she smiles indulgently, watching the passion they share for a moment before making herself known. “I can do that for you, your Grace,” she offers, knowing her employer will be upset if she neglects them.

Even with Ellaria impaled on his cock, Oberyn tears his mouth away from her lips and looks over at the woman. “Join us and bring the wine.” He orders. “Are the others coming?”

“They are right here.” Leyth slips into the water easily, taking the sponge from him and resumes the work of bathing his lady without missing a beat. Four women and two men all of varying ages and looks pour into the room behind her clad in next to nothing looking apprehensive.

“Do not be shy.” Oberyn turns Ellaria’s head and groans when she clenches down around him. “Any who wish to not join us may leave now.” He does not want someone who is timid.

The most tired looking of the women takes the youngest girl by the hand and leads her from the room with a respectful nod of her head, and one of the men bows before stepping out behind them. "Leaving us with five supple bodies to learn," Ellaria groans appreciatively. Between Oberyn's cock and Leyth's hands massaging her back as she washes her, this is surely already one of the seven heavens. One of the girls is the first to step forward, beautiful dark skin on display and bright eyes full of mischief as she easily discards her meager dress and slips into the water right away. She has heard legends of the second prince of Dorne and intends to find out for herself if they are true.

“Eager.” Oberyn chuckles and beckons her forward. “I like that.” His eyes slide past her towards the remaining man, tall and broad. His tawny skin clear and it’s obvious that his cock is starting to harden as he watches. “You—” he motions towards him. “Do you suck cock or like cock in your ass?”

"I like whatever you like, my lord." After all, is that not what he is here for? Being a man with a voracious appetite for pleasure makes him an asset in a place like this.

Oberyn growls, eyeing his cock tenting the loose trousers he is wearing. “Strip and join us if you are going to.”

Spacious as it is, there is not enough room for everyone in the bath, and the last remaining girl lays down bare on the edge after everyone has climbed in and patiently plays with herself while she waits her turn. There is plenty to feast her eyes on until one of them decides to bury their face in her pussy.

Twitching inside his lover, he kisses her gently and pulls her off his cock. “Go play, my love.” He urges her, knowing she wants to do more than just be touched.

"We may learn to enjoy King's Landing after all." Ellaria laughs, happily letting hands explore her skin. Leyth and the man gravitate toward Oberyn, and she is happy to drown herself in a sea of pussy until she is drunk on the sound of women's pleasure.

When he is close enough, Oberyn reaches down and cups the man’s cock firmly. “What is your name?” He demands, squeezing him gently and jerking him slowly.

"Cal, my lord." His eyelids flutter slightly at the firm touch, eager for more. "Or whatever you want it to be."

“Cal….” He smirks and presses his thumb against the head of the man’s cock. “Have you ever been fucked by a Prince?”

The way Cal shudders and his breath hitches is reverent, and he shakes his head as he tries to remember to breathe. "No, your Grace. But I would like to be."

He turns to Leyth, jerking his chin up. “Kiss me.” he orders, stretching his neck out and lets go of the man’s cock so he can slide his hand around him to press between the cheeks of his ass.

The room fills with moans as Leyth eagerly complies, licking into the prince's mouth with surety. She knows her skill and she hopes to impress, even pressing closer to him to wrap her own hand around his cock.

Oberyn hisses, his tongue sliding against hers happily as he finds Cal’s puckered hole quickly and starts to rub around the opening.Hands are everywhere as Cal lowers his head to lay kisses along the taut muscles of the prince's neck, one hand caressing his skin and the other groping for Leyth's breast to squeeze the supple flesh and play with her nipple. They are paired together often, when clients wish for a show, so he knows her body as well as any instrument.

“You are lovers.” Oberyn groans, pushing a finger inside the man’s quivering hole. On the other side of the bath, Ellaria and the ebony skinned beauty are tangled together in a passionate embrace.

"Sometimes." Leyth agrees, leaning over to give Cal a kiss without missing a single stroke of the prince's cock.

The sounds of heavy breathing and pleasure are filling the bathing room and he can feel the way Cal’s body squeezes his finger as he pumps it into him to stretch him out. “So do you want his cock or his tongue while I fuck him?”

"If I have his cock, I will feel every time you fuck into him." She moans at the idea, chest heaving with just the thought. "You will be driving us both wild with pleasure."

He chuckles and nods, pulling his fingers out of the other man. “Then get on your knees and let him slide inside your cunt.”

Kneeling on the bench where he had been sitting, Leyth presents herself easily for both men to appreciate and sighs out loud when the familiar stretch of Cal's cock presses inside of her wet heat. She knows that Cal is truly the one getting spoiled today and hopes the prince lives up to every rumour for his sake.

Oberyn can’t help but reach out and slap her ass and groans when her generous skin jiggles. “I will fuck you after I have had my fill of your lover.”

"He is insatiable," Ellaria offers, chuckling deeply before burying her face in the cunt nearest her talented mouth. Oberyn is not the only one with an endless appetite. It is one of the reasons that they have so much fun together.

“It has been two weeks.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. There hadn’t been any place to stop and fuck while on the road. He was pent up.

"No one here will complain, my lord." Cal promises, burying himself again in Leyth's cunt and groaning at her heat. "The stories of you are legend, and most of us are eager to know if they are true."

“They are true.” Ellaria pulls his tongue out of the cunt to purr her vote of confidence.

“Thank you, my love.” Oberyn chuckles and reaches for the oils that are kept on the edge of the bath for things such as this.

"Then we will add our praise to the stories that already exist." Soon Leyth will be able to do nothing but take the thrusts from the two men above her, but for now she meets each movement with a roll of her plush hips.

"We are yours for as long as you wish to stay." It is only half of a promise from Cal himself, having been instructed by Littlefinger himself to give Prince Oberyn whatever he wants, but at least now Cal can make the vow with pleasure.

Oberyn has no doubt that these people have been told to do whatever he or his paramour likes but he will only take what he deems right. “Only if I bring you both pleasure.”

"I cannot imagine you have trouble giving pleasure." Cal moans, bending over Leyth's back to present himself to the prince for the taking.

Coating his cock in enough oil to wash his entrance, the water in the bath sloshes as he shuffles closer and takes himself in hand. Pressing closer and pushing the head of his cock against the other man’s hole and slowly rolls his hips forward to break him open.

Cal curses, eyes rolling back into his head as the prince's girth fills him, and in turn pushes his cock further into Leyth's fluttering pussy. The bathing room may as well be their own private party in this moment, because of the large handful of people indulging in each other no one notices Littlefinger lurking by the doorway. True pleasure is rare in a whorehouse, so this is sure to be a lucrative visit for the proprietor.

Oberyn lets out a lusty groan when his hips are flush against the other man’s ass. “You do not flinch away.” He praises, wrapping his long arms around the man so he can cup Leyth’s generous breasts while he waits for the man’s muscles to relax around him.

“Pleasure is a gift.” Cal’s body shudders as he takes Oberyn fully, the stretch of him making the man pant and reach back to grasp the prince’s hip. “You have a very large gift, my lord.”

Oberyn chuckles quietly, pleased with Cal’s words and leans in to nibble on his ear. Enjoying the way he shudders again. “Let me show you what I can do with that gift.”

******

The Red Keep looms above you when you finally step out of your carriage, trying with all your might to block out your mother’s voice muttering indignities that your party was not greeted by a royal retinue at the city line. What utter nonsense. Your house is ancient and wealthy, yes, but certainly not royal and there is no reason for the royal Baratheons or Lannisters to pay you any heed. At least, outside the carriage, you can finally be more than a foot and a half away from your mother again.

“Alright, pumpkin?” Your father beams down at you before swinging off of his horse.

“Of course, Papa.” Of course not is the truth, but after days of spitting venom you are too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, now that you know this is your mother’s doing, it is hard to be upset with your father for simply being a fool.

Your father beams at you as he steps beside you and offers you his arm. Not having an opportunity to talk much on the road, he wants to assure you. “I understand you are nervous because you have not been to Dorne, but your grandmother and her mother are from Dorne.” He reminds you. “And there is family in Braavos and across the Narrow Sea.” The long tradition of finding love outside the Vale is common, your father finding the free-spirited prince to be a far worthier match for you than some sniveling little lord grasping for favor. The idea that his daughter will be princess is also a factor.

“I shall visit them all at my earliest ability.” The idea of traveling to see family you have never met sounds infinitely preferable to spending even a minute in the presence of the prince you never agreed to wed, and for a moment you almost relax at the idea.

“I doubt your husband will allow anything other than you spitting out his heirs for the next few years.” Your mother scoffs. “You will be visiting his bed.”

“That is not for you to know or to decide.” You tell her, though the fact that she may be right makes you sick to your stomach. Two steps behind the three of you, Raeden could not have missed the comment but you cannot exactly turn to look at him.

Raeden keeps his gaze down, your mother’s words in his mind as he tries to decide if he had made the right choice. Perhaps he should have run away with you. He’s noticed the captain of your father’s guard eyeing him so he had tried to be as impassive as possible. His heart aches at the idea of you in the Prince’s bed, despite the rumors of his prowess and propensity for men and women, something that he shamefully shares with the Prince of Dorne. He had fought his attraction to the other men around him. Not even sharing it with you.

“My lord. My ladies.” A steward in the hallway bows to you dutifully and opens his mouth to welcome you to the Red Keep, but a swish of skirts and a silky smooth voice cuts him off from behind. “Lollard, I will greet my guests,” she instructs, sounding nearly severe before her voice pitches up to something delighted and seemingly terribly excited. “I was so pleased to see your banner approach that I could not help myself.” The woman declares, and you cannot tell if she means it or not. “Lady Margaery Tyrell,” she introduces herself with a broad smile. “It was I who sent your invitation. Welcome to King’s Landing, and to the Red Keep.”

“You are even more beautiful than your portrait, Lady Margaery,” your mother gushes, simpering to the woman who appeared to be several years younger than even you. “And how thoughtful of you to include our House in your nuptial feast. We are honoured.”

“It is I who am honoured.” She steps toward you with a smile. “To have the future princess of Dorne amongst my guests, and of course the ancient connection between our Houses makes us loving cousins, does it not?” The marriage of a Tyrell daughter into your House was four generations ago, but Margaery has never been one to overlook a string that might be pulled in her favour. At least not after her grandmother pointed it out.

Future princess of Dorne. Raeden’s fists clench at his sides as he tries to ignore the fury in his heart at that simple phrase. You will be a princess, and the gap between your stations will be more vast than before.

“We are flattered by such a personal welcome.” Beside you, your father is talking and patting your hand on his arm, but you barely hear him. Each time another person calls you princess or refers to the man who bought you, you feel closer and closer to being sick all over the floor. Or perhaps sinking in a wasting depression. If both are possible simultaneously, that may be the answer.

“Forgive me.” When you find your voice it almost cracks, but you put one hand to your stomach delicately. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Margaery, but I am afraid I feel quite ill from weeks of travel. Would it be possible to be escorted to our chamber so that I might be well enough for a turn around the gardens later?” An ally – any ally – may be worth grasping, and you enjoy the way this young woman made your mother frown by not paying attention to her. For right now, though, you would do anything to be alone so that Raeden could visit you.

“Forgive me.” Margaery bows her head respectfully and gives a small, sincere smile. “My manners have forsaken me.” She gestures towards the keep. “Allow me to show you personally to your rooms. A light repast has been laid out for your pleasure as well.”

“How very kind of you,” you murmur, knowing you won’t touch a thing. The reality of your situation has stolen your normally healthy appetite.

Clever blue eyes catch the subtle grimace when she mentions food and yet she doesn’t comment on it. Sensing that you will have much to talk about, Margaery had invited you to stay in the keep as her guest after learning of your betrothal to Oberyn Martell. “This way.” She smiles and motions towards the left corridor.

Though you might not be fond of the games of society, you were raised in them, and you have sense enough that when the future queen offers you her arm you take it. That is how the first glimpse many guests to court ever have of you is strolling arm-in-arm with the woman who will become queen in two days time. It does not matter that you just met. It does not matter that she is chattering away politely while you simply smile your polite smile and nod. The future queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the future princess of Dorne paint a very pretty picture on their way through the halls of the Red Keep with your family trailing behind. If you weren’t so desperate to be alone with Raeden again and attempt to forget all this is happening, you might more fully enjoy the way your mother is green with envy.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    

TVB: @janelongxox @ischysiaclark @amneris21 @septimaseverinaficrec @ficsbynight @inkededucatednnerdy @spookyxsam @fishingforpike @spishsstuff @theolddemon @heareball @thatrageingbisexual @dinoflower @i-am-amora-the-enchantress @smallestsnarkestgirl @kiki13522 @wheresonichedgehogwnt @br33zy-blizzardz @justpeachyandyou @rhymingtree @sophiedore1700 @benwitcher @secretmoonsalad @emily-12342 @victorian-cherub @princessloveweird @savannaisthebombdiggityyo @darkness-falls-xo @dont-tell-anybody8973 @fishingforpike @julesonrecord @gooddaykate @pedropascalfan221 @trekinthruthestarswars @thgswsnitg @gianlucasnutella @lilwrldbigwlrd @eddie-munsons-mommy @margaridass @monicapennington @im-sylien @we-could-have-been @stinkyfishy @boo8008 @whatthehellisgoingonsblog @rollerblader527 @ace-spades-1 @whydoilovehim @theolddemon @heareball @coldlonelydays @movievillainess721 @catsandgeekyandnerd @imtheonewhothrewthepaper @bucketbunny @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @justgonewild @quinnnfabrgay @s-stark @emilianamason @missmarmaladeth @trimbooksflatlink

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #reader x m!OC #male OC #female reader #male original character #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #arranged marriage

[whiskyguts]

Learining how to use gradient map :,))

#art #artists on tumblr #drawing #digital drawing #oc #sketch #original character #digital art #art work #artwork #oc male #male oc #oc art #oc x y/n #oc x you #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster oc #monster boy #monster art #size k1nk #size difference #size k!nk #male original character #teratophilia art #teratophillia #demon oc #illustatration #monster x human

[breezey-with-an-e-art]

heres that Obsidian drawing, i think its better then his old design which is up on my DA

#artists on tumblr #orignal character #artwork #breezey art #breezey-art #Obsian - Kryat #male oc #male original character #original character #character art #digital art #Kryat

[yuyinesque]

hey sexy, give them a taste of indigo.

disclaimers — amab!reader, afab!oc, trans!catboy oc, riding, lipstick staining, desperation, implied praise kink.

Your kitty prefers “handsome” over “pretty” any damn day, that’s for sure.

Indigo’s hands smushed your cheeks together before as his tongue snuck inside of your mouth yet again, carelessly smudging the carmine-inspired lipstick against your lips. Frantic moans tumbled against the surface of your slob-coated lips as he failed to proceed with the aggressive kiss he initiated beforehand, resulting in him letting out an exasperated moan, his hips gyrating seraphically to subdue an upcoming breakdown. You then, reassuringly, demanded him to quiet down and focus while your cloudy touch journeyed from his waist and down his hips, encouragingly matching the rhythm of them so he could be influenced to dissipate his nerves. Uncharacteristically compliant and reasonable, he nodded drowsily, the subtle presentation of the example of “patience” causing his pussy to clench tightly around you.

“Mmh, n-no.. ffuck you.. Call me handsome again,” Indigo demanded after a moment of him stalling by grinding onto your dick rather than bouncing on it accordingly. Although his words, his jumbled, breathless, needy words, held no weight in the position he signed himself for, his expression was pleading and distressed, needing you to compliment him just a few more times before he could advance… even though he had little to no known way of inuring it. Even the way his ears remained pinned harshly against the top of his tousled head signified that he desired it just once more.

“Do it. Call me- uhn, now… ‘M your handsome boy..? Like this? L- Hah- A-Again..” He was on the brink of folding completely if he hadn’t already with that flush face, those subtle purrs, and a tight grasp on the end of his sweater, and that’s without implying the continuation of the hip circling, evidently trying to charm you into falling into his desires.

Yeah, he enjoys it quite a bit.

#𖧷 𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 #ᖭི༏ᖫ 𝓲𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓻’𝓼 𝓸𝓬𝓼 #divider crds : agsthv #divider crds : benkeibear #monster oc x reader #trans oc #asian oc #monster oc #oc x reader #oc x character #oc x male reader #male reader #x male reader #x male y/n #x male smut #x male oc #x male top reader #x oc #x original character #catboy oc #catboy #cat boy oc #cat boy #male oc #oc #male original character #original character #monster original character #original character oc #oc x you

[ykaarus]

tw alcohol abuse

.

.

.

favourite oc treatment be like yeah I'll make him suffer more

#art #digital art #digital artist #male oc #ocs #male original character #original character art #my original characters #original character #ocart #oc art #oc

[grambini]

˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ≀ˍ̮ ❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚

New boy who dis?

#drawing #sketch #doodle #original art #painting #digital art #procreateapp #traditional art #art commisions #art #androgynous #elden ring #oc artwork #my art #artists on tumblr #digital artist #pretty boi #male original character #character design #skeleton #fanart

[whatwhateridansbuttbutt]

I love Taldrin/Wyll together. Taldrin Kilviir is a Seldarine Drow Rogue and he loves Wyll so much! 💜

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 tav #baldur's gate 3 wyll #bg3 wyll #bg3 tav #wyll ravengard #wylltav #wyll/tav #taldrin kilviir #bg3 taldrin kilviir #screen shots #male tav #bg3 male tav #bg3 male oc #bg3 oc #male oc #oc #male original character #bg3 male original character #baldur's gate 3 wyll ravengard #wyll ravengard/taldrin kilviir #wyll/taldrin

[freshgrassakiie]

hi everyone!

how is everyone finding the hotel hazbin new show? like it? i love the characters and have tried to write another fun fanfic.

i must admit, i haven't completed the Hotel Hazbin show and have only delved into snippets of the webcomic. therefore, please forgive any deviations from canon in this piece. it's merely a fun creation that I've put together.

i genuinely hope you'll be willing to give this a chance! English isn't my native language, but I trust you'll find enjoyment in it! if you have the time, please give it a quick read and leave a comment to let me know what you think?

A phantom reaper breaks the rules by touching hell's ground. When he befriends a spider demon, he starts forming his own soul, defying the fundamental nature of reapers. Death demands his return, as reapers aren't meant to possess souls. In a cosmic twist, Hell faces an unexpected threat when Death comes knocking at the hotel's door, causing chaos that extends beyond the realms of heaven and hell.

Angel Dust / male oc

edit :

i made a flat drawing of the phantom reaper. i don't know if i like it or not. no shading, just flat colours. the black 'hair' is supposed to repersent the reaper hood he had as a phantom reaper. anyway, yeah. hope you like it. he's supposed to be the same height as husk and vaggie.

#hotel hazbin #hotel #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel husk #vaggie #male original character #male character #death #phantom reaper #angel dust x male reader #angel dust x reader

[dreamy-melody]

🍰🦴🎀🍰🦴🎀🍰🦴🎀🍰🦴🎀🍰🦴🎀 ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ made this while listening to suki suki daisuki ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

#gif #my gif #animation #animation gif #animation practice #i tried (kinda) #firealpaca #firealpaca art #firealpaca animation #oc art #male original character #male oc #actually idk #random character #lololol #yandere #yandere boy #male yandere #yandere trope #4th wall break #hehe :3 #brain empty

[silkendandelion]

Say My Name (This Time I Will Answer)

A One Piece fanfiction (completed, one-shot), Gift Fic for Mirage In The Desert reaching 2,500 hits on ao3!!

ao3 link

Sir Crocodile x OC (male) Words: 7.6k Genre: Smut, fluff, romance, angst, bottom Crocodile

Rated: Explicit for sexual content, no external warnings apply

In Mirage In The Desert, Crocodile fantasized about a world where he and River met under different circumstances, one conducive to a love they could nurture. So I wrote it. In a world where he never lost his hand, and remained both a swordsman and a pirate captain, he hires a man off a random dock on some unknown island, one who proclaims he’s on pilgrimage from a Paradise island, and is looking for work. Can be read as x reader because River is not described nearly as in depth as the original fic. It can also be read alone from MITD, but might not be appreciated the same way.

Thank you for all of your continued support, and please enjoy 💙 it was so fun to work with Croc and River again, and this one is a personal favorite. Sweet, romantic, soft Crocodile, moonlit swimming, and lots of sauce 💝 have fun you guys

~*~

For all of Crocodile’s love of gold, and the flash of truth in the eyes of his opponents as the arc of his blade reaches it’s apogee, the sea was his first. His greatest paramour, a punishing lover that shouts and thrashes as much as she laves his skin with warm foam, cleansed of lesser men’s blood and graced by a crown of coral while she whispers:

My king.

So he procured a ship. To be close to her, to see a better, wider world than the one he knew, one overflowing with gold and power. He fled his home country on a stolen carrack worthy of his ambition, and filled her with a crew that was appropriately dangerous, loyal enough, who called her La Forza Dorato.

Today, years later and under such a bright sun, he wanted to be nowhere else.

“Captain!” A young crew member called to him, where he stood on the pier. He had already forgotten this one’s name. “Your list is exhausted, Sir. We sail on your command.”

“Immediately.” With only his word, they bustled to begin loosing the sails, and he remained on the dock long enough to light his cigar. His left thumb flicked open the solid gold lighter with a bright ping, while his right shielded it from the passing wind.

Thwip, thwip. But it only sparked. He clicked his teeth, about to bark out an order for one of the crew to hop down and buy lighter oil before they departed, until a man spoke up beside him.

“Need a light?”

An elegant hand with a calloused forefinger offered him a flame, attached to a man younger than himself but certainly not a boy by the creases along his eyes. Strikingly violet eyes among tan skin and dark, expressive brows that matched the mane of thick, black hair draped down his back, pulled neatly into a leather hair cord. Crocodile’s gaze flickered from the silver lighter to the twin swords on his hip, both the same shade of moonlight.

“Thank you,” he replied, polite but curt, and head bowed to accept.

“Is this your ship?” The stranger turned to his boat, wandering nearly onto the ramp until the crew gathered to block him, ready to defend.

“Oh—have I overstepped?” He chuckled nervously—handsomely, Crocodile hesitated to admit—and he nodded to his pirates to relax.

“Only fools wander onto a pirate ship of their own free will. Or stupidity.”

“I assure you, it’s foolishness, really,” the stranger explained. “I’m on pilgrimage from a Paradise island. If you have work for me, I promise to work hard.”

The crew grumbled in a ripple of protests, unimpressed by his fine-tailored clothes and sturdy boots, worthy of an adventure, sure, but only barely broken in. On that, Crocodile agreed, hesitant to entertain any self-proclaimed mercenary who, despite the hand-me-down rucksack slung over his shoulder, smelled of expensive perfume when the wind picked up his long hair.

“Are those swords just for show? Or do you claim to be a professional?” He pulled back his cape with his left hand to show the rapier on his own hip, a golden blade with a spiral hilt, too heavy to be a dress sword and proportionate to his tall, wide body.

“Why don’t you find out? Or are you just the captain?”

Crocodile had killed mouthier fools for less lip, but the mirth in those eyes, dancing among purple firelight and hinting of mischief, made him want to find out. He took a long drag off his cigar to keep from smiling, though it nearly turned into a scowl when the stranger spotted his decision—and had the audacity to grin at him.

Careful, beautiful stranger. Looking at men like that tends to make promises I doubt you could keep.

“You will refer to me as such.”

“Yes, captain,” replied the stranger with a deep, flourishing bow. “River Joel Faustina, at your service.”

“Shall I call you River?”

“Please,” he replied, beaming like his new captain had committed some incredible deed by merely offering him employment. Conditional upon his performance, of which pretty smiles held exactly zero weight. Crocodile rolled his eyes as he gestured for them to board, at the same time his crew were already scattering to enact his anticipated command.

“Let’s go!”

~*~

Crocodile ruled his ship the way he governed his heart: loyalty must be earned, obedience is non-negotiable, and failure often proved to be a fatal mistake. As to why the fool was still alive, even he didn’t know.

Perhaps he found his perseverance endearing, determined to haul sails and throw freight with the brawniest of his crew no matter how it reddened his fingers, his fine clothes beginning to fray with the strain of manual labor. Perhaps it was because Crocodile often forgot himself, unabashedly studying his newest sailor piling all of his hair to the top of his head between orders, and clicking his teeth that he was never wise enough to begin with his hair up. Surely, the ditsy stranger had to know how the loose pieces stuck to his neck in sweat-soaked petals, how the pieces curling around his chin in the humidity were capable to cause insanity.

He suspected a long plot, one where the stranger knew exactly the picture he painted when he stood by the railing to wring his shirt dry, the long line of his back tempting Crocodile to press fingerprints into his skin, until he was love drunk and bewitched, too warm and drowsy to prevent the robbery of more than just his jewels. That in mind, he respected the stranger’s dedication to his scheme, putting in long hours day after day, from his calculated “good morning, captain” at first light, to sending him dark eyes across the fire of the evening, and further flaunting himself across his captain’s restless dreams.

“I don’t like him,” Crocodile declared to no one.

For as long as he’s sailed, Crocodile always ate last, preferring to eat alone, and only after he deemed the day well and truly finished, the sun long gone. Despite his singular statement, containing it’s own beginning and end, the crewmate who poured his ale felt the need to reply. For tonight, on this subject, he would allow it.

“No one does. But, he does as he’s told. So how much can any of us complain?” They shrugged.

“He can’t be trusted.”

“I wonder where he goes every night, when he sneaks out of his bunk like none of us have ears.”

The clatter of Crocodile’s fork to his plate caused the startled crewmate to flinch. A coat of sweat began to dot their pallid skin, as they watched him slowly replace his fork to the napkin. “When would I have learned of these nightly occurrences, if I had not spoken?”

“I-immediately, captain, as—” They swallowed around their tight throat. “The moment I knew what it was the brat was uh—up to.”

”We’ll never know then.”

Crocodile’s rings caught the candlelight in a deadly flash, the promise of a permanent end to their business as he wrenched the crewmate up by his shirt.

“WAIT! You can’t—DON’T—”

A door opening elsewhere startled them both to silence, the cabin perfectly still while they both listened to it close, and the joining patter of feet on the deck. He tossed the man away, suddenly uncaring to enforce his own rules, to the grateful pounding of the frightened crewman’s heart.

“Get out,” he said simply, eyes and ears still trained to the almost imperceptible noise of footsteps.

The man scrambled to leave him alone, dashing off to go through the door they had heard open, while Crocodile ventured the opposite way to the deck. Empty, he believed at first, awash with moonlight and the white noise of the endless sea, enough to rock the ship but not to wake the crew in their beds. Against the railing, he spotted him, the sneak, his face turned to the damp wind, and… standing there?

He waited long breaths for him to reveal a snail phone, communicate to his handler he was getting close to his target, or mark notes in a pocket journal about his plot to fell the rising pirate before he became too powerful—but he only stood there. Basking in the moon, catching spray on his cheeks and gazing out at the sea like he was in love with her too.

Perhaps there was no plot after all, and his newest sailor was simply a fool. Nothing more. For now, there in the dark, damp and awed, he knew only one truth: that he found him beautiful.

~*~

Did he know his captain watched him walk the deck every night? Wondering what he scribbled about in his journal, a salt-stained book with it’s leather worn soft? Does he know he captivates me?

“It’s poetry,” he answered when questioned one morning at breakfast. The pirates at his elbows leaned to see the pages better, and the stranger had little mind to cover up or pretend to be embarrassed.

“What’s a man like you doing out on these seas?” Another one asked.

“I’ve come to see the world,” was his simple reply. “Find a new home, maybe find love.”

From the doorway of the galley, Crocodile blew smoke from his mouth, an olfactory announcement of his presence. The stranger was the only one to raise his head and meet his guarded, golden stare. “You’re a fool for that too.”

He rumbled some warning to the crew about other ship’s in the area, determined to appear indifferent to the stranger’s show of vulnerability, like he hadn’t fled to the sea for the same.

~*~

That night, as Crocodile sat beside the window in his quarters, smoking and thumbing a book without absorbing the pages, he wondered why the fool was late. 18 minutes, according to the golden watch in his pocket.

Tch, he clicked around his cigar, and was about to pour himself a drink when he heard the crew quarter’s door opening.

“A night for star gazing, eh?” He said quietly to no one, seeing the stranger come to the deck without a book or his pen. The night was perfect for such, their ship drifting aimlessly on a glass sea, the air warm and sky clear. His thoughts drifted back to the dark liquor on his desk. Would tonight be the time he went to him with two glasses and a hope fluttering around his insides? He seized the crystal glasses before he lost his nerve, grabbed the neck of the bottle, but—

The sight of endless skin outside the window froze him where he stood.

Once-fine linen pooled around bare feet, and the stranger stepped from their puddle to approach the railing, the night bathing the entirety of his skin a dark, deep blue.

“What is he—wait! Fool!” Crocodile ran from his quarters too late to catch him, just in time to watch him dive over the railing and down into the warm water. Bubbles preceded his resurfacing, among a gasp of delight and a handsome, shamelessly giddy smile.

“What are you doing?” Crocodile scolded down at him, quietly lest the crew wake and his voyeurism be revealed completely. “Are you insane?”

“Oh! Hello, captain,” the stranger replied, wading happily like he wasn’t being glared at by his highest superior. “Would you like to join me?”

“Get back up here—that’s an order. Storms can roll in at a moment’s notice.”

“Sky’s clear, captain. It’s only you and me,” he said, paddling onto his back to show him the planes of his body, chest barely breaking the surface and modesty only partially maintained by the black, shadowed water.

“Do you have any idea the kinds of animals that live in these deep waters?”

Dark eyes find his, and the mesmerized sway of his mind suddenly feels too much like falling over the railing. “I’ll protect you, captain.”

Absurd. Impudent. Brat. Crocodile cursed him repeatedly as he yanked at his clothes. But, with every article he tossed to the deck, his annoyance dimmed, soothed by the promise of warm seawater and a welcoming soul. He dove over the railing, the water parting for his large body in a burst of bubbles that tickled along his skin with the melodious laughter above him. Coming up for air promised the sight of the tempter up close, dotted on every inch of his skin with droplets of diamond—but he found he was gone.

“… Where—,” he gasped, startled at the brush of skin against his legs, and a dark shape darting beneath the rippled surface. What could easily be an expert swimmer or fish revealed itself as a man some meters away when the stranger reappeared. Beneath his wet lashes, he found his own yearning reflected back at him, alongside the same glimmer he saw at the docks all those weeks ago. The one that promised to either transform or drown him.

“If you catch me, you can kiss me,” promised the stranger.

They dove beneath the waves, and Crocodile soon realized he chased a native of the sea, as fast as any animal, breaking the moon beams that shone down through the water with the strong arc of his body to remain just out of his reach. He tumbled over the net of his hands with ease, exciting bubbles around them with his need to tease, to tighten his nimble limbs around the struggling thump of Crocodile’s vulnerable heart.

But Crocodile was also born to the sea, a predator of his own environment, and asking him to give chase was a simple request, as effortless as the yield of the stranger—this siren’s body when he folds into the hands that ensnare him. First, by the gentle grasp around his ankle, then sliding up the length of his legs to hold him in the wrap of his arms. With his delicate organs separated from the predator’s wide palms by only smooth skin dotted with moles, he offered Crocodile the air in his lungs, the warmth of his blood rising to his face as they finally catch their breath.

“Caught you.”

Under the compounding heat of his gaze, the water felt suddenly cool. Their limbs remained intertwined as he realized the only reason he held this creature of the sea—a man with a name, he reminded himself—in his hands, able to feel the thump of his pulse and the puff of his breath across both their lips was because he swam into his net of his own free will. Were he to deem his captain unworthy to touch him, he would have swam to the bottom and drowned him.

Yet here he floated, soft and beguiling, like he might dissolve into foam if Crocodile didn’t kiss him right this moment.

The slam of a door on deck flinched them apart, and Crocodile covered him with his body, despite them both bare, able to be seen completely if only the ripples calmed. Incoherent, sleepy grumbling floated down, among the sound of a zipper.

“How rude. Hey—” River called when a big hand clamped over his mouth, barely heard over the sound of liquid over another part of the railing they couldn’t see. Crocodile kicked them towards the netting along the side of the ship, quiet enough the sailor must have believed them to be fish, and left them alone to wander back to the cabin.

Among the silence, Crocodile realized with devastating clarity, lips still tingling where they had nearly touched, that he could not bring himself to continue.

Nevermind the moment being shattered by a weak bladder, their focus had been elsewhere long enough for Crocodile’s doubt to creep back into his edges. Cold, sour doubt, the worry about his worthiness of love, and wondering if River could smell his weakness. Wondering if he would still want him if he knew the fragility of his heart. Unbecoming, he believed, of a dangerous, cruel, and ruthlessly resourceful pirate. To remain apart was to protect his most vital asset: himself.

“… You should be in bed,” he said quietly.

“But—”

“That’s an order. River.” He couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, not when he might see the breaking of his own heart reflected back at him.

“Yes, captain.”

River climbed the net first, crestfallen, and Crocodile could not even bring himself to admire the back of him as he shed water and fumbled back into his clothes. He took no delight in going back to his quarters, clothes in hand, to lie down alone. Damp hands scrubbed down his face, reaching for a cigar to soothe the sting of his self-inflicted isolation. A punishment? For what, the imagined sins inflicted upon him by people he had already killed?

No, he thought as he flicked open the lighter. For my own weakness. That I replaced the chains of the dead with my own shackles. He does not deserve their weight, and neither do I.

Smoke wafted to the ceiling in lazy plumes, filling his lungs with the blanket of a hard decision.

The next time I hold him, he will have to decide: be mine, or find a new captain.

~*~

“No breakfast today, captain?” A crewmate asked when they were called to fetch his neglected tray and an empty carafe.

“How long until we reach the next island?” Crocodile asked instead.

“Day after tomorrow, captain. Our supplies will hold, despite how much that flimsy swordsman eats.”

He spun his cigar over the ash tray, tired, unseeing eyes scanning the correspondence and notes sprawled across his desk. “Perhaps… he will not be with us much longer.”

“Anything else, captain?”

“That will be all.”

Once his door clicked closed, the silence all but clawed at his nerves. He placed a record on his gramophone, finding comfort in the little band inside the tin speaker, and the weight of his rapier in his left hand. A few practice strokes, precise, gentlemanly, sharp in every way he was also. Were he to lose his hand, his ability to fight, he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill him, or worse perhaps, leave him alive.

He wondered if River could love a version of him without his sword, a man who would surely crawl from bloody ashes refusing to die, one who no longer cared to smother his rage. After all, even whole he was still that man. To love someone, to be theirs and keep them, was to love both who they are and who they could become.

A knock at his cabin door tells him the sun had set while he was in his head, the entire day lost to his sword strokes and spinning thoughts. The turning of the knob without his permission tells him exactly who stands on the other side, and River slips between the door and the frame to encroach on his habitat with little care for how he might be received. It clicks shut behind him, at the same time Crocodile’s scolding dies on his tongue.

He stands in night clothes Crocodile had never seen on him, a long linen shirt fluttering around his calves, his body bared as if he were nude by the glowing orange of the lamp light behind him, while his hair and limbs drip seawater onto the floor in gentle patters. The cloth soaks through where it touches his skin, framing goosebumps and tight nipples that perked up on the walk from warm water to the cool, dry cabin.

“Are you going to send me away? Captain?” His quiet voice startled Crocodile from his ogling.

“Why?” He manages with a dry mouth after a moment, and River opens his mouth to reply but he was not finished. “Why do you torment me? What do you want?”

“How do you not know? Can’t you see me?”

The slam of Crocodile’s palms on the short bureau behind River startles them both, caging him between corded arms that strain his dress shirt. He dips, poised to rumble the penultimate question against the warm skin of his neck where his pulse flutters against his lips. Between his legs, Crocodile’s knee keeps him spread, vulnerable, at the mercy of his crazed musings, and squirming as the furniture digs into the give where his rear meets his thighs.

But his question goes unasked. So he decides, as he stands close enough to see his own burning want reflected back in blown pupils, feel the impatient quiver of him against his body, that whatever his answer might be, he needed this night first. One night to begin a lifetime of bliss, or a special, singular night to carry him through.

“River.”

“Yes, captain?” His pink tongue flicks out to wet his dry, bitten lips.

“No. None of that,” he growls in the space between them before surging forward to lock their mouths together, tongues sliding as he grips the back of his thighs to hoist him onto the bureau. Both of them grab and yank at the bottom of River’s shift, hoisting it up to pool in the bend of his thighs so he can cage Crocodile’s waist between his thighs the way he himself is trapped between the hard planes of his body and the wall.

“Captain, we—”

A jeweled hand grabs his jaw, thumb digging into the joint, and keeps them impossibly close to let every letter of his order vibrate in his blushing throat. “Say my name.”

The blushes rises to flood his cheeks, a challenge if Crocodile had ever seen one, to turn his entire body pink to match. “But you said when we first met—I mean, someone will hear us.”

“They would not come through that door even if they believed you were being murdered. Don’t tell me you are shy?” River’s answer comes as an unabashed moan, Crocodile’s reward for sucking hot kisses into the junction of his neck and shoulder while wide, greedy hands knead and pull at the flesh of his hips to drag their erections together through their clothes.

“The man who came to my quarters in nothing but a shift has no right to be shy.”

He hauls him into his arms but does not move to the bed, instead setting him down on the table where his dinner had lain only hours before. The sigh of anticipation that stutters from River’s chest urges him to continue talking, to keep working his body with his voice. All burgeoning promise and smoke, the one that has him leaking into the crumpled mess of his shift with thoughts of Crocodile using those big hands to yank him back into his stroke on every single piece of furniture in the room.

“With the ease you stripped yourself bare to jump into the sea, I do not believe the moon can see any more of you than it already has.” Crocodile’s words were punctuated by shoving his shift up to his chest with one hand, bearing all of him to his hungry gaze as his other hand pulled open the buttons on his shirt. He yanked his belt open to give himself some modicum of relief, sighing hot when thinner hands slipped themselves into his trousers to stroke the clothed outline of his cock. Relief indeed—but tonight, he had no patience for mischief.

”What if someone had seen you?” He reached passed him for the oil (the same bottle he had used to maintain his rapier earlier in the night), and the scent of cloves drifted up from where he hastily slicked his hand. Long, thick fingers briefly massaged the skin behind River’s sack, down over nearly the entire cleft of him until he pressed one inside.

“Or did you want to be seen?”

To the pounding of his heart in his ears, and the rhythmic flex of River’s hands on his shift as he obediently keeps it lifted out of the way, he bullies in a second finger. For all his intent to stay still and let his lover adjust, be tended to, River’s hips squirmed in restless circles, tempting Crocodile to be mean to him with the little moans that puff from his kiss-bitten lips. But, for them to collide in a wave that swallows them both, he needed to hear from those lips he was wanted, even if the answer came ripped from River’s throat in the wail of his ecstasy.

“Answer me.” His fingers continued to drag over sensitive walls, pulling out just to shove back in again, again, pressing to his spot on every entry with an insistent curl. “Did you want to be seen? Eh? Would just anyone do?”

“N-no, I never—they wouldn’t,” he stammered out, his breath stolen by the lightning bolts of pleasure beneath his navel that lit up his entire body. A plea laid across his tongue, ready to be sprung but Crocodile’s fingertips refused to let him breathe enough to confess, like they were intent to keep him drunk and babbling until he could no longer recall excuses.

“O-only you. Only you, Captain, wanted y-you to see me. See me, fuck me—” A loud moan chopped off his words, loud enough to wake someone if not for Crocodile smothering his lips with a wet kiss, sucking on his tongue as he swallowed the cry caused by a third, thick finger. He consumed his sounds with a greed he hadn’t realized he could have for anything but gold, possessed to wring River’s body of every heaving breath and take them selfishly into his own lungs—

Until he had everything he could give.

River’s body rattled, toes curled hard enough to hurt as he wrenched his lips back on a ragged gasp, hips bucking into Crocodile’s soaked palm until he broke on the choked, shameless cry of his captain’s name. He moaned his crest to the ceiling, legs beginning to shake when those fingers refused to stop pistoning inside him. Crocodile almost regretted being so aggressive, but seeing those violet eyes shine with tears, lips equally glossy with drool as he called his name for the entire sea to hear—he wanted to reward him with blinding, wracking pleasure until he could recall no other words.

In the sudden quiet, he reached to soothe him, brushing his palms down his sides and hauling him into his arms to bring him down slow. For a long moment, there was only the sound of slowing breaths, their matched heartbeats pounding against the other’s ribs, until River’s eyes finally peeled open at the beckon of his voice.

“Did I break you?”

His answer came as a surge of energy in a desperate kiss, arms flung around his neck and a mournful sound pressed between his lips. Even through the tears, his eyes shone wetter than before, prompting Crocodile to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake.

“You made me come. Didn’t you—don’t you want me? To be inside me?”

The tight squeeze of his hands on River’s quivering waist dries those tears awfully quick.

“What kind of men have you allowed to touch you, that you would think one is enough?”

He isn’t prepared to watch storm clouds roll into his eyes at his question, elegant hands suddenly gripping into his shirt to shove him back from between his legs. For a shorter man, he carried a strength Crocodile had yet to witness in action, now aimed at himself as he wrestled them down onto the bed to perch above his hips in a tall line that spoke of some kind of pride.

In his miles of moonlit skin he saw it: the threat to be drowned by a man he didn’t fully understand. Yet, it only made Crocodile want more, grabbing for a life preserver in the strong thighs draped over him, and watching River toss his shift somewhere into the dark.

“I’m tired of your questions. Your assumptions to know me, what I’ve done with my body.” Above him, his gaze, the weight of his brow sat open and startingly sober. Among the storm, he found another emotion, the precursor to love, so close to honesty, and yet Crocodile could not identify it as devotion because he had never seen it before aimed at him.

“From the day I came aboard this ship, I never pretended to want anyone else, never hid my intentions. I only ever screamed them if you would bother to look.” He swallowed around his resolve. “You don’t believe me, that I want you? I will show you.”

For all of Crocodile’s hard-nosed affection, his growled demands and confident fingers, the immovable line of him lies willingly supine under the smaller man, long legs parting for him to crawl off his hips and down between his knees.

He looks perfect this way, they think about the other, meaning the way River pulls his endless, black hair to the top of his head with the leather from his wrist, and Crocodile’s wide chest beginning to rise and fall faster, the muscles in his strong jaw clenching and releasing with anticipation River can see plain in the heavy, tight line of his cock against his hip.

The shock of a hot mouth against his tip makes him hiss, soothed by wet kisses along every inch of him that is revealed by River’s hands slowly peeling down his trousers. Momentarily, River ponders undressing him completely so they match, but finds he enjoys too much the sight of Crocodile half undone, shirt bearing his solid torso and lower-half exposed only down to the tops of his thighs. Perfectly disheveled, begging to be consumed, bared perfectly for the moon to see all of him too. Hard evidence it was River’s hands that destroyed him, who cared to reform him.

A telling bead of precum, worked up by River’s ardent staring, tempts him to taste, swipe the tang of him away and lead him between his soft, inviting lips. Crocodile’s answer is a long moan squeezed up from his chest by the squeeze of the throat around him, and betrays exactly how much he’s enjoying himself. His stoic face is unused to being scrunched in bliss by a feverish mouth taking him down to the root with just a few, determined swallows. River takes a moment to hold him there, nose pressed against the dark, neat hair on his pubic bone, for what Crocodile believes to be a breath-stealing, head-spinning eternity—until it’s gone too soon.

He thinks he might lose his temper when that mouth pulls off completely to speak to him.

“You are so much more than I imagined. Oh,” River panted into his skin. Red, slick lips mouth up to his flushed tip to suckle and demand for more precum until it rips a haggard groan from his chest, and Crocodile gives a flushed, pissy scowl, one that demands he stop fucking around.

It hardly frightens the man between his legs, not when Crocodile’s hair has fallen from his meticulous style in damp strands over his cheeks to match the shine of sweat on his forehead. Between his knees, the heat of him nearly steams where River breathes over his sack to roll them around on his tongue too.

Crocodile wants to complain about the crawl they’ve fallen into, demand he pick up the pace, but before he can arrange thoughts on his tongue he’s rewarded by those lips slipping back over him. They fall into an easy rhythm, one that slides hot and tormentingly slow over the entire length of him with every complete bob of River’s head.

A soft, yielding “fuck” flutters out above him, anxious thighs brushing his ears, and River takes the moment to admire the crimson flush creeping into the valleys of Crocodile’s chest, the bob of his swallow around an unguarded groan. Big, sword-calloused hands cradling the curve of his skull are their own reward, as are the little, muffled moans he lets vibrate along the cock in his throat, tempting those hands to squeeze into the roots of his hair.

Crocodile puffs out a quiet chuckle, needing it to be mean but the lack of air in his lungs is a powerful enemy. “Look at you. So haughty and spitting a moment ago. How quickly you’ve become docile for me,” he says, deep in his chest as his jeweled thumb smears a drop of drool away from River’s lip, across his cheek.

Is that how it appears, captain?

River’s eyes flick open, dark as the depths of the ocean that housed creatures more dangerous than either of them, and promising to ruin him on his own pride. They steal the rest of his breath, trading air for lightning in his veins, all while never ceasing the steady rhythm of his head. One of River’s hands, the one that had contented itself to rub over the firm planes of Crocodile’s abs while he pleasured him—suddenly slipped away.

But, Crocodile hardly had the mind to count limbs, not when a tongue prods the hole in his tip, massaging his foreskin and coaxing his eyes to close, assuring him he was the one in control. A pretty thought, pretty as the man who knows the truth, the one collecting his own precum to nudge behind his balls, lower, lower still, and massage over Crocodile’s hole.

His eyes fly open, face suddenly as red as his chest, shooting up to his elbows like River can’t feel him getting even harder against his tongue. “You little—brat—”

“Push me away, then.” That mouth, that smirking mouth lay open to let his cock slap on his glossy tongue. “I’m a swordsman too, certainly no waif, but you and I both know I didn’t lay you down on this bed against your will. If I’ve overstepped—stop me. Tell me to stop, Crocodile, if those rippling muscles have suddenly failed you.”

The pleased chuckle he breathes over the tip of his cock coincides with Crocodile’s surrendering sigh, and the impossibly long line of him falls back to the pillows with the dizzying slide of River’s finger inside him.

“Add another, hurry up—”

“Ah,” he tuts at him. “I will treat you with the care you showed me. Even if you didn’t wait very long at all,” River chuckled again, and Crocodile’s teeth clicking in annoyance turns a huff of pleasure when he gets his request.

He wants to be infuriated at the impudent swordsman for pushing him down and taking liberties with his body, but he can’t feel anything beyond the eager, searing heat that keeps swallowing his semblance of thoughts through his cock, and the expert, clever fingers massaging his inner walls so thoroughly.

River holds back a teasing comment about “who’s docile now” as he opens his eyes to admire him through the tears pooling on his lashes. For all River’s calm voice spoke of control, he knows neither of them can deny their body’s reaction, from his wet cheeks at his throat being filled dutifully over and over, to his hard cock between his legs that throbs as Crocodile writhes on his fingers, long legs restless against the sheets as his sturdy body shakes and cock swells in his throat. Such the cycle continues.

Below him, Crocodile melts on the simmering heat filling his body, threatening to burst from his cock and yet it doesn’t, can’t, as it’s held back by the distracting hand leaving fingerprints on his insides, all over his swelling prostate. He’s in a loop of pleasure, riding higher to a place he hasn’t seen in so long, so out of his reach from atop his throne. And yet here he was, moaning, gasping for air on the sticky, devoted affection of the man who came to his quarters and presented himself first.

The barrage on his senses retreats suddenly, and Crocodile nearly begs for the high, wounded sound he made to remain their secret. Luckily, River looks to have no intention to tease him as he wipes his lips clean with his arm, using his slippery hand to stroke over his own cock. By the glow of the oil lamp, Crocodile can see all four of his fingers shining, but recalls no pain when they had entered him. And they must have, if the openness of his hole is to be believed, felt by a quick touch of his own fingers.

“Why did you stop?” He rasps into the humid air between them.

River answers by leaning over him, hair mostly fallen from it’s quick style, pupils blown as they keep him pinned to the pillows, all while his greedy hands knead at Crocodile’s strong thighs. “Do you believe I want you now?”

Crocodile means to fire back some quick-witted, biting retort, until his thighs are hoisted up, baring his hole and held aloft by deceptively strong arms.

“I’m sorry you haven’t come yet… Would you believe that I want you if I had let you come in my mouth, showed your seed to you on my tongue before I swallowed it?”

“You are…” Crocodile growled out, golden eyes equally blown as his hands grabbed at the sheets. “A cruel, impudent little thing.”

The calloused hands on his thighs flex. “Cruelty recognizes itself, Crocodile, and I think you need better proof of my intentions.”

“I believe you.”

His ragged gasp as he breathed in, so unlike the Crocodile that strangled control from every aspect of his life down to his pleasure, desperate and—if River was anymore bold—vulnerable, had them both snapping to each other's gaze. For a moment, only the sound of the ocean outside filled the warm room.

“I believe that you want me, and I want you. Beautiful River, handsome poet, I want you, so—” Any more words were swallowed by the moan in his chest as River surged forward, bracing his hands beside his ribs and pressing his cock inside in one firm thrust.

River’s hips meeting his stretched rim comes with Crocodile’s big hands on his body, one in his hopelessly lost hair bun, the other on his lower back to feel his muscles clench and twist. “Come on, you wanted to show me proof. Or is this pretty face the extent of you? Your pretty cock—”

He’s interrupted by the throw of his hips, an honest moan worked up from both of them when River grabs at the mattress for leverage to work Crocodile’s body harder than his fingers could ever hope.

“I am more than this pretty face,” he pants over him, one hand leaving the bed to grip his thigh and spread him wide to bury himself even deeper. “More than the swords at your disposal. I will ruin your body, your soul.”

Crocodile’s head, also hopelessly mused from it’s style, presses to the pillow with the force of his hard, steady strokes. Quiet, panting moans leave his lips in rising succession. He touches River’s bicep where one of his arms keeps him braced, fingertips scratching him gently in a way that might have been reserved for admiration if not for the drop of drool that escaped his clenched teeth. Breathing is so hard suddenly, when he can easily look down to see the poet’s pretty cock disappear inside him, his own lying neglected and useless in a puddle of it’s own pre against his stomach.

He can’t help but be impatient, especially after being denied his orgasm down River’s throat, and reaches down to stroke himself off. His breath rises again, shorter, more labored as River shifts his knees to match his attention to Crocodile’s prostate with his wrist’s efficient, choppy rolls.

“That’s it, come on. Come for me,” River coaxes him, voice rising, whining and urgent like he was the one approaching orgasm and it flings Crocodile over the edge with a punch to his diaphragm that comes out as a deep, cracked groan. His vision blurs for long moments, white and crackling at the edges, until he comes back to himself to realize the rhythmic thumping against his flank has not ceased. River’s still at it, dragging him out of the dredges of over-sensitivity and back on the road to another, stronger orgasm.

Perhaps he will drown him anyway.

“I’m sorry it look so long for you to come, but I—,” River swallows around his dry mouth, “I will make you come again, I promise.”

“You stupid poet, you beautiful—” His words hold no bite as they wheeze from his wet lips, choking on air when River threads his elbows behind his knees to spread him wider, impossibly so as he leans over him to capture his lips.

He feels himself blush to be pressed completely open, River’s soft thighs rubbing against the skin of his hips to fuck him slower, deeper than he had before, the length of his cock dragging against Crocodile’s most sensitive places for the entirety of his stroke. It made kissing nearly impossible, not when the overworked neurons in his brain are firing off at a rapid pace and his body has begun to melt into the sheets.

“Kiss me, please, I need you,” River whimpered against his tongue, like he didn’t have him folded in half, moaning on his cock and golden eyes dripping tears down his temples and into his hair. Crocodile seized him to bring them chest to chest, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripped on his rear to press the shape of his rings into his heated skin. Dizziness crept into his vision, he knew he was flying too high, only able to wrestle a few words from his vocabulary beyond the fluttering in his chest and the boiling just beneath his skin.

“Mine, all mine. Always,” he panted, his glassy eyes causing River to wonder if he meant him or his cock. The lightning in his belly begged it was the former.

“Yes, yours. No one else’s. Only you, captain, it’s always been you,” He moaned out, nearly a sob as Crocodile’s head flopped uselessly to the pillow. In the fog of his cooked consciousness, he still felt River’s forehead press to his temple, mouth hot near his ear, begging his words to be heard clear and coherent among the humid air between them.

“I’m yours, Crocodile, only yours for as long as I live.” The rhythm of his thrusts wavered as Crocodile’s mouth dropped open, dumbfounded to feel him swell even harder inside him, right against his sweet spot. “Command me, fuck me, use me as you wish.”

The storm rising beneath his ribs burst suddenly, flooding his body to the tips of his fingers and toes, his internal muscles squeezing unbidden, and they both call each other’s name over the ocean rushing in their ears. To Crocodile, it felt so different from the orgasm he had impatiently wrung from himself earlier, hand stripping his cock while he allowed River to sweeten the deal with his dutiful stroke. But this, this, River was in control of his pleasure, fucking it deep from within the most molten parts of his core and pushing him impossibly higher with every hungry, obedient thrust.

The sweet, keening moan above him is a treat, along with the last pleas of stuttering hips pumping him deep with a liquid heat that sweeps his insides to the corners of his soul. An apology, he thinks, for the ache in his hips as River finally lets his legs fall to the side.

He contemplates scolding him, picking the pieces of his pride off the floor to remind the other man he did not have permission to come inside him, until a muted thump to the mattress captures his attention first. Beside him, River lies bathed in moonlight, wearing his sated flush like a silk chemise, and decidedly too endearing to shout at. He sighed at length, supposing he earned it, after coaxing him to come twice on his cock and hard enough the second time to hit his own face with his seed.

But who would he be if he didn’t complain a little?

“Ugh. You come into my room, make a mess of me and my bed. I don’t suppose you intend to clean up after yourself, do you?”

“Shall I use my tongue? It will only take a moment.” River jumped up to lean over him, beginning to suckle the semen off his abdomen with a happy hum, to Crocodile’s flustered outrage.

“Outrageous, mischievous—hrn.” A strangled sound fell from his tired lips when the tongue moved to lap at his hole, interrupted by Crocodile’s firm hand in the roots of his hair. He dragged him back up for a kiss, tasting himself in their shared sigh, and a fond calm settled over them as they parted with a wet sound, not unlike the waves after a storm.

Crocodile anchored his stare by the firm grip on the back of his neck. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Every word.” River answered without hesitation, and let their foreheads gently thump together. “Do with me as you wish. Forever.”

“Promises like that, to a man like me, are liable to breed hatred eventually. You will come to resent me.”

“No, I won’t. Not this time.”

He wants to ask him what he means, why his gaze is so calm, as if he’s come home from a long journey. Maybe he’ll ask him one day. But not now, when their skin is so warm where their sides brush, and the ocean outside is quiet.

#one piece #sir crocodile #sir crocodile smut #sir crocodile x oc #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x male reader #x reader #x oc #bottom sir crocodile #oc x canon #oc x reader #male reader #original character #male original character #ao3 fanfic #oc fanfiction #mirage in the desert #if you read my story mirage #silkendandelion #silkenspeaks #latino oc

[wardenparker]

The Viper’s Bride - ch 3

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst​

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.  

Rating: Explicit for violent circumstances. 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid* This chapter contains mentions of Elia’s assault and murder. Blunt discussions of sex. Arguing/fighting, physical violence, threats of further violence. False accusation of sexual assault.  Summary: The first meeting between Prince Oberyn Martell and his future bride goes very differently than either one of you planned, and what happens immediately afterward is quite possibly your worst nightmare come to life. Notes: It all takes place in the space of one morning, and this is an extremely busy morning...

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

"If you tighten my stays anymore I will not be able to breathe." The problem with having your mother's maid dress you during your stay in King's landing is that she does your mother's bidding. The stays that envelope your entire middle have been strapped onto you this morning so that your posture is more like a board than a noble woman's, and though the dress that has been selected for today is lovely there is no need for this sort of binding. It fits you perfectly as it is.

"Her ladyship's orders." The maid mumbles as she slips the lavender velvet gown over your head and tends to each and every button and tie with precision before nearly forcing you down in a chair to style your hair into an elaborate series of small plaits, curls, and twists that is a far cry from the simple three-strand plait you have favored for nearly a decade. Apparently your mother has determined what you will look like today and has left no room for argument. How terribly unlike her says the petty and slightly childish voice in your head as you roll your eyes to yourself.

The breakfast invitation from the Queen Regent was unexpected, but the utter delight on both of your parents' faces made it obvious that it was unavoidable. Queen Cersei had offered to host the meal at which you will meet your intended for the very first time, and that sort of invitation is impossible to refuse.

******

“I will hide my brother’s chair once we return to Dorne.” Oberyn hisses, his normally loose and relaxed gait is more rigid, annoyed with every step he takes towards the Red Keep. “Or burn it.” His hand is firmly entwined with Ellaria’s, insisting she join him for this dreadful occasion.

"He can still give orders from his bed, my love." Ellaria shakes her head as she walks beside him. No good can come of this meal this morning. Oberyn is in a foul disposition at being summoned anywhere by a Lannister and you are certain to be cagey and snobbish after the meeting last night.

“Not if the servants are not around.” He grouses, annoyed to be woken by none other than Tywin Lannister to be ‘invited’ to this meal. Tense words and barbed meanings were bandied about and the mettle of each man was casually examined. “I have no doubt Cersei is already deep in her cup.” He snorts, wishing there had been time for a cup of his own wine before leaving the brothel.

"Yet I think even a drunk Queen would not be pleasant enough company." She has her own reasons for not wanting to be near the Keep the day before the young king's wedding, but mostly it has to do with what vexes Oberyn. He was supposed to have one more day before this betrothal became public knowledge. A day he was counting on to collect himself. And now it seems he will not have it.

“Where did you go?” Oberyn asks suddenly, squeezing her hand. “After supper last night?” Before he had met Tyrion and very satisfactorily put his dagger through the hand of a Lannister. Then fucked Littlefinger’s man since Cal had been away from the brothel.

"To obtain a gift for you." Ellaria tells him with a sultry smile. "Leyth told me of a shop that sells wares you will be most interested in. But it will not be ready for several days." Before making her way to the Coachman, she had indeed visited an artisan that crafts exquisite garments to display any kind of body. With all of the aggravations he will be suffering here in the capital, she thought it would be a pleasant surprise for him.

“You are all the gift I need.” He smirks, eyes dipping down to the deep v of her dress where her lithe body is very nearly on display. It is a gown she is comfortable in, yet would make all the other ‘ladies’ uncomfortable. Which makes it all the more amusing for Oberyn.

"But you love to unwrap your gifts," she reminds him. "And so I thought I would find some very pretty wrapping."

For the first time today, Oberyn’s eyes light up with something other than annoyance and he grips her fingers tight. “We will not be staying long.”

"A few days." It had been something he was very firm on. Oberyn did not want to stay here any longer than necessary and she would follow his desire on the subject. "But first...." The Red Keep looms as it comes closer, almost seeming to lean over so it can swallow them whole. "Into the lion's den."

“Fucking Lannisters.” Oberyn growls, trying not to imagine his beloved sister’s blood splashed over the stone floors and her crumpled, violated body laying forgotten.

"No good will come of drawing your blade this morning, my love." Though her hand does tighten around his, knowing that anything is possible.

“I make no promises.” He relaxes slightly, knowing he would not act rashly. It would put Ellaria in danger and while his paramour can protect herself, he would not do that.

"Think of your daughters left without their doting father," she reminds him as they start up the stairs of the keep. If anything happened to Oberyn, his eight bastard daughters would surely be left wanting. Doran is too proper to do more than send apologies to their mothers.

"Prince Oberyn." The footman at the door of the keep bows deeply, though he shoots a confused look in Ellaria's direction. "And...guest. Please follow me. You are expected in the gardens."

“Guest.” Oberyn chuckles under his breath, amused that Tywin hadn’t thought he would bring his paramour.

The halls of the Red Keep are narrow and damp with chill despite the warmth of the sun and Ellaria sticks to Oberyn's side as they follow the man through the maze out to the gardens on the other side. This is sure to be an unforgettable morning, no matter which way things go.

“At least I will not have to eat in that moldering pile of shit.” Oberyn grunts under his breath, rolling his shoulders back and immediately adopting a more relaxed stance than the rigid form just seconds ago. He will not allow these lions to see he does not like being here.

"Prince Oberyn." Cersei's voice is dripping with insincere joy the moment she spies gold peak around the corner of the palace walls with her footman solemnly leading the way. "How kind of you to join us this morning." Though she does not want him here any more than the Dornish Prince wanted to attend, Cersei has little choice. That little schemer Margaery Tyrell has gotten her claws into you already and Cersei cannot be left without allies. Not while her only daughter is kept under the lock and key of the Martells.

Prince Oberyn. As soon as you hear the name, you turn from examining the hydrangea bush beside you and hold your breath. If you could, you would flee. Damn the consequences and damn the danger, you would grab Raeden's hand and run. But you seem frozen to the spot as your future walks out into the garden with one hand firmly holding Ellaria Sand's.

Oberyn can hear the immediate whispers and dismisses them. The movement out of the corner of his eye is servants, scurrying to place another setting for his ‘guest’ and he musters as charming a smile as he can possibly gather. “Cersei.” He nods, purposefully not using her title. “Shall I call you queen, or dowager? I should think you relish the use of the title for one more day.”

"I believe the proper term is Queen Regent." Her teeth don't grind like the gears in her mind, but only because she commands them not to. "I gathered at supper last night that you had not yet had the fortune of meeting your betrothed, so I took it upon myself to help you toward happiness." She smiles at him, sickly sweet and insincere, and begins to lead Oberyn down the steps to where the table has been set up. Everyone with half a brain knows that Prince Oberyn never intended to marry and that he travels everywhere with his mistress. There is no possible way that this marriage was his idea, but still she has to work with what material she has.

His hand doesn’t slip from Ellaria’s, holding firm to it as he follows the queen with his jaw tight as the eyes around the table follow him closely. Dark eyes meet yours when he is halfway to you and his brow arches, surprised that you are older than he imagined and even more beautiful than the miniature portrait that Doran had provided.

There is a moment, right before his eyes find yours, that you consider running all over again. The people who called Prince Oberyn of Dorne merely handsome were foolish, lacking the vocabulary to describe such an ethereal being. He is nothing short of devastatingly magnetic, and just as you realize that he is looking directly at you the feeling that he has gone far past your eyes and into your soul is unmistakable. Only one other person in the gods' own world had ever made you swallow your heart the moment you saw them, and he has been your constant bedfellow for years.

This man is the one you have vowed never to lay with or to love. Never to bear his children or to enjoy his company. It is a cruel trick from the universe that he should be so captivating in his looks. So much so that you have forgotten to curtsy and now your mother's hand is on your shoulder trying to tug you downward. How unlucky for her that you seem to be made of stone at the moment.

“So this is the future lady wife.” Oberyn would not shame you, even as much as he might be justified in it because of his objection to the union. Your name rolls off his tongue as he feels Ellaria let go of his hand so he can take yours, bending down to kiss the back of your hand even though his own station is higher than yours at the moment. There’s something about the fear and defiance in your eyes that intrigues him. You are not some overjoyed miss, happy to have landed him as your husband. From the tightness of your eyes, you would rather be anywhere else and he can’t help but wonder where you would go.

"Your Grace, we cannot say how delighted we are to unite our families." When you cannot muster the intelligence to speak or even curtsy, your mother pushes in as delicately as her usual grace allows. "Our House's relationship with Dorne is so dear–"

“Don't lie to a prince, Mother." Even you have to admit to being shocked at yourself when those are the first words out of your mouth in his presence, but her bowing and scraping is ridiculous. Embarrassing her a little now, with the contract signed and the match already made, cannot do much but color his opinion of his future mother-in-law. "It is my Father's house that has connections to Dorne, your Grace." You still haven't curtsied, and yet now you feel like you will not just out of spite. "My mother is overjoyed you are a prince. It does not matter where you come from."

The sharp inhales from the nosey busybodies that are the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are all that is heard for a long moment. The birds and insects are still as well, as if the entire world holds their breath for his response. Fabric rustles and your mother opens her mouth again while his eyes bore into yours. “Your Grace, I must apolo–”

Oberyn holds up his hand, the one not holding yours, to silence the decidedly shrill voice of the poisonous pit viper of a woman to your left that is currently looking as if she might faint. “Be quiet.” He orders sternly, still staring at you.

It is possibly the only time in your life that you have heard her follow an instruction the first time it was given – if at all – and you swallow thickly, wondering what he will say to being told the truth. If you could look past him even for a moment you would see the utter amusement on Ellaria's face or the drawn shock of Raeden's expression some feet away where he stands with your father, but you find yourself frozen under the prince's observation. "I was told that you did not ask for this arrangement, either, your Grace." At least you remembered to address him properly, this time, even if your voice has dropped to something quiet. "So I would not add insult to the situation by having her lie to you."

He wants you. If for nothing more than to find out if your obstinate passions extend to the bedroom. Oberyn is almost disappointed by this discovery, anticipating finding a mousy, shy wallflower that he could wed and ignore. “I did not.” He admits, although he keeps his words low enough that only you can hear them, squeezing your hand just the tiniest amount. Meant to be a comforting gesture, or at least signal that you have not blundered too badly. “So we have that in common.”

"It remains to be seen if there is anything more than that." You murmur back to him, despising yourself for the heat that you can feel coiling inside you. Animal attraction means nothing. This man is not who you have given your heart and your soul to, and you truly wish that you could communicate that to your body right now.

"Perhaps we should sit." Cersei suggests, looking between every guest in the garden and wondering how exactly this is going to work itself out. The guard that seems to follow you everywhere stands dutifully by like no more than a tentpole and the woman that Oberyn brought is most likely the paramour everyone speaks of, but this train wreck might serve as an entertaining morning before she has to return to the task of preparing for her son's wedding tomorrow.

Glancing over at your guard, Ellaria smirks, finding his eyes not watching Oberyn with hatred and distrust. Those dark eyes are hungry, blinking and letting his eyes find hers for a moment. She doesn’t know why she keeps looking at him, he’s not a threat to her lover or anyone else, but it is like she is compelled to seek out his gaze.

As wounded as your mother is, she cannot discipline you in front of a queen or a prince – let alone both at once – so she sits in the chair that your father holds out for her and smiles primly to the queen from the other end of the table. Etiquette has her sitting in between her useless husband and her insolent daughter, and across from the whore the prince has brought as his companion. A wholly unsuitable place in her mind, but at least she can reach over and pinch you soundly on the hand under the table. Surprised by the move, you nearly yank your hand away after you have been seated, almost laughing at the childishness of it. If you had a toy she might have stolen it out of spite.

Oberyn catches the movement, glancing at you and then towards your mother. Sensing that the woman is not happy with the current tone. “Despite extending the invitation personally, Lord Tywin is not attending this feast?” He asks Cersei, looking around the gardens expectantly.

"My father is spending some much needed time with his grandson the day before his wedding." Cersei answers politely before signaling to the servers to pour wine and leave the pitchers. "Tomorrow is quite a busy day, my lord. As I'm sure you can imagine. Your own nuptials will be much the same, I have no doubt."

Sucking his teeth for a moment, he flashes a bland smile. “Unlike the crown, we focus more on the celebration than the wedding.”

"Oh?" Your mother titters, trying to recover from her earlier embarrassment. "Do enlighten us."

“There is a giant feast where all are welcomed.” He informs her. “From the lowliest bastard to the highest lord. All drinking ale and eating meat pies. Dancing, music, for days.”

Despite needing to be near you for this first meeting, Raeden wishes he could plug his ears to hear no talk of this impending wedding. The most he can hope for, for the moment, is that Ellaria Sand did not poison the prince's ear against him and suggest refusing his services in Dorne.

"For days?" Your mother simpers, already starting to sip the wine that has been poured for her. "My word, that sounds very exciting."

“What do you do if the bride and groom are disinclined to dance?" If you are going to be forced into false gayety, you would prefer to know in advance. At any normal affair, dancing would be your entire occupation. But this wedding? Your own? You cannot see either of you wanting to dance with the other.

Oberyn turns his head towards you, his lips twitching slightly and he is almost amused. “The happy couple are not present.” He tells you, shrugging slightly. “They are in their chamber, doing their duty to Dorne while their people celebrate.”

That effectively shuts you up, your eyes dropping to the plate of food in front of you that suddenly holds no appeal whatsoever. This was easier when you imagined that the Prince of Dorne would be handsome to everyone in the world except you. Now that you are sat across from him and able to see down the length of his loosely tied robe to catch glimpses of deeply tanned, freckled skin, you simply hate yourself as well as the situation.

“The people are very accepting.” Ellaria feels the need to reassure you, watching as your face falls and your expression sours.

"My grandmother always spoke very warmly of her home." It is the best you can do, under the circumstances, though you are surprised that Ellaria would seek to give you any kind of comfort whatsoever. She is the most perplexing kind of woman, and you had spent too much time last night before falling asleep thinking of her. Wondering what she could possibly have considered the outcome of last night's meeting.

Oberyn nods, aware that you have a familial connection to Dorne, despite being from the Vale. “The sand and sun are warm, much warmer than here.” He huffs, reminding everyone at the table that he does not like King’s Landing.

"You will be trading your velvet for something lighter before you know it, my dear." The Queen smiles, though it does not feel warm in any way. When Cersei Lannister smiles you have a distinct impression that there is still a snake hiding behind her teeth ready to strike.

"It took the strength of twenty men to keep her from packing my entire library in her trunks," your father jokes, jovially enjoying his meal as though nothing at all is wrong. "There would not have been any room for gowns whatsoever if we had let her."

“A love of reading is not a curse.” Oberyn shrugs slightly. “I spent much of my time at the Citadel reading the great tomes before I grew bored of the idea of being a maester.”

"A love of reading is not a curse for a man." You can't help but look up, finding the prince looking around the table with a frustratingly leisurely air. "When you are a woman it is a danger and will give you unladylike thoughts. Or worse yet? Opinions of your own."

He arches a brow at your words and tilts his head towards Cersei. “You teach your women such strange things here in the North.” He comments before turning back towards you. “Dornish women are strong, opinionated and not afraid to speak.”

"Well, we have solved the mystery of why Northern men dislike Southern women." Having met Ellaria even once, you can see that strong women are at least not humbled around this one man. "They do not like to be challenged."

Oberyn snorts in amusement and leans back with his wine in his hand. “That is because the women best them in a battle of wits. Most men think with their cock, stomach or both.”

The way your mother looks absolutely affronted to hear such a word out loud nearly throws you into a fit of laughter, but you just barely manage to stifle it. "Well said, your Grace." There is a possibility, albeit a small one, that this man might not make you want to throw yourself off a cliff in frustration after all.

“Well.” Cersei’s smile is tight, frozen on her face. “Shall we eat?” She asks, trying to change the topic. “There is still much to be done today.”

Polite conversation focuses on the nuptials that are impending tomorrow, which quite brightens the queen's mood and turns your mother into a veritable lapdog simpering and agreeing with everything she says while your father says nothing at all and the prince speaks mostly to his lover. As the odd person out at the table, your only solace is that no one has commented to you on your lack of enthusiasm for eating or seemed to notice that occasionally you manage to glance over at Raeden to check in with him. He barely reacts, but the communication between the two of you has been silent for enough years now that you know there will be much to talk about the next time you find a moment alone.

“You like her, my love.” Ellaria’s voice is low, amused at the turn of events. She had thought he might be intrigued by you.

“She is…not what I thought.” Oberyn admits, glancing back at you just as you turn your head to look longingly at your guard.

"Not a wilting wallflower." Ellaria agrees, a smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth as she whispers. "And doing a very poor job of hiding how besotted with her guard she is."

His eyes slide over to the guard and he hums. “I understand her desire.” Oberyn chuckles quietly. “He would look good in our bed.”

"I found myself thinking the same." She finds her eyes drawn to the wall of a man once more, smile growing mischievously when she catches his eye before looking away. "Do you think it will be so difficult to marry her after all?" Ellaria has no fear of losing Oberyn. Their bond is too strong for that and his love too fierce, both for her and for their daughters. But adding a wife into the pattern of their lives will certainly shake things up. More than a little.

“It will be no hardship to bed her.” He watches you glance back at the guard again. “Do you think she carries his bastard?” Oberyn doesn’t care about bastards, he has eight of them that he loves very much and his own soulmate is a bastard, but he would not have you pass off someone else’s child as his.

"It is possible." She certainly wouldn't blame you, if that were the case. He is an extremely handsome man. "It would account for her family's urgency."

He grunts, watching you closely. “She is not eating.”

"Nerves." Ellaria guesses with a shrug. "Or sickness from the babe."

“I will need to know when she last bled.” He decides. “Just a lover or her soulmate?” He asks his own soulmate.

"If it is both, it will account for her anger." It's a characteristic in you that she had noticed last night. That you wear your armor of verbal barbs and half-confidence to hide fear and anger at not being able to determine your own life. She would call you a 'poor child' over it, but you are much older than either of them had expected. For her part, Ellaria is glad about that. "Will you turn her away if she is?" It would certainly be an excuse to end the arrangement, although you would be ruined for another offer.

“No.” Oberyn decides, straightening in his chair. “But she would have the babe before we wed.” Being unmarried, any child born out of wedlock would not be considered to be his legal heir, like his own bastards.

"Not quite the speedy timing that Doran bet on when he bought her for you." Ellaria shakes her head a little. Having a bastard in the north would make you a pariah. In the south, at least, the babe would have ten thousand Sand siblings.

“If she has bled, or is bleeding, we will be wed as soon as Doran wishes.” He shrugs slightly, reaching for her hand to kiss it. “What do you think of her?”

"She's very beautiful." There is no reason to deny that, not when Oberyn has eyes of his own and is already clearly intrigued by you. Instead, Ellaria squeezes his hand slightly and smiles. "And I like her spirit."

“It is surprising to see a Northern woman with a spine.” He hums, smirking slightly.

"I think she grew it in spite of everyone else," Ellaria almost giggles, amused at the thought. "But I admit. I like the look of her lover as well."

“They would both look good in our bed.” He agrees, smirking slightly when the man’s eyes drift over towards him again. “He is either going to attempt to kill me or fuck me.” He tells Ellaria. “He has not decided yet.”

“I do not think even he knows,” she hums in amusement.

The demented nature of the meal is certainly not helping anyone feel relaxed other than perhaps Oberyn and his whore, and when Cersei stands after some time longer she smiles politely. “Do stay as long as it pleases you,” she encourages, not caring whatsoever as long as she doesn’t have to suffer through it. “But there is much to attend to and I am afraid my time is demanded by many today. Good morning.”

Everyone else shoots to their feet, but Oberyn simply nods and reaches for the wine to refill his cup.

“Are you enjoying your stay in King’s Landing, your Grace?” Your father asks after a moment, resettling himself in his chair when he realizes that this morning is certainly not over.

There are many ways to answer that but Oberyn keeps himself from snorting in disdain. “Of course.” He chuckles darkly. “I always enjoy visiting the city where my sister was violently raped, her and her children brutally murdered by the Lannister’s lap dog.” His stare is intense as he looks at your father over the rim of his cup.

The entire table has the wind sucked out of it at that, with your parents looking baffled by the declaration and even Raeden's eyes widening in surprise. "I–I'm very sorry to hear that," you murmur, not even realizing that your hand is over your heart when you say it.

“You didn’t know?” Oberyn asks, lifting a brow in surprise. He would have assumed your family would have coached you in the intricacies of the Martell House. “Elia was married to Rhaegar Targaryen. Her blood was spilt in this keep during the Baratheon rebellion.” He sneers, drowning the rest of his cup and Ellaria reaches out for his wrist gently, trying to calm him.

"I know almost nothing about you." Of course there are plenty of people who know very little about their betrothed ahead of time, but it seems like in this case there should have been a few things mentioned to you in advance.

He relaxes slightly, aware that this is not your fault. “Perhaps you should take a turn around the garden.” Ellaria suggests softly. “Learn about one another.”

"What a wonderful idea. We could all–"

"I think she meant alone, Mother." You interject, having no intention of letting your mother tag along or chaperone this walk in any way, shape, or form. She has done plenty enough damage to you in your life already, the prince does not need to hear her vitriol – or worse, her false adulation.

“She should not be here.” Your mother hisses, unable to contain herself, glaring at Ellaria.

Oberyn’s eye twitches slightly and then he smiles, a twisted curl of his lips that is not handsome at all and displays his displeasure at your mother’s outburst. “My dagger is sharp enough to tame that tongue. My paramour goes wherever I decide she belongs.” He threatens quietly, eyes dark as they slide to her husband. “Control your lady wife or I will be forced to.”

"I think we can leave our daughter with her betrothed." There is nowhere your father wants to be less than around a man who makes that kind of threat, and he stands to offer his hand to his wife. "Stone." The command in his voice is firm. "Remain here and escort her ladyship back to her chambers when she is ready."

Oberyn can tell your mother has never been talked to that way and she doesn’t know how to respond. Instead of paying her any attention, he stands and kisses Ellaria’s hand before walking around the table to offer you assistance in leaving your seat.

One mark in this man's favor will be the way he does not suffer your mother's nonsense, but you still take his hand tentatively. Knowing that Raeden has been instructed to wait for you, not chaperone you, means that you will actually be alone with the prince on your walk and that gives you an unexpected twist of nerves in your stomach that you do not like at all. Apparently, instead of hating this man as you planned to, you are supremely nervous around him.

He doesn’t speak as you stand, your hand in his is surprisingly warm since he had anticipated you being cool with dread. Turning, he guides you towards the edge of the trellis that will take you away from Ellaria and your guard’s sight.

The entire situation feels uncertain, and you wish to all the gods that Raeden could still have been nearby, just for the security of his presence. What do you even speak to this man about? Should you speak at all? Your nerves truly are higher than ever this morning.

“I suppose the gardens are the only thing of true beauty in this city.” Oberyn offers, breaking the silence between you. “Though they do not compare to the water gardens in Dorne, they inspire me to write a poem for my Loreza.”

“You write poetry, my lord?” Focusing on that first, instead of cautiously inquiring who Loreza is, at least gives you hope that there may be some common ground between you. There had been no cause for hope before now.

“I do.” He smiles fondly as he looks over the flowers. “My children enjoy it when I am away.”

“And you have…several children?” The figure you have heard is eight, which has previously made you wonder. But the prince is older than you had expected and eight seems suddenly like not so large of a number.

“Eight daughters.” His smile shifts to something beaming, proud of his girls. “My Sand Snakes.” If you are going to be his wife, it is best you know now that they are not to be neglected or mistreated. “Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella, Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza.”

“You are very proud of them.” A fact which you find oddly reassuring. Most lords in his position would have paid off the girls’ mothers to disappear already. “Having sisters sounds wonderful,” you offer wistfully. “I have only brothers.”

“I am the youngest of both.” Oberyn offers. “Doran and I are brothers and close, but there was a special bond between Elia and I.”

The name registers with you after hearing it three times now, and a reflexive smile tugs at your lips. “I think there must have been. Since you named one of your daughters after her.”

“Yes.” He’s surprised that you have paid attention; his eyes leaving the flowers to find you looking almost wistful at the idea of a man being so sentimental. “Is your guard your soulmate?” He asks bluntly. “Or just the man you allow between your thighs for the time?”

Your face falls, shoulders rolling in on themselves as though your youngest brother has once again head butted you in the stomach as he used to when he was at his most annoying. You could lie. That is a possibility. But you have lied about it for too long and you are certainly not ashamed of loving Raeden. Shame has never even occurred to you. “He is my soulmate, your Grace,” you nod even though your voice is quiet. If he throws you over for this it will only make him a hypocrite. “And I love him very much.”

“My paramour shares my marks.” Oberyn stops, turning towards you and understanding why you look so conflicted. Neither one of you is being given a choice. Oberyn will not be exiled from his children and you have no control over your own future as a woman and a noble. “Have you bled? Or do you carry your Stone’s bastard? Is that why your father is eager to make this match so hastily?”

“My father makes the match hastily because my mother despises me.” Honesty comes pouring out of you in a way that you cannot seem to stop. For a man that so many call violent, the prince seems to be putting you wholly at ease now. “It was her insistence to send me as far away as possible. I—I bled before we left the Vale. I am not with child, if that is your concern.”

He watches you for a long moment, your eyes not shifting away. The truth burns in them and reflects from their depths. Making you even lovelier than you first appeared. He frowns slightly and reaches out to caress your cheek, pushing back some hairs that have escaped the pins. “Then you will bring your mate back to Dorne with us when we leave.” He decides. “I am a man who does not mind sharing my lovers. I will never bar Ellaria from my bed and it would be wholly unfair of me to bar your Stone from it as well.” He smirks slightly when your eyes widen. “He is a very handsome man.”

“You mean to—” That temporary wave of comfort is replaced by naked shock as you try to wrap your mind around what the prince is suggesting. Nevermind the fact that his fingers on your face are so warm that a pinch of disappointment in yourself twists at your heart again. “He is not…inclined that way.” You finally manage to stammer out. The idea of sharing had simply not occurred to you and now you are flustered by it.

“Pity.” There’s some doubt in his mind but you are more intimate with the man than he is. “It would have made our time together much sweeter.”

“So you…you do not intend to separate us?” That thought had never passed your mind even once, always assuming that you would be forced to deny Raeden with the prince as you have been forced to deny him with your father.

“When you give birth to my heir, I expect the child to be from my seed.” He answers honestly. “I bring my paramour where I wish, she is my soulmate. The future princess of Dorne will have the same luxury.” It is simple in his mind. You will have his heir and strengthen the alliance Doran wants, then you will be free to share his bed or keep to your own with your lover. “What is his name?”

“Raeden, your Grace.” It will be your torture to deal with the fact that visiting this man’s bed does not seem horrible after meeting him, but you swallow down your guilt for now. This is about keeping your soulmate safe. Safe from the hateful hands of your mother, who would see his head on a pike if she had any real evidence of your affair. “He saved my life, years ago, and my father gave him a place in our guard as a reward, so he is Ser Raeden Stone.”

“Ser Raeden Stone.” Oberyn smirks slightly and steps closer to you. “I had been convinced that it would be impossible to bed you, to fuck you,” he admits softly. “And I am a man of great appetite.” His dark eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment but he does not lean in to steal a kiss. “Now I will be pondering how often I can convince you to join me in my bed without your Ser Raeden Stone.”

The shock must be written on your face, because he chuckles lightly when your lips move but no sound comes out right away. “You—” Even the one word cracks, and you have to long away to compose yourself. “You are entitled to demand companionship whenever you wish it, your Grace.” It is simply a fact, although not one that you agree with. But as your husband he could simply order you to his bed and that would be that.

Oberyn snorts and shakes his head. “I pay, I seduce, and extend an invitation.” He tells you. “I do not order it.” He chuckles slightly at your shock and confusion. “There are many who will jump into my bed, and do. I have no need of forcing anyone to take my cock.”

"So you would not force me?" That, if you are being completely honest with yourself, has been one of your greatest fears. The idea of forced intimacy seemed inevitable once you were made to marry.

“I would not force the lowest whore.” He scoffs. “Why would I force a woman that bears my name? If you never share my bed, you will be barren to all. As long as you do not bear your Stone’s bastards.”

"I understand." That tea that you had been drinking for years now seems more valuable than ever, and the mix of gratitude and shame for even thinking such a thing swirls in your blood like a sickness. If this prince is any indication of what men in the south are like, you will vastly prefer that setting in many ways.

He’s slightly disappointed in your reaction and he drops his hand from your face and turns to resume the walk again. “What else do you wish to know?”

He does not exactly mask his emotions well, and it is obvious to see that you have either upset or disappointed him, though what you possibly could have done wrong is beyond you. Hadn't you just said that you would obey his wishes? "When do you intend to leave once more for Dorne?" Whenever it is, it will be the last glimpse of the north you have for a very long while. Perhaps for your entire life. So you would like to be able to plan for it rather than being yanked away.

“As soon as I have recovered from the wedding celebrations.” He grunts. “I will be much pleased to put this stinking shit pile of a city behind me.”

"Is there anything you wish to know of me?" He does seem somewhat upset, and you have no wish whatsoever to anger him on this walk or make him take back any of the promises he has made you.

“When did you find out your Stone was your soulmate?” He is always curious about the dealing of soulmates. It is an intrigue that there is not more effort out into finding the people who share your marks among nobility.

"After he saved my life." Wishing that he had not taken his hand away, you clasp your own together as you walk. "The boar that intended to gut me ended up digging into his leg instead. When the scar from that wound appeared on my own thigh, I went to him immediately."

“And you have been secret lovers ever since.” He hums, finding the story to be sweet and innocent, much like you appeared to be.

"It did not start right away." You tell him, finding again that the urge to be honest is overwhelming. "His sense of propriety is admirable. But we found quickly that we could not keep away from each other."

“The bond between soulmates is irrefutable.” Oberyn can understand that. Ellaria had quickly become his sun and world after meeting her. The chance encounter that had taken her from nearly being a whore to nearly being a princess. “It is impossible to stay away from your soulmate once you know them.”

"It truly is." And you count yourself extremely lucky, in this moment, that he understands that. "Raeden is a good man, and a loyal one. Intelligent and kind. I think..." You raise your head again, bold enough to find him watching you as you walk. "It may be presumptuous to suggest, but I would hope that there could be a way for the two of you to be friendly with each other. Just as I would hope that there could be a way for me to be friendly with your soulmate." After meeting her last night you have left shaken and concerned. But first impressions are not everything.

“There is only one way to determine that.” Oberyn counters, not unkindly. “We will have to spend time together. Ellaria has already expressed an interest in learning more about you and your guard.”

"She seems very interesting." Complex was the word you had ascribed to her already and it seemed to hold true. "And you...you love her very much, I think." Which should not cloud your heart the way it does. Not when he has been so kind and open with you. "And she is the mother of some of your children. So it would be...neglectful, I think, to not extend a hand of friendship to her."

“She is a warm, compassionate woman.” Oberyn promises you. “Loyal like your Stone and loving.” He chuckles. “She also finds you fetching.”

"She is very beautiful." For your entire life you would have given almost anything to be as stunning as that. Ellaria is self-assured and magnetic. You are lucky if you can affect those things for long enough to get through a confrontation. "That is very kind of her to say...especially considering I would not blame her at all if she decided to despise me."

“She would not despise you, unless you hurt me or the children.” Ellaria is protective over those she loves, more so than over herself but she knows that Oberyn will protect her. “She knows you have no real interest in becoming my Princess.”

"If I had been allowed to choose my own destiny, I would have married Raeden long ago." There is no harm in admitting that to him, as you are certain beyond a doubt that he would have married Ellaria if he had been given the opportunity.

Oberyn hums, understanding what you mean. “The titles we bear are often burdens, even with the freedoms they allow.”

"There are as many constraints as there are advantages." You nod as you walk together. "I would not ask you to forsake her." Not that you would truly be able to stop him if that is what he desired. Most men do not take the opinions of their wives into account. "That would be unthinkably cruel, in my mind."

“Then you understand why I have no wish to separate you from your Raeden.” Oberyn states. “There needs to be more love in the world, not less.”

"I do understand. But I admit that it surprises me. Most men I have known would sooner be rid of their wife's lover." Having lost track of how long you've been walking, you find yourselves near the sea wall and the scent instantly relaxes you. "I am grateful that you do not seem to be like most men."

“I am not most men.” He assures you with a chuckle. “I would fuck your lover. Have my cock deep in his ass so you could feel me as he fills your cunt. Or share you. Each of our cocks filling one of your holes as you screamed in pleasure.”

The sheer, unbridled honesty of it stops you dead in your tracks, staring at him with the same expression of shock as if he had just confessed to murder. Although your body's response is much different – pulse jumping and blood streaking quickly through your veins making you both flustered and inexplicably aroused. "I—" As surprised as you are, he seems equally amused as more truth tumbles from your lips. "I have only ever been with him, my lord. In that way."

“Of course you have.” Oberyn doubts you are free with your cunt. If you were, you would have no issue taking Oberyn into your bed, you might have even anticipated it. “Just like I am sure you have never had a woman lick your cunt.”

Before now, having taken a lover at all made you particularly promiscuous. But now you feel positively like the most legendary of whores and liars as you shake your head. For two women to embrace would be shameful – yet according to the septa who taught you all manner of difficult lessons about this life, it is not to be compared to laying with a man. "Never." The lie tastes sour in your mouth, but it is done. The shame that you have never spoken of to anyone remains unsaid.

“It is a beautiful sight,” he promises, cock twitching under his robes. “The sight of two women giving each other pleasure. A woman knows how she likes to be touched. Just like a man knows how he likes his cock sucked.”

"And that is something...that you would...wish me to do?" It is a troubling idea to wrap your head around, and you now know that he would not force you to share anyone's bed. Not even his own. But trying to know this man better seems to include understanding his sexual appetite. In the south, perhaps, their shames are different.

“It would be something you could explore if you wished.” He corrects you. “If you wanted to be with Ellaria or another woman, a whore we bought or someone you have an interest in, there would be no rebuke.”

"It is not something that should ever have crossed the mind of a northern noblewoman." The evasive way you skirt admitting your secret seems not to phase him, thank the gods in all their heavens, and you promptly shut your mouth again so as not to ramble and expose yourself.

“I doubt you have been exposed to such things.” He hums quietly, aware of how most Northern women are raised.

"It is..." You sigh slightly. "To say that it is looked down upon would be an understatement."

“The North is so…boring.” Oberyn agrees. “Limiting pleasure and judging is not something I am a part of.”

“Then I find myself very grateful that your brother and my father made the arrangement that they did.” For all you can tell, this next chapter in your life may wind up being far less dreadful and far more freeing than you could ever have imagined. “And I will do my best not to be a disappointment to you.”

He nods but he doesn’t say anything. You seem to have decided that the marriage will be in name only and he will not fight you on that, but it is disappointing. “We will decide how to arrange things when we get back to Sunspear. My brother lives at the Water Gardens most days now.”

“Until meeting you, I was not under the impression that I would have any choice.” That is how it would have been if your parents had married you to a northern lord, anyway. “I assumed I would eat and sleep where I am told and do as my husband bids me. That is…before this morning, the only expectation I have had for my marriage.” You shrug slightly, almost shaking your head at yourself. “So you can see why I have not been exactly excited for the prospect. But you…” The words you are looking for elude you, and you end up feeling embarrassed at not being able to articulate yourself. “I am optimistic enough to hope for more than a contact, now that I have met you.”

“That remains up to you.” The table comes back into view and Oberyn smirks as he finds Ellaria leaning into a now seated Raeden as she pours him a cup of wine while she talks. He cannot hear what she is saying, but there is an air of seduction that he recognizes.

The picture in front of you would likely have tickled that reflex of jealousy in all devoted lovers if you did not have a better idea of the way the prince and his soulmate view promiscuity. Now that you have touched on the topic together even just barely, you can breathe much more easily. No one is attempting to steal away a lover or to toy with a reputation. Sex seems simply to be the Prince’s favored hobby. “We will see you both tomorrow, then?” The morning wedding is sure to be a long and tedious service, as all royal ceremonies are, but at least the company will not be bad if you are able to spend a small amount of time with him.

“Tomorrow.” Ellaria unwinds herself from her seat and stands, smirking as Oberyn strides towards her with a very hot blooded look. He’s been affected by you. The prince drags her into his arms and she moans softly when he fuses his lips to hers in a movement that reveals the frustration he must have kept hidden during your talk. Once she has him alone, she will ascertain what has caused such a reaction.

They are extremely passionate people, there is no denying that, and you clear your throat gently before stepping away to give them some semblance of privacy. Raeden had stood after Ellaria and stepped out from the table, and you are at his side like a magnet. “Did you have an interesting visit with our friend?” You ask quietly, wishing it was safe enough to kiss him as Ellaria does the prince.

Raeden’s eyes shift back towards the pair, swallowing slightly and feeling incredibly guilty for the attraction he has to both the prince and his paramour. He is drawn to Ellaria, much the same as he had been you and it is confusing. His attraction to the prince is shameful, one he tries to ignore. “She is…open.” He settles for that as he wishes he could look away from them.

"He says that she likes you." The relief you feel after speaking to the prince is overwhelming, and you almost laugh as you shake your head. "I cannot blame her for having excellent taste."

“She is a very beautiful woman.” Raeden admits, albeit reluctantly. He doesn’t ever look at other women. There is no one that could possibly compare to you, until now.

"My love." He is looking anywhere but at you, and right now you are too full of news to realize why that might be. You are taking his hands tightly in both of yours before he can draw away, despite being out in the open. "He does not intend to separate us. We will have nothing to fear in Dorne."

“Truly?” His eyes widen and finally rip away from the lovers to look at you in shock. “He— he will allow me to come with you? To continue as we are?”

Your nearly ecstatic nodding does have conditions, of course, but you squeeze his hands tightly. "He would even allow me to bear your child. It...it would not just be a dream any longer."

“How?” Raeden frowns, unable to believe a man, a husband, would allow you to bear your bastard lover’s bastard. Especially when he is a prince.

"In the usual way." Is your cheeky answer, but Raeden's face is not one of laughter and your smile falls in turn. "If I visit his bed and give him an heir, he would not shame me afterward for also bearing your child. It is far more than any other man would allow."

“No.” Raeden shakes his head. “I will not have you do that for me.” He insists, squeezing your hands. “It is– it is more than I can ask of you. I do not wish you to force yourself to lie with him.”

"Would you try to forbid me if I did it of my own free will?" The prince is extremely handsome, after all, and you are more than certain that there was some kind of clause in the marriage contract your father signed that will require you to birth an heir anyway. If you are entirely honest with yourself, it would not be a hardship to lie with the prince. Since meeting Raeden, no one had turned your head for more than a mere glance. Now you find your thoughts to be full of possibilities for pleasure.

“I–…no.” Raeden shakes his head, lifting his brows. “My love– are you– do you wish to sleep with the prince?” He asks softly and his eyes slide back to where Oberyn and Ellaria are still deep in their embrace.

"He...is very handsome." It's not an answer, but you do not know whether or not you could give an honest answer right now. Your mind is too muddled by the surprise of attraction. "But I do not know him well enough to say."

“You will be his wife.” He reminds you gently. “He can have you in his bed whenever he wishes.”

"He said he would not force me." Which is another source of great relief, as you are sure he can understand.

“He said that?” Shocked again, the caliber of the man is becoming very obvious. “He– the rumor is that he has fucked half of Westeros.”

"It seems that those conquests have all been by choice." Which makes a smile twitch at the corner of your mouth, but you shake it away. "He also said that he and Ellaria would happily welcome both of us to their bed, but I informed him that I did not think you are not inclined that way."

Raeden’s heart stops, freezing in place and stiffening as he wants to immediately protest and say yes. Shamed that it is almost gleeful in the way his cock twitches, he is glad he is not pressed against you.

"Have I–done wrong?" The way he seems to become a statue on the spot is alarming to say the least. "Are you...you did not...mention finding Ellaria attractive after our encounter last night. I did not think...?" It's surprising that you do not feel jealous, but instead worried that he might be upset with you.

“It is nothing.” He makes himself relax and shakes his head. “I was only…surprised.”

"Please do not lie to me." After feeling the compulsion to be completely honest with the prince, it is an alarming feeling to have Raeden withhold the truth.

“I–” he looks into your eyes and he shakes his head. “I cannot speak about this with you now.” He admits quietly. “I– you will not understand.”

"I would understand perfectly if you thought Ellaria was beautiful." But since you also respect the topic enough not to push it now - in public - what remains is only for you to be hurt by the idea that your soulmate does not think he can trust you with something. For the moment you can only push it away. "We will be leaving for Dorne as quickly after the wedding as the prince is ready," you tell him instead, changing the subject all together. "It may be as little as two days before we are traveling again."

“I will be ready as soon as you are.” Raeden promises. He had determined that he would be going to Dorne no matter what. Relieved that you are dropping the subject, he tries to avoid looking back at the couple as he squeezes your hands. “Where you go, I will be there.”

******

Saying a temporary goodbye to the pair from Dorne, Raeden escorts you through the halls of the Red Keep once more to the chambers that you are sharing with your parents. You have every intention of spending the rest of the day reading and repacking your trunk to be ready to leave a moment's notice – eager to be off somewhere where you would be able to love your soulmate openly and be afforded the freedom of choosing who you wish to spend your time with.

“Once you are in your rooms, I will make sure that I have my things ready.” Raeden promises you quietly. He wants to be ready whenever the prince is ready.

"The journey to Sunspear will be long, but far less tedious than the journey from the Vale." Inside again, with your parents near, you don't reach to squeeze his hand or kiss his cheek. Instead you offer Raeden a reassuring smile and move through the small sitting room to the room you have been sleeping in. Only to find it very much occupied by the last person in the world you ever want to find near your bed.

“You can leave.” Your mother spits at Raeden. “I doubt my daughter needs protecting in her chambers.”

"With you here, I very well might." You tell her honestly, but still you turn to Raeden with a resigned expression on your face. "Go and pack," you suggest to him instead. "We want to be ready as soon as the prince wishes to depart."

“How dare you talk to me that way!” Your mother screeches in utter dismay, flying to her feet and obviously ready to impose her wrath on you. “You little bitch!”

When she flies at you she obviously expects you to be either too astonished or too demure to react at all. Any of your governesses would have known better – having seen you duck away from your older brothers' torment dozens upon dozens of times. You had been plunged bodily into too many stone walls in your youth and now veer out of the way immediately so that it was your mother who collided with the wall instead of pushing you into it. "What has possessed you?" At least your voice is shocked, punctuated by a small oof when Raeden catches you before you can stumble to the ground in an effort to flee from the attack.

“You had to humiliate your father!” She bellows, even though her anger and rage has nothing to do with your father and everything to do with your embarrassment of her. “I did not raise such an opinionated bitch!”

"You did not raise me at all!" Standing again, your hand holds fast to Raeden's for security. "What is it precisely that you are accusing me of, Mother?" Presumably she is angry about being embarrassed in front of the prince, but pretending it is about your father is imbecilic.

“You made me look like a fool! Unable to keep that stupid tongue inside your head and just act like the lady you are supposed to be!” She fumes, glaring at you as if you are shit on the bottom of her shoe.

"I am very much a lady. A lady who will be the Princess of Dorne in just a few weeks' time. And so I refuse to continually be insulted by you." At this point you had expected to return to your chambers and put up with your mother's hate for only a little while longer, but the gods did not have that in mind for you, it seems. "If you were under some illusion that you would still be able to control me from across the continent, you are sorely mistaken."

“I should have drowned you the moment you slipped from my womb!” She hisses, rushing towards you again and drawing her hand back to land a vicious slap on your cheek. “I will kill you now!”

If it were the first time she had ever laid a hand on you, or the first time she had ever expressed regret at not killing you at birth, you might have been shocked. Unfortunately the impact of those vile actions had long since faded away and it is only the fact that she is running at you again that surprises you. This time it’s enough for you to burrow yourself into Raeden’s broad frame – barely moving to his side in time for him to draw his blade in her direction with the tip mere inches from her chest.

“You will stop, my lady.” His voice is deep, and firm, brokering no question or argument as fire flashes in his eyes. “I do not wish to hurt you but if it is the only way to protect her, I will have no choice.”

“Bastard.” She spits in his face and then her face freezes and the evil, manical look in her eyes blooms happily. “I will not kill you.” She tells you with a sugary sweet voice, reaching up and grabbing a sleeve of her own gown so it rips. “I will have your lover killed.” She threatens. “Beaten and beheaded in front of you to scream and mourn for all your days.” Her laugh is hollow and grating as she rips the front of her bodice and drags her hands through her hair to wreck her carefully styled look.

“I wonder how you will do that if we are not here to be commanded by you.” If you had not met him today, if you had not seen the good and just man that Oberyn Martell is with your own two eyes, you would have feared for Raeden’s life at this moment. You truly would have believed that she could get her claws deeply enough into him to take him away. Now, you know there is someplace safe that you can go. Looking back at him, you quickly grasp his free hand with determination. “We are leaving, my love.” Without a single one of your things, or his, which you’re sure she will destroy in a rage, you must go now before she has a chance to spread her vile lies.

Screaming, your mother rushes after you but in a moment of providence surely gifted by the gods, both old and new, she trips on one of the silk rugs and collapses to the floor.

“Run!” If you are lucky, you can find the prince and Ellaria before they are too far from the Red Keep. If you are even luckier, you might find your father during your escape to tell him the truth of what his wife has done. It will be up to the gods whether or not he believes you, but you will certainly be writing to your brothers just as soon as you stop shaking and find safety.

Raeden heeds your command. Holding your hand tight, he leads the way. Rushing through the halls and out of the keep through a servants door. Ignoring the turned heads as he attempts to lead you to safety, though your heavy gown makes running slower for you.

Down stairs, around corners, through paths crowded with servants and tradespeople until you are far enough away from the Keep to be certain that neither of your parents can catch up to you but equally certain that the prince is nowhere to be found.

“Did she tell you how to find them?” You are panting, not having ever run frantically for your life before, but even as you slow down you don’t stop. There can be no stopping. “Did Ellaria tell you where their lodging is?”

“She did.” Raeden nods, frowning because he is uncomfortable with where he must take you. “They are staying at a brothel in Flea Bottom.” He stops and rips his cloak off to drape over your shoulders. “You will need this to hide your finery.”

"I promise to you that when I apologize to you properly for this later, I will do everything I can to make it up to you." This decision did not only affect you, but it has torn him away from his life and his worldly possessions, as well. You may as well be bandits on the run for the punishment you would face if you were caught – for surely the uninformed observer would believe your mother's tale if you cannot reach safety before she is able to spin her web of lies for someone in authority. "But there is no time now." As soon as his cloak is around your shoulders, you are running again: as swiftly as your muscles can bear.

______

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #reader x m!OC #male OC #female reader #male original character #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #arranged marriage

[gigimarvels]

I haven't posted my own OC work here in a hot while mostly because I've been working on my twitch stuff! but I've been cooking! I'll try to update my posts here as much as i can! right now though, here's some absolute bangers of Thyme (last one with Topaz), he has this air about him that i just LOVE to capture

#art #drawing #art of tumblr #oc's #oc art #oc artwork #oc artist #original character #original art #original characters #original character art #my oc art #my ocs #my oc stuff #my characters #ocs #fae character #pixie oc #fairy oc #character art #character design #male oc #male original character #original illustration #illustrative art #digital artist #digital art #digital drawing #digital illustration #female artist

[melishade]

Number 75?

This ask game

I'll do the Peaceful Timeline, where everyone finds out about Ymir's pregnancy with Rose. For more context: Part 17: Notes for the Peaceful Timeline/ Rose and Part 19: Ymir’s second Pregnancy

Ymir wasn't someone who got sick. That was something Oshern learned fairly quickly. Maria got sick at least once a year. It made sense due to the fact that she was a child exposed to the elements. Kids always got sick during the winter. Orion and Matthew, or Optimus and Megatron, couldn't get sick because they were titans. They didn't get sick the same way that humans did. Ymir did explain to him that the power that she had protected her from most illnesses. So he supposed that was something he didn't have to worry about.

Until he had heard Ymir throw up rather violently in the bathroom in the morning. It scared Maria, the girl never seeing her mother get sick before. But Oshern knew how he could help. He's had one too many close calls with illnesses when he was on his own. He checked if she had a fever, checked her bile for anything that wasn't supposed to be eaten before cleaning it up. He helped her up to the living room and got her to lie down on the couch before getting her something to eat. He tried to get her to eat some stew or bread, or even just potatoes, but all of them made Ymir look like she was ready to gag. Oshern then decided to get her to drink some water, which she was able to keep down. Ymir moaned and rested her head on Oshern's chest while patting their daughter's head in reassurance.

They waited for a good while before Optimus and Megatron had shown up in human form. Ymir still rested against Oshern's chest while Maria rushed over to the both of them to explain what happened. Megatron did his best to try and reassure Maria that Ymir would be fine while Optimus walked over and kneeled down in front of Ymir.

"How are you feeling right now?" Optimus asked Ymir. Ymir finally raised her head before shaking it, signifying that there wasn't much improvement. She still felt sick.

"I could only give her water. She wouldn't eat anything else," Oshern explained, "I also did a few other things to see if Ymir was fine and she doesn't have a major fever or anything like that."

"How long has she been feeling sick for?" Optimus asked Oshern.

"A few hours maybe," Oshern explained, "She threw up a lot in the morning."

"Is Mama going to be okay?!" Maria exclaimed.

"Firelight, your mother will be fine," Megatron reassured.

"But she's never gotten sick before!" Maria retorted.

"Ironspark has been sick before," Optimus proclaimed, "The last time she was like this was when-!"

Optimus' sentence halted as he snapped his head to Ymir, who looked just as equally uncertain and bewildered as Optimus did. Was...was it happening again? Could it even happen again?!

"When?! Since when?!" Oshern pressed. The Prime ignored Oshern as he pressed a hand against Ymir's abdomen. Ymir didn't fuss or flinch at the pressure, but her fingers did curl into fists, and Oshern could tell that she looked afraid.

Optimus closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel Ymir's pulse throughout her body, but that's not what he was searching for. He was searching for something else. Where was it? After moments of listening and anticipating, he felt it. He felt a second pulse in Ymir's abdomen. He felt a faint, second, heartbeat.

"By the Allspark." Optimus opened his eyes and faced Ymir, "You're pregnant."

Oshern's face contorted into one of confusion, while Megatron's morphed into one of dread. Meanwhile, Maria's face broke out into a grin and she gasped with excitement.

"What?!" they all said. Oshern was perplexed. Maria was elated, and Megatron was fearful.

Optimus heard the confusion in Oshern's voice and turned to him. "With child. Ymir is!...she's carrying your child."

"What?" Oshern felt his voice crack at the news. He...he was going to be a father again? He was going to have a child come from him directly? He...he and Ymir did consummate their marriage not that long ago, and Ymir felt more confident in continuing those acts with him after that night, but...he never thought that something like this would happen. Oshern genuinely wanted to burst into tears of joy, but Ymir looked so frightened at the news. Why did she look so scared?

"I'm gonna be a big sister!" Maria cheered, raising her fists high into the air. Meanwhile, Megatron still looked mortified at the news of Ymir's pregnancy.

Optimus let go of Ymir before standing on his feet. "Family meeting. Now."

(Then Optimus proceeds to explain Ymir's pregnancy and pregnancies over all in detail, causing Ymir to cover her eyes and shrink in embarrassment. Anyway, 13 has been asked, the rest is free game.)

#attack on prime #tfp #attack on titan #snk #aot #send me asks #transformers prime #asks #shingeki no kyojin #ao3 #tfp optimus #optimus prime #ymir fritz #ymir #ymir aot #ymir the first #ymir the founder #founder ymir #maria fritz #tfp megatron #megatron #maccadam #what if optimus appeared during founder ymir's time aka the peaceful timeline #macadam #dialogue prompt #dialogue #dialogue prompts #tf prime #original character #male original character

[trashbrah]

Kieran at the gym....

#artists on tumblr #digital painting #art #digital illustration #drawing #digital commisions #digitalart #my art #male original character #original character #original art #male oc #oc #oc art #ocs #my ocs #digital art #digital artist #digital drawing #artwork #drawings #workout #my work #my oc art #my oc stuff #my ocs <3

[awesomeartiah]

2 am Jaylen doodle

#Jaylen Jones #oc #original character #Murder oc #my oc #my original character #male original character #art #doodle #drawing #it’s so late lol

[in-a-nook-with-a-notebook]

Anything For You | Masterlist

Series Summary: Nick Oliver was on tack to figure out his life after high school. One day in a bookstore, and suddenly, post-high school plans were the farthest thing from his mind. One day, he met Luke Castellan.

Part 1: Your Hand Is Cold (released July 2nd 2023)

Part 2: Claimed (released July 10th 2023)

Part 3: Capture the Flag (released April 24th 2024)

Part 4: Nightmarish (coming soon!)

Work in progress!

#percy jackson #luke castellan #son of hermes #son of hades #nick oliver #anything for you #luke castellan x male oc #luke castellan x male reader #oc #original chracter #male oc #male original character #percy jackson and the olympians