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hosts-of-valyria · 2 years

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Robert Baratheon moves into the open field from Storm's End, "I kill every single Dayne, Tyrell, Martell, Tully, Targaryen, Stark, Lannister."

Nala jumped on a Baratheon soldier and tore him apart. A spear hit the lioness and Ghost jumped on the Baratheon soldier and tore him apart. Joffrey, Tywin, Aerys, and Aegon rode down the Baratheon vanguard with Lannister and Targaryen cavalry.

An arrow from Robert Baratheon hit Jon in the shoulder and he fell from his horse. Tyrell armies, Dornish Forces, Targaryen Armies, Northern Armies, Lannister Armies, and Tully Forces surrounded Robert and the Baratheon armies to all sides on the Goldroad, "Spears forward", Myrcella and Jon called to the Lannister soldiers.

Robert rode up to Jon, "I'll kill you, dragonspawn."

Margaery, Oberyn, Tywin, Rhaegar, Eddard, Aerys, Lyanna, Cersei, Elia, Ashara, Rhaenys, Sansa, Catelyn, Myrcella screamed, "no."

Jon pulled the arrow from his shoulder, "oh fuck my arm", Ghost and Nala jumped on Robert and he fell to the ground.

Oberyn's spear hit Robert in the shoulder, "I should have killed you much earlier", Jaime's, Eddard's, Rhaegar's and Tywin's swords hit Robert in the cross, "DIE MOTHERFUCKER!"

Myrcella jumped off the horse and ran over to Jon and pressed a towel over the wound and kissed him, "come up. Your arm and shoulder are wounded. Hey I love you ok? I'm always with you ok? I will always Support you Jon! I will always love you. Let him die, honey. He's not needed, honey. I need you. You need me. This policy only works with you and me. I am always with you. You are not alone, Jon."

Tommen ran to Jon, "Get up, let him die Jon, let Robert die. Come here, I'll patch you up, I'll sew the wound. He's not a hero. He's nothing at all Robert is alone. Let me save your precious ass for you. Joffrey. Death to Robert Baratheon!"

Sansa screamed, "Robb! Death to Robert Baratheon!"

Margaery yelled, "Loras. Death for Robert Baratheon."

Rhaenys screamed, "Aegon! Death to Robert Baratheon!"

He smiled and kissed Myrcella, "I love you."

Jon looked at Robert, "I would always take care of you, Myrcella. You know that I have had relationships with other women, you have had relationships with men. You are extremely strong, making mistakes is human, Myrcella. You know that."

The marriage of Jon Stark and Myrcella Lannister on the battlefield through Rhaegar Targaryen and Jaime Lannister: The marriage and love of the two most powerful characters in the realm. Margot Robbie as elderly Myrcella Lannister, Stronger and deadlier than Ygritte or Arya Stark. Daughter of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, older sister of Tommen Lannister, younger sister of Joffrey Lannister. Women in uniforms. The first woman in heavy armor and sword

Myrcella looked at Jon, "yes but then I want you to talk to me before you hit the stone wall with your head you asshole! Take care, chances and i'm yours, I beg you, Jon, take care, chances Jon. I won't let you out of the shit so easily, i'll make your life hell if you don't take proper care! Then you are nowhere safe from my anger!

Talk to me and I'll be yours, be sincere and honest and I'll be yours forever. Talk to me Jon. When you have problems or questions, talk to me and we will find solutions, always. I don't tear your head off if you don't know something, I just want you to strain your head, you will come up with solutions and tell me what you think, think out loud so I can hear what you are thinking about, Rhaenys and Sansa will love it and support you. At the end of the flagpole, it's a question of politics, as you know.

You know why nobody wants to have anything to do with Robert, this Monster has no heart.

Ok? Jon, there is so much work that almost nobody knows where to start, we have enough work, you, me, Cersei, Tywin, Jaime, Rhaegar, Elia, Lyanna."

Jon nodded, "JAIME! RHAEGAR! I want you to marry me Myrcella now."

Jaime and Rhaegar slaughtered Baratheon soldiers, "this is a little inappropriate at the moment", Lyanna, Elia and Cersei laughed aloud. Tywin, Cersei and Jaime slaughtered Baratheon soldiers. Aerys, Rhaella, Catelyn and Eddard killed Baratheon soldiers. Lyanna shot Baratheon soldiers. Myrcella rammed her sword into the chest of a Baratheon soldier. Margaery killed a Baratheon soldier.

Jon and Myrcella held hands, "Now", Jaime and Rhaegar jumped from the horses and killed a Baratheon soldiers, "Dear Congregation. We are gathered here today", Jaime and Rhaegar killed a Baratheon soldier, "to marry the two present...", Jaime and Rhaegar killed another Baratheon soldier, "damn it! Kiss! Just Kiss", Myrcella and Jon kissed in the heat of the moment and Joffrey, Tommen, Margaery, Sansa, Aegon, Robb, Rhaenys, Rhaegar, Aerys, Oberyn, Arthur, Gerold, Jaime, Eddard, Tywin, Aerys and Rhaegar, Lyanna, Elia, Cersei, Catelyn laughed out loud. Eddard and Rhaegar helped Jon up, "we still have goosebumps, that was great."

Myrcella looked at Robert and roared like a lioness and she rose in shining Lannister armor and drew Brightroar, "HEAR ME ROAR! The golden hair of the Lannisters!

A woman in armor, usurper! Haha you wanna kill me. Haha Surrounded by the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, usurper, everytime I close my eyes, I see their blond hair and their smug satisfied faces.

You would never be human! Lyanna, Elia, Rhaenys, Cersei and I hate you so much! Die! Die! You're nothing! Death to Robert Baratheon.

Lannister armies, slaughter Robert Baratheon, no mercy on the heartless bastard of Storm's End! Slaughter the Usurper! Put a spear in his black heart! He's evil through and through! I order the western armies to slaughter the usurper, he is a danger to Westeros, Robert Baratheon kills children and Babies.

The son of Lyanna Stark and the daughter of Cersei Lannister order the armies of Westeros to kill Robert Baratheon! Seven nation Army! The most powerful couple! The dream couple! Make Westeros great again!"

The Baratheon armies surrounded Robert. Northern armies, Tully forces, dornish forces, Targaryen armies, Lannister armies, Tyrell armies surrounded Robert.

Loras waved the Tyrell forces at Robert. Joffrey waved the Lannister forces at Robert Baratheon, Robb waved the northern armies and Tully forces at Robert and Aegon waved the dornish and Targaryen armies at Robert.

Loras, Robb, Aegon, Joffrey looked at Robert, "we will kill you!"

Targaryen armies, Tyrell forces, Lannister forces, dornish forces, northern armies advanced towards Robert Baratheon. Robb, Aegon, Loras and Joffrey dragged Robert across the ground.

Ashara, Brandon, Catelyn, Tywin, Lyanna, Elia, Cersei, Oberyn, Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, Aerys, Rhaegar, stood over Robert's dead body, "we hate you so much, you brought stupidity and madness. A thousand deaths are not enough for what you deserve."

Joffrey, Robb and Aegon slew the archers and winked at Jon, "Aegon, Robb, you and I are brothers. I love you brother."

Jon smiled, "I love you brother."

From Casterly Rock, Jaime Lannister, Tommen Lannister, Joffrey Lannister, Jon and Myrcella move into the open field against Robert Baratheon.

From King's Landing, Cersei Lannister, Rhaegar Targaryen, Tywin Lannister and Aerys Targaryen move into the open field against Robert Baratheon.

From Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell and Quentyn Martell move into the open field against Robert Baratheon.

From Sunspear, Brandon Stark, Ashara Dayne, Lyanna Stark, Oberyn Martell, Sansa Stark, Aegon Martell, Arthur Dayne, Elia Martell move into the open field against Robert Baratheon.

From Winterfell, Eddard Stark, Rhaenys Martell, Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark, Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, move south against Robert Baratheon.

Battle on the Goldroad. A crushing defeat for Robert Baratheon. Death for Robert Baratheon by Lannister armies, northern forces, Targaryen Armies, Dornish forces, Tully armies and Tyrell forces. No consequences

"The Lannisters reigned as Kings and Queens of the Rock for thousands of years. I thank you Rhaegar. Well done", Lord Tywin Lannister

"Aegon built the wheel as we knew it when he subjugated seven kingdoms with firestorms and forged the Iron Throne", thought Myrcella and Jon.

At Storm's End, Storm King Robert Baratheon puked alcohol and roared drunk, "war! War! War! I kill you all. Starks, Lannisters, Targaryens, Martells, Tullys, Greyjoys, Tyrells! I want murder! Ned and Jon Arryn are no longer my friends."

Eddard Stark's and Jon Arryn's answers from Winterfell and the Eyrie were there the next morning, "you were never a friend. Have fun trying", Robert was drunk once again, "I drink myself into the grave."

Independent Kingdoms without the Iron Throne: Wheels of Power that Aegon the Conqueror built break apart with a crash. Big stories for Westeros. Transition to the end of the Middle Ages: the first standing army of 95,000 soldiers in King's Landing by Jon Stark mightier than Myrcella Lannisters, Dissolution of vassalage

The Crowned Lion, the Crown of the West: Cersei Lannister resigns as Queen of the West 22 years after the Iron Throne was destroyed and the granted Independence through Rhaegar Targaryen at the end of Robert's Rebellion. At the age of 17, Myrcella Lannister left Casterly Rock and went to Dorne as a diplomat and politician. Return from Sunspear after 5 years. The first woman in Lannister armor

The coronation of Myrcella as Queen of the West. Myrcella Lannister follows after her mother as Queen of Casterly Rock. The Queen of the Rock and the Westerlands.

The ancient, glorious caves and halls under Casterly Rock. Myrcella's golden hair blew in the wind as she rode past the Lannister forces.

Catelyn, Elia and Lyanna tapped Cersei on the shoulder and pointed the eyes in a corner, "ever seen your daughter making out since she came back from Dorne", the four looked at Jon and Myrcella who were making out.

Aerys and Arthur tapped Eddard and Tywin on the shoulders and pointed to a corner. Catelyn, Arthur, Ned, Gerold, Ashara, Brandon, Rickard, Rhaegar, Rhaella, Tywin, Aerys, Lyanna, Cersei, and Elia smiled, "that means war. Oh we're in trouble, the fat usurper won't like that."

"Jon adores women in uniform", said Catelyn and smiled.

"Like a kind of exchange year. Myrcella is the first woman in Lannister armor. We don't need to look to the future to see, Jon is the best general in Westeros, something of a military career", said Cersei and Catelyn, Lyanna and Elia nodded.

Elia, Catelyn, Cersei and Lyanna looked at each other and roared like dead fairies, "YOU WILL MARRY LORAS TYRELL! YOU ARE MY DAUGHTER. You two get to hear the Rains of Castamere from us when you bang before a wedding", screamed Cersei at Myrcella.

"YOU WILL DO AS WE COMMAND! We should have known that we would catch you two", screamed Lyanna, Catelyn and Elia at Jon.

Myrcella and Jon jumped apart, "AH-AH! We are submissive."

Catelyn, Cersei, Elia and Lyanna laughed out loud, "tricked."

Myrcella and Jon laughed, "Jon wants to move to Casterly Rock with Ghost. Jon wants to work and live in the Westerlands, I can use a general for the Lannister armies in the West. Jon and I have many goals for the Westerlands and Lannister armies."

Catelyn, Cersei, Lyanna and Elia nodded and looked at Jon's uniform and saw medals of wolves, dragons, snakes, fish, falcons, lions, "the more penises on the uniform, the higher the rank. Fine, the Queen of the West needs a good, new General, man for who takes decent care, this is a good chance, good Politics and a big story."

"Ok. I have name day soon, I hope to see you two there together", said Cersei and smiled. Myrcella and Jon smiled and nodded, "clear."

#myrcella and jon #kit harington #margot robbie #cersei and jaime #lyanna stark #elia martell #rhaegar targaryen #lena headey #aisling franciosi #freida pinto #catelyn stark #michelle fairley

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mihrimahsultan · 4 years

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❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the SULTANA MIHRIMAH SULTAN, from THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE. they are at best POLISHED, and at their worst FORCEFUL. whilst abroad, their ambition is to SUPPORT HER OLDER BROTHER AND SEEK A POSITION WORTHY OF HER STATUS AMONGST HER FATHER’S PLANS. SHE seems to remind everyone of BESTE KÖKDEMIR & THE SENSATION OF SILK AGAINST BARE SKIN, THE ROCK OF THE OCEAN SPLASHING AGAINST THE UNDERBELLY OF A SHIP & THE FLUSH OF FEATHERS BEATING AGAINST A GILDED CAGE.❞

and finally… (for now) i offer you the beautiful mihrimah !!

STATS.

full name — mihrimah (persian - ”light of the moon”) sultan (child of the sultan) titles — sultana of the ottoman empire (imperial princess) birthplace — edirne, eastern thrace, ottoman territory age — twenty (20) languages — ottoman turkish (mother-tongue), arabic (fluent), persian (few dialects), ottoman sign language (fluent), english (learning), french (learning), greek (few dialects) dynasty — osman

mother — haseki sultan nehir

father — sultan iskender

spouse — n/a

issue — n/a

siblings — older : unnamed son 🕇 older : melek sultan older : sezhade of the ottoman empire, heir presumptive older : sultana of the ottoman empire younger : ilaldi sultan younger : ayse sultan younger : hafsa sultan younger : emine sultan younger : sittisah sultan younger : beyhan sultan younger : sirin sultan younger : sehzade kasim younger : unborn sultan

other — grandmother : valide sultan mahidevran aunt : hurrem al-barracin consort to iskender : consort hiranur sultan consort to iskender : consort branimira of croatia brother-in-law : grand vizier rondulu selim pasha courtier - potential suitor : second vizier yazid ibrahim basturk pasha harem chief officer : chief steward of the imperial harem courtier : vadim, wallachian boyar of braila

zodiac — gemini religious affiliation — islam face claim — beste kokdemir height — 5′10″ recognisable features — raven locks that fall way past her shoulders, normally covered by a sheer veil but if you see her hair with your naked eye count yourself blessed.

HEADCANNONS

LIFE IN THE HAREM — it is all she has ever known, to be surrounded by love and women who filled her with an inflated ego, a currency known for her beauty and the dulcet tones fit for a woman of her standing. Due to such an upbringing she did not grow up to hate the woman who tore her father’s attention away from herself and her mother, but loyalty was wedged in deep between muscle and bone! The loyalty she upholds for her mother and older brother know no bounds, and may someday be her undoing if the next Sultan does not carry her true blood.

EDUCATION — Educated well, Mihrimah may have made a good Sultan if she had been born a boy. Nonetheless, she used her feminine whims to her advantage. Though, it is perhaps childish to flaunt such beauty in the eyes of men who see it as all they want. With dance and music, she expresses herself - long, delicate fingers playing to the tune to all who dare to listen. Such culture is praised amongst the women of the palace and the Osman dynasty, but Mihrimah plans to use such skills on many unsuspecting men - to wean out the weak from the strong, to unveil the ones who plan to betray her older brother or her father. She is, in her eyes even, a grand piece to the Sultan’s chessboard - if only he plans to use her more often. Her education has provided her with the gumption to take the reigns of an already crowded steps to the throne, but she does not desire such responsibility as of yet. Instead, she seeks to use her tongue (trained in many a language, that may leave the educated advisers of the Western realms at unease). She plans to take to Portugal as an envoy, to act as her father’s spy if needs will it. Though perhaps a spy is far too generous a word since she is not a coy woman and often boasts of her powers and natural features as if there was not an eye to see it.

MUSIC & DANCE — Though music and dance is a passion well-loved by the Sultana, Mihrimah has always found time and obsession with weaving. Her talent is famous amongst the noble ladies of the Ottoman Empire, and often she will display her woven beauties to the visitors and courtiers who peek with nosey eyes. Back within the palace she rarely took a toe outside, the Sultana has her own rooms lined with her art. She is known for it, but some may whisper that she is doomed to spend her life weaving rather than living - such cruel rumours are only laughed off by the Sultana, even if the question of her future hangs heavy around her neck.

LOYALTY — The loyalty she ties to her older brother is immovable. Such trust was born when the two children grew together, sharing tutors and governesses as they ran through the various halls of various estates. To say she loves him is misunderstood, she adores him. To her, he is her Sultan - above their father, and above their mother. But with such love comes danger; if she is to choose between the two men, who should she lay her allegiance with?

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

friends overseas (pen-pals, frenemies, bffs, the lot!), enemies she may sulk around, boys she commands for her own use, allegiances made for her brother the sehzade, allies she may count on to spread her own influence, and perhaps someone who can take her from simple daughter to wife and consort of the utmost importance.

INFLUENCES.

catherine howard (english history) bathsheba (the bible) sirens (folklore) aphrodite (greek mythology) grimhild (norse mythology) ramses (the prince of egypt) amy (young man with a horn) the comforters (rudyard kipling) rachel green (friends) oberyn martell (game of thrones) joan holloway (mad men) amy march (little women) gabrielle solis (desperate housewives) jackie burkhart (that 70s show) buffy summers (buffy the vampire slayer) lady (lady and the tramp) tahani al-jamil (the good place) nala (the lion king) elizabeth swann (pirates of the caribbean) daisy buchanan (the great gatsby) scarlet o’hara (gone with the wind) lydia bennet (pride and prejudice) princess jasmine (aladdin) marie (the aristrocats) madison li (fallout 3) blanche (a streetcar named desire) paula (the winter’s tale, shakespeare) mihrimah sultan (daughter of suleiman i, history)

#crhs.intro #YES #i finally did it #little late but i wanted it out there #hehe #i. / το τελευταίο έγκαυμα ενός λαμπτήρα ελιάς — study.

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helpfullyhelped · 5 years

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ESFP

13 Going On 30 Jenna Rink Aladdin, Disney’s Jasmine Arrow Roy Harper Finding Nemo, Pixar’s Dory Firefly Kaylee Frye Flash, The Cisco Ramon Frozen, Disney’s The Anna Game of Thrones Lady Sansa Stark Game of Thrones Oberyn Martell Lion King, Disney’s The Simba Lucifer Mazikeen Marvel Cinematic Universe Thor Merlin, BBC’s Arthur Once Upon a Time Ariel Once Upon a Time Robin Hood Once Upon a Time Ruby Lucas/Red Peter Pan, Disney’s Tinkerbell Pirates of the Caribbean Elizabeth Swann Pretty Little Liars Hanna Marin Rent Maureen Johnson Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen Marianne Dashwood Shadowhunters: The Mortal Instruments Isabelle Lightwood Star Wars Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker Star Wars Poe Dameron Tudors, The Catherine Howard Tudors, The King Henry VIII

ESFP Jasmine Aladdin ESFP Eric Killmonger Black Panther ESFP Giulia Farnese Borgias, The ESFP Merida Brave ESFP Buffy Summers Buffy ESFP Sam Wilson / Falcon Captain America ESFP Phoebe Halliwell Charmed ESFP Matt Murdock Daredevil ESFP Alexander Grayson Dracula (NBC) ESFP Nemo Finding Nemo / Dory ESFP Kaylee Frye Firefly ESFP Anna Frozen ESFP Theon Greyjoy Game of Thrones ESFP Jamie Lannister Game of Thrones ESFP Obertyn Martell Game of Thrones ESFP Daenaerys Targaryen Game of Thrones ESFP Sookie St. James Gilmore Girls ESFP Finn Hudson Glee ESFP Santana Lopez Glee ESFP Carter Baizen Gossip Girl ESFP Serena Vanderwoodsen Gossip Girl ESFP Richard Cipher Legend of the Seeker ESFP Parker Leverage ESFP Simba Lion King ESFP Nala Lion King, The ESFP Legolas Lord of the Rings ESFP Aurora Maleficent ESFP August. Booth Once Upon a Time ESFP Ruby Once Upon a Time ESFP Brooke Davis One Tree Hill ESFP Desdemona Othello ESFP Elizabeth Swann Pirates of the Carribean ESFP Hanna Martin Pretty Little Liars ESFP Tamina Prince of Persia: Sands of Time ESFP Kenna Reign ESFP Samantha Jones Sex and the City ESFP Amberle Elessendil Shannara Chronicles ESFP Qui Gon Jinn Star Wars ESFP Anakin Skywalker Star Wars ESFP Anne Boleyn Tudors ESFP Katherine Howard Tudors ESFP Sonja Underworld ESFP Lexi Branson Vampire Diaries ESFP Elizabeth Woodsville White Queen ESFP Xena Xena Warrior Princess ESFP Judy Hopps Zootopia

#mbti #esfp

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sunspearesque · 2 months

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Forbidden Fervor

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

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

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

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

WC: 1.9K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#asoiaf #oberyn martell #oberyn martell fanfiction #pedrostories #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell smut #house martell #dorne #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #aura’s fics

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sunspearesque · 3 months

Text

Nectar

Summary: by the Old Gods and the New, there exists no greater solace than the taste of one's lover following a wearisome day.

A/N: happy happy love day lovergals, boys, gays, and theys :D this is the first smutty smut i’m sharing with you as a treat for v-day and i’m so excited for y’all to read it :3 the idea for this smut dawned on me at work and lingered in my mind like a nagging ghost for a whole damned week ‘til i finally wrote it down lol !!! big thank u to my bestie @palioom for beta-ing <3

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); needy!Oberyn; food imitating blood; Wet and Wanting™️; teasing; vaginal fingering; finger sucking; i’m obsessed with his hands and so is she; size kink if you squint; pet names; this man loves to bite, smh; cum eating; a hint of soft!Oberyn

WC: 2.3K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

As night descended upon Dorne, the warmth of the day waned, yielding to the crisp coolness of the evening. Over the past few moons, Oberyn had established a new ritual, one that brought him solace.

Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he retreated to the balcony of their bedchamber, embracing it as a sanctuary. There, he would lounge upon a sumptuous, crimson velvet seat, his eyes fixed upon the vast expanse of the sea unfolding before him—a serene realm of water that seemed to murmur long-held secrets of bygone eras.

This balcony, the largest in the castle, served as a haven of intimacy for Oberyn and Nala. At its center, the aforementioned seat beckoned like a welcoming embrace, bearing witness to the couple's cherished moments. Every night, the chair cradled their forms, offering respite from the day's pressures, while an adjacent table held their favored fruits and wine, a testament to their shared evenings of leisure.

As the hours passed and the weight of council meetings bore down on Oberyn, he would return to their bedchamber, seeking the comfort of her company. There, he would find her already ensconced in the plush chair, her demeanor one of patient anticipation. She was a vision of allure, her raven tresses undulating and cascading down her back as she wore a black chiffon robe. Its fabric was transparent enough to reveal the contours of her body, teasing at the hardened peaks of her breasts and the curve of her ass beneath. Loosely tied at her waist, the robe boasted an open front, offering a drawing view of her cleavage, while its long, wide sleeves added an air of elegance to her form.

As Oberyn drew nearer to the balcony, the lilting melody of her humming reached his ears, and a warm smile crept across his face. There she sat, perched at the edge of the chair, engrossed in the simple task of peeling a pomegranate. The fruit's juices dripped from her hands onto a nearby plate, mirroring the vivid hue of blood beneath the moon's light.

She turned to face him as his presence enveloped the balcony, her eyes alight with warmth and affection. "Greetings," she whispered, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she continued to peel the fruit. His smile mirrored hers, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a display of genuine fondness.

"Greetings, my love," he responded in kind, as he lingered against the balcony wall.

“How did your meetings fare?" she inquired, her attention momentarily on the fruit she was deftly peeling.

"Dull," he admitted with a light chuckle. "I've missed you."

She glanced up at him with a teasing pout, her dark eyes softened. "Oh, my dear husband, ever so eager," she pitied playfully, inclining her head to beckon him closer. "Join me."

With a graceful and somewhat devilish smirk, he accepted her invitation, moving silently to sit behind her. He draped his legs on either side of her, encircling her waist with his arms as he rested his chin on her shoulder, their eyes focused on the fruit she continued to peel.

His lips graced her neck with slow, tender kisses. "I've missed your smell, my sweet girl," he murmured between each caress.

Nala chuckled softly at his words, a warm sensation of desire stirring within her. "I love it when you get this eager for me."

"I'm always this eager for you," he confessed, his breath sending shivers down her spine. His lips found her earlobe, and he sucked gently, coaxing a soft moan from her parted lips.

Her hands still held the pomegranate, its juices slowly staining her fingers. He took her right hand in his, his grip encompassing hers as he lifted it to his face. "I’ve never craved blood as much as I crave it now on your fingers," he confessed. He took her thumb into his mouth, sucking the sweet pomegranate juice clean from her digit. He repeated the sensuous act for each of her fingers on her right hand before moving on to her left. Nala's thighs squeezed together involuntarily as she felt the teasing warmth of his tongue on her fingers, a primal ache building between her thighs. He noticed that, and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips.

Relishing in the intoxicating closeness they shared, he shifted to rest his back against the plush chair. Spreading his legs, he created a welcoming space for her. She moved with grace and settled between his legs, her back pressed to his firm chest. She let out a contented hum, reveling in the sensation of his warm embrace.

His wandering hand traced a path down the light fabric of her robe, slipping beneath the material to cup the tender swell of her breast. He squeezed it gently at first, eliciting a soft gasp from her, before his calloused fingers danced over her hardened nipple.

"Oberyn..." Her voice quivered with pleasure as she closed her eyes, savoring the delicious sensation of his touch, a craving that had consumed her throughout the day.

His voice, laced with desire, broke through the silence of the night. "Why are you wearing this robe?" he asked, hoarsely. He squeezed her breast a bit harder, urging her to answer.

"For you, my love," she breathed, her voice now shaky. "I’m aware it's your favored one."

A deep groan escaped him as he lowered himself down, his strong fingers turning her face to meet his. Their lips crashed together in a passionate, fervent kiss. Oberyn's tongue delved into her mouth, savoring the mingling flavors of wine and pomegranate.

"You wore it for me, my love?" he murmured against her lips, the intensity of his kiss unwavering. "Do you long for me to stretch this sweet little cunt of yours?"

Her moans were muffled as he continued to kiss her with unbridled ardor.

He reluctantly parted from her, allowing her to catch her breath. "Please, my prince," she whined, her lips now blushed and swollen from his relentless ministrations.

"Who's eager now?" he teased, a devilish smile playing on his lips. His hand began to creep down the fabric of her robe, and her thighs instinctively parted, welcoming his touch.

Beneath the fabric, her skin felt warm and inviting, quivering as his rough, calloused fingers delicately traced her inner thighs. He sought to drown in her essence, to immerse himself in her body and her very being.

"My love..." she whispered, her fingers extending to circle his wrist and guide his hand to the heated core between her thighs. He cupped her mound with his right hand, his touch sending waves of desire coursing through her.

Leaning slightly toward her, he brought his lips closer to her neck, which she had willingly tilted back to rest upon his shoulder, offering him greater access. He rewarded her obedience with gentle bites to her neck, a quiet hum escaping his lips. He followed with open-mouthed kisses, tracing a path over the reddened bite marks with slow, deliberate sensuality.

She writhed between his legs, his towering presence engulfing her in his embrace. His shoulders, broad and formidable like a fortress, held her securely from behind, anchoring her in place. His hands, enormous and veined. His veins seemed to grow even more pronounced when he was impassioned or fervent—an occurrence not so infrequent. Yet, even amidst the intensity, his fingers, though calloused from years of training and combat, possessed a gentle touch as if she were a precious gem, and indeed, she was his most cherished gem.

His voice, normally hoarse and commanding as befitting a prince, now softened into a gentle coo reserved only for her. His sharp, dagger-like gaze, which could pierce through steel, melted into a tender look whenever he directed it at her. This shift in his demeanor and temperament had the power to dissolve her resistance, causing her to surrender the control she had always been hesitant to yield to anyone, not even to herself, until she met him.

He smelled like home, like the earth, or burnt wood or warm amber; that enveloped her like a comforting embrace. His scent permeated everything around her—their shared bed, their wardrobe, and the very air their child breathed. His scent was a reassuring familiarity, and the familiar was always a welcome comfort. She adored the moments when she started to smell like him whenever he was through with her, smelling like his skin, his sweat, and his cum; a fragrant reminder of his presence that stubbornly marked her mind, her heart, her skin, and her cunt.

His touch grew firmer on her mound, coaxing a moan from her as he felt her thighs quiver between his legs. Wetness pooled on his palm, a testament to her desire surging with each passing moment. His voice, low and sultry, brushed against her ear like a warm breeze, sending shivers down her spine. "She's weeping, my love," he whispered, his breath hot against her shell, "Open your eyes, Nala, look at her." With a subtle lift of his hand, he showcased his glistening palm, soaked in her slick, illuminated by the pale moonlight. She obeyed, her eyes fluttering open for a fleeting second before lazily turning her gaze towards his ear nestled behind her. "That's what your love does to her," she whispered, "She's aching, my prince." Her words dissolved into a whine that elicited a guttural groan from him. His grip on her jaw tightened, his fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, as he claimed her lips once more, kissing her with a consuming hunger that devoured her moans and left her panting when he finally released her.

His hand continued its sensual caress back on her cunt, tracing the contours of her wet folds with serpentine grace, massaging every ridge of her sex. His fingers moved with purpose, gliding up and down, feeling her clench around nothing each time he hovered dangerously close to her entrance. Veering away from her sensitive clit, a deliberate tease that left her trembling and yearning for more. Tears welled in her eyes as the unbearable ache intensified, her face nuzzling into the comforting crook of his neck as she stifled pathetic whines, murmuring pleas that spilled like a desperate prayer.

"Oh, I know, my sweet girl," he cooed, his lips brushing tenderly against her temple. His fingers continued to work their magic, gently parting her soaked folds, feeling the pool of wetness growing obscenely larger. His voice, muffled by the curtain of her hair, reached her ears as he asked, "What do you want, Nala? Speak to me."

"The teasing, my prince… It pains me," she whimpered.

He pressed a single finger against her hungry hole, a featherlight motion that allowed him to feel the eager embrace of her cunt, drawing him in deeper and deeper. Adding a second finger, he relished in the sound of her gasps and felt the grip of her fingers on his trousers, her nails digging into his thighs with a delightful sting. Her hands marked him as hers, forever claimed by her touch.

"Obery—" her voice began, but it was swiftly overtaken by a strained moan as his thumb finally found her throbbing clit.

Finally, finally, by the Seven, Oberyn.

Her eyes squeezed shut again, and her lips parted as she threw her head back onto his shoulder, her body instinctively spreading her thighs wider, a silent plea for more, an insatiable need that begged to be sated.

His thumb began to draw slow, lazy circles on her clit, all the while continuing his gentle pumping of his digits into her, starting to hear the sultry squelch of her slick.

"I will never tire of hearing your sweet moans when I stretch you," he breathed into her ear. "Do you find pleasure when I stretch you, hm? When I fill you up with my hands, my cock, and my seed?" he purred the question, his skilled ministrations unabating.

Her response was a chorus of "Yes, yes, yes," echoing in her mind and heart, the words unspoken but fervently felt.

He brought his other hand up toward her face, and she eagerly took his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it with a moan. Her lips created a seductive rhythm that mirrored the movements of his fingers between her thighs. Her body tightened around his intruding digits, a sign that her orgasm was approaching. He quickened his pace, adding a third finger and intensifying the circle he traced around her clit, driving her closer to ecstasy with every movement.

"Give it to me, princess," he growled through clenched teeth, the urgency in his voice matching the pace of his fingers. "Give your prince your sweet cum. I want it, I want to taste it, to drink it… Make me drunk on you."

Her grip on his thighs tightened to the brink of pain, and she began to tremble uncontrollably between his legs. Her release washed over her in waves as she came, crying out his name over and over again.

Withdrawing his hand from her throbbing cunt, he bent her forward, away from his chest, until she rested on her stomach, her hips raised and her lush ass presented invitingly to him. From behind, he eagerly lapped up every drop of her cum, his tongue caressing her soaked folds and trailing sensually to her tight, puckered ring of muscles. He drank greedily, savoring the taste of her release as she mumbled incoherently beneath him.

He pulled her back into his chest and turned her within his lap, pressing her chest against his, his rough hand tenderly cradling the back of her head as he peppered her cheeks and temples with sweet kisses. She melted limply in his arms, and he whispered, "I will always be eager for you," as she hummed contentedly against him.

#asoiaf #oberyn martell fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #pedrostories #oberyn martell #game of thrones #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell smut #house martell #dorne #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #valentines day #aura’s fics

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sunspearesque · 3 months

Text

Fruitful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Exotic," he smirked.

"And oranges."

The Next Morning...

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

"Yes, my prince."

Two Years Have Passed...

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

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

"I love them." Nala whispered.

"I love you more," he thought.

A Few Years Later...

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, come on with me."

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

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

"Climb onto my shoulders, my love."

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

"And your back?" she reminded him cautiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can you reach them?" he inquired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because that’s what your love does to me.

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sunspearesque · 2 months

Text

‘Tis You, My Great Love

Summary: I've been betrothed to fear since the mists of memory, “the bride of despair,” they named me. And there, by the shore, you found me… sorrow veiling my face, and wounds blooming like tulips in my hands. But lo, you, my great love, now stand, lifting the veil and bidding my fears depart with each tender kiss. “Stay,” I say, “stay for all eternity.”

A/N: hello hello beautiful friends!!! i wrote this piece while feeling extremely sentimental and sappy after a conversation about motherhood with my best friend.. i was contemplating motherhood, marriage, and intimacy in general, but then tried to imagine how that would translate to Nala's and Oberyn's relationship.. so, this fic is mainly fluff with a sprinkle of smut :3 and lots of poetic dreams… hope you enjoy it! <3

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); talks of motherhood; fear of loss and abandonment; fear of motherhood; talks of dreams; pregnancy; childbirth; fluff on steroids with a sprinkle of smut; dad!oberyn (my favorite oberyn to write); brief p in v sex; oral (m!receiving); breeding kink

WC: 2.6K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

“Love me so strongly that the echoes come to me here, at night, in the hours of insomnia, where I am waiting for you. I kiss you, I kiss you madly.” — Albert Camus to Maria Casares, Correspondence, January 9, 1950

His breath, slow and warm, caressed her neck as he nestled closer. His arms, like bands of fire, encircled her soft belly. With a grip as tight as the grasp of a man fearing the loss of paradise slipping through his fingers, he held her close, as if she might vanish like the elusive dream of Eden he chased in his sleep. Just when he thought he could taste its waters, they turned to fire, scorching his throat and consuming him in flames, jolting him awake from his slumber. Yet now, she mused, he sleeps peacefully.

She traced her finger over the scar adorning his shoulder, much like the marks she bore on her own body from bearing their son—for when love leaves its mark upon us, not even the shadow of fear can erase it.

Her fingers deftly threaded through his raven locks, prompting a soft hum from him as she pressed a tender kiss upon his brow. Never before had she known such serenity, as sleep gently stole her away in his arms.

—

The sun, basking in its warm and inviting glow, reached its luminous tendrils into the chambers of their castle. The soft sounds of nature at dawn whispered promises of new beginnings. These beginnings ushered in healing and prosperity to souls who had yearned for the clasp of death for so long, forgetting how to revel in life's joys and surrender to its tender embrace.

Life in Dorne, akin to a nurturing mother, a goddess, a woman… the dunes of sand beneath their calloused feet, and the blazing sun in the sky, stood as an impregnable fortress of strength akin to Nymeria, their burning star. She was the mother of both land and people, her warmth forging indomitable resolve within her children. She is the sun—their sun blazing fiercely, instilling in them an unyielding grit against any rival, yet within their hearts lay a gentle warmth that embraced love as steadfastly as a sacred oath.

And like the sun and the earth and Nymeria, Nala harbored the urges of motherhood within her, which was a concept that she held in reverence, yet it also stirred a deep sense of dread within her. She longed for the life burgeoning deep inside of her, for a part of herself to wander this realm and embrace life under her vigilant care and unwavering devotion. However, she couldn't shake the haunting memory of how motherhood had claimed her own mother's life, how she harbored guilt for the tragic fate her mother endured.

If only I hadn't been, she might have fled the castle and escaped her dire end...

This lingering wound within her soul was the sole reason she had shunned the idea of bearing children until she met him.

He, adorned in all his splendor, tended to her wounded soul the very instant he professed his love to her, at a time when he himself was most in need of solace. This bastion of a man, generous, gracious, and gallant, freely bestowed his love, protection, and tenderness, even amidst the shadows of his wrath and vengeance.

For you, my great love, I ache with an unbearable keenness, feeling the wounds within me slowly mend, sewn shut with the thread of your love—a needle of devotion stitching together my injured being. Though painful, it is an insatiable need, a piercing sting I have yearned for throughout the passing years. It closes the chasm within me, that gaping void where the winds of despair and sorrow once freely roamed, leaving me as naught but a specter, undeserving of love, joy, or autonomy.

Your love, my great love, is what ignited within me a hunger for life after an endless fast of fear—fear of loss and abandonment. Your love bestowed upon me the strength to embrace love once more, despite the inevitable sacrifices. Did you know that you visited me in my dreams? You kissed me with such tenderness and held me close. “I was adrift,” I told you, my voice laden with fear, “take me..” I whispered, “Take me with you.”

When she pledged herself to him in marriage, she knew she needed to fear no one beneath the gaze of Gods and men. With him by her side, no rivals could breach her defenses; even in death, his spirit would haunt any who dared to harm her through all Seven Hells and beyond.

You told me once, do you recall? As we strolled the shores, my steps were heavy with dread or joy, or perhaps it was the dread of the joy that awaited me. I struggle to remember the last time genuine happiness graced my soul before that day. When the sweet taste of happiness touched my sorrow-laden lips, I froze in place, wary that this cruel existence might snatch it away, as it so often does.

You whispered to me, my great love, your love with such fervor, you told me how it frightened you, unable to resist the pull of our inevitable fate. “How could I?” you pondered, “You are inescapable.” You told me that sorrow is the price of love; to shun one is to forsake the other. Yet, you vowed not to evade me, you kissed me and swore to me that you would not allow my love to elude your grasp.

You told me how I melt into your dreams, whisking you away in my embrace mere seconds before the phantom hands could encircle your throat. Those same hands, which once tormented you each night, wrenching you from slumber, now find themselves impotent against your newfound peace. You impute to me your salvation, though I doubted my own. You rekindled a dormant tenderness within me, long thought doused by the harshness of life. ‘tis you, my great love, who rescued me… It was not I who saved you, but you who saved me.

She recalled a day they spent amidst the Water Gardens, a few moons past:

Reclining upon the grass, the soothing melody of a nearby water fountain lulled her into a serene state of repose. The laughter of Dorea and Loreza filled her ears, joyfully engaged in play with their father. Nala shut her eyes, savoring this heartening moment with those she holds most dear.

“W–Wait, papa, wait,” Dorea uttered between pants, attempting to conceal her sweet giggles. “I heard Arianne say that you engage in battles,” she inquired, her small hand resting on her waist as she sought to extract the truth from him.

“Yes, I do,” Oberyn replied, seated on the grass, attempting to catch his breath after chasing them all morning. “Why would Arianne tell you that?” He narrowed his eyes at his daughter, intrigued by the smirk that widened before Loreza jumped on his back, encircling his neck and hanging from it, ambushing him. “Papa, fight!”

Nala opened her eyes to witness the victorious father, besieged by little hands and tiny feet, playfully striking his stomach and chest, surrounded by laughter that compelled him to yield, lying flat on his back.

Dorea brandished a stick of wood, pointing it at his face, and murmured, “Surrender!” with a broad, toothy grin. Loreza, seizing the opportunity, delivered a playful punch to his soft middle. “I surrender, my lady, I surrender!” he exclaimed with feigned fear and defeat, eliciting more giggles from Loreza. “Have mercy on this old man, my lady, please!” he continued, jesting while maintaining his scared demeanor.

“Loreza,” Dorea commanded with a stern expression, feigning seriousness, “this soldier will join our army,” attempting a deep, authoritative voice. At that moment, Oberyn stealthily swept them both from their feet and hoisted them onto his shoulders, prompting a chorus of screams and laughter. “You shall never trust your enemy, girls,” he declared, his voice playfully admonishing.

Her faith in his paternal prowess never wavered, evidenced by his eight resilient daughters. He showered them with love and fierceness to such an extent that Nala's own heart ached with longing to bear his child—a primal yearning that twisted within her.

Each time he lay with her, she offered fervent prayers to the Gods, beseeching them, “Grant this union fruitfulness, let it take, let life flourish abundantly within me.”

When the soft stirrings of life within her ignited a radiant glow from deep within, his love grew even more tender, gentle, and expansive; even greater than the swell of her stomach. She marveled at the dichotomy of this fierce and dreaded man seeping such tenderness. How could hands, once stained with the blood of his foes and weathered by battle, now caress her with such delicate care, as if she were the most delicate of petals?

“Tell me,” he panted as he thrust into her, “Tell me how much you love me, Nala.”

“I do,” she said, her words strained with pleasure, melding into a moan, “I do, my viper, I adore you.”

As she entered the throes of labor, he sat steadfastly behind her, his legs parted to rest on her sides supporting her back against his chest, his words of praise gently murmured into her ear. Amidst his curses at the Gods, he avidly wished to shoulder her pain, to bear it in her stead.

When they were greeted by the piercing cries of the fruit of their love—a child, glorious and perfect in every way, red and squealing, a reflection of his father in demeanor, soul, and visage—she cradled him in her arms, while Oberyn enveloped them both in his protective embrace.

Their eyes locked upon the tiny, fragile form before them, and as a rare tear escaped his forbearing facade, she reached out to brush it from his cheek. With a tender whisper, she said, “Look, my love, he bears your likeness.”

She reclined upon her side, nursing their son at her breast, nestled between herself and Oberyn. His gaze lingered upon the tender scene, his eyes laden with unspoken emotions that he dared not voice, lest tears betray him.

Do you remember, my great love? Do you remember how the fear wilted, its head bowed in shame? The fear that once gripped me, releasing my hand as it gazed upon you with eyes filled with dread.

“Fret not,” you whispered to me while I sat in sorrow by your side. Though you lay in a deep slumber for days, your voice broke through the darkness just when I feared I might never hear it again. When all semblance of peace metamorphosed into a looming specter, jeering at me, taunting my joy and desperation. “Oh, you naive child,” it sneered with a voice steeped in bitterness. “I am no child,” I retorted, yet I felt the weight of my old fears returning. “You never learn,” it spat, before your voice shielded me from impending despair. You whispered, “Fret not,” and I believed you, my great love, as I always do.

And now look... Look at him... How can one lay bare their heart to the world, a heart with little hands and tiny feet, and not fret?

—

Gently opening her eyes, she sensed the chill of the empty space beside her—a void she cursed and despised. Rising slowly from her slumber, she beheld him: bare-chested, glorious, as beautiful as a man can be, cradling their son in his arms.

Their embrace enveloped them in warmth, their skins melding as one, while the soft cooing of their child resonated faintly in the chamber's silence. Amidst the peaceful atmosphere, punctuated only by the hushed footsteps of her husband and the tender sounds of their boy, her heart pounded within her chest like a Sand Steed galloping across the Dornish plains, threatening to burst forth. The love she felt surged within her, surpassing all expectations, growing fiercer, more profound—unbearable. It was a love that dissolved her fears like the northern snows beneath the scorching sun.

In the treasured instants shared with his children, Oberyn found solace in moments where the chaos of the world faded into oblivion. Each time they gathered around him, their youthful spirits ignited a spark of joy within him, particularly in those tender early years when they sought refuge in their father's arms. Yet, amidst this warmth, a pang of sorrow lingered as he gazed upon his son, his thoughts drifting to memories of his nephew Aegon, the son of his sweet sister Elia.

He couldn't help but imagine how Aegon might have flourished had fate been kinder to him or his sister or their mother. A gentle touch from Nala drew him back from his sorrowful reverie, and as he turned to meet her tender smile, he leaned in to press a soft kiss upon her lips, mindful not to disturb the slumbering child cradled in his embrace.

“Why did you not awaken me, my love?” Nala murmured, her gaze tenderly fixed upon their son.

“I wished for you to rest,” he replied softly, his eyes warm as they met hers, before he moved to lay their child gently in his crib, nestling him into the plush bedding.

Returning to their bed, he settled himself against the sturdy wooden frame, patting the mattress beside him, inviting her to join him. She approached, crawling between his legs, prompting a raised brow and a smirk from him. “And what might you be doing?” he inquired.

“I long to savor you,” she declared simply, positioned between his spread legs and deftly undoing his breeches.

“And your wounds, my love?” he gently reminded her. “You are not fully healed yet.”

“This will be my remedy,” she replied, her voice hoarse and tinged with sleep and yearning, almost on the edge of a whine.

She felt his cock swell and throb in her grasp, searing and already slick with desire. With gentle strokes of her hand, she evoked muffled groans from him, meeting his gaze as she whispered, “I love you beyond reckoning…”

Lowering her head to his glistening tip, she teased the slit with tiny licks, relishing every drop of his precum. His head fell back, a deep moan escaping his lips before she buried him in her mouth.

She swallowed him deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed within her throat, his leg jerked beside her as she moved him in and out of her wet and wanting mouth. A low hum accompanied her fervent ministrations, her hand tenderly caressing his soft belly, a part of him she had adored over the years.

Pulling him from her drooling mouth to catch her breath, she panted between words, “If not for my wounds, I would not have wasted your seed anywhere but deep within my cunt,” she licked his sensitive tip, and he whimpered quietly, “taking me day and night… today and tomorrow and the day after, and spilling your seed within me over and over ‘til it takes,” she confessed before taking him again, squeezing him within her tight throat, his primal groans filling the air and filling her with an immense sense of pride at her actions.

She swallowed around him once, then twice, until she felt his warm, salty cum spurt into her eager throat, eliciting a guttural growl from him as he filled her up and came down from his climax. She withdrew his softened cock from her mouth, gathering the seeping cum from the corners of her lips before eagerly sucking her digit clean. Crawling up to lie atop him, she rested her head upon his heaving chest, pressing kisses to his golden skin. He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly, yearning to merge with her until they became one.

You, my great love, ‘tis you who will always reign until the end of times, in every lifetime, in every plane of existence.

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