Oberyn Martell: “I’m here to avenge my sister, who was slain by Gregor Clegane.”
Also Oberyn Martell: *does a bunch of cool spinning tricks with his spear to hype the crowd up*
Baelor Targaryen: “I will take Ser Duncan’s side since he protected the innocent!”
Also Baelor Targaryen: *waits until Ser Dunk gets very desperate with his pleas for a volunteer from the crowd, then when the crowd is fully amped up, rides in like a badass*
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So what’s the takeaway here? House Martell and the Dornish are theatrical.
Day Twenty Nine of Pedrotober 2025 - Prompt Purple or Prince
PEDROTOBER 2025
Our man is our prince, & I know it was meant to be a prompt for the myth that was the musician, but Oberyn had to appear this month. I also wrote this Fic in the summer but we had so much content & Pedro stuff I saved it & have made it also incorporate some purple to it.
Synopsis:- Oberyn is one of your clients at the brothel but will he stick to your rules.
Word Count:- 3600
Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! THIS IS FILTH! You are a brothel worker therefore Oberyn takes advantage & has lots of PIV sex with you. Payment for services. Swearing, alcohol, power swap, rule breaking. Yea it’s primal & raw.
You ain’t ready for this, you really are not. Thank you all for reading this. If you haven’t combusted please come back for tomorrow & then the finale of Pedrotober.
It’s late. The kind of late where the lanterns outside the brothel burn low, casting golden light against velvet curtains, the air thick with incense, sweat & satisfaction. Moans bounce off every wall reverberating the friction.
You’re on your knees, cheek pressed to the plush of the mattress, back arched, thighs trembling. Oberyn is behind you, all muscle radiating heat, filled with focus, his hands gripping your hips like he’s balancing poetry & war which is his specialty.
He fucks like he fights: with control, with fire, like he’s proving something. Like he’s testing your body for truths it doesn’t speak aloud.
You don’t make much noise. Not for him. Not for anyone. You learned long ago that silence is its own kind of power. But your body gives you away in the end, the way you clutch the purple sheets, purple for royalty, the way you shake when he thrusts deep & doesn’t pull back. His signature, an orgasm for you every time. His own a stutter moments later. A sensational unmatched.
When he finishes, he stays still for just a moment. One palm flattens against the small of your back, hot & heavy, only there for a few seconds before it’s gone. The weight of him disappears behind you.
You don’t move. Not until you hear the rustle of coin. Not until the silk pouch, embossed in gold stitches, thuds onto the side table, just loud enough to mean paid in full. There is no kiss. There never is. Not from him. Not to you.
He dresses in silence, methodical, quick. You don’t watch. You’ve seen it before, the slow pull of his shirt over his shoulders, the gleam of sweat at his collarbone, the practiced ease of a man who knows exactly how good he looks & doesn’t need to be told. You’ve both been doing this for to long. It’s business & pleasure at the same time.
When he leaves, he doesn’t look back. The door clicks shut.
You lie there for a long time afterward, the scent of him still clinging to your skin, your lips untouched. As always. Lying in the glow of your pleasure.
After your next liaison with the prince, You’re on your knees, your mouth still tingling with the taste of him. Oberyn is sprawled across the edge of the bed, one hand gripping the back of your head as he comes apart, breathless & wrecked in the low candlelight. When he exhales, it’s long, slow, his whole body unwinding with a Shudder.
You rise smoothly, wiping your mouth with a silk cloth before slipping your robe back over your shoulders. A gift from him, purple with gold sewn into it. A thank you for all the pleasure he likes his conquests to receive the best even if someone in a brothel. He watches you through half-lidded eyes as he redresses, loose linen sun-drenched shirt half-tucked, a thin gold chain catching the light against his collarbone.
Then, casually, a little too casually, he asks, “Why won’t you kiss me?”
You don’t look at him at first. Just smooth your hair back, adjusting your robe. “It’s too personal.”
That makes him pause. You can feel the weight of his stare. “Too personal,” he repeats, slow & skeptical. “But I come inside you.”
You arch a brow. “So does every man who pays.” Then, calmly: “You don’t get special treatment just because you’re a prince.”
Silence. It fills the room as he realises. His coin is worth the same as everyone else & therefore his service is the same too.
You don’t think He is insulted. Not really. But his jaw tightens, you catch it. His pride flexes like a twitch beneath the skin. No one’s said no to him in a long time. Especially not like that. Clean. Unapologetic. True.
You turn to face him now, standing tall, arms loose at your sides, every inch of you calm & in control. “That kind of kiss? The real kind? I don’t sell that.”
He buttons his shirt slowly, his eyes fixed on you now, something darker there, not lust exactly, but interest. Hunger of another kind. You step closer. Just enough that he can smell your skin which smells of him. “You want it because I won’t give it. Admit it.”
Oberyn’s smirk is back, but it’s tighter now. Thoughtful.
“You think I’m so simple?”
You smile. “No. I think you’re used to being worshipped. But I don’t do that either.”
He chuckles. Low. Dangerous. “I think you do,” he murmurs, “just… in your own way.”
You turn away before he can read too much in your expression. You shouldn’t have favourite clients but he’s up there for lots of reasons. “If you’re looking for affection, my prince, try the twins upstairs. They’ll kiss you until you forget your name.”
He lingers. For a few seconds thinking. He Watches to see if you have any further reaction. Then finally leaves, slower this time. No flourish.
But the thing is? Oberyn always gets what he wants, forbidden or not.
Some days later, moans echo down the hallway, sharp, guttural, unmistakably Oberyn. But it’s not because he is with you. He’s loud on purpose. He knows you’re in earshot.
The new girl’s laughter is breathless, naive. You don’t blame her. She’s probably overwhelmed, his hands, his mouth, the deliberate patience he can show when he’s in the mood to ruin someone soft. She’s not going to be able to walk for a week, she’s going to be sore. She will be giving oral & getting off with other women for the next few days.
But upon hearing the cries you don’t flinch. You don’t look up from reading the book you had previously been gifted by him, full of new sexual positions to try to bring pleasure. Just adjust your legs where you’re reclined on the velvet chaise, the purple robes parted & lazily draped, sipping wine without hurry.
Eventually, hours later, after the sun’s dipped & most patrons are gone, the door to your room swings open.
He enters like a storm. You don’t even glance up.
The girl at his side, still flushed, giggling, lip-bitten, bliss-drunk, & with his seed tripping down her thighs, moves to follow, but his arm snaps out like a blade.
“Out.” His voice is low. Not cruel, but unmistakably final. She stumbles back, pouting slightly, but obeys. Hopefully she’s going to go get cleaned up, but you know she’s new & needs the money. She will be on all fours being taken roughly by a solider in matter of minutes.
The door shuts. Silence falls. Heavy.
Oberyn stands there in the center of the room, chest rising & falling. Still buttoning his shirt. His hair is mussed, jaw tight. He looks at you like you’ve denied him oxygen.
You finally look up from your seat. Raise an eyebrow. “Problem?”
He doesn’t answer. Just paces. Like a man trying to swallow something bitter. Like he’s burning.
“I’m always satisfied,” he says sharply. “That’s never the problem.”
You sip your wine. Say nothing.
He moves closer, hands fisting at his sides. “They let me touch them. Kiss them. Fuck them however I want. But you…”
He gestures to you like you’re some unsolvable riddle. “You treat me like I’m anyone. Like I’m no one.”
Your eyes meet his. Calm. Unshaken. “I treat you like a man.” You then look him up & down.
“that’s what bothers me?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Oberyn exhales hard. Walks behind you. Then stops. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. His voice drops.
“Do you know what it does to me… knowing everyone else melts the second I reach for them, but you…” He leans in, lips near your ear. “You make me beg without saying a word.”
You smile faintly. “& yet you keep coming back.”
His silence is the loudest answer of all.
You’re still in your chair. Still untouched. Still in the regal purple robe he gifted.But he’s pacing behind you like a caged predator.
You glance up slowly, take him in, the flared nostrils, clenched jaw, the slight flush of his cheeks. He’s vibrating with restraint, rage & want.
Finally, he speaks, low & rough.
“I want to kiss you.”
You don’t blink. “You know the rules, my Prince.”
His eyes narrow, voice sharp. “I know. I’ve known since the first time I fucked you.”
You hum, unbothered. “& yet here you are.”
Oberyn steps closer. Drops to a crouch in front of you, hands on your thighs. You smell the sweat on him from his last fuck.But still, doesn’t touch your lips. Not yet.
“Please.”
Your breath catches. Just slightly. His eyes are molten now. “Please,” he says again, softer. “Let me kiss you. Once. I’ll beg all night if I have to. I’ll pay every coin in Dorne.”
His fingers press into your skin. “Just once. Just you.”
You hesitate. Let it hang there. Watch him ache. You like it when they are needy & desperate.
Then as slow as smoke on the northern sea, you lean in. Just enough that your mouths nearly brush.
“Only if you understand,” you whisper, “you’ll never be the same after.”
He groans like he’s in pain. “I’m already ruined.” His gulp is sharp.
Then you kiss him. & it wrecks him beyond compare.
No careful control, no princely posture, Oberyn devours your mouth. Desperate, messy, deep. Tongue & teeth, groans swallowed between gasps. His hands are in your hair, on your face, gripping like he needs proof you’re real.
You’re kissing like you want to devour each other from the inside out. Like this is what it’s always been about.
That’s when he lifts you.
Strong arms, fast, determined. You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He carries you to the bed like he’s out of time, lips never leaving yours.
He lays you down. Rips open his pants, growling, “You’ll feel me for days.” You shimmy off your purple robe & your legs part ready for pleasure. He likes what he sees.
He slides inside you in one deep, brutal stroke, still kissing you. it’s as if the world splits. You arch under him, moaning into his mouth, your body clinging tight, stretched and wet around him.
He doesn’t hold back. He slams into you, over & over, groaning against your lips, never breaking the kiss. He fucks you like he owns the air you breathe. Like your mouth is holy. Like the taste of you has rewritten his dna.
You can’t think. Can’t breathe. You just cling to him, taking every thrust, moaning into his mouth, dizzy from the heat & the hunger, experiencing the feel of him everywhere.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to pant against your cheek.
“You’ll never say no again. Not after this. Not after me.”
You try to speak but you cant, Just whimper his name. Oberyn smiles like a man who’s finally claimed his prize. Soon he’s satisfied & your lay ruined on the bed wondering what will happen next.
Oberyn is not a patient man though. As soon as you stop shaking he’s deep inside you again.
His body moves like it’s answering something ancient. Like this rhythm, this pressure, this heat, has always existed in him but only you unlocked it. His thrusts are long, slow at first, drawing the pleasure out, but every time your nails rake down his back, he loses more control.
You’re clinging to him, legs wrapped tight around his hips, your mouth still swollen from his kiss. He doesn’t stop touching you, fingers digging into your waist, then your thighs, then up, over your ribs like he’s chasing your heartbeat.
“Tell me,” he pants. “Tell me you feel it too.”
You nod, gasping, fingers buried in his curls. “It’s… oooh fuck,,,it’s too much…”
He groans, deep in his throat, & you feel it echo all the way down where he’s buried thick & pulsing inside you.
He fucks you harder now, not rough, not violent, just unapologetic. Desperate to get deeper, closer, under your skin.
Your moans mix with his. Each thrust hits just right, your back arching, your walls fluttering around him. You’re right there, teetering on another climax, he feels it. Sees it in your face. Smirks like a man on the edge of a high.
“Come on, baby,” he grits out, pressing his forehead to yours. “Come for me. I want to feel you take me.”
Your body shakes. It builds like a storm inside you, until it can’t contain itself & snaps.
You cry out, mouth falling open, body clenching around him in waves that make him curse. Your nails dig into his back, thighs trembling, breath lost. And it pushes him over.
Oberyn groans, shuddering hard as he spills inside you, hips grinding in deep, chasing every last pulse of it. His whole body locks up with the force of it, & for a moment, it’s like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
He collapses over you, still inside, chests heaving, sweat-slick skin sticking together.
Then he kisses you again, it’s softer this time, but no less intense. Lips slow, reverent, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you now that he’s allowed to.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown, lips red, body still twitching with aftershocks.
“Fuck,” he breathes, stroking your cheek. “I get it now.”
You blink, barely able to speak.
“Get what?”
He smirks, slow & dangerous, still catching his breath.
“Why no one kisses you. Why they’re scared to.”He leans in, nuzzles against your mouth again. “You’re a drug, baby.” He slides his hips just slightly. He’s still thick & hard inside you it makes you gasp again, over-sensitive.
“That’s why I have to keep fucking you,” he murmurs darkly, possessive, voice like molten sin. “Because one kiss & I can’t stop.” But he does, shortly after this he pays his coin plus extra for you to show that the forbidden kiss was worth every
It’s been days. Five, to be exact.
The brothel has carried on without you, laughter in the halls, bodies brushing past velvet curtains, but your room has stayed quiet. No clients. No men. No games. Just silence.
You haven’t said it aloud, but everyone knows not to bother you. The other girls cast you long glances. Curious. Jealous. Some even nervous. You haven’t seen him since that night. Not a word. Not a trace of his scent in the halls. No boots clicking on the tile. No silver voice murmuring sinful promises, & yet… you feel him. Like a memory that won’t fade.
Then, just as the sun dips behind the mountains & the lanterns are being lit, there’s a sound at the front.
Heavy boots. Confident steps. You don’t rise from the bed. You don’t need to.
You hear the girls greet him. Soft giggles. The flutter of hands. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even speak. You hear someone say, “She’s not seeing anyone tonight…”
Thats when the door opens. Oberyn Martell stands in the doorway.No smirk. No flourish. Just him. Shadowed by candlelight. Watching you.
You rise slowly.
No words. You untie your purple robe. Letting it fall.
His eyes devour you, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. He waits, for once. Every line of his body coiled and still.
You walk to him, bare feet silent on the floor.
Still no words. Then without flourish, without permission, you reach up, thread your fingers into his hair, & kiss him.
Not a tease. Not a test.
A kiss that says this is yours. I’m choosing you.
He groans into it like he’s dying, grabbing your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His hand on your skin making you tremble more than before. His mouth opens to yours, tongue sweeping against yours, deep, hungry & full of something neither of you can name.
You kiss him like you mean to ruin him, & the best part? You already have.
When you finally pull back, lips wet & breath short, he stares at you, completely undone.
You whisper, “No rules tonight.” Three simple words, that’s all it takes.
His large hands are grab your skin. You’re lifted in a blink. Oberyn carries you to the bed like a man who’s been starving for days & has finally found the feast meant only for him.
His mouth is on yours before your back touches the mattress. The taste of him is dizzying, like red wine, heat, & sin. He kisses like he fights: fiercely, without pause, like every second matters. You match him, breath for breath, tongue for tongue. Fingers in his hair, pulling hard.
You moan into his mouth & he growls in return, grinding against you, the rigid line of his cock dragging against your thigh.
“Oberyn…”you gasp.
He bites your lower lip gently & pulls back just enough to look at you.
“I’ve fucked you before,” he breathes, voice wrecked, “but not like this. Not when I was starving.”
He is everywhere. His mouth devours your neck, your collarbone, your chest, his tongue lapping, his teeth grazing. Your skin already slick from the heat between you. His hands are roaming, possessive, reverent, palming your breasts, gripping your waist like he owns every inch.
You arch into him, needy, desperate, & he groans like you’ve just cut him open. He reaches between your legs, fingers sliding through wetness that’s been building for days.
“Fucking soaked for me,” he growls against your ear. “You’ve been waiting.”
You whimper. “You didn’t come for anyone else.”
That’s all it takes. He shifts, tears his trousers down just enough, & lines himself up. You wrap your legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.
He pushes inside.
Deep. Slow. All of him.
You gasp, arch, clutch him tighter. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause. Just keeps moving until he’s buried in you to the hilt, every inch stretching you wide.
Oberyn is panting above you now, sweat dripping from his brow, his jaw clenched tight. You rock your hips against him & he shudders. Then the rhythm begins, hard, deep, devastating. His body slams into yours, hips snapping, the sound of your bodies filling the room, slick skin, breathless gasps, needy cries.
His mouth never leaves you for long. He kisses you between every thrust, lips bruising, tongue claiming, noses brushing. He kisses your throat, your jaw, your mouth again, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of your soul.
You grab his face mid-thrust & murmur against his lips, “Why do you need it like this?”
His answer comes on a groan, buried deep in your mouth as he pounds into you, faster now. Sweat slicks your chest, your stomach, dripping from both of you. His hand grips your hip so hard it’s going to leave a bruise.
“Because,” he snarls, voice shattering, “you kiss like a drug.” His forehead touches yours. His thrusts get messier. His breath breaks. “That’s why I keep fucking you,” he gasps. “Because I can’t stop. I won’t stop.”
Your climax builds like a scream in your chest. Your back arches. Your nails claw at his skin. His name spills from your lips over & over & over…
You shatter.
Your body tenses, clenches around him, your moans breaking into sobs of pleasure as your orgasm crashes over you. He follows, hard, with a hoarse cry, his cock throbbing inside you, his hips jerking, his mouth finding yours one last time to swallow your cries.
He keeps moving, riding every last wave, until you’re both shaking, ruined, clinging to each other.
Sweat-slicked. Lip-bruised. Still connected. You stay like that. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.laying in the silence, with nothing left to hide, he kisses you again.
Not hungry. Not desperate. Just… his.
The next evening brothel is quiet . The laughter, the music, the pounding footsteps of the night have all faded into velvet silence. Most of the girls are gone. The rooms are empty. You’re still there, candlelight flickering low across your bare skin as you brace yourself on all fours, robe discarded, knees sinking into the silken purple cushions beneath you.
Behind you, Oberyn grips your hips like he owns them. Like he’s memorized every inch. His thrusts are slower now, deliberate, deep, dragging moans out of both of you as sweat slicks your bodies & the only sound is skin meeting skin & the broken way he keeps saying your name.
He’s close. You feel it in the way his rhythm stutters, the way he breathes out sharp through his nose, the way his fingers dig into your flesh like he’s holding on for dear life.
Then he comes, spilling deep inside you with a groan that echoes through the empty room. His chest collapses over your back, skin hot against yours, lips brushing the sweat at your shoulder.
For a long second, he doesn’t move.
Gently he shifts. Pulls out. Sits back. His hand grazes the curve of your spine, reverent now, & for once, he doesn’t reach for coin. Doesn’t throw on his robe & vanish into the night.
Instead, he leans forward. His fingers find your jaw & turn your face just enough that his lips can find yours.
A kiss.Slow. Deep. Final.
You don’t stop him this time. You let him taste you, take you, kiss you like you’re not just a body but a choice.
AN: I have been toying around with this idea for a couple of years at this point-the idea of being Elia's lady in waiting, and being aggressively pursued by her brother, Oberyn. I imagine him to be younger, wilder, but just as passionate. There is no Ellaria yet, there is no betrayal, just two people who cannot get enough of each other and Oberyn using his position for nothing but mischief. This is quite obviously before the nastiness that we all know befalls House Martell, lets live in it a while! I have a whole drama planned out for them in my head so I might actually write it all out - lets see if I can find the time lol. (in the moodboard above, the face you see is how I imagine Elia to be, reader is still completely nondescript!) This is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine- hope you enjoy! 🧡
Oberyn Martell x F!Reader
Pairing: Oberyn x F!Reader
Word Count: 1.7K
Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), dirty talk **pregnancy**
Let me know if I missed anything!
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist
Her skirts swirl in the wind, whipping around her legs like sand. They were the colour of dusk, burnt oranges and yellows, favouring her golden skin, and her dark eyes. Elia Martell–all the Martells–looked best in these colours. You smile at her as you pour her a cup of wine, indulging her despite her delicate constitution.
“This is the last of it my Princess,” you fill the cup halfway, “You know it does not sit well.”
“Yes, yes,” she rolled her eyes, sipping at the wine, “you are worse than Doran.”
You sigh, goodnaturedly, until one of the guards of Sunspear comes, interrupting the Princess enjoying the non-existent breeze.
“My princess, my lady,” He speaks, addressing you respectively, “The Prince, Oberyn requests your company-”
“Oh what could my brother possibly want from me right now?” She huffs out a breath, her winecup getting the brunt of her annoyance.
“My apologies Princess, it is not your company he asks for.” He bows his head in deference, his gaze then moving to you. “My lady, Prince Oberyn awaits.”
Your heart races to hear him calling for you, despite it not being the first time. Elia laughs, and dismisses you graciously. “Go then, my lady. You cannot keep The Red Viper waiting for long, he is prone to sulk, or fight.” Her tinkling laugh follows you where the guard leads, ringing out as you make your way towards his chambers.
You smile to yourself as you walk the halls of Sunspear, the sound of your soft steps ringing out, bouncing off the tiles and the high, arched ceilings. Your heart feels like a bird in the cage of your ribs, fluttering wildly as you finally make it to the giant door leading to him.
You meet the solid wall of his back when the guard opens his chamber door, he is sitting at his desk by the window, head down and quill scratching across a piece of parchment. His head turns at the sound of the door, and the quill is discarded. His eyes are lively when they meet yours, full of mischief and devilment.
“You called for me, my Prince?” You try, genuinely, try to keep the smile off your face. “Is there something you desire of me?” He narrows his eyes, rising and slinking over like some big, predatory cat. He is so tall, his shoulders so broad and the cut of his robes only serves to highlight his best features. The breadth of him, the trim waist, the enchanting vision of his throat and chest on display. All of it conspiring to make you ache to touch him. He laughs low, the sound hardening your nipples.
“Just you, my flower.” He doesn’t so much reach for you, as strike, like his namesake. His arms wrapping around your waist quick enough to pull a gasp from you. His lips descend quickly, pressing against your neck, his tongue following closely behind and all you can do for a moment is gasp in delight, gathered up in his arms with your hands pressed against his chest.
“This is why you pull me away from the Princess? Because you cannot contain your passion for a few hours my Prince?” His hands travel, landing heavy on your backside, while his mouth travels from your shoulder, up to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, a kiss that pushes everything but him from your mind.
“Yes, my love, I cannot contain my passion for you for even a heartbeat.” He speaks the words, turning your heart, and your cunt to liquid for him, before his deft hands pull at the laces and fastenings of your dress.
“My Prince, I am to serve-” He pulls the dress up and off, leaving you in your small clothes, “Your sister, I am to serve–” He cuts off the words with another kiss and this time you moan into his mouth, heart pounding between your legs, knowing even now as you protest that you will let him do whatever he wants, that you need him to.
“My sister is too greedy with you, too selfish.” He undoes his robe, slipping it off to fall at his feet as he herds you towards his bed.
“She keeps you to herself, when she knows of my desire for you.” you tumble into his linens, the smell of him surrounding you, spicy and sweet, like desert heat, fiery peppers, sweet and fragrant oranges.
He slots his hips between your legs, and his cock is so hard it makes you gasp, the fabric of his breeches dampening when he grinds against the small clothes that cover your sex.
“You are insatiable–Oberyn!” You gasp his name when he tears the small clothes from your body, his impatience to have you naked and open to him making him ravenous. He laughs, eyes like black diamonds as he practically kicks his breeches off in his haste to get his cock out.
“I am unwell, my love, truly and deeply sick with want.” He moans the last word when he finally fits himself at the mouth of your cunt, slipping in with one brutal thrust.
“Gods, yes my love, this is what I needed, to be buried up to my balls in this sweet little cunt.” He moans, his tone obscene as he rocks himself inside you.
Your arousal is something as fierce as he, the fullness of him only further inflaming your passion. It is always like this with him, never dull, never calm, always an inferno in your veins and in your lungs. He passes it on to you, his fire catching on your skin and soon, you are clutching to him, begging him, your arousal coating him and dripping onto his bed.
“Yes, yes–” You chant, in tune with every roll of his hips. The sun shining through the window paints everything in his colours.
“Did you miss me, my love? Miss me here?” He punctuates the word with a hard snap of his hips, it makes your breasts bounce, makes you let out a whine.
“Yes my Prince, yes, always miss you–” You open your legs wider, giving him more room to get deeper, to fuck you harder, “Oberyn, you’re splitting me open.” You pull him forward, the temptation of his neck is too great, you suck a mark into it, relishing the way he groans. His hand pulls yours up and over your head, making your chest jut out for his tongue. He teases at your sensitive nipples as his cock strokes, and strokes, and strokes until you are on the precipice, on the dagger's edge of pleasure.
“I can feel it, ready to burst for me–” He smiles, drunk on the pleasure and when he lets go of your hands and presses his thumb to your clit you unravel, clenching and soaking him in your release. “There it is, that’s it-” He speeds up, burying his face into your neck while you take what he gives, his chest pressed up against yours, sweat slicked and warm.
His pace falters and you feel the hot jet of his seed inside, he groans, changing to a dirty grind as he comes deep.
He collapses once he’s milked himself dry, his comforting weight pressing you to his feather bed. Your legs settle around his waist, ankles locking on the swell of his ass and your arms wind around his neck to play with his sweat-soaked hair. He hums as you trail your nails down, tickling at the smooth skin of his back. Your lips press kisses against his shoulder where it rests under your chin. This is your favourite part, being full of him, surrounded by him, loved by him, and pouring all of your affection and love back into him in return.
“Are you quite comfortable, my Prince?” You scratch at his scalp as he takes deep breaths, his softening cock still buried deep.
“Oh yes,” He huffs the words into your neck, his tongue licking a stripe up to your ear, “I could spend the rest of my life here, cock inside you, my body on yours.”
You laugh, full throated.
“Oh I bet you could, rutting away until I’m raw.” You bring your hands to his face, making him face you and you are once again struck by his beauty, no matter how many times you find yourself in his bed, he still makes your heart race. You swipe your thumb across his plump lower lip, and fix the unruly state of his hair. “I could stay here too, Oberyn. I could be here, under you, with you, beside you always. I love you.” You press your mouth to his, and he deepens the kiss, his ardour burning just as brightly.
“I love you, my flower, and what we’ve created. I cannot wait to meet my son.” He brings his hand down, to the little swell of your belly, the one that's barely showing yet. You laugh again, and he smiles, his hand warm against your womb.
“A boy is it? How would you divine that? I am barely showing–”
“I know it is a boy, I can feel it. He will be my little viper, a menace to his instructors, he will have the sweet face of his mother, and the fierce hunger of his father.” He removes himself with a hiss, pulling out and lowering himself until he presses kiss after kiss to the little bump. “Won’t you my boy? You will be the terror and delight of my life.”
He smiles up at you, bright eyed, with all of the love you feel for him shining back at you.
“You, my love, will give birth to princes and princesses, the most beautiful children in all of the world.” He always got like this after, sentimental and romantic and it always made you happy enough to cry.
“Yes my love, he will be all that and more.” You pull him up, wrapping his arms around you to lay your head on his chest. “You know I must go soon, I cannot stay in bed with you, despite my wish to.” He sighs, resigned.
“Yes, Elia awaits, just another moment, and I will let you go.” You laugh, and bury your face into his neck.
Meet my founding family of For The Realm Challenge
The family consists of my founder, Myrina Oberyn and her husband Arthur Oberyn, along with their 2 sons silas and bennet. They recently started housing their young warden Fenrir Direwolf.
Myrina was a daughter of a haunter, whom lost her family to the great war of Praaven. She ended u fleeing from her hometown alone, with no destination in mind. In her journey to a new home, Myrina obtained a deed to a land(ulokea) known to be cursed. No man would dream of calling such a land their home, but to Myrina ulokea became her new home.
Her husband, Arthur oberyn was a son of a nobleman, his father was related to the royal family of Praaven, After the royal family was overthrown, Arthur was forced to flee in order to save his life. At the hands of destiny, he ended up in Ulokea where his wife Myrina had begun her quest to turn the cursed land into a home for her and many people who are looking for a home. together they built Ulokea to the land it is now and bulit their own sweet family.
