Oberyn Martell’s obsession with you was so harmless, it was almost endearing. He watched you like a hawk, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief, every word you spoke becoming a treasure in his mind. At first, it was flattering—the way he would appear just when you needed something, as if fate itself conspired to bring him to your side. But then... it became a bit too much.

He’d show up uninvited, of course, with a sly grin, claiming he was simply “passing through.” Or he’d drop by for a casual chat, only to linger for hours, discussing everything from politics to the art of winemaking in Dorne—yet never asking about your interests. He knew everything about you, even your least favorite foods, but you knew nothing about his peculiar habit of collecting rare feathers.

And then, the impossible proposition. “I must marry you,” he’d say, casually, as if this wasn’t the most absurd thing he could suggest. “For the good of the realm. And because you’re mine.” A wink. A smile. Another impossibly sweet, yet entirely frustrating, moment of harmless obsession.