It’s A Good Thing.

Stay Safe Part One: Should Have Known Better

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hello everyone, and welcome to my latest indulgence. This tale will run parallel to the show, picking up between episode three [The Sin] and episode four [Sanctuary], so spoiler warnings for all portions!

Our story begins a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…on Nevarro, to be specific. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @helplessly-nonstop @huliabitch @culturalrebel

[And here is the playlist for this (now completed) series! Be warned that this post does contain spoilers for all chapters of Stay Safe, so if you would rather just have the playlist without additional exposition or breakdown, you can find it here!]

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Isthereanypossibilityofdoingaslightspankingficforoneofpedroscharactersplease?

***Sooooooo this turned into something waaaaaayyyy different than I had originally planned. I literally thought of this in my sleep last night.

Punishment

The rumors that The Red Viper had taken a wife had swirled around King’s Landing, disbelief being met with every retelling. The man was known as free love advocate. Traveled with his paramour and openly acknowledged the eight bastard daughters birthed to him with no recourse from his family. King Baratheon and his wife Cersei, dismissed the rumors as idle gossip.

Until that day when the ship that bore the glad of a red sun pierced by a golden spear docked, and Prince Oberyn lead his lady wife, Y/N Mormont, down the gangway of the ship.

“By the Gods, he did marry.” Robert Baratheon gawked as the Dornishman tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and sauntered over to the greeting party.

The golden haired queen seethed at the beauty as they drew closer. “Probably just another one of his whores. Trying to gain favor with Dorne of all places.” She spat.

“Woman, you will hold that cursed tongue of yours.” Robert growled as he stepped forward, the thunderous look on his face fading away as he greeted the second son of House Martell with enthusiasm.

“Oberyn! I see the news of your marriage has not been mistaken. And to such a pretty lass.” He boomed, his hulking frame shaking as he came forward to embrace the Prince, clapping him on the back.

Turning to Y/N the King’s eyes flittered over her with hunger. “At one time, her father wanted me to marry her you know?” He held her hand while she curtsied and brought it to his hips for a kiss. “But Tywin convinced me that Cersei was to be the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Had the resources for the burgeoning army I led.”

Y/N Mormont was breathtakingly beautiful. Rich black hair tumbled down her back in loose curls. The emerald green eyes a shocking contrast. While on Bear Island, she had skin the color of fresh milk, pale and white. The sun and sand of Dorne had been good to her, making her skin honeyed and giving her a more exotic look that made the display of skin from her light dress even more tantalizing.

Cersei flushed as she gritted her teeth in anger. The insults her husband doled out just adding to the mocking smile the Prince shot her.

“Yes, well the Lannister’s always believe their golden lions made them better than everyone else.” The smooth accented voice was deadly like the spear he wielded in battle. “But gold is a cold and ridged spouse.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed in amusement as the King laughed at the veiled insult. The red mottled face of the Queen let her know that the devious woman would be seeking some sort of punishment for her perceived embarrassment.

****

Dinner was an affair that was quickly spiraling out of control. The King and Queen were very generous in the numerous cups of wine they imbibed. The sharp tongue of the woman growing more bold with every cup poured.

Y/N watched as she leaned back in her chair, newest drink her her hand as the barbs rolled off her tongue.

“Is House Mormont so destitute that you needed to trade yourself to Dorne?” She slurred slightly, her eyes narrowed in wicked glee.

Oberyn’s hand was on her knee, gently stroking the inside with his thumb. While they had retired to their rooms to freshen up, they had both agreed that Cersei would try to ignite their anger. But she didn’t understand, could never understand the bond that had formed between the pair.

“My family house is in good hands with Lady Lyanna leading it. I felt after the betrayal of my brother, my cousin would be better trusted by the throne. So it left me free to pursue other interests.” Y/N said as she picked out a plump grape from the bowl on the table before them and turned to slip it between her husband’s lips.

Cersei sneered, her lip curling viciously as she spat. “Orgies?”

Emerald green eyes snapped over to the blonde. Fire flashed in her eyes as she ignored the silent warning Oberyn gave her. Y/N was less skilled in veiling her insults, more blunt than a princess should be.

“Love. Something you would know little of. Perhaps if you did, your bed wouldn’t be cold.” Y/N shot back, aiming directly for the chink in the Queen’s armor. Everyone knew of the hushed rumors. The King having spent far more time with tavern wenches and whores than in Cersei’s bed.

Silence fell over the room as Y/N cursed herself inside. As much as she knew that Oberyn has enjoyed her barb, she had overstepped. Publicly insulting the Queen in such as brash manner had been reckless. People had lost their heads for less.

Blazing eyes turned towards the King, who sat with his mouth slightly open in surprise. “You will allow your wife, your Queen, to be treated so?” She ground out scathingly. “How far we have fallen. Soon enough there will be insults by every subject in the kingdom.”

Oberyn tensed next to Y/N. He knew what game she was playing. Even if they had not love for one another, Cersei could manipulate the vanity of the king exceedingly well. His reputation for being a leader was now being calling into question by a returned volley on an insult that had first been lobbed at his wife.

“Robert, if I may?” He interjected with an idle wave of his hand, trying to signify the menial impact of the situation. “In Dorne, we have very effective methods for dealing with a, shall we say, bratty wife.”

Dark eyes raked over her, Y/N lowering her head to stare at the hands folded in her lap. Looking for all appearances, a meek and submissive wife. Even as she chewed the inside of her lip to keep from smirking as Oberyn’s deft fingers inched higher under her dress.

A raucous laugh rang through the dining hall. “By the Gods, that’s what they are, aren’t they? Bratty wives. If they were our soldiers, we could just beat the hell out of them.” Robert thumped his hand down on the table with a loud belch. “But the Maesters say that it’s a bad example to set for the Kingdom, even if it would provide some peace from the harping.”

The dark haired prince joined in his laughter, his fingers rubbing circles on the inside of his wife’s thigh. A comfort and a message that he was playing his part. He despised everything about the ways of the North, from the way they treated people under their protection to the prudish ways they felt about love.

“What is this method you use?” Robert asked, reaching for his cup again.

He leaned back and pierced the King with a mild look. “If they wish to act like children, then our wives are treated as such. A spanking to remind them of their place in the world.” He casually threw out.

Only Y/N knew of the rigidity of his fingers, digging into the soft flesh of her skin. They were there to ease the tensions between Sunspear and King’s Landing. Robert’s reaction to Oberyn’s veiled suggestion would be the deciding factor on if those tensions increased. For she knew that The Red Viper would let no man touch what he considered his. And Y/N was most certainly his most prized possession in that regard.

The king sputtered for a moment before braying loudly. “PERFECT!” He shouted. “It’s settled. Y/N will receive her punishment and we will forget this ever-“

“Publicly.” Cersei called out, malicious glint in her eyes.

“Woman” Robert growled lowly, a warning.

Oberyn held up a hand. “But of course. After all, public humiliation requires a public punishment.”

He looked to the king, who rocked his jaw for a moment before nodding, signaling he agreed. It would shut the harpy up, and he could keep the thin shreds of his temper in check.

Y/N made a show of blushing as he pushed back his chair. The normal severe countenance of his face made the Queen believe that he was furious with his wife, but Y/N could see the humor dancing in his dark orbs. This wasn’t something that was unfamiliar to them. She acted reluctant as she dropped herself over the expanse of his thighs, feeling his arm brace across her back for stability.

The thin material of her gauzy dress slid up the back of her thighs, uncovering the swell of her rounded cheeks. Cersei scoffed at the fact that Lady Martell was bare under her dress, while her husband grunted in a reluctant amusement.

Rough hands, so familiar on her skin caressed the rounded flesh. She felt the quick squeeze, the playful grope before his stern voice rang out. “Count them out.”

A sharp crack was heard throughout the room as his palm came down against her ass.

“One!” Her surprised cry was loud.

The second blow was delivered to the opposite cheek, just as much force as the first strike. Y/N jolted on her husband’s lap.

“Two!” She sounded breathless, pained.

Strike after strike was reigned down on her sensitive skin. Her ass cheeks growing rosey and imprinted with the fingermarks of Oberyn’s large hands. Her cries made them think that she was enduring a horrible punishment, bit out with groans.

“Ten!” She whimpered.

Oberyn’s hand rested on the warm skin, while he looked to the king. Cersei was wide eyed as she saw Robert nodding in approval, a dark scowl crossing her face before she hid it behind her wine goblet.

Y/N squirmed a bit on his lap, looking uncomfortable but seeking the single finger that had slithered between her thighs to test the slickness that had grown there. She could feel his cock pulse against her stomach as the finger curled into the warmth.

Robert braced his hands on the table. “She will think twice before insulting her betters again.” He commented.

Y/N’s jaw clenched but she didn’t look up.

Her husband drew the layers of her skirts back over her ass before answering. “You are well aware of how fair ladies can be. I regret to say that we should retire so that Y/N can recover.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue.

Waving his hand, the King dismissed them. “Yes, I’m sure she would have trouble sitting that red little ass on the most comfortable of cushions right now.”

They stood swiftly and exited the hall. Y/N bolting for the hallway that lead to their chambers. Oberyn caught her hand to drag her back to him, pushing her up against the pillar, his mouth raking over hers lustfully.

“When we get back to our chamber, I’m going to fuck that wet cunt until Robert believes that spanking made you walk with a limp tomorrow.” He growled, biting at her lower lips harshly.

Y/N groaned as she reached between them to cup her husband’s cock. “Then hurry up so you can really punish me.”

“More like reward you for so wickedly insulting that bitch.”

She giggled as the Prince of Dorne grabbed her hand and sprinted down the hallway of the castle, bound for their chambers and a lustful night. She was already dripping wet from his spanking and now craved his cock.

MasterList

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Rushingly Bittersweet, the series index

moodboard by me

Main Masterlist // Playlist for the main story // ao3

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count for the main story: +86.1k (so far)

The story:

Part 1: the meeting

Part 2: the struggle

Part 3: the warning  

Part 4: the realization

Part 5: the raid                          

Part 6: the handbrush

Part 7: the question                    

Part 8: the kiss

Part 9: the rush                           

Part 10: the trip

Part 11: the dayoff                     

Part 12: the union

Part 13: the backstory               

Part 14: the shitshow

Part 15: the finding                    

Part 16: the reality

Part 17: the rescue                                 

Part 18: the recognition

Part 19: the confession                                 

Part 20: the truth

Part 21: the decision              

Part 22: the aftershock

Part 23: the letter                           

Part 24

Part 25

After RushBit: (Coming soon…)

Past Grievances and Turning Points

Clashing Times

Unexpected Meal

Awkward Encounters

Tertulia Familiar

The One you Call Home

Moonlit Room

Formalities and Introductions

Part 25 goes here in the timeline.

Breakfast for two

Mamá’s inheritance

Rubbing Noses

Chocolate y Nuez

Children’s Game:

Summary: Javi and you go to the county fair… that’s basically it. (1.9k words)

Bull’s eye!

The Little Goddess of Love

…

Extras:

Javier’s views of the War on Drugs, as a mexican-american.

Javier in the aftermath of his first kill on the job.

The Letter; from part 23.

Peacekeeper PT 1 [Billy Hargrove]

Word Count: 5.2k. Disclaimer: I don’t own Stranger Things or the GIF used below. 

I also don’t know if this is any good. I don’t know. Be nice. I hope you enjoy.

There was a long list of reasons why Billy’s life was better since you two started seeing one another and number nine was that you relieved him of most of his babysitting responsibilities when it came to Max. In fact, Susan seemed to prefer you to be the one hanging out with her daughter on a weekend night than her fiery-tempered stepbrother. You had expected that this Saturday Billy would stay at his house with you while his dad and Susan drove out of town to have dinner with a few couples from Neil’s work, but he opted to go to Tommy’s place and trash the basement with his buddies. He said he would be back before eleven so you two could fool around against his dresser, but you knew that Billy had a penchant for losing track of time when he was with his friends.

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The Masterlist from Three AM

Kingsman: The Golden Circle

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

California - Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC (Sirah/Shirley Temple)

After five years, the haunting events of California come to Statesman HQ for librarian Shirley Temple.  Is the deep bond between Shirley and Jack enough to keep the killer from finishing the job he started?

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5] [PART 6]  [PART 7]  [PART 8]  [PART 9]  [PART 10]  [PART 11]  [PART 12]  [PART 13]*  [PART 14]* [PART 15]

Lady of the Lake - Ginger Ale x Merlin 

Statesman tech specialist Ginger Ale and Kingsman agent Merlin’s love affair puts the old adage, “Love makes the heart grow fonder” to the test.  Will four thousand miles make or break them?

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]*  [PART 4]*  [PART 5]*  [PART 6]  [PART 7]*  [PART 8]

The Mandalorian

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Metal Lover - The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

Beskar can be cold to the touch, but when the metal heats up, it can be the loveliest feeling.

A Work of Art - The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT]

Can a man who’s face is never seen be a work of art?  His bounty sure thinks so, as he’s about to discover.

Astronomy Lesson - The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x Reader [ONE SHOT]

As she teaches the child the story of the stars, he wonders, is she really telling the story of them?

WW1984 (Wonder Woman 1984)

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Sunshine - Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker) 

Evie Blaker shines like the sun for Maxwell Lord and he wants to revel in her warmth.  Can he capture her or will his greediness get him burned?

[PART 1]  [PART 2] [PART 3]*  [PART 4]*  [PART 5]  [PART 6]*  [PART 7]  [PART 8]  [PART 9]  [PART 10]

The Equalizer 2

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Dream - Dave York x Reader [ONE SHOT]

Our dreams tells us what we need to know, even if we don’t want to know them.  Can you handle what your dream is telling you?

Doubts - Dave York x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

You dream of a big home fill with love and laughter, but does the love of your life want that too?

Triple Frontier

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Helping Hand - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader [ONE SHOT]*

Baking Sunday is Frankie’s favorite day of the week.  He loves the taste of your desserts.  All of them.

Morning Routine - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Baby Daughter [ONE SHOT]

Frankie is an early riser and so is his daughter.  Together, they settle into their morning routine.

Twinkle Toes - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Toddler Daughter [ONE SHOT]

It started with early morning routines and now has grown into a passion as Frankie and his daughter learn new steps like regular twinkle toes.

The Mentalist

*Smut or other mentions of sexy times

Monument Woman - Agent Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter) {WIP, Coming Soon}

A valuable item was donated to her museum before it was stolen.  With Agent Pike at her side, she’ll get it back.

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]

Drabble requests are open for most of Pedro’s characters, but priority will be for the above.

Wanna follow this hot mess express?  Then drop me a message or comment to be added to the tag list (general tag or story specific!)

matey. I have this cute soft idea if you're interested in writing it ofc. basically fem reader where she's a lady of noble blood and knows aemond since they were kids. but there was always this awkwardness around them which slowly turned into disgust (lol bish why you lying, why you always lying) one day she's with helaena or lady friends and they ask her who she would marry from court if she had to choose which she replies with "I would marry aemond in a heartbeat" forgetting that she said that out loud with aemond overhearing it somewhere hiding behind a pillar or something lol. and the next day she keeps questioning herself why aemond is suddenly wearing his nice clothes, helping her with something? and then when she wants to bid him goodnight he replies with a sneaky "I would marry you too in a heartbeat" which ends with her all flustered or something lol. idk what this is honestly, It just popped into my head.

Hi dearest! I'd love to write a lil something based on this lovely prompt!

Aemond x reader | fluff | Aemond being as discreet as a car backfiring

Laughter surrounded you, the ladies you sat with in the fragrant gardens tittering to each other, blushes upon their dimpled cheeks. You set aside your book of Old Valyrian poems and leaned in conspiratorially. "Okay Rosaline, your turn. Who would you marry?"

Rosaline, a lovely curvy girl around your age with russet curls and a freckled face, laughed harder. "I cannot say, lady Y/N. Though lord Jason Lannister is rather easy on the eyes is he not?"

You shrugged. "If you go for that sort of pomposity, I suppose."

"Well, who do you fancy, Y/N?" Rosaline asked, huffing at you with slightly narrowed brown eyes.

You hesitated, all eyes now upon you, growing more curious with each second of silence.

"Well? Now you have to tell us!" A girl with straight brown hair piped up, her doe eyes mischievous. "You were so eager to hear our own secrets!"

"I...I've always. Well. Prince Aemond if you must know." Your fingers clasped together upon your lap, so tight your knuckles went white.

There was a beat of stunned silence, then the girls lapsed into another fit of giggles.

"Prince Aemond?" Rosaline choked.

"Haven't you been friends since you were children?"

"I thought they went for their siblings?"

"He doesn't have an eye, Y/N! How could you possibly think he's a suitable match?"

"Excuse me." You said rather flatly. "When any of you ride the largest dragon in Westeros, then you can talk."

"He is rather easy on the eyes." A Tyrell girl spoke in a thin voice. "Though I've heard rumors circulating he is rather callous and keeps to himself."

"He's not callous." You defended. "Though we do have our disagreements."

"Oh yes!" Rosaline tittered again. You fought the urge to smack her. "I've heard you two have been at odds the past few weeks. Lover's quarrel?"

"I-we are not-where did you hear...you know what it doesn't matter." You rose abruptly, forgetting the book beside you on the bench. "Aemond alone is worth a hundred times more than all of you put together. I would marry him in a heartbeat."

"What's under that horrid eyepatch he wears?" A sneering Lannister lady sniggered.

"Something far more interesting than what's under your garish skirts!" You shot back, a shocked silence following your impetuous outburst.

You cast one last scorching look over the gathered women, before gathering your dress and taking your leave of them, face burning.

You retired to your chambers, skipping the dinner feast, not wishing to see those girls again that day. You were still fuming. It was true, you and Aemond had not spoken since a heated argument a few weeks prior. However, this was not the first time you two had been at odds. Nor would it be the last, you reckoned.

A soft knock at your door roused you from your contemplation beside the fire. You rose from the sofa, crossing the carpeted floor and swinging the heavy oak door open to reveal Aemond standing in the doorway.

"Oh!" You said, too surprised to come up with anything witty.

"Walk with me?" Aemond held out his arm for you to take. His hair looked like it was freshly brushed, shining silver in the torchlight as he guided you down the hall into a deserted courtyard.

The evening air was alive with birdsong, the sky above a shock of orange and red as the sun made its western descent.

"I came to apologize." Aemond said as the two of you meandered out into the gardens you had spent your afternoon in.

"Apologize? You? Be still my heart!"

"Don't make me regret it, Y/N." The prince groaned, releasing your arm and turning to you, the vista of the city's red roofs and the sparkling sea framed behind him. "I behaved...rather appallingly and I regret not coming to you sooner."

"You were a bit of an ass, tis true." You smiled impishly at the way he fought down a grimace at your words.

"As if you were any better."

"I was right." You folded your arms across your chest.

Aemond clasped his hands tightly behind his straight back. "It is a matter of opinion whether Dorne is more progressive than us."

"No, Aemond. I'm afraid that's a fact."

Aemond breathed hard through his nostrils; you watched with interest as he collected himself. "I came to apologize not to argue further."

He opened his jacket and pulled out a small box from a pocket within. "And to give you this as a sign of my...remorse."

You squinted at him. "Did your mother tell you to say that?"

Aemond didn't answer, his brow raising at you as he gestured for you to take his gift. You lifted the box from his palm, undoing the string and opening it. A silver brooch lay within, bearing the insignia of your house. Small finely crafted letters spelled out your house words below the image.

"It's quite lovely, my prince." Your face softened as you took it out and fasted the piece to your bodice. "I will wear it with pride. Thank you."

Aemond graced you with a genuine smile, his eye lingering upon the pin now secured above your heart. You tracked his gaze with interest as it roved across your curves before snapping guiltily back up to your face.

"See something you like?" You teased, flashing a grin at him.

Aemond didn't answer, though he held your gaze as you stepped closer, noting how the breath caught in his throat at your sudden proximity. Your brow furrowed as you looked at the odd expression on his face, nothing you had seen there before.

"Are you well, Aemond?"

"No." Aemond shook his head. "Let us continue our walk."

The two of you walked side by side around the gardens, the deepening twilight enveloping you, stars unveiling one by one in the dusky sky. Your knuckles brushed against Aemond's, you extended your pinky, hooking it around his. Heat rose to your face as Aemond's fingers slid to tangle with your own, your hands intertwined as you strode along the path back to the Keep.

He did not break his grip on you, even as you stood again before your chamber door.

"This is where I bid you a good night, Y/N." He spoke softly.

"Yes, it is." You sounded breathless, not pulling away as he turned to face you directly, leaning down as he brushed his lips to the back of your hand.

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Aemond?"

"I would also marry you in a heartbeat."

You stopped breathing. He had overheard the whole exchange in the gardens. Blood rushed in your ears as, wide eyed, you watched as Aemond lingered long enough to take in your expression before he turned on a booted heel and strode down the hallway.

Gathering your wits once more, you shouted after him just as he reached the corner. "Aemond!" He halted, looking back at you with ill-concealed amusement. "Get back here or so help me..." You pointed to the ground in front of your door.

"We can continue this discussion tomorr-"

"No. No, you don't get to say something like that and just walk away." You hissed, leaving your chamber open as you stomped down the hallway to where he stood waiting, his lilac eye sparkling with delight.

Aemond took your forearms in his hands when you reached for him, pulling you in so quickly you stumbled, falling against his chest. "You overheard me today?" You asked, looking up at his angular face as his fingers traced your jaw.

"Mmm. I did indeed. You're quite the sight in your anger." His eye glittered. "Even more enchanting when it's on my behalf."

"They were wrong to say such things." You breathed, your voice only a whisper as the distance between your faces slowly closed.

"I rest easy knowing I have a champion in you, to defend my honor." Aemond chuckled, his breath tickling your lips.

You weren't sure who moved first, or if it was simultaneous, but you felt the press of his mouth against yours, your eyes fluttering closed as your hands buried themselves in his silken hair.

He moved against you, backing you up until you hit the wall, a gasp at the impact opening your mouth to him as he began exploring you with his slick tongue. The scent of him surrounding you, the feel of him caging you in, pressing his knee between your thighs, drew a soft whimper from your lips that he drank down with relish.

"Do that again." He murmured, tugging your hair until you exposed your throat to his touches.

"Make me." You smirked at the arched ceiling, quickly losing what little composure you had won back as he took your challenge to heart.

Aemond made you emit many more sounds of pleasure throughout the course of that night. Stifling your cries with his large hand at one point so as to not alert any nearby guard patrols. With the promises of a lifetime together to come he claimed you as his own, swearing in return to be yours until his dying day.

I Would Die For You In Secret [Part 2]

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x targaryen!reader, various characters x reader (platonic)

summary: you have avoided Jace ever since the night you had dinner with your family, but you cannot avoid him forever. if you would not go to him and Jace would not go to you, your family would have to fix things in their own way (5.4k)

warning: angst with a happy ending, incest (again reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter and Jace’s sister), self loathing, miscommunication. 

notes: I added some tags for other pairing besides Aemond and the reader because the reader interacts with different characters other than Aemond, but the only romantic pairing is between Aemond and the reader.

[Part 1]

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Masterlist Oberyn Martell

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more than words masterlist

Summary: The one person who you thought would be happy for you finally getting with someone decent was your best friend. After all, he had set you both up. Who would’ve thought he’d be the reason it all falls apart? (strictly 18+, no minors)

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader & bestfriend!Benny Miller x f!reader

pt.1

pt.2

pt.3

pt.4

pt.5

pt.6

pt.7

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If you’d like to be tagged, just let me know! And thank you to everyone who is loving this and following along—you’re all wonderful! ❤️foli

Hi hi! Okay so those song prompts are magnificent. How about ‘17. And at once I knew, I was not magnificent - Holocene, Bon Iver’

It would be good to have something where Aemond l sees the reader for the first time at a ball or something and his own little view that he is superior to others comes crashing down because he is in absolute awe of her? Feel free to alter/tweak/change whatever!

thank you so much @littlemisscaptainfandom ! i ran wild with this one. feral. i love the idea of aemond being outplayed because of his smugness, and the ball idea - enjoy!

request a song prompt!

Magnificent

Warnings: Aemond being in deep denial lmao WC: 3333 (nice)

Prompt 17: "And at once I knew, I was not magnificent" - Holocene, Bon Iver

He heard you long before he saw you – the uneven heel clacking of a noble’s daughter who had shirked one too many dance lessons. 

“No,” he heard a lilting voice laugh, impatiently. “Like this - right foot second, you dolt.”

Dolt indeed – the instruction was lost on the girl, whoever in the Seven she was. Yet another sacrificial lamb to lure the unwed dragon into marriage, no doubt. Even with one eye and a turned back, Aemond could practically smell her family’s pathetic attempt at temptation – a corset two sizes too small and a family ambition two leagues too large. 

The prince didn’t deign to watch the scene. He preferred the game of gleaning, observation – seeing without seeing. Creating the tapestry in his mind and tracing the threads to know which to pull to watch it all unravel. It had long been said by the Maesters that when one loses a sense, the others bolster themselves, and indeed, all he had to do was listen.

Aemond heard the Dolt relinquish a dramatic sigh. “It seems that I simply must retire to the fray then Elyana, lest I bring shame upon our most noble house.” 

The younger – Elyana – huffed.

“It would be wise. How father expects to make you a dragon bride, I will never know. You cannot dance, or sing, or embroider –” 

“Yes, and lest we forget my stunning lack of maternal instinct,” you lamented. “Remember when Darya’s little one bit me?”

Aemond smiled – smug, slight, vulpine. He was right, of course, as he always was. 

The sudden sound of shattered glass upon flagstones jerked Aemond out of his wager. He acted on instinct, as he always did, head whipping towards the drunken laughter and breaking his reverie. Behind him indeed stood two girls, as different as the sun and moon. The younger, dressed in fine lilac gossamer and silver, swiftly began to chase the bard and beg for another song. 

And then there was you. Aemond’s eye roamed your figure, appraising the rich, dark olive of your gown and its deep, square neckline – Braavosi velvet, he’d wager, a show of wealth to have such long sleeves of the stuff. A little demure for an attempted seduction, he mused. Perhaps her family thought to appeal to mother’s piousness. 

The prince would never admit that this was the longest he had stared at a woman. He simply wanted to improve his skill of gleaning, listening, to compare the observations he made with the reality before him. It was imperative to absorb every detail; the way that your gold pendant heaved with your shallow, shocked breathing, and the sliver of hair resting on your cheek. There was a power in your tensed shoulders - coiled, reactive, ready for the threat of weight. Aemond felt his fingers twitch against his will, a yearning to carry it for you. 

He snapped himself back to reality with an internal grimace - the dragon cannot lie with the lamb. The music had begun again, and you finally turned towards him, face blanching at his discovered proximity. 

“Prince Aemond,” you started, eyes wide, muscles coiled – caught in the courtly snare. 

The lamb is too stunned to curtsey, he mused, watching your quick fingers wringing the golden band on your thumb. You certainly were the most radiant of the sacrifices offered to him so far. Though, he parried, there would be little use in marrying a fool.

Aemond hummed, relishing in your panic for a few seconds longer than any decent gentleman would.

“I’m half-blind, not half-deaf,” he said lowly, taking a step closer. “One would do well to be wary of the court, my lady. You never know who might be listening.” 

Your eyes narrowed imperceptibly – a flash of something Aemond didn’t quite recognise, gone as quickly as it appeared. Idiots have trouble accepting their transgressions, he supposed, but her polite smile had something hidden behind it, like the dark side of the moon. Deep within the tides of the fray, Alicent observed the scene with a ghost of a smile. She watched the girl hide fire and intelligence in her muscles like a coiled serpent, and bitterly wished that she had the same instinct as a girl. Perhaps then she could have avoided her fate of staring at ceilings and dancing with dragons.

Her prayer was silent as she observed you, implored with eyes instead of the tongue: Keep buying your time, sweet girl. Her second son was much too perceptive not to see through your mummer’s moronity eventually – she could already see Aemond’s eye probing your mask.

“Aemond,” the Queen beckoned with a regal nod of her head.

Time. She thought, noting the way your minds danced around each other, palpable. Love matches were rare, mind matches even more so – but she could see the way you looked at one another. Time and choice. She would gift you the mercy the gods denied her. 

The prince pried his eye away from you with great effort, waiting for you to answer him. You remained silent, gaze unwavering.

Interesting. He conceded as he walked towards his mother. For a dolt.

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Your eyes narrowed through the dim candlelight. The crowd ebbed and heaved like fresh seafoam, and you searched for your sister, your anchor in the waves, like the Oldtown lightower would a lost ship. In truth, you felt uneasy without Ely, your sworn shield against courtly attentions. It had been like this ever since you were children – a symbiotic relationship, the tide to your moon. She would sing and whirl through your father’s halls, a gossamer dervish, drawing the attention to herself and leaving you free to pursue your histories and hidden halls, and hone your sharp tongue.

You finally spotted the girl by a large table of ale, humouring a dark haired young lord who had not yet grown into his long limbs. You weaved your way through the crowd to reach her, forming a courtly, waxen smile to begin your manoeuvre. 

“Sister!” You gasped, watching Elyana’s dark eyes twinkle as she recognised your ruse. “Mother requires you at once–” You cocked your head, silently wondering how every little lord fell for it. “Something about Ser Randyll?” 

The little lord – Arryn, you’d wager by his gleaming brooch – blanched at the sight of your mother in deep conversation with Lord Reyne and his son. You stifled a laugh watching his chest puff up slightly at the challenge – your work was done. You pried your sister away from the little falcon’s talons, barely managing to stifle your laughing fit until he was out of earshot. 

“Seven hells, Y/N, it took you long enough!” she huffed, preening over your shoulder to make sure that the young Lord Lannister hadn’t seen the exchange and think her spoken for. She had always been a romantic, excessively so, even for her six and ten years.

You pinched her dimpled cheek with a grin. “That’s for having far too much mirth in calling me a dolt earlier.” 

Elyana rolled her eyes, batting your hand away. “It was your grand strategy, if I recall.”

“Yes, and I accounted for the pinch.” You said wickedly, before surveying the hall.

“A job well done I’d say, The Prince heard our performance. I even refused to curtsey. He’ll no doubt relay my idiocy to the Queen, and we’ll be home in no time at all.” 

Elyana regarded you pensively, gently taking hold of your hand. Her gentleness felt like a cage to you, sometimes – perceptive, inescapable. “You know you will have to marry one day.” 

Your sister watched your eyes flutter, soaking in your surroundings like a sponge. Your reply was barely audible over the internal hum of your own thoughts. “Not like this.” 

You had decided that long ago. You knew you couldn’t escape a married fate – all women were cursed with the knowledge of how their lives would go from the moment they stepped into their first etiquette lesson with the septa. But, if you were to be married, it would be on your terms.

Impossible, father often branded you, but always with a fond smile.  If you could not escape your fate, you would fiercely guard the little time you had with your freedom as the kingsguard would protect the king.

Though sometimes, when alone in the vespertine hush of your chambers, you could admit the presence of a longing in yourself, a desire to be seen for who you were by whoever you might be sold off to. Such longing is dangerous, you told yourself. Expect the swing of the sword, never mercy. Especially if you found yourself drawn to the wielder like a moth to flame – you were lucky to have honed your courtly mask so well upon seeing his handsome face. Though you had heard takes of the “one-eyed brute”, there was little account of  the beautiful shadow his cheekbones cast, and his knowing, surveying gaze. 

Your sister pulled you out of your thoughts, head nodding to a balcony alcove. She knew the price you paid for duty as the eldest. “Go. Take your refuge. I’ll be with mother.” 

You offered her a tired, grateful smile before wading through the crowd towards your sanctuary, too close to paradise to be aware of the shark circling. 

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It wasn’t as though Aemond had been watching you. Mother had always taught him to be an attentive host - he was merely cultivating good will, bolstering support for the war to come. He watched you grab your third - no, fourth - glass of wine, an irritated huff escaping his nose. He supposed there was little use in lying to himself any longer - he felt pulled to you the same way he felt called to the skies. Perhaps this was the lust that seemed to drive Aegon to the depths of Fleabottom every night - maddening.

The more he watched you, the more his one good eye narrowed in bewilderment. Supposedly too dim to follow a septa’s simple instruction and notice the ears of court, yet cunning enough to weave your way through this nest of dancing vipers and their hungry sons. You could redirect the attention of a young lord with a single word, and charm your father with the raise of an eyebrow. You moulded the scenes that unfolded around you, parrying dance requests with a skill he’d only seen with Ser Cole and his morningstar. 

So why the overt blundering before him?  He leaned against the pillar, pensive. The only rational explanation he could fathom was that you had heard stories of him and thought to demean yourself as a marriage prospect. The prince scowled. Of course. What woman such as her would want a one-eyed beast as a husband?  Aemond felt his insides twist and his fingers twitch, barely containing the ire towards himself. 

Despite your repulsion of him, Aemond felt his curiosity turning ravenous in his stomach as he watched you approach your sister. He could not help but want to map you as The Conqueror once did his lands – even if you did not want him, he could watch your mind work from afar. So watch he did, as your sister held your hand in hers like water. He mapped it all to memory – your hushed words, the steely set of your eyes and jaw, your deceptive smile; a sliver of his favourite crescent moon.

The hour was late and the candles burnt low. Nobody would begrudge any of the young ladies for retiring for the night – the young Tyrell girl had already sunk so far into her cups that she had to be carried to her chambers like an overwatered rose. Yet there you slithered to the alcove, alone, alert with empty company and a full cup. 

Aemond had begun to follow you long before his mind registered the movement of his legs. He followed your trail through the flurry of bright skirts, drunk on the hunt. His long legs strode with a purpose that was lost to his conscious mind, stopping when he reached the boundary of the lush, red drapery. Aemond stood outside of your sanctuary for a long while before breaching it, in an act that almost reminded him of protection. From what, he did not know. A mangled dragon guarding its hoard, he thought wryly, before stepping onto the balcony with the silence of a predator. 

The prince wasn’t sure what he expected. A maiden in tears after being shunned at court, perhaps – he wasn’t sure how far you’d go to keep up the show. But there you were, in the furthest corner of the alcove, with your elbows on the dark stone and your eyes to the stars. He glanced at your now-empty cup before clearing his throat. 

You sighed imperceptibly before turning to face him. So you knew I was here, then. The thought made him hide a smile - the idea of you sensing his presence and ignoring him anyway, even if you tried to hide that fact. Insolent. He thought. Magnificent.

You bowed this time, with a tired, chagrin smile - an apology for earlier. “Forgive me, my Prince. It has been a while since my sister and I have been in the capital. The intricacies of court politics appear to be lost on me.”  

Aemond hummed, ignoring the way his innards clenched - my prince. He rather liked the sound of that. “Yet not so unhoned that you managed to avoid that Lannister whelp,” he paused, brow raised. It made him feel less shame to know he was not the only one you rebuked. “Not to mention that little Manderly lordling.” 

The Prince enjoyed watching you war with yourself - needing to keep your shield up, yet too tired and full of ire to keep up the ruse for much longer. 

“Evading them hardly requires a honed mind, my Prince.” You snorted. A clever answer. He thought. Too clever. 

“Aemond.” He corrected. You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious.  “If I am to play along with your farce, let the rest of it be real.” He amended, making his way next to you but never prying his eye away.

You breathed a laugh, toying with your rings again. “You see more with one eye than most do with two, Aemond.”

The prince hummed. “It is of little consequence. They still brand me “one-eye” after all.”

“Little,” you snorted again, a glorious sound. Real, he thought, the soft skin of your hand calling him as your voice did. Real enough to touch. “Perhaps everything seems little to the rider of the largest dragon alive.”

The mention of Vhagar earnt you a small smile - a true one that you couldn’t quite look away from. Somehow you knew that it was Aemond’s version of a face-splitting grin.

You basked in comfortable silence for a while, noting how he had placed you on his right side – away from his eyepatch. The revelation made you frown, but left your vision unobstructed. It gave you a better look at the way his hair fell, an estuary of molten silver. You committed his profile to memory - the sharp edges that were strong, true, until he suddenly met your eyes. For once, you were speechless - the lush darkness of the night and the sweet smell of gardenias were suddenly oppressive.

“I really can’t dance, you know.” You blurted. 

Aemond artfully raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Earlier,” you clarified. “what you heard.” You tucked your hair behind your ear with what you hoped was a self-effacing smile. “I really am a terrible dancer, it was no lie.” 

Aemond nodded grimly in understanding. “There is no need, my Lady, I understand your distaste for the match.” He stood taller, and tapped his eyepatch lightly. 

Aemond watched ten emotions cross your face at once, until you settled on the one that most puzzled him; anger. Your eyebrows furrowed deliciously, something he noticed you did before you wielded your barbed tongue, and your lips parted. He did not see how your heart caught in your throat, nor the way your hands almost sprung to hold his shoulders. You slapped your palms onto the cold stone instead.

“Gods no. No, that is,” you breathed, warring with yourself before finally conceding. “It is not you, Aemond. Nor the sapphire eye that likely costs more than my entire dowry,” you jested half-heartedly. 

You steeled yourself for honesty, looking into the sky once again and sneering in defiance at the gods who watched.  “If I am to be sold off, I at least want to choose my buyer.” 

Aemond’s gaze never left you, probing your truth as if he were caught in its net. He finally understood, and you knew he did. There was little that could be said, he thought.

Your eyes were almost crazed with a repressed frustration that was finally breaching the walls of your dutiful facade. A longing to be understood that matched his own. He saw fire – not that of ‘fire and blood’, but the fire of lightning. Beautiful, terrible, calculated in its strikes. Magnificent. 

You trembled as if to cull the rage from erupting out of you. Years of playing placater, unable to unleash the true potential of your mind and spirit. Aemond’s eye flitted down to the stone, observing the shaking of your hands.

He did the only thing he knew how to and rested his hand gently over yours, the same way he would calm Vhagar. Real, he thought. Warm. Much too warm. You calmed under his touch. He understood, you know he did – years at court culling your own ambition at the expense of duty. Aemond created the “one-eyed brute”, just as you created the “little dolt of a lamb”. 

You placed your hand over his. Horribly improper – it made you smile under the valleys of his scars and callouses. You wondered if you could map them in your mind as the maesters mapped the stars – a sky that was your own. Aemond felt your pulse thrum under his fingers and let it reverberate – his hands, his ears, his heart, his bones, it was all you. He knew you would have to leave soon enough, but for now, he would bask in you, knowing you’ve scorched him for life. 

“Aemond,” You said, hushed. “How far can a dragon fly?” You looked up to meet his faraway gaze, relishing in catching him off guard. His lips were slightly parted as he stared at your own. It took every ounce of his steel restraint not to pull you to him and show you the meaning of fire and blood. 

Instead, he hummed. “Vhagar has been known to make the trip from here to Dorne in a day, give or take - ”

He stilled at the interrupting shake of your head. If you had met his eyes, you would have noticed the questioning squint of his eye. Instead, your eyes were now trained above him, not wavering from the star-spittled sky.

“No,” you began, the gold of your necklace jingling as you craned your neck - as if the stars would be able to hear you better that way. “How high? Your maesters would not tell me.” 

Aemond stared at you for a moment, finally following your gaze upwards with a slight smile. You asked the maesters. Of course you did. The thought of you badgering them in the palace library filled him with a disturbing level of fondness. 

“Perhaps we could find out.”  

Your head whipped towards him, eyes sparkling in the dark. “We?”

Aemond hummed again, this time in affirmation as he took your hand in silent question. “If I’m steering Vhagar, who will take note of the scientific observations? Maybe you are a dolt after all, my lady.”  You squeezed his hand in your own, and your answering grin was like the sun. Magnificent.