10 Things I Hate About You (Chapter One) - (Young)Sirius Black Imagine

See No Evil, Hear No Evil {1}

Aemond One-Eye x deaf!fem!reader Summary: Love blossoms when you get to know the sweet man and not the cocky Prince. Warnings: fluff, Aegon being a predator, more fluff. I know lip reading is not easy or infallible but for this the reader is able to read lips almost perfectly. WC: 4.9k

Part One || Part Two || Part Three ||

Couples were dancing around the space that had earlier been occupied by long tables for the feast, their joyous smiles twisting your gut with jealousy. No one would ask you to join them, not when you could not hear the very music that set the pace.

Returning your attention to the table that you were seated at, you watched the men and women intently. Some glared at you when they caught your eyes on them, waving their hand as if it could blow you out of sight and out of mind. Moving on to the next, you found a single blue eye staring back. 

Prince Aemond. He was another social outcast, though his personality was as much to blame as the jagged scar that ran through his left eye. There was always a taunting smirk on his lips and a cold gleam in his eye, it sent the courtiers vying for the hand of anyone but him. Not even the power hungry, attention seekers dared to subject themselves to his viperous nature. 

His brother captured his attention and whatever spell had kept you enthralled with his stare broke. The two Targaryen princes leaned together and Aemond’s lips pursed as Aegon spoke with nervous mannerisms that warned you they would have been whispering, but you could read his lips. 

“There is something desirable about a silent woman,” Aegon said as his eyes flickered your way. “But I would do anything to make her scream.”

Aemond’s lips pulled back with a sneer before he answered, “I can only imagine the depravities that fill your mind.”

“I do not think you have the creativity needed to imagine them, little brother.”

“Thank the gods for that blessing,” Aemond said as he leant back. “She is too intelligent for you anyhow.”

“Intelligent?” Aegon rocked back with a laugh that drew the others’ attention to him. “She cannot hear and does not speak.”

Aemond turned his eye back to you. “Then she must see a great deal, for there is definitely intelligence behind those eyes.”

“Then I would face her down when I bed her.”

You looked away and wrapped your fingers around the silver goblet so they were occupied and the trembling was hopefully unnoticeable. You had expected no better of the eldest son of the King, he was known to stick his fingers in many pies - though sometimes he didn’t stop at his fingers. 

You might have been deaf to the tales the maids spoke of as they prepared you but you saw everything from the tears in their eyes to the bruises barely hidden by their uniforms. Just the thought of Aegon even noticing you had a knot twisting in your stomach.

Pushing the velvet-lined chair back, you rose from the table and nodded silently to the sickly Viserys. He gave a weak dismal wave of his hand that rested on the arm of his chair and you pressed your fingertips to your chin in return, thanking him for permitting your leave. After flattening the layers of skirts that had creased beneath the table, you laced your fingers together and ignored the two stares that watched your retreat from the dining room. 

The feeling of spiders dancing down your spine didn’t ease, even after you had snaked your way through Red Keep to the atheneum. There would normally be a maester wandering the quiet halls full of books, organising the rows into alphabetical fashion and finding requested pieces for others, but with the late hour it was empty. 

The scent of dust and beeswax greeted you as you closed the door behind you. Someone had been waxing a leather bound book cover and the yellow bar had been left beside a half shiny cover as if they might return at any moment. Walking over to the small table, you opened the cover to see what the book was and found it to be a personal journal of Aegon the Conqueror. 

Warmth touched your nape and your lips parted with a sharp intake of breath as you spun around, your legs tangling in the skirts and your hip hitting the table with a sharp jolt of pain. Aemond stepped back with a smirk, his hands raised in innocence that was betrayed by the amusement in his eye.

“Apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

You rubbed your palm over the bruise that would no doubt be forming and narrowed your eyes at the blatant lie. “I shall rephrase, I did not mean for you to get hurt.” Aemond’s smirk grew until his lips parted and his shoulders bounced with a laugh. “I know you can understand me.”

He reached for you and you froze at the closeness, and his scent that washed over you as his hair nearly brushed your cheek. He smelt of the woods you had run through as a child, pine and earth, fresh and rich. Then there was the fruity yet tarty hint of wine that followed as he exhaled slowly, as if he had taken an equally long inhale of the floral perfume you wore.

As quick as he had come for you, he was gone, Aegon’s journal with him and you let out a shuddering breath as you realised you were not the object he had been reaching for. He seemed to take pleasure in the confusion on your face as he smirked once again and tucked the novel under his arm with a mocking bow. 

His eye lingered on your hip as he straightened. “Take care, milady.”

You could not breathe again until the door sealed shut but you no longer felt the calm that you usually found in the athenium, the books no longer welcoming as the tall shelves towered above you with their dark shadows. Angered by the effect Aemond had in your place of sanctuary, you swiped a book from the closest shelf and made for your chambers and the thick lock bolt that you could hide behind. 

The courtyard was busier than usual as you took a seat on a stool against the Keep walls. The airy space had become a favourite place to sit since you were not allowed to leave the high red brick walls without an escort. Since this was not your House territory you had to rely upon King Viserys’ white cloaked guards but you did not wish to make a fuss so you had not utilised the soldiers. 

The sky was blue and the clouds that had blanketed the city at dawn were quickly evaporated by the heat and it enticed many others to step into the sunshine. Pulling your small bound notebook from the pocket in your skirt, you unwrapped a stick of coal and looked around for something to catch your eyes. The twin guards, Arryk and Erryk, were huddled close as they entered through the gates and your hand moved across the page.

E: She paid another maid to leave last night in the cover of darkness. That is the fourth this month. A: What did you expect? Bastards don’t belong in the Keep. E: Someone needs to stop him. A: Careful, brother, what you speak could be considered treason.

They disappeared deeper into the Keep and you read over the dialogue trying to understand what they had been talking of when a shadow passed over the page. You slammed the book closed and looked up, momentarily blinded by the bright sun reflecting off the head of long silvery white hair. 

The stick of coal had fallen to the dirt in your rush to hide the page and Aemond crouched before you to gather it, holding it out in his palm. Your eyes lingered on the calluses from hours of training and the thin scars that littered the skin that peeked out from under his tunic. 

You had not seen him since the incident in the atheneum and you had forgotten the connection that had seemed palpable in the days gone by but now you were once again caught by his eye. You had failed to notice the flecks of violet in the pale blue iris when you last saw them but that was in a dimly lit room, in the sun they were almost iridescent.

It wasn’t until he took your hand and unfurled your fingers that you realised how long you had stared, breaking away with embarrassment as he placed the coal into your palm. The hairs on your nape rose under the intensity of the moment and you curled your fingers around the coal gently so as not to crush your writing tool. You slipped the coal back into your pocket and pressed your fingers to your chin.

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a small smile. He reached for your face and your breath froze in your lungs as he ran his thumb softly across jaw. “Can’t have a smudge of coal hiding your beauty.”

You were certain you read his lips wrong but the flutter in your chest betrayed your common sense and a smile tugged at your lips. His eye followed the curve of your smile and he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts before rising to his feet. 

“Care to walk with me, milady?”

You could feel eyes on you as the crowd snooped to see why the One Eyed Prince would be talking to you. You had long ago learned to ignore the stares but for some reason that seemed a harder task today. Tucking your notebook away, you accepted his offer with a nod and let him lead the way to the Royal gardens that were usually off limits.

“I must admit, you intrigue me,” Aemond said after stopping beneath the weirwood tree and facing you. “You and your notebook that you carry everywhere.”

You automatically pressed your hand to the reassuring weight and frowned, wondering where this was leading to.

“May I see it?”

Your fingers tightened around it and you shook your head adamantly. A heat flared across your skin at the thought of him reading your notes and looking at the drawings that you attempted. He appeared within the pages far too often for your own liking. 

“As prince, I could demand it of you,” he said as he stepped closer. The wind changed and caught his hair, flicking wayward strands over his shoulder and the scent of lemon verbena shampoo drifted your way along with the purely masculine musk of sweat from training. 

You walked away, needing to clear your senses that he overpowered much like his very presence in the garden. The notebook suddenly seemed like an anchor and each step was heavy as you took a seat on the edge of a long bench in the shade. From the corner of your vision you saw Aemond sit at the other end, the entire length separating him from you. 

Tap, tap, tap. 

Your fingers tingled with the vibrations as they rested atop the bench beside your legs. 

Tap, tap, tap.

You turned to face Aemond and found his smirk growing as he used his fingernail to tap and scratch the wood. 

“You can feel that, can’t you?”

You nodded your head and his smile grew, transforming his face and erasing the harsh lines that were usually shaped with a scowl. You startled with the realisation that you found him handsome and your palms grew warm as you wiped them on your dress that was suddenly too heavy for the spring weather.

Tap, tap, tap.

You were pulled from your thoughts and looked back at the prince, hoping he could not see the effect he had on you but the intensity to his stare made you feel naked, as if every thought you ever had was laid bare for him to read. 

His lips parted with a sharp intake and he leant closer, though he was still far from reach as he mouthed the word, “Beautiful.”

There was something therapeutic in being around the horses and you often found yourself wandering into the stables. The servants and stableboys no longer sent you odd looks as they grew used to your presence most days and you were grateful to be left in solitude as you combed the black and grey haired stallion that had caught your eye. 

You had just placed the comb back on the hook that hung beside the gate when you felt vibrations in the wood beneath your hand. 

Tap, tap, tap.

Stunned, you turned to find Aemond resting against the gate with a lazy smile on his face.

“I hope you aren’t planning on stealing my horse, gorgeous.” 

You rolled your eyes and didn't dignify him with an answer as you reached into your skirt pockets and found the carrot you had stolen from dinner the night before. Aemond’s shadow followed you as he opened the gate and stepped inside the stall, his hand landing gently on your shoulder so you were aware of where he was, as if you hadn’t been keeping track.

“No wonder Storm was slow to gallop,” Aemond said as he faced you from the other side of his horse, his hand petting down the long mane. “You have been spoiling him.”

You kept your palm flat as you Storm’s lips pulled back and he greedily took the carrot. The name suited the horse with his colourings of the turbulent stormy skies and you scratched his ear while he finished his snack. 

“As much as I enjoy hearing my own voice, there must be another way for us to communicate.” Aemond stepped around the front of Storm and you frowned as you no longer felt the urge to back away from him as you had in the past. “Teach me the signs I have seen you do.”

You were shocked by his request even though you knew him to be an intellect and a scholar, the fact that he spent so many mornings training to be a warrior seemed to fill you with the idea that he was more brute than student. Your nursemaid had been the one to help you create the secret language but it had never really expanded past what a child might need to convey. You had relied upon written communication but that was only useful with the highborns who were educated, unfortunately most of the servants were illiterate. 

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the notebook you were never without and tore out a blank page before he could see what secrets the book held. He watched as your handwriting sprawled across the page and you could see his chest bouncing with a laugh before he took it from you.

He slipped the note into the folds of his cloak with an amused smile, not at all offended by the message you had given him. You smell. Bathe first, then I will teach you.

“I shall meet you in the library, milady, after bathing of course.” He bowed at the waist though his eye never left you and you didn’t see the mocking smile he had given you the last time he had made the gesture. The pale blue orb seemed to zero in on the pulse at your neck, as if he could see how rapidly it raced in his intense presence. “I shall see you soon.”

Three Months Later

You had seen neither hide nor hair of Aemond as you strolled the halls of the Keep, the tourney for his brother’s name day was about to begin and you did not wish to enter the highborn box alone. Giving up hope on finding him, you followed the few other ladies who were late and slipped into the back row in the hopes your presence would go unnoticed.

The bench seat kept shifting as ladies rose with their garlands, tossing the favours to the lords who asked in hopes they might win their challenge with the luck. Each time they moved you cursed inwardly and settled your heart that pounded erratically, wishing the entire event be over with. 

You were tracing the embroidered floral design on your skirts when a hand waved in front of your face and you nearly fell back in fright. The only person you knew it wasn’t was Aemond, he knew to touch your shoulder to get your attention so as not to give you a heart attack. Peering up as you clutched your chest, you found Lady Reyne looking apologetic as she pointed to the front where the jousting course was set. 

Aemond sat atop his horse, patiently waiting with a smile as he caught your eyes. A thousand questions ran through your head as you rose from the bench and clutched the favour of woven asters and budding chrysanthemums to your breast. You could feel the eyes of the entire crowd following your steps down to the front of the highborn box and past King Viserys, but there was only one that held you captive. 

“May I ask for your favour, milady?”

You nodded with a smile, grateful that you had taken his advice to make the flower crown. When he said that someone may ask one of you, your head had fallen back with a silent laugh before you shook your head, but he had insisted and you could not deny him. 

Casting the favour out, it twirled down the length of his jousting pole until it reached his hand. His smile was brighter than the sun as he pulled at the reins of his stallion and made his way to the lists. His mother caught your hand with a gentle smile as you passed by and she patted the space beside her in invitation. 

You ringed your fingers nervously as you watched Aemond’s armour shimmer in the sunlight while his horse paced, awaiting the drop of the flag to begin the match. Alicent placed her hand over yours, unclenching them and lacing them with hers as she fretted over her son. You could tell she liked the idea of seeing her son facing a jousting opponent as much as you did. You had seen the heinous injuries one could get in the sport. 

Alicent patted your hand and you tore your eyes away from Aemond to look at her as she said, “He will be fine, dear. Aemond is one of the best.”

You nodded and hoped it looked reassuring before you noticed the flag drop. Aemond kicked his boots in the stirrups and his horse took off, kicking a spray of sand up behind him. You barely breathed as he raced along the fence and levelled out his pole, his opponent doing the same. Time seemed to slow as the poles crossed each other and crashed wood against armour, shattering into splinters. 

The air in your lungs exploded from you as you jumped to your feet and rushed to the rail to see Aemond still atop his horse. His opponent was sprawled across the sand but Aemond paid him no mind as he circled back to the rail where you waited and pulled his helmet from his head before shaking out his long hair that was mussed up. 

“Is your heart still in your chest?” Aemond asked as he looked up at you, amusement teasing a smirk on his lips.

You pointed to yourself and curled your fingers over your face before pointing to him, his lips parting with a laugh that shook his shoulders. 

“Why are you mad at me? I won.”

Waving him off, you noticed the next opponents were arriving to request their favours and he shot them a dirty look as they interrupted you. 

“Meet me in the library.”

You nodded and moved away as two ladies reached the railing, missing the smile Alicent had after watching the interaction. 

The tourney would continue all day so it was no surprise to find the athenium empty when you arrived and took a seat on the plush settee. The stained glass windows cast a colourful shadow across the stone floor and you reached into your pocket for your notebook and coal to capture the image. 

You were just finishing with the shading and smudging the shadows onto the parchment with your fingertip when you felt the air shift around your face. A smile was already pulling on your lips when you looked up to find Aemond dressed once more in his finery and his hair still damp from bathing. The citrus tart of his soap teased your nose and you reached for him as you closed your book. 

He let you pull him onto the cushioned seat beside you and chuckled to himself as you ran your hands over his fitted shirt before he caught your hands. “I am unharmed.”

You narrowed your eyes at him until he released your hands to continue to make their own assessment. When you were satisfied that he was not just trying to placate you, you shuffled closer and slipped under his arm that he opened for you in invitation. 

While waiting for his arrival you had been wondering how you could return the gesture he had made for you in front of the entire city and he could sense your unrest as you shifted in your seat. Unable to look him in the eye, you grabbed your notebook and placed it on his lap.

His fingers traced your jaw and turned you to face him so you could see what he had to say. “Are you sure?”

You nodded before you lost your courage and he carefully opened the bound covering as if it were an invaluable, fragile piece of history. He treated it knowing how you cherished it. 

You did not look to see what pages he perused, some drawings and some snippets of passing conversations, but instead watched his reactions. With each turn of the page you knew what he would find and your nervousness grew. The drawings of Red Keep and the Royal Gardens would soon change and he would see himself through your eyes. 

It had not taken long for him to become your muse, in fact in the last few months it had become an addiction. There was not a day that passed where you didn’t want to capture his likeness, sometimes it was when the sunlight caught his hair or the smile that he reserved just for you. 

His lips parted with surprise and you knew he had reached the moment you had first given in to your desire and drawn him content in the gardens. Your palms turned clammy and your heart threatened to beat right out of your chest as he turned each page until he reached the last and closed it.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as he turned to you and you saw his eye shimmering with unshed tears. Of all the reactions, that was not one that you could have expected. Aemond was always so collected and cool until you had peeled back the layers of his self-protection but this was the last mask to fall away. 

You reached for his cheek, cupping the warm skin as you wiped away the single tear that escaped before he closed his eye and leaned into the touch. 

“Thank you,” he said as he opened his eye again, blinking away the rest of the tears before they could fall. “No one draws my eyes.”

You frowned at the statement and he sighed from the heavy breath of air that brushed over your skin. “The artists who take our portraits do so from my right, this,” he tapped his leather eye patch, “makes them uncomfortable.”

Tears welled in your own eyes as you saw the pain he still felt though the wound had long healed. Though it was compromising, you rose to your knees and straddled his legs, shock flitting across his face before fear seeped in as you reached for the leather patch. 

“It is not pretty, milady.”

You circled your palm over your chest and you thought he would deny your plea for permission as he pursed his lips but then he bowed his head with a nod. 

His eye stared intently at you as you traced your finger over the leather that had been warmed by his body heat. The smooth material was softer than you thought it would be as you eased it from his head and bared his scar for the first time. Your breath rushed through your parted lips as you saw the crude line that had carved through his eyebrow, down his eye and across his cheek. 

He turned away and your heart clenched as he hid himself from you but he had to know, it wasn’t the scar that caused your reaction, you were horrified at how he had been hurt so badly. Cradling his cheeks in your hands, you gently guided him back to you but still he refused eye contact.

There was only one way you could show him how you felt and your stomach fluttered at the thought as you pulled him closer and pressed your lips to his cheek, just below the scar. His breath warmed your shoulder as he shuddered beneath your touch and you kissed him a little higher, grazing the skin that changed from smooth to raised. The tension in his shoulders relaxed with each soft kiss and when you pulled back you were able to admire the sapphire that replaced his missing eye without him turning away.

“Are you not repulsed?”

Your brows knitted together in confusion as you shook your head and stood up, instantly missing the warmth of his hands where they had rested on your hips. He watched curiously as you grabbed your notebook from where he had placed it and fished your pockets for the coal. Though you wanted to sit close to him it was not the right place for what you wanted to do and so you took a seat on the settee opposite.

Not liking how far you were away either, he tried to stand and join you but the stern finger you pointed at him had him sinking back into the cushions while you found a blank page. He remained still as you captured his likeness on the page and the colourful shadows of the stained glass window reached his hair. 

You knew of merchants that could recreate colours with ochre and malachite collected from Essos but even with your family’s wealth the rare minerals remained out of reach. You were left with the common sticks of coal and on your name day you often received the finer illustrator of graphite. 

Satisfied by the portrayal, from the long strands of hair that were now dry to the strong jawline that had felt better than imagined in your hands, you rose from the chair. Aemond welcomed you back into his arms and eagerly looked at the page that was still open. His throat bounced with the swallow he took and you chewed on your bottom lip as you waited with bated breath.

He turned slowly so you could see his lips before he spoke, “This is how you see me?” 

You looked at the picture and smiled at the face of a confident, handsome young man as he faced the world without having to hide. Looking back at Aemond, you placed your hand over his heart and nodded. 

His arms pulled you closer as he dipped his head and your body trembled in anticipation. Every nerve ending flared to life when his lips caressed yours ever so softly and your hands tangled in his hair as you returned the kiss with more force. You could feel his smile against you before he gave you what you needed and deepened the kiss, stealing your breath until you broke away feeling lightheaded. 

His thumb traced your tingling lips as you slipped back into the seat, tucked under his arm, and you saw his kiss-swollen lips. You imagined yours looked the same and heat flooded you with the thought of being caught in the compromising state. A sliver of panic grew in your chest, if rumours spread then you would be shamed from your family so you scampered from the chair and brushed your hands over your skirts.

Alarm erupted from Aemond at the sudden change and he watched you right yourself, hurt haunting his blue eye before he too rose. “Please do not regret what we shared.”

You froze, your jaw dropping at what he had mistaken your fear as and against your better judgement, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist as you shook your head. He curled himself around you until you felt entirely enveloped by his arms and his scent as he buried his face in your neck.

Pulling away reluctantly, he took your hand and placed it on his chest so you could feel the thunderous beat of his heart as it raced. “This belongs to you and I am yours if you will have me.”

His face blurred as tears welled in your eyes, the fierce nod of your head sending them cascading down your cheeks until he wiped them away with a proud smile. 

“I thought of another sign,” he said as he lifted his right hand up so his palm faced you before tucking his middle and ring finger back down. “When you see this, know that I love you.”

You raised your own hand and watched his tremble as you admitted what had been growing with each passing day since that first walk in the gardens. I love you.

Click here for part two.

Harry Potter - Fic Recommendations

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Sirius Black

Regulus Black

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Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: smutty goodness my friends, use of spit as lube (is that a warning idk), unprotected sex (as I always say wrap it before you tap it), fluff at the end

Word Count: 1,844

Author’s Notes: this was a request from @sabinemorans​ that was meant to be fluffy and cute and oops my fingers slipped and I made it smutty. I also left a cliffhanger cause there could possibly be (not making any promises) a part 2. I have an extreme weakness for the cuteness that comes with Din exposing his real name to reader but I made it smutty this time (once again oops). I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as the last. I enjoy very much writing for our wonderful Mandalorian. 

  The market was not very busy thankfully. It was nice for a change to not feel like you had to look over your shoulder every few seconds. Mando had seemed extra relaxed on this planet and you could see why. It was beautiful yet simple and there was not very many creatures roaming it and the market was incredible. You were almost overwhelmed when you stepped within the different vendors, none of them as pushy as they were in other places. Mando had not went far but he did need to gather supplies and the fact that he felt okay enough to leave you alone made you relax for once.

  Your fingers seemed to wonder to the clothes that settled on a table and you wanted so badly to purchase something a little more feminine to wear but you were not sure what Mando would allow credits to be spent on so easily. You glanced up at the next booth and your mouth pulled into a smile when you saw the stacks and stacks of books. They were such a rare find and you always had to sniff through them to find languages you could read but you were so excited to finally be somewhere they were even sold. You hurried your way over and began to scan the spines slowly. Mando entered in the corner of your eye and you looked up smiling like a complete idiot.

  “They have actual books,” you said almost a bit too excited and you immediately toned yourself back.

  Mando was a lot looser around you than he was with most people. You had forced him to become this way with you due to your over friendly manners but once he relaxed his shoulders and you started to hear more of his voice you were pleased with yourself. It helped that the two of you had been traveling together for almost a year and a half. You had once upon a time been a bounty until Mando found out who he was capturing you for and how incredibly terrible they were to you and instead took you in to protect you. You had grown fond of him quicker than you cared to admit and the two of you seemed to fall into a bit of a romantic relationship recently. Shared kisses in the darkness of the Razor Crest and sleeping in the same cot was the extent of it but silently you knew that Mando’s feelings were slowly starting to match yours.

  “Get you a few,” Mando’s voice pulled you back to reality as it spoke through his modulator.

  “Wait are you sure we can afford it?” You turned to look at him imagining his eyes hidden away behind the visor.

  “I have a few credits put back. We will be fine.”

  You could have squealed with excitement but you kept it to yourself, your smile only spreading wider and you let your face do your talking for you. You turned back to the books scanning again over the spins. You picked several up in familiar languages scanning the backs of them before picking out three that sounded good. Mando paid the vendor and you tugged them in your bag before the two of you started walking to check the rest of the vendors out. Your hand swung next to you side and finally you braved yourself and let your fingers lace in between the gloved ones of The Mandalorian. Mando tensed and you gulped thinking you had made a mistake but then he squeezed your hand back and you couldn’t help but look at him with a smile. 

  He never once let go of your hand the rest of the time you wondered through the market or even on your walk back to the ship. A comfortable silence had settled its way between the two of you until you were back in the ship. The suns had already set and darkness swirled all around you. Mando pulled you into the ship, closed the hatch, and had ever light off before you could even think twice. You almost asked him what he was doing, your heart rate picking up in worry until you heard his helmet being removed and then his lips crashed against yours. He backed you up against the nearest wall his still gloved hand coming up and cupping your cheek the other one snaking around you to pull you closer. You relaxed against him kissing him back deeply. You never thought either of you would ever come up for air put his lips finally pulled away from yours and making their way across your jaw and down your neck. Your head settled on the wall behind you and you panted finding his hair and lacing your fingers in the locks and letting out the smallest of whimpers.

  “Mando please,” it was a desperate whine of wonder what was actually happening here.

  “Din,” the word was mumbled against your neck and your overly heightened state could be playing tricks on you but did he just tell you his real name?

  “Wait hold on what?” You pulled at his hair to regrettable pull him away from you.

  “Din. It’s my real name. I need to hear your scream it when I fuck you,” he growled and then he was on you again.

  You didn’t have time to process the moment, the excitement nothing before his hands were everywhere removing your clothes and his armor. His lips and teeth marked every spot of skin they could possibly find and you were a moaning, whimpering, panting mess completely at your bounty hunters mercy. 

  “Din please,” you whined again desperate for him to touch you where you needed him most.

  “What do you want cyar’ika?” He growled in your ear.

  “You, your fingers, anything please Din.”

  His fingers found your clit and began to rub quick, small circles on it causing your knees to give out and you to once again let your head fall back. Din held you up with his body so close you could feel his hard cock against your upper leg. He let his fingers dip in your entrance and gave you several pumps causing your moan to grow louder.

  “So tight and already so wet. I can’t wait to feel you around me cyar’ika. Been waiting for this for a long time,” his voice was sending chills down your spin.

  “So ready for you, been waiting for forever too,” you let out a chuckle your words coming out barley a whisper the pleasure over taking you.

  His fingers were suddenly gone and you let out a whine in his direction at the sudden lose of him. He picked you up and you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist and he skillfully moved around the ship until he came upon some kind of container that he sat you up on letting you hang off the edge slightly.

  “You ready for me cyar’ika?”

  “Yes please.”

   You were incredibly unsure if you were actually ready. You knew nothing of what he looked like under that armor including just how big he was. It had been a very long time since you had been with a man and you gulped as he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to him. His hand came down on your pussy suddenly and you felt liquid being spread across it, saliva the only lube that was to offer at the moment and you didn’t mind it only pulled another desperate moan from you. He lined himself up and started to push into you. He was big and he began to stretch you almost painfully causing you to pull in air through your nose.

  “Breathe and relax. If it’s too much we will stop,” his voice spoke softly in your ear before he connected his forehead with yours.

  “No keep going…just be slow,” you panted out.

  He moved inch by inch until he was bottomed out inside you, his body fully connected with your and you took a few moments to adjust. 

  “Din move please.”

  He pulled out and snapped his hips forward going fully back inside you. He picked up to a very fast past until the pain subsided and your moans were begging him for me. He had you slightly picked up off the container under you and you had laid back. He started harder and faster fucking you so much that the thing under you was moving. You let out moans mixed with curses grabbing at the edge and white knuckling it. You had never in your life left this amount of pleasure and you never wanted to know anything else ever again.

  “I’m…so…close,” you panted tears of pure pleasure gathering in your eyes.

  “Cum for me cyar’ika. Scream my name,” Din growled bringing you up closer to him by the back of your neck.

  His pace seemed quicken even more and you hit your high with so much intensity you were not entirely sure what slipped past your lips or what your body was fully doing. All you knew was Din and your high the whole universe could have exploded in that moment and you would never have noticed. Din followed you with groans and your name slipping past his lips. He slowed his thrust to get you both through the high before he stopped and you both just held each other letting you both get your breathing and heart rate back in order. He pulled out of you and you couldn’t help the whine that followed. You would never be the same again and you hoped and prayed to the gods that he would be the last man you would ever know. He moved to pick you up bridal style and skillfully again moved around the ship until he was lying you gently on the cot. 

  “Stay right here but don’t look toward the fresher,” he kissed your temple and you nodded closing your eyes.

  It was hard at times not to look but you respected him and his Creed too much to break the biggest vow they had. He shortly returned back in darkness wiping a warm towel in between your legs causing you to jump slightly.

  “Did I hurt you?” His voice as full of worry as he threw the towel away and pulled you to him chest to chest.

  “No not at all. It was amazing,” you smiled and reached up finding his lips with your own before giving them a quick peak.

  You both settled in silence for a few moments. His fingers traced patterns on your back and up your neck causing you to drift off until your memory struck you.

  “So Din huh? What about the Creed?”

  “I hope some other things within the Creed will be followed soon.”

  “What does that mean?” Your brows pulled together in confusion of his words.

  “It means that I want no one else in this universe but you and I hope to make that a permanent thing soon.”

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @harrytags​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @beskars​

Triple Frontier fic: Why Did It Have to Be...

for day 12 of my hyggetober ficlet challenge. today’s prompt is “pets.”

Francisco “Catfish” Morales/gn!Reader, rated gen (warning: contains mention of snakes, though they exist entirely off-screen). can’t stop won’t stop writing extremely soft babyfic about hot single dad Frankie Morales™. 525 words. thanks to @heatherbel for suggesting Frankie for this prompt.

  Every now and then, Frankie has a flair for the dramatic. You hear him come through the front door, murmuring excitedly as he makes his way through the house to find you in the bedroom, folding laundry, and he pauses in the doorway, baby in tow.

“You will never believe,” he declares, “what we just saw.”

“What did you see?” you ask. You’re a little distracted, facing down three socks without their pairs, so you almost miss it when he widens his eyes expectantly.

“Guess,” he says.

Keep reading

Summer (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader)

gif via @little-ms-fandom

summary: You spend a summer falling in love with Frankie.

warnings: mentions of past drug abuse, light sexual themes/references, alcohol, fluff

rating: R

word count: 4.312k

masterlist

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start from the beginning / latest chapter (The Inn at the Crossroads)

updated 12.16.2022

W.I.P.

rating: explicit 

word count:  107,100

The smallfolk had a saying: ‘Royce brides meet a cold end when they take a dragon lord to wed.’

In Name Only - Part 1

A/N: Ughhh, hi! I’m a whore for Oberyn Martell and cannot be stopped. This is gonna be a little series, only a few parts (at least for now), and I hope you enjoy. This was one of my many shower ideas that I couldn’t let go!  As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: slight langauge

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I will not marry a man that does not love me,” you cursed the gods for making you a woman. You cursed your mother for being the way she was though it was not her fault that you were her only daughter among six sons. You cursed the laws of men that determined your position in life, “I will not be tied down to man who does not care about me, to a castle that will never be a home, and bear children I do not want.”

“You are an insolent, silly girl,” she hissed at you, and for a moment you feared that she might reached and strike you across the face. She had been prone to doing so when you were younger, but in her older years she had calmed down, softening with the birth of each child after you, each son, each brother you loathed for how easy their lives were, “you should have been married many moons ago.”

“I will not marry a man almost twice my age that openly keeps a lover and already has plenty of children,” a fiery rage set through your bones, one that would probably be perfectly suited in the warm, desert homeland of the husband she insisted you take. In the Reach, your attitude was abhorred, and you were considered the lone deviant of your family, “I will not give up my freedoms because you deem it fit for me to do so.”

“You will marry him and bear him an heir,” she grabbed your hair and roughly yanked it and leaned in so only you could hear, “you are lucky any man will have you. You’re much too old to be unwed and your demeanor makes you almost unbearable.”

“I will not do it,” you gritted your teeth and tried to pull out of grasp, “I will not subject myself to a life of servitude-”

“When I was your age I’d already been long married to your father and had you and two of your brothers,” she reminded, pushing you away with a heavy sigh, “do you think I wanted to get married? I was no more than a child, and you at least are a woman grown. I could have married you off years ago, as I should have. You would have been out of my sight and perhaps tamed.”

“I refuse. I will not bend and break to your whim,” turning away you started to storm off, hoping that some fresh air would calm you down. Perhaps you could ride your horse through the open pastures and fields surrounding the castle.

“And just what do you plan on doing then? Will you wander through the kingdoms on your own, travelling without anything or anyone like a heathen?”

“Perhaps I will,” you shrugged, “it would be better than doing what you ask of me. If you loved me-”

“If you do not marry him, you will be cut off from this family,” her words were enough to cause you turn around and listen to her, “you will lose your name, your worldly possessions, and you will be penniless. Is that really what you desire?”

“All of this because I do not want to take a husband?”

“It is your duty. As it has been the duty of every woman before you.”

“Fuck duty!” your voiced reverberated around the castle’s stone walls as she stared you down, “I will not marry someone I do not love. Father would never make me do so.”

“And your father is dead,” she reminded you with venom lacing her tone, “and what do you even know about love? It is a fiction created to keep little girls happy.”

“I loved him,” your heart felt like it was being ripped out of your chest as you thought of him. Your mother scoffed and dramatically rolled her eyes at you, “I loved him and you sent him away to certain death because you are a monster.”

“That horrid boy? He was a bastard,” she reminded you of the cruel little thing that kept you apart. How you rued the term of bastard; it did not mean anything, it did not determine a person’s character or heart, “he was never good enough for you. And you defiled yourself for him.”

“Because I loved him!” you insisted, “and he loved me! We would have been happy together, we could have built a life together…”

“He was a peasant, he tended stables-”

“That does not matter to me,” you reminded her, “he was kind and gentle and warm. I would have loved to have a life of tending stables if meant I was with him. Because I loved him!”

“You were lost in your girlhood fantasies of what you think love is,” she was cruel, each of her words twisting like a knife in your gut, “he was the first boy to show you attention and you fell for his little trap, and it has left you ruined for other men. You are lucky that Oberyn Martell does not know and he will not care, the one benefit of having a Dornish heathen for a husband.”

“I did love him, mother,” you tried hard to fight off the flood of tears that were pricked the back of your eyes, “and just because you can’t handle that you sent him to the Wall where he will live out his days and die. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“He was a bastard, it did not matter.”

“He was a good man,” your voice broke slightly as you tried to square your shoulders and stare her down, “his only fault in life was loving me. It’s gotten him the most cruel of fates.”

“I have had enough of you,” she steeled herself and strode past you, regal and noble in appearance as ever, “in two weeks time you will travel to Dorne and you will marry Oberyn Martell. You will either oblige and do it, as is your duty or you be expelled from this castle and can live out your days among the bastards that you love so much. It is your choice, whether you bring shame to this family or you disappear into the background as a woman should and become a dutiful wife.”

“Those are both horrible, vile options.”

“That is duty of being born a woman.”

Keep reading

Studious (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

Your marriage to the One-Eyed Prince is not as romantic as you hoped. At least he does not seem eager to perform his duty after your wedding night... Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N) Warnings: SMUT, p in v sex, bad sex (these kids have no idea what they're doing) Aegon's commentary at the end is probably a warning too

Author's note: This is my first ever one-shot!!! I wrote this based on a conversation I had a few weeks ago with @valeskafics and @womprat00 about how canon Aemond would likely act in bed... and here we are. There's probably gonna be a part 2 eventually, but idk when. I mostly wrote this to try and clear my writer's block around the upcoming chapters of The Silver Dragon.

Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

Studious

The wedding feast had been a wonder. Hundreds of candles illuminated the Great Hall, casting golden light upon the celebration below. The wine flowed and tingled in your veins, making you feel so light you almost forgot your nerves.

You had danced with every man in attendance and even a few of the women – including your new good sister, Princess Helaena. But only once with your new husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen.

After your opening dance, he returned to the table at the head of the hall, picking halfheartedly at his food and never more than sipping at his wine.

His eye – his singular violet eye – was on you all night, watching you with some emotion you could not name.

You did not allow yourself to think on it too deeply. Instead, you let yourself be lost in the celebration. You were a princess now, the wife to a dragonrider. Your children’s cradles would be warmed by dragon eggs, and they would go on to make history.

In the face of that, what did it matter that your husband had not spoken to you since the wedding ceremony? That he seemed so hesitant to touch or even look at you?

But then the Queen called for the bedding, and it mattered so much.

Aemond stiffly took your arm, never meeting your eyes, and led you out of the Great Hall.

Your only consolation came from the Queen’s insistence on a private bedding.

-

The bedchamber was starkly different from the exuberant joy of the Great Hall. You had not yet had the chance to decide how to put your personal touch on the new apartments, so the walls and tables were bare. There was only a single candelabra lighting the empty room, and the only thing signaling that it was occupied at all was the presence of two books on the bedside table: your personal copy of The Seven-Pointed Star and your diary.

You felt the urge to hide the diary for some fear that your new husband would read it and discover your hesitancies about the marriage – about him.

But Aemond had not looked at you since you both entered the room. You looked up at him to see if he had spotted the diary, but his eye was closed, his brow furrowed. It wasn’t until you spotted the slight movement of his lips that you realized.

He was praying.

It dampened your nerves, if only slightly, to know he was just as anxious as you. And to know he was as pious as the rumors said. There, at least, you could find some commonality.

You followed his lead, as a dutiful wife should, and bowed your own head in silent prayer.

You thanked the Maiden for such a fine match, begged the Crone to grant you the wisdom to be a worthy wife, and the Smith to strengthen the bonds of your union. Finally, you asked the Mother for her blessing in making the marriage fruitful, that she would soon bless you and your husband with a son and heir.

That task was not in the hands of the Mother alone, however.

Your husband continued his own prayer for long moments after you had again opened your eyes, leaving you standing there with your head bowed and your hands clasped in front of you.

Aemond took a deep breath, drawing your eyes back to his face. It was a handsome face, you thought. When you heard of his injury, you had imagined something far more… monstrous. And while his scar, mostly covered by his eyepatch, was unsightly, you still considered yourself lucky to have him as a husband.

He was better than that Frey boy, at least.

The corners of his lips twitched, and for a moment, you thought he might smile. But he did not. His face remained mostly impassive as he looked at the braids pile atop your head.

“The pins may be uncomfortable. Do you… need help?” he asked, his voice just as soft as it had been when he swore his vows. He obviously didn’t want to deal with it himself.

So, you shook your head and stepped toward the vanity. “No,” you answered. “I can manage.”

He said nothing more as you sat on the short stool and began removing the gold and pearl pins from your hair. Every time you glanced at him in the mirror, he was standing precisely where he had been, arms crossed behind his back as he stared at the bed.

Suddenly worried that he would grow impatient, you began tearing the pins out with less care, stifling your soft whimpers when you accidentally took a few strands of hair with them. Finally, your hair was down. But you only became more nervous when you looked in the mirror.

You looked ridiculous. After being braided in so many different ways and set for so long, it stood up in several places, fell in frizzy curls in others, and lay dull and flat along the back of your head. Hardly the sight to entice a man into bedding you.

Your husband still only stared at the bed, even as you came to stand next to him, straightening the skirts of your wedding gown. Then, his eye flicked to you, and over the wild mess of your hair, before landing on your bodice.

“Lay on the bed,” he instructed.

You obeyed, resting your head on the pillows and crossing your hands over your waist. What you were meant to do with your legs, you did not know. So, you simply held them out straight, awaiting further command.

Keeping your breath steady when you heard the soft sound of leather unlacing was no easy feat. Perhaps you would not have heard it if it hadn’t been so silent. But it seemed even the crickets, which usually chirped loudly at this hour, wanted you to be wholly present for your wedding night.

Aemond made a sound then, something halfway between a groan and hiss, and you instinctively looked toward him.

You wished you hadn’t.

He stood at the end of the bed, still fully dressed save that he had pulled his trousers down just enough to expose his cock as he stroked himself impatiently.

He was big.

You had only seen a man naked once before– some drunken servant wandering through the gardens one morning who had later been whipped for exposing himself to you.

Aemond was near twice that man’s size, and with the stones to match.

You fixed your eyes on the ceiling, trying not to think about it. Your mother had warned you there would be discomfort, and perhaps some pain. After what you just saw, you knew it was going to hurt.

But it was your duty. You were expected to be a good wife. A good wife lets her husband take his pleasure, fill her with his seed, and gives him heirs.

So, though your fingers trembled, you pulled your skirts up around your waist.

Aemond muttered his thanks and climbed onto the bed next to you. Carefully, he set a hand on one of your thighs, pulling slightly. Understanding the request in the motion, you shyly spread your legs, clenching your fists at your sides to resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands.

Aemond moved between your thighs, stroking himself once more before finally looking back at your face.

You could not decipher the expression on his face. His lips were tight and pursed, his brow slightly furrowed, and his eye wide. Nor could you hide your shock when he leaned down to press his lips stiffly against yours.

Neither of you moved your lips. You would not know how; your first kiss had been with him in the Sept earlier that day. Though you had seen people kiss before, moving their lips and tongues with sensual, passionate hunger, you had no idea how to do so yourself.

Thankfully, it did not seem as though Aemond cared to. He withdrew as fast as he had leaned down, once more refusing to look at your face. Instead, he dragged his eye down your form, lingering slightly on the hint of cleavage that peeked out of your bodice before coming to rest at your sex.

The corner of his lip twitched as he reached out to run a finger through your folds, spreading you open for him to see. His touch was warm, the sensation unfamiliar, and you let out a soft cry as you instinctively pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you both said at the same time.

You shyly edged yourself back down the bed toward him, silently granting him permission to continue whatever he needed to do. As you fixed your eyes back on the ceiling, you prayed again to the Mother and Maiden that this would be over before you died of embarrassment.

Aemond rubbed his hand over his thigh to try and warm his fingers before he brought them back to you. He trailed his finger slowly down your center curiously, as though you were a book he was scanning for a particular passage. Though your toes curled at the strange, almost pleasurable feeling of his touch, you kept your legs still.

Then, he withdrew his hand as though he had found whatever he was looking for. Then, he leaned back over you again, holding himself up by his left hand as his right stayed between you.

He did not move to kiss or look at you. Instead, his eye was fixed on where the tip of his cock now met your entrance.

Whatever pleasure his touch had brought you was gone the minute he began to push into you, your every sense fading to the painful stretch you felt. Your only relief came from it looking like Aemond was in as much pain as you. His jaw was tight, his teeth clenched, and his eye squeezed tightly shut.

So, you fisted the sheets in your hands, curled your toes against the pain, and shut your eyes.

You felt him push further and further in, and a soft hiss escaped his lips as his stones came to rest against you.

Gods, all of him had fit?

He stilled momentarily, bringing his other hand to your side to support him.

Then he began to move. Slowly at first, but quickly building speed. The pain remained, mixed with something entirely unfamiliar to you, something you could not decide whether you enjoyed.

Aemond stilled once again before you could decide, a guttural groan escaping him as his head fell to rest against your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, but you hardly felt it, not as you felt his cock twitching inside you, even when his hips were not moving.

Was that it?

Your breath had grown swift and heavy, and an emptiness settled in your stomach, even as Aemond was still inside you.

When he finally pulled himself from your neck, he looked back at your face. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you again. But your confusion must have been evident on your face, for he immediately looked away and pulled himself from you as he climbed off the bed.

He did not face you as he stuffed himself back in his trousers and righted his eyepatch.

Had you done something wrong?

You sat up to ask him but halted when you felt something wet between your legs. You pushed the volume of your skirts aside to find something thick and white leaking from you.

His seed. He had given you his seed, so you must not have done anything wrong.

You looked back up to find his face flushed as he swiftly turned away from you and walked toward the door.

“Good night,” he whispered.

Then he left.

He had not noticed your hand outstretched toward him, beckoning him to stay.

-

Two weeks passed, and your husband had not returned to your chambers.

Part of you was glad, for the wedding night had left you… confused, to say the least. But sometimes, your mind drifted back to his warmth as he lay atop you. To the softness of his lips on yours. To that feeling that drifted too close to pleasure before he stilled once more.

But each pleasant memory was met with an unpleasant one. The stiff way he moved. The way he so obviously did not want to look at you. How quickly he had finished and left without another glance your way.

When the other ladies of the court asked for details, whether he truly had dragonfire in his blood, you simply blushed and feigned bashfulness. Soon, they grew tired of not receiving a satisfactory answer and left you alone.

As did Aemond, it seemed. You saw him only occasionally, and mostly in an official capacity.

In the Throne Room each day, you dutifully stood beside him as his mother or grandsire held court.

At a reception held for a visiting Dornish lord, Prince, or some other thing, he only danced with you once, moving just as stiffly as he had on your wedding night.

You sat next to him at the evening meals he ate with his family every night. He would help you in and out of your chair, and even held heavy platters for you when you served yourself, but he never spoke to or looked at you for longer than necessary.

His mother did, asking you polite questions about your family and interests. Princess Helaena was very curious about the insects you saw at your family keep and occasionally muttered strange phrases you could not understand. At the first meal, Prince Aegon had made several lewd comments about the bedding, but the Queen silenced him quickly.

If Aemond listened to any of it, he gave no indication.

So, you decided to seek him out yourself. Perhaps he was shy and wanted you to take the first step in building a relationship. You donned your warmest cloak and asked a guard to show you the way to the training yard.

It was not hard to spot him amongst the guards and knights in the yard, for there was no one else in the castle with that long white hair.

He moved with such grace as he fought, entirely at odds with how he had been in your bed. His sword seemed like an extension of his arm – a deadly one. You were wholly enraptured by the sight, filled with disbelief that this was the awkward man you had married.

As the fight ended, with the tip of Aemond’s sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, you felt a hollowness in your stomach. Not quite the same emptiness you felt when he pulled out of you, but a yearning for something.

Perhaps for that pleasure you had just started to feel when he stopped thrusting into you and quickly left.

Indeed, when someone below pointed you out to him, and he looked up at you, his chest heaving with the effort of the fight, a thrill ran down your spine.

But then Aemond grimaced at the sight of you and turned away. Your heart clenched as you watched him angrily discard his weapons and stalk out of the training yard without another glance your way.

That grimace hurt more than all the looks of pity then turned your way as you ran back into the castle.

-

You did not join your husband or his family for the night’s evening meal, citing a headache. When your maids brought you chicken broth and a loaf of lightly buttered bread, you only nibbled at it before sending it away. You had no appetite. Not for anything.

Except perhaps home.

For the first time since you arrived in the capital, in the Red Keep, you wanted to go home.

Home was not as glamorous or exciting as the castle, but at least there were people there who cared for you. Who talked to you.

Here, you were entirely alone.

And alone you would stay, it seemed. It had been exactly two weeks since your wedding day, and Aemond still had not returned to you.

So, you fell into your new routine. After dismissing your maids, you settled into the plush couch by your sitting room hearth, a cup of spiced wine in one hand and a book in the other.

You no longer bothered to wear the silk and lace nightclothes your mother sent with you. There was no one to appreciate them, to be tempted by them. So instead, you donned a long nightgown made of simple, soft white cotton with long flowing sleeves that made you feel like a faerie when they trailed behind you. Atop it was a brocaded dressing gown in the colors of your house, a warm and welcome reminder of home.

Then came the knock at your door. Three soft raps in quick succession.

“Who is it?” you called, though you knew the answer. There was only one person it could be at this hour.

There was a long pause.

“Your husband,” a soft voice replied. “Prince Aemond.”

With shaking legs, you stood, setting down your wine and book, and stepped to the door. You did not look at his face as you cracked it open, not wanting to see another grimace.

“I know who you are,” you whispered. “I have only one husband.”

He did not laugh, but had you been looking, you would have seen his answering smile.

“Are you feeling well?” he asked, still standing just outside the door.

“Quite well,” you said. Then you winced, remembering that you had told the Queen you had a headache. “I mean… better. I feel better.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, and he blinked several times before speaking again. “May I come in?”

Every muscle in your body tensed, but you stepped back and opened the door further to allow him entry. A good wife did not deny her husband, and despite everything, you were still determined to be a good wife.

He still did not look at you as he examined the room, his gaze lingering on the book you were reading. Then, once again, he stood with his back to you and his arms crossed behind him.

The silence was nearly unbearable. Perhaps if you still thought him simply shy, you could withstand it. But after the way he looked at you in the training yard…

“Is there something I can do for you, husband?” You drew your dressing robe tighter around yourself, feeling more exposed now than when he was bedding you.

Perhaps because you had finally started to make your apartments your own. You felt that with every item, every tapestry or trinket he looked at, he was seeing a piece of your soul.

You watched the curtain of his hair waver slightly as he dipped his head. “Did you really have a headache? Or did you simply not want to endure my family tonight?”

Your heart stilled, and you felt fear seep into your bones. He would not hurt you, of that, you were sure. But you still somehow dreaded disappointing or upsetting him.

“I…” you stammered, unable to form words, much less an answer.

Aemond turned back to you, an unreadable expression in that lone violet eye. “I will not be mad if you did,” he said, somehow knowing your very thoughts. “I often do the same.”

He raised a hand to gesture to his eyepatch and the scar that lay beneath it. “It is not always a lie. That it hurts.”

You blinked, unsure how to react to what he had just told you. The vulnerability of it. He all but ignores you for two weeks, and now this?

“I can leave,” he said suddenly, fixing his hands behind him again. You had not realized he had relaxed his posture until he went rigid again. “If you would prefer it.”

You shook your head weakly. “You don’t have to. I am your wife. It is your right to be here.”

His lip twitched, and he looked almost disappointed at your reply. “It has been two weeks since we were wed.”

“Yes.”

“And we have not… been together since that night.”

“No. We have not.”

Aemond looked away from you again, his breathing suddenly heavier. “We should…” he swallowed thickly. “It is our duty to produce an heir, and we have been neglecting that duty.”

When you were first told you were betrothed to a prince, an idealistic, childish part of you had expected a grand romance. Something worthy of the storybooks.

Never this.

“You are right, my prince,” you whispered, and turned immediately to the bedchamber, not waiting to see if he was following.

Discarding your robe on your armoire, you laid on the bed with your arms crossed in front of you, holding your nightgown up and your legs spread, knees bent to allow him better access. With any luck, he would be finished as quickly as before. Then, perhaps, you would have another two weeks of solitude.

This time, you would not spend it hoping for something he could not give you.

You stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to climb atop you. But he did not come.

Curious, you lifted your head slightly.

Aemond was still in the sitting room, staring at you. Finally, he looked away to undo his belt, which he laid carefully over the back of one of your chairs. Then he removed his jacket, folding it neatly before setting it on the side table. His boots were next and arranged by the hearth to keep them warm.

Only then did he walk to the bedchamber, standing in the doorway as he gazed at your exposed sex.

“Stand up,” he commanded, a rough timbre in his voice.

You were so taken aback that you obeyed immediately, smoothing your nightgown back over your legs.

Aemond followed the movement with that piercing lilac eye of his. “Come here. To me.”

You wanted to ask why, but you could not find your voice. So instead, you were the good little wife you were raised to be, and walked around the bed to stand before him.

He quirked his head as he looked at you, stepping forward to close the gap between you. Then, he reached out to cup your chin in his large, calloused hand and lifted your head to meet his gaze.

His eye flicked down to your lips. “May I kiss you?”

You made a slight, involuntary noise of shock and disbelief. “Why?”

A flash of something you would almost identify as sadness passed over his eyes.

“You are my wife.”

“I know.”

His strong brow crumpled slightly, and he whispered your name gently. “I would very much like to kiss you.”

Only an hour ago, you would never have believed him. But he had just been vulnerable with you, admitting that his eye pained him. And he had come to you to make sure you were alright…

You nodded, the movement small and almost frantic. “You may.”

Aemond did not hesitate. He dove into you eagerly, like he had been waiting for weeks – since that first night together.

His lips were just as soft as you remembered, his skin just as warm. But the kiss was not as stiff. He paused after the initial contact, then kissed you again. He raised his other hand to cradle the back of your head, his long fingers entwining in your hair as he tilted you back to kiss you again and allow him better access to you.

The slight tug on your hair had you whining softly, your lips parting. As soon as they did, you felt something wet flick against them.

Your eyes, which you had not realized you had shut, snapped open. Aemond’s eye was closed, his brow set in concentration. Then, you felt that thing again, coaxing your lips open even further.

It was his tongue, you realized. He was using his tongue to kiss you, just as you had seen true lovers do.

A shiver ran through you, and you panicked.

“Stop!” you cried, pushing away from him.

He froze, his hand still aloft where it had just been tangling in your hair. His eye was wide with that unnamed emotion again, and he whispered your name. A plea, a question.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

Aemond shook his head, not quite understanding. “Kissing you.”

You licked your lips, still tasting him on you. “Why? You did not kiss me before. So why do you need to now?”

Now you knew that look was hurt. You, your words, and your hesitancy, it had hurt him. But he did not give you time to apologize.

“I don’t need to,” he said. “If you don’t want to. We can just… you can get on the bed.”

You nodded again and moved to take up your previous position.

“Can you…” he whispered with a wince of embarrassment as you sat. “Can you take off your nightgown? Please.”

Perhaps you would have refused if you had not felt so guilty for wounding him by asking about the kissing. But you supposed this was as good as an apology and lifted the gown over your head.

You heard Aemond inhale sharply as your breasts were revealed, nipples immediately pebbling in the cold – the fire in the bedchamber had not been lit.

Resisting the urge to cover yourself was one of the hardest things you had ever done. But you gritted your teeth and took up your position.

Hands crossed over your waist, legs apart, knees bent.

At least Aemond returned the favor, removing his shirt and trousers before joining you on the bed. He hovered over you, looking deep into your eyes for a moment, perhaps hoping you would change your mind and let him kiss you again.

But you just stared at him, waiting. You had seen his cock. He was ready. So what was he waiting for?

He gazed at your breasts briefly before sitting back on his knees between your open legs. His cock twitched slightly as he brought his eye to your sex, and he blinked slowly.

Then, Aemond laid his hand on your thigh, rubbing small, slow circles on your soft skin. The tender touch surprised you, but you could not deny it felt… good. The longer his fingers were on you, the more you felt a warm feeling of desire pool in your core.

“What are you doing?” you asked as you fought to steady your breath.

The corners of his mouth lifted into an almost smile. “What I should have done before,” he explained. “You weren’t… made ready for me. I apologize for that.”

“I don’t understand,” you whimpered as his hand drew closer to your folds, which had begun to ache with something that was not quite pain.

Aemond shook his head in what you could have sworn was shame. “You will. It will be better this time, I promise.”

You wanted to say that almost anything would be better than what he had done on your wedding night, but then his fingers reached your core, and words abandoned you.

This touch was different than it had been that night. He was more confident and sure – like he knew now what he was looking for and what he was doing.

He was gentle as he circled your entrance, the movement focused but slow. Your stomach tightened as your toes curled, but you gave no other reaction. How could you when you did not know what he was doing or what he wanted?

You were sure he wanted something. Why else would he be looking at you like that?

So, you offered him a tight smile.

It seemed to encourage him. With his index finger still stroking your entrance, his thumb climbed slowly upwards, spreading the slick that had leaked from you through your folds. The sensation was similar to, albeit less intense than, his previous ministrations.

That is, until his thumb slipped under a small hood of flushed skin at the top of your sex, and lightning shot through your every nerve. Your mouth fell open, and your back arched out of your control.

Had your eyes not been so tightly shut, you would have seen a look of utter triumph come over Aemond’s face. His thumb stayed where it was, circling that spot – that bud – slowly but firmly.

This was pleasure, you realized as the lighting crackled under your skin over and over again with every swipe. Different from what you had begun to feel when he was inside you, but pleasure all the same.

Is this what all those women had laughed about when they asked you about the bedding? They wanted to know whether you had felt this?

Your legs began to shake, and it became hard to breathe. The pleasure building and building within you began to terrify you.

It couldn’t go on like this. It couldn’t just keep growing on and on. It would become too much – it already was too much.

“Stop,” you begged when you were able to gulp in a breath. “Please.”

Aemond’s fingers immediately stilled, that look of hurt once more creasing his brow. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just wanted… did I hurt you?”

You shook your head.

“Did it… feel good?”

Gods, it had felt so good. Too good. It felt almost sinful.

But you weren’t about to admit that.

You readjusted to your original position and waited until your breathing had calmed.

“Can you just…” you licked your lips, suddenly realizing they had gone dry. “Do what you need to do? I’m quite tired.”

His hand, still braced on your thigh, tightened, then relaxed and slid away. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” you whispered as you heard the soft sounds of him pumping his cock to prepare himself.

He did not lean over you this time but remained kneeling between your legs as he gently gripped your hips and pulled you towards him. It did not hurt as much when he entered you again, though the stretching was still uncomfortable.

That same low grunting sound escaped him when he was fully sheathed within you, and he stilled for a moment.

You realized for the first time that maybe he needed that moment of adjustment as much as you did.

But then he began to move. The motion wasn’t as stiff as it had been on your wedding night – not a simply thrusting in and out, but a smooth rolling of his hips.

That other feeling of pleasure you had just begun to feel that last time came to you sooner, more intensely. Then, after one particularly deep thrust, another bolt of lightning ran through you.

A gasp escaped you, and your eyes immediately snapped to Aemond’s face.

His own eye was wide, his lips parted, and jaw slack. He smiled at you like you had just given him a present with that reaction.

Your cheeks flushed, and you turned your head away and into the pillow below you.

Aemond’s movements became more stilted after that, and it was only moments after when he stilled again, and you felt him twitch within you once more. He did not make a noise this time.

He climbed out of bed and, only after dressing again, turned back to you.

It was hard to meet his gaze.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked softly, his tone reminiscent of a scolded child. “I won’t… I will be quick, I promise.”

Guilt crept into you at the desperation in his voice, knowing you had been its cause. You moved to the edge of the bed near him and tried to smile. “You may.”

Aemond moved haltingly as he leaned down and cupped your cheek, his touch like fire on your skin. It was almost as though he expected you to shy away, to take back your permission.

But you didn’t. And he kissed you – quickly, as he had promised. There was not a hint of his tongue.

Then he thanked you and left.

As you fell back against the pillows, you tried not to think about how you almost missed the feeling of his tongue against your lips and his thumb circling that little bud between your legs.

-

“Well, did she come?” Aegon asked the next day, without pretense, manners, or shame.

Aemond bit his lip, knowing what his brother’s response would be. “No. She asked me… to stop pleasuring her and do my marital duty.”

As expected, Aegon nearly fell out of his chair with hysterical laughter. Grand Maester Orwyle and Lord Jasper Wylde – who had both been helping Aemond understand how to better please his wife – grimaced and exchanged a look Aemond did not particularly care to interpret.

“She would rather you breed her like an animal and leave her alone than come?” Aegon barked, shaking his head. “Oh, brother, you are hopeless.”

“I respected her wishes,” Aemond hissed. “Unlike some, I do not force myself on women.”

“No, you just fuck them bone-dry.”

“She wasn’t – ” Aemond swallowed, clenching his fists behind his back to keep him from throttling his brother. “Not this time.”

Sensing the conversation was teetering dangerously close to physical blows, Lord Wylde cut in. “I think, my Prince, it is important to remember that there is a… romantic element to sex. It is not simply a function of the body, but of the heart.”

Aegon groaned.

“Lord Wylde is correct, my Prince,” Orwyle added. “It may do you some good to try and woo her before taking her to bed again. A learned technique can only accomplish so much if she does not crave your touch to begin with.”

“And what would you know about it?” Aegon asked the Grand Maester. “Haven’t you taken a vow of virginity?”

Orwyle’s face remained as impassive as stone. “I have, my Prince. But stimulating arousal, and even orgasm, in women has many medicinal uses. It can have great effect in treating hysteria and melancholy, and even easing the pain of birthing labors, to name a few.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed. “Did you… have you made Helaena come? Seven hells, have you fingered my wife, Orwyle?”

The Maester said nothing, and that was answer enough.

But before Aegon could say anything more – no one was sure whether he would be offended or impressed – Aemond stepped forward, extending his hands before him as if he could grab the answer to his question.

“I do not know how,” he gritted out.

Neither Orwyle nor Wylde had an answer for him.

Aegon examined his brother and suddenly saw how genuinely desperate he was. The tension in his every muscle leaving him practically trembling before them. The way he refused to meet any of their eyes. And the slight flush on his cheeks.

“Aemond,” he started, all amusement banished from his face. “Do you… love her?”

The One-Eyed Prince looked as though he might cry. Or snap and kill them all. It could be either. Perhaps both.

“She…” he whispered, blinking rapidly as he searched for the words, his silver tongue failing him. “She is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She is soft, and gentle, and kind. And when I went to her chambers last night…”

He broke off and laughed slightly. Then nodded his head like he had found his answer. “She was reading my favorite book.”

The three other men glanced at each other, exchanging raised brows and wide eyes.

It was Lord Wylde who finally spoke. “You have common ground then, my Prince. That is a good place to start.”

Addicted to You

Part 1: The Chain

Summary/Author’s Note: As the sister of veteran turned freelance for hire Santiago “Pope” Garcia, you grew up close to his friends and ex-military squad. Frankie Morales always had your heart, in the same way you always had his–the two of you just never seemed to get the timing right. Trying to escape the violence of a military career based family, you turned to journalism and humanitarian work in war torn countries. But three days ago your crew was ambushed and after three days without any contact, Pope is getting the guys back together for a rescue mission. (Follows Canon events very closely with added character and liberties) Thank you to @winters-buck for headcanoning with me about Frankie and getting me pumped up enough to write this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Pope’s sister!Reader Word Count: 4.6k (idk what happened…) Warnings/rating: (NC-17)/18+ Language, smoking, implied drug use, PTSD, sex/smut, kidnapping, blood, violence, threats, fluff and feelings

MASTERLIST

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the sweetest taboo

pairing: frankie ‘catfish’ morales x f!reader

warnings: SMUT - oral (f receiving), somewhat rough sex, a little dirty talk

a/n: so here it is. i told y’all i would write something because this gif gave me ideas about not-so-soft frankie.

You can’t remember the last time Frankie had been this needy. His lips and teeth are on every inch of exposed skin they can find before you can close the door properly. He snatches his cap off, frustrated with it getting in the way of him getting to you.

“Frankie baby,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “Let’s go upstairs…” He sucks on a particularly sensitive part of your neck and your knees buckle.

“Mm mm,” he grunts against your skin.

“What?”

“Huh?” He finally pulls away from you looking simply disheveled—pupils blown wide, hair a mess from you running your fingers through it, and breathing as if you had taken his breath away.

“What’s gotten into you?” you tease, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

He moves in on you again, this time capturing your lips. His tongue swirls with yours expertly, reminding you of just what else he can do with it. “Want you,” he breathes.

“I can tell…” You smile at him as you pull the shirt out from where it’s tucked into his jeans—the khaki ones he loves so much. “Got any blood left in that head up there or has it already all traveled to the other?”

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