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astoryisaloveaffair · 3 years ago

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Fix You - Chapter 11: White Knuckle Grip

*gif by @pedrorascal

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Read on A03

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Chapter Summary: You and Frankie settle into your love and your trust in each other is tested

Word Count: 11K

Rating: Explicit, 18+, GRAPEFRUIT

*If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature and explicit themes and kinks. Additionally, you understand and acknowledge warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story*

Chapter Warnings: legal age difference (10-15 years), rough sex, Dark!Frankie, oral (m&f) rec, PiV, moderate bondage, moderate terms of degradation, face fucking, use of toys, vest appreciation, sexualization of military shit, spanking, overstimulation, cumplay, creampie, deep-throating, first time squirting.

*I’m going to be really honest with you guys this is straight up FILTH and it goes a rough and dark, so if Dave York style shit isn’t your jam, I would skip the entire 8th section (or second to last)! No hard feelings!

A/N: Hello!!!! I am back from kitten duty and here to present you with this much anticipated chapter! I really wanted to make this worth the wait so I hope I delivered! In the time away I have learned that I cannot foster kittens without keeping them all. My house is chaos (also I am more than happy to supply pics if you ever want them). ANYWAYS. I want to thank everyone that continues to read this story and leave me sweet little notes, I love you for them and they really help brighten a dark day. No beta, we live and die like Oberyn Martell.

Suggested Songs: “Trampoline” by Shaed & Zayn, “Two Weeks” by FKA Twigs, “Bruises” by Chairlift, “Freak” by Doja Cat, “All on My Mind” by Anderson East, “R U Mine” by Arctic Monkeys

“Alright,” You declare, dramatically opening the map in the air in front of you, smacking it lightly to smooth out the creases. “What first?”

“LOBSTER!” Gabi trills, bouncing in her dad’s arms clapping her hands.

“Gabi, baby, this is a land zoo, not an ocean zoo.” Frankie sighs in mock annoyance, but you and Gabi can see the smile creeping across his lips.

“MMmm.” She gurgles, shoving her fingers in her mouth to suckle while she works out what she might be able to see. She gasps suddenly, her wet fingers grasping the curls flipping out of the sides of his hat as she all but screams in his face. “DADDY. DOGGY!”

Frankie adjusts his head around Gabi’s to look at you. “They got any wolves here? Foxes?”

“Are you telling me you’ve never been to this zoo before?”

“No I have - ouch- baby girl, what did I tell you about pulling my hair? You’re gonna make me bald, bonita. Don’t make me put you back in your stroller.” You laugh as he takes her hands and unwinds them from his soft curls before continuing. “I have, I just can’t remember. I don’t think we saw everything last time.”

You nod, moving off to the side of the walkway to get out of the way of other visitors while you plan out your route. “No wolves, but they have coyotes. Over here to the left in Wild Florida. Then we can circle around and catch the Africa section for your elephants, Frankie, which has many of the big cats for me. Then we can grab lunch, breeze through Australia and Asia, hit the train, maybe the G-I-F-T shop, and head out! Sound good?” You look up expectantly, Frankie staring at you mouth ajar, eyebrows arched. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just…impressed. You’d be a good strategist. Last time we came here with Benny it was a mad disorganized dash back and forth all over the park until I was too worn out to keep going.”

You smile, picturing it in your head exactly, Benny darting from one exhibit at the front, running to the end of the park for another, then realizing he missed something and running back to the front. Sounds about right.

Destination set, the three of you head into the Wild Florida section, pausing to look at several animals native to the area, taking more than twenty minutes to look at the alligator exhibit.

You’re gripping the wooden rail of the gazebo, Gabi safe in your arms and standing on the top so she can see. A line of at least thirteen alligators are piled up on the water’s edge, some on top of each other, some with mouths open, all enjoying the beautiful sunny afternoon. You feel as if you have never known such peace as they are experiencing. You feel Frankie’s arms wrap around your waist lightly, his lips pressing into the back of your neck before he pulls to whisper in your ear. “See? They’re cool.”

You nod, pulling Gabi back more against your chest as one of the larger reptiles struggles to get up and sluggishly makes its way into the water with a splash. It heads right to a little fountain in the middle of the water area, slowing to a halt as it positions itself so the spray falls on top of its head. It almost looks like it’s smiling, it’s eyes little crescents at the sensation of the water trickling down it’s leathery skin.

“They’re actually…kind of cute.” You murmur. “Cute, tired, and ancient. Kind of like you!”

He pinches you gently on the waist. “Ha ha. Very funny. Gabi, do you think daddy is old?”

She turns her head to him, chewing her lip. “Yes.”

You burst out into laughter and she joins you as Frankie sputters dramatically and pretends his feelings are hurt.

The three of you move on, pausing to look at turtles and frogs, ducks, bears, even a manatee before everyone finally finds themselves in front of the coyote enclosure.

There’s nothing there. For ten whole minutes, while Gabi becomes more and more agitated as each minute passes. But finally, out from some shrubbery near the door of the private indoor area, a beautiful brownish grey coyote lopes out. And another, and then one more. They take turns racing around the edge of the enclosure walls, eager to stretch their legs after being inside. It takes almost everything in her for Gabi not to shriek in excitement every time they pass close by, you and Frankie had tried to teach her in the car that loud noises would scare the animals. She whines in his arms, and when he puts her down on her feet she immediately slides through the post and rail fence, charging towards the final chain link barrier to get closer to one of the coyotes on his next pass.

“SHIT! GABI!”

Before he can even react, you launch forward over the top rail, flinging your arm around her waist and scooping her up into your arms. “Nope. Too close. We all have to look from behind here and so do you.”

She huffs but acquiesces, wriggling against you so she can at least stand on top of the wooden fence while you hold her securely.

It takes almost five whole minutes for Frankie’s heart rate to calm down. He can’t even speak, still in shock at how easily Gabi could have gotten seriously hurt. It happened so fast he barely even had time to react, his reflexes not as on point as they used to be.

If you hadn’t been here…

You’re not just a babysitter. You’re not just a girlfriend that he loves. You’re family. And it hits him then, that If anything were to happen to him, he knew Gabi would be well taken care of. He trusts you to do that, and even though It wasn't something he had ever consciously thought of, he knew at that moment, without a doubt, that he could really trust you.

Frankie clears his throat and looks away, his eyes tearing up, and he doesn’t want anyone to see. When he looks back to you, you’re whispering in his daughter’s ear and giggling together.

The three of you watch the coyotes as they traipse about the enclosure, play wrestle with each other, yipping and barking as they tumble about before they collapse into a sleepy pile in the sun.

“Alright baby girl, time to see the next one now.” Frankie urges, gently tugging on the small hand enclosed in his own massive palms. It takes a few minutes but he finally gets her to go, and they chatter absently together as you follow them out of the Florida area and on to the Africa section.

Seeing Frankie watching elephants is a whole new experience. You’d figured since he got one tattooed on his thigh that he loved them, but you couldn’t have anticipated the sheer boyish excitement shining in his eyes as he watched them lumber about. He held Gabi close, whispering in her ear and pointing to this animal and the next, telling her about them or maybe making up little storylines for them. You felt your heart clench at how dedicated a father he was and how much he genuinely enjoyed interacting and playing with his daughter.

After the elephants, you hit the lions, hand-feed some giraffes, and argue over the difference between leopards and jaguars, before taking a break to do a diaper change, get some rainbow snow cones, and do some people watching.

“Daddy,” Gabi says, pausing to attempt to phrase her sentence. Her face is wet and her tongue and mouth are tinted purple from the mixture of food coloring in the snow cones, much like the giraffes you had just seen. “Want a doggy.”

Frankie sighs and takes another bite of his treat. “Gabriella, we’ve talked about this too many times already. No dogs. No pets.”

You expect her to start crying, her eyes are welling up with tears but she simply nods and picks at her empty cup.

“Well I don’t know, why? You don’t like dogs?”

Frankie lifts his empty cup to drink the remaining liquid before tossing it across the way to the trash can a few feet away before looking at you. “I don’t dislike dogs, I just don’t have the time to be able to take care of a pet right now. What with NA, my job, Gabi…sometimes I help train Benny, it’s too much of a commitment.”

“That makes sense. What about a cat? They don’t need much commitment.”

He scoffs. “I don’t like cats.”

“Heartless. Fish?”

“It’ll die in a week. I can’t even keep a succulent alive.” You roll your eyes and laugh, giving up on the discussion.

Snow Cones finished, you move on to South America, finally getting Frankie face to face with a jaguar until he acknowledges that yes, they are different than leopards. You see monkeys, anteaters, and to your ecstatic joy, even a catfish. A Suckermouth Catfish.

“But Frankie! Look! It’s a type of armored catfish! An armored catfish! Get it! Cause you were in the Army!” You splutter in between gasping breaths of air between giggles.

Frankie is not amused, grumbling to himself at your hysterical laughter until the three of you reach the otters and capybaras. All previous thoughts are gone from the obscene cuteness, you collectively fawn over them for at least half an hour before finally hitting the indoor Amazon building.

“Let's move past these, I’m sure you and Gabi don’t want to look at snakes.” Frankie says, moving swiftly with Gabi on his shoulders by the snake portion. As he turns the corner to get back to the birds, he suddenly realizes you aren’t with him and have stopped to look at a particularly beautiful snake.

“Frankie!” You gasp. “This snake is so pretty! Come look!”

He moves back to you and peers into the terrarium with Gabi still on his back before realizing she can’t see and drops her into his arms.

“OOooooooo. Daddy, it boo!” It is. A beautiful boa constrictor with a crisscrossing pattern of orange and bright, almost holographic blue on the stripes.

“It’s called a Brazilian Rainbow Boa.” You chime in, sliding to the side to read the information on the plaque. You spend a few more moments looking at the iridescent animal before once again moving on, now taking the time to look at more of the snakes. Out of the corner of your eye as you walk, you see Frankie sneaking glances at you with the dopiest smile.

“What is it?” You chuckle.

He shakes his head and leans closer to your ear, voice lowered so Gabi doesn’t hear. “Just love you.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that. I feel the same.” You wish with all your heart you could say it back loudly, but not yet. Today was the day you would be telling Gabi about the two of you, but now wasn’t the time. She was a smart girl, it couldn’t be kept a secret forever, and you and Frankie would just have to hope she didn’t say anything about it to her mom. For a while you continue walking together in silence, enjoying the sounds of the zoo animals and the visitors surrounding you, thinking about how you would break the news to her. But as these things happen, another thought bursts to the forefront of your mind instead.

“Why did you think Gabi and I wouldn’t want to look at the snakes? Snakes are cool.”

Frankie shrugs absently, his attention mostly on pushing Gabi in her stroller. “Cause you’re girls.” He immediately winces and halts, knowing he fucked up. He turns and looks at you. You’re smirking at him with your arms crossed. You don’t even need to say anything before he’s tripping over himself to explain.

“Wait, no, I just - well - okay, fuck, that does sound bad. I just haven’t met a lot of girls who like snakes. I didn’t mean all girls didn’t like snakes. I’m sure there’s guys that hate snakes! It’s just - Lex was terrified of them. I was just trying to say I appreciate that…about you. It’s…cool…” He trails off, his expression twisting as he makes a last ditch effort to save himself. He sighs. “Dammit. Nevermind.”

You can’t help but laugh at his struggle. “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

“I didn’t mean to make it like a thing about women…”

“No, I know. I know you Frankie. No, I don’t mind snakes. We have a few dangerous species where I live but they pretty much don’t want anything to do with people. Now bugs? That’s a whole other story. I get a bug near me and I’m going to flip out. So you gotta take care of that for me. I can handle the snakes.”

He laughs. “Okay, deal.”

The three of you sit down to eat the pre-packed sandwiches you brought, then take a relaxing ride on the train while you digest. Feet beginning to hurt, you breeze through Australia and finally through Asia, ending the day with the best part of the zoo, the tigers.

“I just need to go to the bathroom before we trek all the way back, so I’ll meet you in there.” Frankie calls over his shoulder as he begins trotting to the restrooms next to the gift shop. You nod, feeling your heart clench once again over the fact that this is the first time Frankie has left you alone with Gabriella while out and about amongst the public. You swallow back the lump in your throat as you push her stroller inside, letting her get out and toddle through the store herself once you gather your bearings. She quickly lands on a gigantic wall of plushees, rows and rows of almost every animal you’d seen that day arranged in a rainbow of color. Each shelf alternate two species, like one elephant, one lion, one elephant, another lion, and on and on until the next shelf with two new species, effectively making the entire case appear like a patterned mosaic from far away. You stare together in awe at it for a few minutes.

“Which one do you like the best?” You ask. Gabriella chews her lips, the sensory overload settling after a few moments as she zeros in on the animal she wants. You aren’t surprised. “You want the coyote? That’s a good choice!”

You reach up and hand the best looking one to her and she sighs, clutching the animal to her chest. “Daddy say no.”

“No he won’t. You’ve been a good girl today, I’m sure he'll get you one, if I have anything to say about it.”

She smiles and inhales deeply, reaching for your leg and leaning against you as she climbs back into the stroller. “M’tired.”

“Yea, it’s been a long day hasn’t it. But you had fun with me and your dad, right?”

She nods and tilts her head. “Daddy like yoo Fower.”

You swallow. “He does?”

She nods slowly, a big grin on her face.

“I like him too. Is that…is that okay?”

She nods again, but her brow quickly furrows as she works out her feelings. “Um…but mommy…” She stops, hitting a wall separating her emotions and linguistic ability.

“Oh. Gabi…” You kneel before her. “Your mommy is still your mommy and always will be okay? Nothing’s going to change that. You just get like, an extra person who loves you in your life. Is that okay?”

She licks her lips and nods again. “And a doggy too.”

You laugh, cupping her face between your hands and plopping a wet kiss to her forehead as she giggles. “Gimme some time with that one.”

Frankie’s going to melt. Like the Wicked Witch. Just splash to the floor into a big puddle.

It doesn’t take a man long to go to the bathroom, and Frankie had followed you into the gift shop after only a few minutes, slowly wandering around until he spotted you two behind a few spinning racks of puppets. You clearly hadn’t seen him. He heard everything.

He swallows the lump in his throat threatening to burst and makes his presence known. “There you are. What did you find?”

Gabi turns to him and lifts the plush coyote in the air with her little arms. “Ta-da!”

Frankie bends over to Gabi in her stroller and peers at the animal, hands on his hips. “Hmmmm I guess that is okay. You were a good girl today and all.” You shift behind him, not wanting him to notice how those words made you shiver.

The three of you head to the cashier and check out, Frankie grumbles slightly over the prices but shoos you when you try to pay for half.

“Gabi, this is the last chance. Are you sure this is the one you want!”

“Yes. Until real doggy. Fower say so.”

You burst out into laughter and Frankie sighs and rolls his eyes, turning back to the grinning cashier.

The trip back home is almost silent. Gabriella falls asleep almost the moment she’s clicked into her carseat, her little face smooshing up against her new stuffie. You’re tired too but content, your legs bent up and your feet resting on the truck’s glove compartment, eyes closed and head back against the headrest tilting towards the window. Frankie can’t keep himself from looking at you every chance he can, a blooming swell of satisfaction and happiness at seeing his two girls all tuckered out.

“I can feel you staring.” You murmur.

He huffs a laugh. “Well stop looking so beautiful then.”

You hum, that small smile spreading across your face until it reaches your eyes as they open. He reaches his hand out to you, and you take his big hand in yours and thread your fingers together, resting them on your thigh. “I can hear you thinking too. What’s going on up there?”

What isn’t going on in his head? I love you, so fucking much. Sometimes I can’t even believe you’re real. Move in with me. Marry me. What??!! “Thank you, for today.”

“No, thank you for taking me! I’ve been wanting to go to this zoo for so long but I never had anyone to go with!”

“You’re welcome, but I didn’t mean that. I meant about what happened…with the coyotes. That scared the shit out of me.”

You reach out to place your hand on his arm, caressing the skin and soft hair there. “Yea, it was really scary. I didn’t expect her to do that, but it’s okay, we got her.”

“I scared myself too. That I wasn’t fast enough. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“It won’t, and you would have gotten to her before she got to the fence, I know it. I was just closer to her. But if anything ever does happen, I’ll be there. I’d never let anything happen to her.”

“I know.” He pauses. “It’s hard for me…to trust other people with stuff like that. Especially with her. She means more to me than anything else in the world. But I trust you.”

You huff a laugh. “I’d hope so! I’m her babysitter.”

He shakes his head, growing frustrated with himself once again. “No, I mean, it’s one thing to trust your girlfriend or babysitter with your kid at home. It’s another thing to trust them out with your kid. It’s just…different. I always trusted you, or I wouldn’t have hired you. I wouldn’t have shared shit with you. But I just…you would take care of Gabi and protect her by any means necessary. Like that.”

“I would.”

He smiles softly, squeezing your hand as he adjusts in the truck seat. “So, the gift shop. How was that?”

“Oh she was great! I was expecting a full over-tired over-heated meltdown but nope! She went straight to what she wanted and was satisfied.”

“I heard what you said. About Lex.”

“Oh. Shit. I’m really sorry if I said the wrong thing. To be honest I didn’t really know what to say–”

“No.” He interrupts. “No, you said the right thing. It was so the right thing.” He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “I love you baby.”

You close your eyes and hum, relaxing back into the seat. “I love you too Frankie. So, so much.”

It’s later in the week and you’re watching Gabi as you wait for Frankie to come home from his NA meeting. Gabi was peckish early so you gave her a handful of goldfish as you placed your usual Wednesday pizza order on your phone.

A few minutes later, order placed, you heave a sigh and look up at Gabi only to see her smooshing cheddar goldfish right into the carpet with her T.Rex toy.

“Oh, Gabi! No!” You exclaim as you rush over. You try to pick up what you can as she scoots back, eyes watering. “No no, you don’t have to cry, it’s okay, I’m not mad. But you can’t do that. Okay?”

She smashed them too well. You stand up and look around, heading up and down the hall peeking into the bedrooms and closets before stopping at the hallway closet door. The door with the lock on it. You tilt your head around the corner. “Hey Gabi, you don’t know where the vacuum is, do you?” She simply blinks at you.

You sigh. “Alright. Well, I don’t want to leave a mess for your dad.” You pull at the lock and start trying combinations on it. Frankie is smart. He doesn’t use the same code as the code to the door, and after the third wrong answer you take a chance and input Gabi’s birthday. And it…unlocks.

“Here we go.” Only the right door opens, despite your pushing and pulling on the other one, but you can see the vacuum right behind the left door surrounded by a mess of boxes, winter coats, and a giant duffel bag that catches on one of the latches of the vacuum as you pull it out, causing you to lose your hold on the damn thing as it crashes to the floor and strews the contents of the duffel all over the floor.

“God dammit. OOooo, Gabi don’t repeat that.” You look around the corner to make sure she wasn’t startled. Satisfied after seeing her playing with some Legos, you turn your attention back to the bag and kneel on the floor to pick up…

Carabiners. Bungee cords. Empty gun casings. A sheathed and locked knife. Some walkie talkies. A dirty tactical vest. And…zip ties.

“Fuck.” You can feel your face heat up as you pick up the vest and pull it into your lap, thumbing the little slots for various odds and ends. There’s a carabiner attached to one of the loops and a large bound strap shoved through one of the loops. And it’s kind of filthy. You know it must be Frankie’s, and even though it does look a shade too small for him, you can’t help but imagine how he would look in it. How the puffy straps would frame his broad shoulders and toned arms, and you wager with yourself that his little puffy tummy would pop out too.

You think about Frankie in the vest yelling orders, or flying a helicopter, slinking along the walls of a hideout holding whatever big ass gun the shell casings were for. You would never consider yourself a fan or believer of guns but for some reason, Frankie with a gun just hit different. You shift your gaze to the bundle of zip ties grasped tightly in your hand. Frankie tying someone up with the zip ties. No. Frankie tying you up with the zip ties–

“What are you doing?”

You startle so dramatically the vest flies in the air before tumbling back down in front of you. You bring your hand to your chest, not noticing you’re still holding the zip ties. “Jesus, Frankie. You scared the shit out of me!”

He’s standing at the entrance of the hall. And he doesn’t look happy.

“What are you doing.”

You cow slightly under his steely gaze. “I– I was just looking for the vacuum…Gabi had some crumbs and I wanted to clean it up.” You bite your lip.

“That door was locked. For a reason. Why are you going through my shit without asking?”

“I...I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop, I just went for the vacuum and it pulled out this bag also and it was unzipped and I went to put it back but then I…um. I got distracted.”

He furrows his brow, putting one hand on his hip as it pops to the side as his eyes dart all over you.

“You got distracted.” He says it more as a statement than a question. You can feel your cheeks burn and you cover your face with your palms, the zip ties still in your hand.

“Um…yea.”

“Baby.”

You don’t respond, pressing your hands more into your face. God dammit this is so embarrassing.

He steps forward so he’s right in front of you. “Baby?” He squats and gently tugs at your hands, but you don’t move them.

He stands back up. “Baby…look, I’m sorry I upset you. I just—”

“You…didn’t upset me.” You lower your hands and meet his eyes. He looks less mad than before, trying to hide the smirk coming across his face.

“You’re turned on.”

“What?! NO! Of course not!” You splutter, but he’s already laughing.

“You are! You got distracted by the zip ties!” His cheeks are turning red with mirth and realization.

You glare at him and cross your arms. “Fine! Yes! But also because of the vest thingy. Oh, leave me alone.”

His laughter slows to a chuckle. “Do you want me to put it on?”

“No.”

“Aw, why not?”

“If you put that on, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Damn. That’s hot...”

Still embarrassed, you shove everything back in the bag and firmly throw it back into the closet, stand up and yank the vacuum without another word, plugging it in and doing an extra thorough job cleaning up the crumbs before tossing the vacuum haphazardly back into the closet. You slam the door and reset the lock, knowing Frankie is staring at you, and you turn and enter your bedroom, closing the door and leaning your back against it as you let out a long breath and try to compose yourself.

A soft knocking vibrates against your back and thump your head on the door and sigh.

“Baby? Can you let me in?”

You turn and open the door. It’s his house after all.

“Hey.”

“...Hey.”

He reaches for you, cupping your cheek in his large palm as he makes you meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. I liked that you got like that over my stuff. Okay?”

You nod. “I really didn’t mean to go through your things, and then I just saw them and my brain went into another dimension for a bit. A slutty dimension.”

He chuckles and pulls you into him. You notch the indent above your nose into the side of his jaw, inhaling his spicy scent deeply as his arms wrap loosely around you.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. That’s just…a part of my life that I’m not always proud of and it scared me to think you would just go into something that I had locked.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I should have just left it alone. I didn’t mean to break your trust. It means a lot to me.”

“You didn’t…just…ask me first next time. Okay?”

“Yea. Okay.”

Later that evening, Gabi had been put to bed and the two of you were on the couch playing on your phones, re-runs of The Office playing in the background. Frankie loved how he could just be with you, even if you weren’t really talking or touching, it still felt good having you there and near him. He looks up from his phone and smiles softly at you.

You’re typing enthusiastically with a silly grin on your face before you finally notice him looking, and you put your phone down on the coffee table and lean forward for a smooch. He pulls you in deeper, swiping his tongue into your mouth and sucking your lip as he pulls away.

“Mmmm. Hold that thought. I gotta pee.” You get up and head to the bathroom and Frankie leans back on the armrest as he begins to scroll through his phone again. He can hear your phone chiming rapidly, one after the other, and he leans forward enough to see you’re getting a barrage of text messages. Because when you put your phone down, you left it face up.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just…make sure it wasn’t an emergency, right? Someone is trying really hard to get in touch with you. He checks down the hall to make sure you’re still in the bathroom before sliding forward and picking up your phone. It’s Maidali. All of the texts are Maidali.

Dali🌻: OH MY GOD. OH MY FUCKING GOD. I AM STILL FUCKING SHAKING.

Dali🌻: GIRL IF YOU DON’T TELL HIM HOW YOU WANT HIM TO WEAR THAT AND TIE YOUR ASS UP I’M GONNA SLAP YOU

Dali🌻: YES SIR I WILL NOT CUM QUIETLY

Dali🌻: WAIT DO YOU THINK WILL HAS ONE? BYE. GOTTA GO 🤸🕳️

And just like that, any lingering annoyance at you overstepping his boundaries evaporates and he feels his dick jump in his pants at the implications of the texts and what that means. He jolts as he hears the toilet flush and scrambles to put the phone back down how you left it, feeling incredibly guilty, and a lot of other things as well.

You check yourself out in the mirror, twisting this way and that. It’d taken a good ten minutes to put the damn set on, but now that it was, you were very happy. A little black lace triangle bralette with straps coming from between the cups to wrap around your neck, complimenting the curves of your breasts as they meet the shoulder straps and curl around your neck like a choker. Two more straps sprout from beneath the cups to wrap around your ribcage, showing a sliver of skin in between. And a tiny pair of cheeky crotchless panties with two straps criss-crossing in an X below your belly button, the back of the lace cut perfectly so your butt cheeks hung out of it.

Hopefully this would nudge him in the right direction. Ever since the incident with the duffle bag, Frankie hadn’t brought it up again, much to your annoyance. You had been hoping he would get the hint without prodding him but, well, that’s what this lingerie set was for. Frankie had called you earlier today to ask to take you out to dinner, and you had something very special planned for after.

You usually weren’t this forward, or this confident with yourself before, especially in your curves and the way most lingerie revealed it. But you felt comfortable with Frankie, you trusted him. You knew at this point that he loved you and found you irresistible, even if it seemed ridiculous anyone would feel that way about you. You were willing to put yourself out on a ledge.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Finishing up something before we go, just let yourself in when you get here 🖤

Okay

You stare at your phone and take one more anticipatory breath before opening the door up with the key Frankie had given you a few weeks back, having graduated from a lockbox. You push the door open and step inside, but something is off. The room is only illuminated by one light, the rest of the home is dark. It’s quiet. Too quiet, like Frankie wasn’t even here at all.

Maybe he’s out back in the shed or the garage.

You swallow and move forward, pushing the door closed without a glance as you step towards the couch.

“Frankie? Are you here?”

You don’t even hear it coming. Suddenly, a toned arm wraps around your waist and pulls you backwards into something firm and unevenly lumpy while a large palm clamps over your mouth so you can’t scream. You squeal and try to wriggle free, your heart pounding with fright until your senses come back to you.

That smell. That deep rumbly laugh. The thumb stroking your cheek. The other hand sliding under the hem of your tee to caress the skin there. The hooked nose pressing into the side of your neck as Frankie releases you.

You whirl around, ready to chew him out for the scare but your words catch in your mouth.

He’s wearing the tactical vest.

Fuck.

FUCK.

“I–. What–. Uhhhh….” The words die in your throat as you simply stand and stare, mouth ajar. Frankie’s smiling broadly and chuckles, chucking you under the chin to close your mouth.

“I’m guessing you like it?”

It’s everything you expected and more. It is a little too small, but that might actually be to your benefit. The way the straps over his shoulders frame and define how broad they are, his arms straining in the sleeves of the flannel he’s wearing beneath it. And fuck, did it make him look thick as hell, husky, firm, and strong and you could already feel that familiar burning deep in your belly. Your gaze trails down to his waistline. He’d even taken it upon himself to strap on some sort of utility/holster belt that highlighted the stupid belt buckle he always wears, and it resulted more of a puff around the tummy than you even thought. You felt like you were on fire..

“Fuck. Yea.”

And then you launch at him.

“Oh shit!” His curse is muffled as you leap up onto him and wrap your legs around his waist, the straps of the utility belt bumping against your thighs as you cross them behind his back. He catches you and kisses back just as enthusiastically, thrusting his tongue into yours with a moan as you wrap your arms around his neck, sinking your fingers into his hair and pushing his hat off. The force of your leap had sent him bumping into the wall, and he turns and presses your back against it as he grinds his pelvis into you. The kevlar and hard breastplates beneath it push into you, the friction and weight against your nipples making you whine pathetically as you roll your hips against him, desperately seeking more contact.

“Alright hang on. Wait a minute, wait a minute. We gotta talk first real quick.” Frankie lowers you back to your feet and steps back. You huff in frustration, but give him your attention. He continues. “I have something to confess.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He grimaces slightly. “The other day…your phone was going off. And I…looked.”

“When? Why?”

“The day you found my stuff. With Dali.” Your eyes widen and you cover your face with your hands, and Frankie feels his chest constrict when you don’t even mention his transgression at all, bypassing it entirely to apologize to him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, I just needed to scream about it with someone and–”

“Do you want that?”

You don’t hesitate for a moment, nor do you need any clarification. “Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yea…do you?”

“Oh yea. Just wanted to make sure first. You’re not mad?”

You huff out a laugh. “No. We can just call it even on the snooping. “It’s funny…” You chuckle once more to yourself and cross your arms at the hem of your shirt and pull it off before unbuttoning and quickly pulling down your shorts. “I wore this because I was going to try and beg you for it today!”

“You didn’t. Holy shit. This is…fuck, this is hot baby!” He steps closer to you, trails a rough finger pad from your hip bone to one of the straps, fingering it lightly between his thumb and pointer. “What a coincidence.” He pulls the band away from your hip and releases, the elasticity causing the band to snap back against your skin. You part your lips. Your heart is pounding. “You tell me if we need to stop.” He rasps, and you feel the hair rising along your arms and the back of your neck at how fucked up about you he sounds.

“Yea, um, I researched this thing called the stoplight system that’s like, green if you're great, yellow if you're kinda uncomfortable, and red if you want it to stop. We can do that.”

He smirks, running his palms up and down your hips. “You researched kinky sex shit for us?”

“Yea…”

He groans, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. “How dark?”

You look at him through your lashes. “Dark. Be mean. Fucking wreck me, Frankie.”

He raises his eyebrows and before he can grab you, you take off running down the hallway, your tinkling laughter trailing behind you.

‘Oh ho, so this is what we’re doing, hm? Alright…”

You didn’t realize he could run that fast, especially in his gear, even with the head start, because the moment you even step towards the bed he tackles you sideways onto it and flips you over, fusing his mouth to yours as you wriggle beneath him. You reach around to tickle his waist under the vest and he grabs your hands and pushes them down into the mattress.

“Hey! Be a good girl now.”

You giggle and try to tickle him one more time but his grip is too strong and he growls, flipping you over and grabbing both your wrists in one hand and yanking them back, hard enough to display his strength but not hard enough to hurt. You squirm more just to be a brat, and he snarls under his breath, scooting down your thighs enough to land one sharp smack on your hip. You yelp and whimper, lifting your head up to watch him.

“Behave.” He glares at you and whips a long black plastic strand out of one of the many pockets on the back of his vest and loops it around your wrists. You turn your head to watch him and your lips part as you watch him slip one side through the latch, yanking up on the other end several times to tighten it, brow furrowed and lips pursed in concentration. From your angle the movement resembles him jacking off, and you feel wetness seeping into your panties as he finishes, checking with you to make sure it’s not too tight or uncomfortable.

The minute he pulls back you test it, squirming and pulling at the plastic, rubbing your thighs back and forth to try and alleviate the growing ache between them. Frankie was right, the unassuming little plastic straps are strong. You wouldn't have been able to get out even if you wanted to. Frankie grabs you by your bound arms and flips you over once more, humming as he watches you struggle, pleased with his work. “Uh uh. No.” The mattress dips more as he presses down on your thighs, effectively keeping you from continuing your movements, and you whine as he snickers at your frustration. “You don’t get to feel good until I tell you, and you haven’t been behaving. Now I have to make sure you don’t do that again.” He reaches up and pinches the nipples visible under the black lace of your bralette, your head falling back as a broken moan escapes your lips. But his hands don’t stay, he leaves them abruptly and takes you by each ankle, bending your knees and pushing your legs to your chest and then to opposite sides.

“Fuck.” His nostrils flare as he sees that your panties are crotchless and you can tell he wants to abandon what he’s doing and touch you there, but he quickly refocuses his attention and pulls two more longer strands of zip ties out of his vest and loops one around each upper thigh and ankle, cinching them together so fast you can barely even process what he’s doing. So methodical, so expedient, competent and fucking sexy. You’d blush at the way you’re completely spread open to him if you weren’t so aroused, he hasn’t even touched you yet and you’re already shifting your hips towards him for any kind of touch. Touch me. Please touch me.

He doesn’t. “Color?”

“Green! It’s so fucking green! Please touch me Cat.”

He smirks once more, reaching into a pocket of his utility belt and pulls a small knife out.

“Color.”

“...Green.”

He hums, bringing the tiny tip of the knife against the back of your thigh, trailing it up and around your mound over the lace of your panties, up to the center of your ribcage before reaching your breasts. “Don’t fucking move.”

You don’t, holding your breath as he touches your nipples with the tip of the knife, the cool of the metal seeping through the lace and making them harden and rise. “So beautiful.” He praises, and he slides the knife under the band of your bralette and pulls up, cutting the seam and the little cups fall away to the side, exposing your breasts completely to him, before cutting the rest of the straps to pull it all the way off.

“Oh shit.” You whimper. He cups them in both hands and squeezes, sliding his hands up until he has a nipple between the fingers of each hand, and pinches them, sliding his thumb across the nubs to circle them until you’re squirming once again for him. He chuckles darkly and gives the little buds a slight tug before getting off the bed and crossing to the other side, right at your head.

“Now what should I do with all this here, hmm?” You struggle in futility, the tight frog-tie he put you in making you completely immobile, he can see you like it and he continues to take his sweet time just to see how desperate you get. How much he can make you saturate the bedspread under you with your pre cum before he’s even touched you.

“I can do whatever I want. I don’t think you know what you asked for. Or maybe you do. Do you want me to shove my cock down your throat ‘til you tear up? Do you want me to force you to cum again and again until I say you’re done? Hmmm? I’ll fuck you so hard you can’t fucking walk and everyone will be able to smell my cum dripping out of you and know you like to get fucked like a little slut. Do you want that?”

“Yea.” You pant. “I want it. Touch me. Please touch me.”

“No. Not yet.” He slides his hands under your armpits and hauls you up the bed until your head hangs off the edge between his legs. He pauses, cupping your cheek, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb before pushing his entire thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. You moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you take the thick calloused digit into your mouth, taking what little he gave you, tickling your tongue against the tip of his thumb. He pulls away once more and pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, stepping forward so his hard cock rests on top of your face.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Open your fucking mouth.”

You swallow and comply, your head hanging down and your open mouth the perfect height for him to push his cock in and you tighten your mouth around him while he starts sliding in and out. He takes it slow at first, petting your face and cooing as he bends over you, shallow thrusts evolving into deeper ones. Every thirty seconds or so he would pull completely out so you can catch your breath before he pushes back in, occasionally pressing against the side of your cheek, his cock making the flesh bulge out, smacking you gently with his palm on that cheek.

His noises are fucking sinful, and you whine around his cock at the grunts and praises he’s giving you. The sighs and pants, the moans and groans and curses. That deep rumbly baritone could get you off on it’s own, and you feel yourself clench around nothing as he continues to use your mouth. He notches himself at the back of your throat and you swallow around him, your throat constricting and opening, the strong cords of muscles releasing tension enough for him to push down your throat, fucking into your mouth as you swirl your tongue up down and around his shaft.

“Ungh…yea, that’s it. Take it. All the way girl, I know you can.” He keeps pushing until your lips are flush with the base, his balls pressing against your nose and he gyrates against you, watching as your throat expands and deflates when his thick cock slides in and out, the little triangle of your tongue poking out of your mouth and sliding all over his shaft. “Keep doing that, run that cute little tongue all over. Fuck.”

You moan around him at the praise, and as a reward he moves his hand down your stomach and between your thighs, finally, finally touching you where you need him. He separates you with his pointer and ring finger, rubbing his middle finger on your clit before sliding down more, scooping up the mess you’ve made and smears it around.

“I’m never going to get over how wet you get when you suck my dick.” He murmurs as he pushes three fingers into you at once, stretching you full. You cry out at the intrusion, the sound tapering off into a wail as he starts finger fucking you , stretching you open for whatever he planned to do to you later. Your body reacts like it was starved, You clamp your thighs shut around his hand, your walls clenching around his fingers as you try to chase them each time they leave you. You gag suddenly and he pulls his cock back out again, dripping with saliva to make sure you’re okay as you catch your breath.

“Please, I need more.” You beg.

He gives it, pressing his palm against your clit and grinding it against your clit as he starts to slam his fingers into your pussy, wriggling them against your walls and rubbing that one spongy spot inside you that drives you crazy. You’re so worked up, you’ve been imagining this happening and waited for it for so long that you can already feel your orgasm building. His wet cock is resting against your cheek and you move for it, mouthing at the tip of him. He steps forward so you can suckle at his balls. You know how you can bring him to his knees when you do that and he almost loses his control, his hand on faltering against your pussy, one arm bracketing your head as he bends over with a grunt.

You continue licking at him, swirling and lathing your tongue from the underside up and around to each sack, gently rolling them into your mouth with a soft moan so he can feel the vibration. You could get him to cum from this alone and he knows it, so he begrudgingly pulls back so you can only access his cock, so you lap all the wetness back up before you pull him back in your mouth yourself. He slides in to the hilt once more, fucking of your throat as he resumes working you.

The gulping sound of him filling the entire cavity of your throat fills the room along with his sighs and pants, the wet slurps and slapping of his balls against your face and his knuckles against your pussy lips as he continues to jam his fingers into you. It’s too much, you’re full of him and his taste and his smell and just everything in every way and you finally snap, arching your back and gurgling lowly around his cock, the vibrations enough to push him over too.

He pulls out abruptly, jerking his cock over you. You’re gonna take my cum on your face. Stick your tongue out.”

Your body works entirely on instinct, you’re still fuzzy from the aftershocks of your orgasm but you stick your tongue out and curl it towards him and he cums with a raspy groan, warm ropes of it splashing on your jaw, throat, and neck.

He bends over you, his palms on the bed by your shoulders and his arms caging you in as you both catch your breath. He exhales sharply, standing back up to his full height and cups your cheek, stroking the dry side. “Color?”

Your eyes are closed and you sigh as you answer. “MMMmmmm. I’m so green.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your plump wet lips and moves to the other side of the bed, kneeling to settle between your spread, bound thighs. Frankie groans in satisfaction as he looks at you so blatantly opened for him, swollen and flushed with recent orgasm, your juices leaking towards the bed. He bends down and lathes the entire flat of his tongue through your slit, scooping up your mess and swallowing it with a groan. You squirm under him, still sensitive from your first orgasm but he doesn’t let up, pressing your thighs down to the mattress to spread you open even further, alternating licks, pokes, nibbles, and nuzzles into you, building in pressure quickly until you’re suddenly right there again.

“Oh fuck. Cat, I’m–I’m gonna cum again.”

“Good.” He pushes his fingers back into you, scissoring them as he nips roughly at your clit, then nuzzles his mustache into your clit and jerks his head from side to side, the friction of his nose and the coarse hairs the perfect cocktail of prickling and pleasure to push you through your release once more. He licks it all up, suckling you clean before pulling away with a smirk, moving his mouth up your thighs and nipping alternating bites and sucking kisses, leaving wet little discs of light purple bruising behind to make sure you don’t forget.

You look at him with hooded eyes, a blurry haze permeating your senses. He slides his hands up your thighs until he reaches your slit, pulling at the sides so he can see your fluttering hole clenching around nothing.

Frankie brings his hand to his jaw, stroking his fingers through the scruff still shining with your arousal on it as he observes you. “Look at this little pussy, so desperate to be fucked. Maybe I should just leave you like this so I can see how desperate you are to be fucked raw.”

“Don’t you fucking dare I will kill you!”

His eyebrows tilt and he laughs, reaching out to grab you by the ass and pull you to the edge of the bed. He’s already hard again, his cock bobbing as he notches himself at your entrance. He grabs you by the jaw and forces you to look at him. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” On the last word, he pushes forward, entering you all the way to the hilt and quickly escalating to a brutal pace.

You can barely breathe, mouth open and uttering only grunts and cries as he slams into you. And he is a fucking vision, his teeth bared and the cords in his neck bulging, his eyes big black onyx pools. He looks like something else, some sort of beast that has taken over as he fucks into you so hard you are progressively getting pushed up the bed, only for him to grab you by the hips and pull you back down to thrust hard into you again, and there’s nothing you can do as you just take every inch, every ridge and vein and grazing of his pubic hair against you. You can’t hold on to anything, you can’t touch him, you can’t even touch yourself, you’re just how he wants you and your body is subject to his every whim, and for some reason that drives you absolutely wild.

And the vest. That fucking vest that he left on while he fucks you, like he read your fucking mind, knowing you’d want him to keep it on. There’s sweat gathering on his neck and it drips down, wetting the grey tee he has on under the flannel, and you wonder how much of his sweat and grime has accumulated into the fabric of the vest over the years. He just looks so big, so imposing and he completely surrounds and fills you to the point that you can’t do anything but stare at him, the material of his vest puffing in and out as he breathes over you. “Jesus christ Frankie you look so fucking sexy.”

He breaks in that moment, leaning down, palm slamming next to your head onto the mattress as he lifts a knee onto it too, pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss, quick and fast, all teeth and tongues before he pulls back up and returns to character.

Your tits are bouncing and pushed up from your arms being behind your back and your tummy is jiggling and you know you’re going to have bruises where his hands are gripping your hips and pulling you back and forth onto his cock, where his body is hitting yours, where the zip ties are starting to rub into your skin but it only adds to the burning in your core and spreading out into your whole body. You can feel it rising, throbbing in intensity as it creeps up and out, flushing your chest and neck, still sticky from the globs of cum he left there.

“Does anyone know you like being fucked like this? Huh? Like a fucking slut, all covered in my cum? Coming in here with that hot fucking outfit…yea, you’re my little fuckdoll aren’t you? Just for me to fuck whenever I want?”

Oh, what the fuck. What the actual fuck is wrong with you because that is so so wrong and you know it’s wrong but why is your pussy clenching?!?! And why are you suddenly RIGHT THERE, right on the precipice of cumming to the point you’re almost bending in half under him, a long whine escaping your lips and increasing in volume as you teeter indefinitely, thinking back to the day you first met him, this sexy older man and now he was stuffing you full, fucking you like no one else ever had or probably ever would.

Until he hums and murmurs how much you liked that, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing it until your eyes roll back in your head and you cum with a scream, every nerve in your body lighting aflame and you can feel your cum gushing out onto him.

But before you can settle he pulls out and flips you over, the fronts of your calves, your chest, and the side of your head pressed to the mattress with your ass up and spread in the air.

He takes one of your ass cheeks in each hand, squeezing and separating them as you sit pretty waiting for him while he just looks. Looks at the mess dripping out of your pussy and down your thighs, at the zip ties wrapped tight around your thighs and ankles leaving angry red marks, the way you're resting on your knees with your feet pointed in the air, arms pulled behind your back, that you are spread so open he can see everything. He suddenly decides you have too much in the way, pulls his knife once more and drags it along your ass cheeks and under the lace of your panties, cutting them clean off.

Three orgasms in and you still want him, you want him to use you and cum and feel good and make those delicious noises again but he still waits, running his hands up your plump ass cheeks and pushing his fingernails in, only to drag them back down, the nails leaving light red marks like stripes down the skin.

“Baby please.” You beg. “Please fuck me, I need your fucking cock so bad. Want you to cum. Please take it.” You wriggle your ass in his face, physically exhausted but still feeling that need for him to fill you, to be one.

“Babe. Color?”

You turn and look at him, your eyes glazed and heavy. His chest is heaving in his vest and his cock is red and angry and begging for release, and you feel yourself involuntarily shiver as you take in the sight.

“Green.”

“Good girl. That’s what I thought.” He pushes into you again, resuming that same brutal pace from before , the slap-slap slapping of skin almost as loud as your screams each time he jams into you. You swear you can feel him all the way up to your cervix, a dull pleasure-pain every time he hits home, your pussy spread open as wide as it can as he impales you on his cock. Your ass is jiggling and he fucking loves it, landing a few more light slaps as your cunt takes him and pushes him out, you’re creamy cum gathering around his cock as he slides in and out and he groans at the sight of it.

You’re completely boneless, face and chest pressed in exhaustion to the mattress as he pushes down on your back, causing your ass to arc higher into him. You can’t even move, your muscles protesting and you give in completely to him, whimpering as he slides his hand up your spine, grabs your bound arms, slides the other arm around your waist and lifts you up so you’re all but standing on your knees on the edge of the bed.

But he’s still gentle, he’s still Frankie, the grip on your arms is for show only and he nuzzles into your neck as he thrusts up into you, impaling you on his cock as you tremble in his arms.

“Want you to cum again.” He whispers in your ear.

“I can’t. Frankie, I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. I told you I was going to force you to cum until I said you were done.”

You exhale sharply and lean back against his chest, your head falling back onto his shoulders, your eyes fluttering shut as you just feel him slide in and out of your, hear the vulgar squelching of your mingled juices and purr like a content kitten, until a sudden buzzing sound pricks your ears up.

‘What…?”

And then his mouth is back on you, his tongue biting your ear and swirling around the back at the same exact moment he reaches around your leg and presses a tiny little vibrator right to your clit. You jerk back into his arms with a mewl before gyrating your hips against both his cock and the vibrator, your cries so loud it’s almost comical. You have a fleeting thought that you are glad the houses in this neighborhood aren’t that close together before Frankie chooses that time to dial up the tempo, pressing the bullet harder into you and burrowing his cock further into your pussy.

“Still green?” He pants in your ear.

“Yea.” You whisper.

Your orgasm slams through you so fast you didn’t even feel it building, and it feels different, this one. The regular one yes, still happening but there’s something else, a sharp tingling feeling almost like when you have to pee really bad. “Fr-Frankie…wait. I think…” and then you stiffen and go completely silent, your throat working to push out sound but it gets stuck, slamming your eyes closed as you absolutely drench him to a level you’ve never felt before.

“Oh fuck yea.” He grunts, pulling the vibrator off you and throwing it to the side as you convulse in the aftershocks in his arm. His hand leaves your waist and takes one of your breasts in his palm, squeezing you tight against him as he focuses on himself now, his hips stuttering, faltering, pumps erratic and he spills into you in panting moans against your neck.

He holds you there for a moment before letting you fall back to the mattress and onto your side as gracefully as he can. Your whole body is shaking, your chest heaving, sweat trickling between your shoulders and your zip tied wrists and arms. Nothing else exists, just the buzzing in your head and the hazy waves of sensation spreading from your clit all the way out to your fingers and toes.

Something breaks through the haze, a spreading of warmth on your lower back and moving upwards, and suddenly your arms are free and your shoulders roll forward against the mattress in reprieve. Both your legs released immediately after. Those large palms graze over you again, running from your ankles up your calves and the backs of your thighs, up and over your ass, your back and over your shoulders, giving them a few squeezes as a hand pushes your hair out of your face and kisses your cheek.

“Hey.”

“MMmmmmm hi.” You turn to him, squinting your eyes at him with a dopey grin, rolling over to stretch your limbs out completely before reaching out to him. He comes gladly, his hooked nose nuzzling into your neck, pressing kisses and licking up the sweat that had gathered there.

“You okay? Was that good?”

You run your hand over your forehead, smoothing back the hair that frizzed out and the sweat that had gathered there. But then you sit up abruptly, looking at the wet pooled stain right where you had been. “That was amazing. But...um, I think I ruined your comforter. I don’t know what happened, that’s never happened before.” You grimace, your cheeks burning as you reach down between your legs at the moisture there. There was your normal cum and his, but also a lighter wetness.

He smiles and gives you a light kiss. “Nah. I can just throw it in the washer. Or I might just leave it, cause that was sexy as fucking hell.”

“Yea?”

“Yea! You’ve really never squirted before?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so.”

“Well fuck, that’s a confidence boost. I’m happy I could make you feel that good.”

You sigh. “Soooo fucking good. All of it.” You pull out of his arms and flop back onto the mattress. “You?”

He hums, nodding. “We’ll just say we have to do this again sometime, that’s how good it was. But you’re probably going to have to cover up for a few days.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Why?”

He sits up, trailing his hands around all the bruises forming on your skin like a connect-the-dots. “You might have a few marks on you tomorrow.”

“Oh no.” You mockingly whine. “People are going to think I got kidnapped.”

“Or they will just think we are disgustingly kinky.”

“We are.”

He laughs as you turn fully toward him. “So…have you ever done that kind of stuff before with anyone else?”

“No.”

“Hm. I wonder why?”

You shrug lightly. “I dunno, I just never thought about it before. I’m really comfortable with you. And you’re so fucking sexy, you make me want to do all this stuff I’ve never thought about before. It’s like you opened Pandora’s Box or something.”

“Mmmmm. That makes me feel good.”

He gathers you closer, and you nestle into the warmth of his arms. “Have you? With anyone?”

“Not like this. It’s never been like this, with anyone else. I’ve never felt the way I do about you with anyone else. Sometimes I’m afraid I go too far and I’m always trying to reign myself in, but I feel like I don’t have to do that with you anymore. I like it.”

“I love who you are. I don’t want you to have to reign any of yourself in. I love the rough and the soft in you.” You kiss him, slowly licking around his lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth and he opens for you, pulling you further into him as if your bodies could merge.

“Hey Frankie?”

“Mmmm?”

“You better still be taking me to dinner. I’m fucking starving.”

You hadn’t meant it. You really hadn’t meant it, especially after last time. You were just trying to help, trying to ease Frankie’s burden because he was working and you weren’t back in school yet. After several double shifts back-to-back, you’d decided to attack the pile of clothes that had unusually accumulated across Frankie’s bedroom floor. You’d just finished the first load, taking it into the bedroom and folding it carefully before hanging up his shirts and putting away his boxers and rattier tees in the dresser. But as you move things around and reorganize to make room for the additions, your finger catches on something thin and sharp, like paper. You pull your hand out with a yelp, licking the tip of your finger to stave off any blood before reaching in to find the culprit of your pain.

It’s a thick packet of various papers, folded over, but enough in quantity that it’s not a tight fold, and you slide your thumb underneath to look at what it is.

It’s a copy of his pilot’s license. And the suspension. Individual found with cocaine in his system. And a trial date, but for what, you didn’t know. Was…he still in trouble? But before you can read any further, a voice you usually love hearing rumbles from the door.

“What the fuck are you doing!?”

The Bondage Position

Chapter 12

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #grapefruit #my writing

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mellowswriting · 5 years ago

Text

Age Difference Headcanon

Mando: The romantic and sexual aspects don’t bother him in the slightest but a different issue arises - he feels like he’s stealing your youth. The life of a bounty hunter is far from an easy one and even though he was entirely used to his lifestyle from a young age...he doesn’t want that for you. You should be carefree and enjoying yourself before settling down with a nice person who can give you everything you want, not covering his six with your blaster and helping to take care of his kinda-sorta-adopted son. Mando’s silent disposition doesn’t help things; his guilt and fears stew until it boils over and out of nowhere, he’s telling you to go, that you deserve better than the kind of life he could give you. Mando sounds downright pissed when he’s saying it, but you can look at what appears to be anger and see it for what it really is - fear. You give him a moment to let him cool off - you were honestly surprised the beskar he wore wasn’t red hot with the intensity he gave off - and then settle yourself right in his lap in the pilot’s chair. Mando tries to usher you away but freezes when you tell him to ‘shut up, because it’s my turn to speak now’. You tell him everything. How you would take life with him however it happened - whether you spent everyday in the Crest until you met your Maker or settled down to raise your own herd of verda (warriors) together. How you couldn’t imagine your life without the man and child you love. How you would burn down the entire galaxy if anything happened to either of them. That is the exact moment Mando knows he needs to take a detour to the covert so he can sit down with the Alor and ask for their blessing to pledge a riduurok - Mando has found the one he will spend the rest of his days with.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales: Simply cannot handle the whole ‘young, irrational, and immature’ thing. This is a grown ass man, an experienced, elite soldier who has honestly put up with enough bullshit in his life and does not need any more of it. The only way he’s with someone significantly younger than him is if they’ve got the same mindset of communication and maturity. It isn’t something he expects or actively seeks out, but if a sharp, strong, beautiful young woman walks into his life and wants him… well, shit. Sign him the fuck up. He isn’t going to deny what would otherwise be a great relationship over an age gap.

Marcus Pike: This man is Conflicted about it sometimes because he almost feels… gross. Like he’s somehow taking advantage? But he also knows that you love him, he loves you, and you’re both consenting adults, so there’s no point in complicating it unnecessarily.

Oberyn Martell: The Red Viper beds young women in brothels by the dozen, so it isn’t a surprise to anyone that the woman he marries is younger than him. It isn’t even something he worries himself with, beyond ensuring you’re of age. He’s more concerned with the hope that you’ll explore the delectable world of pleasure with him, in all that it has to offer.

Max Phillips: When it’s just sex, the little bastard really doesn’t think twice. You’re of age and consenting, so he’s railing you into next week - that’s just how he works. If it progresses into feelings on the other hand… well, we already know he isn’t exactly the best at those. On the one hand, you being so much younger than him gives plenty of time for you to make the huge decision of whether or not you want to become like him and spend eternity with his frat boy ass. On the other, he doesn’t want you wasting yourself on a vampire who can’t give you the life you deserve, one of kids and a husband and a white picket fence. So, honestly? Max leaves. Straight up dips without giving you a real goodbye or an explanation. He knows it’s a cowardly move, but as much as he hates to admit it… he loves you and can’t stand the idea of ruining the life you could have. What he didn’t expect (but should have) was you hunting his ass down and showing up at his hotel thousands of miles away and damn near whooping his ass over his little stunt. You’re in his face and downright yelling at him for being such a little shit that he can’t even accept the love and affection that you’re so openly and willingly giving him. It isn’t until you’re shoving a finger into his chest and growling out, ‘I swear to god, Max Phillips, I will stake you myself if you ever pull some moronic shit like that again!’ with that fierce glint in your eye that Max realizes he not only completely (and stupidly) underestimated you, but he could not imagine going on with his life (afterlife?) without your feisty little ass by his side.

Pero Tovar: Another who doesn’t think much of the age difference. It’s a product of the times as well, a man taking a younger wife. Besides, this gruff mercenary may be downright terrifying in his skill with his sword, but he wants a happy wife with many babes in his home. If Pero has his way, he’s got a huge family - children pulling at your skirts with another at your breast and another growing strong in the swell of your belly. It eases that almost primal urge, knowing he was a young and healthy wife to breed his many children off of.

Agent Whiskey: Okay, as much as I love Jack… I’ll just say: at least he was someone who can match his ‘golden retriever puppy’ energy. This suave cowboy thrives off of the energy a younger woman gives him and will also 100% be a little tease about the age difference every chance he gets. God forbid you jokingly call him an old man, though. Then you’ve got one very handsy Whiskey on your hands, dragging you to bed to show you just how many different times that old man can make you wail his name.

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heartsofbeskar · 4 years ago

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the red wolf

chapter two: a stolen gift

oberyn martell x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death, a smooch™

words: 3.6K

excerpt: A few tears slipped down your cheeks, despite your best efforts. Oberyn gently swiped them away, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face, and it was pleasant, and smelled of the fruit filled Dornish wine he loved. His lips were tinted from it as well.

“Is there anything I can do, little wolf? I hate to see you this way,” he whispered to you, even though you were alone and shielded by so much greenery.

“Let me give you something,” your voice shook as you matched his whispered tone. “Before he can take it from me.”

a/n: the second chapter is here!! im having such a good time writing this tbh; this chapter is based on the first half of the season 4 episode the lion and the rose; im tackling it in two chapters since its a doozy

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The fresh air gently blew across your face as it cascaded over the top of the walls of Winterfell. You leaned on the wooden railing, smiling as you watched your brothers play below. They held wooden swords, clashing them against each other clumsily. Ser Rodrik would surely chastise them for the sloppy footwork, but you enjoyed their dramatics.

Creaking of the boards alerted you to a new presence approaching. Robb smiled gently as he came to stand beside you. He wore a fur robe draped across his shoulders, and you marvelled at just how broad it made him appear. You turned to face him, smoothing the stray furs into line.

“When did you turn into a man?” You teased. He brought a hand up and lightly pinched the skin of your cheek.

“Around the same time my twin sister became a woman.”

You swatted his hand away, but laughed. His eyes held a softness as he turned them away to watch Bran and Rickon, who now wrestled amongst the haybed. You reached for his hand, squeezing it.

“Something’s troubling you.” He didn’t bother to deny it; you had studied your twin’s face from the day you had both been born, after all. “Are you not excited to see the King?”

“I am, but …” He shook his head. “I cannot say I am thrilled with the prospect of my sisters departing at once for King’s Landing. Or my twin sister marrying a man there.”

“Robb,” you sighed. “We can’t stay children forever. Someday, this—” you gestured at large to the courtyard, “—will be yours to lead, along with the entire North. I will be your ears wherever I land — King’s Landing, or otherwise.”

He nodded, but still didn’t meet your eyes again, You pulled him forward by his hand, wrapping your arms around the soft fur on his shoulders. You rested your head on the plush surface, as he wrapped his arms around you in response, both of you leaning into the familiar embrace.

“I will come to see you often, this I promise. My heart will always be with you, in the North.”

—

Your hand was sweating as you laid it on the ornate handle of the large door of Lord Tywin’s office. It was silent inside and you prayed to the Old Gods he was out, having forgotten your appointment entirely. But he had requested it of you specifically via a handwritten parchment, so you knew that you would not be so lucky.

With a large breath in, you pushed the handle down. The door seemed to scream at you as it swung open; stay out, don’t come in here, run for your life from this wretched place all together.

As you suspected, Tywin was inside, head hung low over a parchment he was rapidly writing on, spread over his desk. He didn’t look up as you entered, though he must have heard you.

You slowly closed the door behind you, fighting the urge to flinch as it slammed back into place.

“Come here, girl.” Still, Tywin didn’t look up as he called out to you. Your hand clenched at your side at the name, but you quickly forced it to relax, taking short steps towards his desk. When you reached it, you stood in front of it awkwardly, waiting.

With a large flourish of the quill, he finally set down the writing implement, casting his eyes up towards you. He leaned back in his chair, assessing you. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Lady Stark,” he mused. “With the untimely death of all three of your brothers…you are now the true heir to Winterfell and the North.”

You swallowed thickly, pushing the unbidden images of Bran and Rickon from your mind, their young, innocent faces threatening to fester there. “My lord, I was of the understanding that the Boltons had been granted control of Winterfell and the North.” In exchange for the betrayal and murder of my twin brother, his unborn child, and my mother. You let the ending hang in the air between you.

Tywin tapped the side of his face, his eyes calculating. “Yes, it is true as Hand of the King, I have named Roose Bolton as Warden of the North. But we both know who the people of the North will rally to, if they are called. And that will always be a Stark, as long as one lives.”

You clasped your hands in front you, pushing them into the fabric of your dress, trying to dampen the sweat that collected on them. “My lord … I apologize, but I’m afraid I do not understand.”

He rose now, smoothing down the front of his tunic. Stepping around the desk, he approached you. Slowly, he took your chin in his hand, turning your head to varying angles.

“You are a virgin, yes?”

A chill ran its way up your spine. You nodded.

“Good.” He released your face, turning his back to you as he faced the windows overlooking the city, hands clasped behind his back. “Were you my daughter, I would’ve had you married long ago, but I suppose Ned Stark’s inadequacies are my opportunities. You will be wed to my eldest son, Jaime, once I convince him to quit this Kingsguard business. You will bear him sons, and they will be the heirs to both Winterfell and Casterly Rock.”

Your hands shook in front of you and you clasped them tighter together. When you didn’t say anything in response, Tywin turned his head to look back at you.

“You would do well to interact with him during these upcoming festivities for the King’s wedding. Now go.”

As if you’d be sprung free from a trap, you hurried to the door, eager to be free of this room, which felt like it had hardly enough air in it to breathe. You grasped the handle again when Tywin spoke one last time.

“And girl—” You froze, gripping the handle, breath caught in your throat, and the sudden anxiety gripped you that he would tell you to stay away from Oberyn Martell. But all he said was, “—shut the door behind you.”

—

You didn’t think you could stay away from Oberyn, even if Tywin had asked. It had quickly become a routine, him waiting across the path from the building which held your chambers. You clung ferociously onto the small shred of something predictable in the sea of chaos that this city had washed upon you.

As you tied your bodice behind you hastily, you craned your neck to look over at Sansa, where she was still nestled in the blankets behind you. Her side rose and fell softly in the rhythm of sleep. Padding over, you knelt down, pressing a light kiss against the crown of her head. She rustled momentarily among the sheets, but didn’t wake.

Oberyn was standing in the usual area, arm extended overhead to pry some fruit off a nearby tree. With a small grunt, he freed one that was round and reddish in colour — you were still so unfamiliar with the fruits that grew this far south.

Flashing you his enticing smile, he extended it out to you. You took it with gratitude, allowing him to loop your opposite arm through his. He was warm, the warmth of his skin radiating out as if he’d trapped the air of Dorne within his very body and brought it with him to King’s Landing.

He paraded you superficially through the garden paths lined with Lannister and Baratheon guards, their eyes smoothly looking over the pair of you, some giving small nods in greeting, used to the timely walks you took.

You took a turn down a hedge lined path, the green walls rising high above your heads, and the guard stationed near the next turn leaning back, his view obscured. Oberyn placed his hand gently at your back, pulling the branches back around the gap in the hedge you had found some days prior. You both slipped underneath.

The other side contained an obviously neglected portion of the gardens, some weeds overgrown and flowing out of their beds. Wildflowers had begun to bloom as well, their colours mismatched and vibrant, contrasting to those in the rest of the gardens that were tended to regularly. You much preferred these ones.

You sat on the nearby bench, tucking your skirts in around your legs, allowing the weight of the pretense of happiness to slip off, your shoulders relaxing. Oberyn sat beside you, his knee touching yours, heat radiating from the spot. You turned the still uneaten fruit over in your hands.

“You look far away today, little wolf,” he murmured. “Is it the King’s wedding?” He lightly brushed a lock of hair over your shoulder, fingers remaining to play with it.

“No,” you sighed. “Well, yes and no, I—” You paused, meeting his dark eyes. He stared back into you, waiting patiently. You wanted to lose yourself in his eyes, to dive in so deeply you could not see anything beyond them. “I spoke with Tywin Lannister.”

Something flashed in those eyes, briefly, but unmistakably. Still, he didn’t push you for any detail. He brought his hand down from your hair, settling it on your shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. It sat on the edge of your gown, and occasionally his skin came into contact with the skin near your neck. You suppressed a shudder at the feeling.

You finally broke eye contact with Oberyn, unable to look at him for the next words. “He intends for me to wed Jaime Lannister. As soon as he can convince him to leave the Kingsguard. Perhaps he will even overturn their oaths, so that Jaime can marry regardless …” You trailed off, shaking your head.

“What would you want? If you had the choice?” His eyes were warm when you looked back up, his brow furrowed. His free hand clenched where it sat in his lap.

“I don’t know, honestly, I … I thought I would be able to make these choices with my Father, but now—” You bit down on your lip harshly as a sob threatened to work its way up and out of your throat. Oberyn’s hands quickly came to cup your face, holding it steadily as you took deep breaths. “The Lannisters … have taken my home, my family. I don’t want to give them my future as well … there are so many things I don’t want Jaime Lannister to have.”

A few tears slipped down your cheeks, despite your best efforts. Oberyn gently swiped them away, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face, and it was pleasant, and smelled of the fruit filled Dornish wine he loved. His lips were tinted from it as well.

“Is there anything I can do, little wolf? I hate to see you this way,” he whispered to you, even though you were alone and shielded by so much greenery.

“Let me give you something,” your voice shook as you matched his whispered tone. “Before he can take it from me.” When your hands slid up to the back of his neck, you knew the implication was clear.

He swallowed thickly. “I do not want to take advantage of you when you are upset, little wolf.”

“Please.”

It was both a second and an eternity before he brought his lips to yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as his hands tightened on your face, guiding your head as your lips slid against one another.

After the first few presses, he stopped, though he didn’t pull back, your breath intermingling in the miniscule space between you. Your eyes were screwed shut, but you raked your hands up, into his hair. He gave a breathless laugh before crashing back into you, lips pressing insistently now, the taste of his sweet wine permeating into your mouth.

Firmly but gently, his lips pried yours open, hot breath pouring into your mouth, filling your lungs. You felt yourself begin to shake with the intimacy of it. It felt as if he were providing you a new sense of life itself, with every touch, every breath, every sound he made. You had no idea how long it had been.

He swiped his tongue, wet and hot, over your lower lip, before taking it between his teeth, pulling it with him as he finally retreated from you.

With a heavy sigh, he reached an arm around your waist, resting his cheek against yours, and you lamented that you couldn’t see his eyes. You couldn’t even imagine the storms within them now.

You breathed heavily against his cheek, winded as though you’d been practicing your riding. You pressed him tighter against you, turning to plant a kiss onto the edge of his beard. His free hand twisted up into your hair.

“Thank you.”

—

Your hands drifted through the copper strands of Sansa’s hair, twisting the locks delicately around each other, as your mother had taught you. You smiled as you recalled how Sansa used to sit for hours, just letting you practice braiding in her hair, happy to receive attention and affections.

By the Gods, she had changed.

You pushed the thought aside as your hands left her, and you leaned over to peck her cheek, which had been dusted with rouge. “You look beautiful.”

Sansa wouldn’t meet your eyes in the mirror, staring at her own hands curled in her lap. You laid your hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Sansa … this is a day to celebrate. Because you are not the one marrying him.” She looked up to meet your gaze, her eyes brimming with conflicted emotions.

“But they made me marry his uncle. A man decades my senior, an imp, I …” She shook her head. “He hasn’t hurt me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. Joffrey had to have gotten his sense of cruelty from somewhere.”

Your hands tightened where they held her. “I will never let him touch you. Or anyone, Sansa. I mean that.”

She stood, shaking off your grip. She was taller than you now, all long lines and elegant neck and the deep, irreconcilable sadness of her eyes.

You wondered if she saw that in yours, too.

“And what if you’re not there?”

You wanted to tell her that you always would be, that no force of man or the Gods could take you from her. But the words caught in your throat. The words your mother and father had told you, as well. Words that had proven not to be true, in the end.

A knock on the door from Shae saved you from the moment. She escorted you out into the bright southern morning. Everyone you passed seemed to have an extra bounce in their step, an extra swing to their arms, extra wide smiles on their faces. Apparently it didn’t matter how awful the King was, if there was still a wedding to throw.

You had to admit the attitude was infectious. And a well needed relief, after the months you had spent waking in terror, your dreams filled with your sister being married to King Joffrey, irreversibly tied to him by the laws of Gods and men.

The King’s breakfast was being held in the gardens, in full bloom now and having been prepared for weeks for this event. A long table sat as the clear focal piece of the area; Tywin, Cersei, and Cersei’s young son Tommen sat there already. Cersei and her father were discussing something in a low voice, despite the loud levels of ambient noise.

A chill shot down your spine as Tywin’s sharp eyes fell upon you, and you looked away quickly.

“This way, my lady,” Shae urged Sansa towards the direction of the King’s table, and you gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she left your side.

It was clear the breakfast would not be starting until the King arrived, so you wandered the elaborately decorated area.

Everything seemed to drip in gold, the sheer grandeur of it all overwhelming to your eyes. Tables were laden with every type of fruit and cheese you’d seen since arriving in King’s Landing, and some you hadn’t seen. You spotted one of the red, sweet fruits that Oberyn had picked for you the other day.

“Lady Stark.” Jaime Lannister approached where you stood, hands awkwardly clasping behind his back. You’d heard the rumours from the maids that he’d returned from captivity with one less hand. You hoped Robb had been the one to take it.

“My lord,” you greeted, giving a shallow curtsy. You weren’t exactly sure what the appropriate address was for a man who was not your betrothed but likely would be once he bent to his father’s will.

“Are you enjoying the … uh …” He swallowed. He gestured with one hand — a flesh one — to the surroundings. “... festivities?”

You nodded. “Yes, it’s all very beautiful. You must be very happy to be here to see the King marry.” You knew the words came out somewhat clipped, tense, but you could do little to smooth them.

“I— well yes, it’s been…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. His eyes shifted around the area, seeming like they didn’t want to settle on you where you stood. “I … I know this is no consolation, but I admired your mother. She was a strong woman. A strong mother.”

Swallowing thickly, you cast your eyes down to the table, hand clenching at your side, eyes burning suddenly with the weight of his words.

He started to flounder, obviously putting together that this was not the right thing to say, but before he could sputter himself into a frenzy, a warm hand slid over the small of your back.

“Lady Stark, I was in search of your company.” Oberyn was there, his hand a steady weight against you, reassuring. “If you will excuse me, Ser Jaime.” He flashed a dashing smile at Jaime, who nodded eagerly for relief.

“Thank you,” you sighed, as he led you away from the buffet table. He stopped you once you’d reached a round dining table, which you assumed he’d been seated at. Turning you slightly, he placed a hand to your cheek, looking at you intently. Heat rose to your face as you wondered who was watching.

“Was he bothering you?” he asked, his voice impossibly low.

You shook your head, eyes unable to tear away from his. “No, no, he was just … no.”

For a moment you both stood there, unable to move, until a serving aide passed close by, snapping the tension like a matchstick. Oberyn’s hand left you, pulling out a chair for you. He sat beside you, posture relaxed as he poured goblets of wine, the sweet aroma wafting from the cups. He placed one in front of you, noticing your brief hesitation.

“Do you drink wine?” He smirked, watching as you held it beneath your nose.

“I have tried it, but …” You eyed the contents. It was dark in colour, so rich you couldn’t see through the liquid to the bottom of the cup. “At feasts in Winterfell. I always thought it tasted vile.”

He laughed at that, his head thrown back, and you admired the column of his neck, the golden skin, the muscles you could see move beneath the skin, the smattering of stubble that came down from his beard. You wanted to run your lips up it.

“Try it,” he insisted, bringing his own goblet to his lips. “They do not know how to make wine in the North. A Dornish wine will change your life.”

You smiled at him over your cup, raising it to taste the drink. Sweetness bloomed on your tongue, filling your mouth with tastes of fruits you’d had and fruits you never could have imagined. Heat seemed to follow its trail down your throat.

“Do you like it?” He smiled at you. His hand casually reached up, trailing up and down your arm.

“Oberyn …” You eyed his hand wearily. You couldn’t bring yourself to push it away, but you knew it was too bold of him to touch you so knowingly in the open. At the King’s wedding breakfast, no less.

He was interrupted in whatever he was going to say by the arrival of the King, who settled at the head table, where Tyrion had joined Sansa. A line of lords, ladies, and nobles brought forth gifts of all kinds. Oberyn rested his arm on the back of your chair. A goblet from Mace Tyrell, graciously accepted. A book from Tyrion, which Joffrey scoffed at.

You could feel the tension roll off of Oberyn in waves as the Mountain approached the table. You placed a hand on his thigh underneath the table, where no one could see, squeezing there. He carried a sword, which he placed on the head table. Tywin stood.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, your Grace, freshly forged in your honour.”

Valyrian steel. Freshly forged.

The words were ringing in your head as Joffrey excitedly unsheathed the sword, swinging it wildly.

“Such a great sword should have a name. What should I call her?”

Calls came out from the crowd around you.

“Stormbringer!”

“Terminus!”

“Widow’s Wail!”

“Wolfsbane!”

Your breathing was heavy.

Joffrey smirked. “Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

You shut your eyes, hand unintentionally grasping tighter onto Oberyn’s leg. He gently pried your fingers off, and you turned to apologize, but he just flipped your hand over, intertwining your fingers, hidden under the table covering.

And as you looked at him, you thought you could see that same irreconcilable sadness in his eyes, too.

—

taglist: @asta-lily @pedrostories @rpcvliz @xsadderdazeforeverx @elinedjarin @qhbr2013 @punkerthanpascal

#mywriting #the red wolf #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell #game of thrones #got #asoiaf

146 notes · View notes

manndo · 4 years ago

Text

not today, but someday [oberyn martell x reader]

gif credit

pairing[s]: oberyn martell x female!reader

warning[s]: 18+ due to heavily implied sexual content (no actually smut), sexual references/situations, mentions of breeding (in reference to conceiving a child), swearing; talks of pregnancy & the inability to conceive; fluff; angst; oberyn being oberyn (is that a warning??); no mention of ellaria; possible inaccuracies about got (see notes)

word count: 5.4k (ummmm, whoops?)

prompt[s]: none.

summary: all you had ever wanted was a little one, a child to call your own. and yet, months later, you were still without child. still barren, and your dream of becoming a mother seemed to be slipping away.

author’s notes: okay, so, let me start off saying this -- oberyn martell has taken over my life and i have spent much time yearning over him. and, in doing so, i got this idea one day because, as we know, oberyn had eight daughters. so, i thought, what if he had a s/o who could not seem to conceive? hence, this fic. but, i have never watched an episode of got in my life. i have seen his scenes (besides, you know, that scene because in my head, oberyn is alive and well and having all the berries and orgies he wants & i just can’t handle that much violence) and i have read some articles about the show, seen the gifs/posts on tumblr, and talked to people who have watched it in the past eight+ years. but that the extent of my knowledge of got. so, i apologize in advance for any inaccuracies that this fic holds. and i hope that my characterization of oberyn is good. also, no ellaria -- i just did not feel like she fit in this in anyway possible, and i did not want to force her into the story, so to speak. well, i think that is it! so, on with the show! all mistakes are my own. comments/reblogs/likes are much appreciated. thank you! ❤️

“I am sorry, m’lady.”

You did not know what else you were expecting. You knew, deep down, that nothing had changed. You did not need the maester to tell you that you were still without child — you knew. But, Oberyn had instead you call up on them, and you were too tired to argue. You also hoped you were wrong, and Gods did you want to be wrong. But, you were not.

You plastered on a polite smile for the maester. “It’s quite alright,” you said, your voice tight as you forced your emotions down. You weren’t going to shed any tears in front of the maester; you would never give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you cry, save for your husband. You nodded your head toward the door. “That’ll be all. Good day.” The maester bowed lowly before turning on their heel and exiting, the large wooden door shutting with a resounding, empty thud.

The sound echoed in your head and heart; it seeped into your veins, and began to settle in your bones. The sound felt like a finality of sorts. An ending before anything could even begin.

A short, broken sob escaped your lips, and you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth to stop the sound from breaking free. However, it did not matter — the dam had broken, the heartache released. Another sob escaped, muffled by your palm as you squeezed your eyes closed, and laid down on your bed. Your body curling into itself as tears easily flowed down your cheeks, staining them. You felt as if your body was turning on you, tearing you apart at the seams as you shook violently with your cries.

For eight months now, the two of you had been actively trying for a babe, an heir for Oberyn. Not that he himself required an heir — he had eight beautiful daughters, his Sand Snakes, whom he loved dearly no matter their status. But, when the two of you had been wed over a year ago, there had been an unspoken expectation placed upon you both. Oberyn paid no mind, and told you to do the same, but that was easier said than done.

You had always wanted to be a mother, wanting to have babe upon babe running around, mucking up your home and tugging at your skirts. To watch them grow and prosper, becoming handsome young lads and beautiful young ladies, all whom would be intelligent and strong, but caring and kind. To have your legacy, no matter how small or large it would be, live on thorough them. Perhaps there was a small sense of duty, as a woman, that made you yearn to have children. But, you knew that was not the whole picture. Children were beautiful, wonderful, and loving. They were gifts, and you want to have those gifts, to cherish and love them till you were dead and buried. You wanted it, with all your heart, and yet, it seemed like fate was delivering you a cruel hand.

There had been, one fleeting moment in the very beginning of your wedded bliss, where you were positively sure you were with child. You had been so sure, so eager to see the maester; however, you had quickly been proven wrong by your own body betraying you. You’d spent the day in your chambers, unwilling to leave for any reason. Oberyn had found you curled deep in your silken sheets that evening, and try as he might with his quiet, reassuring words, he was unable to pull you from your depressive state. So, he had held you — silently, but tightly, pressing soft kisses across your shoulders, your neck, your jaw. He let his fingertips brush against your skin, tracing nonsensical patterns across your hips, your stomach, your chest, anywhere he could reach. His touches were light, and his movements were sluggish. He comforted you silently, the best way he knew how, and you allowed him to do so. It hadn’t eased the pain completely, but it had been enough.

But, slowly, the days had turned to weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and nothing changed. It did not matter that the two of you had stopped bringing others into your bed to focus solely on each other, for Oberyn to focus solely on you. Nor, did it matter how many times he filled you with his seed, or how willing and open you were to taking what he offered. It did not matter day, afternoon, or night. Nothing mattered. Because here you were, still without child. Barren.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed as the tears flowed and the sobs continued to wrack your body as you laid curled in your marriage bed. Your hand maiden had knocked on the door at one point, but you had been quick to dismiss her before she could enter and find you in your current state. She had not come back and you were grateful.

But then, finally, everything came to a standstill; the tears you had been crying seemed to dry up, and your body had stopped trembling. You took a deep, shuddering breath and unfurled yourself, allowing your limbs to stretch out across the sheets. The tears were still clinging to the corners of your eyes, but most of them had already dried and stained your cheeks and neck. You pushed yourself to sit on the side of your bed, and roughly wiped away at your face, brushing away the outward sings of your heartache. You silently wished you could easily wipe away the heartache in your chest, too. The one that had buried itself so deeply in there.

You hadn’t even noticed the door to your chambers opening, didn’t even hear a voice calling out to you. It was only when the door shut — that hollow, empty thud — that you were brought back, your head whipping toward the sound. “Oberyn,” you said, your voice soft, a breathless whisper. He wasn’t supposed to be here; from what you recalled, he was supposed to be kept busy with mundane princely duties (his words, not yours). You weren’t supposed to see him till this evening — and from the way the sun was peeking through the curtains, it could only be mid afternoon — which would have given you plenty of time to steel yourself. To gather yourself together, lock your heartache and pain away before delivering the news. To pretend that it didn’t cut into your soul, didn’t rip you apart from the inside out. “What are you—”

“I had a free moment,” he said, making his way toward you, his golden robes flowing effortless around him. There was a smile playing at his lips, which told you that he actually did not have a moment — he made a moment to come and see you.

You felt the heartache clawing at your throat, fighting to be released.

Quickly, you pushed yourself to stand, and turned away from him in a futile attempt to hide your face. He would come closer; he would see your pain, your sorrow. Because, though you had wiped away the tears and the stains they had left behind on your cheeks, your eyes were still red and puffy. The pain and heartache still lingering behind your eyes.

God, you had hoped to have more time, more time before you had to tell him. Before you had to watch the sadness and disappointment appear, filling his rich, beautiful brown eyes. You wanted more time.

A pragmatic pause. “Love,” he said, his voice sounding strained, painful. Your actions had spoken louder than words, it seemed.

You could feel a fresh set of tears springing to your eyes, your hand grasping at the dress clinging loosely to your side. You fisted the fabric tightly and closed your eyes, willing yours tears to stay put, to not fall. You heard Oberyn call out for you again, this time your birth name falling from his lips just before you felt him come closer. He hadn’t touched you, not yet, but you could feel his presence only mere inches behind you.

“Love,” Oberyn whispered once more, this time as you felt his hand wrap gently around the fist at your side, the other coming to wrap around your waist. “I am—”

“Don’t,” you breathed out, the word sounding more like a broken sob than anything coherent. You broke away from Oberyn, and thankfully, he let you go. “I cannot bare another I am sorry, especially from you, husband,” you said, your voice harsher than you had intended, angrier. Not at him, no, you could never be angry with Oberyn. No, you were angry at yourself. This was your fault; you were defective, broken, unable to provide him and yourself with the one thing you had so desperately wished for. “I have heard enough apologies to last me a lifetime.”

You felt his fingertips brush gently against your arm, the lightest of touches, barely there. A soft gesture to tell you he was there, and that he would not leave. You took a shaky breath, and loosened the grip on the fabric in your hand, letting the dress fall back against you. “There is no rush, my love,” he said, his voice soft and tentative, as if he knew he was treading rough water. And, he was.

A choked chuckle escaped your lips, and you turned to face your husband. “For you, perhaps,” you said, letting your eyes take in his appearance. He looked as handsome as ever, but he was growing older, as was the consequences of living. Over time, more grey had appeared in his hair and his beard, and a few more lines and wrinkles adorned his regal face. Even his stomach had gone a little soft (not enough for anyone besides you to notice). But, he was still the man you had met many moons ago. Still the Red Viper. Sill the man could make any woman or man fall to their knees and beg for his cock. “You, my stallion, can breed until you’re dead. The same cannot be said for myself.”

“I do not think I would call myself a stallion, my dove. Not anymore.”

You snorted, and turned away from him, letting your eyes look down at your marriage bed. You ran a hand across the silk sheets. “With the way we’ve been fucking these past few months, I’d disagree.”

You heard an amused chuckle escape his lips. “I may be able to still mount you like a stallion, but perhaps, I can no longer bred you like one.”

You looked over your shoulder at Oberyn, and raised your eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the father of eight daughters doubts his ability to breed?”

His shoulders gave a small shrug before he reached out to you, wrapping his callused hand around your wrist. Oberyn brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your pulse point. “I am not in my prime anymore, my dove. Perhaps, the fault does not lie on you.”

You looked away from him and back toward your marriage bed. You felt him take a step closer before you felt the press of his lips against your shoulder in the briefest of kisses. The hand holding your wrist slide down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You’re taking pity on me, husband,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I would never,” he said, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. He pressed another kiss to your shoulder before his chin came to rest there, his beard tickling your skin ever so slightly. “I am merely stating a possibility,” he mumbled, the hand holding yours moving, arm shifting to wrap around your waist, hands still tangled with one another. “A truth, perhaps.”

You scoffed. “You cannot be serious, my prince.”

Oberyn hummed, and placed a soft kiss on your neck. “I am,” he mumbled into your skin. “I could deny reality, if I wished, but denying the inevitable does not change the outcome.”

“So,” you swallowed and looked down at your tangled hands that were resting on your stomach. You took a deep breath. “You do not think of me as a failure?”

Before you could blink, Oberyn had spun you around to face him. His rich, dark eyes were narrowed, but there was no anger behind his eyes. “You are not a failure, my love,” he said, his voice filled conviction. He reached out, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Please, do not think of yourself as one.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “There are not many things women are afforded in this life, Oberyn. Many of us are not giving the promise of kingdoms, riches or lands when we are but babes,” you stated, your voice hard, irritation lacing your words. “But this, the gift to bare children, we are born with that. That is ours,” you said, your voice softening as your throat tightened and tears welled at the corner of your eyes. You closed your eyes, and feel another swipe of his callused thumb across your cheek. “I know I am worth more than my anatomy. I know that my anatomy does not define me. That this, this failure,” you said, your voice catching in your throat, “this inability to conceive, does not define me.” You swallowed, and opened your eyes, looking into Oberyn’s deep, chocolate orbs. “I know these things, Oberyn. I know them. But, it cuts me deeply, so deeply that I feel as if I am bleeding out with no way to close the wound.”

“My dove,” he said softly, his other hand coming to rest on your other cheek. He held your face gently between his hands, his features soften, and you could see a pain in his decadent eyes. A pain that was reflected in your own. “Your pain is my pain, know that. And know, there is nothing I would not give up in this world in order to give you the gift of a child,” he said, and you could tell that he meant what he said. He wanted this as much as you did, you both wished for this, silently prayed for this. And yet, barren.

You watched as he removed one of his hands from your cheek, sliding it down your neck, shoulder, down the middle of your chest, between your breasts and coming to rest on your stomach. Oberyn looked down at his hand, as did you, and spread his fingers across your stomach. “What I wouldn’t give to see you swell with our babe,” he said, and if you listened close enough, you could hear the slight hitch in his breath. You placed your hand over his on your stomach, fingers resting between his. “To see them suckle at your breast, to tug at your skirts, to wreak havoc in the halls.” He gazed back to you, and you felt a lump forming in your throat, a fresh set of tears prickling at the back of your eyes. “The sound of their cries and laughter filling the rooms. To see them as they grow and blossom.” He paused, and you could see he was choosing his words carefully. You felt a knot grow in your stomach. “But, I am starting to think—”

“Please, Oberyn,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you closed your eyes, your fingers tightening their grip on his. “Do not say—”

“We need to take a step back, my love.”

Your eyes snapped opened. That was not exactly what you expected. You had expected him to say that you two should give up, forget the notion of ever having your own babe. Perhaps, he would even suggest an orphan child; you were not opposed to the idea, you loved children and would gladly be a mother to a child in need of one. But, you were not ready to give up the idea of having your own yet.

“A step back?” you asked, your eyes filled with confusion as you released your grasp on his hand. You were not entirely sure where your husband was going with this statement. You could not imagine that he was implying to stop fucking. Though Oberyn had aged, he still enjoyed the pleasures of sex (as did you) and the idea that he would give that up? Preposterous. “Are you suggesting we stop fucking, dear husband?”

Oberyn looked aghast at your suggestion, and it made the corner of your mouth tick up. “What a ridiculous notion, dear wife,” he said, mimicking your words back to you, his voice sounding almost betrayed that you would think such a thing. Even suggest such a thing. “Besides,” he started, voice dropping an octave in tone and pitch as he moved both hands, the one on your stomach and the one on your cheek, to come and rest on your hips once more. Oberyn’s callused fingers dipped into your hipbone and held tightly, almost too tightly. It barely phased you. “The idea that I could keep my hands, mouth and cock to myself around you is absurd,” he muttered, a wicked grin spread across his face, his dark eyes flashing with lust. It lasted only a moment before the smirk fell, and a serious look appeared upon his face. “However, if you wish to cease—”

You shook your head. “No, no,” you muttered. “I could not do that to you.”

“My love—”

“I’ve already asked too much of you by ceasing our activities with others.”

“Which,” he started softly, “I had no issue forgoing for you, my dove.” He paused and removed on have from your hip. He placed a finger under your chin and pushed up, lifting your head to make sure that your eyes caught his rich, dark orbs. “You have my body, my heart, and my soul. I love you. Whatever you need, I will comply.”

Your heart swelled in your chest. Oberyn partook in every pleasure imaginable, had never denied himself and tried almost every sexual act under the sun. And yet, here he was, willing to forgo sex for you. You knew he loved you, but this? This proved how far he would go for you, the lengths he would go to make sure you were well, that you were content. Whatever you needed, it seemed, he would gladly give it to you.

“No, Oberyn,” you started and he opened his mouth once more, but you stopped him as you placed a hand on his cheek. “I am — I have no problem continuing our sexual activities.”

You watched as Oberyn studied you, his dark eyes scanning your face for any sign that you might be hiding the truth from him. After a moment, he seemed content with what he found. He nodded and removed his finger from your chin. “Then, that is settled. But, I think, my dove we may have put too much pressure on ourselves,” he murmured, turning his head into your palm, and pressing a soft kiss to the center of it. “Not that our lovemaking is not pleasurable, it most certainly is, always,” Oberyn said, turning his gaze back to you, slipping on another mischievous smirk his let his free hand come to rest just below your breast. “But, perhaps, we’ve forgotten what it is like to be us,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your neck as you let your hand fall from his cheek and back to your side. “Without pressures.” Another kiss, lips moving down. “Without worries.” And, another, lower. “Only us.” His final kiss landed on your shoulder. “Return to an earlier time, when we had first laid eyes upon each other. Do you remember those days, my love?”

You nodded. You remembered those days vividly; the hours spent walking through the water gardens, talking about everything and nothing. The nights spent together, tangled in each other, exploring each other with hands, lips and teeth. Back then, all you had wanted to do was learn about the man you shared your bed — and soon, your life — with, and he had wanted the same. Oberyn still attended to his duties, as required, but every moment when he was not busy, he was with you and you were with him.

Then, when you had married, more of your time had become consumed with your own requirements and duties as well as his own. Much of your time together was spent was in the evenings, in your bed in hopes of conceiving a child.

“Perhaps, my love,” Oberyn started again, “we need to allow ourselves to enjoy each others company, get lost in each other.” A brief pause. “In and out of our bed.” You caught Oberyn’s dark orbs, and him yours. The hand on your ribs was removed, and placed instead upon your cheek. You leaned into his touch. “What do you say, my dove? We do not forgo our dream of one day having a babe of our own. We just,” he paused, for a moment, a thoughtful look in his eye, “allow ourselves not to be pressured or burdened by the notion? Return to simpler times, so to speak?”

You let your husband’s suggestion mull in your head for a moment. Perhaps, he was right; perhaps the two of you had been too focused on conceiving a child that you had, unintentionally, made sex a burden. Oberyn was not wrong; your times with him were always pleasurable and the two of you never fucked if either of you was in no mood to engage in sex. But when you did, perhaps, the burden was there, always lingering in the back of your mind. That the burden had become an unknown weight upon you, upon Oberyn. It would be nice to silence that burden for a while.

“My love?”

You blinked and focused your gaze back on Oberyn. His deep brown eyes were studying you, patiently waiting for your response. You smiled softly at him. “You are right, my prince,” you agreed, and you watched as a triumphant look filled his eyes, the corner of his lip ticking up. You narrowed your gaze slightly. “Watch that ego of yours, husband.” Oberyn chuckled lowly and moved to grasp your hips. He pulled you tight against him, a wicked smile on his face.

“Or what, dove? Hm?”

“Or,” you started, lifting arms and wrapping the loosing around his neck and shoulders, “it will get you killed one day.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “Will it now? By whom?”

You held your chin up. “Me.” Oberyn laughed, the sound filling your shared chambers, and now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “You doubt me, my prince?”

“I do not doubt, your strength, my love,” he said through the laughter, which slowly began to die down as the milliseconds passed. “Or your cunning wit. However, I do know that you love me too much to even harm a hair on my head.” He paused and titled his head. “Well, unless in the throes of passion, of course,” he added, another mischievous grin pulling at his lips. “Then well?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It cannot be helped.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, but you knew the smile pulling at your lips betrayed you. “Whatever you say, my prince,” you muttered.

Oberyn hummed thoughtfully. You had thought to say something else, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Oberyn’s lips were on yours, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. And, you willing granted him entry. His tongue slid harshly against yours, warm, wet and unyielding. A small moan escaped your lips as your arms tightened around his neck, fingers tangling into the curls at the nap of his neck. You used your hold to pull yourself even closer to him, pressing your chest against his as you slipped your thigh between his legs, pressing it against his swelling cock. A low growl escaped his throat, one that was eagerly swallowed by your lips as his grip on your hips tightened.

There was a loud knock at your chamber door.

Oberyn barely pulled away, mumbling, “ignore it,” against your lips before sliding his lips against yours again. And, you had planned to, already lost in the taste of him. However, the moment his tongue had slipped back in to your moth, there was another knock. This time, much louder.

“M’lord?” It was one of the man servants. “Are you in there?”

Oberyn groaned and pulled his lips away from yours reluctantly. “Yes,” he responded, his voice stern, but somewhat out of breath. You smiled. “But.” One of his hands travelled from you hip, up to your side, coming to rest on your breast. He kneaded the flesh, and you let out a soft mewl, heading falling back, eyes closing. “I am very, very busy. So, if you’ll ex—”

“Your presence is requested, m’lord.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes. “By whom?” he asked, but he did not bother to move toward the door to let the servant in, only lowered his head to your neck. He gave the skin at the base of your neck a quick, hard nip. You let out a small yelp of surprise mixed with pleasure as you tugged on Oberyn’s dark locks once more.

You were sure the man servant now knew exactly why Oberyn was busy — or, more accurately, whom he was busy with.

“Your brother, m’lord,” he answered, his voice tight and proper.

Oberyn growled against your skin in irritation before he nipped the skin again, this time worrying the skin for a brief moment. “Oberyn,” you whined, the sound a little louder than a whisper. Another nip in the same area. You were sure you’d have a bruise within the hour. You straightened your neck and opened your eyes. “Oberyn,” you said again, trying to quell the ever growing arousal pooling between your legs. However, his name sounded too breathless and needy on your lips. You glanced down at him the best you could, and saw his dark orbs shining with lust. Oberyn gave a sly smirk.

“M’lord?”

You knew he didn’t want to go, that he would rather lose himself in your body and pleasure. However, you knew that if he did not go now, it would only mean more time away from each other later.

“M’lord? He wishes to speak with you as soon as possible. If you could please open this door, and—”

“Go,” you whispered, ignoring the man servant’s plea, scratching at the back of Oberyn’s neck and giving him a soft smile. “The sooner you meet with him, the sooner you are back in our bed.”

Oberyn raised his head, his eyes watching you closely. The hand resting on your breast slide up and over your shoulder. His callused fingers began to play with the strap on your gown. “And you will be waiting for me?”

“Of course,” you answered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Unless, you’d like to visit the brothel tonight?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a while, my prince, and that is my fault. I know I asked you, and you willingly followed my request. But, I do not wish to hold you back anymore. If you would like to share a bed again, I am more than willing to share tonight.”

Oberyn leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, but before it could go farther, he was pulling away. He grinned down at you. “Perhaps another night, my dove. Tonight, I plan to keep you.” The hand on your hip slide off and over, his hand cupping your clothed and aching center. A small whimper escaped your lips, and Oberyn’s own lips twisted into a wicked smile. “And, this pretty cunt all to myself tonight.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. His warm breath ghosted over the shell, making you shiver. “Make you come undone upon my tongue for hours,” he whispered, the word sending a fresh flood of arousal between your legs.

“Oberyn—” your voice sounded choked, hoarse, needy.

“Before I finally sink into that tight little cunt.” He pulled your earlobe between his teeth, and worried the skin. You groaned, eyes falling closed as you grasped at his upper arm for support. His teeth released your lobe. “And fuck you until the sun rises.”

You bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape your throat. Oberyn pulled back, hand sliding from your aching center to your hip, and looked at you, that wicked grin still pulling at his lips. “Perhaps—”

“M’lord?” The man servant sounded terse, clearly annoyed that he was still standing outside the door. You glanced at Oberyn to see him roll his eyes, irritation clearly written on his face. “I am sorry, but, I believe—”

“Tell him I will be there in a moment,” Oberyn all but growled through the door at the man servant. You gently swatted at his chest, and gave him a look that silently told him to be nice. Oberyn sighed. “If you would be so kind,” he added, his voice much less demanding as he glanced over his shoulder toward the door.

“Um, I would,” the man started, “but he — he requested that I personally accompany you, Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes once more. “Of course he did,” he muttered.

You bite your lip once more, this time trying to stifle a giggle that threatened to erupt. However, it escaped — a meager sound, but a giggle nonetheless. “He knows you all too well, my prince.”

“That he does,” he muttered, and let out another heavy sigh before turning his head and attention back on you. “You’ll be fine, my dove?”

And, you knew what he was asking. He was not just asking if you would be fine while he was away, or if you would be fine for the rest of the day. No, he was asking that and more, much more. Oberyn was asking if you’d be fine from here on out with what you two had agreed upon. Would you really and truly be fine with forgoing your want for a babe? Forgoing the need you had created to conceive a child for the foreseeable future. Were you, for now, fine with only having him in your life? No children, only him, only your prince. Only your husband. Only Oberyn.

You smiled sweetly, and reached out, placing a hand upon his cheek. “Yes, my love. As long as you promise to stay by my side until one of us takes our dying breath.”

Oberyn smiled, his dark orbs shining brightly with love and adoration for you. He reached out and covered your hand on his cheek with his, squeezing your fingers gently. “Promise.”

You nodded. “Now,” you started, letting your hand slide from his cheek, his fingers still grasping at yours, “go on. Before your brother comes and hunts you down himself.”

Oberyn scoffed, and looked toward the door. “That’ll be the day,” he muttered, and you chuckled softly, shaking your head.

“Go,” you said, voice a little stern as you gently pushed at his shoulder in an attempt to move him toward the door.

Oberyn laughed softly and untangled his fingers from yours. “Fine, my dove, I am going,” he muttered, leaning down to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “I will see you in a few hours.” Oberyn took a step back from you, his eyes never leaving yours. He grinned and took another step back. “Make sure you’re ready for me.”

You smirked. “Do not worry about me, my prince. I will be,” you said and he grinned, all teeth and wicked before turning on his heel, and leaving your shared chambers.

The door shut behind him with a resounding thud, but this time, it did not cause you heartache. There was no finality or dread that sank into your bones. It was just the sound of a door opening and closing, as they always do.

Perhaps, you had closed the door on your dreams of having little ones. But, it wasn’t locked; you could open that door once more, when the time was right. Or, perhaps, you’d find another door, another way. However, right now, you would enjoy the idea of a closed door.

taglist (for pedro characters):

@over300books

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell imagines #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #my writing

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roseunspindle · 3 years ago

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I’ve been reading to many reverse harem comics

Let’s say Oberyn heads up to King’s Landing during the first book, and he’s intrigued by Ned Stark, even if he doesn’t quite like him. He is equally intrigued by his young daughters, Sansa is the perfect little lady, but he sees a very quick mind behind the sweet manners, and he feels absurd amounts of affection for Arya and sends Obara to train with her after discussing it with Ned.

He knows Ned doesn’t overly like him, mostly due to his being a slut, loose with his affections. But he is an ally where Ned is aware he has few. And Oberyn wouldn’t mind toppling the lions and is happy to help Ned do it.

He does not, at all, like Joffrey and thinks the boy is a foul monster.

Things come to a head, and due to the embarrassment of being cuckolded by his wife (Robert has zero room to talk but it’s different if it’s a man *eye roll*) he knows full well he can’t hold the throne. (The Lannister’s all get killed or removed and little finger tragically dies during this as well)

At first, he tries to marry Sansa himself, but Ned is like, no, no. You can ask a lot of me but not that.

It’s Oberyn, in collusion with Varys, who is rather concerned about the realm who comes up with the idea. Instead of a King on the Iron Throne, let’s have us a Queen and to ensure no man tries to take power, will do what “ancient queen of random ancient country did” and she’ll have a harem of young men from the noble families in order to have children from all of them, men to fight and voices in court, but they cannot seize power or be regents nor can their family be regents for any offspring.

So Sansa is chosen as Queen (she’s young and sweet (which will charm the people), smart (which will aid in governance and handling the nobles) and is from an ancient house and she knows the court and Oberyn has had some of his daughters teaching her the intricacies of court intrigue and Sansa is absorbing this, frightened by what had almost happened with the Lannister’s and angry with herself for having liked Joffrey.

She really isn’t certain about the harem thing but is assured she will have a lot of say about its occupants. (that wasn’t her main concern, as it’s actual existence was much more mind breaking

Oberyn is of course the first member, he and Ellaria part ways amicably as he’ll need to be “devoted” to his new queen. (He also plans to make sure their new little queen is safe with her soon to be paramours).

Many sons are offered up, once people accept the idea (which is quite popular with the women of westeros (though Caitlyn is horrified).

The odd moment comes when House Tyrell offers Sir Loras, but as it’s pretty widely known he’s literally in bed with Renly Baratheon (who is trying to start a rebellion that’s going nowhere) they sigh and say they do have a woman Margaery... (she becomes Sansa’s first female concubine and pretty much becomes her “queen” in that she organizes the feasts and events of court like a queen would, while Oberyn remains more her military guy.

Ned remains now as Hand of the Queen, as he’s not leaving his daughter, but really wants to go home. He did not plan to uncover fifty plots, unseat his old friend, nearly kill his old friend to protect his daughter from him, only for said daughter to be named Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and for his gentle, sweet, ladylike girl to have a spine of steel in her and flourish under the tutelage of less than savory people and succeeding in being Queen in more than name.

I go with the idea of Stannis not rebelling as the loss of honor and face robert suffered would be a heavy blow for house baratheon and he decides to drop Mellisandre off a cliff or something.

#Sansa x Harem #nonsense #sort of fanfic #game of thrones

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aliveanddrunkonsunlight · 4 years ago

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my heart talks of nothing but you - 1920s fic

October, King’s Landing, 1920

Fall in the city has been unseasonably warm. At the train station, people bustle past, sweltering under the station’s glass roof like plants wilting in a conservatory. Jaime stands and waits for the 11:40 train from Sunspear. He is early, and the wait is long enough the heat gets to him, sweat beading under his collar, so he leans his cane against the brick wall behind him and takes off his jacket, laying it neatly across the handle of the luggage cart. Perhaps the Westerlands will provide the chill in the air he’s been craving, as they will be getting out of the city soon enough. He tugs down his waistcoat and, to further combat the heat, rolls up his sleeves. Several women departing from another train give him furtive glances as they pass by. Jaime nods politely to a few of them.

The train chugs into the station right on time, but the people stepping out from the cars blur together in his line of vision, as he is concentrated on spotting one blonde, tall head. Brienne. After months away, she looks different, but he cannot put his finger on what it is about her that has changed, and it hardly matters, for his heart clenches in his chest all the same.

She is dressed in a white shirt and wide-leg trousers. If her clothes did not already put her in contrast to the other women disembarking, her height would. His eyes fall to the long line of her legs and Jaime is so caught up in adoration, he almost overlooks her companion, a mustachioed man with black hair, dressed in a fine suit with a yellow waistcoat embroidered with suns. The man appears too flashy and debonair for Brienne to fall into casual acquaintance with on the train journey, so he assumes it is someone she knows from Dorne.

The pair have drawn closer to where he stands, but Brienne still has not noticed him, so he calls out, “Miss Tarth.” Her first semester of university, Jaime was the teacher’s assistant in her history lecture, and teased her by always using her title, despite her insistence to call her by her given name.

Her head snaps around at the sound of his voice, her face breaking into a smile when she realizes who it is. “Jaime!” she cries out in delight, suddenly in his arms. He laughs against her neck, tempted to lift her feet off the ground, but the familiar twinge in his leg cautions him against it. “What are you doing here? I thought I wasn’t seeing you until this evening.”

Tonight, the university’s history department is holding a small reception and Jaime asked her to accompany him.

“I thought you might be in want of a kind gentleman to assist you with your luggage.” She holds up a worn leather satchel that looks more suitable for a weekend excursion. Jaime gapes. “That’s all you took? I know the Dornish are quite progressive, but I assume you wore clothes.” Brienne studied archaeology and spent the past four months in Dorne on an excavation. One day, he has no doubt, she’ll be head of a museum somewhere.

“Jaime.” she says warningly, but her blue eyes sparkle with amusement. Brienne glances back and notices her companion from the train waiting. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry, Mr. Martell. What you must think of my manners.”

“It’s quite alright.” He passes off a suitcase, embossed with Brienne’s initials, to Jaime.

“Jaime, this is Mr. Oberyn Martell. He has expertise in art history, particularly ceramics, and was an unending font of knowledge during the dig. Mr. Martell, this is Captain Jaime Lannister, one of my friends from university.”

“Friends?” Martell’s eyebrows raise. “I thought perhaps professor.” Jaime chooses to ignore the slight on his age or appearance--perhaps both--and shakes the man’s hand.

“He will be one day,” Brienne interjects politely. Whenever she brags about his work to others, he wishes he was someone who blushed because it seems the only appropriate response to the way that hearing her speak about him makes him feel. “He’s starting his graduate studies in history.”

Martell’s sly but amused smile makes Jaime’s hackles rise, but he can hear his father’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are you visiting someone in the city?”

“Friends, as you say.” His eyes dart between the two of them. “At the university.”

Neither expand on Martell’s meeting, but knowing Brienne, he expects it has to do with her noble view on stolen objects. During many of the past wars, art and other artifacts had been looted from other provinces or populations, such as the Dornish or various groups throughout Essos and ended up in museums in Westeros. She believes archaeologists and other historians have a duty to return these objects to the place of their origin. The first time Jaime had seen her go off on a spiel about it, he had been awed and delighted by the depth of her knowledge, her sound reasoning and argument, and her righteous indignation.

Outside of the station, they part ways with Martell. The man clasps Brienne’s hand in his own. “It has been an honor, Miss Tarth. You are more of a treasure than the ones you dig up.” Jaime has to prevent himself from rolling his eyes. “And you are more than welcome in Dorne anytime.” His silky smooth voice dips low and he drops his head, kissing her hand before rising, eyes lingering on Brienne a bit too long before he is gone in a flash of yellow.

“Was he that dramatic all summer?” he asks under his breath, earning an elbow in the ribs from Brienne. Her cheeks are flushed; he hopes from the heat and not because that onerous man had flattered her.

“Some might say you have a flair for the dramatic.” She turns to look at him, squinting against the sun, but the light makes her blonde eyelashes look quite pretty. “I am so tired of the sun,” Brienne sighs as he waves down a cab. “The only protection against it was to swathe myself in layers. I looked like some spirit haunting the dig.”

Jaime chuckles, opening the car door for her. As she takes his hand to step inside, he notices the top button of her blouse is undone, revealing a small taste of the pale skin underneath, delicately beaded with sweat. He swallows, shutting the door behind her and trying to rid himself of the image.

After giving the driver her address, he leans back against the seat. “But you enjoyed your time there? It was everything you imagined?”

Brienne smiles, almost to herself, before turning towards him. “It was. I’ll save my stories for this evening, though, otherwise you’ll be hearing me repeat them all night.”

Selfishly, he wants to hear them first because he’s missed her. “Did you get my postcards?” He had sent her a series of postcards he collected from various museums around the city, each featuring an object of some importance, and scratched out the names on the back so she would have to guess the object and museum.

“Yes.” Her whole face lights up, brighter than any summer sun, and she launches into a story about how she figured out a particularly tricky one.

“I am quite glad you’re back, darling girl.” Brienne scrunches up her nose a little at the name. He used to call her that, too. The first time he said it, he meant it as a comment about his age and experience in the world he had on her, but she had reacted to it with such irritation, he began using it to needle her. “The city wasn’t the same without you. It felt as if you’d been wrenched from my life.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but there’s a smile she can’t quite keep tucked away. “Like I said, dramatic.” Yet, she looks quite pleased.

#future unnamed 1920s fic #now it has a name #work in progress wednesday #fic: my heart talks of nothing but you #jaime x brienne

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chaotic-noceur · 5 years ago

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pedro boys + IKEA headcanons

warnings: swearing, food, javi’s has one line of suggestive content

a/n: so this is what happens when you put @din-damn-djarin @ezrasarm and I in a group chat together when two of us are bored and one of us has just been to IKEA... enjoy! (We had too much fun writing this)

Din Djarin

Agreed to do it because it sounded like a cute couples activity

But then you actually do it

He can’t get his gloved fingers in between the creases

The Allen key keeps falling out of his hand

He can’t see anything through the bucket on his head

He storms off eventually saying he’ll fix it later

He comes back to find you sitting amongst the scattered mess

Yodito’s in your lap, turning the Allen key with surprising ease

Din swears he’s cheating with the Force

Don’t get him started on the actual trip

You drop Yodito off at the kiddies playground thing

Din goes running back not even 5 minutes later because he is sTrEsSeD™

You lose Yodito in the maze anyways

Several times

Din loses 10 years of life every time he realises

But he keeps showing up in empty flower pots

...and levitating stuffed animals into the cart

Din doesn’t have the heart to put them back

You get back to the ship with a bag full of toys

Din swears you are never going back there again

But when he realises you didn’t actually get everything you needed

He refrains from slamming his head into the nearest wall

☾☾☾☾☾

Ezra

Is indifferent about the actual shopping part

Loves spending time with you though so he will go anywhere you take him

Is personally offended that the books in the showroom are props

Throws an excessive amount of scented candles into the cart

*deep inhale*

“Ezra. Babe. WE DO NOT NEED MORE WE ALREADY HAVE 20”

“But this one smells like ‘afternoon escape’, we need it”

Will ramble about the “dire importance” of this candle until you give in

Knows exactly how everything should fit together

But “I CAN’T DO IT WITH ONE ARM GODDAMNIT”

*hurls the Allen key across the pod*

Takes to hovering over your shoulder as you assemble it

Makes everything more complicated with his fancy vocabulary

You’re getting annoyed but he can’t help it

“No that goes there” “The other way”

“DO IT YOURSELF THEN SINCE YOU KNOW EVERYTHING”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips

The teasing smile on his face drops instantly

You’re stuttering out an apology before either of you can move

“I- I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” He giggles

This time you’re the one who wants to chuck an Allen key…

...At his head

“You should’ve seen your face!”

☾☾☾☾☾

Frankie Morales

Going to IKEA with Frankie turns into an entire day trip

He refuses to let you leave until you get meatballs

It takes you 3 hours to get to the checkout

Because he gets distracted by everything

“Come feel this bath mat!”

“Do we need new knives?”

You try out every piece of furniture in the showroom

He doesn’t let you touch the tape measure because “it keeps giving me paper cuts”

You end up buying twice as much stuff as you originally planned on getting

Insists that everything will fit in his truck

It does...barely (but only if you end up sitting on one of the boxes...no one has to know)

Swears that he doesn’t need help carrying anything

You step in when you see him dragging a box through the door, clearly labelled ‘fragile’

He’s good with his hands so he loves building it

It’s like therapy for him

If he’s in a good mood, he tosses the instructions out because “I can fly a helicopter and shoot a target a mile away. I don’t need instructions.”

10 minutes later, he’s digging through the garbage looking for it

He tries to pretend he’s just emptying the garbage bin

But you see right through him and hold the crumbled sheet up with the biggest smirk on your face

☾☾☾☾☾

Javier Peña

Does not have time for this bullshit

Hates the concept of IKEA

“Who turns a furniture store into a fucking maze?!”

Is complaining the whole time about how you don’t need new furniture

“Your couch cushions are basically two layers of fabric.”

Wants it to magically assemble itself

“I paid 60 dollars for this and it isn’t even built?!”

But also refuses to let you touch anything

Loses his patience in 0.5 seconds

But would rather be shot dead than read the instruction manual

“I take down entire drug cartels for a living. I can build a fucking couch.”

Spoiler alert: He cannot.

“Get these out of here” *instructions go flying out the window*

“How did you lose all the spare screws?!” “I’ll give you a spare screw” he grumbles

You both wind up binge eating pepparkaka (IKEA ginger snaps) on the floor shamefully because you couldn’t figure out how to put the legs on your chairs

You also may have called Steve to help

Steve can’t stop laughing at your pathetic attempts

Until he tries it

He ends up calling Connie

She gets the whole thing done in 10 minutes flat

☾☾☾☾☾

Marcus Pike

Loves the idea of building IKEA furniture with you

Because he thinks it’s the boyfriend-ly thing to do

He insists that he knows what he’s doing

But in reality, he hasn’t got the foggiest clue what’s going on

“WHY ARE THERE SO MANY PIECES?!”

“tHeRe aRe nO wOrDs iN tHe iNsTrUcTiOnS?!”

He also has no spatial awareness which means not only can he not figure out how the pieces fit together, but he also keeps tripping over everything

He just about wiped out on a piece of cardboard

“How are you an FBI agent?! You have no stealth whatsoever!”

You try really hard not to laugh when he can’t figure out why the Allan key won’t fit

(He was using it backwards)

“They trust you with a gun?!”

Eventually you can’t stand watching him struggle anymore

You delegate him to DJ-ing while you take over

It takes you hours to assemble what should have taken you half an hour at most

But you’re not even mad about it

You’re having too much fun

He won’t stop dancing around you like a dork to ABBA

(Which isn’t distracting at all)

☾☾☾☾☾

Oberyn Martell

Would not be caught dead building IKEA furniture

He has people to do that for him

“We don’t need more furniture Dove”

Refuses to entertain the thought of going to IKEA

“IKEA could not compete with Dorne’s craftsmen”

You end up sneaking out with Ellaria

Ellaria is on ‘distract Oberyn’ duty while you assemble the chair as quickly as possible

He figures out something is going on when Ellaria does everything imaginable to stop him from leaving

He’s not complaining but his curiosity has peaked and he will not be kept in the dark about the events taking place in his own castle

You hurl the newly assembled chair across the room when the door flies open

It splinters apart on impact with the floor

He’s smirking at you from the doorway

“I did warn you my love”

A week later, Dorne’s best craftsman is going head to head with you, Ellaria and another box of IKEA furniture

The entirety of the royal staff are watching as the competition unfolds

They’ve placed bets on who would win

You and Ellaria work seamlessly to assemble your “pathetic excuse for furniture”

He’s lying if he says he doesn’t find it a little attractive

You both refuse to talk to him for a week when he picks the Dornish furniture

☾☾☾☾☾

Whiskey

Loves going IKEA shopping with you

You make your first trip a few weeks after moving in together

You’re just putting plates into the cart when he freezes

Images of your future together start falling into place in his mind and he panics

He never thought he’d find something like this again… not after his late wife

This is real now

“Earth to Jack,” you call, waving your hand in front of his face

When you ask him what’s wrong, he chokes out a ‘nothing’

You don’t push it, he’ll tell you when he’s ready

He burns the instructions as soon as you get home

“Darling, I’m part of a secret intelligence agency. I can handle a few nuts and bolts.”

He lives to regret that statement as soon as he lays out all the pieces

But he’s too stubborn to ask for help

You can tell he has no idea what he’s doing but you go along with it

You hand him misnamed parts and tools when he asks for them and you breakdown cardboard boxes when he tosses them carelessly to the side

The radio’s playing in the background but neither of you are paying it any attention

Three hours pass before he proudly presents his masterpiece to you

“See that wasn’t so ba-“

It collapses to pieces the moment he tosses the Allen key he had been using on top of it triumphantly

He swears he’s reading every single word diagram next time

You’re dozing off in his arm on the mattress on the floor (the bed frame in a dozen unassembled pieces around you) when he tells you he loves you for the first time

“I love you too.”

#din djarin x reader #frankie morales x reader #javier peña x reader #oberyn martell x reader #agent whiskey x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #the mandalorian x reader #marcus pike x reader #din djarin headcanons #ezra prospect headcanon #frankie morales headcanons #javier peña headcanons #marcus pike headcanons #oberyn martell headcanons #agent whiskey headcanons #pedro boys headcanons #collaborative headcanons #kay writes

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mostly-megan · 4 years ago

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December 5th: Shopping

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Rating: Mostly E for Everyone, but there is some implied stuff

Word count: 1076; not beta read, we live and die by the sword

Warnings: It’s Oberyn, so allusions to sexy times

❄️December Writing Masterlist ❄️

(A/N): I was excited to write this one, but I really don’t know how good of a job I did, so I’m sorry. Prompts from @honeymandos; Photo credit: NYDailyNews

It’s strange passing through the market now, especially since nothing has particularly changed. The grocers and produce vendors call out their specialties straight from port and vine, ripe and perfect for your coin at the best price as jewelers and weavers and all manner of craftsmen peddle their eye-catching trinkets and treasures. But now as you stroll through your favorite alleys and shops, the crowds part, bow, and murmur at the Prince of Dorne by your side.

Still early in the day, the light wind from the sea brings a relieving cool to the rising heat of the sun. The winds also carry the swirling dusts of warm spices and sweet blossoms set out enticingly. Music, chatter, and color fill the shaded corridors of the winding city, even more so than usual as the end of year festivals and feasts draw ever closer.

Oberyn’s lazy gate lets you glance at each stall, one hand gestures this way and that as he explains different rare objects or how they are transported when they are so fragile while the other is draped across your shoulders.. You love Oberyn’s intelligence which he was more than happy to share with all who cared to know, you love the warm mirth of his voice and how he can make even shipping processes sound fascinating. You’re fairly certain that he is barely containing himself enough to disregard the impulse to dash from vendor to vendor like little Dorea at the sweets shops.

You’ve learned to be careful what you gaze at or handle for too long. Any pretty trinket you fiddled with or soft shift you admired would be found laying on your bed by nightfall the next day. Although you were too lost in the dazzling shimmer of the gauzy fabric to remember that fact at the moment. “Ah, my petal’s head has been turned by such loveliness I see,” Oberyn’s smirk and raised eyebrow make you feel flustered a moment before you turn back to the material. “Yes, lover, but not for me. Do you think this would look lovely on Ellaria?” you hold the midnight blue fabric high so it catches light and reveals it’s soft glitter.

“She would, I believe she may have a dress of this already. It makes her look like she’s wrapped in the dusk sky,” Oberyn smiles warmly as he recalls his paramour fondly. You, however, sigh and drop the fabric back onto the vendors table and turn to gaze around the tables nearby.

“My petal, something is troubling you today. What is wrong?” his strong hand moves rest soothingly on your back, the gentle concern in his eyes softens your nerves as you relax into him. “I’m sorry, my love, I was trying to find something for Ellaria. The festival is so soon and I have a gift for everyone, except her, nothing seems right enough for her,” you sigh and survey the vendors again. Ellaria has been with the prince for many happy years and Oberyn’s love of lavishing gifts on those he cares for is well-known.

She has chests of the finest jewels, overflowing shelves of books, more garments than she could ever hope to wear; whatever you could get her would never outshine all of the beauty she deserved and Oberyn always seemed able to provide. Your prince turns to the steward who was trailing you holding boxes you and Oberyn had purchased for other members of your household and instructs him to return to the palace.

“Now, petal, let us walk and see if any inspiration strikes in that beautifully talented head of yours,” he pulls you close to him as he places a reverent kiss on your temple as he resumes your stroll. He points out several antique looking glasses, clay beads, and curiosities from all around Westeros, but still nothing is right for your Ellaria. Despite his best efforts, your Prince seems unable to help soothe your disappointment in leaving the markets empty handed.

Sitting in the carriage back to the Palace, Oberyn drags you into his lap and gently kisses your shoulder. When he finally catches your eye, he gives an exaggerated pout, no doubt dramatically mirroring your own expression. You can’t help the small smile and laugh that follow seeing his handsome features tease you, “Don’t make fun, I’m being serious. Ellaria has so much of my love and, for a festival that is all about the love of others, I cannot even find an appropriate gift to present her with.” You huff and lean into his shoulder, not caring that you sound like a child as your frustration builds.

“Did you find one for me?” his question is soft and curious, you almost miss it buried in his coat. “What?” you bring your head up to see his eyes, his sweet expression making your heart ache. “You said she has your love and yet you have not found a gift. I know I have your love as well, little petal, so have you found one for me?” Your mouth opens and closes like a fish a few times before answering slowly, “Yes, I have. But I’m not telling you what it is, if that is what you are after, Oberyn.”

At that, he throws his head back a bit and laughs, “That was not my intention, sweet, but I can see where you may think that. Whatever you have gotten for me, and I have a fair idea of what a gift may be as, perhaps that is the gift she would like most as well. Perhaps, my soft petal, you are the gift she would like most, as I do.” He draws your chin down to capture your lips. Of course he had figured out his gift. Most occasions, his gift from you had become you appearing in his rooms in a garment barely resembling clothing for him to admire before he disrobed you entirely.

You smile as you draw away from his plush lips, quirking your eyebrow mischievously at him, “Then perhaps, my Prince, I shall have to return tomorrow for that shimmering fabric after all. Although I shouldn’t need much of it.” Oberyn groans, capturing your lips again and dragging you to lay under him on the carriage seat. “By Gods, you’ll look divine enough to devour in so little of that night sky enveloping you. Although I think I would much prefer to be wrapped in you wrapped in it.”

Tagging who might be interested: @zeldasayer @winters-buck @max–phillips @rae-gar-targaryen @yespolkadotkitty @scribbledghost @plexflexico @sunshinepascal @agirllovespancakes @keeper0fthestars @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando @youmeanmybrain @talesfromtheguild @frannyzooey @absurdthirst @softpedropascal @fairytalesintheend @lackofhonor @maybege @getinthepoolkeanu @pedroepascal @pedropascalito @mylifeliterally @catfishingmorales @miss-me-jack @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @pettyprocrastination @autumnleaves1991-blog

#december writing challenge #december writing prompts #december 5 #oberyn martell x reader #Oberyn Martell #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader

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eliselovely · 4 years ago

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You’re Worse Than a Babe Oberyn Martell x Reader

It was your first night visiting home at Winterfell, and the snows had just begun to fall. There was a roaring fire in your hearth, and you and Oberyn had just collapsed after a particularly passionate evening, however, the chill from the old brick walls was impossible to keep away. You were used to it after spending so much of your life in the North, but Oberyn hated it deeply, having no tolerance for any place colder than King’s Landing. You had joked that you were going to force him just a little further North to see the wall and visit your brother Jon at Castle Black. He didn’t outright say no, he was willing to do anything for you to make you happy, but he had grumbled at the suggestion.

Oberyn had yet to pull out, cock still half hard inside you as you laid on his chest, legs straddling his hips. He had pulled the heavy fur blanket over you as soon as you finished, ensuring that any and all body heat generated post fuck would be kept there. His fingers were entangled in your hair, genty running through your long locks, his other hand stroking your side under the blanket.

“Oberyn,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck.

“Yes sweet one?” he replied, sounding sleepy.

“I’m hungry,” you whined.

Oberyn lets out a quiet chuckle at your post coital habits.

“Let me up,” you demanded playfully.

“But you are keeping me warm.”

Before you can respond, your stomach lets out a loud growl, causing the both of you to giggle.

“Fine, but hurry back,” Oberyn conceded.

As you got up to retrieve the platter of food from the table by the fire, you moaned at the loss of his length inside you. The blanket slid off as you stood, making Oberyn immediately regret his decision to let you leave the warm sanctuary of the bed.

“Wait wait wait, my love, it is too cold, come back here,” he begged.

“Oh, the rough and tough Red Viper of Dorne can’t handle a few seconds without someone keeping him warm?” you teased, pouring a goblet of wine.

“No, I cannot, now please, come back here.”

Lifting the platter and taking your wine goblet with you, you returned to the bed where your husband was waiting. Placing the goblet on the bedside table, and the platter of food next to you on the bed, you settled back under the blanket, Oberyn’s arm coming to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. His skin was already chilly to the touch, despite you only being gone for a few seconds.

“You are worse than a babe,” you said with a laugh.

“Maybe, but you still love me,” he responded, his tiredness obvious in his voice.

“Yes, and I will forever.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones #oberyn martell drabble #post sex #aftercare #cuddling

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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

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Patricia!! First of all congrats on a new follower milestone! Those are always so exciting and asking and you deserve every one of them! Could I possibly request 39: “I wish we could stay like this forever” and 80: “let’s run away together” from promo list 2 with Oberyn? I love how you write him and would die to see what you do with this 🥺 ily Patricia! And congrats again! ❤️

Anything for you, my love! Enjoy 🥺

(also not necessary but I am a fool - this could totally be read as a slice of life in INO)

Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader ; warnings: references to sex

Pedro Characters Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

The warmth, golden light filtered in through the sheer curtains, and the fresh, salty smell of the ocean and sound of chirping birds hit you all at once. It was a late, but beautiful and blissful morning and you were loath to get up. All you wanted was to stay here forever, wrapped up in the arms of your beautiful lover. Almost as if he sensed that you were up, you felt him grinning against your skin as he pressed a flurry of gentle, saccharine kisses to your chest and collarbones. You mumbled something into the soft pillow, something about wanting just five more minutes of sleep, but he just chuckled.

“Sleep is for the dead, sunshine,” he murmured as he worked his way up your neck and stopped at your lips.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," a small huff of air escaped your nose as you pouted at him, slowly opening your bleary eyes. You found his soft brown ones, crinkled sweetly in the corners as he grinned at you, studying your face intently, “good morning.”

“Speak for yourself,” you teased him, “it cannot be a good morning if I am being woken up at such an ungodly hour!”

“Ungodly hour,” Oberyn laughed - a twinkling, beautiful sound - before laying back down and pulling you on top of him. You made a small sound of surprise at the sudden motion, but quickly quieted down when you felt his warm, bare body against yours. His golden skin on yours was delicious and warm, soft and strong at the same time, a perfect juxtaposition - just like him. You laid your head onto his chest, “it is almost the afternoon, sweet girl, it’s hardly ungodly.”

“Why can I not enjoy the day in bed with my prince?” you sighed softly, running a hand through his dark curls, “why should I allow the world to part me from my lover in such a manner?”

“Unfortunately the world requires us to be present,” he chuckled as kissed the top of your head. You huffed lightly although you understood what he meant. You'd always known - from the moment you had met the handsome prince.

“And what’s more important? The world or me?” you joked as he grazed his fingers up and down your spine, leaving a wake of gooseflesh under his fingertips. You sighed into his touch before pressing a few kisses to his bare chest.

“You, of course,” he promised, “and you have me always, first and foremost. But sometimes the world needs their prince.”

"And what about me?" you said softly as his large hands landed thoroughly on your backside, giving the firm flesh of your ass a squeeze. You giggled wildly before turning to look up at him and grabbing his jaw, "play fair!"

"I am," he insisted as you kissed him, "you will always manage without me. For the world needs their prince, but what is a mere prince to the queen?"

"Shut up," you groaned at him before moving to sit up so you were straddling his lap, his body humming with gentle love under yours, "you are not even a prince - only a mere fool!"

"A fool for you," he insisted softly as his hands found purchase on your hips. You beamed at him, golden as the sunlight and causing his heart to melt, "let me show you how a queen - my queen - is treated."

"Oberyn," you gasped slightly as his hands wandered up your body and to your breasts, "I thought we had to get up and rejoin society?"

"I've changed my mind," he grinned, "the prince needs you instead."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Its beautiful here," you were sprawled out on the lush, soft blanket, soaking up as much sun as possible. You were near the edge of the stunning lake, secluded and alone, as you listened to the soft lapping of the waves onto the shore. It was so serene and blissful, for a few moments you almost forgot that a world outside of this place existed.

Oberyn hummed in content as he popped a few fresh, plump berries into his mouth. He grabbed a particularly plump looking strawberry and held it out to you, dangling it just in front of your lips. You made a show of taking a large bite from the berry, letting the juice dribble from your lips and down your chin. He tuttled lightly before using his thumb to collect the juices and holding it out to you.

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled his thumb into your mouth before sucking it clean before slowly releasing it with a loud pop. He grinned at you, before pulling you in for a kiss.

"You are a very tantalizing little thing," he licked across your bottom lip, savoring the sweetness that lingered. You grinned against him before pulling away and lying back down on the blanket. Oberyn watched you for a few moments before lying next to you, his large hand grabbed yours and he defty laced your fingers together, "you're thinking much too loudly."

"I am doing nothing of the sort," you shrugged innocently, keeping your eyes closed in order to shield them from the sun - and Oberyn. He had a knack for being able to read every thought and feeling almost as if he was able to see into your soul. Naturally, there were a million things running through your mind at once, but you weren't going to tell Oberyn any of that - not yet anyway, "perhaps you're being too analytical."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of such a thing," he snorted in laughter, "but I, my sunshine, am also able to read to you - easily. Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours."

"And if I refuse to speak my peace?"

"Then I shall be forced to pull it out of you," he insisted softly as he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to your knuckles. Sighing contentedly, you rolled onto your side so you could properly face him.

And he was beautiful - so stunning in his golden glory. He was older now, than when you'd first met him, calmer after everything he'd survived in King's Landing, even more wise and world weary than the best men. Which you supposed he was; a man with words as sweet as roses or sharp as hawthorne - it was easy to see why everyone fell at his feet, but he still reminded them of why he was the Red Viper.

The soft brown of his eyes, flecked with gold in the light, always seemed to betray him. At least to you anyways. His hair was longer these days, softer much like him, lightened by the sun and flowing into luscious curls. His facial hair has greyed slightly (from keeping up with all of the kids he always claimed), and he was more...him.

You'd always loved him, from the day he seemed to save you from a life of uncertainty and domineering men. But it has been a privilege to watch him grow, to see him become the best version of him - it was always thanks to you, he claimed, a guise you greatly disputed. But you loved him - your husband - more than the moon and all the glittering stars in the night sky.

Playing with you a lock of his soft hair, you continued to brush off the insinuation that anything was wrong, "nothing is the matter, Oberyn. I am merely enjoying the private company of my husband."

“And yet there is so much going on in that mind,” he mused, as you shrugged innocently, “so much buzzing, I’d think we were in Honeyholt and tending to the bees. My dear sunshine, you should know better by now - when have I ever let such a thing go?”

“You are incessant,” you groaned lightly, but appreciating the care and concern nonetheless, “it is silly - a mere folly that should not even worry me and alas, here I am.”

“If it matters to you, then it is not a mere folly,” he promised, “you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you agreed with a small. You sat up slowly pulling your knees to your chest as you looked out into the sparkling water. Oberyn followed suit before moving to sit in front of you, putting his hand under your chin and turning your face up to his. He almost left you breathless with his easy beauty and warmth, “it’s just...I like this. Just you and me, no one else around, no worries, no duties. I...I hate to think once we return home it will all cease to exist - you will be forced to your duties, as I understand you must, and I? Well, I suppose I will be your dutiful wife, hoping and wishing for a chance to see her husband.”

“Then I suppose we should run away, shouldn’t we?”

“I...Oberyn...what?”

“I’m serious,” he insisted softly as you just laughed at his idealistic ways, “let’s run away together, even if just for a while. No one has to know...and when we are ready we shall return.”

“That is a temporary solution for a permanent problem, my love,” you gave him a weak smile before pulling out of his touch, “what about when we return to Dorne?”

“Always so serious, my sunshine,” he chuckled softly as you huffed at him, “you must ruin every little surprise, mustn’t you?”

“I have done nothing,” you insisted, sticking out your tongue at him, “all I do is care about my husband and I am teased and punished for being woeful and caring!”

“You have not been teased -”

“I have too, Oberyn Martell!”

“I will make it up to you, sweet girl,” he praised with a glint in his eye, “however, whenever, and wherever you should fancy. Now - will you let me finish?”

“I have not been-”

“Your prince demands it.”

“Well your queen insists that she hasn’t been doing anything of the short,” gave him a little smirk, “but go on and tell me about this so called surprise.”

“When we return home to Dorne, things will be different,” he promised as you raised your eyebrows in question, “I have been thinking, and don’t even say a word, and I think it’s time for me to...take a step back and let Doran and Arianne, as his heir, handle things from now. I am getting tired...weary, of all these tasks that should be left to the next ruler. Besides, Arianne is more than ready to take over. I think I should quite enjoy a quiet, leisurely life.”

“Oberyn,” your mouth dropped and formed a small o as you studied him to try and see if he was being honest. A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth before he broke out in a wonderful grin. You leaned over and kissed him, unable to stop yourself, “do you mean it? Please tell me this isn’t some sort of cruel joke.”

“I would never do such a thing,” he whispered as he pulled you into his lap and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “I just think...it’s time. Besides, there is nothing more I want than to spend my day with you, and the girls - think of all the things we can do. There are still ways to help our people, but we will do it together.”

“You continually amaze me,” a single tear, this one of nothing but happiness and love had rolled down your cheek as you pressed your forehead against his, “and I will never know what I did to deserve you, and I will be forever grateful to the universe for bringing you to me.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” he reached up and gently wiped away the tear, “for it should be the other way around. I take it as though you are not opposed to the notion?”

“Not at all,” you smiled softly, “I could have asked for nothing better.”

“Then what do you say?” his hand found the back of your neck as he gave you a gentle squeeze, “shall we run away? To Essos - the Summer Isles - far away from everything? Only to return when we decide we are ready to?

“Yes,” you eagerly agreed, delighted by the prospect of spending the days and nights at your husband’s side, without a care in the world, “I want nothing more.”

“Then it is settled,” he promised, “now, will you let me show you every way in which I love you?”

“Oberyn!” your face flushed with warmth as you looked around to make sure no was within ear shot, “we are out in the open! Anyway could...see.”

“And that is not our problem,” he shrugged simply, “we have told them not to disturb us, hopefully they heed our advice. But now, sweet girl, you are all mine.”

“Always,” you promised softly, “I am forever yours.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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