#x reader

Frank was sprawled on your shared bed on his stomach, head pressed into the pillow, when he slept peacefully for the first time for what seemed like ages. He snored softly, completely knocked out after he came back at night, exhausted to the point that he could barely stand still while you cleaned him up. 

It was past eleven in the morning now, the sun was already high in the sky, but you decided to let him get some rest while you treated him to a breakfast in bed. You sat at the edge near him, at first just admiring the rarely seen soft features of his face, the slightly parted lips. Your hand reached slowly, running over his jaw covered in a few brutal cuts and then brushing his soft hair back from his eyes. 

Your fingers barely dipped into the soft strands before his eyes snapped open like a hawk's, hand shooting up towards the place under the nightstand where he kept his loaded gun just in case. He almost surged forward—you saw that in the way his glassy, still sleep-heavy eyes narrowed when he felt disoriented for a second, but then he caught the sight of you. You sat near him, slightly towering over his body. Your eyes were soft, a small smile on your face like you enjoyed just watching him sleep, and you still dressed in your pajama set he watched you slip on last night. 

Frank’s body got limp again with a groan, his hand falling mid-reach. “For fuck’s sake, sweetheart.” He grumbled, slightly rolling over to his side. His eyes closed for a second, maybe a bit sleepy, maybe because his body suddenly threw him into a fight-or-flight mode, but then he looked up at you again, his hand reaching for yours to interlace your fingers. “How the hell did’u get out of bed without me noticing?” He groaned, glancing around the room and instantly noticing what time of the day it already was. 

You giggled softly because he was right—it was probably the first time you managed to get up without being caught. Frank's restless mind and body woke up the second you stirred, and he even always waited for you when you woke up to pee or drink some water, too attached and worried for you. 

Your free hand reached out again, and you brushed his hair back. “You were so tired after last night you didn’t even notice.”

“Shit.” 

“Stop, it’s fine. I’m fine. And you needed some rest.” You leaned forward, kissing his forehead, then his nose, then his lips. A silent huff escaped him when he wanted to protest, but his body was so affected by you, by the comfort, by the rest he definitely needed, that his body sagged into the pillows. “I made you breakfast.” 

Frank’s eyes sparkled suddenly. He popped himself on one elbow to look behind you, your hand still in his. Behind you, on the table usually stacked with papers and books, sat a bed tray with a few plates on it. You surged back, quickly bringing it over and placing it on the empty spot on the bed near Frank.

His eyes snapped downwards, noticing his favorite breakfast still steaming and looking delicious as always—two eggs with crispy bacon on the side, a crunchy toast with peanut butter and a few berries on top, and a cup of plain black coffee. Frank sat up slowly on the bed, scooting over to give some space for you, looking back and forth between the food and your grinning face. 

Your eyes deliberately scanned over the now-exposed skin of his body as the soft sheet bunched around his torso. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Frank muttered, brushing his hair back. “C’mere, need to have my girl right here. So lucky to have you, baby.” His hand wrapped softly around your wrist, tugging you towards him until you fell on the bed and he hiked your body higher, careful around the food tray. 

He took the first bite of the eggs and then the bacon you always cooked just perfectly brownish, moaning at the godly tasting food. Now, even though you two lived together, sometimes he still had to leave way too early, missing out on the moments like this—quiet, domestic, so familiar yet still foreign.

“You ate already, hm?” Frank stopped mid-bite to look at you, and you couldn't help but giggle.  

“Yeah, Frankie, I did.” You leaned towards him, placing a loud kiss against the stubbly cheek, and he squeezed your hand in response, having it placed on his thigh. 

He shook his head like he either didn’t believe you or didn’t think it was enough. “Eat with me.” He muttered, already spearing a bite of egg. “I’m not doing this alone. Open.”

You parted your lips and let him feed you the first bite. The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile—before he took one for himself. He chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded, and the soft, appreciative sound he made went straight through you.

“Fuck, pretty girl. That’s good.” He fed you another bite, then himself, alternating like it was the most natural thing in the world. Between mouthfuls his free hand sneaked out of your hold, as he seemed to be a bit desperate for more contact now—it was stroking up and down your side, thumb slipping under the hem of your pajama top to brush bare skin, then moving to your thigh while you sat cross-legged, kneading your skin there. “You always make it better than I deserve. Waking up to you looking at me like that… then this. Feels like I dreamed the whole damn thing.”

You leaned towards him, placing a feather-light kiss against his lips, your hand briefly cradling the back of his head and scratching the skin. “You deserve quiet mornings. I love spoiling you, and it’s the least I can do for the way you treat me.” You wanted to move away but couldn’t help yourself and kissed him again, too tempted by that longing look in Frank’s eyes. 

He huffed a quiet laugh against your lips, but there was no real denial in it. He finished the last of this breakfast almost in a hurry, drained half the coffee, then set the mug down with deliberate care. The tray was pushed on the bedside table a moment later—out of the way—and both of his hands were on you.

“C’mere.” Frank rasped, rolling fully onto his back and pulling you over him so you straddled his hips. The sheet around him slipped almost all the way down, and he was lying under you in just his black boxers on, and you could feel the hard outline of him the moment your knees sank into the mattress on each side of him. You leaned forward, hands braced on the firm planes of his chest, a smile on your lips when you kissed him again, this time slowly like you had all the time in the world. 

Frank made a low sound of appreciation at the back of his throat when he kissed you back. He tasted like the coffee you always thought was too bitter, but it was so undeniably him, it made your head spin. His hands caressed the side of your face, pushing your hair out of the way, while the other one settled over your hip, slipping barely under the shorts. 

You rolled your hips slightly back and forth, just enough to drag yourself along the growing heat of him. His head tipped back against the pillow with a low, dirty groan.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Just like that.” His hands tightened on your thighs, guiding the slow grind. “You gonna take care of me some more? Let me feel how wet you already are for me?”

You hummed in agreement, rolling again, moving in circular motions the way you knew he liked it. His cock was already fully hard and pressing against his boxers. You could feel the heat in him, could feel the way your own body was buzzing with energy and lust just from the way Frank looked up at you on top of him—those puppy eyes even darker than usual, lips a bit parted when the soft groans escaped, and usually neat hair falling forward in slight curls. He was so sexy, so handsome, so domestic… so yours you had no other choice but to want him with every inch of your body. 

He grinned when his fingers finally pushed past your shorts. “Were you thinking about this while you made me breakfast? Sitting there watching me sleep with your pretty cunt aching?”

“Yes.” You whispered, hips rocking into his hand, almost begging for him to press against your aching bundle of nerves or slip a bit lower where you helplessly clenched around nothing. “Wanted you to wake up and make you feel good. Wanted to keep you in bed with me.”

“Mission accomplished.” He pulled his fingers free, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while holding your gaze. The filthy softness of it made your stomach clench. Then both of his hands were shoving your shorts and panties down your thighs, too impatient to feel your heat around him. You had to lift up so he could drag them the rest of the way off. His own boxers followed a second later, kicked somewhere toward the foot of the bed.

When you sat back down, the thick, hot length of him slid along your cunt—just the slow, deliberate drag of his cock through your folds that made you both groan. Frank’s hands settled on your hips, firm and grounding, thumbs stroking the soft skin just above the bone.

“Now take it, sweetheart. Nice and slow, c’mon.” You listened to him, reaching between your bodies and notching the broad head of him against your entrance. The first slow sink of him punched both of your breaths out of your lungs because he was thick, so deliciously girthy, and he stretched you in that perfect ache. Frank watched you the whole time, humming under his breath and pushing the tips of his fingers deeper into your thighs. 

“Feels s’ good, Frankie.” You breathed, even if he wasn't even halfway in.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just like that, take it all. Sit all the way down for me.” His hands guided your hips, patient even while his thighs tensed beneath you. When you finally bottomed out, fully seated, he let out a long, shaky breath and pulled you down against his chest. “Stay right there for a second. Let me feel you. Christ, you’re gripping me so tight…”

You fell forward on his chest, nuzzling into his neck and getting used to the stretch. It wasn't that long ago when he had you exactly like this, but the burn and the fullness were still a bit overwhelming. 

Frank’s hand came up higher on your back, tickling your skin, cradling your head and then settling in between your shoulder blades to keep you flat on top of him. You finally rolled your hips slowly, moving up and down his length, letting it barely stay inside before you pushed down. Frank met your next movement, rolling his hips upward, pushing into you at the perfect moment to steal your breath again. 

You pushed yourself up just enough to be able to look at his face, to be within reach to catch his lips whenever you wanted to. Your hands braced on either side of his head, and you started to move in slow rolls of your hips that dragged him against every sensitive place inside you. The wet sound of it filled the quiet room.

“Oh, God, Frank—” You moaned softly, closing your eyes and letting yourself feel the way he nudged your G-spot. “I love waking you up like this. Like it when you're with me and—and when you’re so soft.” 

Frank’s eyes flashed. One hand slid up to cup your breast through the thin pajama top, thumb circling the peaked nipple until you clenched around him. The other stayed locked on your hip, helping you find the rhythm he wanted—deep, grinding strokes that kept the head of his cock rubbing right against that perfect spot.

“That’s my pretty girl, yeah?” He rasped, his tongue peaking out to wet his lower lip. “You like having me like this? You like when I let you ride me? Look at you… Gonna cum like this for me?”

You nodded, already close, the slow, relentless drag of him winding the pleasure tighter and tighter. He sat up halfway, abs flexing under the faint bruises, and captured your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue slid against yours in the same unhurried rhythm as his hips, and you moaned into his mouth, unable to hold it in. When he pulled back, it was only far enough to speak against your lips.

“Lemme feel how you cum for me, sweetheart. Wanna stay the whole day with you, wanna have you in my arms.” 

The words and the promise of being together all day tipped you over the edge. You came with a soft cry, pulsing around his thickness and still moving even as aftershocks made your body feel way too hot and tingly. Frank still held the back of your neck, your face close to his to the point where you breathed the same air as his hips kept thrusting up with soft slaps. He fucked you through it and didn't stop when your mouth fell agape from the oversensitivity. 

He flipped you suddenly then. Your back hit the soft sheets of your shared bed, your thighs fell open to welcome his broad body in between them. Frank sank back inside, the feeling even more overwhelming to the point where you gripped his forearms with your fingers until your nails dug into his skin. It was still controlled and still tender, but the deepness, his brown eyes locked on your flushed face, and the filthy slap of skin made you clench again. 

“Keep those eyes on me.” He ordered softly, hand coming up to hold your face. “Taking me so well. You want it, baby? Want me to come inside while you’re still fluttering around me?”

“Yes—yes, Frank! Oh, please!”

He dropped his forehead to yours, pace turning just a fraction harder, deeper. “I love you. Love waking up to you and having you by my side. Love that I can keep you in my arms and forget about the rest of the fucking world… Fuck—”

His orgasm hit him with a low, guttural groan. He drove in as deep as he could go and stayed there, cock pulsing as he spilled inside you in thick, hot spurts. You felt every throb, every wet pulse of him filling you, and the filthy softness of it pulled another smaller climax out of you.

Frank fell forward on top of you, his heavy weight way too comforting even if it was slightly crushing you. He pulled back just enough to find your lips, kissing you softly and deeply like he was still starving for you, still craving, even while he was as close as he could get. You smiled against him, chest heavy with emotions, brushing his hair back from his forehead and deepening the kiss.

“Stay like that, please.” You mumbled, sounding a bit out of breath. 

Frank’s hands brushed your cheek tenderly, eyes boring into yours. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

Without high resolution photos of an obscure eighteenth century oil painting that had been tucked away in the Targaryen family archives since the late 1800s—your whole year was about to stall out before it even really started.

Naturally, your first move was to call Valarr.

Valarr was reasonable. Valarr actually treated people like human.

“Look, I’d give you the vault code if I had it,” Valarr sighs through the speaker, the sound of muffled pages turning in the background. “But the main estate is getting its system replaced this month. The entire private collection was hauled down to the estate at summerhall.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, leaning back against the cold brick wall of the fine arts hallway. “Okay... that’s fine. Can you give me the keys for summerhall? I’ll drive down on friday, take my reference shots, and leave.”

Only silence followed.

“Valarr?”

“Uncle Maekar handed over property management for summerhall to Aerion last month,” Valarr hesitates. “As part of his… probation terms after the stunt he pulled last month.”

Your stomach drops right through the floor. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. He’s the only one with the physical keycards and the security overrides right now.”

“So I’m supposed to ask Aerion?” your voice hit an embarrassing pitch.

“Just text him,” Valarr bribes weakly. “He’s staying down at the estate off and on anyway. He’s annoying, but he’s not going to ruin your grade over a petty grudge… I think.”

He absolutely would, you think bitterly as you thank Valarr and hang up.

Ten minutes later, you track him down where you knew he’d be. Parked in the furthest corner of the campus, leaning against the hood of his car with an unlit cigarette resting between his lips while he lazily scrolls on his phone.

Even in just casual clothes, Aerion looked ridiculously out of place next to the dingy concrete.

You pull your bag strap tighter over your shoulder and walk up before you could talk yourself out of it.

He doesn’t even look up at first. He just let you stand there in the cold air, letting the silence stretch until it was extremely uncomfortable. Only when he finally locked his phone did he slowly tilt his head, those intense eyes fixing on you with an infuriating glint of amusement.

“Well,” Aerion drawls, his voice low enough to send a sharp prickle down your spine. “Look who’s here. Did you finally come to apologise for last month?”

“I need access to Summerhall,” you say flatly, ignoring the spike in your pulse. “The Targaryen collection. I need to take some photographs for my thesis review.”

Aerion pushes off the hood of his car, taking a step toward you. The proximity instantly made the air feel thick.

He tilts his head as a smirk spreads across his face. “Valarr sent you,” he surmises, gaze dragging over your face.

You refuse to back up, though your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

“Which means you tried every other possible option before coming to me.”

“Does it matter?” you snap, trying not to step back as he continues closing the distance between you. “It’s purely academic, Aerion. It’ll take me two hours tops. Just give me the keycard or text the security guard at the gate or something.”

Aerion lets out a mocking laugh, stepping so close you could catch the familiar scent of expensive cologne and smoke clinging to his jacket. Before you can react, his hand shoots out, fingers catching your jaw with a firm grip that wasn’t painful, but stern enough to force your chin up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You really don’t know how this works, do you, baby?” he murmurs, thumb dragging lightly over your lower lip, sending a humiliating heat to your cheeks. “You ignore my texts for weeks, pretend I don’t exist, and then show up at my car expecting me to hand over my keys for free?”

Your breath hitches, anger and tension tangling in your chest. “Aerion, don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he whispers softly, his eyes darkening as he watches the blooming flush of your face. He lets go of your jaw, fingers sliding down to wrap firmly around your wrist, dragging you toward the passenger side of his car before pressing the key to unlock it. “Get in.”

“What?”

“You want in to summerhall?” Aerion sneers, “get in the car. We’re going to talk about what I get out of it.”

You stand there for a moment, staring at the open door like it was a trap. Which it is. But your thesis advisor’s voice was ringing in your head, and the deadline was already ticking down.

With a muted curse, you pull your coat tighter around yourself and slide into the passenger seat.

Aerion shuts the door behind you with a solid thud, sealing you into the quiet of his car. A second later, the driver’s door opens and he climbs in, leaning back into the headrest and clicking the locks shut.

“Well?” you ask wearily, your voice sounding a little too tight in the enclosed space. You keep your eyes fixed on the windshield. “What do you want, Aerion? Money? I can pay for a temporary pass if there’s a fee.”

A short bark of laugh escapes Aerion as he turns his head on the headrest to stare at you. “Money. Right. Because if there’s one thing I’m desperate for, it’s money.”

“Then name your price so I can get the hell out of your car.”

“My price,” he repeats slowly, shifting in his seat and turning his body toward you. “My price is that you stop acting like you don’t know me.”

Your throat clicks as you swallow. “I do not act like I don’t know you.”

“You took the stairs on monday just to avoid sharing an elevator with me.” his tone drops an octave. “You haven’t answered a text since the night you left my bed, and now you show up because you need something from my family.”

“That was—that was different,” you stammer, your face flushing hot as the memory of his fingers, his mouth, and his tongue rushed back all at once. “We were drunk, and it was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Aerion sneers, visibly offended as he leans across the center console. The sudden move forces you back against the headrest. “That’s not what you were whimpering in my ear when I had you pinned to my bed, baby. You didn’t think it was a mistake when you begged me not to stop.”

“Aerion, shut up–”

Before you can finish your sentence, his hand shoots across the space between you, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck. He yanks you forward, cutting off your breath as his eyes lock onto yours.

“You want the keys to summerhall?” he asks, thumb pressing firmly into the skin beneath your jaw. “You’re going to sit right here and apologise for being an ungrateful little brat.”

“I’m not apologizing for—ah!”

He doesn’t give you time to argue. Aerion grabs you by the waist, and drags you straight over the center console, pulling you into his lap. Your bag spills onto the floorboards, your knees jamming against the steering wheel as he maneuvers you until you’re straddling his thighs, pressed chest to chest against him in the cramped driver’s seat.

“Aerion, stop, someone’s going to see–”

“No one’s here,” he growls, his hands clamping down on either of your hips, burying his fingers into your denim to hold you still.

He slams his mouth over yours before you can get another word out.

The kiss is anything but gentle with the way his tongue forces its way past your lips to invade your mouth. A muffled whimper escapes your throat, your hands instinctively rising to push against his shoulders, but the second your palms land on him, your strength gives out.

He tastes like mint and smoke, his grip on your hips bruising as he lifts you slightly and drags you down against him.

You gasp into his mouth at the sudden friction. Even through his pants, you can feel how hard he already is beneath you.

“Look at you,” Aerion mutters against your lips, his chest heaving as he pulls back just an inch, searching your flushed face. “Fucking hypocrite. Running away from me just to end up trembling sitting on my lap.”

“I hate you,” you breathe as he grinds his hips up into yours, the pressure hitting the exact spot between your thighs.

“You hate me,” he taunts, hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, his cold fingers dragging up your warm ribs. He rolls his hips up again, harder this time, forcing a loud, needy gasp out of your lips. “Tell me how much you hate me, baby.”

You hate how quickly your body betrays you.

Your fingers tighten around Aerion as he rolls his hips once more with precision. The thick length of him presses right through your layer of denim.

“Say it,” Aerion purrs against your jawline, his mouth hot against your skin as his hands slide around to grip your thighs, hitching your legs higher up his lap. “Say you hate it, baby. Tell me to stop.”

“Aerion—f-fuck–”

A pathetic gasp breaks from your throat when he suddenly rolls his hips upward slowly. The friction is unbearable. You drag your fingernails into his shoulders, your back arching involuntarily, burying your face into the warm crook of his neck just so you wouldn’t scream into the car.

He lets out a deprecating laugh against your skin, delighted by your reaction. His hands dig harder into the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping your hips pinned right against his, forcing you to ride out every ruthless push of his hips.

“Look at the windows,” Aerion whispers into your ear, his voice rough and uneven as his breathing hitches.

Through your blurry eyes, you glance at the windshield. The glass was already fogging over with heat, trapping the sound of your wet gasps and his heavy breathing inside the car.

“You think you can just use me for an assignment and walk away?” Aerion sneers softly, his lips dragging down your neck to bite at the tender spot where your shoulder meets your collarbone. He bites down just hard enough to leave a sting, making you squirm helplessly against his lap. “You think I’m going to hand you a keycard so you can go down to summerhall alone?”

“I—ah! Aerion, please—”

“Here are my terms,” he growls, interrupting you without a second thought. His hand slides back down beneath your top, his cold fingers dragging up your bare skin to cupping your waist firmly, his thumb stroking your hipbone. “You don’t get a keycard. You get me.”

You blink, trying to clear the haze in your mind. “What?”

“I’m driving you down to summerhall myself,” Aerion murmurs as he slows his hips to a deep drag against you. “Tonight. You’re staying at the estate with me until you get every single photo you need. And you’re not locking your bedroom door.”

“I am not going to summerhall with you—”

Aerion doesn’t argue. He just slams his hips up hard, hitting your spot so perfectly that a loud wail tears from your mouth, bouncing off the fogged up glass. Your mind goes completely blank, your hands clutching the back of his hair, pulling him closer as your hips twitch against him in a desperate attempt to chase the release building between your thighs.

“You don’t have a choice, baby,” Aerion smirks against your lips, tasting the breathlessness he caused. He reaches down with one hand, unlatching the glove compartment and casually tosses a silver security keycard onto the dashboard. “You want the painting?”

You lick your bottom lip, your hips grinding helplessly as his fingers linger right at the edge of your panties. “I… I do,” you choke out, your face burning as you avoid his eyes.

“What was that, baby?” he purrs mockingly, his grip on your waist tightening until you’re squirming helplessly on his lap. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“I want the painting,” you whine louder. “… please, Aerion.”