Frankie Morales Must Learn To Navigate Life Outside Of The One He’s Known For More Than Two Decades

frankie morales must learn to navigate life outside of the one he’s known for more than two decades when he moves to a small, quiet neighborhood in an attempt to assimilate into civilian life. all the familiar faces, all the structure, all the horrors he knew before – none of it exists inside the suburban, white-picket fence fantasy he’s begun to shape for himself. hours are long, days are painful, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to do it – at least, not until he sees her. her, the married woman in the home across from his, living the same white-picket fantasy he is. her, the woman who gets it. her.

warnings/tags: language, mentions of violence and drugs, smut, angst. frankie morales x female nameless oc word count: 3k+ ( ongoing )

chapter one: old habits die hard

ao3 link | taglist form | general masterlist | spotify playlist

Tags

frankie morales x reader catfish x reader

Studious (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

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

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

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

Studious

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was praying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was better than that Frey boy, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lay on the bed,” he instructed.

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

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

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

You wished you hadn’t.

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

He was big.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, all of him had fit?

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

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

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

Was that it?

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

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

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

Had you done something wrong?

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

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

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

“Good night,” he whispered.

Then he left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except perhaps home.

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

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

Here, you were entirely alone.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a long pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“No. We have not.”

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

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

Never this.

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

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

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

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

Curious, you lifted your head slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are my wife.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A shiver ran through you, and you panicked.

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

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

“What are you doing?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you offered him a tight smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head.

“Did it… feel good?”

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

But you weren’t about to admit that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was hard to meet his gaze.

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

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

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

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

Then he thanked you and left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you just fuck them bone-dry.”

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

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

Aegon groaned.

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

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

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

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

The Maester said nothing, and that was answer enough.

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

“I do not know how,” he gritted out.

Neither Orwyle nor Wylde had an answer for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tags

aemond targaryen x reader aemond targaryen fanfic

3K notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

4 years ago

scenes from a marriage

tags: nameless oc x javier peña, nameless oc x javier pena yearning, angst ? rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language, mentions of violence and drugs. word count: 2k+ summary: javier peña is a dea agent, teetering on the edge of finding pablo escobar every second of the day, and yet always being so far away from it too. as if life is not complicated or risky enough as he partakes in this search, javier finds himself falling in love amidst all of the chaos. these are the scenes of a marriage, with all of it’s trials and tribulations, set in colombia, circa 1980–1993. notes: the name of this is definitely is taken from the tv show scenes from a marriage, but it has very little to do with it other than the fact that i thought it was an interesting concept to put a relationship between two people in a bottle and inspect it. this also rose from my desire to write something about colombia that extended beyond just pablo and the chase for him. that’s not to say this won’t cover that, because it is a story about javi after all, but it’s not going to be the central focus on the story. i hope you all like it! i think it’s going to be a ten part series. original gif by: @anakin-skywalker

Scene One: The Beauty That Lurks

The designs of misfortune carve themselves in the woodwork that is Colombia, marking and scarring a beautiful country for the sake of one man’s empire.

Pablo is everywhere—he is the country. Every newspaper boasts his mug, every politician knows his name, and every citizen somehow becomes mere background characters in this over-sized game of cat and mouse that the government is engaging in with him.

The color of the country is not lost, though; it’s citizens are here, it’s traditions prosper. The thick blanket of tragedy that threatens to spill over has yet to strangle the beauty of it all. Corruption and drugs and lies—they are all nothing in a land full of green, so wondrous and large and bright when not saturated by the workings of humanity.

Sometimes though, in the smaller corners of the country where humanity lingers, beauty finds itself tucked away, like in cries of a baby born to a couple who care immensely, not just about themselves, but it all; in familial dinners that still take place and pride themselves on the joy they still bring; and even in the subtle flirtation of two young people in a bar.

Keep reading

Tags

javier pena x reader

231 notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

4 years ago

Telltale Heart

A Frankie Morales x F!Reader one-shot

Rating: Explicit for strong smut, angst angst angst

Wordcount: 14.9k (I’m just as shocked as you are)

Dedications: To @yespolkadotkitty you own my heart!! I love you beyond words, the mostest of them all; and most beloved crowned angst-queen, co-conspirator @thirstworldproblemss Thank you both ever so much for your endless patience with me, talking me off the ledge from deleting and for being the most amazing beta-readers.

Also to @loversandantiheroes 🎂 HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 🎉 you amazing genius you! & to @buttercup–bee 💖🐝 know that I love and adore you and your beautiful writing.

A/N: Nothing actually happens for 10k words, then they have sex for 8 pages (feel free to skip ahead to the “Spring” section). PLAYLIST SOUNDTRACK

Summary: It’s what always happens in the movies; the man grovels, the woman forgives. There’s a passionate kiss; all is well, cue the credits with a heart swelling cinematic score. But somehow you’re unable to forgive him.

Photo by Rhendi Rukmana on Unsplash

Maybe the right decision would have been a divorce.

On paper, only a madwoman would have stayed. The man failed a standard drug test at work for cocaine and lost his pilot licence. Then still under suspension, he’d left the country for a month-long stint (promising it’d only be a week). Leaving you and your new baby at home. Leaving you to wonder if this meant you would have to carry on as a single mother from then on.

When he finally returned, it was with $17,000 deposited in your joint bank account and a haunted look in his eyes, attached to a poorly made up lie.

And as you were contemplating whether to stay and forgive; or leave and resent him forever, your family and friends all told you that: ‘sometimes good people make bad decisions. They fuck up, but it doesn’t mean they’re bad. Just human, capable of making mistakes.’

Keep reading

Tags

frankie morales x reader

1K notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

4 years ago

Vencuyanir Masterlist

vencuyanir [ven-COO-yah-neer]: sustain, keep alive, preserve

Summary: About to be taken away from Arvala-7, Elana only has two objectives: keeping Bean alive and getting away from the Mandalorian

Words: 132.1k (so far)

Tags: slow burn, mutual pining, enemies to friends to lovers, canon rewrite/expansion, missing scenes, character study, relationship study, worldbuilding

Rating: Teen and Up/13+

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, specific warnings above each chapter

Main Masterlist | AO3

Preview:

The Mandalorian’s helmet then snapped around to her, and she flinched again. “Are you its caretaker?” he asked gruffly. Elana barely managed to nod, scared out of her wits.

He was quiet for a long time, his presence alone enough to make her hold her breath. Then he walked over, and took off her cuff more gently than she would have expected from a bounty hunter.

She looked up at him, shaking in fear, the visor glaring down menacingly. A low command came from him, causing shivers to run down her back.

“Pack your things.”

Face claim for Elana: Meng Ziyi (x) (x) (x) (x)

Moodboards/Art:

(x) (x) by @adikaofmandalore

(x) by @huliabitch

(x) by @astroboots

(x) by @rysttle (commissioned by @callmekaza)

(x) by @what-the–curtains

Fics/Headcanons:

Dreams and Nightmares by @justahorsewithnoname

Some headcanons about Elana’s past (0.5k)

Chapters:

Keep reading

Tags

din djarin x reader the mandalorian x reader din djarin x oc the mandalorian x oc

597 notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

4 years ago

waves crash. ships don’t.

the Mandalorian x reader

next part here

a little taste of a fic I’ve been working on, I’ve never written for him tho, so feedback is greatly appreaciated if there are to be more parts :) -r.e.

It wasn’t the storm that woke you.

Despite the fervent velocity it poured down around you with, the cracks of lightning and thunder, it still wasn’t enough to wake you, not on its own. No, it was like this throughout the duration of the wet season, you had grown used to falling asleep to the constant barrage of hot tropical rain against the roof, the thundering crashes of the waves on the shore just out the window. It was normal.

It was the sudden cut of a razor crest’s engines. A sound you hadn’t heard in so many cycles, you figured at first you were just going crazy.

But even your own tortured mind wouldn’t do that to yourself.

Pulling from bed, grabbing whatever scraps of clothing laid about, the weather kept the house plenty warm, you didn’t need much. Just a loose sweater over your nightwear and the blaster you kept by the nightstand.

All the windows were covered over to keep the inside dry from the storm, but you didn’t need to be able to see him to know that it was him, not with the all too familiar clank of his beskar. It was subtle. Soft compared to the storm but a thousand times more distinct to your ears.

But something caught your ear as you moved for the door, not just beskar-plated footsteps, but two other sets as well, hushed whispers fading away into a murmur as another roar of thunder echoed from above.

It wasn’t enough for him to come on his own? He brought others?

Your finger itched for the trigger, but you kept it down, pinned to your side as you waited for the steps to slow to a stop, landing them right on the other side of the thin wood of the door which separated you. The faint tone of his breath coming out through the modulator, clearly still trying to catch up from the hike.

He didn’t bother knocking. He knew he didn’t need to.

Opening the door, your suspicions were easily confirmed. Another man and woman stood there, blasters ready to be raised at the first sign of danger, both of them scoping the blaster in your hand and tensing on sight. But neither made much more of a move than that, not without him moving first.

The beskar was shining with the next echoing crack of lightening, drenched wet as they all seemed to be, but brighter and cleaner than the last time he had come around. Looked like business was good.

Well, it couldn’t be that good, he was here, wasn’t he?

And he really wasn’t going to say anything? You could kill him. Right there and then, you really did consider it.

Instead, you just stepped back into the house and left the door open for them to follow, you certainly weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

There were whispers exchanged between the three of them, but after a few seconds of hushed debate, they followed. He was careful to shut the door behind them and stayed hovering there as the other two stepped in and set their bags down. Even a bag that seemed to move and coo.

You couldn’t care less about whatever cargo he carried. You couldn’t care less about him.

“I know it’s late…” His voice sounded strained, even through the helmet.

You scoffed, trying to busy yourself by picking up some of the discarded mess around the large open room, centered around the dying pit of smoldering embers. He moved from the door, he moved closer, but you only moved around him.

“You’re about two years late.”

You didn’t care to spot the look the other two shared, you caught some motion out of the corner of your eye, but they barely even registered on your radar at the moment. He wouldn’t bring a threat to you. If he trusted them, then you didn’t even need to think about them.

He tried again to get closer, to stand between you and your work, now being tossing fresh wood into the pit, getting the smoke pluming again. “If I could-”

“Be out by sunrise, or I’m going to kill you.” With a shove, you pushed the last piece of wood into his chest and sent him stumbling back a step.

He quirked his helmet as if to protest, but any real argument died before it made its way out of his straining throat. He held the wood, refusing to let go, thinking if he held on that you would too, but you only pulled away, grabbed the discarded blaster and retreated to the room in the corner.

“What did you do to the poor girl?” Cara raised the question only once it seemed she was out of earshot, back wherever she came from. “Forget to call or-”

“I broke a promise.” He muttered, tossing the wood into the fire.

It sparked big, igniting the small flame into a plume of fire and smoke.

“A promise to do what? Love her forever or-” One look, even through the helmet, was enough to shut that line of questioning down the instant it left her mouth.

But Karga wasn’t as burdened by the fear of his look, “She’s quite the looker.”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself.” He warned, earning a brief show of surrender in response. “We need a plan to get out of here.”

“You really think she’ll shoot us if we’re not gone by sunrise?” Cara tried her hand again, watching as he clanked over to the sofa next to her and sigh out as he lowered himself down, still worn from their last battle. “You could use a few nights rest.”

“I’m fine.” Just the sigh which escaped him seemed to argue otherwise. “And yeah… she’ll shoot me.”

“Must have been one hell of a promise,” Cara said and looked away before he could tell her to keep her mouth shut, her attention refocusing on the bag at her feet that moved every few seconds.

“It was.”

-> my ko-fi

Tags

din djarin x reader mandalorian x reader

350 notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

5 years ago

The Art She Loved Masterlist

Series Rating: Mature

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Tags

masterlist roger taylor imagine roger taylor x reader

361 notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

3 years ago

the princess and the prince

loki odinson was the darker prince, the one who caused mischievous. he wasn’t warm like thor or the hier to the throne. you are innocent and sweet while loki is rough and mean. yet you still fall in love with him, and for you, he melts.

please send in ideas for soft!loki x sweet!princess!reader

headcanons (mostly in order of events)

loki can’t stop talking about you

loki realizes he’s in love with you

loki asks to court you

loki comforts you when you are insecure

loki shows his magic and makes you feel magical

you kiss loki’s scars

loki celebrates your birthday with you

loki loves how you interact with children

loki visits your lessons with the children

loki being a total softie for his princess

loki needs comfort after getting in trouble

you say i love you first

loki loves seeing you with his mother

loki when his princess has a nightmare

loki doesn’t appreciate being interrupted

his princess becomes needy after their first time

the princess gets hurt by thor

loki accidentally hurts the his princess during sex

the princess gets jealous

loki punishes for teasing him by edging you

you take care of sick loki

alternative universe blurbs (not canon in the current au)

you tell loki that you are pregnant

you get sick while pregnant (nothing serious)

loki frets over your newborn daughter

loki tries to do his daughter’s hair

loki and his twins

one shots

loki gets his first taste

princess in training

loki and the princess’ first time

loki will do anything for his princess

loki returns from a mission

misc.

princess of asgard, moodboard

Tags

loki x reader

2K notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

3 years ago

— FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE !

AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST

a masterpost for the drabble series by yours truly. a revisitation of a well-loved story; watch two forever-lovers fall in love again. canon divergent, set during loki (2020).

READ ME !

1. the beginning of the beginning 2. apartment CMY9 3. dress code 4. pester pester 5. absolutely miserable 6. blunder #1 7. expectations 8. control variable 9. a time disguise 10. fingers entwined 11. half a sandwich 12. beauty sleep 13. the perfect storm 14. a million meteorites 15. keep on 16. home is the heart 17. petal-mouthed 18. rib of adam 19. desperation 20. heart-haunted

SCROLL ME !

1. the sacred timeline 2. the variant timeline files 3. the tag 4. the god & the scientist 5. fan art

Tags

loki x reader

7K notes View Post

redfields-hotbabeineurope

4 years ago

all of this

pairing: din djarin/the mandalorian x reader

warnings: nothing! bit of nerves, bit of fluff, hands™️

word count: 1090

A/N: what started as a blurb about hand-holding instead… careened into this.

There was a certain shift in the air, and it wasn’t a sudden change; gradually, over the course of hours, the air had become heavier, denser, and every breath required just that little more effort to reach the crevices of your lungs.

The curve of his beskar helmet glinted in the darkness.

Mando is at the dresser, back turned from you. You watch as he methodically removes his armour, arranging each piece neatly on the desk. His visor turns, carefully unclipping the buckles of his vambrace, removing it from his forearm, and placing it down so gently that it barely makes a noise.

Or maybe it did make a noise. The rush of your own blood might be drowning it out.

Keep reading

Tags

the mandalorian x reader

664 notes View Post

End of content

No more pages to load