Beautiful Boy Two

Before You Go, Before I Am Lost to the Ether

summary | On death row, Aemond Targaryen has one last visitor. (based on this request.)

pairing | criminal!aemond targaryen x senator's daughter!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (f), multiple orgasms, daddy kink, angst, squirting, mention of death penalty, death row meal? this 🐱

wordcount | 4.4k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Hey, baby.”

Aemond was enveloped by a cloud of smoke when you entered the room. It wasn’t a cell, per se, but rather an empty room save for a table with two chairs in the middle of it. No cameras. For a guy who was to die in less than three hours, he looked quite unbothered. 

Your ex-boyfriend, clad in a standard gray jumpsuit, was leaning against the cold metal of his chair, one arm hanging off the side. A cigarette dangled from his lips, smirking at you behind the tobacco curtain. It only grew wider when your frosty pink lips dipped into a frown.

“You fucking asshole,” you spat.

Ah, there’s his girl.

“Little Miss sneaked into prison to see me, ay?” he teased. His chest vibrated with a low chuckle at the sight of your scowl. Silver tresses swayed to the side as he tilted his head, running his good eye down your form. Gods, you looked good. “Came to say goodbye, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.”

He watched as you turned back to look at the door, before moving to sit opposite him. With a huff, you plopped down onto the hard, steel chair, setting your crocodile skin Birkin onto the gray cement floor. An equally dull table separated the two of you. The distance between you felt like an entire ocean, though Aemond knew it was nothing compared to the agony of being away from his dear girl for months while he lay awake in his cold, empty cell.

A silence encompassed the two of you, merely staring at each other. The tapping of your satin Pradas faintly filled it— the strappy ones. The kind Aemond liked. With his remaining eye, he took in the sight of you and tried to find which part of you changed.

You’ve forgone the blonde balayage you had retouched every 2 months, now sticking to your natural color. It suited you better.

Your lashes looked freshly done. Aemond could only imagine the 2-hour drive you always insisted on taking to meet your lash tech.

Were those new earrings? He liked them, they looked so pretty on you.

You’ve noticed him staring; it’s not like he was discreet about it anyway, but it made him clear his throat and sit taller. “How’d you get in?” he asked, taking another puff of his cigarette. You tutted at him as a thick cloud of smoke billowed from his lips and nostrils. You always disapproved of such a dirty habit.

“The prison warden here used to be part of Daddy’s security back in the day. Didn’t take much convincing to let me in, he gave me 2 hours,” you shrugged, looking at your nails. Your gaze shifted around, only sparing him glances. The smug look on Aemond’s face threatened to return, pride swelling in his chest at the thought that he still affected you this way. Curious, his eyebrow raised at your words, leaning his forearms onto the cold table.

“And does Daddy know you’re here?”

It was then you met his teasing, attentive gaze. The icy blue of his good eye was sharp, while the exposed gemstone twinkled under the harsh fluorescent light over your heads. You narrowed your eyes at him, mimicking his stance.

“Of course not,” you sneered.

If anyone were to discover your visit, it would be an uncontrollable scandal. It was already bad to find the daughter of the Senate minority leader, sneaking past maximum security into prison to see your ex-boyfriend, but said ex also had his face planted on every news channel with the broadcasting of his crimes.

Aemond Targaryen, disgraced son of former majority leader Viserys Targaryen! 

Despite his father being a prominent political figure for decades before his death, Aemond was rarely in the spotlight. He was much further down the line, and so much of the attention was always on his older siblings, all for different reasons. Nyra was always present by dad’s side for scheduled appearances, being advertised as the next Targaryen to follow in their father’s footsteps as his eldest child. Aegon was a different story, with sneaked photos of him drunk off his face at frat parties, salacious pap photos while in a hot tub with some girl at Aspen, and worst of all, being caught with thousands worth of illegal substances in his apartment. Aemond was known as the dutiful one, an excellent law student with stunning records that got him into Harvard, besides his name.

Another tense silence passed, though he could see your agitation growing the more your time ran out. You were here for a reason, he knew that, but you were never good at getting your words out.

“So,” he spoke up. “Why did you come to see me?”

You sighed, looking down to your lap. He couldn’t see it, but he could tell you were fidgeting. His fingers twitched, longing to take your hand into his larger ones. You opened your mouth to speak, stuttering at first. 

“I guess I just wanted to see you before you…” you trailed off, lips quivering into a frown. Aemond nodded in understanding. With a sniffle, you lifted your head to look at him. Your sad eyes trailed over his figure, no doubt noting how much weight he’s lost. He always had a thin frame, but with years of boxing, calisthenics, and various sports gave him a leaner, sinewy form, but he’s lost most of it since coming to this place. “They said you turned down your last meal.”

Aemond shrugged, pointy shoulders poking through the dull gray of his jumpsuit. The food in prison was rightfully abhorrent; the extent of their culinary expertise being a tray of grey sludge and crackers. Cigarettes, however, there seemed to be no shortage of. “No point in it,” he muttered. 

“You could have anything you want, you know.”

He was never one to indulge, but there was one thing he really, really missed— lemon cakes. The ones your mom made from lemons in her backyard. It made the glands in his jaw spring up in attention, filling him with a shock in his senses that he could only attribute to being alive. He was never religious, despite the Hightower blood coursing through his veins, but being so close to death had him thinking of the afterlife. He would like it if there were lemon cakes, where he could split them with you as you lay tangled up under the big willow tree in your family’s garden. Yes, he would like that.

“I had everything I wanted at one point in my life, then I lost it,” he said, looking straight into your wide orbs. He could sense the words threatening to spill from your lips, could practically feel them forming on your tongue. 

“Why did you push me away, Aemond?” you asked, voice starting to quiver with the emotions that threatened to overcome you. “I could have been there for you, through all of this.” His silver tresses swayed as he shook his head. Stubbing his finished cigarette onto the table’s leg, he aimed it at the trash bin situated behind him. It missed.

“I never wanted you to be a part of my mess.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You didn’t give me a choice in the matter. What if I wanted to be part of your mess? I could have helped! We know people, good lawyers that would see that you wouldn’t end up here!” You had risen to your feet now, leaning over with your hands splayed on the table. Aemond could only listen as you yelled at him, letting out months of pent-up frustration about why he so suddenly left you stranding just before his crimes went public. He couldn’t have you involved, hence why he had broken up with you the moment he knew he was done for. 

Targaryens were always after legacy. Their blood spanned from fearsome dragonlords back in medieval times, written in history as great men equal to gods. Aemond couldn’t let his side of the family go down as nothing. With Rhaenyra campaigning against Aegon in the senatorial race, it was clear they had little to win against Viserys’ golden girl. His grandsire had delved into making sure Rhaenyra’s name would be tarnished well before the elections, anonymously broadcasting all of his eldest sister’s fuck ups throughout her youth— her disregard for learning the way of politics, numerous affairs that lead to the questionable parentage of her sons, including the shocking rumor of her intimate involvement with their uncle Daemon. Otto had men keeping a close eye on Rhaenyra and her family, reporting anything that would be of use, especially regarding their political moves. Some falsified stories also came into the mix, but the worst act of all, was when Aemond killed Luke in a car accident. It was an accident, it really was, but as he stood before court there was little evidence to prove otherwise. He was not an innocent man, but he had his reasons. 

Ever their family’s martyr, Aemond took the blame for all of it. 

Five counts of aiding and abetting. Eight counts of defamation. Four counts of espionage. One count of vehicular manslaughter. Sentenced to death by lethal injection.

“I’m a dead man already,” he said. A pang in his chest cracked what was left of his heart when your lips quivered as he said ir, eyes reddening with tears. Regretful, he rose from his seat, moving to hold you by the elbows. As much as your body told you otherwise, you broke away from his grip. His cheek stung when you struck him with your open palm, tingling with warm pain in the aftermath.

“How could you say that to me?” you fumed, hitting him in the chest with your fists. Aemond could only take it in silence, feeling more and more alive with your every strike than the past couple of months in isolation. “After everything we’ve been through, how could you throw it all away so easily? You don’t even mourn what’s been wasted of your life? Our life?” You’ve managed to push him back now, making him lean against the table. 

He caught your wrists, bringing you close to his chest. You found your place in between his thighs, face buried in the crook of his neck. Aemond pressed his nose into your hair, the familiar scent of your rose-infused hair oil invading his senses, grounding him. “It’s going to be alright, baby. It’ll be painful for a second, then it’ll be over. I’ll be fine,” he said, soothing you with a kiss on your head.

You looked at him, tears starting to pool in the corners of your lids. “What about me? You’ll be gone, and you’ll be fine, but what about me, Aemond?” you quivered.

With a sigh, Aemond cupped your jaw and pressed his forehead against yours. “Oh, baby.” 

You were right. He hadn’t even realized how selfish he’s been. The man had been too preoccupied with his family’s mess and everything that’s happened since to even wonder how he had affected you. And soon, he was leaving you for good. He had to thank the gods, and your father’s connections, that he was granted another moment to see you, to feel the heat of your flesh underneath his palms. He needed to savor this, make every second count.

His lips found their home in yours. They were sweet, and plump underneath his tongue as it prodded its way into your mouth. You responded in vigor, taking hold of the back of his neck to keep him close. The sticky feel of your gloss painted his pale skin with a light pink sheen as you descended downwards to his neck. He smelled like cigarette smoke, as expected, and the faintest of soap. 

Aemond maneuvered to switch you both, making you lean against the table while he sunk to his knees. Expert hands undid the belt on your trousers, letting them fall to the floor in a heap of brown houndstooth. His thin lips made their way up from your calf, the inside of your thigh, up to where a damp spot was forming on your lace panties. He longed to get a whiff of your essence, his aquiline nose fitting perfectly into the indent of your folds. You squirmed when his thumb trailed your clothed slit with a featherlight touch, rubbing on your clit through the fabric.

“Aem…” you whined. “Please, don’t tease. We don’t have time.”

Aemond hummed, tilting his head to bite into the plump meat of your thigh. A warm, calloused hand took hold of your leg, lifting it to hook over his shoulder. “Ask me nicely then. What do you say, baby?” 

Another whine from you as you tilted your head back. You were gripping the edge of the table tight, tethering on the edge of propriety. “Please, daddy.” His lips lift into a feline smirk against your thigh before deft fingers drop your thong in one motion. Aemond, never one to dally, plunged his tongue straight into your warm center. His hunger was evident. He slurped, licked, and sucked on you exactly like a man who was in his last hours on earth. It was sloppy, sweet juices making a mess down his chin. There was a desperation to it, an urge to leave his mark on both your mind and body that had him shaking his head from side to side as he nuzzled his sharp nose into your clit. The little motion had you whining, and the sight of you with your head thrown back made his cock stir when he peeked up at you. 

Shifting his mouth to suck on your pearl, two fingers dove into your pussy. You needed no time to adjust, seeing as the clear honey of your slick was dripping down his knuckles. Your nipples pebbled against the fabric of your black, sleeveless Ralph Lauren turtleneck, and you lifted the thin fabric over your head to play with your stiff nubs, spurring yourself closer to the precipice. Meanwhile, Aemond’s fingers fucked you with a breakneck speed, fueled with the urgency of wanting to see you fall apart. His mouth worked in tandem, sucking on your clit and circling with his tongue. Your walls soon began to squeeze his fingers rhythmically, indicating the beginning of your end. “Y’gonna come for me, baby? Come on,” he urged, delighting in your fervent moan when he curled his fingers into the rough spot within your walls.

“Y-yeah, daddy, I’m…” you stammered, cheeks steadily reddening. Your chest began to heave, followed by the quivering in your thighs. Telltale signs of something familiar. It sparked an instant excitement in Aemond’s chest, prompting him to never lose his pace. Your brows were furrowed adorably, while your hand gripped his shoulder in a poor attempt of getting away. Your efforts were futile as Aemond’s fingers stayed clamped into your walls as you squirted all over his hand. “Fuck, fuck!” A string of curses melted into the wail you pathetically tried to cover with your hand. The smug smirk on his face displayed his delight as your eyes rolled back into your school, tongue eagerly licking up the sweet juices covering his hand. 

“My perfect girl,” he praised, rising to his full height. The flesh on your waist was perfectly soft under his calloused palms, hands finding their home on your curves. Aemond planted kisses onto his lover’s cheek, capturing the salty droplets of sweat. “So fucking filthy. Was that all for me, baby?” 

A soft whimper was your initial response, nodding at him with wide, bleary eyes. “All for you, daddy.” Gone was the commanding aura you carried when you walked into the prison’s doors, reduced to nothing but an eager submission to one man only. You pawed at the bulge in Aemond’s pants, rubbing his erection in a manner that made him hiss. The standard-issued jumpsuit soon found its place among your designer clothing, crumpled to the floor with little regard. You had moved to lay your front onto the table, but Aemond had stopped you with a tut. He lifted the white, cotton tank covering his frame, before laying it flat onto the cold, metal table. He wouldn’t let your pristine skin get any of the grimy filth of sin this place was covered in. 

Body bent over and legs splayed open, the glistening wetness of your folds beckoned him closer. He gave his cock a couple of soft tugs, before directing his cockhead to your slit. In the familiar embrace of your warmth, Aemond found his home. It was then he realized how much he had been deprived of such ecstasy, with the slight gasp that fell from his lips as he buried himself to the hilt. 

Like an addict, he was soon lost in the ridges of your walls that massaged his length. His pace was unforgiving, eager to grant both of your pleasures in the limited time he had left. You were as eager as he, hips meeting his thrust with an equal enthusiasm. The quietness of such an isolated room was soon filled with the smacking of skin against skin, and the chorus of grunts and moans coming from the pair of you. 

“Perfect, fuckin’, pussy,” Aemond groaned, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust that would have sent you lurching forward if it weren’t for his grip on your shoulder. “Taking my cock so well. Is this what you wanted when you came here, baby? Wanted to get fucked in prison like a filthy slut, hm?” His free hand delivered resounding slaps against your ass that had the pump flesh rippling. A mewl echoed through the room as his pace remained brutal, just how you always liked it.

He might’ve thought himself already a dead man, a ghost spending his last hours in misery before the darkness overtook him, but Aemond had never felt so alive at this moment. He felt grounded, present. He had grown familiar with the numbing sensation of nothing, but he was feeling everything— from the tingle in his scalp, the heat in his veins, down to the fire that ignited his muscles. He was filled with life. 

The damp, stale air in the room soon began to grow musky with the smell of sex. The onset of your second release had you writhing under your lover’s tight grip, reaching back to grab onto his hips with a warning grip. “Gods, you’re gonna make me come!” you whimpered, yelping when Aemond gripped your hair to tilt your head back. His breath was hot against your damp neck, his teeth delivering a sharp bite into your skin to leave his mark.

“Yeah? Go ahead, baby, come on my cock.” With another harsh smack on your rear, you came all over his shaft with a cry of his name. His hips never faltered, fucking you steadily through your orgasm. The quiver in your thighs returned, knees almost to the point of bucking from the tidal wave of pleasure that washed over you. But Aemond wasn’t done with you. You were soon shifted to sit on the table, with the silver-haired man settling in between your thighs. He drove straight back into your heat, jackhammering his hips to seek out his release. You let him, of course you did, even meeting his thrusts as you held onto the table’s edge. He knew how sensitive you were, evident in the high-pitched uh, uh, uh’s that fell freely from your lips and the slight furrow in your brow. Your manicured nails dug into the outline of his abdomen, leaving streaks of red flesh against his pale skin. 

Aemond’s good eye was trained on the tantalizing view of your bouncing breasts, plump mounds of flesh that made his mouth water. He was at a point where he just merely wanted to indulge in every part of you, and he delighted in the fact that you would gladly let him. Aemond took your tit into his mouth, suckling on one while his hand fondled the other. If he looked down, he would’ve seen the white ring of your essence around the base of his cock, but he was already happy enough to have his face pressed into your breasts. Your grip on his silver mane kept him flush to your chest, your delighted sighs singing a sweet song in his ears. 

It seemed that Aemond’s desire to feel every ounce of your skin was not unreciprocated. Your hold on his pert, nicely rounded ass held him close, engulfing you in his warmth in the otherwise nippy room. Chest flushed against chest, his forehead against yours, Aemond breathed in your space. He panted into your mouth, lips lingering but not meeting as the tingle deep in his spine bloomed into a rising warmth. His cock twitched within your walls as he neared his precipice. Something tingled in his occiput, a swarming heat that threatened to wash down onto his lids.

“I love you, Aemond,” you breathed, before pressing your lips into his.

“Say it again,” he pleaded against your lips, voice almost to the point of cracking. “Please, baby, can you say it again?”

“I love you. I will never stop loving you.”

He came with a broken sputter, hips losing their rhythm as he emptied his seed into your womb. You both stayed in each other’s embrace for a peaceful, solemn moment, with your head in his chest as he buried into the crook of your neck. It was quiet as he chased his breath, but the quiet sob you had pressed into his skin made Aemond pull away to look at you in concern.

“Hey, hey, baby. It’s okay,” he soothed you, shushing your sobs with a kiss on your hair. Yet your chest still racked with sobs, mascara-tinted tears streaking down your cheeks. He wiped them all in haste, before cupping your face. “Don’t cry for me. You know it breaks my heart to see you cry.”

“How can you be fine with all of this?” you asked, lips quivering. Aemond sighed, pressing his lips onto your forehead before urging you to look at him.

“I’ve made my peace with it, with everything.” A scoff was your only response, harshly turning your face away from his grip as you looked off to the side. Your lover whispered your name in a quiet plea to look at him. Large palms, calloused from the steel handle of the weights in the prison courtyard, rubbed your thighs and squeezed the soft flesh. “You’ll be better off without me,” he reasoned. Your head snapped to face him in a blink, the sadness in your orbs turning to something akin to anger. 

“You’re a fucking idiot to think I could live one day without you.”

Aemond could only chuckle, one of a sad amusement. He pulled you back close into his chest, smoothing out the frazzled strands of your hair from the aftermath of your lovemaking. “You will, and you’ll be fine, I promise,” he reassured, chin resting on the top of your head. “Somebody’s going to make you much happier than I ever could. Someone who won’t hurt you, take care of you in ways you deserve.” He could feel his skin grow damp as salty tears fell from your eyes once more, quiet sniffling making known the agony you had endured for months away from him, and the grief you would soon face when he was gone.

Your hands took hold of his stubbled jaw, thumb softly caressing the sharp planes of his face. “How could I want anyone else when all I’ve ever wanted was you?” you breathed, striking an arrow straight into his bleeding heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, swallowing down the thick lump in his throat. It had been years since Aemond found himself close to tears, the last time being buried in insufferable pain from the loss of his eye. It held no comparison to the throbbing in his chest now, his good eye furiously blinking away the hot tears that started to prickle. It began to dawn on him the gravity of it all. He would soon be gone, and he would no longer have the chance to see you, touch you, hold you in his arms. Aemond was beginning to feel the spark of regret for how his life had gone, with how his brashness had cost him the safety of your love. He would have none of that now, not when he would soon be reduced to a body that no longer breathed, a soul reduced to ash. 

For his final act of devotion, Aemond removed the glinting sapphire in his left socket, before enclosing the jewel into your palm. “Here,” he uttered, closing your fingers around the stone before pressing a kiss onto your hand.

“Aemond…” you gasped, looking at him in disbelief. It was his most prized possession, and there was no other person he would have given it to except for you. You were as special as it were to him— his most beautiful jewel, his heart. 

“I want you to have it, won’t be worth anything to me when I’m dead,” he said, lips lifting into a sad smile. He watched as you stared into the empty cavern of his missing eye, breath shuddering as your fingertip ghosted over his scar. In a flash, you buried yourself back into his embrace. As he pressed his nose into your shoulder, committing the sweet scent of your skin to memory, Aemond let himself shed a tear for all he had lost. He still had so much love to give, filled with an overwhelming urge to shower you in its warmth, but he was out of time.

A knock on the metal door signaled the end. You redressed in silence, both of you not uttering a word that would shatter the vulnerable glass of your despair. A mirrored pit of dread made Aemond’s palms begin to sweat, as it made you unable to look at him lest you broke out into tears once more. With the last button on his jumpsuit fastened, Aemond watched as you dug into your bag. You pulled out a small, white container, fastened by a ribbon. “Eat this, okay?” you urged, a glimmering, pleading look in your eye that made Aemond nod. Another knock, more urgent this time. With a heavy sigh, you kissed him so deeply that it made his head float. His grip almost made you stay, made you want to fight through hell and back to have him set free, but you were powerless. 

“I love you. I’m sorry.” was the last thing he ever said to you.

You stepped out the door without so much one last glance at him, forcing yourself to look straight with a hand clasped over your mouth. He was glad you didn’t. Let his last memory of you be the one of bliss, with you deep into the throes of your pleasure. As the clock continued to tick closer and closer to his final moment, Aemond untied the ribbon of your gift. At the sight of it, a smile made his slim cheeks dimple.

Lemon cakes.

can’t stop thinking about this :( wish ben solo was real

nervous neighbor ⟶ ben solo

description ⌙ you're back at home from university, living with your parents for the summer because it's cheaper than trying to pay for an apartment while on a student's salary. but after you meet the new neighbor's son, ben solo, you're not so sure it's worth it.

pairing ⌙ neighbor!ben solo x f!reader

warnings ⌙ inebriated reader & ben, they're smoking weed and being petty together, mean!ben because when do i not make him a bit mean, ben jokingly attempts to solicit reader, reader has a blatant sort of fascination with ben, ben has severe blatant yearning for reader, reader is described to need a belt to wear ben's pants (don't question me it comes up), some high kisses (they're so fun oops), somewhat getting caught, tiny little bitty cliffhanger, ben's personality is totally based off this brent faiyaz song lmao

word count ⌙ 3.5k

— request (frl especially for ben/kylo) | masterlist

i love the idea of neighbor!ben so ofc i had to put my thoughts into a little fic! if anyone is interested... i wouldn't be mad at making this a series. i love neighbor!ben!

the sun is low in the sky, casting a warm and appreciated golden glow on the world around you. you revel in the sanctity of the suburban environment as you step outside your front door. the rays burn into your exposed shoulders, spaghetti straps lightly digging into the skin.

the fragrant scent of freshly cut grass hangs heavy in the air, leaving an earthy flavor in your mouth. you pull at the hem of your shorts, feeling the soft fabric brush against your exposed thighs as you make your way to the black mailbox straight ahead.

you flip through bills and junk mail, all in your parent's name for a minute before you hear the unmistakable rev of a car engine approaching. the engine seems to purr the closer it gets, and you're all too familiar with the sound. you feel glued to your spot as it approaches.

soon enough, ben solo's sleek aston martin swerves into his driveway, coming to a stop just a few feet away from his closed garage door. you watch as he gets out of the car, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead, and meets your gaze with his severe brown eyes.

there’s something about the way he looks at you that causes your heart to race. the sensation is unwanted or, at least, you tell yourself it is.

he looks like he always does; clad in dress pants and a pristine button-up, face etched with subtle haughtiness, and pink lips curved into a deliciously heretical grin. the previous sanctity you felt dissipates as his stare beats down on you, hotter and more all-consuming than the sun above.

"neighbor." he anoints, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "how much allowance are mommy and daddy giving you for checking their mail?"

"very funny," you retort, eyes rolling, "maybe they're drawing from the same funds your parents did when they bought you that ridiculous car."

you liked playing this game with ben. where he attempts to seem as if he's got something over you, some unspoken win. as if you're not both twenty-somethings still living with your parents.

he does have an actual retirement plan type job though, so, perhaps, he has you beat in some areas.

he works full-time, a fact you learned after dinner with your parents and his. brought up by your parents so they could dote on him— effectively buttering up han and leia further. the ass-kissing earned the family privileges to their in-ground pool though.

he's pretty prestigious, unfortunately. ben organa-solo, the youngest associate at his legal firm. he apparently had over forty offers of employment before he ever even looked at the bar exam.

he's doing well, sure— but the sheer fact that he still lives with his parents is enough to quell your nuanced jealousy. somewhat.

"my db-nine can never be called ridiculous. do you know the specs on this car?" he taunts, opting to lean against his aforementioned car.

you begin to turn away from him, not willing to go into a conversation regarding his stupidly expensive automobile. you can feel your ears warming as you try to ignore him, but ben is relentless, as usual, "you know, you really should relax a little, i'm only joking, kid.."

"excuse me?" you snap, fronting him again and crossing your arms defensively, "i am plenty relaxed, solo. thank you very much."

in truth, you haven't been relaxed or even casual since the organa-solo's moved in eight months ago. wealthy and recently retired, leia and han are amusing, charming, and almost constantly travelling.

the pair managed to befriend your parents the second they moved in. bringing over a plate of brownies, the duo easily meshed with your parents, making for countless dinners, conversations, and visits between the two homes.

the opposite can be said for ben and you. when you finally met him, a few weeks after his parents moved in, it was because he was yelling at your dog for 'purposely' pissing on one of his tires. since then, you haven't exactly seen eye to eye.

"mhm, of course," he drawls sarcastically, "that's why you're always so wound up,” he’s smirking now, "you ever thought about smoking a joint or something? might help you chill out."

"really?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow, "that's your solution? drugs?" you choose to ignore his quip about you being tightly wound. as if he's not— you've seen him after work, he always looks tense, shoulders tight. at the recollection of his job title makes you almost comment on his choice of illegal activity, but you stop yourself.

maybe this was his vice after hours of listening to legal jargon?

"i'm just offering a suggestion. i've got pot and an empty house." his voice is biting, holding his hands up defensively, "take it or leave it, kid."

your mind is wrought with confusion over his words. in the few months you’ve known him, you would have never thought he’d be suggesting what he is.

ben solo, who drives an aston martin, only wears button-ups or suits, and is always willing to make you look or feel idiotic, is trying to convince you to smoke pot with him.

you worry for a brief second if you’re deluded.

you would have never suspected the famed judiciary to unwind in such a way.

no, your first guess would have been whiskey, or maybe something a bit more scandalized and indecent. you try to shake that idea out of your head.

"fine," you blurt it out before you can stop yourself, surprising both you and the arrogant figure in front of you.

"seriously?" ben questions, his eyes widening in apprehension. "you're actually going to do it?"

"yeah, solo," you shrug, drawing out the first word, trying to sound more resolved than you feel, "nothing i haven’t done before."

"okay, cheech," he mutters, grinning wickedly, "let me smoke you out."

you follow him into his house, heart pounding in your chest. you're familiar with the layout— almost identical to your own home, only nicer. everything is nicer.

the air inside is cool and smells faintly of lavender, mixed with something decadent you can’t quite place. glancing around the space, you take it all in. it feels different now that you're alone with ben. less homey and more belly of the beast.

there are windows everywhere, letting in an abundance of natural light despite the evident tint. the furniture is modern and obviously hand-picked though comfortable and no doubt, expensive.

you try to make yourself cozy on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. ben disappears for a moment and returns with a tray, a red grinder, a lighter, and a baggie of green herbs.

your hands go clammy as you watch him grind it down. you try to wipe them on your pants, hoping he doesn’t notice.

he doesn’t seem to, instead beginning to roll a joint, packing the herb down with his thumb. his movements, precise and hypnotic. he's defiling all previous conclusions you had of him. he’s sure, magnetic, and undeniably confusing.

“ready?” he asks, holding the rolled paper out to you. you nod, and he lights up the twisted end, inhaling deeply before passing it over to you.

you place the joint to your lips, feeling the warmth of the light spark grazing your fingers. the earthy plant kindles with a soft crackle, and you inhale deeply. smoke fills your lungs, coiling inside you.

the cloudy smoke immediately hits your entire sinus system, choking you on its descent down.

you cough and ben laughs, “shit, take it slow, kid.” he huffs, before handing you a tepid water bottle, no question he figured you'd wind up coughing a lung.

you drink gratefully, feeling the water cleanse your burning throat. you look at ben, who’s watching you intently.

your eyes are watery and slightly hazy, but ben has never look better. eyes red and low, posture easy with one arm behind his head, and faint pink flush.

“what?” you ask, self-conscious. the room seems to swirl around as ben sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.

"nothing, neighbor," his stare is mocking, "do you feel relaxed yet?" he asks with a smirk.

you give him a meager thumbs-up, suddenly lightheaded and giggly. your thoughts are wondering to ben's pretty lips, but your mouth remains whetted and silent. adorning thoughts remaining within your capricious mind.

the tension in your body melts away, and you lean back against the couch cushions, letting out a deep sigh. ben's hand brushes against yours to steal the joint away, and you feel the heat of his touch all the way to your toes. it's as if the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, and nothing else exists.

“are you cold?” he asks, taking a drag, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, leaving his arms on full display.

you look at him, bewildered for a second, and he continues with an eye roll, “you’re shivering.”

looking down at your body, you note that you indeed are. either from the weed or the proximity you have to your novel neighbor.

with a gentle breath, you reply, “i guess.”

he holds the joint with his lips as he stands to look down at you, “c’mon i’ve got blankets in my room.”

you look up at him, unsure of what to say, but find yourself bobbing in agreement. you follow him upstairs, the both of you languid in reaching the destination. when you do finally get to his room, you note the array of muted jewel tones and dim light, different than the rest of the house.

ben keeps his blinds partially closed and curtains that mostly fall in front of them. his bed is huge, pristine white sheets and an inviting navy bedspread.

you watch as he pulls out a thick woolen blanket from his closet and spreads it over your shoulders. you feel the weight of it settle over you, cocooning you in warmth.

"better?" he asks, voice low.

you nod again, feeling the hazy ardor of the drug swimming through your body. everything feels fuzzy, and for the first time you don't feel so out of place with ben.

he takes a seat beside you on his all too comfortable bed, the aroma of his pomelo-scented cologne filling your senses. you discern it's probably dangerous in some way to be alone with ben like this, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care or reason why.

you let yourself peer into his large and expansive open closet. clothes, mostly suits and dress shirts, hang neatly on identical black hangars. he's tidy. the fact feels unmistakable, and you think you should already know just by the way he carries himself.

ben's voice interrupts your absent mind, "anything you like?"

you look back at him, leaning up against the headboard of his bed, joint billowing smoke from its rested position in his fingers. he looks less severe like this, less perfect, more mortal.

you're certain the drug has taken effect now because when you move to get closer to him, it feels as if you're floating.

you take the joint from him, stealing another hit before replying, "you just have a lot of suits. i wonder if you own anything besides them. i've never seen you in anything but."

"is this one of your long-winded jokes?" he briefly closes his eyes, but you can see them roll through his lids, "because if so, i'll kick you out. i won't hesitate to send you back to your house, neighbor."

snorting, you take yet another hit of the joint, "i did see something i liked, actually." you confess, your drugged mind deciding to be just a bit genuine.

he hums, "really? i've never seen you in a suit, or anything formal."

the sentence sounds stupid coming out of ben's mouth, but you chalk it up to his tipsy state, "maybe you will. one day."

your reply sounds equally as dumb, but you feel good, and you're actually having a conversation with ben. one that doesn't involve him undermining you or snickering at what you're saying.

"really? wanna try mine on? for practice." ben is smirking, eyes narrow, searing, and bloodshot.

you give him a ditzy look, joint still dangling from your fingers, "whatever, solo."

ben lets out a genuine giggle at that, and in your inebriated state, you smile at the sound. his dimples are on full display as he leans further into his cushioned headboard, eyes glazed and focused purely at you, "i'll pay, if you do."

his face is gentle, almost winsome, but the words that tumble out of his mouth sound murky— riddled with a slight hint of hunger. for what exactly? you're not sure.

your lips contort into a frown before you reply, "you'll pay me to put on your clothes? god, ben how much did you smoke?"

you mean for your words to come off as a joke, easy and light. instead, it comes out as timid and shy. you'd normally feel a tinge of embarrassment but either the drug or ben's starved stare makes the would-be feeling detach from your mind.

"enough." he shrugs, answering your rhetorical question, "i've got five hundred in my wallet right now," he pauses, leaning over to you and grabbing the joint, fingers brushing against yours, "and i want a show."

your mind seems to blank for a second, leaving you to blink your dry, red eyes in front of him. when the small wave of shock subdues, you reply, "i don't know how to give you a show."

ben shakes his head slightly, his eyes still set on yours, “yeah you do. swear it's not hard, kid.”

“says you,” you giggle, “but i’ll try on your clothes. for the money.”

he breathes in, contented, “for the money.”

without much more thought, you rise from his plush bed and make way for the closet. it's big enough to be another room, a stark contrast from your own closet, and it smells of his citrusy cologne merged with the lavender scent throughout the home. you find it comforting.

you look back over your shoulder, ben's watching you intently from his seated position, "what should i start with, solo?"

he hums before replying, "your pick, neighbor. what's mine is yours."

you can't help the dorky smile that graces your lips at his sentiment, even though you know he's being flippant. you hastily turn away from him, hiding your weak-willed reaction.

taking a deep breath, you begin to rummage through his wardrobe. your fingers brush against the luxurious fabric of his suits before settling on a satin black button-up that looks silky smooth to the touch.

you grab it and turn around to face ben, who's now standing and walking towards you, his eyes fixed on the shirt in your hand.

"that's a good choice," he says, his voice low and husky, "you'll look better in it than i do."

you roll your eyes at his comment but can't help the warmth that shoots through your body at his words. you quickly slip it over your cropped tank, eager to see it on.

as you're buttoning it up, you feel his swarthy eyes on you, watching your every move. you can't help but feel giddy with his ardent gaze and your own euphoric state of mind.

as you finish up the last button, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the ornate mirror hung upon one of the closet walls. you look decadent in his pompous shirt.

the feeling of contentment that washes over you is startling.

it's a beautiful cut of fabric, but it's the way it represents the achieved man behind you that has you stalling. you notice ben's breath hitch as he takes in the sight of you.

"i was right. it looks much better on you." he says, his voice rough.

you grin at him, feeling a newfound confidence wash over you, "is that right, solo?" you question, your demeanor one of leisure.

without warning, ben steps forward, right hand coming to rest on your shoulder as he leans down to you, "here," he says, his breath hot against your ear, "you missed the first button."

his fingers dance at your chest, fastening the skipped button. you fight a smile at the act, keening at his rash action. high ben is certainly less sardonic than sober ben, finding a nice middle ground at graceful teasing.

"you pick the pants, and grab a belt so that they'll fit." you smile.

he hums, pulling away and trifling through his clothes. his nimble fingers card through various pairs of slacks, settling on a matching black pair.

he turns on his heels, facing you. he raises his brows, a silent request for you to take the pants. when you do, his hands begin to fumble with his belt.

your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, "what are you doing?"

"i want you to wear this one. just let me play dress up with you, doll." his black locks are falling into his eyes.

you huff out a weak chuckle, focused on his action and new endearment. when the belts slides away from him, you notice the way his slacks droop slightly.

with a curt and nervous smile, you slide up the dark pants, fitting his belt around your hips afterward.

you study yourself in the mirror, opting to tuck the shirt into the pants messily— an attempt to somewhat display your waist.

ben comes up behind you, hands resting on your shoulders, humming into the top of your head, "i quite like you this way. ever thought about getting an office job for me?"

you give him a sarcastic pout, "for you?"

he smiles, canines showing, "yeah, doll, just for me."

you're dizzy at his words, "yeah, then who'd watch my parent's house all day? it's a full-time job being a stay-at-home daughter, you know."

ben groans a bit at your words, "that makes you sound like a little brat, you know." he drawls out the last two words, mocking.

you smirk, facing him now, lips becoming level with his when he leans down to stare into your eyes, "my mom calls me a brat sometimes. she says i'm never going to find someone acting like one," you pause for a beat, "d'you agree, ben?"

at the emphasis of his first name he sighs and lets his hands fall to your waist, "i agree that you're a fuckin' brat," he cranes his head closer, breath brushing against your lips, "but i don't think i mind very much."

your eyes flutter against your better judgment, and ben takes an evident note of the fact. his hands tighten at your waist, fingers digging in possessively. you feel a beat of caution before it flies away from your resolution. you press forward just as he does the same, lips meeting in a slow, heady, absolutely exalting kiss.

ben's fingers dig into you, timidly pulling you further into him. you crumble at his touch, hands fisting into his hair as he deepens the kiss further. he tastes of sweet honey and sunlight that fills you with warmth and affection.

you're both weakly fighting for more— an incessant craving for each other that quickly overtakes your common sense. the looming man continues to cast an unbreakable spell with each aching kiss as his gentle hands caress every inch of exposed skin on your body.

you let his hands fumble with the buttons of the borrowed shirt, slowly slipping it away from you. it brushes past your shoulders, and ben breaks the hungry kisses to trail sloppy ones on your exposed neck.

you're lost in the feeling of him— all-consuming. neither one of you willing to be pulled back to reality— but eventually you both have to break away from one another with heavy breaths and flushed cheeks. ben looks down at you with an amused grin on his face before planting a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

you hum and he mutters against you, "you like that? hm?"

"duh," you steal a glance up, "feels s'nice." there's a stupid grin stuck to your face.

"you taste so good, doll," he places a teasing kiss at the dip at the bottom of your neck, "and your lips are so fucking soft."

you give him a questioning look, lips upturned, "really? sounds wild coming from the same man that just called me a brat."

he hums darkly, "you being a brat," he places another kiss to your exposed neck, "just makes this little game of ours more interesting," one of his hands lifts your chin, pulling you closer, "c'mere, kid."

his lips are back on yours, less languid and with much more fervor. you feel so full in his arms. divinely entangled in the coveted luxury of ben organa-solo.

suddenly, you hear commotion from downstairs, drugged mind abruptly anxious.

"what's that?" your voice is barely above a whisper.

ben growls, "fuck— i'm sorry doll, i think my parents are home." you catch the faint flush on his cheeks.

you bite your lip, concerned, "but... i'm high. and wearing your clothes."

ben is about to say something else when the deep baritone of han solo's voice booms from behind his closed bedroom door, "come on out, son. the neighbor's are over for dinner. their daughter should be here soon," han's voice drops a bit, "and try to ease up on the flirting this time, okay?"

you stifle an uninhibited giggle, earning a glare from ben.

"yeah, sure. just let me get out of my work clothes," he peers down at you, eyes wicked, "don't want them to think it's all i own."

your eyes widen at his subtle dig, and he seems to revel in your amusement.

han grumbles something back before leaving. your breathing is erratic for a good few seconds. ben's hands remain on you, gentle grin on his lips.

"you heard the man. dinner." his voice is low, and you fight the urge to pull him into another kiss. the thought of more than kissing weighing heavily on your stoned mind.

your reply knocks the smile off of his face, "how are you going to explain the fact i'm already with you and high off my ass?"

he groans, head falling into the crook of your neck, "shit."

Hayden talking about being autistic openly and in a positive light has done things for my inner child that I didn’t know I needed. Also makes me think about how she’s the first famous person that I’ve seen talk about their interests in a way that I can genuinely relate to.

Being autistic is hard but fuck I love being passionate and I’m glad someone that inspires me and creates/fuels my creativity feels the exact same way lol.

unironically they would be a good match

ANGELS OF PORN

DARK! Aemond x pornstar! Reader

$10,000 LOOKING FOR DOED EYED PRETTY GIRL WHO WANTS TO MAKE A QUICK BUCK. ONE TIME PORNO, MUST BE OKAY WITH LIGHT SLAPPING, ROUGH SEX AND CHOKING. SEND A PHOTO.

WARNINGS; rough sex, slapping, choking, major character death. blood, oral? mood board

He's watching you undress in the back of the RV through the mirror, It's all hazy. Pulling on white socks, frills spilling over the brown couch in the back. ‘Trailer trash scum’ is what Aegon said, pressing white knuckles into the steering wheel, as he huffed onto a cigarette. He couldn't wait to see your blood spill over the pretty whites. He's not religious but he could see himself worshipping your body, under tight lips and pretty prayers. Rotten. Groomed into a cult over Myspace and 4chan. He piqued his own interest after seeing the gore videos of pretty girls' necks slashed open in orgasm. La petite mort. He wants to see how far Aegon is gonna take it.  And now you're living and breathing in front of him. Thick ringlets, soft perfumed skin, He starts to wonder if he can go through with it. You smile at him as you catch his eye. 

Ten grand for a porno on Craigslist, an hour after the ad had come up your pretty picture had been burned into the cornea of Aemonds eye. The Perfect slut. Pink-lipped, wide-eyed doll. Picked up at the gas station. He watched you hum into a cigarette, your eyes trailing over him. He waited for the disgust to glaze across your eyes, but you pulled him into a handshake. Winking as you hopped into the RV with a sway of hips. Aegon only grinned up at him. Gapped teeth. He ran his hand over his shaved head. Stretching his arms out and then pulling straights out of his cargo. 

You run your hand over Aemonds shoulder, head dipping into the crook of his neck and pulling his lighter into your hand. He swallows, you watch his shoulders fall and he unzips his Adidas jacket as the aircon falters. He shrugs it off. You light your cigarette and then stare into Aegons eyes, crinkled at the corners he's smirking to himself. You're thinking he's ex-army, wearing a tribal band around his arm, smooth and precise movements. 

“What you gonna do with’the money?” Aegon mutters. His fingers are pointed as he takes the ciggie into his mouth, lips snarling as the smoke escapes, you watch the muscles in his arm flex. 

Your glossed lips part, “put’a bad man away” 

“Get a lawyer, huh?” Aegon hums, he rolls the window down, and spits, throwing the butt out the window with it. You watch Aemonds face. He stares back at you through a half-lidded eye, you smirk down at him. Watching his fingers clench at his hoodie.

“Som’thin like that” you smile, and you pull away from Aemond, lighting your own cigarette. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke through parted lips. His gaze never leaving yours, the silence between you heavy. Aemond reaches a hand out to the radio, Dolly Parton filling the silence. He looks up to the mirror, eye fixed on your body as you walk away. Hips shifting the denim shorts you're wearing. You lean over the counter and pull out some mascara from your bag. The RV sways on the uneven road. Lurching to the side, Aemond grips onto the seat and watches you unfazed through the mirror. You smile, shiny white teeth, lopsided grin as you apply blush to the end of your nose, his lip curling into a smirk at the sight of your infectious grin. He finds it amusing, the contrast between the innocent action and the situation you're in.

Aegon pulls into the 24-hour Diner by the highway, The neon sign buzzing like trapped flies. He watches as Aegon shuts off the ignition. The hum of the engine dying out. The Diner is half empty, the bell ringing against the sound of patrons chattering in the night. Aemond can feel the anticipation building in his chest. They had discussed a last meal before the cameras had switched on, and the time had come quicker than expected. Heat pools in Aemond's stomach, and his hands shake with excitement. Aegon opens the driver's door and steps out, the night air rushing in with him. He stretches, his shirt rides up, and exposes the lower part of his back as his muscles tense. Aemond's eyes flick back to you. He watches you watching Aegon through the mirror. He can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance, a brief pang of possessiveness that he quickly shoves down. You smile at him, stepping out of the RV. Cool air tousling your hair. Skin bright against the neon sign. He follows you out. Gravel crunching under his shoe. 

Warm cheap food fills your nose. Your shoes squeak against the linoleum tiles as you slip into a red booth. You're bathed in yellow light, pressing shoulder blades into the cool leather. Aegon follows sitting opposite you, Aemond sliding next to him. You run your hand over the sticky table, waiting for someone to take your order. Lips pouting. A waitress approaches the table, her expression bored and tired, but her eyes widen as she looks at you, taking in your looks and the way you're dressed. Aemond can see the way her cheeks flush slightly, the way she fumbles with her pen as she turns to the three of you. "What can I get ya'll?" She asks, her voice a southern drawl.

Your head tilts to the side, eyes running over the food kept behind glass, “A slice of that cherry pie and some coffee please” you smile sweetly. 

She turns to Aegon, his fingers drumming against the table. Her eyes flickered over the tight muscles under his green shirt. “For you hun?” 

“Bacon and egg sandwich extra runny” he grunts, eyebrow raising. 

Her eyes turn to Aemond, he orders an omelet and a coffee, voice low and soft. The waitress leaves, feet pattering against the floor as she hurries off. Aegon lets out a low whistle, eyes raking across your body. 

“You're just as pretty as your picture aren't you?” Aegon mutters, his head nodding at you. He's practically salivating over you, eyes hungry. You look at Aemond watching as he clenches his jaw tighter. Aegon laughs, a sound deep and guttural. He leans across the booth, his hands wrapping around the edges, his face just inches away from yours. He's invading your space, but you don't flinch, your expression bored, almost amused. He sticks his tongue out, letting it linger over his bottom lip as he grins. "Sweet little thing like you, huh?" He coos. 

“I'm not that sweet’can tell you that now” you smirk, eyelashes batting across your cheeks. 

You watch as Aegon’s grin widens he lets out a low chuckle. “Bet you taste real sweet though” his eyes dance over your body. Aemond clenches his hands under the table, knuckles turning white. He notices the way you handle his crude advances. Not bothered by dirty innuendos. 

The waitress sets down the food without care, plates loudly clattering against the table top. Aegon barely acknowledges her, gaze still fixed on you. You stare ahead, lips pursed. You sip on your coffee unbothered "Ain't gonna eat, darlin'?" Aegon asks, finally breaking his gaze to look at his food. His tone is laced with an underlying darkness, a hint of danger. Aemond can tell he's getting impatient, his fingers drumming against the table.

“I like getting fucked on an empty stomach” you smile. Aemond pauses, fork midway to his mouth he's barely digested your words before Aegon snorting with laughter. Slapping his knee at the comment. Eyes glittering with sick excitement. You're starting to get real bored with Aegon, it's one crude comment after another. The pattern has already been memorised in your head. You roll your eyes. “I'm gonna go to the ladies” you slide out the booth hand brushing over Aemond’s shoulder. He watches you slip to the side to let a lady exit the toilets, then you duck behind the door yourself. 

Aegon turns back to his meal. Shoving bacon and egg into his mouth. Yolk escapes the corner of his lips. He chews obnoxiously. “Cant wait to fuckin kill’her” he mutters, sly grin playing on his lips. “Make our own fucking movie for those sick freaks” Aemond only nods in return. 

“Too bad Reaper couldn't make it”

You walk back to the booth, shrugging on a small knit jumper. Aegon slaps down bills on the table, they exit the dinner and you trail behind them as you light another cigarette. Orange embers glowing in the darkness. Aegon leads the way, keys jangling in his hand. You step into the RV, air humid. Aegon follows, Aemond shuts the door behind him. He feels his heart thudding against his chest. 

The RV engine rumbles to life, and the vehicle lurches forward. Headlights pierce through the darkness, bathing the road in a pale glow. The trees on either side of the road cast long, sinister shadows against your face as Aegon drives further into the slip road of the forest. 

You gaze up at Aemond, his dark gaze locking with yours. He watches you intently. The RV is quiet except for the hum of the engine and the soft sound of you exhaling smoke from your cigarette. The engine falls silent, as you pull up onto gravel, Aegon is the first to get up, seat creaking as he stands. Aemond waits, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you. You extinguish your cigarette in the small ash-tray, the smoke curling up towards the low ceiling. You seem unfazed by the situation, your eyes still fixed on Aemond as you rise from the sofa. Aegon turns on the headlights and the area is flooded with a harsh, artificial light, he's already opening the rv door. The cool night air flooding into the vehicle. The light from outside casts a rectangle of light on the carpeted floor, illuminating the space in a pale, artificial glow.

You're standing in the middle of a small clearing, the trees like black sentinels around you. You look like a creature of the night, the shadows dancing across your face. Angelic even.He grins, his eyes roving over you like a wolf sizing up its prey, watching you run and strip off layers of clothing, tossing them aside. Standing there in nothing but your white lace underwear, your body fully exposed in the harsh light.

Aemond watches from outside the RV, his eyes growing dark as he takes in the sight. His jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists. He knows what's coming, he feels his blood boil in excitement. Blood thirsty. Aemond moves towards you, his hands grazing over your bare skin. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as if he's touching something he shouldn't. Despite the situation, he can't help but feel a sense of possession, a need to protect you. He steps behind you, his chest brushing against your back. He places his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Are we rollin’ yet?” you ask. Pulling loose hairs away from your face. 

Aemond's face disappears behind a black ski mask, his features obscured in shadow. He pulls the fabric taut, making sure it covers every inch of his face. He looks different now, the mask making him seem dangerous, savage. His eyes burn with a cold, detached anger, a stark contrast to his gentle touch on your skin. You pant against his touch, mewling in soft brushes. Turning to face him. 

“We are now sweetheart” Aegon mutters, you watch his eyes disappear behind a vhs camcorder.

Aemond's breath hitches as your lips caress his neck. He can feel your hot breath on his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. His hands on your hips tighten, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

The camera recording every gasp and sigh. You're putting on a show for it, for Aegon, for Aemond.

Your hand slides beneath Aemond's wife beater, your fingers caressing his bare skin. His grip on you tightens, his muscles taut under your touch. A soft moan escapes his lips, muffled by the ski mask. 

You smile up at him. Flashy shiny whites. He runs a hand over your cheek. Your face presses into it. And then he's yanking his hand back, snapping against you cheek in a sharp movement. Your head is snapped to the side. You look up and smile at him through wet eyelashes. A silent plea for more. Your cheek is hot against his palm.

“Shit that's hot”, Aegon mutters. You don't look at him, all your attention is on Aemond. You watch his mask shift, muscles moving under the black fabric. His face moves closer to yours, your arms wrap around his neck, peppering kisses over black cotton, you feel him smirk against your lips. His hands grab at your wrists from behind and suddenly he's wrestling you to the ground. You whine, pressed into the mud, you feel aemond’s body from behind. Belt buckle stabbing into your lower back. Your feet kick upwards. His leg pins you to the ground. You squirm beneath him, your ass grinding into his crotch. Aemond lets out a soft hiss. Your every movement driving him wild. You feel his body responding to your touch. His cargos grow tighter and you feel his hardness press into you from behind. You smirk. He fights the urge to grind down on you. 

“Dirty, Fucken’slut huh” he mutters, his hands tracing your spine, pushing you into the grass. Your head turns to the side, revealing a sly grin. You hum in agreement. Growing limp in his arms, and then you pout up the camera, eyebrows raising, your lip shakes. He watches Aegon. He clenches his jaw, watching in anticipation, chest rising quicker as you bite your lip up at him. 

“Keep goin”Aegon barks out. The red light flashes towards you. You feel Aemonds grip grow tighter.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” You taunt. Your hips jerk backwards, Brushing against his hard cock “ I know you want to” you sing out, it's like a melody to his ears. He flips your body in response. Back hitting the grass. Your hair lays out like a halo behind you. You run your hands over his chest and press kisses into his neck. Watching as he unbuckles his belt hastley. You nip and bite at warm flesh, pulling your legs from underneath him, brushing past his dick. He lets out a soft hiss. Pulling your body towards him. He sheds your panties and bra. Groping at the flesh he's unveiled. You look so radiant like this. Skin glowing under the headlights of the RV. The tension is palpable between you. He imagines slicing through your skin with a knife and burying his hand inside to feel the heat of your heart. Feel its last beats drum through your chest.

Not yet. 

His cock runs through your wetness, your back arches against him, feeling the head of his dick knock against your clit, his hand runs up the column of your chest and settles on your neck. He pushes into you, slitting you apart with his thickness, you hum at the intrusion. Wide mouth, eyes closed. His hand squeezes at the base of your neck, you feel the blood flow to your head lessen. Dizzy in his hold. He moves slowly. Torturously slow, head knocking against your cervix. You wince. And then feel his cock slide against the gummy walls. He's quicker driving into you with such force you feel what little air you have get knocked out of you. He grunts against your neck, your eyes water. Feeling the camera closer to your face. You fake a moan. Running your hand down the side of your face and then down Aemonds back scratching at taunt muscles

Laid out like a sacrificial lamb pliant and malleable under his hands. The type of innocence that bites back. “Fuck” you moan out from under him, griping him tightly. You feel him pulse. Hips snapping, into yours, your face reddens. His vice grip around your neck softens, and he pushes two fingers inside your mouth,

. Aegon watches as he smears spit around your face, trailing the wetness down your neck and the valley of your breasts. 

“Shit, tight fucking pussy”Aemond moans, low and deep. You're turned on your back, and he slams himself back into you, arm around your waist the other makes its way to your neck, back arching till you're propped up against his chest, head lulling in the crooks of his neck. Sweaty bodies against each other,You tighten around him as he coos at your whines. “You close huh” 

You smile against him. “yeah, fuck so good” it rolls of your toungue so quickly, you squeak. He grips your throat and you watch as Aegon nods at him. You turn to Aemond staring into his eyes. His hips falter. Eyes shutting quickly but his hands don't leave you. Grunting as he comes, And then you look back to Aegon eyes running over his body, he's hard. Your eyebrow raises at him. “You gonna let me suck your dick?” you bat your lashes watching Aegon smirk. Aemonds hands tighten on your body at your words, hands slipping down to rub your clit in tight circles. Your eyes roll backwards, body shaking with blissful pleasure. You come down from your high. Aemonds hand runs down your sweaty face, his eyes darken as they watch Aegon pull his cock out from his cargos. You crawl over to him. Eyes on the camera. You kneel at his feet, the cameras passed into Aemonds hands. It just cuts off his face. 

You run your hands over his body, pressing kisses down his pelvis. Then you shrug his cargos half down his legs, he beacons Ameond closer with the camera as you stare up at him. Running your tongue against the length of his cock. He pushes your head closer to his dick. Aemond watches as your hands grab at something, but your face remains stotic, too involved with Aegon's dick. He clenches his jaw and suddenly Aegons falling backwards onto the grass, something running down his leg and then he spots it. Shiny silver. 

The buck Aegon chose a week ago in the hunting store. His eyes widen, his hands falter with the camera. He watches you straddle him, you look back at Aemond, your face stern. “Come on, keep the tape rolling I thought you wanted to make a snuff film” your head cocks to the side running your hand over Aegon's lips. You smile down at him. Your hand reaches behind you to the leather handle of the knife. He yelps as it slides to the side in his skin. And then you're yanking it side to side,out from his leg. He whimpers in pain, hands going out to grab at your hair. You push the knife to his neck, Aemond stands moving closer to you. Camera shaking in his hand. He's so bewildered by what's before him he doesn't even think to knock you off his brother's lap. Not that he'd want to.

He watches the blood spurt out of his leg angrily,“Who the fuck are you?” Aegon gasps. Your mouth curves into a smile. The knife traces the column of his neck , over his Adam's apple. You watch thin dribbles of blood mark up the white expanse of his neck. Your body shadows over his face. Perfect silhouette encased in a halo of light. “Aemond do something!” his eyes flick towards his brother. And your hand grips his chin harshly pulling him up until the knife is digging into his neck. 

“Your brother is too pussy drunk to help.” you look into Aegons eyes, perfect swirls of purple, his face pale and sweaty, “Isn't it so sweet? He would have thrown a punch if I asked, hours before I let him have a taste” you chuckle at your words. Reaching behind you to plunge fingers into the open wound. He screams out at the intrusion. Tears escaping his eyes. You push a finger into your mouth and then pull it out with a pop  “see i’d lie and say you tasted so sweet, real sweet. But you’re fucking rotten” you spit. 

You stand. Running your hands through your hair. The movement is soft and innocent in contrast to what you've done, you sigh. Turning to Aemond, your eyes softening. Your hand peels off the ski mask. Your hand smooths his hair back tenderly, “Like we planned, yeah?” you smile and then your hand traces over the scar he was left. He smiles, eyes closing at your touch. Hand reaching out to pull the knife from your hand.

“You fucking planned this!” Aegon shouts at the realisation, his face is pale at the blood loss, and Aemond drops the camera in response. He turns to you, capturing your lips quickly. He can taste the blood on his tongue. Warm, metallic. You're right, he is rotten. He smirks and turns to his brother. He grips the knife tightly in his hand. You press a kiss to his shoulder and them watch him stalk over to him.

The camera is heavy in your hands as you lift it from the grass. You kneel next to Aegon. Aemond grips at his hair pulling him from the ground and then lets the knife cut through his skin like paper. You watch Aegon panic. His hands reaching out to stop the bleeding but they only fall into his lap. The blood falls like a red scarf. Coating the grass and his body like blanket. And then his eyes still. His lips left open in a wide panic. Aemond drops his body to the floor. Hand grasping for yours. He pulls you in for a kiss over his body. You feel him shake in euphoria. Hands running down the length of your bare body

He pulls away“ I don't want anyone touching you again” his hand leaves a bloody print against your cheek. “Got it, Reaper?”

You smirk up at him. “Yeah.” 

You pull your hand towards your face, it still stinks of lye as much as you scrub at it. You inhale the cigarette, eyes glazing over to Aemond, one hand on the wheel. The other runs against the soft flesh of your thigh. You smile at his touch. Hand clasping as his own. The sun casts a honey light on his face, hair lighting up golden. The RV pulls up along the side of the road and he pounces on you like a dog. “Fuckin’ perfect, and all for me”

@spn-obession

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Series Masterlist

Fic moodboard by @azperja; Text dividers by @saradika-graphics; This fic was originally written for the @hotd-bigbang on my old blog.

PAIRING(S) | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Wylde!Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Wylde!Reader

SUMMARY | She leans on the doorway and watches as Aemond Targaryen takes a lengthy drag out of his cigarette - tiny embers of the burning tip being the only light in all the space around him. He is withdrawn and lost in his own thoughts, always - just as she knows him to be.

It is at this moment that it strikes her.

It's him that she's in love with. It's always been him.

Art for this fic by my amazingly talented partner in crime @azperja HERE

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst with a Happy Ending; Grooming; Attempted Rape/Non-Con; Blood and Injury; Violence

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics for all my fic updates!

Chapter 1 | When We Were Young

Chapter 2 | And So, We Begin Again

Chapter 3 | TBA

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My great grandma, Violet Leib. It runs in the family.

Beautiful Boy Three.

chapter one chapter two

Dark!aemond x strong! reader

Warnings: violence, fingering?afab reader, only description is long dark hair, Starvation. Stockholm syndrome(eventual)cnc,dub con, ptsd flashbacks

“You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fist full of your hair, your chin rises upwards

You're perched on a chaise lounge, new gown, hair clean and braided, ankle bandaged. Aemond's head is in your lap and a book perched on his chest as he reads to you. Something about a war. You haven't been listening, you're too busy staring at the fire, Aegon's face melting and melting into heavy armour.  

You're starting to view Aemond as two different people, he's teetering over the edge of a coin. The prince regent, angered. Nostrils flared. His hands grip your hair tugging you further down his cock, unbothered whether you breathe or not. He uses you like he uses a weapon, flung about without care but precious. You've learnt to relax your mouth, letting drool pool out the sides. Sometimes when you tear up you feel him pulse within you, pressing the salty tears into your face harshly. Staining your cheeks. He tells you to ‘take it’ , take what, exactly? He only pushes your face further into the sheets. You’re half wept by the heat of his cock and the strangle of breaths that arise from your chest as he pistons inside you. He likes it when you whine. Likes it when you moan. Likes the power he holds over your head in the evening. The way his anger tears through your body like a violent sob. Pulling more and more from you every time. He can take it, he can take what he pleases.

And then he's Aemond, soft Aemond, his hands trail against you tentatively, like an instrument, hands running down you to see you hum, watch you sing. Voice like heaven, throat like sex. Brushing loose hairs, kissing sides of mouths. Thumb swiping over tears. His head nestled in the nape of your neck, pressed against your chest. When he comes he only buries himself further into your body like he's trying to part your bones, like he wants to stay there, entombed in muscle and bone. 

And sometimes he's balanced over the edge, smiling softly at you while he drives into you with such force, your hiccuping between sobs, he traces your jaw with kisses “my filthy girl” his girl, His thing. He plays you for a fool, wrapped up in this gilded cage you can barely remember the war cry in your head. 

Get out

You push his hair back from his face, eyepatch off. The sapphire eye glints at you. He hums in delight. Soft Aemond. His free hand runs against your arm. You feel so malleable beneath him. What was it he had said? Like clay, free to mould you however he wanted too. Pliable. My malleable girl. My sweet girl. How long has it been since you paced seven steps back and forth? Since your fingers traced the cracked brickwork. Since you prayed. You don't remember. Why does your back hurt? You hand shifts reaching out to prod the nape of your neck. 

“Please it hurts” You whimper, you’re bare, pressed to the floor, cheek wet. Diritied on the mudded ground. Something slashes you from behind. Once then thrice. “Please stop!” you shout as you turn around. Hands pressed against your face. 

“Are you alright my sweet girl?”a whisper. You hum in return. You stand near the fire, hand on the mantelpiece. Aemond pulls your body into his, he can see it in your eyes now, this emptiness. A hopelessness he brought about. It reminds him of his sister. “How was your day? Did you read?”

Ah yes, reading. Aemond seems to have a library's supply of books. You haven't found yourself in the reading mood lately, you remember your old copy of ‘The loves of Queen Nymira’ hidden away under floorboards from your brother at Harrenhal, how he would ridiculous you over giddy words. Aemond tends to read history and philosophy, you feel you might go mad under the writings of men. It is all war and great kings' deaths, You dare’nt say it. You nod and smile. “Had a bath”  

“Did you eat?” he knows what you're like, you forget. He thinks you're used to hunger now, but he's noticed your face looking brighter recently, finding you grazing on fruits as you keep watch out the window. You nod, smiling up at him. He continues to hold you, his fingers tracing small circles on your arms. He feels his heart flutter. The room has darkened now, and the glow of the fire encumbers both of you. Painting shadows across the walls. He pours a chalice of wine, sweet and sickly. It makes you feel all giggly inside. You wonder if you’ll ever slip past the gates of the RedKeep again. 

Get out.

His hand slides around your waist keeping his grip on you close, you lean into his body, sipping at the wine. It's spiced, different from how you remember. “Is this new?”

“Imported from Dorne” his hand slides higher up your back until he brushes your hair off your shoulder, moments like this that make you never want to leave. Your head leans back and he sticks his nose in the nape of your neck, breathing in the smell of roses, it reminds him of those sugar coated sweets from sunspear, Lokum. He kisses you softly, placing his cup on the small table before throwing himself back into the comfort of your skin. Soft Aemond. Your sweet Aemond. 

You sigh into his touch, finger pads running down your neck, tracing the bones. Your own hand grips his shoulder and you feel yourself fall into his embrace, neck falling, back arching as he pulls your waist into his own. He watches you melt into his arms. Lips brushing against your sweet soft skin. “You taste so sweet” he hums against your skin. Fingers planted against your throat loosely. 

You smile, his lips making his way slowly down your throat, licking and sucking, they find themselves at the hem of your dress, he knees before you, running his hands down your sides planting his face in your stomach. Tucking you tighter into his grip. You stumble slightly, hands smoothing hair away from his face and you unbuckle his eyepatch. You let it fall to the floor. You don't know why he keeps it covered, not really, part of you thinks it beautiful. Your hand reaches out, tracing the line that runs through his brow. Sometimes he flinches away in panic, other times he holds your hand to it. It hurts sometimes, he says. Phantom pain. As if his eye was being slashed through all over again. 

You understand, sometimes your back aches like it's raw. The maester had said the scars were at least a month old when he found them. They bled when you stretched. Milk of the Poppy had only let you succumb to sleep easier. It did nothing for the panic in your head. 

His eye closes and he rises slowly, standing taller before you. His hands reach out and touch you as if you’re made of silk, and he pulls your face in closer, his lip brush against yours  Teasingly, you approach and he only smirks in return, pulling away. He does this until you're whining, smothering you in kisses as quick apologies. gorging himself on your lips. 

“You're always so needy for me” 

Your head nods in tandem with his words, Needy that's what he calls it. Deny it all you want the heat of your arousal pools anyway. You remember those nights you spent with your hands pressed into yourself, cheek still flushed from his touch, It had burnt into you like hot iron had seared your flesh, half expecting it to scar. He's touched you all over now, every inch claimed by touch, lips, eyes. 

You wonder if you have the same impression, if during those nights he had spent at the whore house while you were held in the depths of darkness. That he drank in the skin of another woman and thought of you. That if she had given him the right look he could see you lying underneath him. You wonder if this is what he wanted. The undeniable way you crave his touch even at your worst. A saviour and a captor. How easy is it to save someone from the very thing you had put them in? 

He drinks you in, hurried out of clothes you had pressed to your body in the mirror mere hours ago. Hands under your shift, and then you're both naked, a tangled set of limbs as he hums at the sight of your body. It’s as if he hasn't seen it before, you watch his eye flicker with adoration and then ownership. Emotions plummeting through him like a quick wave of danger. You await from them to be dashed on the ground. Wait for the hardship. Wasn't that what Grand-Uncle had said? Wait for the hardship and let it pass? Did he ever fight for anything? 

You're pulled to bed, lips pressed to yours, Dizzy with spit. Sweet ambrosia. Your body is pulled towards his groin. He's hard, hand stroking down the length of himself, your hand traces at his jaw, sitting up on an elbow. You watch his face as he pushes into you, eye blissed out. It's as if he's found god between your legs, or in your sweat when he's pressed against you, breathing in your scent, A heavenly sight to behold. You feel so full, the pad of his thumb runs along the expanse of your cheek as he finds rhythm. Lips parting, silent moans, strangled breaths. Hair brushed out of your face. Blown pupils. 

“Sweet, sweet thing.”

He’s faster, slapping fills the air and you close your eyes as he hits that sweet spot inside of you, your hands find his shoulders smoothing the skin over as you find yourself closer to relief. The sound of cracking slides through the air, you swallow. Your neck curls in protest, hands gripping at the air, tighter and tighter until you feel something wet. Hand clasping round your wrist. You're back there all over again. Eyes closed tighter, you cry out. The lashing continues. Head thumping against something hard. Someones too close to you, too close to your back. Too close to your skin, sweat, alcohol and damp stone encumbers your body. The scent is heavy in the air. Your eyebrows furrow. Teeth gritting.

“Look at me” 

You shake your head, your eyes only shut tighter. Body sweating, you feel beads of blood rolling down your back. You’re turned. Back pressed into the dirt, eyes shut. Someone closes around you, your legs kick upwards but they are flung to the side and with no warning something enters you. You wail at the intrusion. White hot heat enters you. Your hand swings out in a fist.

“Stop!” you breath out dryly, heavy wails following you. Eyes opening, white hair brushing over you. Mouth opened in a dry scream. Your hand hits his shoulder again. “Please, please stop.” You hyperventilate, heavy laboured breaths, hand against your chest as Aemond comes to a stop, you don't look at him as tears well in your eyes.

“Look at me, please look at me” he grabs at your face, but you dig your head into the nape of his neck and breathe him in as he closes in on you. Sandalwood, books and dragonfire. You're okay. You're fine. You're in Aemond’s bed, in his arms. You soften. “I just want to know who hurt you.” he whispers.

You sigh, jaw moving from side to side.“It's just all fuzzy”, you slump, you can feel the weight of your tongue in your mouth, your head dives into the pillow. He pulls out from you and rolls onto your side. Hand reaching for your face, you turn to look at him. 

“I’d kill for you, you know that?” 

You nod, chewing on your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they try to keep the tears at bay. He pulls you closer to him, your head rests on his chest. You play with his hair, looking up at him, he smirks under you, you know he wants more. His thumb plays with your lip. Smearing spit all over it, You're on the fence with this. Make him mad or make yourself crazy. You decide on the latter. What another push forward to the top?

‘You're involved with the wrong prince miss’

Your body turns facing the bookcase, you take his hand and push it against your chest as an invitation. You feel his lips on your shoulder immediately and then he pushes back into you from behind, your hand rests on his hip. You whimper. He’s softer this time, hips rocking slower and more calculated. You try not to cry, but your face wettens anyway. “Fuck, my sweet girl” he pulls at your chin to kiss you. Eyes running over the wetness of face. You fake a moan as his hand dips down to your wetness. He swallows it between his teeth and smiles at you. Lips curling up. Kissing at your cheeks. “Why are you crying?” he grunts. Hand stroking at your slick pearl.

“Too good aem”,you whine against his hand, cheeks flushed. Your hand digs into his hip as he hits all the tight spots inside of you, turning your brain to mush. “So good,” you repeat, your head turns, back arching, your hands take his own, running them down the valley of your breasts, you let him grope, fingers digging into your flesh. You stare at the bookcase and imagine it setting on fire. He tucks his head into your neck when he comes, he's gonna break his nose one day. You're so sure of it. 

“So good, so good fo’me”, he wipes you with a clothe and then tucks his face right into your chest, falling asleep, hes curled up like a child. You thank the seven he wasn't angry. You thank the seven you get to see the sun. You thank the seven for…

Get out now

The words whisper in your head, but you fall asleep , hair around you like a halo. What's one more day? The glass hasn't even cracked yet.

Aemonds back turns, he reaches out hand grabbing for your own to pull towards his body, Comfort that's what he was begging for, his hands thumbles around on the sheets, emptiness. His eye opens and he turns in the darkness of the room, rain beating down on the stained windows. The white sheets lay crumbled where you had slept, your shift gone from the floor. Where he had seen it land after your night together. 

His eye searching the darkness of the room, for a figure in the night. Thunder cracks and more rain sprays against the window.lightning striking outside, the room lights up quickly. Empty. You hadn't? Had you? He was so sure you wouldn't run from him, he pulls himself from the sheets, dressing quickly. He hesitates at the eyepatch,but  he shoves it over his empty eye socket. He looks at his sheath, dagger gone. His heart thumps. Have you done something stupid? Has he fucked you up that bad? He heads out of  his chambers, the knight is gone.

 The castle is big. But you barely know your way around anyway, he's not expecting you to have gone far, the sheets were still warm when you left. There's only two options, the gardens or the throne room, both of which you have frequented many times. He makes haste, walking quickly down corridors and the flight of stairs, nodding to guards who have stood by their posts. He looks down the corridor, the throne room door wide open. He steps in slowly, eyes locking onto your form. You hum to yourself. Head rolling slightly back and forth.

You're glowing under the moonlight, white shift billowing in the air, dark hair dancing across your back. You begin your ascent up the steps slowly, bare feet dancing across the iron steps. He sees the dagger in your hand behind your back but remains confused. You clench it in your grip, When you finally get to the throne. His eyebrows furrow. You don't sit, instead your hand reaches out, appearing to stroke something. He hears a soft whisper, head bobbing down for a second, you pull your arm away. Head tilting to the side. And suddenly the hand with the dagger flings out, Hilt level with your neck. You hand snaps, arm making a cutting motion.Aemond walks up to you slowly, Footsteps clicking on the castle floor. But you remain staring at the throne. Then he hears it, thick sobs as you sway, He feels himself crack under the noise. You stifle a scream, hair brushing against your shoulder.

Your eyes are empty as your head turns, looking past him, dropping the dagger onto the floor in your outstretched hand, you scrunch up into a ball on the steps, weeping into your hands, “Im so sorry, Im sorry Aemond” 

“Sorry for what” he hushes, he climbs the steps cautiously. Hands reaching out to grab at your arms, they are cut all over, as if someone had put up a struggle. What have you done? Your fingers flex. 

“I killed him, I killed him” you whimper against your palms, rocking back and forth. He tries to pull you away but you are relentless in your efforts, keeping your limbs closer to your body, like you've nailed them into yourself.

“Killed who?” he questions, his hands brush against your soft hair.

You sniff, head snapping back, you look him in the eye,“Aemond” you smile, eyes softening. Your hands run down your hair and you stand. Stepping down the forged steps, hands brushing your shift. You begin to walk back to his champers as if nothing had happened. He picks his dagger up avoiding the swords that shoot out of the ground. Watching you, as it was merely all a dream. He follows you back, moving in calculated steps. Eyes staring straight ahead even in his efforts to get your attention. 

Then you slip back into bed, eyes closing as they pull the covers back up to your neck. You hum. There's a beat as you shift under the covers, hand smoothing. Searching. He watches your eyes snap open and your hand digs round for something under the covers, you sit up and look at him.

 “Why are you dressed?” you clench your teeth. Looking down at yourself, you notice the shift, and then the marks all over your arms, you panic. Hands clutching at your body, Chest rising. You look at Aemond, his dagger in his hand. “What have you done?” you lip trembles. Aemond approaches, you flinch back. 

“Please Aemond, I'm sorry, I haven't done anything, I swear’ you hiss at him as he approaches. Head shaking, He drops the knife quickly and it clangs against the floor. Hand reaching out to your leg. He watches your hands come up to cover your face, blood running down your arms. You cry against them, “I don't wanna go back”, it almost breaks his heart. 

“Shh, it's okay” He smooths his hands over your legs, and then he stands heading for the door to call for something, he keeps his distance as he waits.

fuck slasher summer, i’m having a Giallo summer;Beautiful women, Sex and a serial stalker with black leather gloves <3

Time Can’t Stop Me Quite Like You Did

Artwork by me, based on a fic written by the eternally amazing ✨ @randomdragonfires ✨

Created as part of the HoTD Big Bang 2023

Read it at: AO3 | Tumblr