ANGELS OF PORN

esp w dead characters like omg plssssss

we as a society haven't utilised the idea of a wandavision!AU in fanfiction enough

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.

Outtakes from Ewan’s photoshoot for the Times

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.

something about living in england in the summer makes me mad, i live on the coast and they’re pumping waste into the sea so i can’t even swim in it this year + no creeks around , all i have is a cold bath tub and the shutty fan my mumma bought me years ago, im dying in this heat.

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.

god fucking dammit, please one chance

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

Summary: Binging the entire show in two nights only to be disappointed is the worst feeling anyone can experience, you were going through the same, annoyed by the writing so began to come up with your own scenarios on how to fix the plot, wishing that is the way the plot should've unfolded, well be careful what you wish for, because now you find yourself in the body of a character the doesn't exist in the canon story.

The reader's appearance is not described in the story! only mentioned that she is a strong, the picture used in the header is for expressive purposes only.

WARNINGS: story will include; canon typical incest, smut, fluff, war. Warnings will be added on as the story continues.

CHAPTER I : The Beginning.

CHAPTER II : The Deal.

CHAPTER III : ???

CHAPTER IV : ???

CHAPTER V : ???

CHAPTER VI : ???

CHAPTER VII : ???

CHAPTER VIII : ???

CHAPTER IX : ???

CHAPTER X : ???

divider credits: @cafekitsune

Had a dream i had tickets to an @mothercain concert but when i got there it was just a a massive circus/freak show ? and she was in this massive glass cylinder thing with theses great big steel beams holding it together and there was this green murky water in it and then if you looked closely you could see this humongous silvery green tail that looks like it belonged to an eel and it turns out she was just a siren trying to entice people to this weird sacrificial cult circus. and the only way to do that was to put music out on spotify.