Erwin Blumenfeld

Wet Veil, 1937

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."

FLAWLESS

warnings:smut, drug use. 18+ only please The bear but it's actually just linecook!Aemond x hostess!reader. porn w a plot.

2014-7:40 Pm.

You stand at the hostess stand, looking over the Ipad for reservations, you're absolutely swamped, it's a Saturday night in Knightsbridge, London. Barely seconds pass before the phone rings again, it's the same conversation you've had every weekend for the past year. “Sorry we’re fully booked!”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes! And here at RedKeep we thank you for being a loyal customer~”

“I want to speak to the manager!”

“Sorry the managers not here right now”

“Then who's next in charge?” Queue you, grabbing Daemon from the office, where he completely undermines what you're saying to the customer, allowing them to take a reservation from some poor couple who had saved up their money to taste the food from RedKeep, because it is good for business.

Keep the loyal customers, he says, fucking asshole. You watch their smug faces grin as they walk in, pressed white shirts and silk dresses they didn’t fish out the bin from the local Guild care. Sometimes you smile and make your accent slightly deeper as you lead them to their seats. Other times you let them know it's you and lead them to the table directly by the bar, letting them hear the utter nonsense that Criston and Aegon spill behind the bar all night.

But you always retreat to the back for your five minute smoke break, snatching the Marlboro reds from the office, Daemon winking at you as you shove your coat on in the winter. You let yourself breath in the only thing that keeps you going through your shift, music blasting from the shitty headphones that came with your phone and then crush half of it between the sole of your black doc martens, straightening out your black silky blouse, and wandering through the kitchen back to your stand, where you greet another customer with a smile faker than the diamond rings that protrude off the women's fingers.

You rub the tiger balm into the crook of your neck in the changing room, its 10:00 pm, kitchen closed about half an hour ago, and the chef’s are scrubbing the floor down on their knees, you thank god the only thing you have to do is inform Daemon of the reservations for the next week, fully booked until next august, they usually go down about then, people retreat to France and Italy for summer. Your shifts go down and you tutor rich brats who are failing their GCSEs. Spending summers writing essays about Macbeth for fourteen year olds who find nothing better to do than take their daddy's golf cart for a ride around their ridiculously huge back gardens in sussex.

You hum to yourself, slipping of your blouse, the door opens and then is slammed shut. You turn, half naked in the changing room, your locker swinging open, Aemond stands with his nose pressed into his locker, you change into a band shirt and pleated skirt, pulling on high denier tights. “Are you coming tonight?” he whispers, it's soft, you watch him pull out his bag as you re-lace your boots.

“Yeah, did Aegon get the weed?” you ask quietly, boots thumping against the floor as you stand, you grab your backpack from the floor, shutting your locker.

“No Cregan did” Aemonds back ripples as he pulls on a black shirt, you watch his tattoos shift under it, he grabs his motorcycle helmet out of the locker, eye shifting to yours. You go to stand next to him. He pulls out a pack of Marlboro reds, original packaging, you wonder if they're fake, but the Polish words stare back at you, “want one?” he slips one into the corner of his mouth, pulling on his jacket.

You swallow, “Yes please” you take the cigarette and push it behind your ear, walking to the door. He follows. You push open the door, stepping out into the hallway, Daemon stands in the kitchen watching Rhaenrya sharpen the knives. You still refuse to believe they were ever married, her dad and him were such close friends it was borderline Insestuous. “I'm glad Cregan got it, Aegon always choses really weird strains, like unicorn poop? What is that?”

Aemond shrugs and follows you out the back, you wave to Daemon and Nyra, door slamming behind you. Cregan and Aegon wait by your car, its scratched to fuck. From where Aegon had slammed the door into the tree. You don't even know why you own a car anymore, parking is so expensive in London, you only use it to get to work and home. You watch Aemond shove his helmet on and then leave the car park. Unlocking your car and letting the boys pile in.

Cregan hits his head on the ceiling and Aegon falls into a mess of giggles in the back. You breathe in the scent of cherry, air freshener hanging from the mirror, Some arctic monkey's song comes on from the aux. You look to your left, Cregans on tinder replying to some bird. It would be rude to call him a slut but he gets around, he got some bird up north pregnant and now he has to send up money every month for a two year old he barely sees. You pull out, switching gears before starting your journey to Aegon's place it’s about half an hour drive into camden, you pass the punks on the bridge and pull in to the slip where Aegon's flat share is, he lives Aemond and a bunch of hippies that sell vintage clothes at the market.

You run to the corner shop first, buying a bottle of cheap vodka and a diet coke. Then you walk back down the dark street, lighting the ciggie that Aemond gave you, a tote bag heavy on your shoulder, passing the bike and slipping down the side of the building opening the gates. The smell of weed hits you almost immediately. Cregan sits legs spread on the rattan furniture that Aegon stole from someone's front porch last summer. You don't know why he does it, his mum literally owns the restaurant. He earns more than enough.

You slide up next to Helaena , she leans her head into your shoulder for a moment and then leans back, thumbs padding against her cracked iphone 5, Cregan hands you the joint its some cali strain this time, you rarely smoke. But Saturdays at the RedKeep are actually killing you. Aegon pulls out his speaker and decides to blast drum and bass. You steal the aux and play cigarettes after sex. Falling into the rattan sofa, pulling your Northface jacket around your legs, its fucking cold. Aegon's wearing his dressing gown and hoodie as he stands out the back door. You don't even know why you're in the garden, an hour passes and you find yourself sweating on the sofa, legs intertwined with Aegons as he spews on about some weird conspiracy theories; dragons being real, the lizard people shit. You talk about the ghost house when you lived in the isle of white for a year. And then you've had enough of talking so you head up to Aemonds bedroom to listen to music.

Your socks run up the carpeted stairs, pausing outside Aemonds bedroom, you knock and hear him grunt a yes. You practically throw yourself into his bed, your phone bouncing from impact, he smiles at you, and you look at his mac playing on the bed, he’s watching reruns of misfits before it gets bad.

“You know, Aegon always reminds me of Nathan? I can't watch it without thinking about him.” You sigh,“it's a shame because Robert Sheehan is really fit” Ameond hides a laugh, he's different now. He used to light up a room with his quick wit. But now he’s buried into himself, he just keeps retreating and retreating. You used to have this weird thing between you. It was all longing looks and brushed knuckles. He’d follow you outside on early morning shifts to have a ciggie, making you laugh, legs pressed against each other on the staircase. Sometimes you’d bring him coffee and he'd make you one of those fruit salads with all the fruit scraps, slices of mango and strawberry tops. Nights spent outside nursing a joint while Aegon sings incredibly loud in the lounge. No one was surprised when they saw you two getting closer, it's like fate really. Line cook and hostess. If it wasn't Jace it was going to be Aemond.

And then the accident happened. It wasn't Luke's fault, it really wasn't. Something had split on the floor, Luke wasn't wearing the proper shoes yet. He was just about to start his shift, so he slips, grabs for Aemond, His knife in hand just about to chop something, they both fall to the ground. You remember coming to grab Aemond for a cigarette and there was just blood everywhere. All over the white tiles. You remember thinking that he had spilt some kinda wine sauce, nearly laughing until he had sat up and his face looked like it was falling apart. He was shaking, too afraid to cry, and Luke was sent home.

It was one of those slow days. So you had shoved him into the car with a napkin pressed over his eye. Taking him to A&E for stitches, he looked so different when he came out. He smoked a cigarette in your car with bloodstained hands. You hand squeezed his thigh as you took him home. Then days later you had picked him up from the hospital. White eyepatch over the gaping hole. They removed his eye incase of an infection. It wasn't salvageable, he had sliced right through the cornea.

He wasn't at work for weeks, you remember standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him to come down and join the others, aegon had pulled you away after an hour. Too shy to head up there yourself and then months later you had taken a joint and pringles up to his room. He was just staring out the window, watching the sunset as Helaena spun around with Cregan.

“How was work?” he asks, you hand him a vodka coke, swinging your legs under yourself.

“Fucking terrible, Daemon did it again” your hands runs through your hair. You look at Aemond, you can barely even notice the difference with his fake eye and real one, they got it spot on. “It pisses me off so much, like no wonder we aren't getting any new customers. When he keeps cancelling the bookings” Aemond shuts his laptop, he gets up and grabs a record from the pile in the corner, the needle hits the vinyl with a hum, it crackles around the room. He's so different from his brother, you wonder where he gets it from. He's just softer.

You miss his touch. He lies back down on the bed, hands over his heart, you're on your stomach, watching him breathe slightly, you wanna reach out and touch him, he watches you hesitate. “Sorry” he mutters. He runs his hand through his hair. Your eyebrows furrow, he looks away.

“Why are you sorry?” you ask, you lean into your hands and watch him. Waiting for an answer.

He pauses, chewing on his lips, and then his face settles, his lips back to the perpetual pout. “I know we had this thing between us, but you don't have to keep it going because you feel sorry for me”

“Huh” your eyebrows raise, you almost wonder if he's joking, you wait for him to crack a smile, “ I~I don't know what to say Aemond, I don't feel sorry for you” you groan, your hands smush your face together and then you plant yourself into the side of his body. You feel him stiffen and then his hand comes back to smooth over the small of your back. Your face heats. “I ~ oh god” you look up at him watching his eyes twitch, “I always felt like you were just playing along with this whole thing, we had” you shift, pushing yourself onto your knees. “I've have this really stupid big crush on you, since I had the panic attack out back and you sat with me for twenty minutes even though Nyra was shouting at you.”

He sits up, your jaw shifts side to side, you wonder if you should just escape downstairs and sleep with Cregan instead. His hand reaches out to touch your thigh pulling back. He lets out a huff. “You’re fucking with me” he shakes his head. You shake your head back smiling.

“Wait a sec” you grab your phone and swipe back to a conversation you had with Healana months ago, you hand it to him. Watching his eye sweep across the messages. He smirks, and then scrolls down, your eyes widen, he laughs.

“You can stop scrolling now” but he continues anyway smirk falling into a smile, “Aemond!” your own smile falls, “ Aemond, please stop scrolling” you grit your teeth. Your hand reaches to snatch your phone, But he pulls it away from you, you climb over his body hand on his shoulder, reaching out to grab at your phone. You feel yourself lose balance, you begin your descent onto his floor, but his arm grabs around your waist and pushes you back onto the bed quickly. He’s hovering over you, one arm on the bed the other lingering around your waist.

“He’s gonna be the death of me” he smirks down at you.

“Shut up” you huff, you bite your lips to stop you smirking, feeling heat rush to your face. You look up at him, watching his eyes glance down to your lips, you look at his. You’re so fucking high, and its not from the drugs. His hand brushes against your hip. Fingers pressing into the flesh, your skirt is flipped up, you don't even realise. It doesn't even matter because he’s already crashing his lips on your own. It's quick, chased and hard. You move together like you're running out of time, one hand brushing against your jaw the other pressed into your hip, you whine, hands running up his neck to his jaw, you're pulling him closer than what’s physically possible.

He goes to untuck your shirt from your skirt, you part and pull it off over your head quickly, he takes in the curves of your body, tracing muscle and moles. “Nearly killed me today, walking in on you like this” you smirk under him, his hand brushed against your chest clad in a black lacy bra. You press his hands into your chest, he gropes and needs, his lips running down the column of your neck, you sigh under his touch, teeth grazing, lips nipping.

Pupils blown, Aemonds hands fingers graze down from your chest to under your skirt, you pull him in for another kiss, teeth clashing together. Phone forgotten by the side of you. You feel his hands run down your legs, a finger hooks under the waistband of your tights, you lift your hips, propping yourself up on your elbows as he slides them down your legs, you part, standing and shifting them off. Aemond sits back and watches. The record crackles repeatedly through the speaker, and you lean down to pick one out. Carefully putting the vinyl into its sleeve. Needle back down, the music starts. “Your such a cliche”

‘She planned ahead for a year… He said let's play it by ear’

“Shut up”,You slide yourself back into aemond’s arms, his hands run down your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps, your own run down his chest and then tug at the shirt he wears. He pulls it over his head before you know it. Your hands trace the pale freckles skin, pressing wet kisses down his throat, he slides a hand around your thigh, pulling you to straddle him. He pulls your chin towards him, meeting him in another heated kiss.You moan as he grabs at the flesh of your ass, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Your back arches, your chest pressing against his. He trails his lips across your chin as he rolls both of you over, his hand grazes your inner thigh and you wrestle your skirt off quickly.

He sticks his head in the crock of your neck, kissing tenderly. Hand brushing under your panties, he cups your cunt, swiping a finger through your folds, “Shit your wet” he pants, you feel him smirk against your throat. “This fo’me?” you nod your head, eyes half shut as you stare at him. Lips bruised and pouting. He eats up your whines with his lips as his finger traces your clit, your hands brush against his neck and then grip his hair. He slides a finger into you with ease. You moan into his mouth. He makes a come hither motion and slides another finger inside of you. Your back arches and he groans, pinning you into the bed. Your knee slides up and brushes against his hardness.

‘Youre a doll, you are flawless ’

He stiffens, movements stilling. You smirk. His hands leave your body and you meet his lips again, hands brushing against his groin. You pull at the belt buckle. Pulling away from him to see what you're doing, he pulls your panties down your legs, head buried in the crock of your neck pressing hot kisses onto your skin. You fumble and then pull his trousers down, you can see the outline of his cock through his boxers. He grins down at you. You palm at his cock, watching him through your lashes. He sheds his boxers, you run your hand down his length loosely, thumb brushing over his tip. You watch him whine. “Condom?”

“I'm on the pill.” You hum.

He pulls your body towards him, your crotch meeting his thighs, he leans closer. The head of his cock brushing past your folds, it feels like hours spent teasing you and then suddenly he pushes into you, feeling you stretch around him. “Shit your tight”,your hands grip his shoulders, mouth gaping open at how full you feel.

“Fuck Aem” He begins to move slowly, you feel every inch of him, every vein brushing against you. He looks down watching you suck him in. His hands trace against the side of your body, stopping at your hips.

Finger’s digging into the flesh. You feel so dizzy with pleasure. “Shit, so good fo’me” you clench around him, he lips curl upwards. “You like that huh?” you moan, feeling his cock brush perfectly against your walls. “So fucking pretty underneath me” your back arches.

He pulls out and pushes you onto your stomach, you lift your hips, he hilts himself inside of you all at once. You feel him in your throat.you hands trace against his creased covers as he pounds faster into you. He pulls your back towards his chest. Hand grabbing at your chin. You look him in the eye. Biting your lip, you feel sweat run down your bodies, his hand slides down your front and runs tight circles around your clit. He leans in to kiss you. Pulling away with a string of spit. “Close Aem”

“Yeah? Already”

You nod against him, his fingers brush up your neck, pinning your body into his, neck tilting. Lips brushing together. You feel him pulse inside of you. You feel the pleasure spread from your back until you can't hold on anymore. You clench around him. You can taste it in your mouth. You turned around and pressed into the covers by his body, he pistons into you chasing his high,You feel him falter, bringing his face to your own, he presses his sweaty forehead to your own. Chasing your lips as he cums. Your own legs shake from under him. He collapses on your chest. Teeth grazing against your tits. He smiles up at you, you push his hair back from his face.

“I really like you” he whispers, his hand meets your cheek, the pad of his thumb smoothing over your skin.

“I'm glad” you smile, “because i really you” he pulls away from you, shrugging on some clothes and running out the room. He comes back with a wet flannel. Wiping the sweat of your forehead and then between your thighs. He kisses your shoulder and you watch him grab clothes out his drawer. You pull your socks on, and his adidas jumper, along with some joggers. The cuffs of his jumper slides down your wrist to your palm. You slide your phone in his pocket and wait. Aemond stands by the door. “You coming?” your eyes widen and you jump off the bed, grabbing his hand to pull him down stairs.

The music is louder than usual and Aegon stares at you as you walk through the door of the lounge,“You finally fucked then”

“Aegon!” Helaena gasps, shoving a pillow at his face. You watch Aemonds face blush but push him into the direction of the back yard, picking up your coat and bag. You both sit on the rattan furniture, Aemonds arm wrapped around your shoulder as you roll a joint, he presses his lips to the side of your mouth as you lick the paper. It's not the neatest, but it's not Aegons, which usually look limp and bent. You push the tray of your lap and tuck your legs under you, leaning into his body.

“Do you wanna go on a date?”

You light the joint watching the cherry light, Turning to his side, he watches for your reaction. You smile, breathing in the weed and handing it to him. “Yes please” his lips curl. You pull your phone out his hoodie pocket, eyes widening as the texts to Helaena, light up.

You: I literally need this man so bad I'm gonna have an aneurysm x Helaena: Istg, stop whining and talk to him all he does is ride his bike and go to work x

You switch your phone off and smile.

221 notes View Post

whorrorbellee

10 months ago

you can’t just say fantastic foursome on tumblr:(